#and also i hate sleeping and dreaming

[thewitchofart]

Based on this scene:

[iggydancebreak]

i hate cassius but i need a whole book on this man he is too interesting

[nenoname]

seeing discussions on whether bill could trick stan and yeah it is pretty akldhkasjdha to think stan is untrickable when the last regular ep is him getting tricked by darlene (and we know that eda/"marilyn" stole his stuff/almost got his car by tricking him with a vegas marriage)

[outlying-hyppocrate]

coming back here feels like paying a visit to the fucking dead.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Starting Traditions

Two short drabbles, one angsty & one fluffy, as both a treat for Halloween & to celebrate reaching 250 followers. This was briefly looked over for mistakes & written in two sittings. Happy reading!

Dream steps through his portal & shivers at how still everything feels, the cold of the season not helping at all. Regardless, he shuts the portal behind him as he stares down at the grave in front of him.

In honor of Nightmare, it reads. It's a scrappy little thing, made by Dream in a fit of grief after he discovered what had happened to his brother.

Taken over by the corruption of the black apples, Dream hopes that Nightmare is dead. At least then his brother wouldn't have to deal with his body being controlled.

Dream shakes himself & begins to clean up the tiny grave, clearing away the plants that had started to grow over it in the time since he last visited.

Despite his earlier thinking, the grave was alright for something his age & skill set at the time could make. It wasn't long after he was freed from the stone, his shaky carving of the letters that made up the words evidence of his growing knowledge.

The grave itself wasn't anything special, just a rock that was big enough & soft enough to carve a message into placed into a clearing. It probably didn't even count as a proper grave, considering there was no dust to spread over Nightmare's favorite items.

The area was quickly cleaned up & Dream hesitates. He really should leave, he had things he could be doing. Was there a reason to stick around?

After debating with himself for a few moments, Dream slowly sinks to the ground in front of the gravestone, cross legged. "Hey Nighty..."

Dream's voice trailed off as he considered what he should say next. Maybe he could... "Did you know that people dress up & try to get candy? Apparently you sparked a tradition."

Leaning back on his hands, Dream reminisces as he continues to speak. "I remember the first time you did it, too. Covering yourself in branches & leaves & whatever foresty things you could find until you weren't recognizable at all. You even surprised me the first time I saw you!"

Dream pauses his story to laugh softly, sighing fondly after. "The villagers were terrified. Dropped everything they were carrying & ran at the sight of you. Not that you were that scary. Not to me."

Dream stops briefly to take a few deep breaths, blinking to clear the tears that were trying to gather. He clears his throat before continuing.

"Of course, being as clever as you were, you took the opportunity to take whatever sweets & goodies that they dropped until you couldn't carry any more! Then you would bring it home to share with me & we would giggle at how oblivious the villagers were."

Dream giggles quietly to himself with a smile on his face, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his knees. "Hey Nighty?"

There's silence for a few moments before Dream leans forward even more, whispering as if sharing a secret. "I miss you..."

Bonus Scene!

"Seriously, I did it once, or maybe a few times, I don't see why it became such a big deal." Nightmare complains, Ccino nodding along as if agreeing with the other.

The gang had been busy, having heard of the tradition of dressing up to receive candy & latching onto the idea. Who would turn down the idea of free candy after all?

Unfortunately, he couldn't trust them all in one place by themselves, & had to come along as supervision. So Nightmare watched from afar, seeing them running around & taking whatever they wanted, not just candy.

At some point he had called it a night & taken them to Ccino's cafe so they could wind down from all the excitement & exercise. Unfortunately...

Nightmare sighed as he heard Killer & Dust begin to wrestle on the ground, grappling with each other for some reason that he didn't care to know. Wondering why the other two were being so quiet, Nightmare looked over his shoulder & huffed out a soft laugh. That certainly explained things.

Cross was sitting at the table they had dumped their loot on, trying to subtly switch out sweets that he didn't like for chocolate from the other's piles. Horror, meanwhile, was lying on the ground with several cats on top of him with his eye sockets closed.

Nightmare shook his head, definitely not in a fond way, as he turned back to look at Ccino. Ccino, however, was attempting to hold back his snickering, causing Nightmare to scowl & wiping the smile that had unknowingly grown across his face.

This sent Ccino into actual laughter, a soft sound that made Nightmare scoff & roll his eyes, scowl softening. In the background, Cross let out a scream as he began to get chased by Killer & Dust, who had finally noticed Cross' attempted deception.

As Nightmare began to rant to Ccino once more, Cross tripped over Horror as he attempted to jump over him, sending cats scattering & causing the two chasing him to fall on top of each other, creating a dogpile. Despite the chaotic atmosphere, everyone was having a good time.

Except for maybe the cats who had their nap interrupted.

[pocketramblr]

Could you talk MORE about ideas and thoughts of Kon and Jemahl becoming friends? What about their individual characters that makes you love them?

Yeah!!! I absolutely can keep talking about them!!!

My love of Kon started decades ago when I was a young child taken to Six Flags by my grandparents, I was too terrified to ride the Superman ride but the giant Super Family character signs around the ride enchanted me, especially the extremely cool looking Superboy. Years later when I actually read Reign of the Supermen I was like "yeah this kid rules" but also realized that John Henry was the most perfect man ever. Superboy as a clone of a dead man trying to find the role he was "supposed" to have while also discovering who he was resonated with me for. reasons. He's a good mix of relatable personally, and reminding me of some of my students- kids who want to do good but struggle with a lack of context or support. John Henry being one of his few early places of support is but one reason why he is so perfect. Anyway, then I started reading Superboy (94). I think the idea of using superhero to explore child celebrity exploitation is a good one but the execution is all over the place, so my favorite parts of the run really are the Cadmus focused segments and my top arc is always Hypertime. I love alt versions of the same character. Yes, yes, look into the mirror and confront those parts of yourself!!! I also love how Kon just does not give up, not in a fight, and not in believing in others. This is partially because he's so much like Superman because he wants to be, and partially because he's two years old. Both reasons are great.

Desiring to read more of John Henry, I then started reading Steel (94), which is, well, a comic about a Black superhero in the nineties whos execution is also a bit over the place. I think it's absolutely worth a read, but... Now, Jemahl is introduced as a 14 year old boy who's getting involved in a gang and obviously his uncle is unhappy with that. His family keeps telling him why it's a bad idea, but to no avail. Now, Jemahl isn't as relatable to me personally, but I am a Jemahl Defense Team Member. Not everyone in the Irons family is exactly the genius engineer that perfect man John Henry is, but they're all smart. Smart enough to figure out Steel's identity even when John Henry had been faking his death for five years at that point.

So, Jemahl is a smart kid who's father was killed* by a gang despite not being involved with anything*, and then his uncle and the family's main financial support was also killed* despite being wholly separated from any criminal activity*, and for the last five years has watched his mother support his great-grandparents, himself, his little sister, and younger foster siblings all on her own. Because they don't have any other family, because everyone else was killed for his grandparents being civil rights activities. So, when Jemahl's family keeps telling him to stay away from that sort of things because it'll be more dangerous... Why would he believe them? Sure, they say it, but all the evidence points to the fact that staying away just means you don't see when it's coming and have no backup when danger and death and bullets comes for you anyway, like it did his father and uncle. Jemahl loves his family and wants to help them. Jemahl is also a Black fourteen year old who is denied agency and opportunity for both his race and his age, which must be incredibly frustrating. Yeah, I really cannot blame him for not immediately jumping to obeying every thing his uncle said when he came back, because you know, this uncle has been falsely playing dead for five years. I know John Henry's a perfect man, but Jemahl's got no reason to! Especially not when more people start dying! If only John Henry returned for a time and could rebuild a relationship with his nephew by offering understanding of his motivations and actual support to act in a better way to reach his goal of protecting people and not feeling powerless. Alas, soon Steel got a new writing team and John and Natasha leave DC and Jemahl is sent away to witness protection program with his mother and great-grandfather and basically never seen again except one issue where Natasha visits for Christmas and it is... Not great. I don't know if him being forgotten at that point is a mercy because at least it means they didn't do anything worse with him, but... Anyway in 2015 DC was reshuffling the timeline again and for a brief, beautiful two issues we saw a world where John Henry took both Natasha and Jemahl with him to Metropolis when he left DC, and taught them how to repair his armor so they could feel like they were a part of helping defend others without putting them in danger themselves. Uh and then they built their own suits and immediately jumped to being heroes themselves because of course they did. Wow! It's like Jemahl flourishes when given the right tools to be the caring and protective guy he is! (This is a little weird though because these issues make him younger than Natasha instead) Tragically after the reshuffling, Jemahl Irons never existed. But they said the same thing about Kon and hey look who came back anyway!

So that's why I love those two guys individually. But I also think they could play off each other in a lot of fun ways:

As John Henry's nephew who has complicated feelings but ultimately respects and admires his uncle, especially when given the chance to follow in his shoes, and as the first kid John really got to help in this way. I mean, Kon knew John before he knew Kal. His idea of Superman is tinted by Steel's advice. I think Kon reminded John of his niblings at first, and so there's some good friendship there. (Much like how I enjoy Kon and Natasha being friends).

People have immediate assumptions when they see Kon and when they see Jemahl, in very different ways. Are they jealous of the other, or are they glad it's not what the other deals with because they at least feel familial understanding for their own problems?

When Match was introduced, the Agenda was intending on making and selling hundreds of Superboy clones to use as weapons, Kon was like, "uh??? Slavery??? Bad?!?!?" And I imagine Jemahl would have opinions on this whole thing as well. In fact, Jemahl would have opinions about a lot of things in the SB run, because part of it is Kon being a few months old at the start and having no context for anything like, you know, the colonization of Hawai'i, and part of it is because Kon's a white boy written for white boys. Not only would Jemahl have opinions, he would love to share them and educate Kon, and only somewhat because he'd get to feel like the smart one for once. (Curse of being only a mildly genius kid in a very genius family ig)

Actually they both do have shades of really needing to feel needed and become depressed, albeit in different directions, when they don't. Also, abandonment issues... So much. I'm sure that's something that would get better with their friendship. Or not. Could go either way, highly dependent on timeline lol

I think they could just also hang out. Like, I think they'd enjoy each other's company because it would come with much fewer expectations compared to basically anyone else in their home/hero communities. They can listen to music together, or play with TTK, or say things about girls that they will absolutely wish they had not said once they are no longer aged 14-16. If this is a post-rebirth friendship after they both get powergirl'd, they can hang out and either talk about the world they miss or Absolutely Not Talk About It and just soak in not being alone, at least in this way.

*yeah his dad and uncle weren't really killed and yeah they were involved but that was secret shhh this is as far as Jemahl knows

[deusluxuria]

had a dream last night that buccellati and abbacchio actually had a wedding (in my hc they got married before the events of part 5 and didn't have a wedding) and they were wearing the dopest shit ever. bruno was like "fuck yeah i'm wearing a voluminous white dress and no one can stop me" and abbacchio is less dress-inclined but he still had a long black train and some giger-esque heels he could probably kill someone with

[perilegs]

shoutout to people working their dream jobs doing something mundane

[rosylix]

i know I already said this before but felix . in bounce back. GODDDD EVERYTIME I HESR THAT SONG I ASCEND PLEASE FUCKWHY IS HE SO HOT WHY?!??!??) but yes I hope ur doing well!!

bro ok i havent listened to bounce back in a hot minute tysm for reminding me of this. HE IS LITERALLY SO HOT FR 🤕😣 i am consumed with rage every time i hear his voice

[hemlockgraves]

Dreams are a luxury that undeath cannot afford.

[snowpoon]

tried to keep my mind off my exams for a bit and it did not work ‼️☝️

[flaming-toads]

I used up all my mana so like give me a second to charge up.

*microwaves a breakfast burrito with magic*

[linkvcr]

goooood afternoon skysword nation

[lemonynuggets]

just had the horrible realization I’ve barely ever drawn real people and I should actually start practicing that

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Daughter of the House of Dreams: A Fragment

Author's Note: This is the opening to a long-abandoned "Sleeping Beauty" retelling that I no longer plan to write, but I still like it as a piece of prose, and it sparked my enduring interest in second-person narration, so it feels relevant, and why should long-dead authors be the only ones who get to have their unfinished fragments published?

If you ever travel to Monetta City, be sure to visit Faraway Lane. Walk past the glittering new shops, and the shoppers in their bright silk dresses and top hats, and you'll find a cozy stone shop at the end of the street. This shop isn't grand and mighty like the other shops. It won't sniff and turn you away if your clothes aren't the latest fashion. It's a grandmotherly old shop that shakes its head at the prancing and preening of the younger shops, and invites you in instead. It holds no wares in its windows; it hardly has windows at all. But it has a warm and wide wooden door, with a shingle hanging above—Alessia Day, maker of dreams.

Don't ponder the sign's message too long��it means exactly what it says. Just slip inside, shut the door behind you, and look. Don't breathe too deeply, unless you want a week of crazy dreams, but allow yourself one gasp of astonishment. You won't be able to stop yourself. No living person has failed to feel awe toward the rows and rows of shelves, longer than streets and taller than palaces, filled to bursting with glass bottles in such bright colors that the dresses in the other shops' windows would weep in envy. Some bottles are the size of thumbnails. Most fit comfortably in the palm. Some are as large as breadboxes or steamer trunks or carriage horses, but the shelves manage to fit them all. And each bottle is filled to the brim with dreams.

If you don't understand, ask Alessia Day. You'll find her at a counter half a mile from the door, polishing bottles and humming a song you've heard but can't remember. She's an old woman now, and proud of it, but squint your eyes and start to daydream, and you'll see her as I remember her—a willow-wand girl with shining brown hair and eyes that sparkle with half-formed jokes.

Tell this girl how pretty she is (she'll laugh and call you crazy) and ask about her dreams. She'll tell you of her stock and sell you any dream you ask for—daydreams and pipe dreams, dreams of love, dreams of adventure, dreams of loved ones lost and loved ones found and people you've never met but wish you had. She'll show you dreams of lush and perfect islands, dreams where fishes fly through the air, and dreams where people swim the seas with fishes' tails. She'll pull down dreams that last a second but linger a lifetime, dreams that fill a month of stormy nights, dreams that fade on waking and dreams that drown out memories. If you let her, she'll talk of dreams until you drift off, and she'll bottle up your dream while you doze.

But if you're smart (I know you are) you'll step to the counter with a clear glass bottle, empty of everything but air, and ask for her story instead. She'd distill it in a dream for you, and be glad to do it—I once saw her whip it up in half a minute, and I'll bet she's even faster now. Buy the dream, but don't drink it right away. You won't be ready for it. Linger in the shop a while. Hear the story first from Alessia Day's lips, in that voice of hers that's sweeter than singing.

You won't believe half of it, but when you stagger from the shop and wander the empty, starlit streets, you'll ponder over passages until you stumble into bed at sunrise. And when you wake, the world will be different—you'll see tiny footprints on the windowsills, know things about the shadows on the walls, tip your hat to creatures in the corner of your eye, and realize there is another color no one else can see. You'll laugh and call it your imagination, but every second Tuesday, you'll start to wonder if the old woman was right, if the things she told you were true.

If you drink the dream she made, you'll know. I'll understand if you don't—some things are easier not to know. But if you do, and dream through her story, come to my house and ring the bell. My man will let you in—he'll know you by the wonder on your face. He'll bring you to my study, set you in my oldest, softest chair, and get us both settled with a steaming pot of tea. Then, once you've finished babbling, I'll close my eyes and tell you my part in the tale.

[tothepointofinsanity]

[When you fall into an exhaustive state of sleep, the world around your bed disappears completely. I was strung out of that peaceful abyss purely because my roommate spoke my birth name. I woke up so fast that I think a piece of myself is still in that dissolving world, somewhere.]