#but i want to run this by you guys first

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Stars and Shadows: A Fairy Tale

An extremely experimental piece I've decided to submit for @inklings-challenge.

If you wait patiently, there will come a day--in a month, in a year, in a hundred-thousand hopeful days--when you will stare outside into the deep blue-black of a cold winter night and not be able to tell the snowflakes from the stars. It will call to your heart and pull you from the warmth and light of home--wrapped up in coats and boots, scarves and gloves, and one thick woolen blanket thrown over your shoulders like a cloak--in the hope of becoming, even for a moment, a part of the beauty of this moment of creation.

The cold of night will bite your face and steal your breath, but in a moment, you will find yourself racing across the white expanse, snow crunching beneath your boots, soul expanding toward the shining heavens in one upward rush of joy. As soon as home and family are safely out of view, you will slow from your sprint and find yourself content to amble, and wonder, and be, with the shy, slender moon watching patiently above.

You will carry no light, for the world will be light, with the moon and the stars and the snow wrapping all the world in bright illumination. Your breath will shine before you in delicate white clouds, your very life made visible for the fragile, lovely thing it is. In the silence you will hear the snowflakes fall, hear the hushed sound of your footfalls, feel every beat of your strong and pulsing heart.

And then, if you close your eyes and listen long enough, just at the moment when your heart is near to breaking from the beauty of it all, you will hear a cry. For a moment you might think it a phantom of thought, your own soul giving voice to all the aching loveliness that surges through you, but then, you will hear it again. Over and over, thin and wailing, the cry of a child newly born horrified to find the world so great and cold.

The sound will travel like an arrow in that crisp, cold air, and you will follow it without hesitation--over a rise, down a hill, through a twisting stand of trees and countless banks of snow, and at last to an old well, such as you've only seen in illustrations--a construction of wood and stones, covered with moss and aged with time, that you can say with certainty was not there a day before.

Standing by that well will be, not an infant, but a child. A little girl three years old, reaching desperately for the rim of the well and crying for water. Everything about her--her skin, her hair, her eyes--will be white as the snow she stands in, and she will gleam faintly with the light of the stars above, and she will wear nothing but thin, white rags, torn at the edges and singed at the ends, a ragged line of ash the only color in her form.

You will notice all these things and think it strange, and then you will forget everything because the child is crying. You will find a wooden bucket on a chain by the well, and in sheer desperation you will throw it down, though there will be nothing but ice in an open well on a night so cold.

But to your shock, you will hear a splash, and you will pull up a bucket full of liquid water that looks like light itself. You will give it to the girl--you would not dream of taking even a drop for yourself--and she will drink with cupped hands and lapping tongue, and gaze at you with silent gratitude.

When she has drained the last drop, the faint gleam of light around her form will become a white glow. She will seem a bit taller--perhaps a bit older than you first assumed--and for the first time, she will seem to feel the cold. She will shiver and wail and curl in on herself, and you will suddenly understand--or at least bless--your mad impulse to take a blanket out into the night. You will take it from your shoulders and wrap it round her form, head to foot, with only her shining white face peering out. Then you will take her in your arms, settle her on one hip, and carry her across the vast expanse of snow toward your home.

It will be a long trip--you have walked a long way--and before you have gone far, the child will grow too heavy for your strength. You will look to her and find that the blanket you have wrapped around her no longer seems so large, and clings more closely to her form--like something between a deep blue dress and cloak--so you will feel safe in setting her on the ground and letting her walk beside you, her thin white hand in yours.

You will wonder for a moment if you've fallen into a dream, for all seems so strange and perfect--the light, the snow, this silent child--but the bite of the cold and the burn of your legs will assure you that you remain in the waking world. Yet you won't think to question the child--who or what she is, or from whence she arrived--because she is so like the snow and the light and the stars of this crisp, cold night--things that do not become, but simply are. Your wonder make peace with the night's mystery.

The way back will seem longer than you remember--the trees taller, the stars brighter, the air colder. The night will seem large and you so very small, but you will not be afraid, for there is one beside you too innocent for fear. You will walk in the tracks you left on your way, stretching between footfalls that seem much more distant than you expected. Yet the moon will look larger, and you will take comfort in that. You will need the comfort before long.

For just when you are in the very midst of the trees, you will hear a sound from the shadows--dark and dangerous, like the growl of a wolf or the rumble of a distant train. And then the shadows will seem to take shape, growing arms and legs, teeth and claws, and they will gather in a great black wall that blocks the way you mean to take.

The voice that speaks will be less of a voice, and more like the clench of fear in your chest, the monster that mocks you as you lay awake at midnight with all the shame and sorrows of your wasted youth.

We will have the child.

You will know that the voice promises death for disobedience, and you will know to the depths of your soul that you would rather die than obey. You will hold the child close, and she will cling to your neck, and you will sprint with all your strength back toward the well. The shadows will surge and swirl around you, grabbing at your clothes, tearing at your face, and once--only once--drawing blood that drips a red path upon the snow.

You will sprint through the snow and twine through the trees, each step seeming a mile, each moment a lifetime. The shadows will gather--closer, darker--and the light of the child in your arms will fade with fear.

At last, you will see the well at the base of the hill, seeming to shine in a circle of light. If you can reach it, you know, you will be safe--every childhood game seeming suddenly like training for this very moment.

And yet, at the very edge of the clearing--somehow you always knew this would happen--you will lose your footing and fall face-first into the snow. You will shield the child's face from the snow by holding her close, and you will shield her body with your own. The shadows will fall upon you, tearing you to pieces. Your very body will seem to dissolve in pain.

Through their snarling, the shadows will promise relief, if you will only relent--the child's life for yours. Not so great a sacrifice, is it, for a child you've known for mere minutes? These words will tear at your mind, but it is your heart that will reply, drawing strength for defiance from you know not where. And you will. not. move.

You will feel the night fading--the stars and the snow and even the cold growing distant, like some faraway world in which you have no part. Even the pain will seem like something happening long ago and far away to some ancient hero in a dusty, tattered book. Yet you will feel the child beneath you, her beating heart still alive against yours, and that hope will keep you clinging to the tatters of breath in your body.

Then, at last, there will be light. So bright that it blazes white even through your closed eyes. The shadows will crumble like ash, retreat like the dark from a flame, and the destruction of your battered form will cease. The child you shelter will cry with joy.

A gentle touch will lift your shoulder so you lay on one side, and attempt to pull the child from your arms.

With a cry of defiance, you will hold her with what remains of your strength.

But then a voice will flow through you, lovely and feminine, like water and winter and moonlight given tongue. Peace.

Peace will come, perfect and pure, and you will release the child without fear. But without her presence, your need for strength will fade, and all your pain will come rushing in upon you, dark and hot and crushing, and you will have no strength to hold it back.

Absurdly, you will be most aware of an all-consuming thirst. Tears will pour from you--precious, wasted droplets. Then it will be you, and not the child, who cries for water. Then it will be the child who will draw water from the well and put the shining liquid to your lips.

You will drink, and the first mouthful will bring the cold climbing back upon you. But you will welcome it as re-entry into this world, and drink deep, again and again, until you find yourself freezing, but wholly alive, your wounds as if they never were. You will sit and gaze up at a woman dressed in midnight blue, as white and glowing as the child, who clings to her as she would to a mother, and you will find yourself alight with the same glow.

You have served my daughter well, that lovely inner voice will say again. Come and be at peace.

She will turn your eyes toward the heavens, and offer you a place there in the shining light, far from the troubles of this dark world. It will draw you as the snowflakes drew you from the warmth of home, so many long moments ago. Yet you will find yourself standing, and bowing your head, and with utmost humility refusing the honor. You will not leave this world, be there ever so many shadows, while there is still more beauty to behold.

The woman will smile, pleased with your answer, and the light surrounding you will fade. And you will see your home alight on a nearby hillside, waiting for your return.

You will say your farewells to the child--who embraces you with gratitude--and turn your path toward home. The child and her mother will do the same, fading as the sunset fades with the coming of night. And you will notice two stars in the sky above where you had noticed none before.

You will smile up at them and walk home--warm, alive and fearless. There will be no more shadows lurking along your path. But high above, and all around, you will know there is--and always will be--light.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Yeah, I don't know about you, Fidds, but I'd fold at this 🙏

Previous!!

Next!!

First!!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

oh noooo or whatever

bonus aka The Real Motive Behind This:

SURPRISE double bonus. textless ver of the first pic under the cut

[bacchuschucklefuck]

dreaming abt sophomore year class swap bard!riz

[numberonetribble]

Yeehaw!!! Ride 'em cowboy! ;)

[rottenapplefae]

the finished version of my Willow x Twelfth Night piece is finally done!

[wishchip106]

Logan but erik is also there

i need more fics that have this concept, i’ve read nearly all the ones i’ve found with this but i’m greedy so i require more

caliban just having to deal with three old ass mutants

since erik’s in his nineties i’m giving him a walker

and you know what HEARING LOSS

“Erik can you pass the salt?”

“WHAT??”

“the salt, Erik”

“WHAT??????”

he refuses to using hearing aids for some reason

him and charles sleep together but sometimes charles forgets who he is and freaks out about the stranger in his bed

erik has a spare bed in the ‘house’ when that happens

once laura comes along and they escape in the limo charles keeps going like “this reminds me of October 1962” the fact he even remembers that is crazy

when they’re in the hotel, laura shows erik her xmen comics while they watch movies until of course when the humans break in and charles has a seizure 🙁

i feel like erik would be the kind of old guy to go “back in my day!”

grandpa magneto naps

when they meet that family charles references erik as his husband

i cant tell whether i want this to be a fix-it or not

fuck it lets go down the angst path

x-24 still manages to kill charles and temporarily kidnap laura, magneto got his ass beat ☹️

beach divorce reference, erik cradling charles in his arms

they bury charles

erik refuses to leave the grave so logan and laura keep going

and that would be probably the last we see of erik

i’m gonna say he does die, maybe of old age he deserves a natural death like that

lets say someone sees an unconscious old man near a fresh grave and takes him to that hospital laura took logan where erik maybe passes in his sleep

boom kinda sad ending

and of course Logan ending for logan and laura

just imagine erik is also there or something ^^

[anethiawoods]

playing slay the princess as intended (watching your friend stream it and then roleplaying as improvised ocs for each of ur runs)

[fisheito]

rereading the nuca pink doujin and seeing yakumo tear himself apart re: his snake form vs his human form all this agony and self-doubt and silent suffering and fear of rejection like "if i looked less human would u hate me" , "if u saw me in my true form wouldn't that be horrible. terrifying. disgusting" , "if i admitted i want to swallow you whole would you think worse of me"

and i imagine him asking something like this to the crowd of clan members , who are , undeniably,, a group of Kinky Fuckers

they all smile with the serenity and carefully masked excitement of a horny olivine. masterful beautiful reassuring expressions (errr..... masked to different degrees depending on the clan member)

[greencloakedfae]

I would be so annoying as a doctor who companion honestly. Like oh dear companion what awesome adventure through time and space would you like to go on now? Oh dear Doctor please take me back to 1705 so that I can steal some sewing patterns. Oh and maybe we can do a trip where we start in 900 and stop every 10 years until the 18th century to see how fashion and sewing techniques progress. Show me the superior linen that we used to have access to before it went extinct, I need some for a project, Doctor.

[r0semultiverse]

Digital Circus AMA Notes

Digital Circus is getting a season 1 at some point!!!!

#webcore aesthetic board for the series design

Pomni was going to be a frog originally. 🐸

90s toys Zooble inspo

Caine is an antagonist, but not by active choice, he doesn't know he's not helping. He doesn't feel a whole spectrum of human emotions (he's an AI).

"Caine canonically just lets things happen if he thinks it's funny."

Characters eat like Chao in Chao garden in Sonic. The characters can eat the food, but they can't digest it.

Jax's favorite food is spaghetti.

Pomni likes salmon.

Q "Was the ending a 'Last Supper' reference?" A "in a very superficial kinda way yeah." Religious stuff is sometimes just used for the funny.

Gooseworx tumblr sketches MAY or MAY NOT be canon to the series, so it's up in the air for every single one.

People can abstract from feeling too much pain if it breaks their mind from it being too much. Characters feel pain from things, but not as intensely as they would in real life.

Zooble is gonna swap parts every episode (implying they have spare parts) except their body & head.

Jax chose his own name & gooseworx likes to think he chose Gangle's name.

Ragatha was named "Emmy" originally.

They (the cast of characters trapped in the circus) can't change their clothes but Caine can. It's part of their skin sorta kinda.

There's empty space under Pomni's hat because video game model physics.

Spamton was partially inspo for Caine, Caine's VA did Spamton dubs.

Gangle only has 2 masks. Why's it (her hapiness mask) break all the time? Mental state, but the "real her" is "harder to break."

Kaumfo was gonna be part of the main cast originally before Jax.

Kaufmo's model has nothing below the waist at this time, but was made for that promotional image on twitter.

Q "What kinda person was Kaufmo?" A "He was the same as Ragatha in a sense, goofy & cheery, sometimes toxic levels of positivity."

I'm paraphrasing for the sake of note taking in real time, go watch the stream playback for more context & details if you want.

[moeblob]

NO ACTUALLY ITS VERY IMPORTANT TO REPLY TO HIS

it's so true they are all idiots and they all are disasters but after the group mom offered me his therapist info because I was acting a bit weird (and hey, if you need help then get it! no shame!) then yeah I am literally convinced the only way this group is alive is because he has no mean bones in his body.

(I have only just gotten past the first witch and the twinks hate me but understandable have a nice day, boys... but honestly Arshem CONTINUES to remain the healthiest despite going through the roughest imo.)

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

I was wondering, does Fiddleford still have a wife in your Halloween au? And if yes, does she know about him being a vampire?

I've been sitting on this ask for a bit, but I think I should finally answer.

In my AU, Fidds is actually pretty old-- not like ancient or anything, but surely a few centuries?

Anyway, so way back, when he was human, he did have a wife and a kid!! But when he got bit and became a vampire, he actually outlived them :(

He tries to think about them often, but it's definitely one of the things he chooses to erase when he creates the memory gun

[wildwolf-fandoms]

Two AU ideas for DRDT, because i just listened the Butcher Vanity cover of J's VA.

Tw: Ed and canibalism, also Chapter 2 ending spoilers

Game Killer/Stopper Ace AU, where his attempt of attacking and breaking MonoTV is actually successful. The mastermind only has one spare of it and the data in broken MonoTV has way too many information that's important for them. Therefore, when Ace broke MonoTV, the game is temporarily paused until the mastermind gains access back to it's body to keep it running. While mastermind is scheming, Ace takes over the leadership of the group and divides them to two seperate positions: Guards and Lookers. Guards are those that'll guard the body of MonoTV and try to figure out its secrets; and Lookers are people that’ll look and search the academy throughly again for an escape route or hidden passage that might lead to mastermind or outside, whichever one happens the first. Daily, Ace not only manages the news/reports and problems from both of the positions, but also partakes in both activities (Aka he is the only person that looks for an exit/passageway AND partakes in MonoTV's "autopsy"/guarding in the entire class) to make sure nothing funny is happening. He's been known as a coward among the group and he knows that if the game starts again, he will certainly die. Ace needs to make sure that they can either bring down the mastermind or escape outside as quick as possible; he also tries his hardest to train everyone physically (because despite his weight, he is canonically stronger than majority of the group) and prepare them for a fight, just in case in the mastermind tries to get MonoTV back by attacking the Guards. While Ace knows he can't clean his reputation after killing Arei, he is not willing to let the chaos and distrust among them ruin the class more than it already have. Especially with whatever mindfuck David, Teruko, Veronika and Hu are going through right now. Because of the broken glass from punching MonoTV cutting his hand and fingers, he now has a horribly scarred hand and is way more confident and bold on leading the class to their survival. He'll make sure Arei's death will be the second to last one their group will have to suffer from, with the mastermind's own death being the last one.

Butcher Vanity J, where J is the mastermind. She has an eating disorder which she can only eat meat otherwise her body will refuse to function. She quickly learns that out of all meat types; the human meat is the healthiest, tastiest and easiest to get. Therefore, she sets a Killing Game to consume more corpses. Whenever a Trial ends, she eats the corpse of the blackened and victim behind closed doors.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Trying to decide whether to do the "mythological inspirations" post first or doodle a "timeline" for the kids (as in, show them as they grow/age). Have this Baby Pepper Jack scribble while I agonize over that. He's like... 4 here or something

That... little round thing he's holding is a stuffed elephant. It was a gift from the Wild Spices. He named it "Pudding" and it's one of his most prized possessions.

Can you guys tell I'm not an artist yet? Haha

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

Okay I saw more of your art and had to come back (if it’s okay)

Maybe this time….King Marty? Like in a kings outfit with the septor

and crown and stuff? Idk

no problem at all! i'm just happy you enjoy :D

anyone with any remote knowledge of historical dress from any vague period or region please avert your eyes.