Small cheerleading quoes

Good morning sisters and brothers, fellow Saints of our aspirational Zion. I was asked to speak and allowed to decide what the topic would be. After a lot of consideration I felt inspired to speak about being Actively Engaged in a Good Cause and how that relates to the full name of the church.
I was glad when President Nelson decided to put more emphasis on the full name of the church. Not that I mind using the term Mormon, but because I do find the full name of the church to be significant. When the church was organized in 1830 it was called the Church of Christ. In 1834 the members voted to change the name of the church to the Church of the Latter-day Saints. Then in 1838 Joseph had a revelation for the name to be The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. While this effectively combined the two previous names, it also highlights something that I think most people overlook. Namely that the church is not only Jesus’s church, but that the church also belongs to us, the Latter-day Saints. We too have ownership of the church. While this may sound strange at first, it actually also fits very well with another concept that Joseph Smith taught: Theodemocracy.
Joseph spoke of this most actively the year before his death when running for President of the United States and when the Council of Fifty was created. The idea also holds in it that while God is in charge, we also have ownership and must have a say, actively vote, propose new ideas, and generally be actively engaged in moving things forward. It is not a theocracy with a fake voting system attached like that of North Korea. However, we have largely seen our own tradition move from one in which we do things by common consent including adding to our canon or as in 1834 voting to change the name of the church, towards something much more akin to voting in North Korea. This has coincided with other shifts in which we have taken less and less ownership of our church and as a result failed to properly sustain and support our leaders.
It is unfair to our leaders for us to sit back and wait for them to do frankly most of the heavy lifting when it comes to the running and functioning of our church, stake, and ward. In the past when I’ve been in callings that required me to be overseeing the assignments of home teaching or really any other church assignments, my experience has been that occasionally some inspiration will strike for some of the assignments, but that for the majority, I felt like I was left to figure out myself what assignments seemed to make the most sense. I know that many leaders that I have spoken to on this topic have also had such experiences. When we as members speak with our leaders, share information with them, it makes it much easier to make the best decisions. Without that feedback much more is left to guesswork.
We need to support and sustain our leaders, but this becomes difficult or challenging if we bring some assumptions to the table when considering how we do this. A major one as I see it is when we put too much trust in the arm of the flesh and grant our leaders infallibility or the lesser but largely equivalent functional infallibility.
As the saying goes: “Catholics say that the Pope is infallible, but none of them believe it. Mormons say that the Prophet is fallible, but none of them believe it.” Brigham Young recognized the potential for harm in this setting and said:
"I am fearful [the Saints will] settle down in a state of blind self-security, trusting their eternal destiny in the hands of their leaders with a reckless confidence that in itself would thwart the purposes of God in their salvation, and weaken the influence they could give to their leaders, did they know for themselves, by the revelations of Jesus, that they are led in the right way.” – Brigham Young 1862 General Conference (quoted in General Conference of the church in 1963 and in 1989)
And this one is also important:
"And none are required to tamely and blindly submit to a man because he has a portion of the priesthood. We have heard men who hold the priesthood remark, that they would do anything they were told to do by those who presided over them, if they knew it was wrong; but such obedience as this is worse than folly to us; it is slavery in the extreme; and the man who would thus willingly degrade himself should not claim a rank among intelligent beings, until he turns from his folly. A man of God… would despise the idea. Others, in the extreme exercise of their almighty authority have taught that such obedience was necessary, and that no matter what the saints were told to do by their presidents, they should do it without asking any questions. When Elders of Israel will so far indulge in these extreme notions of obedience as to teach them to the people, it is generally because they have it in their minds to do wrong themselves.” – Millennial Star, vol.14 #38, pp. 593-95
Yet does this functionally happen in the church? Do we follow this council to find out for ourselves instead of simply assuming everything from our leaders is divine? Apostle Charles W. Penrose, who would later serve as counselor to President Smith, declared:
"President Wilford Woodruff is a man of wisdom and experience, and we respect him, but we do not believe his personal views or utterances are revelations from God; and when ‘Thus saith the Lord’, comes from him, the saints investigate it: they do not shut their eyes and take it down like a pill.” – Millennial Star 54:191
Do we do this? When the prophet says “Thus saith the Lord” do we take the time to investigate it? Do we remember President Kimball’s reaction to Elder Benson’s talk on the “14 fundamentals of following the prophet”?
"Spencer felt concern about the talk, wanting to protect the Church against being misunderstood as espousing ultraconservative politics or an unthinking “follow the leader” mentality. The First Presidency again called Elder Benson in to discuss what he had said and asked him to make explanation to the full Quorum of the Twelve and other General Authorities… A First Presidency spokesman Don LeFevre reiterated to the press the day after the speech that it is “simply not true” that the Church President’s “word is law on all issues—including politics.” – Lengthen Your Stride – Working Draft, by Edward Kimball
I’ve had the opportunity to know some great Mormons who do take this approach, but I’ve also known many who treat quotes from church leaders like downloaded messages from God (no human filters involved).
If we can believe that God is capable of inspiring our leaders, surely we can believe God is capable of letting us know when they’re wrong. If instead we assume that their judgment is always superior to our own, perhaps we’re helping to put up a massive iron gate.
"How often has the Holy Spirit tried to tell us something we needed to know but couldn’t get past the massive iron gate of what we thought we already knew?" – Dieter Uchtdorf 2012 Worldwide Leadership Training
Moses once opined “Would that all the Lord's people were prophets, that the Lord would put his Spirit on them!” We have all been confirmed members of the church and in that confirmation told to receive the Holy Ghost. It is easy to forget that when the spirit tells us something, that is a member of the Godhead speaking to us. If we can believe that God can give guidance to our leaders surely we can also believe God can give us guidance.
Another important and often overlooked point is the context to this oft quoted verse:
"We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion." -D&C 121:39
This statement wasn’t given in a vacuum. It is in the middle of a long discussion of priesthood and priesthood authority. This is talking specifically about priesthood leaders. When we read that “many are called but few are chosen,” we’re reading that many priesthood leaders abuse their power and only few truly honor it. The saints in Joseph’s day understood this. I think we’ve sanitized it over the years to make it seem like an aside, an intermission on the discussion of priesthood. This statement is as true now as ever. This verse, with its proper context, needs to be a lesson for us as members. We need to sustain and support our leaders. This doesn’t mean following them blindly. This doesn’t mean we must become “yes-men” to them. This does mean pray for them to be chosen instead of just called. This does mean to influence our leaders to do God’s will. Remember, one of Brigham’s concerns about us acting as if all our leaders decisions were divine is that it will “weaken the influence [we] could give to [our] leaders.”
What questions our church leaders will take to the Lord are impacted by our own openness to those things. In 1977 President Kimball expressed concern that if the Race-ban on priesthood was removed that there would be pushback from members in the American South and from some in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. When President Hinckley was asked in an interview about the Gender-ban on priesthood his response was that “there’s no agitation for it.” Until we better engage in our own history and understand how we got to where we are now it will be very difficult if not impossible for us as members to be prepared for the removal of the current gender-ban on priesthood.
Sometimes we might justify our own spiritual laziness by saying that while our leaders are fallible that God will never let them lead us astray, granting them a sort of functional infallibility. Nevermind that this was first said when my 3rd-great-grandpa President Woodruff was trying to convince members not to leave over the Manifesto. Nevermind that it means that we’re denying our leaders their agency by assuming that God removes their ability to make mistakes in their callings. Maybe some make such a statement more nuanced. Maybe they think that our leaders can make mistakes, but they won’t be majosignificant mistakes. Well, what is and isn’t significant depends a lot on who you are and how you’re being affected by it. I’m thinking that the women and children who were slaughtered in prophet-sanctioned genocide in the Bible considered that a significant mistake. I’m thinking that the thousands denied temple blessings their entire lives because of the color of their skin might consider that significant.
Let’s just recognize that few are chosen and that we need to give our leaders constructive/interactive support. We place a lot of responsibility on our leaders and they are very likely to make mistakes. Because they are human and doing their best, but as humans we all err from time to time. Recognizing the mistakes of our leaders is essential to giving them true support; it is vital to sustaining them. I would hope that we would avoid enabling or cheerleading bad decisions that friends or family are about to make. Pointing out why a decision will be or was problematic is what we expect of people who we truly love and support us, because it helps us to avoid pain and pitfalls and enables us to be our best.
Here’s a story from our little section of Salt Lake City in which members recognized the potential for mistakes and took ownership of our church. On August 23rd, 1896 Stake President Angus M. Cannon proposed a man to be the bishop of a new ward which was to be divided from the Sugar House Ward. The congregation voted against the proposed new bishop. President Angus M. Cannon then purportedly shouted "Sit down! and shut your mouths, you have no right to speak!" When Cannon engaged in a shouting match with the dissenting congregation, a ward member and policeman threatened to arrest the stake president for disturbing the peace. President Cannon more calmly repeated his attempt but was voted down "again several times." The Secretary of the First Council of the Seventy was in attendance and wrote in his journal: "I have been taught that the appointing power comes from the priesthood and the sustaining power from the people and that they have the right of sustaining or not sustaining appointees.
When it comes to being actively engaged in church endeavors our neighborhood and the general Sugar House area has done a lot. The "stake missionary program" began in the Granite Stake under President Frank Taylor in the early 1900s. It was an idea presented to President Taylor who then prayerfully considered trying it out as a stake. It proved successful and was later picked up by the General Authorities who made it a church-wide program.
The seminary program was also started in our stake after Joseph Merrill (a newly called member of the Granite Stake Presidency) felt inspired to start it and worked out agreements with the school board and got it going at the very new (at the time) Granite High School.
Also, in 1909 the Granite Stake started a monthly family home evening program. After counseling with many sisters and brothers in the stake, the Stake Presidency asked each family to spend Tuesday evening home together. All of these were local things which were eventually picked up and run at the church-wide level. We have a history in our area of being anxiously engaged and pioneering with new ideas.
While those are all instances of members, wards, and stakes starting programs for good causes in our area of Salt Lake City, they are just a few examples of Saints starting inspired efforts which were eventually accepted and promoted by the top church leaders. The relief society started when women in Nauvoo came together to do some good. The Primary program, Sunday school, Mutual Improvement Association, welfare/farming, organized genealogy efforts, and Young Adult programs all also started as members and local leaders were anxiously engaged and thereby gave influence to the top church leaders.
So as we consider how we can more actively engage in the church and look at what we can do now that would help to further the kingdom of God, I’d like to share a few things that have been on my mind which I feel would be steps which we can do now and which doesn’t require any new doctrines, revelations, or organizational adjustments from our leadership.

1. Give leaders their agency and remove the false idol of functional infallibility

I’ve already said a lot about this. The only thing I’ll add is to encourage everyone to read and learn about our history. The church history department has been putting out a lot of new, well-researched material, and there is a very high chance that it will be different than how you learned about things over the last several decades. Interestingly, most historically thorny topics become vastly easier to deal with when we stop denying leaders agency and ability to get things wrong.

1. Stop turning into a time capsule of the 1950s

This is really a small thing, but sometimes small things can have an outsized impact. Assuming someone comes into church for the first time, they will likely be a little weirded out because in dress and culture they walked into a time capsule of the 1950s. The Amish did this with mid-1800s, some Mennonites have as well. FLDS have with when they split in the 1930s/40s. These groups that have followed this pattern of freezing time and culture because they have been integrated into their religious practice are generally ones that are not really growing and have little-to-no impact or relevance in society. If we want to do the most good and build the most bridges, it is easier to do if we don’t continue falling into this pattern. Any efforts on our part to make our meetings look like a place that people in the public could come into and not feel out of place are steps in this direction. Dresses, suits and ties aren’t part of Christ’s gospel. Missionary clothing is changing for similar reasons. New guidelines for missionaries include allowing sisters to wear pants and Elders to go without jackets, so surely we can extend the same to our church attendance.

1. Always speak at church as though the audience is the general public

I have many times felt like I didn’t fit in or belong at church, and many times this has been because people speaking at church have done so with the assumption that everyone in the building must share their views on a given topic. Simply imagining that a gay couple, an ex-mormon, an investigator, some in the midst of a faith crisis, and others who live in our neighborhood are in the audience will help us to make sure that as we teach our lessons, give our talks, etc. that we will do so in the most open and welcoming way possible, which frankly is how i believe Jesus would have spoken. I truly believe that if we try to do this it will drastically improve our lessons and dialogue and help to make church a place that more people want to be. It is a change that (to borrow imagery from Jesus’s parable of the sower) will be akin to tilling and prepping the soil to improve the likelihood of allowing seeds to take root.
There are near infinite ways that we can innovate and get engaged in good causes. Awake and arise, join in the cause of Zion. The aspiration of Zion is to be of one heart and one mind and have no poor among us. I think it is worth noting that being of one mind doesn’t mean agreeing on everything. It means that we are united in love; love for God and for all persons. When this is our top priority, when we worry about how our actions impact others and whether our words and actions are conveying love, we become united. I’ve been a long-time fan of Eugene England’s essay “The church is as true as the gospel.” In it he makes the case that the church is true because it is a vehicle in which we are able to actually try to put the gospel into practice. In doing so we encounter difficulties as we interact with other fallible mortals and try to navigate our interactions in a Christ-like way. We all try and this mix of imperfect people who unite in love and service can help to bring each other and others to Christ. It is my prayer that we can find ways to engage with love, and humble ourselves like little children, to change our ways as needed to come closer to Christ. I leave this with you in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Hi there! I hope you’re having a good week so far. I’ve tried the dating apps, and, while I’ve met some lovely people, I just haven’t found a true connection yet. A friend suggested that I post here in an attempt to expand my search.
I’m seeking someone who’s ready and able to explore the possibility of a committed, monogamous relationship. I’m not looking to jump right into anything, and I’m not one to force something if it doesn’t seem that it will work. I’d like to take the time to get to know each another, each other’s likes and dislikes, and each other’s hopes and dreams.
I’m looking for someone who finds emotional availability, honesty, trust, compassion, communication, transparency, and equality to be important components of a relationship.
I enjoy pop culture, travel, food and wine, broadening my horizons, learning, hiking, art, reading, finding the joy in small things, and expressing myself creatively. I appreciate gratitude, open-mindedness, kindness, and a sense of humor. I’m respectful of others’ boundaries, and I appreciate the same in return.
I’d love to find someone who wants a best friend, a companion, and a cheerleader, in addition to a romantic partner who is positive, loving, and supportive. I think that it’s important for partners to share similar worldviews and ethics. It’s wonderful to share some common hobbies and interests, but it’s also great to be able to enjoy some things independently of your partner.
I enjoy the physical expression of love, and I most enjoy it when it’s expressed with joy, passion, and regularity. Creativity, spontaneity, and an openness to new things are also appreciated! With that said, it’s all about respect, and an awareness not to jump into things too quickly.
With a partner, I also enjoy cooking, traveling, long conversations, inside jokes, binging shows, walking/hiking, and, in general, trying/exploring new things.
I’m looking for someone around my age who is, preferably, located in the Southeast US, or at least on the East Coast. However, I’m open to someone located elsewhere if the connection is right.
If any of this piques your interest, then please feel free to reply with a little information about yourself. I look forward to talking with you!

Hi there! I hope you’re having a good week so far. I’ve tried the dating apps, and, while I’ve met some lovely people, I just haven’t found a true connection yet. A friend suggested that I post here in an attempt to expand my search.
I’m seeking someone who’s ready and able to explore the possibility of a committed, monogamous relationship. I’m not looking to jump right into anything, and I’m not one to force something if it doesn’t seem that it will work. I’d like to take the time to get to know each other, each other’s likes and dislikes, and each other’s hopes and dreams.
I’m looking for someone who finds emotional availability, honesty, trust, compassion, communication, transparency, and equality to be important components of a relationship.
I enjoy pop culture, travel, food and wine, broadening my horizons, learning, hiking, art, reading, finding the joy in small things, and expressing myself creatively. I appreciate gratitude, open-mindedness, kindness, and a sense of humor. I’m respectful of others’ boundaries, and I appreciate the same in return.
I’d love to find someone who wants a best friend, a companion, and a cheerleader, in addition to a romantic partner who is positive, loving, and supportive. I think that it’s important for partners to share similar worldviews and ethics. It’s wonderful to share some common hobbies and interests, but it’s also great to be able to enjoy some things independently of your partner.
I enjoy the physical expression of love, and I most enjoy it when it’s expressed with joy, passion, and regularity. Creativity, spontaneity, and an openness to new things are also appreciated! With that said, it’s all about respect, and an awareness not to jump into things too quickly.
With a partner, I also enjoy cooking, traveling, long conversations, inside jokes, binging shows, walking/hiking, and, in general, trying/exploring new things.
I’m looking for someone around my age who is, preferably, located in the Southeast US (I live in NC), or at least on the East Coast. However, I’m open to someone located elsewhere if the connection is right.
If any of this piques your interest, then please feel free to send me a message with a little information about you. I look forward to talking with you!

PART 1:

 Every town has their own version of “The Boogeyman”. A monster, cryptid, phantom, whatever you want to call it, it’s all essentially the same thing- just a scary story they tell kids in an attempt to get them to behave. An urban legend is just a life lesson disguised as a horror story after all. For us folk living up in the tiny and once prosperous gold-mining town of Trillium, ours was known simply as The Locust Man. Now, let me start by saying, I realize how ridiculous that name must sound to you. “The Locust Man”?? Pftt…What’s he do, besides get stuck in the grill of someone’s pick-up truck. Destroy some crops? Oooh, he sounds real scary... yeah, I know. But yet, as I sit here today 20 years after the fact - a grown woman who’s wiser, stronger, and even more grounded in reality than she was at 12, I still hesitate to even write down that name. 

As a young child I had always thought it to be a little weird that our town was called Trillium, considering I had never seen a single one growing there. If you don’t know, a trillium is a small flower, usually white but they come in other color varieties as well, with three pedals and a bright yellow center. They sort of look like if you took a lily and tore off every other pedal playing “He loves me, he loves me not”. In school, about 2nd grade or so, we were taught everything about this elusive flower I’d never seen in real life, and told how proud our town was to be named after it. Trillium, Colorado was established in 1922 - A new town born in the wake of a great tragedy which befell the town that had previously sat in the same location. For us, and those that came before us, the trillium was supposed to be a symbol of hope. Knowing all that I know now, that sentiment almost makes me want to laugh - in a morbid way.

 Growing up in a small, mostly isolated town, there really wasn’t much for a kid to do. You’d have to drive 45 minutes to get to the closest mall and movie theater. The high school kids would usually all hang out at the roller rink downtown or at the old run-down burger joint called Slim’s that sat across it. But at that age, I wasn’t allowed to go hang out there by myself yet and for me, going with my parents tagging along wasn’t an option I was open to. My neighborhood was on a long dead end road leading up to a large patch of woods that separated the main part of town from the abandoned mine. The old trail the miners used was still accessible up until a point, and so me and the other kids from my street would hang out in those woods all the time. We had a “secret spot” which was, what we thought at the time, about half way through the woods, 10 steps away from a small shallow creek that pretty much ran the length of the area. Rain Creek, we called it. There was a small clearing there, and we had created our own little clubhouse using old milk crates as supports, half- broken wooden pallets as walls, along with some old lawn chairs one of the neighbors was throwing out one day. I made my contribution by bringing a tarp we had in our basement that served as the roof of our establishment. Our parents didn’t love the idea of five 10 to 12 year olds running around in the woods by ourselves, but as long as we stayed within earshot and made it back before the streetlights came on, they probably figured it was safer than us being across town galavanting unsupervised. 

It was me, Lacey, Devin, Mikey and Michelle. We were all best friends - pretty much inseparable, except the boys weren’t invited to the girls’ sleepovers and vise versa. Everyday after school, we’d get dropped off by the bus at the very beginning of our road, and it was a running joke between the Rain Street Gang (as we liked to call ourselves) for all of us to try and run off the bus as quickly as possible, while me, Lacey and Devin would all yell in unison ‘Last two home are some rotten eggs!!’, as Mikey and Michelle tried to push past us to get a head start. The aforementioned two were siblings, and lived in the very last house on our row right next to the woods, so they’d always get home last, regardless of their efforts. Although, the year that Mikey got a pair of Heelys for Christmas he finally got his edge over the rest of us, leaving Michelle to be the lone “rotten egg” until the next summer when one of his wheels broke off. The whole point of it all was just to get home and get our chores and homework done as fast as possible, so we could meet up at Mikey and Michelle’s house with enough daylight left to make our trek into the woods and back - together as a group. All five of us had made a pact to never visit the clubhouse without all members present, although us girls always had a sneaking suspicion that the boys thought themselves exempt from that rule. They, after all, were the ones that had discovered the spot in the first place, and not to mention, did most of the physical labor of dragging our provisions out there. Me and Lacey initially only heard about the spot a day after the boys found it; Michelle had walked into Mikey’s room in the middle of him and Devin talking about it, and immediately relayed the message to us. Michelle wasn’t necessarily more loyal to the girls than the boys, she was just the youngest among us and honestly couldn’t resist blurting out any mildly relevant information she thought she might have, in an effort to be included. But in that regard, if the boys had ever gone out there on their own, they would’ve had to be extremely sneaky about it, because Michelle’s number one objective in life was to gather any piece of intel she could. It was a seemingly normal Saturday morning when we learned our suspicions about the boys may have been warranted.
I had slept over at Lacey’s house the night before. We had just woken up and were still sitting on her bed discussing our possible plans for the day, when Michelle busted through the door with a look on her face that immediately told us she had finally gotten a hold of some juicy information, before she could even open her mouth to stutter out, “You-you-you guyssss, guess w-w-what!?!” Lacey gestured the nail file that was in her hand toward her, raising her eyebrows bluntly as Michelle tried to catch her breath. “So… Devin came to sleep over last night, annnnnd I was pretending to go to the bathroom so I could spy on them. Seeeeee, I was supposed to be sleeping but I -“ “Ughh come on Michelle, get to it! What’d you hear?” Lacey snapped “Ughh okay okay. So, I heard the boys talking, anddddd…. they’re planning to go explore the old mine today!!” “Alright Michelle! Good spying!” I chuckled, trying to encourage her after Lacey’s impatience. Lacey rolls her eyes, then immediately stands up. She takes the scrunchie off her wrist, ties her long blonde hair into a messy bun, and simply said, “Let’s go.” “Lacey..” I said “What??” She responds as if she hadn’t registered the tone of my voice at all. As I opened my mouth to begin explaining all the logical and practical reasons why even if the boys were stupid enough to go play around somewhere dangerous, we shouldn’t be, Michelle exclaims, “That’s where the Locust Man lives!!” I close my mouth in defeat, as I know Lacey will take this nonsense as a challenge, and because of that, no amount of my warnings concerning actual dangers would have any effect on her decision. Lacey dismisses her comment as she attempts to shove her foot into one of her new pink sneakers that she refuses to admit are too small for her. “Pshhh, don’t be such a baby Michelle, he’s not real, you do know that right?” Michelle crinkled her face and yelled back, “Yes he is Lacey! He is!! And th-th- that’s where he lives, and he eats kids that go there!” Lacey laughs at her and says “Oh yeah? You still believe in Santa clause too? What about the tooth fairy?” Michelle looked down at her shoes, and although she could admittedly be annoying, I found myself feeling bad for her. “Come on Lacey, she’s just scared.” Lacey shot me a look like she was expecting me to burst into laughter, but I just gave her a smirk and a shrug, and she rolled her eyes and said “Get dressed.”

 We walked in silence toward the end of the road, though the reasons for all three differed drastically. Lacey’s was determination and resolve, mine was comtemptousness and defeat, and Michelle’s was just fear. I found myself half-way hoping the boys had left already, but as we approached the driveway we caught them just as they were about to step off the porch. 

“Hey!!” Lacey yelled, in her trademark cheerleader cadence. “Where do you boys think you’re going without us?”. Mikey let a groan and rolled his eyes, while Devin said through a coy smile, “Well, we were actually just heading out to go to find you girls.” “Liar.” Lacey snapped, quickly wiping the grin off Devin’s face. “Michelle already blabbed- we know where you two are going and we’re coming too.” The boys looked at each other, then Mikey shot Michelle an angry look as she tried to shrink herself behind me, and said, “Fine, whatever, but no cry baby snitches allowed!!” Michelle then proceeded to prove both of his accusations correct by yelling back, “I am not a cry baby!! I’m telling mom if you don’t let me come with you!!” At that point I finally spoke up. “Alright, listen.” I said sternly, then once I had their attention I lowered my voice a bit to say, “Just for the record, I think us going to that grody old mine is a dumb idea and a big waste of time, but if one of us goes, we all go. That’s the deal, so make your decisions.” Lacey folded her arms in solidarity beside me, and with that we all had an unspoken understanding. So, with the boys out ahead leading the way, we headed toward the tree line.

 As we entered the woods, I felt a sense of dread wash over me - but to be fair, as a preteen emo kid who had already reached an adult level of cynicism, I felt a certain level of dread towards almost everything in life. So take my premonition with a grain of salt, but for some reason, this felt… different. I remember the woods being abnormally quiet that day. It took some time for me to even notice, but as soon as I did, I interrupted the mindless chatter going on to say, 

“Where are all the freakin’ birds?” Everyone turned to look at me as if I’d completely lost my mind. “Uhhh… What are you talking about?” Devin asked me. I pointed up toward the treetops. “Listen…. ” They all looked up, then looked around at each other in confusion. “Every time we’ve ever been in these woods, there’s always birds chirping back and forth. We’ve been walking almost 5 minutes now and I haven’t heard a single bird, have you guys?” “Damn, yeah, that is weird.” Mikey agreed. “They probably all just migrated!!” Devin goofily offered. “That’s stupid Devin, it’s spring. If anything, there should be more birds here, not less you moron.” Lacie argued. Devin flipped Lacie off, which was the best rebuttal he could usually come up with, and then turned toward me and said, “Okay whatever, what’s your point exactly?” “Just that - “ I looked over to Mikey, then back at Devin. “It’s weird.” I didn’t want to say what I was actually thinking. That the woods being too quiet was never a good thing. That when birds aren’t chirping, it could mean there’s a predator nearby. Besides, I was pretty confident that the boys, having both been in the scouts, knew what I knew, so saying it out loud would only serve to annoy Lacie and further frighten Michelle. Mikey broke his gaze that had been fixed on me, and while scanning our surroundings he said, “Let’s stop by the clubhouse on the way.” With a nod from me, we continued. When we arrived at our pit stop, Lacey hobbled over to the closest lawn chair and plopped herself down in it. “Ughhh, my feet are killing me!!” “I wonder why.” I mutter under my breath. “Excuse me, what was that?” “Just saying. Those shoes are gonna be the death of you Lace, you can barely walk in them.” “Pshhh, shut up. They just need to be broken-in okay? You’re just jealous cuz you’re still wearing your dirty old Vans from last year.” “Oooh yeah, you got me there. I am so sad I don’t have a pair of ugly pink Sketchers that don’t fit me.” She stuck her tongue out at me and we both laughed. I was just about the only person who could go toe to toe with Lacey’s sass. It’s part of the reason we ended up being best friends, besides being neighbors. In regard to style, personality and interests, we were almost polar opposites. But when it came to humor we were equals. And more importantly, we both had a mutual understanding when it came to our differences- I was me and she was her, and neither of us felt the need to try and make the other one be more like us. Besides, I was the only person who had ever really stood up to Lacey and didn’t take any of her crap, so I think she respected that. While that exchange had been going on, Michelle had started picking tiny pink flowers, and the boys were rummaging in the clubhouse for something. I yelled in their direction, “Hey! Big Mike and Dirty D!!” Me and Lacey giggled and she mouthed the word “big” with air quotation marks. They didn’t respond, so I walked over to the entryway and looked in. They were standing with their backs to me while looking down at an open metal box, and Mikey was reaching to grab whatever was in it. As he stood back up, I could see what it was. “What the fuck Mikey, seriously?” Hearing me cuss, Lacey and Michelle crowded in behind me. “Chill, it’s just a BB gun.” “I know it’s a BB gun Michael, what are you doing with it, and why is it here?” I was livid at the thought that he might be coming out here and shooting at animals just to be a shithead. I expected something like that from a goober like Devin, but not Mikey. Michelle butted in, “I’m telling mom!!!” “Nice try, dad knows I have it.” He looked at me and softened his tone. “It’s for protection, just in case we come across a black bear, or some weirdo creep out here. Seriously… it’s just to scare off something, not hurt it.” He knew how I felt about killing animals, especially for no good reason. A lot of people out here are poor and hunt for food, which I could accept as a reality. But hurting animals just for fun is psycho behavior, so I was relieved to hear him dispel my fear; I really didn’t want to have to hate him. “Do you even know how to shoot that thing?” Lacey asked. “Yeah, my dad showed me.” Devin clapped his hands together, making us all jump and himself laugh. “Well alright then, let’s get going!” I turned to Michelle, still holding the flowers. “You okay?” She nodded. “If you want me to walk back with you, I can.” I was slightly hoping she’d say yes so I’d have an excuse to get out of this excursion, but she just shook her head and forced a smile. I knew she was scared, but she was just too curious. Maybe I was too.

 We walked for what felt like half an hour. The trees had gotten more dense and the path narrowed from the overgrowth. Still no birdsong. I kept scanning the area in search of any sign of life other than us. Looking for movement of creatures scurrying away, listening for the sound of rustling as we passed, hoping for a squirrel, a lizard, even a bug. Nothing. 

“How much further is this damn thing?” Lacey groaned. Mikey answered without even turning around. “We should be coming up on it any time now.” “You said that like 10 minutes ago.” “Yeah, and now we’re like 10 minutes closer to it. And hey guess what, you insisted on inviting yourself - so suck it up buttercup.” “Hahahaha!” Devin laughed like a maniac at Mikey’s quip, while Lacey folded her arms and for once in her life didn’t have a snappy comeback. This time however, I did. “Well we really only came along to make sure you idiots didn’t kill yourselves.” “Oh, so you girls came out here with us to be our protectors, huh?” Devin laughed. “Ehh, more like babysitters.” Needless to say, I was flipped off for that statement. We rounded the next bend and suddenly all came to an abrupt stop one after another, starting with Mikey. Devin positioned himself beside him and let out a disappointed groan. “Shit Mikey!” A huge tree had fallen and was blocking the trail completely. There was no way we could climb over it because of all the leaves and branches - we’d have to go around it, which meant leaving the safety of the trail and crossing Rain Creek twice to get back to it. “Seriously???” Lacey exclaimed. “Maybe it’s a sign that we shouldn’t be going.” I shrugged. Mikey didn’t seem fazed by the obstruction at all. In fact, he seemed more confident. More calm. More sure of his intended mission. “It’s fine, we’ll just go around.” Michelle, who had been mostly quiet this whole time, finally broke her fear induced silence. “We are NOT supposed to leave the tr-tr-trail Michael! We could get lost!” “We aren’t gonna get lost Michelle, I have a compass. Plus, it’s literally just a few paces that way, then we cross the creek and circle back once we pass the tree and we’re right back on the trail.” “Oh you have got to be kidding me” Lacey said, “I’m not treading through that nasty water!” “Yeah Mikey, what about Lacey’s brand new shoes??” I laughed, and she playfully slapped me in the arm. Mikey’s patience was wearing thin with us. “Look, we already walked this far - if we turn back now, we’ve wasted the whole day for nothing. If you girls wanna be lame and turn around, then go for it - but me and Dev are going.” That’s all Lacey needed. A challenge to accept; someone to prove wrong. “I’ll show you lame.” She pushed past the boys and lead the way into the thick brush towards Rain Creek. It wasn’t very wide across, and there were lots of fallen limbs and large rocks spread throughout it. The current was barely that of a trickle, and the depth was no more than knee deep for us. It was definitely doable - just an inconvenience. And of course, one more ominous obstacle lying directly in our path. Another hint from the universe telling us to turn around. We didn’t listen. Lacey placed one foot on the closest limb and pushed down a few times to test its sturdiness. “I got this.” She stepped out onto it with both feet, then shimmied sideways until she was close enough to the large exposed rock in the middle of the creek, and hopped onto it. She turned around with a full grin and said, “Coming?” Mikey made his way across the limb as Lacey hopped onto a different limb which led her to the other side of the creek. Devin followed, then me, and then it was Michelle’s turn. “I’m scared to fall in!” Of course she is, I should have made her go before me. “It’s okay Michelle, it’s easy!” I reassured her. She didn’t look convinced in the slightest. “Come on Chelle, we’re leaving you!” Mikey yelled, already walking away. “Nooo!! I’m coming! Wait!” She made it across, but instead of just walking like everyone else did, she got down on her hands and knees and gripped the limb as if it were the only thing in between her and a 50 foot drop to the ground, which was funny to see but prolonged the whole process further. After all, we were about to have to do all of this again. Next go round went a lot smoother. The creek was more shallow here, and there were a whole lot more stepping rocks and debris built up. Having just crossed successfully a few minutes ago, we were all more confident in our abilities, including Michelle - who this time we made go first. “Just walk across like it’s a bridge! You got this!!”, we all cheered for her, and then clapped when she made it to the other side. Before we knew it we were back on the trail, and it wasn’t long after that we finally arrived at our intended destination.

 We all stopped and stared at it for a minute, carefully examining the dilapidated exterior of the place that had brought both prosperity and destruction upon our town. Mikey bent down, picked up a rock and threw it into the entrance. We heard it bounce a few times before it stopped. 

“Just to make sure nothing’s in there.” he turned around to clarify. “Did anyone think to bring a flashlight?” I asked. “It’s dark as hell in there.” I was hoping for just one more reason not to go. Devin reached into his cargo shorts pocket and pulled out a small keychain-sized flashlight, smiling with the satisfaction of finally being useful. “Okay, Mikey’ll hold the gun, I’ll shine the light and you girls follow behind us. Let’s go.” Mikey shifted the BB gun from its position of resting on his shoulder, to holding the barrel in his left hand and the butt in his right; trying his best to emulate a soldier’s stance. Something his dad had taught him I’m sure. We ducked down a bit to enter. “How far in we going?” Lacey asked. “Until we see something cool.” Mikey answered. I turned around to check on Michelle, still hovering in the doorway. “You coming?” I could see in her eyes that fear had finally gotten the better of her, and curiosity had taken a backseat. With wide eyes she shook her head. “The-the Locust Man lives in there.”, she tried to whisper. “I knew you were gonna be a baby about this!” Mikey yelled. I crouched down and put my hand on her shoulder. Against my better judgment, I say “How bout you just wait here for us and pick some more flowers. We won’t be long, there’s nothing in there, I promise. Just.. don’t move from this spot and we’ll be right back, okay?” I could feel her unease, but she seemed to accept my reassurance nonetheless. “Okay.” I smiled, then stood up and looked down at my watch to check the time. 12:46 PM. I turned and headed into the darkness, trying to catch up with everyone else. I didn’t feel good about leaving Michelle, but I didn’t feel good about letting the rest of them go in there alone either. And if I’m being honest, maybe a little part of me wanted to see what was in there too. When I caught up to Lacey she asked, “Where’s Michelle?” “Stayed behind at the entrance, she was too scared. I told her to pick flowers and wait there for us.” “Pshh, figures.” “Yeah. How’s your feet?” “At this point, numb actually.” It was so dark in there that even Devin’s rinky dink flashlight was illuminating the area enough for me to start taking a closer look at my surroundings. I looked around at the rock walls, they were covered in what looked like orange mold and green algae. There was a slight breeze coming in from the entrance, but the whole place just had a staleness to it. The boys stopped and turned around as we arrived at the first curve. “So ladies, what do you think? Cool huh?” Devin asked excitedly. “Smells like a fart in here.” I said.

 The most dangerous thing about exploring an old mine wasn’t getting lost in the maze of tunnels, or tripping on the rusted tracks and slamming your head against the wall - it was something simply referred to as bad air. Pockets of still air that have dangerously low levels of oxygen, the old men in town would call it “black damp”. There was also something produced from the old chemicals they once used called “stink damp”, which smelled like rotten eggs. Both were lethal. 

“I wonder if there’s dead bodies in here!” “Uh, Dev… we’re gonna be the dead bodies in here if we go in too far. I wasn’t just making a joke, you know that rotten egg smell can mean bad air.” Mikey interjected. “The entrance isn’t far behind us, there’s still enough fresh air coming in. We won’t go in too far, let’s just get to the end of this tunnel where it splits off and look around a bit, then we’ll turn around.” The fork in the tunnel really wasn’t that much further, and even though I knew once we rounded this curve I wouldn’t be able to see the entrance behind me anymore, I decided what the hell. Maybe a hundred more steps, then we can finally turn around and this whole dumb situation would be closer to being over with. When we got there, we looked down the length of the connecting tunnels each way. Everything looked unusually identical in its deterioration. I could see how someone could easily get disoriented and lost down here. “Hellooooo…” Mikey yelled to the left, his voice echoing through the corridor. Devin turned to the opposite direction and called out, “Hey yo, Locust Man!! You in here?” We all giggled, which made me think about Michelle, still waiting at the entrance for us, alone in the woods. I looked down at my watch. 12:46 PM. “Hey what the f-“ My cuss word was interrupted by a loud bang that came from the passageway Devin had just been hollering into. We all froze. I didn’t have time to process that my watch had stopped right as we entered the tunnel, or that Michelle had been left alone for who knows how long now, or that we had just heard what sounded like a support beam crashing to the ground, because next came a horrifying screeching buzzing sound. It sounded distant at first, but was quickly increasing in volume. We silently looked around at each other and backed away stunned at what we were hearing. Mikey never took his eyes off the tunnel though, and slowly he began to raise the BB gun to firing position. Without even thinking, I grabbed the barrel and pushed it downward. He quickly tore his eyes away from his target to look at me. I shook my head and managed to barely choke out the word, “Explosion.” He nodded and I let go. I looked down at the gun in his hands, and seeing his finger had already been on the trigger, I realized how lucky it was that I didn’t make him shoot himself in the foot. All of a sudden, the noise stopped. “What the hell was that?” Lacey asked. “I don’t know, nothing good.” I said. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here before this whole place caves in on us or something.” Another loud bang erupted from the right, extremely close to us. “Shit!!!” We all turned around and ran as fast as we could back toward the entrance. Devin tried to push past me, but as he did my elbow knocked the flashlight out of his hand. “My flashlight!!!” “Leave it!” Mikey shouted “The turn is right here, we won’t need it!” We rounded the corner, and using what little light there was illuminating from the entrance to guide us back, we ran like our lives depended on it. And they may have- none of us dared to look back, not like we would have been able to see anything anyway. When we finally made it out, we were all completely out of breath. I felt like I was going to throw up. I have to admit though, once we had made it back to safety I felt a rush of adrenaline like I had just had a near death experience. That feeling quickly faded into sheer panic when I looked around and realized Michelle was nowhere to be seen. “Uh, where’s Michelle?” Mikey asked me. “I told her to stay right here, she can’t be very far… Michelle!!!!” We all called her name, as loud as we could. No answer, no sign of her anywhere. “Alright look, she probably went off a little further looking for flowers to pick.” I tried to rationalize. “Let’s just split off in 4 directions and walk in a straight line while calling for her. She’s bound to hear one of us.” Everyone agreed, and even though I appeared outwardly as the level-headed calm person you need to take control in an emergency, inside I was petrified that something had happened to her, and that it would be my fault. I took the east, and headed out. It didn’t take too long before I passed a large tree and saw her sitting down behind it, looking at something on the ground. “Michelle! Oh thank god!! Didn’t you hear us calling for you??” She didn’t answer me, or even turn around. “Michelle, didn’t I tell you to stay by the entrance and not move?!?” My relief was quickly turning into annoyance as she continued to ignore me. I walked up closer to see what she was looking at, and my mouth dropped in awe of what she had found. It was a single white trillium.

 They say it takes 8 years for a trillium plant to produce a flower, and conditions have to be just right for it to bloom. That’s what makes them so special and rare. I stared down at it almost in a trance, like I was seeing a mythical creature. Michelle slowly reached out her hand towards it and I snapped out of it. 

“No!!” I grabbed her by the arm and she finally turned around to look at me. “If you pick the flower, the plant will die.” She ripped her arm away from my grasp and whined, “But I want to show my mom!” We heard Mikey calling from the north and I cupped my hands over my mouth to yell back, “I found her, she’s over here!!” I looked back at her. “No Michelle, come on, you can just tell her about it when we get back home.” I had enough, I was beyond ready to go and we still had at least another 45 minutes of walking to even get back to the clubhouse; an hour if Michelle kept up her crap. I grabbed her arm again and pulled her up to a standing position, looking back at the trillium as I walked her away. Mikey caught up to us, breathless but trying to hide his concern. “You little shit, we should have left you out here! What the hell were you doing?” I let go of her arm and she walked toward Mikey. “She was trying to pick a flower over there.” “It was a trillium!!” Michelle said, with the biggest smile on her face. “Wait, really?” He looked at me in disbelief. Before I could respond, a blood curdling scream echoed through the forest, coming from the west. It was Lacey. My heart dropped into my stomach and once again, every molecule in my body went into full blown panic mode. This time, I couldn’t contain my composure. “Laceyyyyyy!!!!!” A panicked shriek erupted from my lungs and I took off running. Mikey grabbed Michelle and sprinted after us. The trees became a blur; I didn’t even feel all the scratches and scrapes. Had she come across a coyote? A mountain lion? A bear? I didn’t even stop to think about the danger I might be about to come in contact with, I just ran. And then I found her. She was lying on the ground, holding her left foot. “Lacey!!” I said, trying to choke back the tears that were building up. “I think I twisted my ankle!!” “Oh god damn it, you bitch.” I struggled to catch my breath. “I thought you were dead.” “I might as well be, I have cheerleading practice on Monday!” Mikey and Michelle caught up to us. “What happened?” He asked “She’s being a drama queen, she just rolled her ankle.” I was angry. “Can you get up?” He asked her. She was able to stand, but as soon as she tried to put any pressure on her foot at all, she screamed in pain. We spotted Devin running over from the south as he was yelling out, “Hey yo, everyone alive and accounted for?” “Yeah, Lacey hurt her ankle.” Mikey yelled back. As he approached he looked concerned. “Can you walk on it?” He asked her. “No.” Without hesitation he replied, “Well alright then, looks like you’re gonna have to piggyback it all the way back home.” He lowered himself enough to where she could hop up onto his back, and we headed back toward the trail. Even though my nerves had begun to settle a bit, I knew we were still far from being out of the woods, in more ways than one.

I'm 17 days into NC with my expwbd, since our breakup. This whole situation has been incredibly tough. The first two weeks were a complete mess. I was drowning in emotional chaos and felt so numb that I could barely function at work or eat. I was like a zombie.
Now, as I enter the third week, I feel slightly better. My appetite is improving, and I even managed to go for a jog. However, I still experience waves of emotional breakdowns. She’s still in my head, but it’s starting to feel like a distant memory. Despite these small improvements, I still spend most of my days lying in bed, lost in thought, unable to focus, and ruminating.
I had a work meeting yesterday, and it was a disaster. I got completely stuck and couldn’t contribute anything meaningful, which left me feeling so embarrassed in front of my colleagues. I really want to do well at work and find a way to separate my professional life from this heartbreak, but it’s so hard when I can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened.
This journey has been incredibly hard, and I don’t know what the future holds for me. It feels like the joy has left my life. Despite the pain and betrayal, my ex used to be the one I turned to when I was struggling. She was my confidante, my human diary, and we could talk about anything except our relationship issues. I’m so mad at her for putting me through all this pain, but at the same time, I’ve lost my best friend and my biggest cheerleader.
I’m feeling so conflicted and overwhelmed right now. I could really use some kind words and support from this community to help me move forward. How do you all cope with these feelings and keep going? Any advice would be greatly appreciated.

For the west, i will be cheering for the wolves. I know it's weird cause they just elimintaed us, but both nuggets and wolves are small market franchise never really had any success for decades. All these huge market asshole teams like lakers and warriors talked like they are superior for years and years, and now their teams are irrelevent and getting shit on by us and the wolves i love it. no hate to luka and kyrie but i want to see the wolves in the finals.
As for east, i did went to isu so i do consider myself a haliburton fan. but i also hate all the diss tatum gets so i am whatever. But pacers/wolves nba finals would be a delight.
ps please get a fucking back-up center in the off season it's ridicuous, the wolves literally has 4 viable centers they could play(kat, rudy, naz, graza) and we have 1 lol, I100% believe deandre is just there for cheerleading purposes and gordon cant body real 7 fters not his fault.

I’ve had a lot of adventures in my life.
I’ve traveled, made friends, seen sights, competed in sports, and participated in events.
Sometimes, following any of these endeavors, a small object would find itself in my possession. A knickknack, a totem, a doodad.
Maybe it was a collection of Mardi Gras beads from my trip to New Orleans. Or a t-shirt tossed by a cheerleader at a sporting event. A toy from a claw machine. A mixtape from a friend. A thank-you note. A cheap piece of junk from a tourist’s gift shop.
Whatever they were didn’t matter — what matters is that they were often a representation of whatever moment in time they came from.
I never threw these things away. I set them on my desk or on my shelves. When those spaces filled up, I bought two small storage containers. They’re filled to the brim and I’m currently filling a third.
Why keep the color-coordinated bandana a stranger gave me in the park during Pokemon Go’s heyday? Why hold onto the Save the Date from my high school friend who ended up getting divorced not two years later? What significance or use could I possibly have for those goofy White Elephant gifts my kickball team gave at the yearly Christmas party?
No purpose, no reason and there is none, respectively.
And yet I don’t want to let them go. You see, they are reminders of times and experiences — Keepsakes. Mementos. Souvenirs. In some ways, they’re a physical collection and documentation of my life.
It reminds me a little bit of this weird quirk I have when I play video games.
--
I likely dumped more than 500 hours across all my Skyrim save files. There was no other game, there needn’t be any other game and there still hasn’t been any other game since.
In my adulthood, I returned to one of its many definitive editions for one last victory lap. With my experience, memory and fully-formed adult brain, I approached the game methodologically, in an optimal order, carefully. I built my ideal character and crafted only what was needed — down to the last iron ingot. I explored, I experienced — I did every major and minor quest, making it my perfect playthrough.
One thing I love about Skyrim is the loot. Yes, there’s 20 million iron daggers and boring, inventory-cluttering useless items… but then there’s the special ones.
There’s the unique weapons at the end of each Daedric quest. The trinkets from the Thieves Guild. Spellbooks, statuettes and storybooks. The eerily-delivered note for the assassin’s questline. The robes of the king, the rings and necklaces of Jarls.
You know them — the items with one-of-a-kind names and designs that are specific to each of their quests.
You see, these items carry a story with them. How you stole for them or killed for them. Traveled, battled, talked, stealthed, lied, solved your way into their possession. They’re the game’s biggest treat.
That’s why, at the culmination of my final ever Skyrim playthrough, I bought a house in Whiterun and filled it with these objects.
Weapons and armors on the walls and on the racks, items and books placed carefully on shelves - but not just any weapons, armors, objects and books. Only the special ones. It was a house that told the story of all of my adventures.
I sat down in a chair next to Aela the Huntress in my castle, my throne room. I saved my game one final time.
--
For all of gaming’s swashbuckling adventures, magnificent worlds and large stretches of land to traverse, they don’t always give us too much to remember them by, do they?
I appreciate Skyrim so much for understanding the nature of the epic they were creating. The ability to fill your house with display cases, armor mannequins and weapon racks demonstrates the developer’s awareness of their playerbase and the scale of the adventures they were sending them on.
These are adventures to cherish, to tell tales of, to be remembered.
Will anyone else give me what Skyrim did?
…
The answer’s yes, actually.
It’s a fascinating yes, too — because not every keepsake system is cut from the same cloth. Games offer unique takes on the mechanic that energize it, give it new life and perspective and add layers of meaning to it in fresh ways.
And I’ve got plenty of examples.
--
In The Outer Worlds, special items you collected while out adventuring would be placed in specific locations throughout your ship, The Unreliable, upon return. These included things like:
• Posters • Signs • Various ISO items • Tossballs & Tossball cards • Golden bird statuettes • Many, many more
Sometimes these were stored by the game in your captain’s quarters, but other times, they’d appear in your squad’s quarters instead.
No matter where they got stored, these items were more than just junk. They were signature weapons of terrible villains whom you defeated, they were outlandish garb from flamboyant characters who painstakingly passed away to protect your life, they were motifs of resource-gouging corporations whom you shutdown for the good of cities and planets.
They were special, they were keepsakes. Their addition made The Unreliable feel alive and lived in, part of your own, unique journey, filled with the stories and tales of your adventure and — importantly and specifically to The Outer Worlds — your choices.
—
The second and third installments of the Mass Effect series contained model ships you could buy from vendors that would then go on display on desks or on racks in your spaceship, The Normandy.
These are a little different because you buy them, rather than slice somebody’s head off for them, but they still count.
What makes them still count here is twofold:
• Some model ships only become available after completing certain missions that actually involve the ship you’re buying a model of, so they still serve as a reminder and memento of specific accomplishments in this way • If you transferred your save data through the games, models you collected in ME2 would appear automatically on The Normandy in ME3. Being able to carry souvenirs into a sequel is exceptional, and a feat I’ve not found any other game to match.
Mass Effect: Andromeda saw a return of this feature, too. You ended up re-gathering old ships of yore in this installment, however. Andromeda also featured a more traditional collectible-style search; these model ships were looted from various locations in the world.
The original trilogy used the model ships as landmarks for its major moments, to be remembered across the series, while Andromeda paid homage to the previous games and encouraged its players to explore its world more thoroughly.
—
In Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla, building up your burgeoning young settlement of Ravensthorpe is a central gameplay mechanic — as you acquire more resources to build with, the size of the village grows both in length, width and inhabitants.
The game includes optional side quests that change those who wander your evolving home and hub in medieval England. They include:
• Capturing a stray cat • Saving a fox from a burning home • Befriending a fallen hunter’s wolf pet
In each instance, the living being will join your settlement — the cat will stay underneath Eivor’s seat in your longship, the fox will wander Ravensthorpe and the wolf will welcome you in your personal quarters, howling at your arrival.
You can interact and pet them whenever you like, playing a short animation displaying the affection between the two.
These three “collectibles” don’t feel like trinkets, but living, breathing additions to your home that give it joy and life, as well as keep you young.
—
Speaking of Norse culture, central to Biomutant is a form of Yggdrasil — the WorldTree.
Central to Biomutant’s story is saving the old, decaying and currently-being-eaten-by-giant-monsters WorldTree. And there are two impressive quests in the game that reflect back to the player their efforts in saving it.
One quest saves the tree from festering toxins below its roots — and the tree’s colors change from green to fluorescent white as a result.
Another quest by the name of Aurora has you activate monoliths around the map that direct energy to the WorldTree. The quest climaxes by having the tree give off a swirling, sparkling aura that hangs perpetually while you travel the world and complete more objectives.
It even matches your affinity — if you’re taking the side of love and justice, the aura is white, while if you play for the destruction of the planet, the aura will hang black.
What’s special about these to me is that they don’t do anything. They don’t get you any closer to saving the world or the tree, but they definitely did something important –
The WorldTree’s central location in the map and absolutely massive scale allow for it to be seen at all times from just about anywhere in Biomutant’s world. This means, after I had completed these two quests, the fruits of my labor were on gloriously beautiful display at all times.
Biomutant’s mementos aren’t keepsakes you can’t take with you when you leave the planet — they’re visual celebrations of your hard work, an ever-present reminder of your endeavors and care for a dying world.
—
More briefly, Cyberpunk 2077 allowed you to fill V’s apartment with keepsakes as well, featuring dream catchers, posters, paintings, action figures and more.
In Star Wars: X-Wing Alliance Ace Azzameen’s personal quarters would fill up with medals and displays as you progressed through the game.
In The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom, some of the most legendary Zelda equipment ever was available to the player, including the Sword of Six Sages, the Fierce Deity Sword, and the Biggorons Sword — all of which can be hung in display cases in Link’s home.
Meanwhile, Uncharted 4 greets players near its opening sequence with an attic filled with memorabilia and keepsakes that Nathan Drake himself has kept after all these years. It’s not us — the players — ourselves collecting and hoarding, but it was lovely to see Drake thinking along the same lines as us souvenir psychopaths.
—
I’ll end with gaming’s classic — Mario. The red-hatted Italian also did the keepsake thing in one of his most beloved installments.
Super Mario: Odyssey allowed you to decorate The Odyssey with stickers and trinkets from your escapades by spending purple coins you could collect while out adventuring on one of the game’s many worlds.
A vanilla Odyssey player’s ship might look the same as it did at the game’s start, but a completionist might have a slew of trinkets and décor, like:
• Peach’s Model Castle • Dinosaur models and trophies • Shiverian Nesting Dolls • A plush frog • Flowers and a watering can from Steam Gardens • Statues of Pauline, Jaxi, Jizo • A lamp and rock fragment of the moon
Hell, the game director himself sounds like he’s read this very article:

“But what about decorating the ship? There’s a shop that appears in many kingdoms where you can buy souvenirs and stickers using the purple coins you’ve gathered.
Collecting memories is one of the best parts of traveling, don’t you think?” –Kenta Motokura

The ability to make The Odyssey your own evolved the traditional fetch-quest nature of collectible gathering and drove the player to go that little bit of extra distance in exploring and engaging with the various kingdoms and mastering the game’s platforming.
--
Video game narratives and their accompanying worlds are monstrously large nowadays. As enjoyers of the medium, us gamers spend a lot of time in them.
Like, a lot.
In recognition of this, game developers have given gamers a number of distinct tools to document their triumphs and sagas — each with their own unique flavor of congratulations and commemoration.
For our enormous investment with huge worlds and long, winding quests, something tangible we can keep hold of provides value, meaning, memories. They make our journey — one which we have committed so much to — special, transcendent, our own.
They give us things no other entertainment medium can give.
So fuck photo mode. A picture isn’t worth a thousand words — my keepsakes are.
(A special thanks to the members of patientgamers for their contributions to this post that helped inform this essay with games I have and have not played.)

Hello I have just made a Reddit because I am looking to get in touch with a SoundCloud community in which potentially some participants would be interested in an opportunity to be featured in a gaming app. In a very short summary I am creating a cheerleading mobile gaming app it will launch next month in June. In the app, users create a routine but also create music to complement the performance. Right now, we have purchased the right to some instrumental tracks, loops, and sfx -this is what the player will use in our music mixer. However, I feel that this feature is falling short and would really benefit from some actual tracks. I was going to use tunereel but their custom license was outrageous. I am a small startup (only me) and thought about instead of using another 3rd party company, offering the opportunity to someone who is also just starting out, to put your music in the gaming app associated with your name when selecting the respective track. I am happy to further discuss details of what will make most sense for both parties.
Also, if there is a better forum or place you may suggest to post please let me know.

This comes from Cults and Nonconventional Religious Groups: A Collection of Outstanding Dissertations and Monographs, "Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism and the Soka Gakkai in America: The Ethos of a New Religious Movement", Jane Hurst, 1992, pp. 204-205 and 235. Keep in mind that "NSA" was the earlier name of the current organization "SGI-USA", and that Hurst tends to take an extremely sympathetic, uncritical view of the Dead-Ikeda cult.

So in spite of the way it looks on paper, NSA's organization does have the small-group, personal quality that Gerlach and Hine say is the key to movement success.

I wonder how she would regard the SGI-USA's assigned (non)discussion meeting scripts. Where's that "personal quality" in reading off something you've been ASSIGNED rather than designing it for yourselves?

An essential element is the charisma of NSA's leaders. Theoretically, charisma is an event which takes place between a leader and a group. Charisma exists only as it is perceived in someone by others and cannot be artificially produced.

The flip side of this, of course, is that you'll often find that "outsiders" aren't at all impressed by the supposed "charisma" of people addicted to a cult; this is an indoctrinated view that must be adopted via the communal abuse that exists within this community of cult believers, who are so dedicated to "unity" (aka "conformity"). What gains an SGI member admiration within the Dead-Ikeda-cult SGI is very often something that is not highly regarded at all within mainstream society, as you'll see below in the David A. Snow anecdote.

It is a wholly subjective designation. In the case of NSA, leaders seem to gain charisma in the process of exercising their office. Perhaps this is partly the result of participating in an organizational structure headed by a charismatic President, which the first three Soka Gakkai Presidents clearly were.

Or not - nobody's ever accused Makiguchi of being "charismatic". This whole persona is something that was imported from Japan; it's an aspect of Japanese culture that really doesn't fit very well in American culture, but nonetheless is emphasized within the Dead-Ikeda-cult SGI, which has always been a Japanese religion for Japanese people. At the point this was written, there was still a LOT of Japanese-language terminology in use within SGI, effectively cutting SGI members off from the public, who did not understand their language.

NSA members would say it is the power of the Gohonzon. In fact, members themselves gain charisma by participating in various NSA activities, such as street shakubuku, giving experiences, or taking part in culture presentation.

From related research, David A. Snow identified these "NSA activities" as "performances" that were carefully scripted and choreographed - a "dramaturgical", or "theatrical" arrangement - for "experiences" here and "discussion meetings" here. A Japanese scholar described the Soka Gakkai's "discussion meetings" as "intensive indoctrination courses", and he wasn't wrong.

Someone who has this charisma is described as "incredible, full of energy, dedicated, creating happiness." It is difficult to explain how this spontaneous quality appears in such structured circumstances, but it does.

Only if one is unwilling to look at the obvious focus toward that end within the indoctrination. As I said, Hurst is a bit of a Dead-Ikeda-cult cheerleader.

Gerlach and Hine say that, in movements, charisma is communicable; and that seems to be the case here.

Note that it apparently doesn't occur to her that she's simply seeing another manifestation of "monkey see, monkey do", with SGI members copycatting their leaders, and SGI leaders copycatting their leaders.
"Charisma", as defined within SGI, has the characteristics of a façade, a performance in which a given individual adopts the idealized persona defined within the cult in order to impress other (both within the Dead Ikeda cult and without). The individual is praised within the cult for how much they adopt this idealized persona; behaving in a manic, effervescent manner is described and praised favorably as "youthfulness" and as demonstrating a "high life condition", for example. The Soka Gakkai believed that using the precious members' sincere contributions for kosen-rufu to build special, extremely expensive facilities reserved exclusively for Ikeda would "increase his charisma" (and then there's Ikeda's "chair dominance"), so you can see that, within Ikeda's cult of personality, there's a WHOLE lot of trickery and manipulation going on, all in the name of increasing Ikeda's "charisma". Ikeda was ALL about appearances - HIS appearance in particular. Useless wanker...
You can see how this focus on "appearances" has perpetuated within Ikeda's stupid cult:

[Top SGI-USA leaders] then went off on how when we create these big-ass meetings, we shouldn't have to look into the crowd and see, and I quote, "A bunch of old-ass motherfuckers" The words of my "superiors", not mine. I think this is when they brought up the idea of 50K to my co-leaders and me.
The way they talked about having "old-ass motherfuckers" in the crowd is like they almost don't like having anyone over 35 in the crowd, whether they look their age or not. Their willingness to please their Japanese counterparts to have "youth" just proved to me that not only do they LOVE and develop a pedophile-like attraction to youth, but at the same time, they straight-up HATE "old" people. Their expression for disdain is almost as if old people were the cancer of all the meetings that were taking place and that any effort made to leave them out should be executed immediately. Source

All about the appearances...
From the related endnote:

(5) One former NSA leader clearly had lost this charisma several months after dropping out of NSA. He seemed to be a different person, his energy and manner subdued. His life force, as NSA would put it, was at a low ebb, especially as compared to his vitality as an NSA leader.

I have thoughts about that verdict, but I'll wait until the end.
What actually happens in real life is that the person who starts spending a lot of time in the Dead-Ikeda-cult SGI within the community of the Corpse Mentor culties will begin to adopt their mannerisms, as is typical within groups, and to someone who is familiar with what these are, it's quite obvious, as you'll see from this observation by David A. Snow, in his book Cults and Nonconventional Religious Groups: A Collection of Outstanding Dissertations and Monographs, "Shakubuku: A Study of the Nichiren Shoshu Buddhist Movement in America, 1960-1975", 1993, pp. 147-149; I may need to expand on this in a later post. For background, Snow joined NSA as "an active participant observer for nearly a year and a half", and has this to say about the effect of his involvement on his wife:

Finally, I want to acknowledge the enduring patience and support of my wife, Judy. When I was contemplating prospective dissertation topics nearly twenty years ago, she indicated that she had no strong feelings about what I studied except for one thing. "Don't study a group of offbeat, religious zealots," she said. I did, at least from her perspective, and she paid for it dearly. For the better part of a year and a half she spent many weeknights and most weekends alone as I was out doing my field research. It was not much fun for her, especially when she was badgered about joining the ranks, but she grit her teeth and endured, knowing, or at least hoping, that this preoccupation of mine would pass in due time. It did, of course, but not without her patience and support. - from 1992, in the Preface, pp. x and xiii

Snow had some interesting "guerrilla resistance" techniques he came up with to maintain his image as an all-in member of the group while NOT participating in their zealotry - I'll give that its own post because it's kinda hilarious.
But here's something he noticed:

Given the emphasis that is placed on being a "winner," it is reasonable to wonder to what extent are members actually "winners" in their respective lines of work. That is, to what extent do they adhere to the directives and instructions outlined above when engaged in the mundane activity called work?
This is obviously a difficult question to answer, for it was well-nigh impossible for me to observe members at work. And even if I had attempted to do so, my observations would have been suspect in that my mere presence and their knowledge of what I was up to would have probably functioned as a cue that they were in a movement-related situation (any situation in which two or more members are knowingly in the presence of one another) and thereby compel them to attend in part to their membership role.

That in itself indicates a high degree of communal abuse, which is commonplace within high-control abusive community like the Dead-Ikeda-cult SGI - the fear behind getting caught not being "on", of being seen letting your mask drop by someone who might call you out to your SGI leaders.

As a consequence, it would be most difficult to generalize about the behavior of members beyond movement-related situations without relying on various subterfuge and perhaps unethical techniques.

The glasses + false mustache disguise.

There is, however, another possibility: that is when the participant observer accidentally comes upon another member or presumed member engaged in work, but who has no knowledge of the participant observer's membership. This opportunity presented itself to me quite by accident one afternoon during my tenure as a member, and was described in my field notes as follows:

My wife and I stopped at a McDonald's establishment in Santa Monica for an early dinner. While waiting for our order, I mentioned to her that I bet the fellow waiting on us was an NSA member. Even though I had never seen this fellow before, I sensed that he was in NSA because of the way he conducted himself. That is, he looked, acted, and talked as if he were in NSA. He spoke in short choppy and exuberant sentences - a parroting of Mr. Williams' style of speaking.

Americans don't typically speak in that manner, for example - it's an affectation developed through spending time around others similarly affected. Their leaders adopt the mimicry first; this then spreads through the membership - I saw it myself many times. This person noticed the same thing; several individuals in the comments there confirmed the phenomenon.

He worked at a frantic pace, moving around in an exceedingly quick manner. To be sure, most everyone at McDonald's scurries about when busy, but this guy was ahead of the pack. NSA members also scurry about, always making haste. He was also exceptionally pleasant and well-mannered. And he wore an enormous grin and seemed most happy - again like many NSA members.

So upon returning with my order I asked him if he was in NSA. Sure enough. He extended his hand, flashed an even more radiant smile, and asked what chapter I was in. We spoke for a minute and then parted.

Although one might question whether this outward appearance and behavior - the super smile, exuberance, and excessive animation - are reflective of an inner state or merely reflective of an attempt to project a certain image, an image suggestive of competence, happiness, and "winning," the important point is not whether it was a sincere or insincere presentation. Rather, what is significant is that this fellow's behavior suggests that at least some members take the above direction and instructions seriously and do, in fact, attempt to act like "winners," presumably in hopes of furthering both their own interests and those of NSA. And this is especially significant in light of such additional directives as the following:
To practice True Buddhism means to develop the attitude and ability to become the best worker, the best student, the best son or daughter.
For an NSA member to be truly worthy of the title, he should strive to be victorious and successful in society. Through this purpose, he shows other people the power of the Gohonzon.
NSA, just as good Calvinists, thus places a premium on "winning" in one's daily life. But unlike the followers of Calvin, it is not to win the favor or good grace of God; rather, it is to win the favor and respect of the larger public within its society of operation. - pp. 147-149.

Is the SGI still telling the members to consider themselves "ambassadors of the SGI"? SGI clearly expected all the SGI members to continue their performance in hopes of impressing others with how superlative they are - SGI leaders used to tell the members that their "high life condition" would draw people to them who would ask what it was that made them so different, what they did that created that result, and this was supposed to open the gates to widespread shakubuku. (It didn't.)
Now, back to the Hurst account at the top - her description of the former NSA leader here:

(5) One former NSA leader clearly had lost this charisma several months after dropping out of NSA. He seemed to be a different person, his energy and manner subdued. His life force, as NSA would put it, was at a low ebb, especially as compared to his vitality as an NSA leader.

I think we here at SGIWhistleblowers have a VERY different perspective on what was going on with that former SGI leader. Once you become disillusioned enough with the cult that you leave, you will have lost confidence in its teachings and recommendations. And let's face it - pretending to feel a certain way in order to project an image that has been assigned by others, that can feel exhausting, particularly for introverts! In fact, many describe feeling utterly exhausted by the time they finally decide to throw in the towel on the Dead-Ikeda-cult SGI - as explained here: "I did the right thing by leaving, because I couldn't have 'tried harder' or 'chanted harder' or done 'more responsibilities' by the end - I was absolutely burnt out."
Hurst doesn't even consider the possibility that this former NSA leader was experiencing trauma in the wake of separating from this consuming group that especially at that time was eating up ALL his free time (as described here). How he might have been in a more introspective mood as he examined what he'd been indoctrinated to do and be as opposed to what HE genuinely felt was right for him to do and be. In a conformity-pressuring cult like SGI ("unity", "mentodisciple"), all the members are expected to adopt a specific persona, identified clearly here (from 2010). They are expected to take Ikeda's self-glorying fanfic Mary Sue avatar and remake themselves in that image, even though it was a fictional persona. Those who are most successful at replacing their genuine selves with this cardboard cult-guru cutout gain the most praise, respect, and status within Ikeda's cult, after all. AND genuinely PHONY. I'm sure that former NSA leader was a much more authentic person, that "charisma" Hurst states that he'd "lost" simply being the cult-approved behavior required by the cult. And he's WAY better off without that!
I don't know about you, but when I finally ditched the dead-end Dead-Ikeda-cult SGI, I became somewhat withdrawn. First, I had no one to discuss my cult experience with (so important to processing what you experienced) because by that point, ALL my "friends" were fellow SGI members and of COURSE they SHUN you when you leave, but also, I needed to figure out who I was, what I liked, and what was important to me. So I started by catching up on some of the things I'd missed out on along the years, from being too busy doing SGI garbage. And a lot of this involved reading, watching different films and series, and just plain sitting quietly with myself. You can see a bit about the challenge that comes when one sheds an addiction like SGI here - and it involves becoming more in tune with yourself. Healing from an addiction requires that you become independent of everything relating to that addiction that colored your behavior, priorities, and overall worldview.

Ok so what do we have to do to beat those Mav losers next year? 1 point! I can cope a blow out. I can understand losing the 4th quarter down by 10 .... but 1 pt? Especially with that loser wannabee celebrity diddy-fck-boy Mark Cuban grinning like a loser thinking his lameas is out there winning the ball game for the team. I got downvoted big time for suggesting we get Draymond but what are the possibilities of getting him just so he can go in there and pop Luka's small undersized baby nutsack? I would pay front row seats to see that. I still can't believe we lost by 1 point .... especially to the most hated team in sports in the dirtiest city in the country full of classless asholes who think they are good enough to win a championship but will most likely get trounced by the Nuggets rendering their season completely useless yet again .. then get dominated by our team for the next 10 years .... fck Dallas and everybody who lives there ... what other city uses a bunch of overweight men for their cheerleaders? Ugly and classless just like everybody who lives there ... rant over ...

Thank you, who decides to take the time to read this.
I'm Marta, and I'd love to share a bit of myself with you in the hope of finding companionship, comfort and love. I am looking for a long term relationship, someone with whom I might want to settle down, perhaps you? Please just note that I’m looking for sfw at the beginning. Physical attraction isn’t part of the equation for me. It all begins with emotional connection. If I become comfortable with you, you have sense of humor, you’re an open person who is not afraid of voicing opinions and have something interesting to say you’re my type probably (if you are a firefighter consider it certain, I might have something for firefighting gear). If you’re more of a physical attraction kind of person that’s not a problem. Simply ask for photo and end one of yours.
Now something more about me.
❤️ 5ft 2in, 195lb. I am Caucasian. I have longer light brown hair, blue eyes. Working on losing off some of it. I would love it if you could help keep me motivated.
❤️ I work full-time as a account manager (still, but might change jobs soon). It’s nothing that I would like to do, but I earn enough to live more than comfortable. Some evenings and weekends I also work at my local McDonald’s. It might sound crazy, but I treat it as a hobby. I love having contact with customers and employees there and each completed and served order is like a dopamine shot.
❤️ I’ve discovered that I like watching people playing games much more than just playing them myself. I love being on calls with my friends and watching them play games while commenting everything and taking about anything in between. But if you’re someone who is looking for person that will be right beside you while playing, we can tray delving into forgotten dungeons or win a battle royale. I would love to see your face light up every time we share a game, cause every co-op game is a confession that I want to spend more time with you.
❤️ I like watching movies, series, videos etc. Especially true crime and catastrophic documentaries. I’m open for anything except for horrors about demons, possessions and devil. That stuff scares me and I would never watch it alone or without physical presence of someone I trust.
❤️ I'm a hopeless romantic so I might be looking for a partner that I can be hopelessly romantic with. You know, someone that I can do all the cutesy couple shit with like going on random date nights, or going to a park or random city and people watch, or just cuddle up and watch our favorite shows while wearing matching pajamas. I'm looking for someone that can be my cheerleader, and someone who would want me to be their loudest and biggest cheerleader. Life is hard to do alone, and we all need someone to help us through it.
❤️ I like to think that I am a very laid back, go with the flow type of person, and I would much rather have a night in, than a night out.
❤️ I am very open minded, however I don’t smoke so if you’re someone that smells of cigarettes all the time and want to smoke at home, car we won’t be a match I think.
❤️ I know politics is a pretty big thing for people, but it isn’t a big part in my life - that being said I can sum up my take on politics in one sentence: let women, gays, and people of all races dance their dances after smoking their marijuana crops or whatever, then maybe kill the rich or tax them to death.
❤️ I have this thing called hate for being wet once I’m not intending on. So rain, being splashed accidentally or purposefully etc. it’s a huge no for me. I can’t function in rain without umbrella. Take it or leave it.
I hope this snippet catches your eye, even though it’s only a small piece of me.
Who am I looking for?
💙 My only preferences are someone who is roughly 26-40 in age, a few years outside of that would be okay if we really connect.
💙 I’m ok with distance but you must consider that I want to eventually meet.
💙 Someone who is caring and have sense of humor.
💙 Someone who always tries to see things in a perspective other than their own, but holds morals highly.
💙 Someone who doesn't mind me texting them at like 3am to tell them about the action in the last episode of the show I just finished. Just basically you need to be open for reviving random thoughts, photos, out of context facts and contemplations, TikTok’s, instagram posts, memes and a lot more.
💙 Someone who lives life with passion, but once they are down they would not be hesitant to share that burden. If you're passionate about something I really want to be a part of it in some way. If it's listening to you ramble for hours about that obscure album you just found or the new succulent you just bought or this wild spice blend you've been trying out. Whatever makes you smile, cry, think, I want to understand it.
Note that I prefer discord over here and I love voice calls.
If that sound interesting, my dms are open.

There’s 2 major points of context I need to share to help you understand where I’m coming from.
The first is that my dad and I have never had a great relationship. When I was young I never felt like I was “man enough” for him. He always worked manual labor and would build things around the house. I was a really passive kid who clung to my mom and came to rely on her as my role model for how a person should act. And I relied on her even more when my dad started traveling for work. We’d see him maybe 5-6 times a month when he wouldn’t really engage with us and there would be constant screaming matches with my mom, and later my sisters. And before you think to ask yes, there were multiple affairs. At least 5 my mom found out about and most likely a lot more. I saw how that impacted my mom and it made a huge impact on me and my feelings towards relationships. They got divorced eventually and my mom, like the saint she is, had the lawyer file it as an ‘amicable’ divorce. No blame was placed on anyone, no fault was assigned, no custody battle was waged. She had them split the assets and the debts 50/50 and walk away completely free and clear. It was benevolence that my dad frankly didn’t deserve.
As I got older, and he got older, things started to improve between us. He wasn’t really good at guiding and teaching a child but he was great at meeting me as an equal. He readily saw me as an adult, a responsible man. Someone he could converse with honestly and openly. We were working on getting on better terms. (He’s a stubborn 1960s kid with some more conservative views than me but nothing bigoted.)
Which leads to the second context point and the real linchpin of my issue. My mom passed away just over a year ago. She’d been battling cancer a long time so it wasn’t out of the blue but it just left me broken for months. Her estate is beginning to settle (aka payout to her debtors, allow transfer of ownership of her house, etc.) and I found out that my dad put a claim against her estate. A claim for his half of the credit card debt he and my mom amicably spilt in the divorce and he has since paid off.
This absolutely fucking incensed me like nothing else I have ever experienced. The amount of money is relatively small and not the issue at hand. What I cannot stand is the idea that he thinks he is owed this money from her estate (literally her cold, dead hands) when she isn’t here to fight him anymore. He was given such a clean break from the marriage when my mom could have saddled him with all the credit card debt, all the mortgage debt, all the car payments, all the student debt, demanded alimony, she could have buried him if she wasn’t such a better person than him. And even now, with her dead and gone, he just has to pick at her a little more, make himself out to be the victim in all this who was so unfairly saddled with this credit card bill. A credit card that paid for me and my siblings to take dance classes, and buy soccer cleats, and cheerleading outfits none of which he ever bothered to be around for!
Obviously when I’m mad it’s easy to think “yeah fuck him” but at the end of the day it is just money. My family tree has gotten so thin in the last few years I don’t want to lose both my parents before I’m 30. I just don’t know if this is even a reasonable response and I think some unbiased 3rd parties might be needed.
Thank you for reading all this, just typing it out helps.

I am a 32-year-old gay, chubby, feminine male. I've recently had family trouble: my father has gone missing on the Navajo reservation, which has taken a toll on my family. I was never close with my father due to being the oldest and seeing his alcoholic abuse cause domestic violence against my mother. My brother, the second child, who should have been named Junior but wasn't, worshiped our father and started taking up his career. Now that our father is missing, this sibling has taken up the alcoholic title. Though he may not be abusive, my mother and I think he might turn out to be soon. The baby of the family has had a love-hate relationship with our father. He also loves to blame everyone for his personal issues and bad choices. He has mother issues and is now copying our second brother by drinking every day. Both of them drinking has led to poor financial decisions, putting my mother and me in debt as we try to fix our finances and provide food and keep the house up to date. We rent the house we live in, so if we decide to move, the owner will likely charge us for the accumulated minor damages. I think I am the only one worried about this situation. Our mother is devastated by our father's disappearance. In my mind, they were soulmates and high school sweethearts. She was the cheerleader, and he was the sports jock. They loved each other, but my father's alcoholism was a huge problem, so she raised all three of us mostly on her own. There is evidence suggesting foul play in our father's disappearance, adding another layer of complexity to our family troubles. A bit about me: I struggled with coming out of the closet until I had my first boyfriend in 2011. My mother was very homophobic due to her religious upbringing but eventually learned to accept me. That first relationship only lasted a few months because his mother made a comment about my transportation to his home. At the time, I had no car, so I took the bus. When she asked how I got there, his response was "the bus," to which she said, "The bus? Isn't that for peasants?" This made me uncomfortable and led to our breakup. He was my first and only boyfriend, and I've never dated after him. At a young age, I was molested by a male cousin, which I believe influenced my sexuality and femininity. I have forgiven him and learned to move on with my life without blaming him. I've always wanted a job in Hollywood but have come to realize that's not going to happen. However, I landed the second best thing: working and traveling with Broadway shows. I took my first tour for ten months, back in 2022, came home, and took a season off. On this tour, I grew from my experiences and became an independent adult. I feel like I became the best version of myself. On tour, I had no one but myself, and I became independent. Now that I'm back home, I feel like I have to take care of everyone and make decisions for the long run. I'm not going to lie, I was sleeping with guys left and right and living life. When I came home, I reconnected with two guys: one a young African American guy and the other a Hispanic guy. The African American guy was younger than me, well-endowed, about my height, and very slender. We had known each other for the years I was on tour. He was living alone and had his own place. We were hooking up, and that's it. We connected less during my tour. I then reconnected with the Hispanic guy. He is about my age, shorter than me, and very masculine. He's a gentleman. When we first met, he came to my place. I thought that I had cleaned myself well, but when I pulled out my buttplug, I realized I hadn't. I excused myself and re-douched. He was very understanding and sweet about the whole situation, and I fell in love with his charm. When he left that night, I hoped I didn't scare him off, but he messaged me a few weeks later, this time inviting me to his place. He turned on his fireplace and laid blankets on the floor for us, being tender and romantic. After this encounter, I overthought the situation, building an idealized image of him, which made me sick with worry. He says he owns a company, which is why he doesn't reply quickly, but my social media feeds suggest otherwise. He never checks on me, but the African American guy did from time to time. A few weeks after visiting the Hispanic guy, I messaged the African American guy to see if he wanted to meet up. He told me he had become homeless and was looking for a bed at a homeless shelter. He asked if he could stay with me until he found a bed. Despite being undecided, I agreed. The worst part was that he showed me what a relationship with him could be like: affection, endless cuddles, and companionship. It was everything I wished for in a relationship, but I had to remind myself that I was only helping him temporarily. In this short time, he showed me love and what life could be like with a boyfriend. However, we eventually argued over something small, and he left, leaving me heartbroken. Songs from Ariana Grande's album became my anthems: "We Can't Be Friends," "I Wish I Hated You," and "Imperfect for You." I miss him, but he's too young to forgive me. I still see the Hispanic guy, but I fear I'm building him up to be something he's not. He still takes a while to reply to my messages, and I make excuses for his absence. I hope we'll become something, but I think that's unlikely, which also breaks my heart. A week ago, my siblings and mother and I had a huge argument, all of us under the influence. It started with me telling my mother that I wanted to move out. She, being overbearing, shut down and pushed me away from the idea, using my drunk siblings to turn against me. This brought out the worst in everyone, with all the built-up envy and jealousy coming out. Now, I'm indecisive about my future. Should I take a traveling job and leave my mother alone with my siblings, knowing they're not in the right state of mind? Is the person I'm seeing worth my emotional investment?

hey there idk if people will actually see this but if you happen to i would love for some advice. :)
so for some back story im 25 born a female but recently i like they/them pronouns. (although i still feel like a woman if that makes sense?) and within the past 5 years have started to explore my gender identity and sexuality. recently i have been really struggling and i feel like i dont know what to do.
my whole life i was told being gay is wrong, racism isn’t real, islamophobia isn’t real and whatever right wing propaganda you can think of.
and when i was around 5 i knew i liked girls that was very apparent. i was a cheerleader for 19 years and being gay was not a thing. and so i struggled a long time with internalized homophobia and understanding its okay if i liked girls and boys. pronouns weren’t a thing you talked about unless you were in english class. it wasn’t until my freshman year of college i came out to a few people as bisexual. i was s/a’d a lot as a kid and thorough my teen years and so i always thought me being boy crazy and craving male attention was my “attraction” for men. (i have done major therapy and figured out that can be a coping skill to deal with my abandonment issues aka BPD and sa trauma) so i felt bi was fitting. i had dated a boy from 14-21 and that’s really all i knew. when we broke I explored with women and with being unashamed of who i am and really flourished when i moved to a major city 1700 miles away from my small town.
now here’s my dilemma:
about 2 years ago i came out as a lesbian. i really found that men disgusted me in everyway. i wasn’t physically attracted to them, i didn’t really like being around them, and just felt grossed out. i felt like i was my true self when i was with a woman. i’ve never felt so at peace with who i was as a person. it felt right. that all changed about 7 months ago
i had recently met this person through a friend and it started out as just friends nothing more. but the more i hung out with them i just fell so head over heels in love. this is my current partner. they identify as non binary but were born a male. my partner doesn’t really care about pronouns and most of the time goes by he/him because it’s easier for others and they don’t understand enough about the lgbtqia+ community or the social discourse on pronouns to really have a opinion. (they don’t care much about things that don’t involve me, our cats, nature, or anime lol) but they like when i use they/them when speaking about them because i make them feel safe. my partner is the sweetest, most inspiring, caring, beautiful soul i’ve ever met. and their personality is a HUGE reason i fell for them. i’ve never met someone who makes me feel the way they do. and i love them with every single fiber of my being. like i know this is who i will marry.
but am i still a lesbian? i’ve been really dwelling on this and i don’t have anyone to talk to about it. it doesn’t feel right to call myself anything other. it feels honestly wrong to call myself bi or pan. because i don’t like men and I’m not attracted to them. but i’m attracted to my partner. which most of the time we are a heterosexual presenting couple. so people have been telling me well you’re not a lesbian anymore but to me that doesn’t feel right. i’ve been wanting to be pride merch but am i still allowed to buy lesbian things? or do i have to buy something else?
the last thing i want to do is offend anyone and im scared to buy lesbian merch and wear it out with my partner and offend someone. my partner is only feminine at home and so to the public we look like a straight couple. but its not. and it’s just really confusing. i only just started feeling comfortable with being a lesbian and explaining to everyone including my family. so now i get questions all the time with what am i now.
i just say: I DONT KNOW
if someone happens to see this please can i have some advice because i feel so lost and confused.
thank you🩷

Imagine boasting & bragging about making $5000 a week each, for a whole year but complaining about having to pay $300 a month in child support for your baby girl, so much so that you're wanting to sign your rights over to avoid these small little payments... IMAGINE what kind of shit human you would have to be to do that shit. Then IMAGINE calling the mother of your baby girl horrible, disgusting names all because she is trying to get you to care for your own FLESH AND BLOOD CHILD.. IMAGINE being the disgusting, vile, lying, horrible excuse for a WOMAN, encouraging, even being the assholes biggest cheerleader the entire time... IMAGINE being either one of them and answering to that higher power that you claim meets you where your at daily, when it's time, and trying to justify ALL the horrible things you have said and done to this poor innocent baby girl. IMAGINE THAT!

There’s 2 major points of context I need to share to help you understand where I’m coming from.
The first is that my dad and I have never had a great relationship. When I was young I never felt like I was “man enough” for him. He always worked manual labor and would build things around the house. I was a really passive kid who clung to my mom and came to rely on her as my role model for how a person should act. And I relied on her even more when my dad started traveling for work. We’d see him maybe 5-6 times a month when he wouldn’t really engage with us and there would be constant screaming matches with my mom, and later my sisters. And before you think to ask yes, there were multiple affairs. At least 5 my mom found out about and most likely a lot more. I saw how that impacted my mom and it made a huge impact on me and my feelings towards relationships. They got divorced eventually and my mom, like the saint she is, had the lawyer file it as an ‘amicable’ divorce. No blame was placed on anyone, no fault was assigned, no custody battle was waged. She had them split the assets and the debts 50/50 and walk away completely free and clear. It was benevolence that my dad frankly didn’t deserve.
As I got older, and he got older, things started to improve between us. He wasn’t really good at guiding and teaching a child but he was great at meeting me as an equal. He readily saw me as an adult, a responsible man. Someone he could converse with honestly and openly. We were working on getting on better terms. (He’s a stubborn 1960s kid with some more conservative views than me but nothing bigoted.)
Which leads to the second context point and the real linchpin of my issue. My mom passed away just over a year ago. She’d been battling cancer a long time so it wasn’t out of the blue but it just left me broken for months. Her estate is beginning to settle (aka payout to her debtors, allow transfer of ownership of her house, etc.) and I found out that my dad put a claim against her estate. A claim for his half of the credit card debt he and my mom amicably spilt in the divorce and he has since paid off.
This absolutely fucking incensed me like nothing else I have ever experienced. The amount of money is relatively small and not the issue at hand. What I cannot stand is the idea that he thinks he is owed this money from her estate (literally her cold, dead hands) when she isn’t here to fight him anymore. He was given such a clean break from the marriage when my mom could have saddled him with all the credit card debt, all the mortgage debt, all the car payments, all the student debt, demanded alimony, she could have buried him if she wasn’t such a better person than him. And even now, with her dead and gone, he just has to pick at her a little more, make himself out to be the victim in all this who was so unfairly saddled with this credit card bill. A credit card that paid for me and my siblings to take dance classes, and buy soccer cleats, and cheerleading outfits none of which he ever bothered to be around for!
Obviously when I’m mad it’s easy to think “yeah fuck him” but at the end of the day it is just money. My family tree has gotten so thin in the last few years I don’t want to lose both my parents before I’m 30. I just don’t know if this is even a reasonable response and I think some unbiased 3rd parties might be needed.
Thank you for reading all this, just typing it out helps.

”Stop.”
I really needed the bathroom.
For fifty painstaking minutes, I had been staring at the clock on the wall, willing it to go faster, uncomfortably shifting side to side in my seat so much that I was starting to get weird looks.
2:52pm.
Eight minutes, I thought dizzily, squeezing my legs together.
Which was just two chunks of four minutes.
Four chunks of two minutes.
The pain started like normal stomach pain, the kind I could deal with.
I swallowed two Tylenol with lukewarm soda.
But this was different.
This kind of pain was contorting and twisting my gut so much, I had to keep leaning onto my left buttock for relief.
I must have done it so many times, I caught the attention of the guy sitting next to me. Roman Hemlock who was half asleep, dark blonde curls hanging in half lidded eyes, his chin leaning on his fist. He shot me a look. I couldn't tell if it was Are you okay? or Can you stop moving around so much?
From the single crease in his brow, the slight curl in his lip, I guessed the latter.
It's not like Roman was helping.
For half the class, he'd been tapping his foot on the floor, then his chair leg, and to complete the orchestra, his fingers joined in, tap, tap, tapping on the edge of his desk. I didn't know if it was a bored thing, an ADHD thing, or he was trying to keep himself awake. It was easy to tolerate without the pain, but with it, the boy’s incessant tapping was more akin to a dentist drill splitting my skull open. I already felt nauseous, the sad looking chicken nuggets I forced down at lunch making an unwelcome appearance at the back of my throat.
It was too fucking hot, the stuffy summer air glueing my hair to the back of my neck. The material of my shirt was making me cringe, sticky against my skin.
Tipping my head back, the lights were too bright. Every sound was too loud. Imogen Prairie, who was sitting behind me chewing her gum a little too loudly.
Kaz Samuels scribbling notes like a maniac.
I could hear every stroke of his pencil, every time he paused, looked up at the presentation, and continued writing.
When I leaned forward in my chair, I could smell exactly what Isabella Trinity had eaten for lunch, the stink hanging in the air.
It became a case of sucking in my stomach and taking slow, deep breaths.
I’d never had these kinds of stomach cramps before. But it didn't take me long to figure out what they were.
I was yet to start my period at the grand age of sixteen, which meant this was it.
After countless sessions with the doctor, and feeling like a social outcast among my group of friends who started their periods in middle school, it had finally happened. The cramps in my gut that felt like my torso was being ripped apart, was in fact me entering womanhood. When my breath started to quicken, my mouth watering, I raised my hand, biting my lip against a cry.
Fuck.
Something lurched in my gut, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
I was going to throw up.
“Mr Brighton.”
Roman spoke up before me, waving his arm. “Can I use the bathroom?”
The teacher’s answer was always the same. Which was why I had been crossing my legs for the entirety of the class, unable to focus on anything but my gut trying to twist itself inside out.
Mr Brighton leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the PowerPoint awash in our faces. We had been staring at the exact same slide for maybe five minutes now, and our physics teacher was yet to speak, his gaze somewhere else.
Mr Brighton was my Dad’s age, a greying man in his early fifties who always wore the exact same suit with the exact same stain on his collar.
The man was about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Normally, I would drift off myself, lulled into slumber by the low drone of his voice.
But the pain ripping me apart was keeping me awake.
“Mr Brighton.” Roman said, louder. His voice snapped me out of it. “Can I use the bathroom?” He paused, exaggerating a loud sigh. ”Please?”
The teacher straightened up, folding his arms.
“Mr Hemlock, you know the rules. Why didn't you go before class?”
“I didn't need to go an hour ago, did I?”
“You will no longer need to go to the bathroom, Mr Hemlock.”
Roman made a snorting noise.
“What?”
The low murmur of my classmates collapsed into white noise.
Glancing at the clock, I was anticipating the school bell.
The sickness swimming in the pit of my belly was reaching dangerous territory.
2:52pm.
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
It was 2:52 the last time I checked, and five minutes had surely passed.
This time, I waited a whole minute and counted the seconds under my breath. The clock still didn't move. The ticker was frozen halfway between three and four.
Slowly, the same realisation began to hit the twelve of us. The clock on the wall had stopped. But it wasn't the only thing that had stopped. The cool breeze drifting through the window was gone.
The sound of birds outside, and the cheer squad practising their routine.
Everything had stopped. Trying to ignore a sickly slither of panic twisting its way through me, I checked my phone under my desk. There was a text from my Mom lighting up my notifications. When I tried to swipe it open, nothing happened. My lock screen was frozen, stuck at 2:52pm.
With my hands growing clammy around my phone, I stared at the time, willing it to move, to flick to 2:53.
But nothing happened, the numbers stubbornly staying at 2:52.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Roman’s voice brought me back to reality, though I was sure I'd dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor with a sickening crack. Whatever he was saying, though, faded into dull murmur, when I turned toward the window.
Something was wrong outside.
The cheer squad were nowhere to be seen.
Being on the top floor gave us a front row seat to their practice sessions.
I stopped watching when their flyer did a death defying flip, almost breaking her neck. 2:52pm. I couldn't see the cheer squad. But I did see Jessie Carson mid-sprint across the track field, strawberry blonde curls suspended in a halo around her.
I could see exactly where she had frozen in place, her left foot hovering off of the ground, her right foot driving momentum. It wasn't just Jessie who had stopped. The dirt she was kicking into a cloud behind her was hovering, caught in mid-air.
Studying the faces around me, my mouth went dry.
Roman Hemlock, mid-argument with our physics teacher.
His eyes were wide, lips curved into what would have been a yell.
Fuck.
Was I the only one?
But then Roman blinked, and I realized the boy wasn't frozen. He was trying to think of a comeback. “What do you mean I won't need the bathroom anymore?”
“Mr Hemlock, please lower your voice.”
“Why? You can't dictate to me when I do and don't need the bathroom, dude!”
Moving onto the rest of my class, the others were still moving.
It was too quiet, though.
Yes, Roman was still tapping his foot.
Imogen was still chewing her gum.
Kaz was still scribbling notes like a psychopath.
But they were the only noise I could hear.
I wasn't the only one confused. The classroom had pricked with a sense of urgency. Kids were checking their phones, their gazes glued to the clock. Even Roman, who was still arguing, was starting to notice. I watched his gaze lazily roll to the clock on the wall.
I pretended not to see his cheeks visibly paling.
We had all come to the exact same terrifying conclusion.
2:52pm.
Time had come to a halt, and somehow, we had not.
“Is that clock broken?” Roman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.
Kaz twisted around, settling the boy with an eye-roll.
“Check your phone, dumbass.”
“I broke my phone.”
Imogen threw her iPhone at him, narrowly missing hitting him in the face.
“Everything is frozen,” She said, her voice shuddering. “It's not just the clock.”
I waited for Roman’s response. For once, though, he was speechless.
“Well done, Imogen. That is correct.” Mr Brighton spoke up, tearing a piece of paper from a workbook and striding over to the door, glueing it over the glass window. When we started to protest, some of us were shouting, while others bursting into tears, he calmly took out his key and locked us in.
I should have been surprised that our teacher had spontaneously decided to take his entire class hostage, but the rumor mill had been churning.
According to Becca Jason, the guy’s wife divorced him and took his kids.
I could feel myself sinking into my chair, phantom bugs filling my mouth.
So, this guy had nothing to lose.
Taking his place in front of his desk, the man settled us with a patient smile.
“From now on, you will stay inside this room.” He said. “In case you haven't noticed, time is currently frozen at fifty two minutes past two. The thirteen of us are tucked into the twenty first second, and will be, for the foreseeable future.”
I could tell the others wanted to argue, but we couldn't deny that time had stopped. Kaz was staring down at his frozen phone, Imogen hyperventilating behind me, Roman glaring at the clock, chewing on a pencil. We wanted it to be a prank, a joke, some kind of glitch in the matrix that would fix itself.
But then a whole minute passed by. Followed by another. Kaz threw his phone on the floor, hissing in frustration. Imogen let out a wet sounding sob.
Roman’s pencil split in his mouth, slipping from his fingers. We couldn't pretend it wasn't happening or call our teacher out on his BS, because it was everywhere around us. The sudden absence of outdoor ambience, birdsong, planes flying overhead, and traffic outside the school gates. Everyone and everything had stopped, and we were the only ones left.
This was a nightmare, surely.
My physics class were some of the most boring and pretentious people in the school, and somehow the world had been reduced to the twelve of us inside our classroom. We were scared, of course we were. But reality had stopped making sense, crashing and burning in a single second. We had no choice but to listen to our teacher. “Now, before you freak out, it may not feel like it, but the twelve of you have also stopped.”
Mr Brighton held out his own hand, and placed it on his heart.
He was right.
I was so busy trying to understand what was happening, I had failed to realize my period cramps were gone.
“Do me a favor, and press your hand over your heart.”
“You mean like, in a culty way?” Imogen whispered.
“Obviously.” Roman grumbled, halfway out of his seat. He was hesitant, though, in case our teacher was armed. It only took one glance from our teacher, and he slumped back into his chair. “This crazy fucker clearly wants to play mind games with us.”
“No, I'm just asking you to feel for your heart.”
I felt for mine, and there was nothing, my stomach twisting.
Roman stabbed his fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse.
He tried his wrist.
Then his heart.
Nothing.
“The twelve of you are currently in a state of stasis,” the teacher explained to us, “You are not alive, nor are you dead. Your bodily functions are also on pause, such as your heartbeat and your pulse. In this state there will be no need for food and water, or going to the bathroom.” His gaze found a ghastly looking Roman, who looked like he was going to faint. “Your minds, however, as you can see, are working as usual.”
“But why?” Imogen demanded in a shriek.
Mr Brighton’s lip curled. “I would rather not answer that question.”
“Because you're lonely.” Roman spoke up. He swung back on his chair, narrowed eyes glued to the teacher.
“Your wife and kids left you, so you're asserting power over a group of sixteen year olds. Which is kinda fucking pathetic.”
Mr Brighton’s expression darkened, and something slimy crept up my throat.
The worst thing any of us could do was threaten him. He had taken kidnapping to a whole new level, and we were alone with this psychopath, trapped inside a second. I waited for the man to stride forward and attack the kid. But he didn't. Instead, the teacher leaned back on his desk. “Yes.” The man nodded.
“I suppose you could say I am.”
“But why us?!” Kaz hissed.
“Because you are children.” Mr Brighton responded casually.
He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Roman’s desk. The rest of us leaned back. I tried to pull my desk with me, but it was glued to the floor. Frozen. Mr Brighton’s shoes went click-clack across the hardwood floor.
“You are right,” the man said in a murmur, “I am lonely. My wife and kids did leave me, and I have nobody left to control. I have nobody else to contort and use to my advantage.” Reaching Roman’s desk, he leaned in close until he was nose to nose with the kid.
“Congratulations, Mr Hemlock. You have just earned yourself detention.”
Roman stayed stubbornly still, but he was visibly afraid. I could see him very slowly backing away. Roman was all bark and no bite. He was a loud mouth, sure, but he was also the least confrontational person in the class.
“What?” He spluttered. “You trap us in a time loop or time trap, or whatever, and you still want to act like a teacher?”
“Stand up.” The teacher ordered.
“What if I don't?”
Mr Brighton’s expression didn't waver. “You said it yourself. I can and have trapped you inside a single second. What else do you think I'm capable of?”
Roman stood, kicking his chair out of the way.
“What are you planning on doing to me, old man?”
The teacher maintained his smile. “Stand up straight, and close your mouth.”
To my confusion, Roman Hemlock did all the above.
He straightened up, and closed his mouth.
“Do not fight me.” The teacher said calmly, “Do as you are told, and follow me.”
The boy did exactly as instructed.
His jaw slackened, that rebellious light in his eyes fizzling out.
I think that's when we all collectively agreed that going against this teacher and trying to escape was mental suicide.
“I will use Mr Hemlock as an example to all of you,” Mr Brighton said, turning to the rest of us. “If you break the rules or are derogatory in any way, you will be given detention.”
He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, forcing him to walk towards the supply closet. Roman moved like a robot, slightly off balance, his gaze glued to thin air, like he was tracking invisible butterflies.
"Your time in detention will depend on the severity of your rule-break.” He opened the door, gently pushing Roman inside, and following suit. When the door closed behind them, there was a pause, and I remembered how to breathe.
Kaz Samuels slowly got up from his desk, inching towards the closet.
“This guy is a certified nut.” He announced.
He turned towards us. “Whatever he's doing to Hemlock, we’re probably next.”
“He stopped time.” I spoke up, my own voice barely a croak. “He’s capable of anything.”
“But how did he stop time?” Kaz whistled, tipping his head back. The boy was slow, his fingers grasping each desk as he slid down the aisle. “He said he was lonely, right? But why take it out on us? What did we do to him?”
“Check his desk for a weapon!” Imogen whisper-shrieked.
Kaz nodded, striding over to the man's desk, his hands moving frantically, shoving paper on the floor. He took an uncertain seat on the man's chair. “There's nothing here,” he murmured, lifting stained coffee mugs and ancient textbooks. “It's just…test papers.” Kaz ducked from view, trying the drawers.
“He's a fan of Pokémon,” he said, “There's a tonne of Pokémon cards,” Kaz straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “No sign of a weapon, though.”
He picked up a ruler, waving it around. “This could work. If we plunge it in his eye.”
“Try his laptop!” Imogen was halfway out of her seat.
Kaz did, slamming the keys. “It's locked.”
“Look harder!” Ren Clarke threw a pencil at him.
“I am!”
After a minute of searching, Kaz grabbed a single piece of paper.
He held it up, and I squinted.
It was a list of our names, with several of them highlighted.
“Fuck.” Kaz dropped the list, his expression crumpling. The stubborn bravado facade transforming him into our sort of leader dissipated, hollowing him out into exactly what he was. Just a scared kid. Kaz’s hands were shaking.
“Mr Brighton’s got a hit list.” He whispered. “He's going to kill us.”
“How do you know that?” I found myself asking.
Kaz slowly dropped into a crouch, picking up the paper and holding it up.
“Look.” He pointed to a capitalised name at the top of the list highlighted in red.
ROMAN HEMLOCK.
There were six names highlighted in red, including mine.
CRISTA ADAMS.
As if on cue, Roman’s cry rang out from the supply closet, suddenly, freezing us all in place. Kaz jumped up, adapting the expression of a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, almost unseeing.
He fell over himself to tidy up the desk, putting everything back where he had found it, sliding the list between a pile of test papers. Kaz took slow, stumbled steps back, his feverish gaze glued to the closet, before turning and making a break for it and diving into his seat.
“Brighton’s got a hit liiiist,” Kaz said, in a mocking sing-song, “And we’re all on it.”
What followed was deathly silence. I think we were expecting Roman to cry out again. But when he didn't, the class started to stir. Some kids started praying to a god they didn't believe in, while others were in varying states of denial, trying to call their parents with dead phones.
I wasn't sure what parts of me had stopped, but I was still alive, still felt like my lungs were deprived of oxygen, my chest aching. I'm not sure how long I sat there, trying to find my voice, a shriek trying and failing to rip through my mouth. Being kidnapped and held hostage is one thing, but being imprisoned inside a single, never ending second, was an existential hell worse than death. Slowly, I pressed my palm over my heart once again. Then I breathed into my cupped hands.
I was expecting it, but no longer being able to feel my own heartbeat and breath, was fear I didn't think was possible. The kind that glued me to my seat, hollowing me out completely until I was nothing, an empty shell with no heartbeat, no breath, no thoughts, except denial, followed by acceptance.
And finally, regret.
I regretted not hugging my mother goodbye before I left for school.
I regretted acting like a spoiled brat when my parents refused to drive me halfway across the country so I could attend Coachella.
I regretted stepping inside Mr Brighton’s fourth period physics class.
Mr Brighton reappeared, slamming the door behind him and locking the boy inside. Part of me flinched, while the rest of me remembered not to move a muscle. I was barely aware of time passing. Or it wasn't. Time had stopped, so now long had I been sitting there?
I could no longer measure the passage of time with hunger or thirst, and my body felt the same. I wasn't stiff or tired or achy. Looking out of the window, the sky was the exact same crystal blue, every cloud in the exact same place.
Jessie Carson was still frozen mid-run, strands of dark red hair caught around her.
“What's wrong with you guys?” Mr Brighton chuckled, and I twisted back to the front, a shiver writhing down my spine. “Why don't you give me a smile?”
The teacher returned to his desk, and I was already subconsciously sitting up straight in my seat, forcing my lips into a jaw-breaking grin, following Brighton’s instructions. In the corner of my eye, Imogen was sitting very still, forcing an award-winning cheesy smile, while Kaz grinned through gritted teeth.
“Mr Hemlock just earned himself two weeks inside the supply closet.” he said casually, perching himself on the edge of his desk. The man studied each of us, taking his time to rip every shred of us apart.
Mind, body, and soul.
I struggled to maintain my stupid smile, shoving my shaking hands in my lap.
“Would anyone like to join him, or are you going to follow the rules?”
The rest of us stayed silent. I don't think any of us breathed.
Our teacher nodded to Kaz, inclining his head.
“Samuels. Are you all right?”
Kaz’s smile faltered slightly. He shifted in his chair. I could see sweat trickling down his right temple. “Uh, yeah.” He swiped at his forehead, like he couldn't believe he was sweating. “Yeah, I'm good.”
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. He moved toward his desk, and we all held our breaths. Mr Brighton seemed to study his hit-list, lips curving into a frown.
His gaze flicked to the boy, and then the paper.
He knew, I thought dizzily.
Mr Brighton knew the kid had been rummaging through his desk. But this was all about control. The teacher was using fear to control us, to manipulate our thoughts without having to get physical. He could have called out the boy right then, but Brighton was settling with mental torture instead. He just wanted to make my classmate squirm.
Without a word, the man folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Mr Samuels, you are sweating,” our physics teacher said, mocking a frown. “Are you feeling okay?”
Kaz hesitated, tapping his shoe in a rhythm.
Being one of the smartest kids in the room definitely gave him an advantage.
I could already see the cogs turning behind half lidded eyes. Kaz was weighing each scenario, sorting them into positives and negatives.
The positives of answering would mean he was one step towards being in the clear, but there were two negatives.
Brighton would question him if he had left his seat, and then demand how his hit-list had magically moved across the desk.
Talking back was surely a rule-break, as well as outright lying.
Opening his mouth would get him in trouble, either way, and Kaz knew that.
So, he just nodded, forcing an even bigger smile.
Brighton’s lips pricked, his gaze straying on Kaz. “Good!” He cleared his throat, turning to the class. Kaz slumped in his seat with a sharp breath, resting his head in his arms. If Mr Brighton noticed, he didn't say anything. “Ignore the sweating. It should stop, along with hunger and thirst.”
Our teacher seemed to be able to manipulate everything in his vicinity.
Time.
Minds.
And slowly… contorting us into his own.
In the single second we were trapped inside, I felt days go by in a dizzying whirlwind that was like being permanently high. When I stood up, I felt like I was floating.
When I sat down, hours could go by, even days, and I wouldn't even feel them. I did try and count the days, initially, scribbling them on a scrap piece of paper, but somewhere around the thirteenth or fourteenth day, I lost count. The world around us never changed, in permanent stasis, and maybe that was sending us a little crazy.
After a while of being stuck at our desks, Mr Brighton allowed us to wander the classroom, as long as we stayed away from the door. I lay on the floor for days, counting ceiling tiles.
Sometimes, Imogen would join me.
I couldn't sleep, but I could pretend to sleep, imagining a world that was back to normal. I didn't feel hungry, but my brain did like to remind me of food at the weirdest times. I was aware of weeks passing us by, and then months.
I never grew hungry or tired, and my bodily functions were none existent.
I couldn't remember what pain felt like, or the urge to go to the bathroom. Even the concept of eating and drinking became foreign to me. Putting something in your mouth and chewing to sustain yourself?
That sounded odd.
The only thing that was changing was our slowly unravelling metal state.
I don't know how it started. Weekends and Tuesdays blended together. On one particular SaturTuesday, I was hanging upside down from my desk, watching Kaz and Imogen doodle on the whiteboard.
Kaz had a plan to escape, but after a while, his ‘plan’ to distract the teacher, had gone nowhere. After passing notes between us, the twelve of us had decided that we needed a weapon.
That was maybe a month ago. I wasn't sure what mind games our teacher was playing, but Kaz Samuels, who we were counting on to be our brains, was slowly falling under his spell. Their game had been going on for three days. The two of them were having a competition to see who could draw the craziest thing.
Mr Brighton was at his desk as usual, marking papers.
Imogen was drawing a weird looking ‘skateboard’ when the doors to the storage closet flew open.
Roman Hemlock appeared, and to my surprise, wasn't a hollow eyed shell.
He held up his hand in a wave, his lips forming a small smile.
“Yo.”
Roman’s reappearance was enough to snap us out of it. Kaz and Imogen stopped arguing, the rest of the class going silent. I sat up, blinking rapidly.
I was sure our collective consensus was that Roman Hemlock was dead.
Mr Brighton lifted his head and gave the boy a civil nod. “Mr Hemlock will be rejoining us,” he said, his gaze going back to marking papers. “Please make him feel comfortable. I'm sure he's very excited to be able to talk to you again.”
Instead of going to his desk, the boy immediately joined the others, snatching the marker off of a baffled looking Kaz, and drawing an overly artistic sketch of a penis. I wasn't sure what confused me more. The fact that Roman Hemlock had some serious artistic skills, or that he seemed suspiciously fine for someone who had been locked in the storage closet for two weeks with no social interaction.
With my last few lingering brain cells still clinging on, I studied the boy.
There were no signs of bruises or scratches.
His eyes seemed normal, not diluted or half lidded.
Unable to stop myself, I jumped off of my desk and joined the others, where Kaz was already interrogating the guy.
“WHAT–”
Imogen nudged him, and he lowered his voice, leaning against the wall. “What did he do to you?”
Roman shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Relax, dude. He didn't do anything to me.”
“Then what was that yell?” Imogen hissed.
The boy cocked his head. “Yell?”
“You yelled out,” Kaz folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. He was already suspecting one of us had been compromised– or worse, brainwashed into compliance. Kaz stepped closer, backing Roman into the desk. “You cried out when you first went in there,” he murmured, “So, what was that?”
Something in Roman’s eyes darkened. “Oh,” He said, his lip curling. “That.”
Kaz’s expression softened. He rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Yeah,” He whispered. “What did he do to you?”
Imogen shoved Kaz out of the way, shooting the boy a glare.
“You don't have to tell us, you know.” She said in a small voice. “If it's too traumatising, or he did something you don't want to talk about–”
Roman cut her off with a laugh, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.
The remaining nine of us were eagerly awaiting an explanation.
“Are you fucking serious?”
When Kaz didn't respond, Roman gathered us in a kind of hustle, the four of us grouped together. I felt like I was on the football field. Still, though, if the guy’s goal was to look as suspicious as possible, he was doing a great job.
Roman studied each of us, one eyebrow cocked. When Mr Brighton glanced up from his work, Roman shot him a grin, lowering his voice to a hiss.
“You seriously think our fifty year old physics teacher has been abusing me in the storage closet?
“Then why did you cry out?” Kaz demanded. “Did he hit you?”
Roman stuck out his bottom lip. “I'm pretty sure he didn't hit me.”
“So, you cried out for no reason.”
“Why are you covering for him?” Imogen poked his forehead. “Are you lobotomised?”
Roman wafted her hand away. “Stop prodding me, and no, I'm 100% good.” He backed away from us, like we were observers, and he was the zoo attraction.
“I won't be, if you keep treating me like I'm senile.”
“Okay, fine,” Kaz sighed. “Just answer one.”
“Shoot.”
“When you first went in there, you made an unmistakable sound of distress–”
“Not this again,” Roman groaned. “Of course I yelled! I was shoved into a pitch black storage closet on my own! What, did you expect me to stay silent?”
Kaz didn't look convinced, Imogen nervously sucking her teeth.
The boy leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes flickered shut.
“Stop looking at me like that, there's nothing to tell you,” he murmured, “Brighton didn't do shit to me. I was just freaked out.” Prying one eye open, he fixed us with a glare. “I am so sorry for reacting like a human. Next time, I'll make sure to attack him and pin him to the ground.”
It's not like we believed him. I don't think Roman believed himself.
Something significant had changed in him. He was no longer argumentative, like half of his personality had been torn away. Roman set a precedent. Because once he was following instructions and walking around with a dazed smile, others began to follow. I can't remember how much time had passed since I thought about escaping.
Days and weeks and months had collapsed into fleeting seconds I only noticed when I wasn't playing games.
I wasn't aware of my own lack of sanity until I found myself, on a random SaturWednesday. I was laughing, gathered with the others on the floor, around a Monopoly board. The game had been going on for almost a week.
Reality hit me when I was laughing so hard I tipped back.
I can't remember why I was laughing. I think Imogen told a bad joke.
“Hand it over.” Roman, who was the King of Monopoly, held out his hand, demanding my last 250 bucks. I remember noticing his smile, my foggy brain trying to find hints that he was in some kind of trance, or being controlled by Brighton. But no. His smile was real.
Genuine.
To my shock and confusion, so was mine.
I wasn't in a trance or any type of mind manipulation. I was completely conscious.
Was this… Stockholm syndrome? I thought dizzily.
Was I enjoying this?
My thoughts were like cotton candy, disconnected and wrong, and they barely felt like my own. My gaze found Imogen and Kaz, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, enveloped in the game.
They looked exactly the same, their hair, clothes, everything about them staying stagnant. It was them themselves who had drastically changed. I had never seen them look so carefree. Imogen was a hotheaded cheerleader, and Kaz was the smart kid who gave himself nosebleeds from overworking himself. But now, they were laughing, nudging each other, caught up in an inside joke. Blinking slowly, my gaze strayed on them.
Sure, it could be manipulation. It could be brainwashing. But it could also be real.
Kaz caught my eye, raising a brow.
“You good, Christa?”
Shaking my head, I nodded.
Again, my smile felt real. Like I was having fun.
“Good. It's your turn.”
I picked up the dice, throwing them across the board.
Two sixes.
“I can already see her landing on one of my hotels.” Roman murmured. He sat up, resting his chin on his knees. “As the clear winner, I have a proposition.”
Ignoring him, I moved my piece– immediately landing on Park Place.
“I'll give you 500,” Roman announced, “If you give up New York avenue.”
“That's all I've got!”
Imogen nudged me. “Don't do it. If you give him New York Avenue, he only needs one more.”
“One thousand.” Roman waved the notes in my face.
“My final offer.”
When I reached for the cash, he held it back.
“New York Avenue, he said, with a grin.
“And your pride.”
Reluctantly, I handed my only property over.
Kaz threw the dice and moved his piece, and I half remembered we had an escape plan. “Community chest.” Kaz picked up a card. “Go straight to jail.”*
Roman spluttered. “That's karma,” he said, “For stealing from the bank.”
“You were stealing too!”
We had a plan.
We had…. a plan.
After discussing it in detail, Imogen and I were going to try and get onto Brighton’s laptop. It wasn't a perfect way to escape, but it was coherent.
So, what happened?
We were going to get out, so what… what was this?
Kaz’s earlier words hit me from months ago.
“Mr Brighton *is the thing keeping us here,”* he explained. “If we kill him, I'm like, 98% sure we’ll go back to normal.”
“Okay, and what if he dies and we’re *stuck?”* Imogen whisper-shrieked.
“I said 98% for a reason. Yes, there's a small chance his power will die with him. But there's a bigger chance that its effects will die when he does.”
Ren nodded slowly. “Right, and where exactly did you learn this information?”
“You'll feel a lot better if I don't answer that.”
“Okay.” Ren gritted his teeth. “So, we just need to find a weapon, right?”
“And don't tell Hemlock,” Kaz rolled his eyes. “I don't care what he says, that boy definitely had his mind fucked with. Hemlock is a liability. If we tell Roman, he tells Brighton, and we’re screwed.” Kaz nodded to me, then the others. “Keep your mouths shut.”
Presently, I wasn't sure the boy wanted to escape.
Slowly, I rolled my eyes over to Mr Brighton, who had joined us to play.
He was happily marking papers, taking part when he could.
It felt…right.
Not like we had been forced or manipulated, but more like he belonged. Part of me wanted to question why I felt like this, but I found that I didn't care. I didn't care that we were essentially dead, in a never ending stasis and stuck inside fifty two minutes past two. I stopped thinking about the outside world a long time ago.
I couldn't even remember my Mom’s face.
I made my decision, dazedly watching Imogen throw a chance card at Roman.
He flung one back, threatening to tip the board.
I wanted to stay.
In the corner of my eye, however, someone was still awake.
Ren, who had been sitting next to me, kept moving, further and further away. I didn't notice until he was inching towards our teacher, a box cutter clenched between his fist. There must have been a point when we found a box cutter, when we made it our weapon of choice.
But somewhere along the way, I think we just… lost the longing to want to escape.
I didn't see the exact moment the boy stabbed the blade into the man's neck, plunging it through his flesh, but I did feel a sudden jolt, like time itself was starting to falter and tremble.
Mr Brighton dropped to the ground, and I found my gaze flashing to the frozen clock.
Which was moving, suddenly.
Slowly creeping towards 2:53pm.
Something sticky ran underneath me, warm and wet.
Blood.
Blood that was running.
Roman’s half lidded eyes found mine, and he blinked, dropping the dice.
Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
2:53pm.
We were free.
The cool spring breeze grazing my cheeks was back. I could feel my own heartbeat, sticky sweat on my forehead.
And outside, Jessie Carson let out a gut-churning scream.
For a disorienting moment, I don't think any of us believed we were free.
Roman twisted around, his gaze on the doorway.
The piece of paper the teacher had stuck to the glass slipped away.
But Roman’s gaze was glued to the door, his cheeks paling.
His lips parted into a silent cry.
Following his eyes, I glimpsed a shadow.
A shadow that was frozen at 2:52pm.
2:53pm.
“Fuck.” Roman whispered, stumbling to his feet.
He turned to the rest of us, his eyes wild.
“Get DOWN!”
When the thing crashed through the door, our classroom exploding around us, chairs splintering against the walls, I was already dropping to my knees, crawling under a desk. It took me a moment to understand I was already kneeling in what was left of Imogen.
Her body had been hollowed out, singed straight through.
I was crawling through pieces of her flesh, mounds of her bisected brain.
Keeping my hand over my mouth, I watched this… thing.
A bulbous black monster, chewing its way through my classmates. Blood splattered the walls, raining from the ceiling, and that same striking pain ripped through my gut, agonising enough to force a cry through my lips.
My frantic gaze found the clock.
2:54pm.
Lurching forwards, I heaved up what was left of my lunch, agonising pain wrenching my stomach back and forth.
I jumped when another body joined me, thankfully alive, squeezing under the desk.
Roman, his face slick and dripping scarlet.
When the thing was gone, neither of us moved.
3:05pm.
“What are those things?” I managed to get out.
“I don't know,” Roman whimpered, covering his mouth. “But they're everywhere.”
3:10pm.
Another thing found our classroom. This time I saw it up close, a giant, bulbous black thing with an eye stalk. It knew we were there, peeking under the desk we were hiding. But it didn't kill us.
The thing left the room, stopping to gorge on half of Ren’s torso.
Roman shot me a questioning look, but I could only be relieved.
3:15pm.
Roman threw up black slime all over me.
He caught my eye, swiping his mouth. “Well, that can't be good.”
The pain in my gut was getting harder to deal with.
3:20pm.
“Did you have chicken nuggets for lunch?” Roman murmured. He got a little too close, his breath on my neck.
I had to suck in my stomach to stop the pain.
I was going hot and cold, sweat dripping down the back of my neck.
“Why?” I hissed back, taking deep, shaky breaths.
“I dunno,” Roman murmured, “I can smell them on your breath.”
His teeth grazed my flesh, sending shivers down my spine.
“Weird… huh.”
3:30pm.
Roman nudged me.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “Is that Kaz?”
Following his gaze, I found the remnants of Kaz under a crushed desk starting to… convulse.
“Was he bitten?” I whispered.
Roman’s eyes were a strange color. “Maybe.”
3:35pm
“Mr Brighton.” I was on my knees, sobbing, shaking my physics teacher.
“Mr Brighton! Take us back!”
I squeezed his ice cold hand for dear life.
“Say, ‘stop’,” I whispered “Please!”
3:40pm.
The thing that found me didn't attack me. It sat there, head cocked, watching me roll around on the floor, the pain writhing through me. I watched its transformation in short bursts, consciousness swimming in and out.
When I found light again, the thing was sitting cross legged next to me, chewing on a human arm. Maybe I was hallucinating. I watched it for a long time, trying to figure out why it was wearing strips of Roman’s white shirt.
3:52pm.
No longer in the school, I was in the back of an ambulance, a lady screaming in my face. I could see the time on her watch. She told me I was going to be okay, and I think I was. But I wasn't sure how to tell her she smelled good.
Like chicken.
It's been three months since my teacher froze time.
Mr Brighton wasn't imprisoning us. He was protecting us.
I'm still alive, but I have to take regular shots. I think they're just in case I was infected by those things.
I asked Mom if the incident has been on the news, but there's no coverage.
According to the people in white who treated me, everything has been covered up. According to the Mayor, ten kids died in a gas leak.
No mention of the monstrous things hunting us down…
Our town is just a blip on the map. You can't find us. I wish you could, though.
I need help.
I'm terrified of myself.
I’m not going to tell Mom she smells like chicken, because she'll freak out.
Last night, someone, or something knocked on my window.
When I turned on the light, a single, bulging eye was staring at me through the glass.
I still don't know why it was crying.

This is something from my childhood that still remains a mystery today, and still scares me a bit to think about. I'm really curious to see if there's anyone out there who knows more about this, because there's little to no information online.
When I was a kid, there were small, knit dolls sold in many stores for cheap. After doing a bit of googling, I've since discovered the brand name was Yoodara, and that they were most likely a ripoff of the more popular Watchover Voodoo Dolls, as they have the same style and concept. Basically, they were sold as "good luck charms." Each doll had its own name and "power" with its design being themed around it. My mom bought three of them. One was Chipper, a cheerleader with the power to "turn your frown upside-down." The others were Ellie, a pink elephant that "helps you remember what is most important" (because elephants never forget), and Florence, a nurse who was meant to make you feel better when you're sick. I don't know if my mom genuinely believed that they had magic powers, but she is a sort of casually spiritual person who believes in ghosts and magic and the like.
After we had bought them, I was feeling grumpy and my mom passed me Chipper and said maybe she would make me feel better. I sort of rolled my eyes and said "yeah right", but when I looked down at the doll, I smiled. I didn't choose to smile, either; it was like my muscles automatically moved on my own to make me smile when I looked at it. I remember this happening other times when I looked at it, too, but that could have been placebo. The first time, though, I swear on my life that I did not make the conscious decision to smile. I firmly believe that the doll somehow did that. This isn't the weirdest part, though.
When we got home, I looked on the back of the doll's tag. Here is a blog post I found online that contains an image of the back of the tag. The warning reads, "WARNING! This is not a toy and due to extreme magical powers it is not recommended for children under 13. Use only with adult supervision." It also mentions that there was a Yoodara game online, so I asked my mom if I could visit the website and play it. My mom said no because she had a bad feeling about it after reading the warning, and I never visited it. Unfortunately, the website is now defunct.
In this period of my childhood, I was struggling with severe generalized anxiety disorder and OCD. Both were unmedicated, and I didn't even know that what I was struggling with was OCD until a couple years ago. I had this horrible fear of somehow being teleported to a place where nothing exists; just an infinite, white void. I know this is silly, but I was a kid, and my mental illness caused me to obsess over things that were terrifying to me, and the thought of a place where nothing exists honestly still scares me today.
There was a distinct moment one day where I looked at Ellie, the doll that was meant to make you remember what is most important, and I suddenly got an image in my mind. It was of the exact white void I always imagined in my fears, with the words "God is always with you" sort of telepathically communicated to me. I want to stress that I was raised atheist and haven't attended a day of church in my life. I don't consider myself a Christian and didn't as a child either, which is why I find it exceptionally weird for me to have "thought" this. Despite the dolls clearly having good intentions, this terrified me as a child because I thought that they had to have read my mind to know about my fear.
I know what intrusive thoughts are like, and that was NOT an intrusive thought. It wasn't my thought either. It definitely felt like a message that came from the doll. Maybe both of these experiences that I had with the dolls were just placebo. I know the mind can be a very strange thing. Even if this is the case, I still am very curious to know what others think and if anyone else has experiences like this, even if it's with other dolls.
Despite how popular these dolls were where I lived, there's close to nothing online about them, and I couldn't find a single other post of anyone sharing their experiences with them. I know it sounds silly, but even as an adult I genuinely believe that those dolls actually do contain magic, and I'm incredibly curious as to how. I plan on using the Wayback Machine sometime to see if I can look at what the website used to be like. As embarrassing as it is, though, I'm still a little scared to do so.

This is something from my childhood that still remains a mystery today, and still scares me a bit to think about. I'm really curious to see if there's anyone out there who knows more about this, because there's little to no information online.
When I was a kid, there were small, knit dolls sold in many stores for cheap. After doing a bit of googling, I've since discovered the brand name was Yoodara, and that they were most likely a ripoff of the more popular Watchover Voodoo Dolls, as they have the same style and concept. Basically, they were sold as "good luck charms." Each doll had its own name and "power" with its design being themed around it. My mom bought three of them. One was Chipper, a cheerleader with the power to "turn your frown upside-down." The others were Ellie, a pink elephant that "helps you remember what is most important" (because elephants never forget), and Florence, a nurse who was meant to make you feel better when you're sick. I don't know if my mom genuinely believed that they had magic powers, but she is a sort of casually spiritual person who believes in ghosts and magic and the like.
After we had bought them, I was feeling grumpy and my mom passed me Chipper and said maybe she would make me feel better. I sort of rolled my eyes and said "yeah right", but when I looked down at the doll, I smiled. I didn't choose to smile, either; it was like my muscles automatically moved on my own to make me smile when I looked at it. I remember this happening other times when I looked at it, too, but that could have been placebo. The first time, though, I swear on my life that I did not make the conscious decision to smile. I firmly believe that the doll somehow did that. This isn't the weirdest part, though.
When we got home, I looked on the back of the doll's tag. Here is a blog post I found online that contains an image of the back of the tag. The warning reads, "WARNING! This is not a toy and due to extreme magical powers it is not recommended for children under 13. Use only with adult supervision." It also mentions that there was a Yoodara game online, so I asked my mom if I could visit the website and play it. My mom said no because she had a bad feeling about it after reading the warning, and I never visited it. Unfortunately, the website is now defunct.
In this period of my childhood, I was struggling with severe generalized anxiety disorder and OCD. Both were unmedicated, and I didn't even know that what I was struggling with was OCD until a couple years ago. I had this horrible fear of somehow being teleported to a place where nothing exists; just an infinite, white void. I know this is silly, but I was a kid, and my mental illness caused me to obsess over things that were terrifying to me, and the thought of a place where nothing exists honestly still scares me today.
There was a distinct moment one day where I looked at Ellie, the doll that was meant to make you remember what is most important, and I suddenly got an image in my mind. It was of the exact white void I always imagined in my fears, with the words "God is always with you" sort of telepathically communicated to me. I want to stress that I was raised atheist and haven't attended a day of church in my life. I don't consider myself a Christian and didn't as a child either, which is why I find it exceptionally weird for me to have "thought" this. Despite the dolls clearly having good intentions, this terrified me as a child because I thought that they had to have read my mind to know about my fear.
I know what intrusive thoughts are like, and that was NOT an intrusive thought. It wasn't my thought either. It definitely felt like a message that came from the doll. Maybe both of these experiences that I had with the dolls were just placebo. I know the mind can be a very strange thing. Even if this is the case, I still am very curious to know what others think and if anyone else has experiences like this, even if it's with other dolls.
Despite how popular these dolls were where I lived, there's close to nothing online about them, and I couldn't find a single other post of anyone sharing their experiences with them. I know it sounds silly, but even as an adult I genuinely believe that those dolls actually do contain magic, and I'm incredibly curious as to how. I plan on using the Wayback Machine sometime to see if I can look at what the website used to be like. As embarrassing as it is, though, I'm still a little scared to do so.