#i share so many fandom opinions with you it's like the spiderman pointing at spiderman thing

[bluemoonscape]

The like, painful thing about Vader being such an iconic and famous character in the star wars mythos is that the more we receive of him, the weaker his initial redemption arc becomes.

Like it was always going to be a problem and it's not really bad if you just never think too much about everything Vader is said to have done in between the prequels and the original trilogy. But it's hard, because the ancillary material provides so so much depth and complexity to Anakin and Vader. He is, at once, made worse and better by continuously expanding on his life.

The tragedy of Anakin is made even more tragic by going into the mind of Anakin the day order 66 happens and seeing the glee he takes in mocking the council during his slaughter. It makes you feel sick, and then you are presented with the failures of the council and how Anakin was raised from slavery and made to believe he is some savior, but he couldn't even save his mother. He was PUNISHED for even suggesting that he intervene. The Jedi Order had already been compromised and their ideology warped to cause harm through inaction and placing the importance on their relationships with banks and private factions that have a stake in an eternal war.

There was a comic where Anakin and Obi-Wan are trying to save this planet that isn't technically part of the Republic and is facing a natural calamity AND the Separatists aiming to take control of the planet. I can't remember the entirety of the comic but I remember what Obi-Wan says to Anakin as the Jedi arrive with the Clones to take control of the situation: he said that the Jedi didn't arrive to help because help was needed, they showed up because a JEDI requested aid. They had known about the planet, they had received their distress calls, they didn't mobilize UNTIL a Jedi sent a distress call (and I think they took control of the planet for its natural minerals)

The comic was meant to emphasize the shift from the Order's altruistic peacekeeping origins, into a for profit military force. So when Order 66 happens, it is an immensely tragic event to everyone else, but it feels as if its divine Retribution to Anakin. iirc he says "I'm what you prayed for, aren't I lovely" or something to that effect in the novel of Revenge Of The Sith. It's like, effed up, but it you can see how--through Anakin's many many troubles and Sidious' constant manipulation--Anakin comes to view his actions as just.

And then going forward, as Vader, we are constantly in his headspace in almost every piece of media he appears in as a character. His disdain for Anakin, unending pain(physically and mentally), how Sidious punishes him for his defeat to Obi-Wan. The comic where he bleeds his kyber crystal...it's such a good goood comic. Gosh, in the vast world of Star Wars, it's hard to imagine a character who suffers as much Vader or who is as punished as Anakin.

Plus Anakin and Padme were T4T m/f and Anakin and Obi-Wan are toxic doomed mlm 🤧 thank you.

GOD you're so right about the continued expansion of his character both making him deeper as a character and yet showing us dimensions of his cruelty and capability for cruelty that we haven't seen before... he's such a tragic character at his root and literally every piece of media added to the collection of his story adds something new and often jarring.

What's so striking to me (which I recalled because you mentioned the RotS novelization which I'm normal about totally) about him is that, at his root, he's kind, loving, and altruistic - everything the Jedi hail. In the Phantom Menace novel, Watto sends him across the Dune Sea on a speeder to negotiate a trade with a merchant. On his way back, he encounters an injured Tusken and stops to try and help him. He stays with him through the night, not knowing how to help but unwilling to leave him, and this small child is thinking and recognizing that he and the Tusken were both afraid of each other, and yet this gives them something they have in common. Eventually little Ani falls asleep and wakes up however many hours later to find himself surrounded by other Tuskens who had come for their injured man. He's terrified, he's carrying valuable parts from the trade he was forced to do, but the Tusken he spent the night watching over signals for the others to lay off, and so they leave him and his valuables alone. This is such a simple but profound scene to me because we know what Anakin does to a village of Tuskens in AotC. In the time after he spent in slavery and before the start of the Clone Wars, something in him shifted to gain the capability to harm rather than guard. He was punished for things he couldn't control and was victim to the war's intentional corruption of the Jedi Order.

And then in the same novel, he helps Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Padme and Jar-Jar get off-world by offering to win them the parts for their ship, something he was not aware would end up benefiting him since Qui-Gon didn't reveal he was freed until after the race. His mom mentions a time when Anakin ran up a huge sand dune to scare away a herd of Banthas because he was afraid they were going to be shot. None of these actions benefit him. The most heart wrenching thing about Anakin's story is that he was such a sweet, loving, selfless kid. He wasn't born with a bad bone in his body.

And that compounds his resentment of the Jedi Order as a whole so much! Of course the orchestration and fall of the Republic is the fault of Palpatine and Dooku, we know who the villains are, but the Jedi Order just wasn't equipped to handle someone like Anakin. They made a fatal mistake. You have Qui-Gon, who freed Anakin - being brutally honest - because of his midichlorian count. He liked Anakin but he wouldn't have gone out of his way to free him if Anakin wasn't a Jedi. This already wildly fucks up Anakin's head because he was freed over his mom or any other slave child because he's special. He was treated differently by the Council because, for anyone who didn't believe he was the Chosen One, he at least had massive potential to be the best Jedi they'd ever seen. Padme and Obi-Wan, the people he loves most, are the only ones who treat him with love that is entirely unrelated to him being the Chosen One. They didn't care about this aspect of him, didn't even believe it was true, and they loved him long before they realized "oh damn, he might actually be? Okay then." Palpatine manipulates Anakin by pretending to offer a similarly unselfish love. Anakin's head has been fucked with so much from going from one in a hundred million slaves to having the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. He went from one extreme of being nothing to suddenly being everything to so many people. Extremely unstable world for an extremely unstable boy to be growing up in. Anakin is incredibly BPD coded and so being surrounded by such chaos while there's already so much going on in his head just broke him, over and over.

So yeah obviously him killing the Jedi was NOT right or righteous by any extent but as viewers we can understand how he reached this point after a childhood of abuse and then an adolescence and young adulthood filled with grooming, grief, war (I think some people forget the Clone Wars literally started when he was 19, like that is YOUNG and then he had the responsibility of Ahsoka's life thrust upon him essentially to test him and his ability to let go, which was unfortunately unfair for both him and Ahsoka) etc. Then his relationships with Padme and Obi-Wan are so complex because in both of these dynamics he's pushed away at some point despite Padme and Obi-Wan loving him so dearly. They try to protect him from himself and he doesn't understand why. It's all of these things that build the resentment not only for the Council but then Vader's resentment for Anakin himself. Because he was "weak." Because he "let" all of these horrible things happen to him.

Because in the end Anakin hurt himself as much as anything else. And he still can't let go of his attachments. He holds onto Obi-Wan long after RotS and holds onto both him and Padme through Luke in the end, thus bringing Anakin back to the surface through the fog of Vader. The kyber crystal comic is INSANE because it shows us how deep that love and those attachments still run.

Anyway answering rant over,,,,

T4T ANIDALA PULLING OUT MY "ANAKIN IS BASICALLY A CLONE OF SHMI MADE FROM THE FORCE AND LACKS MALE CHROMOSOMES FROM AN ACTUAL FATHER THEREFORE FTM ANAKIN" PROPAGANDA!!!! And toxic doomed Obikin. Clutching you. Shaking you. Shaking you like a toddler who has never seen a cat before shakes a cat. You get me

[breestanaccount]

So i watched the new spiderman movie (like a week ago lolll) and i am finally over it enough to share my toughts so BUCKLE INNN

first of: my baby boy MILES MORALES WHOOP WHOOP

Look at him and tell me he isn't the best. You cant. Ik you cant bc Miles is the best and he needs a damn break man. He is just a kid, like?? He's literally my age (15, i think) and he hit SO close to home in EVERYTHING for me. His jokes, his relationship with his parents, his feelings EVERYTHING. I am very passionate about him. And like, i get it that he shouldn't stop canon events but thats his father that we're talking about. And you can see that miles adores his parents. And given his personality he obviously can't stand back. And miguel had no business saying all that (i'll have more to say about that so bare with me please🙏)

In conclusion: if you don't like miles i do not trust you

NEXT: my girl (who y'all hate 2 much on) GWEN STACYY

She beautiful😻😻.

ANYWAY

the hate she gets is ATROCIOUS. I understand the whole "she betrayed miles" but did she not get a whole group of spider ppl to HELP miles?? Or did y'all skip over that part? What's crazy is the fact y'all hate on gwen and i haven't heard a word abt peter or miguel? Y'all biased as hell!!! She's just 16 and she went through a lot too. And she obviously cares for Miles. All thr hate she's getting is concerning and i will defend her w my life. Miles has all the right to feel betrayed though, I won't argue against that cuz i can't. Ofc, everyone has different opinions, but I feel like she wouldn't get half the hate if she were a man (which is that case with miguel, but i'll get to that, pls don't kill me cuz ik a lot of y'all love him)

CONCLUSION: we love gwen here.

NOWWW ALL YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FORRR (bc ik some of y'all wanna end me rn #iattackedurfave): MIGUEL O'HARA BABYYYYY

He's handsome i won't lie to you, but not rlly my type now let's get into it.

I don't think what he did is right. The way he handled that situation is just wrong, in my opinion. And so many ppl excuse that bc he's 1) hot (which is the case in so many other fandoms, with ppl bashing female characters while uplifting male characters for th same actions) and 2) bc of his trauma. But, heads up, trauma is and never will be an excuse. Trauma is an EXPLANATION. There is a very big difference. He went through something traumatizing and that is awful, but he didn't try to understand miles. Like i said, miles is 15. And i get that miguel was just trying to protect the universes, I understand that. But when he was calling Miles a mistake, that he never should have been bitten by that spider, acting as if it was MILES'S fault?? Not the best way to handle that, which, again, trauma. Not an excuse, but an explenation for his actions. I can't find myself to rlly like him just now. Maybe in the next movie. I can't just like a character bc they r hot. And I know this will make some ppl mad, but AT LEAST try to look at this from my point of view, and at least try to understand why i don't like Miguel. If y'all like him, that's fine. But my boy miles deserved better.

Still, I think Miguel is an intresting character with so much room to grow and I really hope to see that.

CONCLUSION: idk. Maybe you noticed i am mixed abt him

NEXT. HOBIE MF BROWNNNNNN

Here's a pic😻🙏

Here's another pic and let's get into ITT

Hobie might be the coolest, and kindest and best character. I don't think he has done a bad thing in that whole movie. He helped miles, he helped gwen and by helping gwen he helped miles AGAIN. I love his vibe, too. His relationship with miles is perfect, like brothers. And his friendship with gwen is adorable, they r similar with similar intrests if you think abt it and i do hope we get to see him again in the next movie, maybe get a little more on him and his backstory, maybe his canon event(?). He's a beauty, what can i say💕💕

CONCLUSIONN: i love him ur honor

NEXT: PAVITR PRABHAKAR

Look at this cutie. Tell me he isn't a lil pookie cutie and that he wouldn't give the best hugs.

Given his personality, it makes sense that he's 13-14 but damn given his looks i would think he's 16 (which means he gets the prize for not looking your age since he had half the fandom fooled).

The edits i've seen of him r the best and the "Chai tea scene" was so funny, btw.

CONCLUSION: he's 10/10 if you don't like him or think he's "annoying" i don't trust you.

HONORARY MENTIONS: JESS😜😜😻😻😍😍

she did all that pregnant u got to give it to her that she's good as hell. In my opinion she might be the strongest. Love my girl🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

And that's abt all. Ik there r so many different characters i can talk about but those r the ones that stood up to me the most. Pls don't kill me abt my opinion on Miguel, but different ppl have different opinions, y'know? I don't like characters just cuz they fine, thats just a bonus☝️ hope y'all liked this shit of me goofing along, and if anyone wishes to share their thoughts they r most welcome to!

I am kinda nervous to post this since i hate arguing with ppl on my opinions, but at the same time i am very stubborn and i am very passionate abt my opinions so these two but heads a LOT. But i will be getting over my fear with this and i did come to the conclusion that y'all won't eat me alive so yeah

Bye lovies💕

[userkoo]

Why do people enjoy reading about band members fucking each other?

i feel like that's a very limited and frankly boring way to look at fanfiction as a medium.

i also feel like younger fans, or those without much knowledge about fan culture, really underestimate the role fanfiction plays in cultivating the fan spaces they enjoy so much. queer fiction being written and shared dates back to the 70s and star trek, if i'm not mistaken, where people would pass around physical copies of fics through fanzines at conventions.

creation is at the heart of fandom, whether that be the silly compilation videos you see on youtube and tiktok from talented editors, the wonderful gifmakers here on tumblr, or the writers.

why do people enjoy reading anything? what separates 'regular' fiction from fanfiction in terms of morality of readers and writers? a lot of my favorite fics, and i would say the most popular fics within fandom, are all extremely transformative works. they're set in universities, they're set all over the world, jungkook is literally spiderman in one of the ones i linked lmao. the people being written about basically serve as face characters at that point.

idk man. i just think the bad reputation that fanfiction has acquired is really sad. so many fan spaces would die without creators keeping it alive with content for us to consume outside of the original source material. so many writers cut their teeth on fanfiction (*allegedly* the author of red, white, and royal blue used to write fanfiction about jesse eisenberg and andrew garfield during the height of 'the social network's popularity, and there is now a popular movie based on their novel!)

and finally, none of the fics i linked even feature any sex scenes — but i also wouldn't care if they did because i don't hold any puritanical views on the subject, lol. i don't see erotica as some kind of gross, immoral thing. but i am not the god of moral opinions - if it's not for you, it's not for you~

if you have some qualms about RPF being written and consumed, that's understandable and it's a nuanced topic. but i think a lot of the arguments against fanfiction are often subconsciously in bad faith, looking down on something largely written by queer young women telling queer stories. that's alllll.

if the knowledge of me reading (and sometimes discussing) fanfiction is something that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to unfollow! <3

[the-starryknight]

starring starry

ok, so I've been horribly behind on ask games, tag memes, and the like, so this is a small attempt to rectify it. thank you for the tags on various games, @jackvbriefs, @fw00shy, @moonstruckwytch, @ohdrarry, @softlystarstruck, @mintamintathings, @mxstyassasxin, @americanmoths, @wheezykat and possibly some others too. not tagging as I'm so behind, but if any of you folks have done one of these and not the other, have at it! likewise, if you want to give it a go, tag me when you share :D

& about me

Favourite colour: today, royal blue! Currently reading: wireless!! so many amazing wireless pieces! check out my faves here and here! Also, at a snail's pace, Days Without End by Sebastian Barry and The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt Last song: Make Out - Julia Nunes Last movie: Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse Last series: Good Omens rewatch, also Young Royals (amazing) Sweet, spicy or savoury: I have the biggest sweet tooth! Craving: A time turner would be great, honestly, or an extra few hours in the day. Also chocolate, always chocolate.

& fic writing

Name: Starry Fandoms: I'm pretty firmly Drarry & HP, though i've read some Stucky, Lamen, and GtN fic! Most popular multi-chapter fic: I've only got one multi-chap, A Room Up There (And You In It). It has the most wonderful comments on it <3 Best part of writing: There's that feeling when I hit my stride with a story and feels like I've got a brain-to-keyboard connection, no Starry involved. Some of my favorite fics have come from moments like that; but equally, I've taught myself how powerful editing can be for the days that a story doesn't flow so easily. Worst part of writing: the ever-growing wip list that looms like a long shadow in the back of my mind, like a tell tale still beating heart Do you outline: yes and no! my short stuff is relatively pantsed, with a few bullet points or moments I know I want to write, but I put those down after the story gets going. for longer things, I plot by scene or chapter so I know when my significant turning points will be. plus, I also can use that to write out of order if I'm blocked over a certain scene Fic ideas you probably won’t get to but wouldn’t it be nice: 1) A longfic saga of Master of Death Harry dealing with the lack of a 'Death' for the year after the war by meeting souls in their "limbo" space between life and death. It's in that limbo he finds Draco, and they duel for Draco's life. 2) Also a longfic. Healer Draco as a genetic counselor, as magic is an inherited gene. I don't have the genetic/medical knowledge for this at all! Callouts @ me: I am my own worst enemy! I edit before it hits the page, and I doubt so hard it stops the stories from ever coming into fruition. Best writing traits: Ummmm... How about my favorite trait is reading and engaging with other writers as a reader, as a beta, as a sounding board, whenever in the process I get to meet the story! It gives me the meta opportunity to think about my own habits, and I love sharing this space with such talented makers. Spicy opinions: Is it spicy to say I think we all just ought to be civil to each other?

[forasecondtherewedwon]

In the Arms of the Anus

Fandom: Spider-Man, Thor Pairing: Roger Harrington/Grandmaster Rating: T Word Count: 8883

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @spiderman-homecomeme!!!

Summary: While people all over the world are finding their soulmates, Roger Harrington can barely find time to grab a sandwich. Clumsy, anxious, and stagnating in a mediocre marriage, it's a miracle that he still believes in love.

Today's the day the universe rewards that belief.

Three things about Roger Harrington: he’d just tripped on the sidewalk, he worried daily that he was developing a bald spot, and, at the age of 36, he felt he still believed in love as strongly as did the little girl in his building who’d made all the residents Valentine’s Day cards the year before.

The cards—which Roger had found endearing while his wife had been baffled to the point of annoyance—had been wedged into everyone’s mailbox sometime on the afternoon of last May 19th, and maybe that was why he thought of them today, exactly a year later.

It was helpful, he found, to consider love in markers of time passing, or just numbers. The anniversary of those Valentine’s cards would always be 271 days early, leap year or not. Roger had been married twice, longer the second time. He had zero children, and that was alright with him because he wasn’t totally sure that he did want kids and, anyway, he was too profoundly stressed about the welfare of the teenagers he taught at Midtown to comfortably imagine himself as a fulltime parent.

His wife was cool. Significantly cooler than he was. She drove out of the city to hike every other weekend (he had never joined her and hoped to never be called upon for woodsy companionship), had once performed an emergency tracheotomy on a friend at a dinner party, and had a tattoo on her hip that predated their relationship, which made it consequently, eternally, enigmatic, no matter how many times she told the objectively trite story of its acquisition. Also, she was a casual shoplifter, which made him very, very nervous in a way that he found difficult to differentiate from how he felt when he was turned on.

He was the kind of person who consistently forgot to take his glasses off before stepping into the shower. She was the kind of person who would run into and recognize a famous race car driver at Whole Foods (that had happened) or fake her own death (that had not happened—knock on wood!). Essentially, what and who his second wife was was the natural successor to his first wife (the reckless young bride to his insomniac young groom), who had in turn been the natural successor to the only other romantic encounter of his life worth mentioning: a kiss on the cheek at a birthday party on the day the Berlin Wall fell. Roger had been seven.

So his romantic history was speckled and, in two out of three cases, spoke a little too loudly of a need for legally-recognized codependence. So he didn’t feel like a man anyone would ever get a tattoo in honour of. So his wife had been a little unkind in the long pause before her negative when he’d asked her if she thought he was getting a bald spot. Roger still felt that love was going to happen for him. Hopefully sustained in his current marriage, but if not, there was always what Julius Dell had taken to (highly unscientifically) calling the Love Wave.

If Roger decided to be really delusional, he could pretend that the Love Wave was to blame for his stumble over uneven concrete on his way to grab lunch. That he was finally feeling its cosmic tug. Not that he would be the last to sense it—the inexplicable force that had lately begun guiding people the world over to their new partners—but every day that he didn’t, he feared his wife would feel it first and go careening out of their life together in a Thelma and Louise-style launch that somehow left her intact and him feeling like he’d plummeted to his death at the bottom of a canyon. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he imagined feeling that impulse to go to this destined soulmate and pictured it leading him home. Not in some metaphorical way, but literally home, to the apartment he shared with his wife, to find her arriving at the same time, the two of them matched up, the universe endorsing their marriage.

The reality was that he was a man with clumsy feet (and knees and elbows) who’d forgotten to pack himself a lunch and had just enough self-awareness (though probably not dignity) not to believe that eating in the cafeteria with his students was something he would be able to socially recover from.

He thought about a poorly-cut-out pink heart glued to a fold of red craft paper. He went to buy a sandwich.

At the deli, Roger waited in line and didn’t so much allow his mind to wander—like a dog off-leash in a dog park—as feel his mind jerk insistently away—like a dog on-leash, trying to snap a dropped slice of pizza off the sidewalk. He was violently not present as his thoughts migrated from Valentine’s Day cards to lesson plans to the anxiety he always felt over the fact of never seeming to have enough power to go with the tremendous sense of responsibility he felt for all situations in which he was even remotely involved. He would have, should have, continued to shuffle vacantly forward in line, except that the man ahead of him grumbled something that drew his focus.

What he grumbled was: “Even the Sorcerer Supreme should be able to spare a minute to decide what kind of sandwich he wants.”

Now, Roger Harrington was a man of science, but he was also a man who had previously enjoyed a close friendship with the Hulk (and if anyone challenged him on specific parameters within that assertion, Roger knew that he would cry). Aliens swarmed the sky like clouds of bees. There were compilation videos of Spider-Man nearly getting hit by city buses that could’ve been designed expressly to see how hard Roger could flinch. For a clumsy man with the unathletic, knock-kneed gait of Pippi Longstocking, Roger did his best to roll with the supernatural punches. Hey, this was how science worked too: just because there wasn’t a precedent yet didn’t mean there never would be. Just because he couldn’t explain something didn’t mean no one could. Sorcerers? Alright. There could be sorcerers.

“Sorcerers?” Roger blurted to the man, overeager to expel the word.

All other words had fled to the back of his mind, twitching in an agitated cluster, leaving just the one to be snatched frantically from the surface. Like fishing. (Roger had never been fishing. One of his greatest fears was having a live fish somehow jump into his shoe and stepping on it by accident.)

“Uhhh,” the man droned. He looked uneasy. If Roger knew how to make his eyes a little less wide in situations like these, he would’ve done it.

“No, yeah, sorcerers, sure,” Roger swiftly backpedaled. “I’m a teacher.”

As if being a teacher equaled knowledge of sorcerers. As if that were a normal unit of the high school curriculum. Roger’s understanding of sorcerers began and ended with Mickey Mouse in a blue wizard’s hat. He wondered if that was sort of the standard look.

The man did not appear reassured. Roger thrust his hand forward.

“Roger Harrington, Midtown Tech.”

Face still wary, his deli companion shook hands.

“Wong.”

“So, this sorcerer of yours didn’t pick a sandwich?” The line shuffled forward and, now in reach of the long glass case of food, Roger attempted to lean his elbow casually against it, misjudged the distance, and jerked back upright again before he could fall over.

“No… You heard that part too?”

“If I could hear the part about the sorcerer, why wouldn’t I be able to hear the rest?”

“I think most people would’ve been so fixated on the sorcerer thing that they wouldn’t really absorb the part about the sandwich.”

“Just got sandwiches on the brain, I guess,” Roger said.

God, if Wong knew a sorcerer, odds were that he was a sorcerer too. (Roger based this on being a teacher with almost exclusively teacher friends and acquaintances.) He was making it sound like he cared more about sandwiches, he knew he was. He stared silently at Wong for a few painful seconds and wondered if the man could tell that he had worked for a sandwich shop as a teenager—the role of wearing a full-body sandwich costume and standing on the sidewalk, trying to attract people into the shop.

But Wong surprised him by nodding.

“You could get one of everything,” Roger heard himself suggest.

He was not typically one to make suggestions, but rather one to panic when other people did and he was in the position of having to choose between them. He could never decide on a restaurant for he and his wife’s now few-and-far-between date nights, or provide straightforward feedback when she asked for his opinion on her clothing choices… which movie they should see… what they should buy for her friend’s sister’s housewarming gift...

Oh god, she was probably going to fake her own death and his biggest anxiety was knowing that someone would ask him to choose the casket!

“I have like…” Wong jingled his pockets and extracted a fistful of coins that, when he opened his hand, Roger saw belonged to several different currencies. “…six bucks.”

Like a mirror with a delay, Roger patted his own pockets to locate his wallet. He flipped it open to reveal something promising and terrifying: he’d forgotten to return the school credit card after the last field trip he’d chaperoned. He shouldn’t, but… sorcerer.

“I think this’ll cover it,” Roger said. “It’s for emergency expenses.”

“Like lunch?” Wong asked doubtfully.

“I could be very hungry.”

“They sell seventeen different types of sandwiches here.”

“I could be very, very hungry.”

Wong shrugged in evident acquiescence and Roger marvelled that it was so simple for him to accept this act of generosity. Roger couldn’t recall the last time someone had been as generous towards him. Wait, yes he could. The Valentine’s Day card. Well, handing over a credit card that wasn’t technically his didn’t exactly equate to presenting his ticket at the Love Wave gates (not that there were such things—not that he’d know), but he was hoping to trade this generosity up for a different magical experience in the near future.

When they reached the front of the line for service, Roger ordered a total of eighteen sandwiches. (And received an undisguised groan of complaint from the people still in line behind himself and Wong.) While they waited, Roger buzzed like the posterchild for over-caffeination, doing his best not to let his excitement translate into erratic movements.

Of course, once the sandwiches were presented and paid for, it only made sense for Roger to help Wong carry them all. His own ham-and-Swiss was stuffed into one of the three bags and they were all bulging, threatening to spill. If one of them ripped on Wong’s journey back to wherever he had to take them, who would be there to gather the sandwiches into their arms so that Wong wouldn’t have to leave them on the ground? Roger was clearly the best (only) person for the job.

And if they talked on the way? That would be natural. If Wong stared at him with abrupt, unyielding suspicion the instant Roger attempted to negotiate a visit with this ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ in exchange for buying his lunch? Yeah. Yeah that suspicion would be fair.

“Not for my sake!” Roger defended as Wong blinked back at him. “For the kids!”

“The Sorcerer Supreme isn’t a birthday party magician.”

“No, I would never imply that! These are bright kids. They’d be there to learn, respectfully. They’ve had their own traumatic encounter with Spider-Man already so there wouldn’t be any clambering to meet another person with superhuman powers!”

“What did Spider-Man do to traumatize them?”

Wong looked interested now, in an entertained sort of way. Meanwhile, Roger was having a flashback of his life flashing before his eyes inside the Washington Monument.

“Actually, he saved us,” Roger explained. “That’s not the point. It would be purely educational. You and the Sorcerer Supreme would call the shots. As long as it wasn’t anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous? We would never put children at risk!”

Roger was about to clarify that he hadn’t meant to imply that they would when he realized Wong seemed to be taking this as a reason to prove himself, or to make the other sorcerer prove what he’d just said.

“I would hope not,” Roger said carefully, “because not all of the children I’ve taken on field trips have come back alive and that haunts me.”

“Well, what haunts me is everything I’ve seen and learned from in order to become someone who could now guarantee a safe field trip environment.”

“Well, that would be great.”

“Well, good,” Wong concluded.

Roger looked down at the bag he was holding as he dug out his sandwich. His wrist twisted and he caught the time on his watch. Oh wow, oh no, his lunch break was almost over.

“Ok, deal,” he said quickly. “We’ll come by next Tuesday!”

“I’ll be out here to let you in!” Wong agreed with a parting wave.

Roger took off running in the direction of Midtown and when that got too awful, he wheezed like an asthmatic and waited at the closest bus stop.

—

Roger had expected Principal Morita to say there was no room in their budget for this trip. That they were nearing the end of the school year, that parents and guardians would be reluctant to sign another form for an excursion that Roger could only give a vague, stammering explanation of. At the very least, he’d anticipated the journey via school bus in lurching, stop-and-start traffic to take so long that the kids would revolt; Flash Thompson would lead the complaints that they could’ve walked to their destination faster than the ride took and Roger would feel the primal horror of a confrontation with a self-possessed teenager who wielded the kind of peer influence Roger could only have dreamed of when he’d been Flash’s age.

But no.

Highly improbably (Roger didn’t like to consider it miraculous), things went smoothly. The trip cleared the budget assessment on zero notice because, besides renting the single bus to transport the students, their outing didn’t actually have any costs. Permission slips came back signed. Traffic was light. And dear, dear Flash—who usually gave Roger so much anxiety—slapped the hand Roger raised to shield his eyes from the sun as his students disembarked from the bus, rewarding him with a surprise high-five for getting them out of the classroom on a Tuesday afternoon. It almost knocked Roger’s glasses off.

They were ushered inside by Wong, who was now laying the mystical solemnity on pretty thick. He certainly wasn’t talking about sandwiches or complaining about the Supreme Sorcerer under his breath.

Before Roger could feel too good about himself though, he realized he’d had time to run through his headcount of the students three times without interruption. Normally, something would happen partway through his first count and he’d be uneasy for the rest of the day, sure that one of the kids had fallen down a manhole or been stampeded by a dog-walker’s unruly canine swarm. The universe shoved teenagers into the path of bike couriers with one hand and paired up soulmates with the other. That was just how things went! However, inside this house (or, no, Sanctum, Wong had called it), the air was still and quiet.

“Do you think he’s gonna make himself appear out of thin air?” Roger heard Ned ask at a whisper. “Or out of a wardrobe, or a trapdoor, or one of those boxes people get in to get sawed in half?”

“Those are cheap tricks,” Wong said loudly. He stared unsympathetically at Roger’s motley group, hand closed around his opposite wrist to maintain a serious pose. “The man you’ll be meeting shortly has capabilities that far outstrip those of the kind of magician-for-hire you’d find in a phonebook.”

From behind him, Roger heard Peter ask Ned what a phonebook was.

“What kind of capabilities then?” Flash demanded.

Roger sighed and was turning to reprimand his student when Wong said, “Like this!”

The man faked a sneeze of horrific volume and range, doubling over and cupping his hand around his mouth and nose. When he straightened up and presented his open palm, there was a raspberry sitting in it.

Roger closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself and his teaching career played on a fast-forwarded film reel behind his lids. The Sorcerer Supreme was a no-show; all Roger had accomplished was taking the kids to a weird building to witness a man pretend to sneeze out a raspberry. Midtown Tech was going to fire him. His wife would recognize his unemployment as a reason to leave him. Depressingly, Roger was thinking about how that would almost be a relief—an end to his incessant worrying that they were really kind of a mismatch—and he was thinking it while he blankly watched Wong eat the raspberry he’d just feigned dislodging from his nasal cavity.

He was really unprepared for a different man to come sweeping down the stairs, motion with his hand, and have a red sheet come whizzing down after him to settle itself on his shoulders. Roger blinked. He heard the mixed noises of fright and appreciation from his students.

Then Flash piped up with, “That’s just a trick. It’s wires or something.”

Roger backed into the cluster of his charges and, without taking his eyes off the obvious Magical Guy in front of him, reached over and placed his hand across Flash’s mouth.

Unfortunately, his censorship seemed to be too late. The Sorcerer’s narrowed eyes zoned in on Flash.

“Oh yeah? How ’bout this? Is this just a trick?”

Fingers splayed, the man moved his hands in a precise, practiced way and a window opened up in the middle of the room. No, not a window, but Roger was having a tough time wrapping his head around it. What this non-window showed was something that wasn’t the room, that wasn’t a view of the street, that wasn’t anyplace in New York, if he had to guess.

“You can’t just do it like that,” Wong said wearily. Roger felt himself and his students look from one of the men to the other as though watching a tennis match. “There should be a little more finesse.”

“Look,” the Sorcerer told him. “You don’t get to spring this on me and then expect me to ham it up for the kids. This isn’t a David Blaine show.”

“Maybe you should watch one. You might learn something about showmanship.”

“So, it’s fake, right?” Flash checked.

Dammit, Roger had dropped his hand, distracted as he tried to make out what he was seeing through what he was becoming increasingly comfortable with calling a ‘magic portal’ in his thoughts. He scrambled to take hold of Flash’s shoulder—yanking him back would be bad, but dealing with the fallout of him pissing off somebody who could make magic portals would be much worse—but Flash dodged him, swaggering forward to inspect the Sorcerer’s work.

“What is it? Mirrors? Greenscreen? You buy your tech from Stark?”

“Stark?” the Sorcerer spat out derisively.

Overcome with the terrible feeling that he was about to find out what it looked like when a wizard put a curse on a child, Roger sprang forward. As he did, three things happened: the Sorcerer rotated his wrist slightly, the scene on the other side of the portal changed, and Flash turned to the side.

Without a student to grab onto and pull to safety, Roger’s momentum sent him hurtling through the gateway currently connecting Midtown to parts unknown.

Of all the times to trip, he thought.

—

The world was bright and fast and bad. Actually, Roger was almost positive that what he was seeing wasn’t the world at all, but he couldn’t put a name to where he was any more than he could think of better adjectives to describe it. Unless the Sorcerer Supreme owned a magical slip ’n’ slide that operated at speeds designed to train prospective astronauts for space travel, Roger was no longer in his building.

The colour of the tunnel of light surrounding him turned from something like the intestinal track of a unicorn who ate lightning and nebulas to a dangerous, broiling red. Roger kept waiting for his skin to bubble, his face to melt off. Maybe he was the fabled frog in the pot of boiling water and had failed to notice the heat steadily increasing. Because he didn’t feel hot. He couldn’t tell whether or not he felt cold either and before he could work it out, he finally landed.

It was rough.

He curled his arms up around his head, protecting his face. He hit and tumbled, hit and tumbled, banging his shins and elbows, setting off a series of metallic clangs and thwumps like his body was playing drums made of the contents of somebody’s recycling bin. Roger could see—once, shaking, he was able to lower his arms and open his eyes—that his imagination hadn’t been far from the mark: he was lying in a heap of trash.

Trembling like a baby deer, he got to his feet and assessed his surroundings. There were piles everywhere. Piles of stuff. Roger could identify some of the battered objects, but most were utterly alien to him. This was like the time he’d found his wife’s sex toys all over again.

“Hello?” he called out, because he seemed to be alone. “Hel—”

His throat closed off abruptly when he swiveled in place and noticed the sky. His mouth fell open. Was that what he had just come through? That furious-looking, billowing, volcanic, enormous… disturbance? Weather pattern? Entrance to hell, if hell were a mountain of trash?

Oh man. Where was Spider-Man this time? Roger didn’t know which would come first, but if something distinctly reassuring didn’t happen in the next 30 seconds, he was going to either burst into tears or pee his pants. His cool wife was going to be so bummed to have to declare him dead instead of faking her own death. And his students would be traumatized, having just witnessed their teacher disappear before their eyes. He spent a frantic 17 of his 30 seconds wondering if this were Jumanji and he’d started a game without realizing it; being sucked into a board game was another of his greatest fears, ever since he’d watched the chilling horror film Jumanji in his teens.

“Hello?” Roger croaked a final time.

Some other scientist—a Tony Stark type—would thrive in this scenario, Roger knew. They would scavenge the surrounding mounds of metal, collecting and assembling pieces into some sort of technology that would either get them home or enable communication with a rescue team. Would there be a rescue team for Roger Harrington? Would anyone even try to get him back?

The cry/pee conundrum was looking more like cry with each passing second until suddenly, amongst the broken things Roger was aggrieved to consider the lone sentinels of his demise, some kind of spacecraft touched down. Based on his recent luck, whoever was at the helm was likely here to kill him, but he immediately elected to throw himself on their mercy, whether that meant rescue or just a swifter snuffing out of his life than he would otherwise experience on this sad island of garbage as he died from dehydration, starvation, and exposure to that infernal gateway in the sky.

He mouthed the word “help” more than said it as he staggered forward on legs he could hardly feel. A door in the side of the spacecraft slid smoothly open and party music blared out. Roger flinched back as though he had not heard the sounds of civilization in years.

A woman exited the craft. She wore an expression about as kind as the murderous upside-down mushroom cloud in the sky and when their eyes met, she barked, “Back!”

Roger executed an awkward reverse lunge, pleading hands raised. Ok, now that his time had come, he didn’t want a quick death. Put out of his misery? No, he would learn to live with his misery, the way he’d learned to live with his college roommates, or his wife’s collection of handmade bowls! With food and water to sustain him, he was suddenly confident that he could be successfully miserable for years if this intimidating woman would just leave him to his own pathetic devices.

But then, like a visitation from a tan, eye-liner-wearing angel of indeterminate age, a man in gold robes emerged from the vessel. He beamed like he had always been beaming, and always would be.

Just like that, Roger Harrington got it. He got what Hot Chocolate meant when they sang that they believed in miracles. He got the meaning of Kylie Jenner’s year of realizing stuff. He got why a child would send out Valentine’s Day cards in May and why his wife was so dedicated to her hiking group and why he was here.

“Now, what did I say about that before we left?” the angel seemed to be asking his companion, though he’d locked his eyes on Roger. “Did I say to harass our visitor or did I say to be nice?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Roger, which he felt more than saw; it was possible that he was crying after all. Tears of joy.

“Harass,” she answered flatly.

The angel chuckled.

“You know, I do like having you around. Before you, I said to myself, ‘Next time, get an enforcer with a sense of humour.’” He sighed as his laughter dwindled. “But you can, uh, skedaddle back onto the ship now. That’ll be all.”

“What if you want to melt him?” she queried.

That was enough to tear Roger’s gaze away from the man and send it zipping nervously to the threatening almost-smile the woman was now directing his way. He’d preferred the murder face.

“Melt him!” the angel said, in a tone that implied her suggestion had been ridiculous. (Roger relaxed. A little.) “Topaz, don’t you realize who this is? Don’t you know?”

She shrugged.

“Trash.”

“No, he’s not trash! Do you think I would’ve left the Grand Arena to retrieve a new gladiator by hand? All those Scrappers don’t do my bidding just so I can dig through the garbage looking for fresh challengers for my champion! I wouldn’t even assign Scrapper 142 this task, and you know she’s my favourite!”

When the woman only grumbled, the man pressed, “You have an unbelievable poker face. Do you really not know why I flew all the way out here for this guy?”

“I’m his soulmate,” Roger blurted, because that was the one thing he did know.

He had no idea what a Scrapper was, or whether the man in front of him was more or less important than the ‘champion’ he’d mentioned, or how his homicidal sidekick planned to melt Roger, but he understood what was happening here. Forget the Love Wave—what had come for him had yanked him violently across solar systems, maybe galaxies. He’d been sucked under by the Love Riptide.

The angel pointed at him and proudly proclaimed, “Correctamundo!”

Then he strode forward and folded Roger into a hug. Roger thought this must be what it was like to be a piece of antique furniture, tenderly wrapped in gold leaf.

“I’m the Grandmaster,” he said.

“Roger Harrington,” Roger offered, feeling that his life was entirely surreal as he cautiously returned the hug.

“As soon as I felt you land on my humble little planet here, I came looking. My orgy guests were disappointed, naturally, but I had to put my interests first. What was I, elected? If they wanted a leader who would pretend to care about everyone equally, they should have organized themselves into a viable political party capable of rivalling my dictatorship, am I right?” He drew back slightly and laughed. “You should see your face! I’m kidding. I would’ve had anyone involved in such a thing put to death. Don’t you worry, Hairball.”

Roger cleared his throat. He’d learned so much in the last few sentences alone. Death. Dictator. Orgy. Any one of those things was a lot to confront and yet… he was calmed by the Grandmaster’s presence. He was alive and unmelted. He’d managed to find his soulmate—a man he’d been almost certain to never meet as things stood with Earth’s individually-impressive but cosmically-insignificant progress with space travel. At long last, the universe had smiled on Roger Harrington.

“Just Roger is good,” he said. If last names ever came up again, he would tactfully correct his soulmate, but with a name like ‘the Grandmaster,’ he doubted they ever would.

“Roger. Anything you say.” Gripping Roger’s shoulders, the Grandmaster leaned in and planted a sound kiss on his forehead with a loud, “Mmmwah!”

He asked Roger if he would like to go aboard his ship, apologizing that it wasn’t the one where he’d just been having the orgy and appearing to check Roger’s face for disappointment. Roger didn’t know what the Grandmaster saw in his expression, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Inside the spaceship, Roger looked around with huge eyes. He hadn’t felt this kind of wonder in a room jammed with so much beyond his understanding since the first time his mom had taken him to the New York Hall of Science as a kid. Everything was bright and white and immaculately clean, and Roger could concentrate on all of it because the Grandmaster had Topaz drop the volume of his party playlist until it was just a low pulse of background noise. Seemingly amused by his awe, the Grandmaster allowed him a peek at the controls before gently herding him into a chamber with seating arranged for socializing. A pneumatic hiss sealed them safely inside and away from the woman’s scowl.

“I really just wanna sit here and, uh, just look atcha, but that look on your face tells me you’ve got about a million questions.”

The Grandmaster settled back into the bench seating, resting his long arms along the top of the seat. Across from him, Roger fidgeted, experiencing sensory overload. Soulmate. Spaceship. Alien planet. He found it hard to decide what to ask first. Was that even polite? Was the Grandmaster just saying that Roger could ask questions when he really wanted Roger to say or do something else? There was an awfully flirtatious look in his eye, the likes of which Roger hadn’t seen directed towards himself in several years.

“What is this place?” Roger asked before he could stop himself. “Where am I?”

“Oh! This is Sakaar! Are you saying you didn’t come here on purpose? I figured you weren’t aiming for a pile of trash, but you really didn’t know where you were going at all?”

Roger shook his head so hard that he had to nudge his slipping glasses back up his nose.

“It was an accident. I fell through a wizard’s—uh, I mean, a sorcerer’s—magic portal. That kind of clumsiness must sound pretty farfetched to someone who’s so obviously…” Roger motioned spastically towards his soulmate, the dictator, with both hands. “…in control of their life.”

The Grandmaster laughed, transparently pleased and preening.

“Oh, Roger, you flatter me.”

He stretched out his leg to playfully tap his shoe (gold) against Roger’s (plain, brown, frayed shoelace). Roger jumped, giddy from an alteration in sea level, possibly, plus life-changing events.

“But it really isn’t so uncommon for people, beings, things… to end up here without meaning to,” the Grandmaster went on. “A lot of junk passes through the Anus. Not that you’re junk, obviously.”

With a winning smile, Roger’s soulmate leaned forward and patted him on the knee. He was a touchy-feely guy, it seemed, and it made Roger cognizant of how very lonely he’d been in his marriage, in the last year especially. How skittish around strangers, how unaffectionate with his friends. This was what he needed, and the universe had understood that.

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with what his soulmate had said, distracted by the comfort he was taking in his easy warmth.

“The Anus?” Roger asked in a choked voice.

“The Devil’s Anus, to be exact. That enormous, horrifying wormhole out there in the sky!” the Grandmaster explained, gleeful. “Best I can guess, it acts as a funnel for accidental travelers, like yourself. And boy, are we ever grateful for that thing. I’ve never had to post any ‘Help Wanted’ flyers, I’ll tell ya that. We need more people serving drinks? Boom. More entertainers? Boom. More lubricators for the orgies? Boom, the Anus provides, baby.”

Roger didn’t inquire what the duties of a person with the job title ‘orgy lubricator’ entailed; it seemed sleazily self-explanatory. He just nodded.

“And now,” his perfect, golden match continued, “the portal brings me my soulmate. I love that thing. It’s really somethin’, huh?”

“It’s really something,” Roger agreed. “Really, really something.”

“You’re looking just a little stunned there, Rodge. Can I offer you something to eat? A drink? I promise, I’m usually a much better host. I feel like I’m positively, uh, bumbling right now.” He beamed.

This man was so many things at once—possibly too many—but bumbling was so far from being one of them that Roger actually laughed weaky in his state of happy, semi-delirium. He accepted the cold glass that was pressed into his hand, the brush of the Grandmaster’s warm palm across his forehead. He had moved to sit right next to Roger.

“You can get used to this place at your own pace, within reason.” His soulmate chuckled. “Heck, we can stay right here a day or two. My plans are cancelled, and when I stop, the world stops. That’s how it is, being the Grandmaster, and that’s how it’s gonna be for you too. You can give all your worries a big, wet kiss goodbye, my love. You’re living a life of luxury now. A court of sycophants, fights to the death in the evening, orgies on a lazy afternoon. I’m talkin’ a life of pure class—”

“Class!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s what I said.” The Grandmaster was wearing a languid smile as he traced the back of his fingers along Roger’s jaw.

But Roger was suddenly too alert to be lulled by welcome caresses and delicious, exotic beverages.

“I was teaching a class before I fell through the portal,” he said. “I’m a teacher. My students are probably terrified. Some of them might be messed up for life after watching me disappear right in front of them. What have I done…”

“So you gave them a cool story to tell their friends! You don’t need to think about that anymore. Now that you’re living here—”

“I can’t live here!” Roger said, seizing the Grandmaster’s hands in his as he tried desperately to explain. “I have responsibilities as an educator! Jesus Christ, I’m married!”

“Roger. Rodge. Rodge. Hey,” his soulmate said, finally disrupting Roger’s spiral of panic. “That’s all in the past. Do you know how many creatures from just, uh, every darn corner of the universe I’ve made slaughter each other for my entertainment? Thousands, Roger, ok? Thousands. And it’s taught me oodles about life. What I’ve learned is that love is the only thing that matters. What all of those poor bastards scream for in the end is their mom, their partner, their best friend. Now, that doesn’t help them, but it helps us. It helps us understand that we’ve done it—we’ve achieved the one thing in our lives that was worth a damn to achieve. I’m not gonna, gonna now be parted from you, sweetheart. You are the point of me.”

Roger felt himself growing teary at the speech. Yes, this had been a whirlwind—they’d met no more than 15 minutes ago—but he was feeling something just as deep as the love the Grandmaster described. It was a fantasy in the best way, the life his soulmate pictured for them (most of it… maybe not the part about slaughter). But it was a fantasy in the worst way too, something so impossible that Roger felt sick for getting as attached to this man as he already had.

“I can’t,” he said softly. He let his head hang down, solaced when the Grandmaster guided it onto his shoulder and wrapped a protective arm around him.

“Can’t you? For me? Roger, if I put you on a ship and send you back through the Anus, we may never meet again.”

Roger squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to be selfish, but there were people he couldn’t leave in the lurch. People who maybe didn’t care about him in a way that was equal to how he cared about them, but that was how any kind of relationship was, apart from soulmates. There were imbalances. He knew he might not be the most brilliant scientist, the most inspirational teacher, the husband a woman would prefer over the outdoorsy hunk in her hiking group, but he knew who he was: he was someone who couldn’t just walk away.

“We’ll be together again,” Roger said, clutching the Grandmaster’s robes. “After.”

Though he didn’t yet know what ‘after’ would mean.

—

It wasn’t as unexpected as it could have been—Roger had always had a feeling he’d die on a school bus.

The difference between his fears and reality was that he wasn’t departing this world in a fiery crash or zooming out of control between the steel trusses and into the East River. There was confusion, there was chaos, there were screams and the violent honking of horns, but there were elements he couldn’t have predicted. Primarily, the giant alien spacecraft hovering over the city. The ship immediately moved into first place of the most ominous rings in his life (he and his wife were not in a good place). Since its sighting, things had quickly spiraled out of control. Julius had radioed Roger from the other bus of students they were chaperoning to MoMA to report that Ned Leeds had ‘flipped his shit’ and Peter Parker was currently missing. Roger had nearly passed out. The only thing that had kept him conscious was his jittery concern for the rest of his students.

At Midtown Tech, they had drills for almost every eventuality. As of 2012, hostile outer space invasion was actually part of their repertoire, but it had always been assumed they would be at school when it happened, not out on a field trip. The most Roger had been able to think to do was get the kids to a secure location. Which meant getting the buses to a secure location. But the buses were on the bridge, and all over the bridge drivers were panicking, mindlessly stomping on the gas and attempting to swerve around the rest of the vehicles. Above the blood rushing in his ears, he’d heard crash after crash, until their bus was hemmed in and, through the smoking, crumpled hoods of their fellow commuters, the alien ship hung stationary in the sky. Disturbingly tranquil as New York City went to pieces to the tune of apocalyptic dissonance just below.

In the end, the spaceship hadn’t stayed put, but Roger had. The lanes around them were crowded with smashed cars. Glass from shattered windshields glittered on the pavement. Still, more vehicles surged forward as drivers attempted to use the bridge to flee the city; this wasn’t NYC’s first alien rodeo. He hadn’t attempted to force any of his students to remain on the bus—they were some of the smartest and the best of their generation, and he trusted their survival instincts far more than his own—but he did direct the ones who fled to first climb up onto the roof of the bus instead of dropping directly down onto the street and risking injury. Yes, he worried about minor cuts and bruises. Even now.

He thought that Flash was staying with him, and was touched. But then he realized Flash was just gripping his shoulder for leverage as he jumped and grabbed for the emergency roof hatch with his free hand. Roger knew the boy was somewhat neglected by his parents, and so, for the first time, he was happy go hear ‘Hotline Bling.’ It was Flash’s ringtone and it played incessantly as his phone rang and rang until the song, and the sound of Flash running, faded into the distance. Somebody wanted to see that he was safe. Somebody cared about him.

Alone, Roger hunkered down between the seats, knees bent in front of him. He scraped one hand anxiously through his hair and gripped his phone in the other.

He should call his wife. He knew he should. Only, he was afraid that she either wouldn’t pick up or she’d answer and be with the guy from her hiking group. Roger wasn’t even upset; he was glad she had someone, if this was it.

Ever since he’d returned from Sakaar, he’d been different, he was aware that he had. In the past, his wife had been largely responsible for the sundering of their marriage, but Roger knew that he was now pulling away too. It had begun inside him—the tear. He wanted to be with two people for two different reasons. In two places, on two worlds. Commitment clashed with longing. Logical rightness fought emotional rightness. He’d been weak, persuading himself daily to tough it out with his wife (even as he slept on the couch every night because lying beside her made him unhappy), when, for once in his damn life, he wanted to be fulfilled. Somewhere out in the stars, there was a man with blue eyeliner and an entire planet at his capricious command and he was the person for Roger.

If only, he thought, picturing the face he shouldn’t have been able to recall so clearly for the brevity of their encounter months ago. Roger shut his eyes to better remember the Grandmaster, and so he wouldn’t have to see his phone clatter to the bus’s dirty floor when the hand that held it turned to dust.

—

As with his life on regular, non-apocalypse days, not much happened to Roger. Despite his paralyzing breakdown on a school bus, he wasn’t among the billions scattered to the wind like sentient dandruff. He picked himself up and went home. Sure, he was shivering almost out of his skin from the shock, but he didn’t collapse into wracking, snotty sobs until he was safely in his living room, listening to his neighbours’ wails through the condo’s walls.

Roger’s wife wasn’t there, didn’t answer when he called her, and, three weeks later, still hadn’t made contact. It took another two months to hold her wake; the funeral business was booming. Never had so many words been spoken over so many vacant graves. Some members of his wife’s hiking group attended, some had even helped him select the right music and flowers beforehand. They knew her preferences. It felt surreal to be burying a person he couldn’t prove—in any meaningful way—that he’d really known.

With a queasy sense of being very lucky, he accepted that, apart from his marital status, his life hadn’t been upended. His windows weren’t broken, his car wasn’t stolen, the few family members he was out of touch with anyway had also survived. He went back to work before anybody called him in. There weren’t any students at first, just the echo of Roger’s clumsy footsteps tripping over the rug in the staffroom, half-solved equations on the whiteboards in the math classrooms, and the unholy stench of unwashed pinnies when he poked his head into the gym storage room to see if Coach Wilson was around. One day, Roger tipped back in the chair at the front of his own empty classroom and spotted a gigantic cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. It made him think of Spider-Man. He guessed that guy was gone too.

The most important thing for keeping sane was establishing a regimen. Work was a big part of that, but Roger also traveled daily into Manhattan to visit the Sorcerer’s place. It became a kind of pilgrimage. Early on, Wong would come out to say hello, but it was eventually less about commiseration and more of a perfunctory thing. Roger knew (assumed, hoped) that if the Sorcerer ever did return, Wong would let him know and welcome him inside. And then… a portal? And then the Grandmaster? He tried not to think about it too hard. Yearning took up a lot of energy and, when his students began to come back to school in distressingly low numbers, Roger needed to reserve that energy for teaching.

Everything was the same, every day, until it wasn’t.

For a reason he couldn’t rationally explain, Roger knocked on the Sorcerer’s door. While he was waiting—just a few seconds, he planned—a man materialized on the sidewalk right next to him. He tottered and Roger reflexively said, “Whoa!” and grabbed his shoulder to keep him on his feet. Before Roger could hypothesize or ask the man any questions, a teenage girl returned to existence a few feet away. Then a woman holding a toddler tightly in her arms. A little boy. A man with a dog. A bicycle-less bike cop, still wearing his helmet. Releasing the man, Roger spun and pounded against the door with his fist.

Still, no one answered.

Fighting the urge to show up at Midtown Tech, Roger made himself stay put, right there on the Sorcerer’s doorstep.

He waited a long time. As the sun set, New York City rose around him. He watched people hugging, running home down the middle of the street. He fielded unfinished questions as the newly returned began to ask him what had happened, what time it was, what year, before jogging away, more purposeful with every step they took. Roger’s foot began to bounce on the sidewalk and his clammy hands twisted fretfully. It was still another 12 hours before the door opened.

Roger fell backwards into Wong’s shins, delirious from the sickening seesaw between urgency and exhaustion. Everywhere, people were reconnecting. He scrambled to his feet because he wanted to be one of them.

“Is he here?” Roger demanded.

Wong narrowed his eyes slightly, holding the door so it couldn’t be pushed open further.

“Might I remind you that it’s me you’ve been seeing here the last five years.”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, trying to see past.

“I thought we had developed a rapport.”

Finally, Roger met Wong’s eyes, his own pleading.

“No, yes, you’re right, we have,” he babbled.

“We’re friends.”

“Yes, of course, we are friends. Definitely.”

“So when is my birthday?”

Roger’s mouth hung open as he searched his brain for a piece of information he knew wasn’t in there. A few seconds later, Wong turned mirthful.

“Did you spend the Blip hiding under a rock where there are no jokes? Come inside. We just got back.”

None of the thousands of times he’d come to the door mattered—Roger hadn’t been inside the Sanctum since that first time. He hoped the Sorcerer remembered him.

When he saw the man, Roger’s steps stuttered. The Sorcerer appeared grim and wiped out. He was dirty and he looked older, though Wong whispered to Roger that the Sorcerer had been among the Snapped. Roger understood that, for something to go right and bring everyone back to life, something else had gone wrong. He could dwell on that and awkwardly bow his way back out of there, or he could convince himself that things had gone wrong for him too, and that he’d like them to be righted. He remembered that his soulmate was a dictator and tried to channel that sense of entitlement.

“What do you know about the Anus?”

The Sorcerer blinked.

“What.” The word came out perfectly flat.

“The Anus.”

“I wasn’t that kind of doctor.”

Roger strode eagerly towards him, hands gesturing before his words caught up.

“When I was here about, um, five and a half years ago, I fell through your magic portal—”

The Sorcerer snapped his fingers in recognition and turned to Wong.

“Oh, that’s who this is. I always wondered what happened to that guy.” He looked at Roger again. “How did you get back to Earth?”

Roger hadn’t been prepared to answer this question, just make his demands, and he began to explain what had happened to him, all out of order. The words ‘orgy ship’ had barely left his mouth when the Sorcerer was waving him into silence. His expression told Roger he was sorry he’d asked.

“So you went through the portal…” he prompted instead.

“That’s right! And for a while, I was just falling. I don’t know where I was.”

The Sorcerer stroked his chin.

“The connection must’ve been unstable. I know—one of your students distracted me.”

“That’d be Flash,” Roger said.

“Jesus. This is why I prefer not to be a field trip destination. Normally, the portal would allow you to pass cleanly through one place and into another.”

“And instead he passed cleanly through the Anus,” Wong summarized.

“…Yeah.”

Roger glanced from one man to the other.

“So,” he said, “could you do it again?”

The Sorcerer stared at him.

“The short answer is no. The long answer is also no, but it contains a great deal of vernacular to do with the Mystic Arts, so I’ll save us both some time.”

The last time Roger had defended his intellect and qualifications had been years ago, and he was out of practice. Anyway, he didn’t want a lengthy debate.

“Can’t you just open a portal and shove me through?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a lot going on today. I’ve only entertained you this long because you and Wong seem to be friends. I’m not just going to mess around to humour you.”

“What if you had to do it?” Roger asked quickly, beginning to feel desperate and preparing to metaphorically jam one of his clumsy feet into the closing window of opportunity.

“Uh, let me think about that,” the Sorcerer droned disinterestedly. “No.”

“What if I attacked you and you opened a portal in self-defence?”

The Sorcerer squinted at him in disbelief and befuddlement.

“What?”

But Roger was already gracelessly throwing his weight into a wild, uncoordinated punch.

For once, he didn’t think critically of himself; he told himself that the Sorcerer’s portal sparked up between them because he was intimidated by Roger’s tenacity. And that it didn’t show a clear destination because the Sorcerer’s reaction speed was no match for Roger using the element of surprise. And that he dove purposely through the portal—on a mission for love and science and the unknown—instead of tumbling into it sideways because the momentum of his unpracticed punch had gotten the better of his balance. It didn’t matter. His feet went out from under him and he was on his way.

Roger had forgotten how intense the trip was, but he completely recalled the rough landing, bouncing down through a stack of the universe’s lost garbage. He shut his eyes to the whooshing and the brightness and braced himself (probably too early, but he didn’t think he could be too careful on this reckless endeavor).

He felt his body hit open air and gasped as he fell, trying to keep his limbs tucked in. The hat he’d been wearing was torn from his head. Didn’t matter; it wouldn’t have offered much protection anyway. At any moment, his poor elbows and knees would be battered by space junk. Between his velocity and his fear of the coming impact, Roger could hardly breathe.

Music. A familiar voice singing, It’s my soulmate! made his eyes fly open. Right in time to land on his back. Whatever was beneath Roger was soft, but he’d still had the wind knocked out of him and was struggling to fill his lungs. His eyes clamped shut as he began to cough.

“I have no idea how you survived that thing twice, but I sure am glad I caught ya.”

Finally sucking in a stronger breath, Roger opened his eyes and looked up. His glasses were askew. Above him was the opening in the ceiling of a hovering spacecraft, but closer than that, leaning over him, was the face of the Grandmaster. He was beaming.

“Any trouble with the Anus?” he asked.

Roger grabbed for the hand his soulmate had rested on his shoulder and moved it to his chest, right over his heart.

“The asshole who got me here will probably be thrilled to never see me again, but the Anus treated me just fine.”

“Ha!” the Grandmaster barked. His free hand lovingly patted Roger’s windblown hair back into place. “Welcome home.”

[tazzmanien]

The Tian Guan Ci Fu (Heaven Official’s Blessing) Review

Okay I’m doing it finally. Sorry if it ended up way too long, but in my defense the novel itself was huge so…

First of all I will not be comparing this novel with any of the other MXTX novels, but I just want to tell you this is definitely my new favorite for several reasons, but mostly its love story. If you want to know more write me I will gladly talk more about this.

I read in many posts everywhere that Hualian invented love. Well you know what, there is really no lie there. Theirs is one of the most beautiful love stories out there.

So, before I go into the details, please just go and read the novel!!! NOW! 

The good:

Usually I would like to say a few words about the writing style and quality, but as I’ve only read a translation of the novel I don’t think I can tell you much about it. The translation was very easy to read, so I’m guessing the novel can’t be too extravagant or bad either. BTW thank you everyone who is doing translations for FREE. You all are angels!

The novel was quite long, but the moment you step into the world you would wish it was longer. Every character has their own story and they needs time to evolve, so I really liked its length, but also not so much. Check out the bad for more information.

I liked how the story took place in three realms and different times. I know some get confused by such switches, but I tend to enjoy them very much. I think the heaven and the ghost city were so diverse, that I can’t wait to see them play out in whatever visual adaptation. I feel like this time around MXTX finally explained the actual world with more detail, which made it easier for me to imagine myself strolling through the ghost city market buying sum forbidden rubbish, or watching the moon up close while seated in a garden in heaven. I could see, smell, feel, hear and sometimes unfortunately even taste many things and that is what I think good writing should be about. The things that weren’t described in detail made it even more fun, as one could work with their own imagination (this might be a bad thing for visual adaptations, just saying). And some of you might remember I complained before that if one has no prior knowledge about the whole cultivation, eastern religion and xianxia stuff, then you might have issues reading MXTX books, well this did not change, but I guess I’m starting to appreciate it, as my own imagination created a whole new version of what this whole thing was meant to be. Still, I should have probably listed this in the bad part as well.

The main plot was very interesting and at times even slightly surprising. Mostly it was quite predictable, but I think writing does not have to invent itself every time again, but it has to give some sort of satisfaction at the end. If a story is predictable deep down to every little detail, this is not a huge issues if the story has other strengths. And this one had a nice mix of both.

It did have some parts which appalled me, but you know what, this was actually a good thing. Like I felt a lot of things, even though I really didn’t want to. The things that were disgusting, really actually disgusted me. The things that were supposed to make you angry, made me go nuts. The things that should have made you happy, made my grin like a maniac. But worst of all, were the things that existed to hurt you, they ripped out my heart and shredded it in front of me while I was still conscious. So all in all, yeah even the bad parts about the plot served a purpose. If you are good at keeping track on the main plot while diving into hundreds of subplots, then I would say it was easy to follow. I think this was okay, but the other way around (remembering the subplots) I would argue differently (more in the bad). Nevertheless, some of the subplots were so beautiful that I think they might have deserved their own novel, but isn’t that the case with all good stories?

On a side note, I don’t know if that was intended or if I just saw things that weren’t there, but was the hidden plot actually about how wrong idolizing people is and how it feels to go through post traumatic stress? I might write some more on this in a separate post, I just wanted to get it off my chest here.

Now my favorite part of any MXTX novel: the characters. Honestly, I can’t remember many stories where I loved every character. But MXTX did it again, I loved all of them, even the ones I hated. Once again the way the side characters were introduced, involved in the main story and the main guys, had their own very individual nature and lifes and fought with their own challenges was beautiful. Every character had their own aura (for the lack of a better word). Yeah I like to make fun of this but it’s true nevertheless: most of them had sad histories or were living their nightmares while the plot evolved, however, this was good as it made me appreciate the few sunreys that were able to shine through the clouds even more. As I said, I hated quite a few of them, but either they had their moment one had to love them for or they served another purpose, like propelling other characters to become what they were meant to be or drive the overall plot. And none of this felt forced. So to make it short wow!

And last but no least, the main characters and their love story. 

Xie Lian, our protagonist, my angel my only god the life of my love (yeah I used this one already, sue me), is an adorkable martial arts badass/nerd with the worst luck and cooking skills and spiderman reflexes. He is a true neutral, treats everyone with the same respect, just the way a god should be. He is so genuine in every aspect of his being. He is fully aware of all his shortcomings and all the wrongs he has done, but he still hasn’t lost the good in him and the will to act righteously. He is just so so human, that each of us could learn a little from him. I mean he even warns the freaking demon king to not think too highly of him, because he might disappoint him. And what does Hua Cheng do? He calls him his hope! So XL gives the cruelest of all the demons hope. This shows how perfectly imperfect and inspirational XL is. The world does not deserve him, yet still treats him the worst it can. He lost everything, EVERYTHING! Still he somehow came out to be this beautiful being. The only consolation we get is that at least he gets to have Hua Cheng in his life.

And Hua Cheng, he is the only man out there! Towards Xie Lian he is gentle, loving, understanding, supportive, patient, strong, funny and all sorts of beautiful things. With everyone else he is everything you would expect of a demon king to be and none of it a the same time. He is unpredictable in all things that are not Xie Lian. He does so many good deeds that one would forget that he is a demon king, but he hates, is cruel, intimidating, has killed and is mischievous through and through. Even though we don’t get to see everything about him (see the bad), we know him to be the perfect grey character. Also he proves to be the realest of them all, he stands by everything he says and does and I respect that a lot. He shows his anger and love equally and acts upon both equally. And is so freaking intelligent, handsome, sensual, seductive and cute, that I am actually fearing of being in love with a fictional character. The butterflies are a nice touch btw.

Yes, you are right, we all tend to praise almost every main couple, when the love story is good, but please hear me out. Both of them individually are just perfect in their own imperfect way and together they are the definition of true love. Their first encounter was magical to say the least. Without having any prior knowledge about the overall story or how their love would come to be, I was bewitched from the first moment they both shared the “screen”. I could feel the air stilling, just so I could give my full attention to them falling in love (yeah I know one was already head over heels before that meeting, but that is beside the point). And boy, the way they were falling. It was so realistic and yet hopelessly romantic, that I will use them as the perfect example to show people what it feels like to fall and be in love. 

The bad:

The length and some subplots… Yes well it was quite strenuous to follow the happenings, as every character had their own huge side story. While I loved to know every single bit of their stories, sometimes it took me a while to get back on track in the main story and many many times I totally forgot about some subplots later in the novel and was like “where is the other character now? why don’t we see them anymore?”. Despite its length, some characters stories were either only told from the view of the protagonist and lost a lot of what was going on deep down, or some characters stories had huge gaps even. Sure, it was not their story and we can be happy we even got something, but at some point I was kinda disappointed to be teased about a character and never get to find out what happened or how they felt. So I would have enjoyed an even longer book even if the one now was too long. Do you get what I mean? At the end of the day I can actually forget and forgive all except the fact that we never got to see some sides of Hua Cheng and had to read between the lines to understand his motives and feelings a little better. I need a whole book about him only to be honest. 

So my next bad thing, might actually be inaccurate if I’d knew more about Hua Cheng. This part is probably highly subjective, but I feel like Hua Cheng was not demonic enough. You know, in my head I pictured him to be a real demon, including the looks and what he is doing. How else would he become a demon king? I mean the looks were pretty much on point, I just feel like all the other characters either ignored it or didn’t care and the fandom just makes him look more like a human being. And yes he treats many badly, but in my opinion not bad enough. It feels like all his good deeds got more screen time and his bad deeds were either justified by something good or not really shown.

Not sure if it was only my short attention span or if that was the case, but I felt like the living world was not described as good as the heaven and ghost city. 

Conclusion:

I would recommend this novel to everyone who wants to feel love, but is not afraid to hurt a LOT. If you are searching for a story with some human or heavenly goodness, good friendships, good families, just decent people, then this is not a book for you. Xie Lian is the only exception of course and he is worth every tear you are 100% going to shed.

Just go and read the book! Please. And come back to me and talk about it with me :)

[aradiiaa]

Akdhakdjsj I know I don’t post many rants on here since I like to keep this blog a more positive space, but I just want to vent about something that’s been bothering me a lot about fan communities here.. it’s not weird fandom wank and discourse, just a sort of common courtesy I wish more people would practice

I’m putting this under a read-more, and for any new followers or people who’re simply unaware, I tag all my negative posts with “negativity”! (More tags here)

Anyway,

I don’t know if I’m the only person who feels this way but I feel super weird about the amount of people who have entire blogs dedicated to a particular series and they spend a lot of their time trash-talking that particular series. Like, I don’t know.. let’s say I’m looking for more content about BNHA, for example, and I see a couple blogs making public posts under the main tag saying “hey I’m looking for followers I post a lot of BNHA”, and each of these blogs have a BNHA-related URL and a BNHA profile picture and 98% of the blog’s posts are BNHA and they identify themself as a BNHA blog specifically. I follow them so I can see more content, because I like BNHA, right?

But then these people spend almost everyday making and reblogging posts about how “bad” and “awfully written” BNHA is because their waifus aren’t main characters, and how the writer writes their own characters out-of-character (????), and how it’s problematic because some fictional character died or because a favorite ship isn’t canon. I’ve seen this in almost every single fan community I’ve roamed the tags of, and it’s gotten so much worse over the years. Like, I don’t know about you guys, but when I follow a blog for content for a specific series, I kind of assume that they.. I don’t know, like that series? Why else have an entire blog dedicated to something you hate so much? Isn’t that exhausting? Isn’t the point of following people to share joy?

I get simply not liking something (not to be confused with harassing fans and authors over subjective opinions), but I wish people would at least have the courtesy to tag their negative posts about what people follow them for. That way, people who actually enjoy this particular series won’t be bombarded with hate and insults that they didn’t even want to see. I can’t tell you how many series I’ve begun to feel embarrassed about actually enjoying because of the amount of Debbie Downers and Negative Nancies I’d see everywhere downright insulting them and not giving anybody the option to hide the posts, whether I followed them or just saw their untagged posts under a tag.

Like, if I hate SpiderMan for whatever reason (I don’t), I’ll talk about it in privacy with people I know who also dislike it. I’m not going to attend a child’s SpiderMan themed birthday party or a SpiderMan convention, or stand in the vicinity of them, and then start ranting about how terrible SpiderMan is and how I think it’s problematic around all the people who are just trying to have a joyful time and share their love for SpiderMan. That would just be plain rude.

Why is it so acceptable now to just shit-talk things in a space where fans share their joy, without giving anybody the option to not witness it? Is it really so difficult to come up with a tag to put on your posts so they can be filtered, or censor the names of the series/characters so they don’t come up in search results? I miss not feeling embarrassed about the things I like. Call me oversensitive all you want, but I enjoy being happy, and seeing so much negativity everywhere in inappropriate spaces is just so exhausting. I don’t like having to lock my merch in a safe out of fear of somebody making fun of my tastes.

Rant over. I’m not looking for arguments, anybody trying to pick a fight gets blocked. You can reblog this if you want, I don’t really care. I’m just looking for some positivity and support ^o^;