#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)

[whump-queen]

Static Between Us

Tags: mafia setting, shock collars, restraints, threats, multiple whumpers, defiant whumpee. Words: 1.7k

Part of Dark Circuit (Masterlist coming soon)

༻✦༺

“You know what I just can’t figure out?” 

Amira circled him slowly. 

“That for however many times I’ve hit this button, you still wear that sullen expression on your face.”

She looked down at him as she spoke, sharp eyes meeting nothing. His gaze was firmly affixed to her shoes. 

“What I can’t figure out,” she took a step towards him. “Is that despite all of our,” she paused, “convincing, you continue to refuse to cooperate.” 

She was close now. He still didn’t dare look up. He realized he could hear the electric hum of the gadgets she wore around her wrists and waist. He could hear the half-distant buzzing of the tiny radio in her ear. 

Too close.

“Despite the fact that you know we require so little, and that doing what I say would grant you better treatment, effective immediately.”

Sora’s neck burned. 

He saw—felt—her hand lower towards her left bracelet and he flinched, he felt the muscles in his neck seize—

After a second, he realized she hadn’t touched it— her hand was back on her hip. 

She hadn’t pressed it. 

Hadn’t even touched the remote. 

Amira frowned. 

“You want me to press it for real this time?” she asked, a momentary drop of irritation in an otherwise cool facade. 

“Rather, not just yet. I think if I could simply shock this attitude out of you, it would’ve happened by now.”

Beneath a mess of ash-brown hair, Sora’s eyes widened slightly, but remained trained on that place on the floor. Hovering somewhere on the laces of her boots. 

“You’re lucky I’m so patient. I’m willing to work with you on that. So let’s try something else. Something a little more… out of the box.”

He had barely the time to process her words before—

“Yoojin!*

That snapped him out of it. There was a loud clanging sound, like metal slamming into the concrete wall. Sora winced at the sound, his eyes squeezed shut. It just made the ringing in his ears that much worse. 

He registered Amira stepping away from him, and he briefly, stupidly, felt grateful for the reprieve. 

Then, he heard that terrible, stupid laugh for a second time that afternoon. 

“Fiiiiinally….” Yoojin’s low chuckle reverberated off the walls. 

Sora audibly groaned. He already felt like he was getting a live lobotomy from the inside out. His head sank down to his chest. He was too fucking dizzy for this. 

Not this fucking guy. 

“I was losing my mind back there, you know.”

Sora scoffed. “Too late. She’s already tried ‘bad cop.’

“Oh, you haven’t seen bad cop.” 

He could almost feel it before it even happened. He didn’t see her do it, leaning against the back wall of the room as she was now. But Amira’s finger had tapped at the remote on her wrist, and it had sent white hot pain shot through Sora’s throat—squeezing and twisting the tendons on his neck into a horrible knot that forced his chin down and his features to contort with the pain and the voltage, as though stretched apart so tightly they’d break entirely. 

“Why the—why the fuck—cant you—j- just— turn it—around—fuck—why the fuck is it— is it — .. “ 

‘Why was the voltage box on the collar pressed against the front of your neck?” Amira asked, like she was inside his head.  He thought it had come out less than intelligible. 

“Call it a happy accident.” Amira turned, collected the tablet from the nearby table, and promptly strode toward the exit. 

Sora could feel his eyes on him the moment Amira shut the door behind her.

 “Shit, you don’t look so good, hot-shot.” Yoojin’s voice echoed over the silence, smiling through every word. 

The hot-shot in question was promptly trying to look anywhere but right in front of him, trying to think of anything but the reality of who he had just been left alone with, who just happened to be, in Sora’s fine opinion, the worst one he had met so far. 

“I think it’s time we hear you scream for real. Cmon, I know you can do better than whatever that was.”

Yep, definitely the worst. He’d be surprised if any of these half-witted mafia goons could come up with a worse bastard-piece-of-shit-asshole than this guy. 

“Frankly, I was just surprised you took so many shocks without fucking passing out.” 

Ohh.. to rip this fucker’s tongue out so he’d finally— “Shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah? Giving me ideas?” Yoojin audibly smirked, and Sora looked up just in time to see him sticking out his tongue and making a scissors motion with his free hand. 

He was goating him again. It was no different. Different day, same Yoojin. Sora was so sick of this game. 

But he shut up after that, which left him with nothing to do but hang there by his wrists as Yoojin crossed the warehouse floor, taking his sweet fucking time. 

He willed the pain in his shoulders to distract him from whatever braindead thing Yoojin would say next. 

But he didn’t hear his voice, at least not right away—only a low scraping, trailing along behind nearly quiet footsteps. He was dragging something behind him. Sora could hear it screeching along the concrete, and the pain in his head throbbed—he was so fucking dizzy. 

Okay, maybe he was a little concussed. 

Or just shocked fucking stupid. 

The muscles in his throat twitched again, at the mere thought. 

“What, not even a hello?”

Sora still didn’t look up. Fuck this guy. Sora could hear him smiling. 

The footsteps stopped, taking the awful dragging sound with it.

Sora didn’t look up. 

“Cmon, you didn’t miss me even a little?”

Sora didn’t even want to entertain him. 

“Nothing to say? Aren’t you gonna at least tell me what a big piece of shit I am? Better get some insults out while you still can, right?” 

His boot nudged Sora’s exposed ribs, teasingly, and Sora momentarily lost his focus on that spot on the ground and snapped his gaze up to Yoojin, eyes wild and furious. 

“If you’re asking me to insult you—“

Yoojin’s boot slammed right into his stomach. Sora coughed hard as the wind was gutted from his lungs and his entire body collapsed and cringed over. He rather fruitlessly tried to fold in half as he wheezed and gagged his way back to functioning airways, but the awkward position prevented him. His knees stayed folded below him, his arms strained above his head, yanking against the chains that affixed them to the ceiling, 

“I’m asking if you’d even dare.”

Sora would fucking skin him alive. 

“Go fuck yourself you piece of shi—“ but his words died in his mouth when he saw Yoojin’s hand approach. 

Yoojin gripped his jaw, wrapping around his face before Sora yanked his head away. The sudden movement sent a loud clang down the chains and shot pins and needles through his arms. 

He hadn’t realized they’d fallen asleep. 

Fine. No more sudden movements. Sudden movement fucking hurt. His sore muscles seemed to boil and seize as fresh blood reunited with oxygen-starved tissue. 

“Piece of. Shit.” Sora finished. 

In the time he’d caught his breath, Yoojin had re-strategized. Sora felt fingers along his scalp, roughly grazing before twisting a tight fist into his hair. Yoojin yanked his head back all the way until Sora let out a choked cry.

This was quickly becoming a favorite of his. It always seemed to shut Sora up right away.

“You don’t wanna play nice? Fine. I’ve got something new I’ve been wanting to try out.” 

As if there was ever another option with Yoojin. As if he knew the first fucking thing about playing nice.

Yoojin released his hair and Sora’s head fell forward. He squinted his eyes and flexed the muscles in his neck, trying to ease the tightness at the strain of the past few moments. 

Sora hadn’t even noticed Yoojin had left his side until he felt something sharp press into his back. He felt his blood run cold instantly, nearly freezing in his veins. He felt his heart slow—almost stop—like it would let his cells drift, suspended, through the cold, liquified sludge. 

A knife? A box cutter? What was it? It felt bigger than that. Sturdier, somwhow. But it had an edge. 

“Come on. Whatever you’re planning can you just get it over with?  I’m trying to limit the amount of hours per day I have to see your fucking face.” 

“How sad. It’s like you don’t care at all about having fun. Are you really gonna just sulk the whole time?” 

“I fucking hate you,” Sora seethed. 

Yoojin smiled wide. He seemed to like the insults. It was part of the game to him, Sora had gleaned. 

“Am I going to have to get creative?” He leaned down to Sora’s eye-level. “‘Cuz I’ve got a lot of new ideas, you know. You’re quite a fun assignment.”

Yoojin was too close to cloose—wayyy too close. Again. He leaned in until their noses nearly touched. Sora grimaced. Yoojin smiled. That look was back in his eyes again. 

“You’re inspiring. You really are.”

Sora grimaced. What the fuck was that even supposed to mean??

Yoojin must have read his face, because he continued. 

“I was so fucking bored before you showed up. You know that?”

Sora blinked.

“She had me benched for, like—over a month, I swear. For some fucking stupid reason.”

Sora cocked an eyebrow.

Yoojin frowned. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t even say it.”

“I was gonna say I could name a few—”

Yoojin’s nostrils flared—he swung a roundhouse straight into Sora’s ribs. 

Sora coughed sharply, doubling over for a moment before straightening, his eyes watering.

“…Reasons.”

Yoojin grit his teeth and let out a frustrated grunt as he made contact a second time.

“You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?”

Sora choked on another breath, failing to stay upright. This one must’ve hit something deeper—softer. Organs and all that, Yoojin considered absently.

For a moment, all Yoojin could hear was the ragged sound of Sora’s breathing and the heavy pound of blood in both their ears. Just long enough for him to think Sora would finally shut his stupid mouth for once.

Sora coughed again, voice hoarse.

“Well, someone here has to be.”

༻✦༺

General writing taglist:

  @whumpsday @a-whump-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @wolfeyedwitch

@whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter

@ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou

@feralwhump @jieunie-23 @whumpasaurus101 @morning-star-whump @whmp @captain-bo-bob-bobby

@the-beasts-have-arrived @spooky-scary-vampires @burningkittypoet @veyroswin @painsandconfusion

@skittles-the-whumpee @demondamage @demetercabingreen-thumb @electrons2006 @long-past-eventide

Just ask to be added or removed!

[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.

[lyxchen]

Sorry going a bit feral over here because I just realized, when Jun-ho started looking for In-ho he had only been missing for a few days, the days he was on the island already preparing for the games. So this means that he and Jun-ho and their mom were in regular contact. Even if it's just texts but they were hearing from each other regularly. But then after season 1 he obviously had to cut contact because otherwise he would either put him and the games or Jun-ho and his mother in danger and just. He still had his family. Even after his wife died and he won the games he still had some family, his mom and his brother and then he had to take that from himself too, to protect them. How lonely must that be. Do you think he was checking on them, sending people to the hospital to see if Jun-ho woke up from his coma? Do you think that he made that boat guy give him regular updates on how Jun-ho was doing emotionally?

Do you think that the first time In-ho was able to have at least something close to genuine human connection again after four years of isolation was when he entered the games as 001? It was probably the first time in YEARS that he was able to joke around and be part of a group and connect with people and in the end he still had to get rid of it again. The knowledge that this isn't forever and actually it's really only for a few days and then it's also all a lie on his side and he will have to watch all these people die. And that's probably why he got so into it and genuienly cheered and maybe even forgot that he is in fact the evil mastermind behind it all. Can You Imagine How Lonely He Is???

[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

[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.)

[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.