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Welcome to my Universe
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Silly Game Time: At dawn, we march into GLORIOUS BATTLE! But unfortunately ... our armor shipment got mixed up with the shipment for some cooking show ("Top Chef", maybe? No clue.)
Use a random *letter* generator twice, then look up two cooking tools that start with those letters to find out which will be your improvised helmet and chestplate. Post a picture of each! On a scale of 1 to 10, how much use are they going to be in our now ... less-than-glorious battle?
I can't really do this properly right now, but please consider a rag and chopsticks.
Absolutely no help at all but hilarious.
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I wonder why it is that none of the partygoers or Sara's apparent friend group gets their own name, but Kathleen, Rhondi and Jimmy do. What's special about these kids? Why do they get names?
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Silly Game Time: Use a random letter generator and look up a plant that starts with that letter. Post a picture of it! How cool do you think it looks on a scale from 1 to 10?
We've got an oak!
My own photo :)
It's not "cool" by any means but it's charming. Whimsical, if you will.
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I'm a firm believer that Jason Funderburker is actually a really sweet kid who's got a nasty speech impediment and feels very insecure about it. He tries compensating by dressing neat and being nice- but, as seen with Wirt, that doesn't always work.
#I mean he treats Wirt decently. Even smiles at him#that's more than what Wirt can say about himself#yk#otgw#over the garden wall#jason funderburker#headcanon
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Silly Game Time: What's a quote that means a lot to you? It could be from a famous person, it could be from a regular person in your life, it could be you no longer remember who said it even though the quote touched you.
(For me, I'd say, "If you're not having fun, you're doing it wrong.")
Well. I dunno if I ever heard this anywhere or if it was born inside my own head, but
"Become a person important enough they can't afford to ignore you"
was a sentence that kept me going in hopeless situations.
#I think this is one of those things that is so very specific to me it hardly makes sense to other people#silly game time#ask
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but where have we come and where shall we end?
“Welcome students,” Wirt grinned as he dramatically underlined the class name on the chalkboard, “to Introduction to Folklore & Mythology! I will be your teacher, Wirt Palmer but please call me Wirt. Dr. Palmer makes me feel like one of those colorful comic book heroes.”
Scattered, awkward laughter in the crowd but Wirt wouldn’t let the tepid reaction get to him. He only got to teach F&M when there was an open spot both in his busy schedule and the college’s class electives. While he loved teaching his various other classes, this material really was his passion.
It’s a small group this year, only 9 students total. Wirt wasn’t surprised, after teaching for almost a decade he knows that the study of old fables seemed boring compared to the other electives offered. And while most of these students likely only ended up here because Modern Social Lit or Transformative Science Fiction was full, he still planned on making the most of it.
“We’ll go around and introduce ourselves to get started. Please note, this will be primarily a discussion based course so this will get you used to speaking up,” Wirt announced, leaning against the side of his desk. A goth dressed girl with purple streaked hair groaned and leaned over on her desk. “You already know my name. I’ve been teaching for 9 years total and here at the college for about 5. I’m married with two children and a younger brother who sometimes feels like a third kid.” More obligatory, bored smiles but Wirt pressed on.
“I believe I’ve taught most of the poetry and creative writing classes here at some point though I do teach early American history in the spring, the Monday, Wednesday, Friday 5-7pm class if you all aren’t sick to death of me come winter. I also am one of the overseers of marching band, as a few of you probably already know,” he winked at some of the band kids who fondly rolled their eyes. They probably took this class thinking he’d go easy on them but they had no idea.
“I double majored in history and creative writing, you know, back in the dinosaur ages. My historical area of expertise is American History with specialties in, you guessed it,” he tapped at the chalkboard where the class name was still written, “Folklore and mythology.”
“My thesis revolved around death in American and some European folk tales, on how it’s viewed and what it symbolizes. I bet that sounds pretty boring to you all,” he shrugged taking in the 9 vacant faces before him. “So here’s a fun fact to put things into perspective, when I was 14 and my brother 6, we almost died on Halloween night.”
A few students raised their eyebrows, sat a little straighter in their seats. He could almost feel their attention pulling more towards him and he rode it like a river into the night. “Yes, you heard me right. I was a foolish young kid once myself, we hopped over a graveyard wall, nearly missed getting hit by an oncoming train only to roll roughly down a steep hill and hit the nearby lake so hard that we were both unconscious instantly.” Cherie, trombone player, gulped and tugged at her turtleneck sympathetically.
“My brother, Greg, miraculously made it through the whole thing mostly unscathed, just some scratches and bruises. I broke two ribs and got enough water in my lungs to catch a bad case of pneumonia that kept me out of school for almost 3 weeks.” Wirt let his memories pull him back, just for a moment, thinking of the constant dull ache in his side he still felt on chilly days, especially around October. He thought of the choking water, the creeping shadows and death that almost claimed him and Greg both.
“We were under the water for about 10 or so minutes. Now 10 minutes is both an instant and an eternity when your life is hanging in the balance. And when your body is caught in between, both clinging to life and in the process of shutting down, sometimes we see things we can’t explain.”
Wirt turned and drew on the board a bit, he wasn’t half the artist Greg was but he’d been drawing these faces and figures for most of his life that it was almost rote. The pumpkin covered skeletons and their leader, Enoch. A schoolhouse of animals playing music. A sweet, shy girl who became a monster. His fingers trembled as they always did when he drew the Beast’s branching antlers and clawed hand reaching out, as if still hoping to coax Wirt into a hellish deal. He turned back to his students but he wasn’t really seeing them.
“My brother and I had something most people would call a shared hallucination. The details don’t match up entirely, Greg’s version slightly differs from my own but we experienced something under that water that logic and reason has yet to explain.” He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present and out of the dark, dark wood that always lingered on the periphery of his vision.
“Death is the Unknown,” Wirt smiled at his own private joke. “It’s the one thing people of every era and culture have yet to fully understand. But sometimes we get glimpses, little echoes of something bigger than ourselves and when confronted something so incomprehensible, we do what humans have always done: we tell stories. The folktales and myths we will be reading and discussing this semester are our ancestors trying to put into words something that doesn’t fully exist, something that lies over the garden wall and into…” mansions so big they were connected, a cottage in the field lying in wait as a spider’s web, an old abandoned mill where nightmares lived. But those memories were for the past and perhaps the far future, for now he only cared for the present.
“The point of this class will not be memorizing passages or anything like that. It will be about finding the people and their stories behind the tales they left behind for us. What were they trying to say? What were they warning us about? What stories do we have now that wish to use to guide our great-great grandchildren?” His class stared at him with wide eyes, “if that doesn’t suit your tastes I’m pretty sure Ms. Michelson’s Romantic Lit still has a few open spots. I’ll fill out the class transfer form myself, so, any takers?” Not one student stood to go, they hardly seemed to move, as if frozen to their seats. But they looked interested, if a bit unnerved. Just how Wirt wanted them.
He clapped his hands and broke the heavy pall that had fallen over the classroom. “Well that’s more than enough about me and my trauma, we’ll go in alphabetical order. Tell me your name, current major, astrology sign, favorite author and what sort of stories you would wish to pass on.”
Wirt listened attentively to the answers as they slowly opened up and soon he wasn’t even commenting much anymore as the students began their own enthusiastic discussion. This was going to be a good class, a good semester. His attention was drawn towards the window where a cold front was blowing in. It was only September but October would be upon them soon enough. And with the changing seasons came old aches, older fears and shadows that seemed to grow larger every year.
He and Greg may have escaped the Unknown but they brought a little bit of it back with them. One day, they would find themselves drowning once more in that inky blackness but with no surface to escape to. Wirt wasn’t afraid, anxious perhaps but not afraid. It would be good to see Beatrice again. But before he went back to that unending forest, hopefully a long, long time from now, he had work to do here on Earth.
He had a wife and two sons to spoil, a younger brother to try and corral and be inspired by. Wirt had his unfinished book about that fateful Halloween night he never could seem to finish and he had students to teach. He couldn’t teach about what it meant to live or die or exist somewhere in between on a paddlewheel boat driven by frogs. But he could teach the stories that touched just a shadow of those impossible concepts and maybe they could learn the things it took death and rebirth for him to understand.
“Rebecca, back up a second, we’re going to cover the origins of many of these tales and we will get into what inspired certain stories. On that note, open up your books to page 12. We’re going to dive right in folks, I sure hope you know how to swim because the water is deeper than it looks.”
#I FOUND A GEM#doing the happy dance in the background*#teacher wirt's got my heart sold#thank you for sharing!!!
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WAIT THAT MEANS THE BEAST DID NOT EXPECT WIRT TO EVER LOVE HIS BROTHER
I think the sun lowering into the cup represents Wirt's love. The cup is Greg's open arms- awaiting his big brother's care, something that he feels like he has to wait for.
Wait until he grows cold.
Until he dies?
But rather than search for warmth in other places, he decides that his brother's love is worth freezing for. Even if he's not sure if it'll ever come to pass.
Except the sun reaches the cup, and Wirt reaches Greg.
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I think the sun lowering into the cup represents Wirt's love. The cup is Greg's open arms- awaiting his big brother's care, something that he feels like he has to wait for.
Wait until he grows cold.
Until he dies?
But rather than search for warmth in other places, he decides that his brother's love is worth freezing for. Even if he's not sure if it'll ever come to pass.
Except the sun reaches the cup, and Wirt reaches Greg.
#yes I rewatched the last episodes#again#this doesn't make sense does it?#words have failed me#otgw#over the garden wall
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Silly Game Time: WRONG ANSWERS ONLY! Why are you on Tumblr?
I heard the hellsite has a ghost and decided to investigate.
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Silly Game Time: If you could instantly have one skill to the level of competence of someone who's been doing it intently for a decade, which skill would you choose?
Definitely karate. I'm way too weak in all aspects to participate regularly, but I adore it all.
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The old school lack of transparency on tumblr is amazing because you assume the people you follow must all be equivalent to you and then you see someone write “I brought my youngest to college today” and someone else write “my mom wouldn’t let me listen to Ariana Grande when I was a kid” and then your head explodes
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If I tainted everything
I'd be sad too
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Silly Game Time: Would you rather have horns or a tail? What kind?
Preferably neither, but if I have to choose I'll say tail. Horns would get in the way of sleeping.
As for what kind... I'll take a plain, slim cat tail, thank you.
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go go go go go
i’m getting giddy saying this but…the first chapter of the stag prince “origin” story has been posted to ao3. if you’ve been reading the snippets i’ve posted i’d definitely recommend reading the whole thing! the second chapter will be up shortly.
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I wonder when I'll get bored of drawing him.
Probably never.
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