#i like that all the portal characters have such distinct names

[meringuehearts]

science is fun !!!

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I didn't like the result of this oneshot to be honest, idk, the idea was good but the writing turned out bad along the way. But this had been sitting on my drafts for quite a while so I'm just gonna post it so I don't have to look at it whenever I open my drafts. Maybe you darlings can find something about this enjoyable, maybe not.

You wake up slowly, the first light of dawn slipping through the gap in your curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. The soft illumination reveals the familiar shapes of your bed, wardrobe, a small table, and a few scattered books.

You reach for your phone and check the time: 7 AM. For a few moments, you simply lie there, processing the fact that you were awake so early, trying to recall if you had any dreams. You vaguely remember a loud noise but can’t quite place it if it was real or part of your dream.

Stretching lazily, you begin to shake off the remnants of sleep. As you become more alert, the sound you thought was part of a dream becomes clearer, vivid. What initially seemed like distant murmurs from your neighbors now grows distinct, nearer.

The voices aren’t coming from outside — they’re inside your house. Someone - not one but two people - were inside your house right at that moment, talking excitedly in whispers and murmurs. You blinked, confused, questioning if your mind was playing tricks on you.

"Jamil, this place is incredible! Look at all these things!" The voice is energetic and familiar, bursting with excitement. You can almost picture the person’s smile just by hearing it.

"Please, Kalim, don’t touch anything until we figure out what’s going on," Another voice responds, calm but firm, tinged with exasperation. It’s a voice you recognize as well. "We need to understand where we are first. I’m still investigating."

Slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, your feet meeting the cool wooden floor. You hesitate, wondering if you should grab something for protection, but there’s nothing within reach. A book, a vase, a shoe, nothing that could injury or incapacitate a thief. With your heart pounding and without thinking much, you open the bedroom door.

In the hallway, you see something that wasn't expected: Kalim, with his silver hair and colorful attire, is curiously examining the objects around him, while Jamil, his eyes sharp and arms crossed, surveys the scene cautiously.

"Oh my God…" Your voice is barely above a whisper, filled with disbelief. You close the door quickly, trying to wrap your mind around what you’ve just seen. After a few more seconds, with your heart racing, you open it again.

"Uh, hello! I’m Kalim and this is my friend Jamil. I think… we got lost and ended up here. What place is this?" Kalim asks, his sweet smile making your heart skip a beat. Your face heats a little as you struggle to find words.

This time, Kalim and Jamil, your favorite characters from Twisted Wonderland, are standing right in front of your door, Kalim’s hand raised as if he was about to knock. You freeze, staring at them as they stare back at you.

It's a little awkward, really. Being so close to them like that, seeing how different they are from their 2D version. Kalim shifts the weight from his leg to one over the other, a smile growing on his face.

Is this real or a dream? You can’t tell.

Realizing you need to respond, you clear your throat and explain that they’re in your house and tell them the name of your country. Jamil looks puzzled for a second.

"I beg your pardon? Could you repeat the country name?"

You do, aware that it doesn’t exist in their world — not from what you remember, there wasn't an equivalent of it in their world, still you just started playing so you didn't know much about it or about them, as you were still in Savanaclaw chapter. Kalim and Jamil exchange glances.

Jamil, clearly uneasy, speaks up. "We need to find a way back home. Could you possibly help us?"

As he begins explaining how they ended up here - through a portal that appeared from thin air and brought them there, you notice from the corner of your eye Kalim wandering around, his curiosity piqued by everything in the room. He picks up a book from the shelf, flipping through it with childlike wonder, occasionally letting out a delighted squeal when he spots a particularly beautiful picture or drawing. It's cute to see.

"Look, Jamil! This book has so many interesting stories!" Kalim turns to you, eyes sparkling. "You have so many beautiful things here. I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer."

You smile, feeling more at ease. "Well, that’s good to hear, because magic isn't real here nor anyone knows how to use it, so I’m not sure how much I can help you two."

Jamil nods, his expression thoughtful as he processes this new information. He falls silent, clearly rethinking his plans. You can’t help but notice how handsome he is — more so than you imagined. A selfish part of you doesn’t want them to return to Twisted Wonderland, even though you know they have people waiting for them back home.

"Can I make breakfast for you two?" You offer, hoping to lighten the mood. Kalim’s face lights up instantly.

Kalim has his siblings, his parents, so does Jamil. Despite your thoughts, you want to help. You’ve read enough isekai stories to understand how painful it must be to be away from everything familiar. They've might love here for a few weeks but then homesickness will kick in.

"I’d love that! Especially if it’s something different from what we eat in Scarabia," He responds, placing the book back on its original place.

Kalim eagerly sits down, his eyes darting around, taking in every detail of your kitchen. Jamil, on the other hand, sits more cautiously, his posture straight and alert.

As you head to the kitchen, still surprised and speechless, Kalim and Jamil following closely behind, both still taking in the unfamiliar surrounding. You gesture for them to take a seat at the small kitchen table. "Make yourselves comfortable. It might not be as grand as what you’re used to, but I’ll whip up something tasty."

As you start gathering ingredients, you hear Kalim ask, "So, what kind of food do you usually eat here? Is it spicy? Sweet?"

You chuckle at his enthusiasm. "I have a bit of everything. But I think you’ll like pancakes. They’re sweet, especially with some syrup or fruit."

"Pancakes?" Kalim repeats, the word foreign yet intriguing to him. "That sounds delicious!"

Jamil, still cautious but visibly more relaxed, adds, "It might be best to eat something simple. We don't know how long we’ll be here."

You nod, understanding his concern. "Don’t worry, pancakes are quick and easy. We can figure out the rest after breakfast."

As you prepare the batter, Kalim continues to pepper you with questions about your world, about you or your family, about this country or the culture. He’s fascinated by everything, from the kitchen appliances to the types of food you describe, from the legends and old myths to the songs and stories. Jamil listens quietly, occasionally nodding, but it’s clear his mind is focused on something else - probably the situation they’re in and how to resolve it.

After a few minutes, the kitchen fills with the mouth-watering aroma of pancakes cooking on the griddle. Kalim’s eyes widen as he watches you flip them with practiced ease.

"Wow, you’re really good at this!" Kalim exclaims, practically bouncing in his seat.

You smile, enjoying the warmth of their company despite the odd circumstances. "I’ve had a lot of practice. Plus, pancakes are pretty tasty so I eat them often."

As you serve the pancakes with syrup and some fruits, Kalim eagerly reaches for a plate, his excitement contagious. Jamil takes his with more restraint but seems genuinely curious about the taste.

Kalim takes a big bite and his eyes widen in delight. "These are amazing! Jamil, you have to try them!"

Jamil cuts a small piece, his expression remaining neutral as he tastes it - he was wearing that same neutral face as you cooked, watching over you like a hawk so you wouldn't try to poison Kalim. But after a moment, a small, appreciative smile appears on his lip. "They’re quite good."

You feel a sense of satisfaction seeing them enjoy something so simple. As you sit down to eat with them, Kalim continues to chatter, sharing stories about his world, his life at Scarabia, and all the adventures he’s been on, all which you know about since you spent so much time reading his and Jamil's vignettes. Jamil, while more reserved, occasionally chimes in with corrections or additional details, his tone always careful but respectful.

The conversation flows easily and you find yourself getting lost in their stories, almost forgetting that this whole situation is surreal. But eventually, the reality of it starts to settle in again and you realize that, as much as you’re enjoying their company, you need to help them find a way back.

"So," You begin, setting down your fork, "do you have any idea how you got here? Maybe we can figure out a way to reverse it."

Jamil straightens, his expression serious. "It’s still unclear. We were performing a task in the Hall of Mirrors when a portal unexpectedly opened. I tried to close it, but it pulled us through before I could react."

Kalim, still enjoying his pancakes, adds, his mouth half full as he respond to you, "I thought it was just another adventure, but now… it seems more complicated than that."

You nod, trying to piece together what they’re saying with your limited knowledge of their world. "I don’t have magic, but maybe there’s something here that can help. Books, maybe? Or something from the internet?"

Jamil raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Books and the internet? Perhaps there’s information that could be useful. We should start with what you have here."

Kalim, still beaming from the breakfast, jumps to his feet. "I’m ready to help! Where should we start?"

You glance around your home, thinking about where to begin. "I have some books on mythology and folklore that might have similar stories. And I can look up anything online that seems relevant. We’ll figure this out together."

Jamil nods, his expression a mix of determination and gratitude. "Thank you. Your help is greatly appreciated."

As you all prepare to dive into research, a sense of fear is palpable in the air, almost as if they were afraid they wouldn't be able to return home. Wishing on a star was something you used to do, you wished hard for things to happen, for things to be possible. And now they were. Jamil and Kalim were here, by your side, Kalim sitting beside you while Jamil was resting his face on his hands, tired. And as you begin your search, you can’t help but feel that this something out of a silly story. And you're going to do your best to send them back home.

[fordtato]

Hey (●’◡’●)ﾉ I have some questions about gravity falls canon that i don't even know where to google to find out so i decided to ask you. I hope its ok.

1. Did Stan actually join the mob/cartel/mafia? Its very common in fics and you said it as a fact in your timeline video. Where did it originate from? Is it that one line in ATOTS? The "I swear i will pay your goons back". I cant recall anything else.

2. Did Ford use nutritional supplements in the multiverse? Its incredibly in character and Ford did mention that he wanted to give them out to summerween trik-o-treaters. But it is so agreed upon that he chugged them like jellybeans during portal years and had to acclimatise to normal foot after getting back. This feels closer to a headcanon but I am not sure with this fandom anyone.

I love and appreciate all the work you can do and I look forward to your projects (っ'-')╮=͟͟͞͞ ❤❤❤

For 1.) It's complicated. It's never specifically said, but between Stan's fake name nicknames involving references to the cocaine/heroin trafficking (8-ball Alcatraz), the fact that Ford says stan is familiar with mob hangouts the world over in J3, the fact that it's implied that Stan meets Rico and his goons in Colombian prison (according to Dreamscapers), the rest has kind of been put together by fans, and accepted as canon, and kind of never refuted. In a deleted scene from ATOTS, though, we do know that the mob was at least trying to kill Stan, so whether he JOINED the mob, or just got tangled up with them somehow is unclear. In the 70s and 80s, cartels and drug traffickers had massive trafficking routes/power going into the US, so the timeline works out that way. But from my understanding, there's a certain point where there's little distinction between someone getting tangled up in deals with the mob and someone being an official part of it.

For 2.) Probably yes! He makes references to them a few times, and Alex Hirsch said in a charity stream years ago that he headcanons Ford's favorite food as nutritional pills that provide all of his nutrients because he doesn't have time for food when he has science (or something like that). But it isn't officially anywhere in canon materials, I think.

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan Pt. 7

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: “All that glitters is not gold, Miss Roan.”

Rating: T. Heed the warnings y'all!

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, crime-solving

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you always for the kind support💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Truce

Entering the apartment, the whole living room is soaked in sepia tones, all browns and reds creeping up the walls, half-lit by a lightbulb on its last leg. You unclip Banjo’s leash from his collar, watching him dart away in the direction of the kitchen where his water bowl awaits him. Slipping off your shoes, you quietly venture further in.

In a scene almost identical to earlier this evening, Rockford rests on the floor with his eyes closed, sending a feeling of déjà vu rushing over you. He’s surrounded by paper, some crumpled and torn, his curls extra disheveled from fingers dragging through them with increasing annoyance.

His presence makes your empathy prickle, little firecrackers bursting in your veins bugging you to break the silence. And you want to, really, it’s just you don’t know how. There’s a jumble of half-formed sentences sour tasting on the back of your tongue, none of them feeling big enough, right enough to fix everything. Maybe Rockford doesn’t even want to talk to you. Maybe he’d been glad you’d disappeared, giving him time to think in peace.

“Did you know whenever a portal opens and closes there’s the distinct smell of ozone afterwards? It’s a pungent odor, like bleach,” Rockford says, causing you to jump. His eyes are open and looking at you now, though he makes no move to get up. “I have some if you’d like to shower with it. Cassius has a penchant for inhabiting seedy places.”

Your eyebrows lift, aiming for a note of levity in your voice. “I guess I missed the memo luxurious mansions are what’s considered seedy nowadays.”

There’s a tremor beneath his calm exterior, something dark he smothers a hair too late, and he angles his gaze away from your face, off to the side. “All that glitters is not gold, Miss Roan.”

You’re not sure what hurts most. The disparaging remark or how he continues breaking his promise of always letting you feel his emotions by continuing to stifle them. You’d entered the apartment wanting to close the distance between you and Rockford, but it seems like so far all you’ve done is widen it further.

Banjo chooses that moment to enter, licking at the water drops clinging to the hair on his beard. He makes a beeline for Rockford and lies down next to the man’s arm so there’s no excuse not to pet him. Spoiled pup doesn’t even notice the brewing tension, tail wagging happily with each stroke of Rockford’s palm over the top of his head. 

“I…” Your fingers wiggle restlessly, bottom lip held between your teeth. “I don’t…”

Rockford freezes for a fraction of a second, and you catch it again–a flicker of feeling he douses in the same instant it forms, preventing identification–before his steady movement continues. 

You join him and Banjo on the floor, sitting with your legs curled under you. The physical closeness settles some of your jitteriness somehow, reminds you he’s here. Tangible. 

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you confess.

Rockford’s head turns your direction so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t snap. “What?”

“I know I screwed up at the crime scene, and I’m sorry for that, I’ll–I’ll be better, I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to be the match you deserve, just please stop shutting everything down–” You jam your finger against your temple, hoping he somehow understands how much it upsets you.

“Roan.” Rockford pushes himself upright, voice sharp and cutting deep, looking at you with blazing eyes. “None of what happened tonight was your fault. You don’t need to be better,” he spits the word venomously, killing the counter argument you’d been forming on the tip of your tongue. “You’re the perfect match for me. Exactly as you are. I’m the fuck up you don’t deserve.”

You frown, spluttering uncomprehendingly. “Wh–what?”

“Your trauma was triggered because I didn’t even spare a second to fucking think about the consequences of what I asked you to do. I put the case before your needs. The look on your face, Roan, I never want to see so much fear or pain ever again.” He swallows and takes a few seconds before continuing. “And as long as you kept feeling my emotions–my anger and my worry, everything–you’d keep being reminded of how I’d fucked up and you paid for it. So I sent you outside with Keziah, the most levelheaded man I know, and I did what I thought was necessary to…”

“To what?” you ask, barely above a murmur.

It’s heartbreaking to watch those brown eyes darken with shame, the tiniest quiver of his lips before he’s ducking his head, gaze falling to the rug. “To start earning back your trust.”

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head vehemently. “No, no, no. You never lost my trust. Not once. I’m the one who screwed up, Rockford. My empathy, it’s too…” unpredictable, disobedient, broken “...temperamental.”

“Kez told me what you felt from the victim. Roan, you’ve confirmed my suspicions there’s a killer on the loose.” He takes your hand in his, fingers interlocking. “You and your empathy have done more for this investigation singlehandedly than half the police force and their gifts have done in months.”

“Still, I’m sorr–”

“Roan,” he interrupts you with a firm squeeze of your hand. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize again.”

You grit your teeth, lips pursing in a thin line. If Rockford’s not going to let you feel at fault, then you’re not going to let him keep harboring guilt either. 

Bunch of self-blaming idiots, the pair of you. This ends now.

“Fine,” you answer, looking him square in the eye as your mind-gift deliberately pokes at his persisting mental shields. “I’ll stop apologizing if you stop shutting off your emotions. That shit’s not healthy. You’re not responsible for my trauma, Rockford. You didn’t have any idea what I’d sense from the echo and even if you had somehow guessed, you couldn’t have done anything about my brain’s reaction. It just…happened.”

And it’s like a switch flips inside your mind, such a jarring realization that your panic attack wasn’t your fault or Rockford’s. Neither of you directly caused it. Neither of you could’ve possibly predicted the hissing laughter. Neither of you had the power to erase your past.

It just fucking happened.

Rockford says nothing, gaze sweeping over your face as if seeing you for the first time, perceiving something new that entices his gift and eases some of the lines from his brow. 

You feel it when his walls come down, waters of relief and high spirits cascading upon your empathy, nurturing and nourishing. Rainfall after years of drought. Your eyes flutter shut, basking in the feeling of his mindscape. God, it feels so good to return. To be welcomed and wanted again.

The stark contrast between brothers rivals night and day. There’d been nothing to sense from Cassius’ aura except for just that: nothingness. A shadow without substance. But with Rockford’s, your mind-gift can stretch out infinitely in every direction, on and on and on, forever finding something new to discover. Barely scratching the surface.

“So,” you murmur, unashamedly soaking up his presence the same way Banjo sploots on the floor in a patch of afternoon sunlight, “it’s a truce then?”

You can hear the smile in Rockford’s voice when he agrees, “It’s a truce.”

“Good.” You let out a jaw-popping yawn, stretching your arms up over your head. “Now that that’s settled, I think it’s time for me to slee—hey!”

Rockford’s other hand retracts from your jacket pocket, quick as a fox, the playing card from Cassius caught between careful fingers. He holds it up towards the lamp, flipping it over, examining both sides. To you there’s nothing extraordinary about the card’s appearance, but evidently something must stand out to Rockford’s gift to spend extra time analyzing it. 

“Three of hearts,” he states the obvious, but there’s something about the narrowing of his eyes you don’t like the look of. 

“Does that mean something?” you wonder, glancing over at the wall where the knife still has the joker pinned. “What’s Cassius’ deal with playing cards anyways?”

“My brother picked up many pointless talents during his youth–tying cherry stems into knots with his tongue, mimicking birdsong, rolling a coin across his knuckles among others. But his favorite trick has always been cartomancy.” The hand still holding yours suddenly flips, exposing your palm and Rockford presses the card there with the three red hearts facing up. “If you believe these are capable of fortune-telling, then this particular card serves as both a warning and a piece of advice.”

“Well that’s clear as mud.”

Rockford leans back on his hands, all loose and casual now that his burden is gone and seeing that does something to you, it really does. “It means he likes you, Roan. That you’ll be seeing him again sooner or later.”

You groan, eyeing the playing card with a new lack of enthusiasm. “Hopefully later.” 

“Did my brother offer you money to spy on me?” Rockford asks out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” you answer, a little dumbstruck. “How did you–?”

“You’re not the first. Won’t be the last either, I’m certain.” Rockford steamrolls on before you can make a comment about their bizarre family dynamic. “Did you take the money?”

Huffing indignantly, you cross your arms. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Pity,” Rockford says, dry as dust. “We could’ve used the extra income around here.”

The Suitcase

Rolling your eyes, you fling the playing card at his head. It misses him by leagues, soaring through the air frisbee-style and landing on the couch. Banjo stares after it for a moment, probably contemplating if it’s worth fetching, before settling his head upon Rockford’s knee with a quiet exhale.

It’s not as easy for you to turn away.

“Rockford.”

“Hmm?” He tweaks one of Banjo’s silky ears, distracted. 

You point a finger at a yellow suitcase standing out so glaringly amongst the couch pillows it’s ridiculous you didn’t notice it sooner. “What is that?”

Rockford reluctantly drags his gaze away from Banjo, the pup attempting to lick and nip every inch of the man’s hand, and acknowledges what’s caught your attention with a bland, “Oh that? It’s Carmin Carrillo’s luggage.”

Surprise raises both your eyebrows, gaze flickering back and forth between the suitcase and your match. “Seriously?”

Instead of outright answering, Rockford crawls across the short distance and grabs hold of the suitcase’s handle, yanking it onto the floor with a thud. He taps the personalized tag attached to the zipper, black with yellow initials CC, confirming the owner is indeed the victim. 

“Found it discarded in a dumpster a couple blocks from the warehouse,” Rockford tells you before gently nudging Banjo away with his foot when the mutt tries to give the case a thorough sniffing. “Careful. That’s evidence.”

“Does Inspector Dorrance know you have Carmin’s suitcase?”

“I sent a text to him highly suggesting he stop by here tomorrow at his soonest convenience. He replied with a thumb’s up.”

“Okay…” You frown lightly. “How did you even know to look for her bag?”

“The victim’s coat was wet, however her umbrella was unused which means she not only faced rain but strong wind too,” Rockford explains, and you remember how he’d studied the body, touching her coat and searching her pockets. “That kind of weather hasn’t happened anywhere in Fox Leap today which means she came in from outside the city. But she can’t have traveled more than an hour or two since her coat would’ve been dry. Quick weather check on my phone showed Toven was a match.”

Your jaw’s hanging open, you know it is, but it’s just–he’s so–and his mind, oh his mind is–

Beautiful, you think. Beautifully brilliant. Shining like the steady white beam of a lighthouse cutting through all the bullshit and distractions to the beating heart of it all: the bloody truth.

“There were mud stains on the back of her leg. Tiny splashes you’d only get from dragging a wheeled suitcase around. Except Kez told me no such thing had been found with the body.” His tone is almost totally inflectionless, flat like yours used to be when giving a field report to your higher ups. A recitation of pure, solid facts compiled and organized connecting A to B to C. “Most probably the killer drove the victim to the wharf, then accidentally forgot her suitcase was still in the car. No way he pulled it along with him or carried it on foot, that would’ve definitely attracted attention. And I say ‘him’ because statistically speaking, it’s most likely a man behind these deaths.”

“Uh…” You don’t know what to say, reeling from the influx of information. “Right, yeah. Makes sense. So, um, you really pieced together all of…all of those itty bitty details from just a few minutes of observation at the crime scene? That’s amazing!”

Rockford is quick to shake his head. “Remember our truce, Roan. There’s no need to flatter me.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” You click your tongue at him, causing Banjo’s head to tilt quizzically at the sound. “If you can’t tell when I’m being dead serious versus blowing smoke up your rear then maybe you’re not the master of perception like I thought.”

“No such thing as a master of anything,” he reasons, uncharacteristically flustered in such an endearing way your mind-gift threatens to melt.

“Humble,” you can’t help but tease, “that’s cute.”

“Good to know.” He clears his throat, changing the subject swiftly, probably hoping you won’t notice the red tint of his ears. Gesturing at the suitcase, Rockford says, “All the victim’s essentials are just as she packed them. Clothes, toiletries, charger. But her phone is noticeably absent. Wasn’t on her person or in her bag.”

“Maybe she left it back home accidentally?”

“In this day and age?” He scoffs. “Please.”

He’s got a point. Everyone’s glued to their phones from the moment they wake up to the moment they fall asleep, relying on them like an extra limb. Even Rockford’s got his cell within easy reach, acting as a paper weight on top of a stack of documents near where he was previously laying. Coming on an overnight trip to Fox Leap, Carmin definitely would’ve had her phone with her.

“She could’ve lost it,” you suggest, thinking of other possibilities. “Or…”

He leans in, brown eyes brightening, eager for you to reach the same conclusion he has. “Or?”

It takes you all of three seconds

“The killer has it,” you blurt out, an exclamation that Banjo echoes with a bark.

“Correct, Miss Roan,” Rockford states, matter-of-fact. “She might have left it in his car, just like her suitcase, or he took it from her directly. Either way, it’s in his possession.”

“You think he still has it?” Your eyebrows draw together dubiously. “If I were the killer, I’d throw it into the nearest body of water I could find.” 

“And that’s the difference between a clever and a brilliant killer.”

“Huh?”

“The brilliant ones are desperate to get caught. They crave attention. An audience.” Rockford spreads his arms out wide in a theatrical gesture, eliciting a quiet snort from you. Still, makes you wonder…

“How many killers have you encountered?”

Rockford falters for a moment. You feel it in his mood again, another one of those dark flickers, a bobber in the water dipping and coming back up, reacting to something deeper and unseen. He doesn’t try to hide it this time, doesn’t make a move to shove you out of his mindscape either. However, you’re reluctant to pull on that string any further. Tonight’s already had enough highs and lows involving a laundry list of emotions, thank you very much. He knows you know it’s there and you know he knows it’s there—whatever it is. For now, that’s enough. 

“Enough to be certain our killer has made a mistake tonight, Roan,” Rockford says without an inkling of doubt coating his voice or staining his mood. “It’s up to us now to set the trap and put an end to his poisonings. Together.”

Together, you think with a slight smile. I like the sound of that.

[evercovi]

how much time have you lost?

—

Long, long ramble under the cut:

A bit of backstory: I started Wynn back in 2015 and stopped shortly after the gavel update; recently, I decided to give everything a try again from a new class and very quickly got hooked. All the builds are so good?? There’s so much character and detail put into every building? Don’t get me started on the discoveries,,, the first time I stumbled upon a secret discovery my mouth fell open. There’s so much lore hidden in plain sight. Wynn now really feels like there’s thousands of years of history hidden just beneath the surface and I love it so so much.

Each build has so much depth too? From the few cities I’ve seen every city has its own distinct style and architecture—Ragni as a classic stronghold, deltas looking like a trading hub with its vibrant colours, alekin with its treehouses. Each city even has their own sense of fashion I’m just in awe of everything.

And the quests. THE QUESTS. They’re all so polished and full of character. The NPCs are in turns funny and infuriating and helpful and don’t get me started on aledar and tasim (i love them your honour). It’s so nice to be able to have a few recurring characters support you through Wynn. Special shoutout goes to general graken in nemract because I, too, do not understand half the words that come out of his mouth. I am insane over this server and I’m clawing at the walls and the way I cope is to make a classic wynnOC. He has no name but he has lore.

I barely remember anything from my first playthrough—all I remember are the main plot points. There’s some sort of corruption, and decay, and the portals and heliolux get involved at some point? I think. Either way I’m so excited to see how the devs have expanded on the story so far

TLDR: Wynncraft is amazing, I’m losing my mind over it, and I need to scream about this server to whoever will listen

[proxylynn]

How strong is Adam actually?

[Power scaling is hard due to Heaven not having been fully fleshed out yet. The most influential Catholic angelic hierarchy was that put forward by Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite in the 5th or 6th century in his book De Coelesti Hierarchia (On the Celestial Hierarchy). Dionysius described nine levels of spiritual beings which he grouped into three orders:

Highest orders: Seraphim, Cherubim, Ophanim (thrones)

Middle orders: Dominions, Virtues, Powers

Lowest orders: Principalities, Archangels, Angels

During the Middle Ages, various schemes were proposed, some drawing on and expanding on Pseudo-Dionysius, others suggesting completely different classifications.

Now, with what we know of Vivz's lore shown so far, Angels have their own hierarchy, with certain groups and tiers of angels dictating the degrees of authority in their government, such as the high-ranking Seraphim. It has also been stated that the powers angels possess are distinct from the powers that demons possess, with the former inherently holding dominion over the latter. Seraphim are still up high on the power dynamic but we're told there are "Elders" and Sera herself answers to these beings who can outrank/outpower her, hinting they have the power to make an angel "Fallen". We saw the Cherubs in Helluva Boss but, like they are in modern media, they aren't like their biblical source as badass warrior enforcement, but cute baby-like messengers that appear near on par with Imps (this might have been just the ones in the episode or the joke due to both groups being parallels for the bit). Ophanim are also present and have been since the start (the many-eyed wheel heads) but we don't know their role or if they are still up there with Seraphim but likely so. In the episode "Overture", Adam mentions a sexual encounter with a "Virtue chick". The term "Virtue" is also often the angelic counterpart of the Seven Deadly Sins, each one being a direct inverse of the respective sin. It is unknown which use of "Virtue" Adam was referring to.

Which now brings me to Adam and the Exorcists. Adam is a human soul that went to Heaven and for being an ordained mortal soul, the dude is fucking OP, on par with Overlords, which I think is hilarious considering I believe mortal souls being angels are the bottom bitches of Heaven's citizens which shows just how insane divinity can be when compared to the demonic powers. Now for the hard part, because Adam hints at making the Exorcists. We don't know if they are former human souls like him or if he himself made them, as he even gave Vaggie her name and Carmilla refers to the other Exorcists as Vaggie's sisters. Now this could mean they are all creations, and it does fit with Adam's ego to make a group of women who are subordinates under his command, but they also could've easily been recruited by Adam and he merely gave them new names upon being Exorcists. I also think Exorcists are even weaker than basic angels and are as barebones as an angel could be possible. Exorcists rely heavily on their weapons and lack defense, wielding no shields and having little armor, very much brutal crusaders that live for the slaughter of the damned under the guise of a holy mission...They're pawns. They also appear to lack abilities other than flight and making portals to traverse realms. Exorcists are very bloodthirsty and love violence. They seem to take sadistic joy in killing demons. Their loyalty is a core staple of their character, even so, Exorcists don't tolerate betrayal of any kind, and express hatred for Vaggie and the desire to gleefully kill her when offered the chance to go after her, becoming even more eager to do so when Adam offered a reward to the Exorcist who successfully brings him Vaggie's head.]

{So after all that, to answer your question of how strong is Adam...The dude was fucking strong. As the first human soul to go to Heaven and with millennia of training under his belt, his strength was up there to possibly archangel level and he was a threat to take seriously.}

Abilities

Flight - Adam had a set of wings that he could use to fly at great speed. He could also remove a feather from his wings to use as a quill pen.

Nephokinesis - He could control clouds he creates and make them into steps.

Cloud creation - With a flap of his wings, he can create a gust of clouds around him.

Immense strength - He was shown to be able to smash a light projector in front of him with brute strength in a moment of rage, and later shatter Alastor's barrier with a single punch. He was also shown to be strong enough to physically overpower Charlie, despite the latter assuming her full demon form. However, Charlie managed to use more of her demonic powers to stop him from punching Lucifer, utterly overpowering him and confusing him, indicating that he is only stronger than Charlie if she doesn't focus on all her power.

Enhanced endurance - Despite having not experienced pain for likely millennia, Adam was able to easily shrug off getting stabbed by Charlie with her trident despite saying that it hurt and he quickly retaliate after being repeatedly punched in the face by Lucifer.

Angelic power - As an angel, he most likely possessed high angelic power, especially as the leader of the Exorcists. His strength was proven to be immense, surpassing all but the strongest of Demons and Sinners as he was able to easily overwhelm both Alastor and later Charlie, who had assumed her full demon form and could have won had Lucifer not interfered.

Portal creation - Adam could create portals for other Angels to use, notably to transport himself and his Exorcist army to Hell at the start of each annual extermination. He also opened a portal to banish Charlie and Vaggie back to Hell in "Welcome to Heaven".

Conjuration - Adam could summon objects as he pleased, summoning his guitar and physical Exorcist copies during Hell is Forever, a golden scroll informing Charlie of Heaven's decision to move up the next Extermination, and a piece of golden paper to write on in court.

Alteration - Adam also showed he could alter the objects he created, such as when he made his axe guitar larger while fighting Alastor.

Photokinesis - Adam could fire blasts of holy light strong enough to vaporize Sir Pentious and his war machine in one small blast and slice tall buildings in half. He also showed he could channel his light through his guitar/axe to create powerful blades of light that were able to cut through Alastor's cane and through his fist to destroy demonic barriers. In "Overture", he created a giant bright orb of light above him while he was singing Hell is Forever.

Skillset

Musical talent - He was capable of singing and in "Overture" was implied to have been part of a band.

Guitar-playing - Adam was talented at playing the guitar and did so seemingly whenever he could.

Axe proficiency - Adam wielded his guitar-axe with amazing skill as he could fight out and seriously wound Alastor during their duel.

Leadership - Adam appeared to be a competent and capable leader of the Exorcists, often personally leading them into battle. Additionally, Adam appears to genuinely care for his subordinates.

Strategic mind - In both "Overture" and "The Show Must Go On", Adam demonstrates sound and logical thinking both in and out of combat; in the former, Adam waits to begin the next extermination so as not to prematurely reveal his plan, while in the latter, Adam personally attacks high-threat targets to even the odds for his Exorcists, as seen with his battle with Alastor, since he recognized him as the conjurer of the hotel's barrier.

[squealing-for-harusono-sensei]

Is Sasaki to Miyano BL? (Pt. 1: Genre is COMPLICATED)

I can practically hear some saying "Obviously??" And others yelling "NO IT'S NOT!!!" to that question.

For those of you who don't get why this is even in question, it's because Harusono-sensei doesn't classify Sasaki to Miyano as BL. The first volume cover denies that it's BL and on the site where it's published, it isn't categorized as BL.

Some may argue that it doesn't matter. It's about two boys who end up together, isn't that enough? "Death of the author" and all that.

I studied literature in college. Admittedly, I had a hard time understanding genre–so I had it as one of the main topics of my graduating thesis out of spite. And got the best possible grade. So I think it's safe to assume that I learned and know more about this than the majority of this fandom. And I say, that question? Is VERY complicated to answer.

The thing is, a lot of people think of genre as a binary. Either something is or isn't a part of that genre. In reality, it's closer to a spectrum and there are a lot of grey areas.

Take the arguments I presented for and against Sasaki to Miyano being BL. How much you buy into either of those arguments is largely depended on

1) Who you think has the most authority over what genre a work is. Is it the author or the reader?

2) What makes a BL BL? Is love between two boys really the only factor?

Neither of these have a clear answer. The reason why I was so confused about genre was because the academic world don't agree on what it even is. We all agree that genre is a thing, but we can't define it.

As I see it, genre is a byproduct of the human instinct to see patterns in things. We see a story and go "This is like that other story!" Once we have a large enough amount of stories that resemble each other and we give that group a name, BAM! We have a new genre.

Which is why defining it is so hard. Stories can be similar in a lot of different ways. But stories aren't similar if they only have one commonality. And yet we tend to boil the similarities down to only one aspect.

Take the isekai genre. Stories about going to another world goes WAY back. And yet, it's only within the last decade that we gave them that name. As I see it, it's because earlier they were similar enough to fantasy stories to simply be lumped into that genre. Whether the main character was born into a magical world or came into it later in life didn't change things enough for those stories to be dissimilar. At most it was a sub-genre of fantasy (e.g. portal fantasy). But suddenly we got a lot of stories about being transported into another world that were very similar in a distinct way. The main character was similar. They ended up in similar worlds. They were, for one reason or another, OP in this new world. They had similar tropes, characters, plot progressions. So these stories were given a name–isekai. Meaning different world. And then, because being transported to another world is the most distinct feature, all stories with that premise is categorized as isekai regardless of how well the term actually fits. (Although if it only has the premise as point of similarity, veterans of the genre will typically say that it is only technically isekai, or distinguish it from other isekai in some other way.)

Looping back to BL, if romance between two boys is the only defining factor, we can't call BL a genre...right? Well, yes, but once something is a genre things get even more complicated.

But does it have to be? Couldn't we just solve it by having the author decide the genre?

Sadly, authors are not immune misclassifying their works. Authors are not immune to misunderstanding genres, for one, though I think we can safely rule out any of those reasons in this case. Harusono-sensei clearly knows a lot about BL–a lot of Sasaki to Miyano's humor wouldn't work otherwise. However, that doesn't rule out not being able to see the forest for the trees. Sometimes an author is too close to their work to recognize the genre because they get bogged down in all the details that make their work unique. There is also the possibility of Harusono-sensei just plain lying to us. Because sometimes authors do that.

But why would an author ever want to lie about the genre? Because genre shapes expectations.

This is why the question of what genre a work is even matters. In worst case scenarios, it's like eating something sour when you were expecting something sweet. You probably wouldn't like it, even though you would have liked it if you had known it would be sour. The worst case scenario isn't relevant for this question, but the point is that being told that something is a specific genre is going to affect how you experience the story.

Regardless of whether or not Sasaki to Miyano is or isn't BL, Harusono-sensei did have something in mind when she called it Boys' Life instead of BL. So whenever you recommend it, I think it's worth pointing out that it's a Boys' Life story. Because that's the expectation that Harusono-sensei intended for readers to have.

Does that then exclude Sasaki to Miyano from the BL genre? Not necessarily. Partly because I think that Harusono-sensei is half lying about the "not a BL" thing. More about that in part two, where I explore what I think Harusono-sensei intended with calling Sasaki to Miyano a Boys' Life story, NOT a BL.

But I did mention that the author might not be the most reliable source of what genre the work is. So I probably should try to answer the question instead of just making it more complicated.

If you try to rationally figure out the answer instead of just going by "I know it when I see it," there are a couple of different ways to do it.

One way of thinking about genre is that it's a collection of common traits that might occur in a genre. It might common character types (e.g. badboy uke), common tropes (e.g. kabedon), common plot developments (e.g. misunderstandings), etc. etc. Some are more critical than others. If there is no romance between two boys then it is categorically not BL.

Another is seeing genre as there being an imaginary story that perfectly exemplifies a genre. Whether or not a story is a part of that genre depends on how close it is to that ideal genre story.

These are just some examples, but the problem is that there isn't really a clear cut answer no matter how you try to figure out a genre. A lot is up to personal interpretation. Plus genre keeps changing. Each new story that is widely accepted as a part of that genre broadens what the genre can be.

Plus the simple fact that no one can read every story that may or may not be a part of a specific genre. I tend to avoid dark stories and have gotten less and less tolerant towards non-consent with age. So there are parts of the BL genre that I don't really engage with. Which then affects how I view the genre.

As I see it, the more you read a genre, the better your understanding of it is. And everyone who are avid readers of a genre will have similar but slightly different understandings of the genre.

Trying to figure out what genre Sasaki to Miyano is the rational way is way more work than I am willing to do. And realistically, kinda impossible. So I'll just give my two cents as someone who has read a lot of BL.

Sasaki to Miyano is partly BL. Which probably sounds like a cop-out answer, but I do mean it. While wholesome, it works a lot more on real world logic than BL logic and also focuses on things outside of Sasaki and Miyano's relationship. But the focus on the romantic aspect of Sasaki and Miyano's relationship, dealing with some of the same themes as BL, and the importance of the BL genre on the story can't be ignored either. So I consider it a fusion of BL and slice-of-life.

But if you read a lot of BL and have a different take? Then it's just as valid as mine.

[roninreverie]

Big Mama's Chinese Roots and a Connection to Tang Shen?

First off, to preface... this whole thing started because @caro-rolo figured out that the Mystic Portal Key doohickeys in Rise are actually just some kind of fancy compasses that have North, South, East, and West written in Chinese characters.

Now, the first thought I had to learning this was "Tang Shen" because in the TMNT universe where Japanese influence is pretty heavy, she is notable for having a Chinese name.

She is also the love interest of Hamato Yoshi in many different variations. Though in Rise, that role belongs most notably to Big Mama, with Tang Shen being a blink and you miss it easter-egg credit on the cover of Jistu for Justice:

Mama is also most likely the source of where Splinter got his mystic portal key, and she even has one of her own in her office. Judging by how much control she has over the Hidden City, from the Battle Nexus, to demolition derbies, to train stations, to crime rings, she seems to have a large control over just who all is in her city, and these keys could very well be something she controls directly.

Now, Big Mama has all the set ups for having typical TMNT Japanese roots. Even her home estate seen in "Hidden City Job" has a very Asian look to it inside and out:

Plus, the whole "her being a yokai", makes it easy to assume she is based on some kind of Japanese spider demon like Jorōgumo, Yatsukahagi/Tsuchigumo, or Ōgumo, etc.

But "Yokai" can also be used to describe the Chinese term "yaoguai" which is basically the same definition.

So if Mama were a Chinese spider demon instead, the first one who comes up on a quick Google search is "zhī zhū jīng" or "spider woman". These are 7 spider demon sisters who fight Sun Wukong in Monkey King: Journey to the West.

Here, the spiders changed into seven beautiful young ladies who wanted to eat the flesh of Sun Wukong's master, Tang Seng, which is said to make the consumer immortal and forever young.

"Tang Seng"... "Tang Shen"... sounds pretty similar.

And aren't there also some animation ties from ROTTMNT to Lego Monkey King? Tangent side note, but there's a spider demon queen in that universe too and guess what? SHE'S PURPLE!

And where did Mama and Lou Jistsu first meet? On set of one of his movies "Crouching Shrimp Hidden Tiger Prawn" in 1984. A movie where an actress like Tang Shen could very well have ties to? (We'll come back to this at the end.)

Another chip in the Chinese vs Japanese bucket is Big Mama's Security Team:

At first, I thought their distinct faces represented Blue Japanese Hannya/ Oni masks, but what if they're supposed to be Chinese Nuo masks instead? Not unlike Zuko's Blue Spirit mask in ATLA.

You could also argue these guys are wielding a sort of Qinglong Ji or Fangtian Ji, which are Chinese spear or polearm weapons. (But if anyone knows what those spear thingies are really called, please let me know, it's driving me nuts!)

...

In conclusion, I got sent on a massive rabbit hole because of a fictional compass and regret nothing! 🧭

Now what is Big Mama's connection to Tang Shen? Are they related? (The actress does look a bit purple.) They could be sisters like the 7 sisters of the Monkey King lore. Did Mama seek to get rid of Tang Shen so she could get closer to Lou Jitsu herself? Are they the same person? Is Big Mama based on Japanese or Chinese folklore? Did any of this make any sense at all?

Let me know what you think, and thanks for joining me for another deep dive into another one of my random ROTTMNT theories!

EDIT: (PS- Sorry, if the "read more" messes the order of these up, but the scroll was annoying me in my own tags.) 😅

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Hi! I’m not dead, just very overwhelmed so I won’t be posting for a while (well a while longer than this)

In the meantime, how do you name things? WIPs, characters, worlds, places etc.

Have a good day!

- @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife

Hello again, friend! Sorry you're overwhelmed I totally get that.

WIPs

Well, it depends. I don't like one word titles that much, and The [Word] isn't much better (for my things specifically - I prefer making them a bit more distinct). For me, I like 3+ words for abbreviations.

Most of the time, the names just came to me. Let's look at these guys:

The Secret Portal - refers to the main gimmick, magic source, concept, inciting incident, etc of the story. Can't exactly reduce the conflict or broader concept down to a snappy title, so here's the Thing that got everything started and makes it possible. Plus, it gives the reader a bit of context going in, since knowing a portal is involved I think helps.

School of the Legends - what else am I supposed to call the fairy tale school parody? Everything else is taken lol

It Was All Just a Dream - well it's a classic trope that's hated by a lot of people, though it's occasionally used well, it's hard to pull off. So I'm just telling you straight up that it's all a dream. Plus, it's snappy and demands attention

Characters

TSP - mainly they come to me but sometimes I will scroll through behindthename.com

SOTL - I usually try to find a name with a relevant meaning since I'm working with fairy tales

IWAJAD - legit they just came to me, but the less common names like Noemi and Phinessa are names I've gotten from real people

Worlds/Places

TSP - I cry and pull my hair out until I find something that kinda works

SOTL - jury's still out

IWAJAD - real life baby

Thanks for stopping by!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet

SOTL intro

SOTL tag list (ask to be +/-): @illarian-rambling @katwritesshit @wyked-ao3

IWAJAD intro

IWAJAD tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @mrbexwrites @drchenquill

[spiderculechronicals]

I love this turn of events bc Peter 2 gets to be a baddy a lil bit and it saves the reveal for the reset until right now and that is ok by me

___

“Hey, Dr Strange!”

“Hello Peter,” Dr Strange greeted him, then turned to the others. “Ah… Mr Parker, Mr Wilson, and… Mr Parker…”

“Dr Parker, actually.” Peter 2 smiled with confidence.

“Dr Parker.” Dr Strange corrected himself and nodded, a barely discernable smile tugging at his mouth. He glanced at Peter 1, who was gazing at Peter 2 with pride and fondness. The look was mirrored on the face of Peter 3, who was hanging on Deadpool’s arm. “Ah, come through, please.” Strange made a series of hand motions with glowing symbols in the air, creating a sparkly-edged circle portal in the room. He gestured to it.

“Whoah! Hold- time out. Where the fuck is that going?” Wade spoke up.

“It’s a portal, it’s perfectly safe-“

“I know what the fuck it is, Professor Weirdo, I asked where the fuck is it going..? And are you coming with us, orrrr…?”

Dr Strange looked to Peter 1 to back him up.

Peter 1 caught his eye and blinked. “Is… is that not a valid question? That sounded like a valid question to me…?”

Dr Strange sighed. “Right. I suppose it is. The office building that has the paperwork prepared is located a four hour trip away by standard transportation. This is faster. I will be going with you. I can’t go first because I need to maintain the portal.”

Wade squinted and walked over to the portal, then poked his head through to investigate. He pulled back. “Alright. Checks out. Jesus Christ I swear all surgeons are entitled fucking assholes…”

 

They eventually got settled and Wade quickly informed Strange that he didn’t actually need the service for himself, he already had an established identity with paperwork and a credit score, he was merely there as moral support for his soon-to-be-husband. The question came up as to whether, for the sake of alleviating confusion, the two surplus Peters would like to alter their name or other information.

“Uh… is there a law against multiple people having the name Peter Parker that I’m not aware of? Is this like, the screen actor’s guild or something?” Peter 3 smirked. “I’m not changing my name until we get the marriage license.” He patted Wade’s knee for emphasis. Peter 2 echoed the sentiment about keeping his name.

Strange informed one of the case workers that as it turns out, one of the Peter Parkers needs his paperwork changed to include the title Dr. Once they realize it’s not a medical doctorate, it doesn’t seem to be an issue. Peter 2 sighs. Strange shrugs, and the two find themselves alone for a little while as paperwork is adjusted elsewhere, and Peter 1 and Wade had been left to wait in an outer lobby, and Peter 3 was shuffled off to have pictures taken.

“Eh… don’t take it too hard. I don’t practice medicine anymore, but like hell I was going to drop the honorific. You earned your title, Dr Parker.”

“Thanks,” Peter 2 said, smiling with mild amusement. “You care a lot about Peter, don’t you?”

“It’s my experience that anyone who actually gets to know Peter Parker does,” Strange said. “And respects Spiderman greatly. He’s the future I hope to see for super heros.”

“Did you get a little swell of quasi-paternal pride when I said I was Dr Parker…”

“… Perhaps.”

“How bad is Tony Stark going to react to Deadpool being involved?”

Strange sighed. “This iteration of Wade Wilson does seem to be… tempered... significantly by the influence of…”

“… His Peter.” Peter 2 filled in helpfully. “I take it you looked up the past year and a half with regards to his activity?”

“I did. He was absolutely correct, this universe has made a net gain.”

Peter 2 chuckled. “Did you know that in my universe, there was no Stark Industries? Iron Man and Captain America were comic book characters to me.”

“Now that… is fascinating.” Dr Strange smiled.

“There clearly was a Stark in Wade and Peter’s universe, but I got the distinct impression that there existed bad blood there. That Tony did not mentor a young Spiderman.”

“I’d say the loss was Stark’s…”

The case worker returned with several new pages for Peter 2 to initial and sign. Peter 2 sighed softly and set to reading, moving quickly but clearly taking the information in. Once he’d reviewed all the pages he went through and initialed and signed where indicated. The caseworker left them again in the cubicle booth.

“So…” Strange began, and Peter 2 just sat back with his chin down and smiled, having a feeling about what was coming. “You and… Peter…”

“He’s not a kid, you know.”

“… I do know.” Strange paused, searching for wording. “He’s very much an adult. I’ve also noticed that in a span of perhaps two days, his mental health has gone from self-destructive high masking depression to confident, secure, and hopeful.”

Peter 2 looked mildly pained at the idea that Peter 1 had been suffering from depression prior to their arrival. He met Strange’s eyes. “… he was depressed?”

“He lost touch with his social circle when they went away to university out of state and he stayed behind, opting for a two year degree at a community college with plans to transfer that never materialized… I strongly suspect due to lack of action on his part, which is not to say it was a weakness of character, but… his heart belongs to the city and it would be hard to leave. He came to me hoping for a way to repair the past, and… though it didn’t go as planned, I have to say the ultimate result was just what was needed.”

“Aw, Peter…” Peter 2 murmured softly, deciding then and there that it would be his life’s goal to make sure Peter 1 had another crack at higher education and achieved at least a Master’s. He looked up at Strange. “Why are you telling me this? Me, specifically.”

Strange tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow. “Because you’re less likely to curse me out defensively and go on a tangent about my cape or the white streaks in my hair…”

“They are rather striking.”

“Thank you.”

“How did you destroy your hands? By the way. I noticed the scars.” Peter 2 said, deciding not to be a soft option.

“… drunk driving.” Strange admitted, accepting this fate with grace.

“Sss…” Peter 2 made a grimace. “You lose someone too?”

“The woman I loved.”

“Did she…”

“Died in the crash.”

“Holy shit. Okay. Yeah you… you were to blame for that one. That’s… hard. You still alone?”

“I have enough on my plate to keep me going.”

“You tried to change the past for yourself before and knew it wouldn’t work.”

“Some things are set.”

“But you didn’t want to turn Peter away, even though you knew he was asking the impossible, because he needed something to give him hope, or… it doesn’t bear thinking.  So, you cast some kind of spell, but not the spell he thought you were casting.”

“I made no pretense that the spell would work as he thought it should…”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Peter 2 put a hand up. “I just know a guilty conscience when I see it.”

Strange raised an eyebrow. “From the mirror?”

“Mm…” Peter 2 held eye contact and conceded with a mirthless smile. “I’ve taken the blame for things that weren’t my fault… and then ended up doing things I thought that version of myself was capable of. So yes. From the mirror.” He sighed. “This universe feels like a brand-new start to me. I wasn’t going to take direct action- I believe the clinical term is passive ideation. But Wade and his Peter? They were doing fine in theirs. They were thriving in their own way. But they’ve both taken on this world with an open heart. And I say Wade’s Peter, but I have to be honest, he’s mine too. We’re all part of each other now. And we all fiercely and wholeheartedly love the Peter who brought us here. I have the incredible honor of being chosen by him for the role of boyfriend… I think this is what you were initially getting at. But it’s a polycule, look that up if you need to, and there’s… a developing dynamic. But, also, yes… it’s been consummated. With enthusiastic consent. As you say. He’s an adult.”

Strange took this in with an admirable composure. “Alright, that explains a lot…”

[clueless-fan-critic]

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse: The Edge of the Sony’s Spider-Verse.

Alright. Let’s get to the meat of the business sandwich.

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse is the sequel to 2018 smash hit film Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse that honestly broke all of my expectations about the film being a two-parter with too much info. I honestly loved the movie just as much as the first with its iconic animation style, charming characters, and impactful story. Directed by Joaquim Dos Santos, Kemp Powers, and Justin K. Thompson, it felt like the film was greatly cohesive without any confusion to the plot. It feels as if the film was not just a mandatory assignment but also a passion project made in the years before it was production. While I’m a fan of Marvel and the MCU (to some degree), I’ve definitely became a Spider-Verse fan.

Let us get into this Spider-Man classic once again.

The Animation

Alright. Let’s get this out of the way.

The animation was incredible and awe-inspiring much like the first film, but pushed into overdrive. Each animated world has its own style that reflects a different version of Spider-Man. From Hobie Brown’s collage-like style to Pavitr Prabhakar’s bollywood inspired environment. Gwen’s dimension is especially colorful with the watercolor style reflecting her comic book covers. Almost every character has a distinct style to their animation from 1960s campy to 90s angst. While the movie visually stunning and dynamic, let’s get into what’s going on story wise.

The Characters

The main characters of the movie are definitely Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. They both are different sides of the story that reflect the theme of who someone is as Spider-Man and what kind of story they have or what they want out of life. In a way, it continues the ideas and themes about expectations with choosing their own path in spite of others’ opinions and expectations.

Afro-Latino protagonist Miles is someone who’s dealing with the crossroads of who he wants be while grappling with the expectations from his family. He’s also struggling with balancing his two lives as a teen and a superhero with his responsibilities to his family. When face-to-face with Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man of 2099, and the fact about canon events, Miles chooses to go against it believing he can save people without risking the Spider-Verse. The phrase “I can do both” is what caught my attention because it is possible for some people, but not a choice for Spider-People in that they must experience canon events for the sake of the Spider-Verse.

Gwen is faced with the rigid expectations of what it means to be Spider-Man and how she faces the choices she makes. Gwen makes the decision to go against Miguel and the Spider-Society to save Miles on the wrong Earth, deciding to become her own hero that she wants to believe in.

The Spot, Johnathan Ohnn, is the main villain of the movie with his power to make dimensional portals after the collider exploded in the previous film. They at first portray him more of a joke character, but then slowly build him into a terrifying threat with colossal amounts of power at his hands. This is shocking because I always thought of him as a lackluster villain despite having a cool power. They actually made what could of been a joke into someone more terrifying in concept alone.

The numerous cameos from the Spider-Society range from interesting to hilarious. One of them is an obscure spider-person in a wheelchair and with crutches named Charlotte Webber or Sun-Spider of Earth-20023. Others include a cowboy, cat, t-rex, and even dune buggy. They all could just be glorified cameos with no substance, but they actually bring out the abstract craziness of the Spider-Verse and what it means for future of the franchise as a whole.

The Story

The whole story centers around Miles Morales and his journey into becoming Spider-Man, but also Gwen’s journey and how the Spider-Verse is being threatened by the Spot.

The villain is definitely the Spot and his crusade to destroy Miles, but the antagonist is Miguel O’Hara’s ideology about the Spider-Verse. Miguel’s insistence of maintaining the order of the Spider-Verse goes directly against Miles’ idea of what it means to be Spider-Man. Miles wants to save his father from a fated death as a police captain, but Miguel wants to let it play out so that the universe isn’t destroyed because of canon events.

The idea of canon events creates the division among the Spider-People where they choose to let people die to preserve the universe or risk its destruction. This idea is pretty similar to what Doctor Strange presented in No Way Home with letting the villains die than risk the universe. I think because Miles doesn’t follow the canon, he can break the cycle that all the Spider-People endure and have them even question the very system they follow.

I liked how the story left us on a cliffhanger that made us crave more of the movies and possible spinoffs. Leaving us wondering what will happen to Miles on Earth 42 with his evil doppelgänger or what Gwen’s plan is now that she’s leading a splinter team against Miguel and the Spider-Society.

Afterword

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse is a miracle in the landscape of sequels and two-parters. It has pushed itself to a whole new level of animation with unique colors and styles. The story and characters are pushed to their limits with dilemmas of preservation and duty along with freedom of choice and finding one’s way. It reminds us that no matter who you are, you can still be unsure of what you want and still be okay with questioning things.

Now I can’t wait for Beyond the Spider-Verse next year.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Healing

@elentarial, a new acquaintance and an extraordinary writer, has requested my beloved OTP and it was a pleasure to write it.

Be advised, this ficlet will be NSFW and will contain the smut prompt "Ruined orgasm".

Words: 1287

Characters: Maedhros x Fingon (the Fëanorians, Cara my beloved, Nienna and Estë)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, sexual touching, interruptions and sadness

(And yes, they are STILL half-cousins, it bears repeating)

Findekáno had forgotten how impressive—or in other words, loud—his half-uncle's sons truly were.

Even from behind a sturdy column, he could make out Kanafinwë's vocalising and Turcafinwë's thundering steps.

Overcome with yearning, he abandoned the safety of the deep shadows in favour of a more advantageous position from which he could observe the slow procession of the condemned as they filed into the main room of the hushed healing chambers.

It had been too long since last he had laid eyes upon Nelyafinwë—cousin, friend, and lover—and nobody had ever dubbed him "Fingon the Patient" after all.

Unmindful of their purposefully drab and grey surroundings, the eldest sons padded noiselessly into the circular room to ponder their imminent choice of a secluded pool.

Already, Findekáno thought himself safe and unnoticed, but then, Morifinwë's ghostly gaze settled on him with the fierce coolness of unsheathed steel.

Findekáno could not help feeling that a distinct ripple of disappointment and dismay flashed across the usually so stern face of his kinsman.

"Have you come to gawk at our misery?" he hissed in a tone so low and thrumming that not even Curufinwë the Younger caught his words as he pushed past his brother with an annoyed grunt.

The fact that the impatient ferocity of the Fëanorians had in no way abated after their demise made Findekáno smile involuntarily.

"No," he then replied—his own voice was just a little too loud and too desperate and he half-expected to find one of the Valier at his elbow to shush him. "Forgive me for grinning—it is good to see you all."

Morifinwë frowned, cocking his head.

"So you all keep saying," he mumbled, throwing furtive glances down the many tunnels and passageways through which his brothers had disappeared.

"I take it that you've come to spy on Nelyo then?" he asked in a rasping voice that betrayed a level of empathy Findekáno had not thought him capable of hitherto.

Startled, he nodded.

"Very well," came the forcibly dispassionate answer. "As the oldest—and the most damaged by far, as you'll soon learn—he usually takes the gloomy pool down that slippery path here."

Morifinwë pointed at a barely visible gash in the solid stone wall—it gaped like a voracious, foreboding maw, but Findekáno, whose epithet had indeed been "the Valiant", was undaunted by the unpromising portal.

"Have a care," Morifinwë called after him, "it would not do to startle Nelyo out of his mind by sliding right into his lap."

After a moment of frantic thought and connecting the dots, he grunted, "Or that might be exactly what both of you need. What do I know? In hopes not to meet you in the near future, I bid you goodbye, son of Ñolofinwë."

Without sparing another glance at the intruder, he floated away in that stiff, slightly ungainly manner that was so uniquely his own.

Shaking his head to dispel the surge of paralysing fondness within his breast, Findekáno rushed through the chamber as quietly as he could and all but threw himself down the narrow shaft leading to the remotest but also least charming of the healing pools.

The first thing he saw was the mesmerising gleam of Nelyafinwë’s hair—Findekáno had always admired and loved the way that radiant red turned into a deeper, darker tone when wet.

It was not clear what had given him away—the rhythm of his steps or the small hum of awe—but, without so much as turning around, the hunched-over creature in the pool spoke his name.

Neither a question nor an accusation, the single word sounded like a prayer spoken while in deep sleep.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Findekáno said hastily, “I could bear no longer to be kept apart from my heart’s desire.”

“Leave now,” Nelyafinwë whispered, “before the realisation of how little of what you’ve once loved is left destroys the fleeting remnant of affection you might yet hold for me.”

Shrugging out of his robe with frantic determination, Findekáno threw himself into the pool—water rose in outraged columns and splashed the oppressive walls of the small cave.

“I love you still, I always shall,” he panted as he grabbed the tall redhead by the shoulders to spin him around. “Whatever happened—nothing could ever change that. Oh, Russo!”

As he finally beheld that face—weary and pale—he had dreamed of throughout his whole life and every moment after its end, he could no longer hold back the sobs of intermingled pain and relief.

“Maitimo you were and still are,” he declared huskily, letting his eager hands soak up the coolness of Nelyafinwë’s skin by caressing every inch of it he could reach.

When surprisingly warm lips alighted on his gasping mouth, Findekáno surged against the other, ready to lock him into an eternal embrace.

“My sweet love,” he huffed, breathing in the powdery smell of Nelyafinwë’s throat greedily and hooking one leg around a shapely, svelte thigh in a bid for more friction.

Aeons of separation and rivers of blood melted like the last snow in spring between them—they had known each other intimately for much too long for this clumsy, frantic intermezzo of colliding hips and clashing mouths to be anywhere near satisfactory, but Findekáno found himself unable to even contemplate letting go of his beloved for fear that he’d dissolve like a being of mist and smoke.

“I should have…” he groaned as he felt the familiar heat wash through his system. “I didn’t know whether…”

Words became impossible to summon as long, pale arms closed around him and the smooth heat of Nelyafinwë’s arousal brushed against his own.

“We’ve started like that,” the reluctant revenant whispered. “Do you remember? It’s only fitting that we’d retrace our steps to the time before we turned into monsters.”

The sloshing water prevented any real resistance, and both soon whimpered in frustration as they vainly slid against one another without finding the necessary purchase to push each other over the edge.

Nevertheless, the comfortingly unintrusive game of heated glances and passing touches was too sweet and healing for either one of them to desist.

“I’ve missed you,” Nelyafinwë confessed breathily as a particularly successful stroke made them both shiver in heart-stopping delight. “I was not ready…”

Even as he spoke those words, he knew that he had been lying to himself—he had been terrified that the love he kept in a shrine of memory within his own hardened heart had been lost forevermore.

Dispossessed as he was, Nelyafinwë had not been ready or willing to witness this ultimate loss that would have left him hollow and hurt beyond hope of repair or redemption.

Between the overwhelming joy at this timely reunion and the torturous fire of long-forgotten arousal, their minds and bodies seemed to no longer care that this uncoordinated fumbling was hardly what their lovemaking had once amounted to.

Progressively, delicious tension and blinding light were building up inexorably behind their fluttering lids and within their taut, thrumming muscles.

“I am here,” came the insistent answer but—just as Findekáno reached between them to encircle their engorged cocks with a guiding hand to bring them to completion—someone cleared their throat discreetly.

“While we encourage all kinds of healing,” Estë enunciated softly, “we’d much prefer if you did not soil the healing springs thus.”

“You’ve also occupied this pool for quite some time,” Nienna added, mercy flowing from her ever-weeping eyes, “so, might I suggest a peaceful cabin?”

At once, the two lovers sprang apart, gaping at the two ladies looking upon them with patient amusement.

“A towel, a bed, and a door,” Nienna whispered gently, “doesn’t that sound better than…this?”

@fellowshipofthefics here's another spicy one. 3/3 done.

@elentarial Thank you endlessly for this amazing prompt. This was so much fun to write!

-> Masterlist

[magic-aggy]

@rudy-redd 's character moonshoes and 'my' character... uhhh. well shes only sort of mine. this is just my take on what EQG Celestia would look like if she came thru the portal. I've taken some liberties, and she's more or less a distinct AU version of the real character at this point. im going to refer to her as Tia from now on.

originally i was just inspired by another person on here's art of 'what if pony EQG celestia', and i drew a really weird scene with my take on her, for like, fun, to explore colour. but then that design which was made on a whim, cemented in my brain and gradually turned into a sort of OC.

i had the thought that like, theres no real magic in the EQG world besides the little bits of pony magic that was introduced. so while like, the mortals have a concurrent equivalent in each world. like, theres two applejacks that are alternate versions of the same person.

but the human celestia would have died like a thousand years ago. bc pony celestia is a thousand years old.

thus, my take, is that Principal Celestia (Tia), is a sort of reincarnation of the original human celestia, who was some historical figure associated with the sun. and current human celestia, is a trans woman, who felt a connection to the historical figure and felt compelled to name herself after her!

so she is the same person but also a totally different person all at once.

and then i started projecting all my stress onto her, bc damn she probably has a stressful life like the pony celestia and doesnt get enough time off. and at the time i really really wasnt getting much time to rest or recuperate.

so i started to fantasize and put together little stories and anecdotes about Tia visiting the pony world in her time off, and taking advantage of looking like the princess to get away with things she shouldnt, and getting into trouble, and eventually meeting her doppelganger.

and i think theyd get along, but also maybe from a distance Princess Celestia would be jealous, bc Tia gets to be young (43) and carefree (have weekends off), but the princess is so busy allll the time.

so now Tia is like, somehow all at once an OC, an AU version of a canon character, and one of several ponysonas that i project various aspects of myself onto and explore myself through.

its complicated. her design here is like, a practice for making a proper ref for her. im really happy with how it came out.

i really like Tia...

im going to tie her into the big AU story im working on. she is going to fuck up so many well laid plans just by being there.

oh and shes an earth pony!!! i needed an earth pony character... i like earth ponies...

if i was a real pony ive often thought id be a unicorn, but recently ive thought maybe id be an earth pony. or a unicorn who's magic doesnt work reliably bc of an injury/chronic health issue/undeath.

anyway expect more Tia art sooner or later.

[cagedchoices]

GET TO KNOW THE AUTHOR.

name:  mel 

pronouns:  they/them/theirs

preference of communication:  mainly tumblr IMs these days, but i have discord and wire and occasionally i will drop my info on tumblr, give it out privately if asked, or add if someone else is looking to add. it can take me a while to work up the courage to message someone in the first place and i'm really... not good at the usual social cues of "hey how are you/good how are you?/what have you been up to?" but i'm usually game to chat about other stuff

most active muse:  Caleb. i've had a lot of other muses but he's been the one i've been most consistently able to write in the slightly over 3 years since i first started writing him.

experience/how many years:  i had a couple false starts trying to set up rp blogs for Samwise Gamgee from the Lord of the Rings trilogy and Wirt from Over the Garden Wall back in 2014 and 2015? but i just never really managed to get off the ground and start writing in-character for them because i was super heavily intimidated by the rpc and too nervous to approach anyone. finally in january 2017 i stumbled across a parody of Portal 2 on youtube called the Unauthorized Musical and discovered that there were already a handful of muns on tumblr who had picked up characters specifically based on that production and regularly hosted rabbit streams where they'd watch the video again together and welcomed anyone who wanted to join to do so. i noticed nobody was really writing any antagonistic characters against them so i wound up setting up a blog for GLaDOS and following everybody i met during the stream and that was essentially how i became hooked on tumblr rp. i've been kicking around on and off for about 7 years now.

best experience: there's so many to choose from, but i think i'd have to say my best experience was when i started writing Caleb. i was just fresh off watching Westworld season 3, i was actually feeling more compelled at the time to try and write either Dolores, Maeve, Clementine or Teddy but i felt like i wouldn't do any of 'em justice. i ended up making a sideblog to my old multimuse after deciding i would try writing Caleb, and that's where i almost immediately connected with melody/aworldofyou/copiesofme and was enthusiastically introduced to a bunch of other muns residing in the tiny but mighty westworld rpc. 🥰

rp pet peeves: one is pretty much the same as Sandra said; making a new main blog in the spur of the moment. exhausting all energy on curating a distinct aesthetic for icons/banners/promos/custom themes/etc, and then completely losing interest in a week or 2 without ever getting to write that character. and then more often than not the process gets repeated down the line until that person either becomes overwhelmed from having too many blogs to manage or too many memes to answer or too many starters to write.

i also don't particularly love memes that promote making rp into a popularity contest or seeking an almost constant stream of validation from other people. things like "send a _ and i'll rate your blog on a scale of 1 to 10/using a scale template" i try to stay far away from. arguably every notification you get on tumblr is an instant dopamine hit just like all social media is but. idk there was just something about those blog rating/character rating memes that made them feel more addictive to send and receive than like, taking the time to give someone your honest opinion on how you feel about them as a person or on their writing and characters and such.

another similar thing is reblog chains to the effect of 'reblog this if you actually like following me/seeing me on the dash.' i really don't like these. there's a level of self-deprecation and guilt-tripping involved and when people already feel awfully low and vulnerable to negative self image this just makes it worse. especially when people post with side commentary like 'oh nobody will reblog this from me lol.' and i don't think they're always necessarily aware that this is manipulative behavior, but...it is. even just the way the source post is typically phrased, it preys on insecurity and it makes me sad when i do see mutuals reblogging posts written like this because then i'm like. just sitting there thinking "i'm not a spambot so...if i didn't like following you or seeing you on my dash i would not be following you??"

other forms of reblog chains like 'reblog to give the person you're reblogging from a hug' or 'reblog this and say something nice about the person you reblogged from' are far better in my opinion because they don't inherently contain that same level of insecurity. they put the focus on lifting up and supporting the person you're reblogging from instead of centering on yourself.

plots or memes: i like both but i am very much a memes person because i feel like i'm not very good at plotting.

long or short replies: i don't really have a preference! but lately my thing generally seems to be letting the length creep up so my replies just get longer and longer over time. i never expect anyone to match me, but like. the one thing that would crush my soul is me posting like. 5-7 paragraphs and getting back a one sentence or one word response 😭

are you like your muses: i have a few things in common with caleb, one of them being that we're both neurodivergent and just trying to exist in a society where it is typically seen as undesirable to be classed as such. i stumbled across a venn diagram a while back comparing and contrasting common traits associated with ptsd and autism and it has given me a lot to take into consideration in the way that i portray caleb

tagged by: @k4ndall

tagging: @gunslingcr @paddyfuck @weirdwonderful @killjoysanonymous @prettydead & you (not labeled)

[mx-mongoose]

Edit made by Derpy Banana

God I really wish i could rp like a portal and Infinity Train crossover thing. I would make a server but A: I don’t know if the audience is out there and B: I feel like I don’t know enough about the lore to make a coherent plot by myself (i know Portal’s story to a T, just I don’t know ANYTHING about Half Life. Which i feel like is important since The Train is in some sorta alternate earth and I know Half Life’s whole plot revolves around different planets and dimensions i think)

Btw hey! My name is Goose (he/they)

Boundaries:

- Proshippers stay the hell away

- But other then that i’m cool with most ships (Portal and Infinity Train)

- i’m sixteen, so please don’t bring up anything sexual

- please don’t vent this is supposed to be fun

- you have to be 15+ and below 25

- Please tell me your triggers beforehand so we can rp safe!

- As well as your comforts!

- I’m iffy with OCs, so please don’t take it personally

- I play Tulip, she’s a BIG comfort character for me but because of that you can be literally anyone (Infinity Train and Portal characters). Chell, Wheatley, Glados, Jesse, Lake, Grace, Simon, Ryan, Min, etc, the whole buffet of characters is yours as long as I write for Tulip.

- I prefer discord! (MxMongoose#4163)

—

Reference so you know my writing style (not indicative of rp)

The snowflakes fell on Tulip’s warm skin, bolting her awake from what felt like a deep sleep. The sort of sleep where you don’t feel well rested in any sort of way but as if you blacked out suddenly. All she remembered was a train screaming to a halt in the middle of the woods, a light from the entrance beckoning her over and then felt something grab her through the doorway. But that was it really. It felt distant, like a bad dream.

She sat herself up, swaying her head from left to right in a baffled state.

“Did I just hallucinate a train station?” Tulip blurted out, scratching the back of her neck.

“Well that’s… boring,” She said it as more of a confused conclusion rather then a statement. She can’t dwell on it for to long after all, she has to keep moving.

She got to her feet and brushed the lightly piled snow off her clothes, a scowl laced on her face.

“‘Oh Tulip we missed you at game design camp’. Oh i’m sorry, I decided to fall asleep in the middle of a field and dream of OUTDATED MODES OF TRANSPORTATION!” She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, kicking up the snow like it was dirt and trudging along with a grunt.

She subconsciously ignored the distinct scent of wood and animals missing from her surroundings. As well as the abundance of trees being absent for that matter even though she was just in the woods a second ago.

On her path, there were four snowmen. Snowmen who Tulip suddenly deemed as her worst enemies apparently.

She flipped one’s cowboy hat off to the side, the other’s she slapped the round framed purple lensed glasses off completely, and the other had a full space helmet on in which Tulip had to take in for a minute. Who would put that much effort into a snowman? Considering the helmet didn’t look like a toy. A replica maybe?

“What the…” Tulip mumbled, proceeding to tap the helmet belonging to the dopily citrus eyed snowman.

“Hello there!” An english voice chirped.

Tulip nearly broke her neck when she swung it near where the noise was coming from, her soul made itself known through her throat by bellowing a scream.

"Don't be alarmed! Calm down, calm down!" The ball exclaimed anxiously. "I'm not going to hurt you, little child!"

What she saw was a robot... ball ...thing??? The ball was made out of a smooth metal with darker patches welded onto them from presumable damage; it had two symentric handles on its vetrical sides, and the most noticable aspect of it was its lens. Its lens was pillowed between layers of metal encasing, shining a bright aquamarine blue and staring at Tulip as if it were its eye. Wide and shaken.

"Wha- I'm not a little child?!" Tulip snapped, cringing.

"Oh yeah, I guess you are bigger then me! Kids are getting taller by the day I swear, granted I haven't seen one before but from what I know they are typically pretty small,"

Suddenly on impulse, she went to hold the ball but as soon as Tulip lifted it off the snowman perch the robot gave yet another yelp of a scream before quickly simmering down as it processed.

"AHHHHhhhhh..?... Huh... Oh god, whoever put me on this snow clump said if I ever disengaged from it I would die! I don't even know why they even said that to be honest with you,”

"Uh," was all Tulip could say from that response, staring at the ball as if it grew a second head.

"Oh right, the question! I am not a toy, a nasty generalization of small robots really, so do better on that one, mate,"

"Well, what are you then?" Tulip asked,

"Well uh... I know i'm some metal ball thing, but that's about it. Don't really have any recollation about anything from before this, so your guess is as good as mine! Just don't guess that i'm a toy, because-"

"Ugh, I don't have time for this," Tulip groaned before tossing the robot aside and moving along.

"Wait, where are you going?! Don't leave me here!" It called, panic apparent.

"Well if you wanna come so bad, why don't you follow me?" Tulip snapped, cocking her head back.

"I can't move, not really the rolling type of ball apparently. Hm... Hey, what about you hold me?" It offered.

[rustbeltjessie]

Rust Belt Jessie’s NaPoWriMo 2023 Prompts: #10

dream on

Way back in 2004, I wrote a short story (which was supposed to turn into a full graphic novel, but never did, for reasons) about Sebastian Fatelli—a character who stood on the wet streetcorners of Baltimore, handing out dreams to passerby.

Nowadays, the poet Mathias Svalina runs a Dream Delivery Service, where he writes dreams (and nightmares; thought they cost more) and delivers them to people—by bike, if they’re nearby; by mail, if they’re not.

Here’s one of my favorites of his dream-poems, from his chapbook Some Dream Holidays:

(You may notice that Mathias’s dream holiday is a prose poem. Some people hate prose poems, or claim they’re not even really poetry.* So this is where I reiterate that I don’t make hard & fast distinctions between poetry and prose. I have written both short and long-form works that look like prose to the untrained eye, but are, conceptually, poems.)

So.

You could use this prompt to write a poem from a dream you’ve had, but I’m hoping you’ll do something more in the vein of Sebastian or Mathias. Dream of a dream. Write a (new) dream, or nightmare. Or you could take the seed of the idea from a dream you have had, then flesh it out with imagined details. Combine a real dream with a fake dream. Though, since both were created in your mind, which one’s more real is impossible to truly say. I guess it might be more accurate to phrase it as: Combine elements of a night dream, which came to you unbidden, with elements of a purposeful daydream.

Whichever way you go with this—whether writing about a dream you’ve had, making up a new dream (said I got new dreams!**), or combining the two—try to dive deep into that weird dream logic. You know, where things that you know to be not just false but completely ridiculous in waking life are accepted without question in the dream world. Like, you’re in San Francisco, and the geography looks right, but the buildings are ones that, in waking life, are located in Chicago. Or like, you’re lost in some random small town, and you have a map which shows you the path you need to follow to find your way out, but part of the path runs right through this random family’s house, and they see you walking through their house and aren’t mad but are like why are you in our house? and you’re like this is where the map told me to go! And then you make it through their house and get back outside and an unmellow yellow*** bird builds a nest in your hair. Or like, the heating vent under your grandmother’s bathroom sink is also a portal to hell. Or, as @MNateShyamalan put it in this tweet:

You can write it as a prose poem or a more traditionally structured poem, whichever feels right to you.

Bonus points if, after writing it, you give/send a copy to a friend or stranger.

—

*I once had someone tell me “they’re just badly written, extra-short fiction.” That guy thought all his opinions/thoughts on poetry were fact, and liked to argue with me about why all my opinions/thoughts on poetry were wrong. One time I got so mad about it, I nearly punched him in the middle of a crowded bar. I still think Barfights About Poetry would make a great name for a chapbook or zine or something.

**Got new dreams and I’m gonna make ‘em real! —Naked Raygun

***TIL: There is an actual Crayola color called “Unmellow Yellow.”