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cheesecakethots · 8 months

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Part 2 to this.

He had never been so caring for another, the guard noted. Lord Scaramouche was not the caring type, after all.

Despite that, the man had watched the lord express actual worry for you, the one huddled away in his tent as he barked orders at soldiers to find medicine, make warm soup, and heat up water. One of them had had his fingers broken for making the food too cold for the harbingers liking.

On the very few occasions the guard was permitted inside the tent, he had caught glimpses of the lord knelt beside your feverish figure in bed, the back of his hand softly resting on your forehead. If they had been any longer in finding you…

The few medics in camp were situated nearby, with any and all injuries not held by you being mostly ignored for the time being. You had barely been conscious for the past few days, slipping in and out, with some mumbled and confusing phrases leaving chapped lips.

The guard is brought out of his memories when Lord Scaramouche passes him, dramatically parting the tent covering and entering with a few quick strides. He immediately makes a beeline for your cold, limp body tucked away in bed.

Scaramouche places a hand to your cheek. His frown deepens, and you groan, glazed over eyes opening only a fraction.

“M…Mother?”

A sigh escapes him. His soulmate really is pitiful… and weak.

“… You’re safe now,” he mutters, surprised for a moment at the tinge of emotion in his own voice.

“Do… I have to help c…cook dinner?”

“No. You’ll never be doing that again.”

“Oh… okay…” A yawn leaves your throat.

“Go to sleep.”

“Can we have… chocolate later? I bought some… to share,” you murmur, trailing off until your breathing becomes light, and your eyes fully close.

The lord sighs. A shiver wracks through your body, despite the multiple animal hides you have on. He’s certain that his men have destroyed the surrounding ecosystem just to keep you warm, but, oh well.

He stands, hesitantly turning away from you. You need more blankets, maybe some more soup, anything to keep the fever from taking you away from-

Oh. His eyes widen, and he glances back to you, and then at the shaking hand pulling on his fingers.

“Don’t… leave me…”

You’re still asleep. It’s not as though you’re conscious and would know if he left, is it? It’s not as though your plea is anything more than some deluded fairytale in your mind, is it?

“I won’t.”

Curses.

Curse him, and curse you for awakening something he didn’t think he had, something in his chest that for centuries he was sure was simply an empty void of nothing.

He wants to scoff and leave you here, to tell you that he has no need for someone as weak as you in his life. He wishes he had left you tied to that tree and just kept moving, that he had never felt the touch of your skin against his own. That he had felt absolutely nothing, that he hadn’t felt a stab of fear for the first time in a long time when carrying your freezing cold body back to camp. It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for a long, long while.

The next morning he leaves you alone for a short time, an hour at most. He regrets it when he comes back to you standing on two wobbly knees, the parts that make him up jolting at the sight.

“What are you doing?!”

You flinch, yelping when you abruptly turn to him and lose your balance. Hands, ones that send a feeling of static and electricity straight to your very core, are soon grasping onto you, holding you up before you can hit the ground.

“Are you daft?” The man spits out, visibly aggravated.

“Wh-What? What?”

“Get back in bed. I won’t ask you again.”

You don’t move, the sensation that comes with his touch only growing the longer the two of you stand.

“You’re… you’re…?” You whisper, eyes widening.

He pauses, the irritation in his expression dropping a little. After a beat, his lips part.

“… Yes.”

“We were in the woods, right? My village, they…”

Any softness on his face is wiped away the moment you mention your old home, and the people that resided in it. No longer waiting, he lightly pushes you back, leading you into the makeshift bed below. A blanket is soon wrapped around your quivering shoulders.

“Eat this,” he orders, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it close to your lips.

Chocolate.

“I’m not-“

“Eat.”

You tentatively take it from him, and the atmosphere grows awkward, at least for you, while he watches you chew on the rest of it.

“Thank you, it was delicious,” you tell him, truthfully. You haven’t had chocolate in a long time, as it was simply too expensive for your family to afford. Your mouth curves downwards into a frown.

“Rest.”

You don’t. You’re not sure if you can.

“My family, they let them take me. They didn’t… they didn’t stop them. They must…” A gasp is torn from you, and you meet his eyes once more. “How long has it been?”

“… Three days.”

You begin rise to your shaky feet, “I-I must go back, they’ll think that I’m-!”

He pushes you back down effortlessly.

“Are you a fucking fool?”

You can’t help but flinch at the absolute venom in his tone, but he isn’t done yet, towering over you.

“What do you think will happen if you go back, hm? That they’ll accept you with open arms, or they’ll send you right back to where I found you? Or, better yet, maybe they’ll set you alight there and then, rather than troubling themselves in having you freeze to death, they’ll instead watch you burn. Would you like to test if your family would spare you from that? Hm?”

You have never felt this small in your entire life.

“I-“

“Enough.” It appears the question was rhetorical, and your mouth closes, quickly feeling very dry.

His chest shudders with each deep breath he draws in, and he closes his eyes shut for a moment, seemingly trying to calm himself.

“Sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us. Don’t ask me anymore stupid questions,” he turns on his heel, most likely deciding that he has something better to do. However, before he fully departs, he pauses at the entrance to the tent, still not looking back at you.

“You deserve better than that village, than that family who threw you out as though you were nothing to them. Know that I do not plan on doing the same, and that you… aren’t nothing to me.”

The intimidation you feel from him dimishes when you catch sight of the pinkish tinge to the tips of his ears. He doesn’t wait for your response, swiftly departing. You miss the few words of parting he gives you, as you tuck yourself into bed.

“Besides, it’s not as though you have anything to go back to, anymore.”

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pizzazz-party · 1 month

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Day twenty three! This counts as an outfit because I want it to.

#this is definitely one of those that i would love to spend more time with #it’s a solid drawing and i could push this lighting even further #but i need to lie down and down some more cold medicine #it’s lovely enough as is #usagi yojimbo #miyamoto usagi #pizzazz art #artists on tumblr #anyway yes. totally counts as an outfit. forget that i planned out all these prompts in late march; let the ill person have this one #edit: yeah that’s meant to be the grascutter sword in his hands

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 2 months

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[prev]

Pure Vanilla's nightmares have lessened, recently.

He knows that's because they've left the Faerie Kingdom far behind now, so Shadow Milk has no real reason to try and provoke him into setting him free anymore, but Pure Vanilla can't help but feel hopeful that it might be indicative of some real progress too.

After all, he's been having more and more dream talks with Shadow Milk recently, and most of them are fairly civil. It hasn't stopped the mockery or taunting entirely, but he has realised that once Shadow Milk has an interesting topic of conversation to entertain, he tends to be a little less antagonistic.

Dare he say it, their acquaintance as of late has almost been... nice. Which is why, perhaps, he had mustered the courage to try and pry beyond Shadow Milk's academic career.

"I found one of your old portraits, I think. It was quite damaged." Pure Vanilla says slowly, because he has spent an embarrassing amount of his spare time recently trying to track down any relics from Shadow Milk's past, to be able to prompt him with them. "...You looked rather different."

Today, the dreamscape takes the form of Pure Vanilla's personal chambers, albeit bathed in darkness that is broken up by the fragile light of the moon, filtering in through the tall windows. Pure Vanilla is sat in his familiar armchair, relaxed without his staff or hat on his person, and keeping his idle gaze on his conversation partner. Shadow Milk is floating by his bookshelves, walking his fingers along the spines of the books. His back is towards him, but his extra eyes blink lazily at Pure Vanilla in silent acknowledgement.

"Why does that matter?" Shadow Milk drawls, before letting out an overdramatic gasp. He kicks back, tilting until he hangs upside-down in the air as he clasps his hands to his chest like he is heartbroken, their gazes snapping together like magnets. "I never would have expected you, of all people, to care about appearances so much! Am I not pretty enough as I am, is that it?"

His laments could have gone on for much longer, but Pure Vanilla cut him off quickly, slightly exasperated. "No, no, that wasn't what I was saying, and you know that."

Shadow Milk stops his fake wailing immediately, eyes curved into mischievious crescents as he glances over at him, and Pure Vanilla sighs. "It's just... interesting, I suppose. You look like two completely different people – unless it really wasn't your portrait?"

Shadow Milk bobs his head from side to side as if he were physically turning the words over in his head, before a thin mean smile slices clean across his face. "People change, Vani! Shouldn't you know that already, knowing our dear Guardian?"

Pure Vanilla tenses in his seat, balling his hands into fists in his lap. "I told you not to talk about her, didn't I?" He mutters with a frown, reminded once again that a conversation with Shadow Milk can never be completely smooth.

"Did you? I must not have heard you." Shadow Milk hums, righting himself in a way that involves far too much limb contortion. He drifts over to the table Pure Vanilla is sitting at, leaning against the edge and casually sweeping the vase of white lilies there off the table with one arm, quick enough that Pure Vanilla can barely react.

The vase shatters with a crash, and the half-bloomed petals are ruined by the fall. Pure Vanilla jolts, aching at the sight and his voice falls out pitched. "Shadow Milk-!"

"It's only a dream, no need to get worked up over it." Shadow Milk replies, tone carrying an edge of annoyance, though Pure Vanilla isn't sure why. Shadow Milk perches on the edge of the table with one leg over the other, lounging as he props himself up with one hand, his expression odd.

Still, he is right. It is only a dream, and Pure Vanilla cannot let himself be affected so easily anyway. He hesitantly tears his gaze away from the broken vase, turning his attention back to his curiosity, which is easy to do with Shadow Milk's face now right in front of him.

Pure Vanilla occupies himself with comparing the face before him with the memory of that portrait, eyes carefully tracing every visible difference in the wavering moonlight. The way his face is framed is different, for one, with the loss of his monocle and the change in his icing, and it makes him look harsher. His colour is off, somehow, and his silhouette has twisted too. That once collected, near regal posture has been overtaken by the lax, twisting strangeness that Shadow Milk often moves with, but to say it is gone completely isn't true. The smooth line of his back, even lounging like this, holds the ghost of that perfect posture.

And his eyes—

"Your eyes are the same." Pure Vanilla doesn't even notice he has spoken aloud until the words have fallen out of his mouth, soft and light like feathers.

It is true, though. His eyes aren't exactly the same physically, the pupils having grown to slits, but the spark and sharpness of them are just like the ones captured in that portrait. If he focuses on them, Pure Vanilla can almost imagine that he is there before everything went wrong, sharing a moment with that brilliant, revered scholar.

He is so mesmerised by those eyes that he immediately notices the way they crinkle in the corners, glittering with thinly veiled amusement, just before Shadow Milk snickers. "I know my eyes are stunningly handsome, but you can talk to me while you get lost in them. There's nothing more boring than silence!"

Pure Vanilla blinks quickly in response, startled out of his dreamy contemplation. Instantly, he feels the heat of embarrassment begin to darken his cheeks, and he closes his eyes on instinct, ducking his head slightly. Shadow Milk's giggles coil around his shoulders, and to move on from his own bout of confusion, Pure Vanilla frantically tries to pin down a conversation topic.

"Never mind that. You always insist on maintaining conversations with me." Pure Vanilla comments, something like concern and the beginnings of anxiety heavy on his tongue. "I know your circumstance doesn't allow for socialisation, but can you not even talk to your friends?"

It's a risky question, and Pure Vanilla knows that, even before he asks it. He has done his best to steer clear of topics that are even remotely related to Shadow Milk's imprisonment so far, for fear of provoking him. But this question has been simmering in his mind for a while now, so it is the only one he could think of in his haste. He won't be able to learn more about him if he doesn't press further, anyway, and now is as good a time as any.

Pure Vanilla had expected a bit of a pause, the sort of charged silence he has grown to expect from Shadow Milk when he is faced with a question he actually wants to consider, so he is surprised by the near immediate response.

"What kind of question is that? Of course I can." Shadow Milk replies, sounding remarkably flippant about it.

Pure Vanilla takes a moment to try and find a way to word himself delicately, hands fidgeting where they rest in his lap. "...Well, you always act like I'm the only person you talk to regularly. I thought, perhaps, you're–"

Lonely, but Pure Vanilla cannot get the word past his teeth, biting down on it uncomfortably. He has a feeling saying that wouldn't be well-received, or at the very least, not taken seriously.

Shadow Milk seems to understand the implication anyway, scoffing. There's a scramble of movement, and that prompts Pure Vanilla to open his eyes again, finding that Shadow Milk has dropped down to lay across the table on his back.

"I can tell you what I am, I'm bored. Why do you think we're so desperate to get out, huh? It's because there's nothing to do!" Shadow Milk throws his arms up, gesturing wildly as his voice starts swinging and his expression pinches with building agitation, kicking his legs furiously over the edge of the table. For the first time, Pure Vanilla is stricken by how similar it looks to a Cake Wolf pacing a cage, driven to a frenzy by claustrophobia. "We can talk to each other, but do you have any idea how long we've been stuck in there? We've run out of topics years ago, and they don't entertain my debates in the right way anyhow. There's no fun in that!"

Without warning, Shadow Milk flies up into a sitting position, his form blurring and peeling at the edges. Pure Vanilla watches him with concern as he lets out a raspy huff, teetering on the edge of a laugh.

"But I like talking to you so I do. That's all there is to it." Shadow Milk declares, voice lilting to something sweeter. A crooked smile surfaces on his face, and he jerks forward in an unnatural manner, as if he were a puppet on strings. He cups Pure Vanilla's face in his hands who, having slowly adjusted to the fact that Shadow Milk is prone to impulsive physical contact, only flinches slightly at the suddenness. "Did that never occur to you, silly?"

Pure Vanilla's mouth opens and closes soundlessly, settling into an uncertain line. To hear Shadow Milk say that so frankly caught him off-guard, as he always does, torn between suspicion and that tempting optimism that has been slowly gathering in his heart. "Well, I wasn't–"

His voice crumbles in his throat as Shadow Milk pulls his face towards him and presses a scorching kiss to the four-point star on his forehead. The dreaded warmth returns to gather in his face, made obvious by the contrast between the flush and the cold press of his hands.

He shouldn't be so flustered - this isn't the closest they've been - but his embarrassment only makes it worse.

"Don't overthink everything, you'll turn your brain into charcoal. That would just be a pity." Shadow Milk teases against his forehead, his dozens of eyes winking with silent laughter as he pulls back, hands slipping from his face and—

—Pure Vanilla wakes up, frazzled and unsure. He stares at the ceiling, hesitantly pressing a hand to his forehead. His dough is buzzing.

He lays there for a while, confused by the warmth within him and considering the interaction once more. Shadow Milk said he enjoyed talking to him, and Pure Vanilla believes him, if only because he really does seem engaged with their conversations.

And if that's true, then maybe they really can resolve everything through words. For all his strangeness, Shadow Milk does seem to follow some sort of line of logic during their debates, and logic, regardless of what kind, has the chance to be reasoned with.

He thinks of sharp, painted eyes and countless conversations on studies, research, literature, philosophy. He thinks of claustrophobic madness and the endless hunger of the scholar and pity, pity, pity.

Pure Vanilla sighs, and for the first time in very long, he finds himself tempted to return to sleep.

[next]

#uh oh! the old man is having Ideas and experiencing Things #this one is a bit shorter and a bit messy because i didn't have a solid plan for it #but it is a necessary building block for later :)#pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pureshadow #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

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anonymous-ace72 · 1 year

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After watching the newest Owl House episode, I think a funny cosplay group would be several people dressed up as various Golden Guards + Caleb, with one other person as Belos. And then throughout the time spent at a convention, they all just torment him the whole time.

#posts from the void #the owl house #for the future #golden guard #caleb wittebane #emperor belos #phillip wittebane #I call dibs being Caleb #if I didn't already have solid plans for the upcoming cons I'm going to this year I'd squeeze him in #and I am not doing three days again #it was fun but dear god it was a nightmare #m'kay that does it I'm doing it #it's too tempting

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bonefall · 2 months

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instead of asking what parts of wind you’ll be getting rid of, i’ll instead ask what parts you’re keeping. the list is shorter then haha

FROSTPAW AND WHISTLEPAW.

Best part of Wind is the bond between these two, in fact, the entire plot about WindClan felt like it dropped out of the alternate universe where the books are good. The sudden dream of catastrophe, the way StarClan gave Frostpaw this sign on purpose to make them know she's legitimate, Whistlepaw injuring herself to try and save her little sister... Even the little details, like Nightcloud and Hootwhisker trying to drag the tree by the trunk, were neat to see.

I Dont Rewrite Arcs Until They Are Done BUT I do know that I'm going to elevate and expand what's going on with Frost and Whistle. They're fantastic.

Another small thing I'm actually planning on keeping is this exchange between Squilf and Jayfeather, which you'll probably find surprising since I'm so open about how much I dislike the way they've made Squilfstar less proactive;

In a better book, I think this could have been a GREAT moment.

What I dislike about this exchange is that Squilf is able to rebuke it, because the writers DO feel that Bramblestar was a good leader. They're trying to show that Squilfstar is going to act more "mature" (read: boring) with her role now, probably to make a point about how Bramblestar wasn't being "indecisive" for the 10 years we were stuck with him but "responsible." Basically, she gets the power and finds out it isn't so easy-- I'll even bet at some point in the next arc or two she'll become frustrated by someone acting the way she used to.

I've seen some people praising this, and like, it's not illegal to have bad taste. But I think this is an AWFUL thing to do with a character who could have finally caused interesting things to happen, on top of just feeling like contempt of criticism on behalf of the writers.

"Ohhhh they thought she would be more decisive than our beloved baby boy, WELL, WE'LL SHOW THEM. You will sit through 10 paragraphs of debate no matter WHO is in charge!!!"

But like I said....... in a better book, this could have been great. If this was a wake-up call for her.

Suddenly experiencing the full weight of responsibility upon herself, she stops making bold decisions. The complicated political situation in front of her, individual opinions of her Clan around her, and the wounded glares of the furious Brambleclaw below her are all acting like briar vines, pulling her down.

Even StarClan itself seems to have placed a weight on her, cats who she's followed faithfully and been punished by.

So Jayfeather, with all of the changes he has in BB, brawling with angels, speaking defiance to the stars, and pulling spirits down from the heavens, is the perfect cat to be honest with her.

I'm still trying to find a good way to describe the electricity between them in this moment. BB!Jayfeather once reached up his paw through the veil between life and death to grab her ankle and fetch her from her own trial, knowing that she wanted to keep living. He's part of whatever motion she took to remove Bramblestar from power. Her son, her cleric, her ally. How do I put these emotions into words?

"Did you come this far just to become someone else?"

Just... what a moment it could be. For this to be the second that Squilfstar realizes in spite of everything, Bramblestar's thorns still jab at her. That she has to move forward, DAMN the uncertainty, by being herself.

#bone babble #asc spoilers #But a LOT of this book is up in the air for BB #Depending on how big of an overhaul this becomes #I don't have SOLID plans yet to keep it loose #But I'm planning some pretty big changes

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inkskinned · 1 year

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something i've been thinking a lot about is that just surviving is often both the least rewarding recovery experience and also the absolute most critical skill.

i think many of us have spent the last few years of our life just... holding the line. our legs trembling under all that weight. many of us backslid in the sand; and that was agonizing. we have spent so much of our life pushing, and to be forced backwards... we are already so exhausted. it is unimaginable to think we must remake the progress that had already been hard-won.

there's a graph that exists of how you can roughly expect any artistic skill to grow. we all go through periods of rapid growth and discovery; only to plateau. there is often a little sorrow in the plateau, because we're not moving quickly. we don't see those huge strides. there's no obvious sense we're learning.

but the art we're making in that plateau matters. it can still be effective, evocative, exciting. you can still feel inspired, happy, creative in that plateau; because the skills you have are growing, it's just that you're a spot where you don't need to focus on skill-building, you've finally reached a place where you can focus on actually making things. and at some point, without you expecting it, and as long as you work for it - another sharp increase in skill will happen. if you ask any of us how we did it, most of us would tell you the same thing: i just kept trying.

i have spent a lot of my life believing that just-surviving was the same thing as stagnating. i don't have any tangible goals or desires and the idea of making longterm plans makes me want to set my hair on fire. i am fucking tired. i don't want another year of scrambling, of falling down, of slipping in the mud. I love my friends, but i'm watching them settle down, have a life, get what they want: and i'm still here, in the part where i beg my life to be barely functional.

i think... maybe this whole time it wasn't standing still. it was still learning. it was still growing. i just got used to the plateau and forgot that "even surviving" isn't something i used to be able to take for granted. that in all this horrible, thankless effort - certain things are easy enough now. i can forget them.

i have spent so much time hating that i'm not getting better faster. i forgot that it used to be unthinkable to me to even consider recovery. these last years; i've been comparing my plateau to my eras of quick-discovery. i've been unfair to myself. no, the progress isn't as obvious. that doesn't mean it's not still-happening.

we make the mistake of saying "this year i want to live, not just survive," as if the effort of just surviving is useless, or could be shrugged off. the effort of surviving is beautiful. your years spent like barely-here are enough. you're not wasting time. you're not wasting your one precious life. "just holding on" means you were able to actually find and grab the rope. you're here; and the effort of your survival is work. you've been seeking the sky when it used to be impossible to imagine putting down roots. i know it is hard, and i hope you are able to feel better soon. i hope we both reach our next quick-climb. and i know - the weight might never ease up.

it's just that, over time, with effort: we will get strong enough.

#thinkin about my 2023 plans #does this make sense #spilled ink #writeblr #i love you for staying.#staying is not stagnating.#it is just moving at a different pace.#u know how liquids and solids move at different speeds?#you're here as a solid. you have your feet planted. and FUCK if that isn't #the most beautiful thing i've ever seen.

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speckled-biscut · 26 days

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DAY TWO- SHARDS!

#tpoh #tpoh hero #the property of may #ough god i blanked so hard on this promptsnsk #legit stared at my screen for a solid 2 hours just trying to come up with a concept i liked #BUT then i saw that panel from when click was trying to make hero shoot rgb #and thought “hmm shards shards...SHATTERED LIVES?!!?” and poof!#thank god i already have a solid plan for tomorrows prompt 🙏#tpoh julienne #tpoh dial #tpoh Gladys #tpoh click #tpoh assok #tpoh tailor #tpoh tinker #(i would tag melody but i drew this in a tired haze and did NOT do her justiceshsj)

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bewilderedbuck · 9 months

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hm. something about how mike had proven time and time again that he is observant and intelligent and competent. that he's the party's unofficial leader. that he's come up with so many of the plans and schemes to fight the upside down and to save everyone etc etc. but y'all will still act like he's totally completely helpless, can't tie his own shoes let alone save the fucking world, just. totally and completely mischaracterize him for what? is it just because of s4? bc he wasn't useful to the supernatural plot for the majority of the season? bc you're stuck on "what finn wolfhard does with his eyes" and nothing else? bc finn said mike was clueless during s4? please enlighten me why do you take this intelligent boy and turn him into a helpless idiot i am begging for some explanation

#just regurgitating things everyone else has already said but. damn does it make me mad lol #just saying if mike had been in hawkins during s4....not saying they would have killed vecna bc i dont think they would have #but they would have had a hell of a lot more solid of a plan than the one they did have lol #mike is smart!! hes intelligent hes resourceful hes the planner!!! HES A DM THAT IS ALL PLANNING AND WRITING #mike wheeler #s.txt

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spiribia · 1 year

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Not to be the “I don’t think there needs be a Portal 3” guy but I don’t think there needs to be a Portal 3, BUT I also think when people (reasonably) argue there's nowhere else they could possibly take the story, you could’ve easily said the same about the narrative aftermath of Portal 1. An evil robot oversaw you doing tests, you killed the evil robot and ended up outside of the facility, you’re free. What more is there to say from just what exists there without it being an essential rehash of what you just experienced. But then they added more characters and more lore. When people are like “what more is there to add about Chell or Glados or Wheatley” it’s to me like well really you could just add more. Not saying you SHOULD per se. I will think it’s the funniest thing ever if they make a portal 3, arguably continuing off of the like one thing they concluded satisfactorily, instead of finishing anything else though.

#talks #the writers and glados va are game though. deeply curious what their idea is. i dont even need the actual game #i just want to know what they'd do. since they said they already have a solid plan

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qwq-stuff · 4 days

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Oh btw this is the finished painting

Kinda gave up at the end if you couldn't tell but it's still okay ig

#kinitopet #fanart #art #kinito fanart #kinito the axolotl #traditional art #painting #i also never got a chance to turn it in #idk I'll have the same choir teacher next year so maybe i can turn it in then???#love it when none of the authority figures communicate with eachother to form solid plans #honestly absurd how many times shit like this happens at my school #sorry for ranting in the tags lol #i also did some doodles on the back of the canvas bc anything is better than drawing on #paper.#ew

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mobgoblin · 1 month

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youtube

As someone who has steadily kept up on almost all Watcher shows and side projects, this backlash really does come down to how out of touch the guys have become, even before making Friday’s announcement.

Ryan and Shane (certainly the biggest draw to the channel) got their start with lower-brow, boyish humor and riffing off each other. Can’t forget the capitalism-critical and “power to the underdog” attitude that resonated with so many fans early on either. Now though, if you watch/listen to Pod Watcher, it’s hard to overlook just how unrelatable they’ve become in recent years. Which is whatever—it’s not like we only consume media in order to intimately relate to hosts/characters—but it does mean they’ve lost something integral from the charm that netted them their initial success.

To add. If you watched their latest season of Too Many Spirits, they weren’t even funny, just trashed and off-putting, lol. Frat-style drinking by a backyard pool and Ryan overhand throwing bones at a neighbor’s dog for barking.

Maybe not as bad for Shane, but the egos have really grown uncomfortably outsized. And at some point I got tired of watching videos based around lavish over-indulgence. Even if Steven’s videos cost less to produce than Ghost Files (I assume), they clearly rub viewers the wrong way on principle alone.

All in all, and not to minimize their hard work in getting out the content that they do, I think the Watcher guys should’ve been much more careful in considering this move and its rollout.

For years, I’ve maintained a Patreon subscription to a separate and unrelated funny-guy trio (for the same monthly price Watcher Streaming is now asking). However. The group I subscribe to is more than situationally-funny-sometimes, and always come across as grounded, emotionally intelligent, and likable people. Which makes me want to see them succeed and help how I can (though I would still be able to access 95% of their content even without subscribing).

So yeah, idk. Steven Lim driving a Tesla and wanting a second one or whatever is kind of just the tip of the iceberg.

#watcher #⬆️ I think this is why people have felt as insulted as they have #I know there are some calling the level of backlash unfair. But…………#I was talking with someone and we almost even wondered if this was actually an exit plan. lmao.#like they know they can’t do it forever so they figure they’d do another couple years juicing their most loyal of fans #before bowing out with a comfortable amount 💰 put away (not to be pessimistic tinfoil hat gang. lololol)#Because it really does seem like poor decision-making #where business model would do very little to gain new viewers #and subscriber base would amount to small-small percentage of current fans #a number that will just dwindle over time #Youtube #I will also say I only sometimes watch Charlie’s stuff but I thought this was a pretty solid and informative summation

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sensitiveheartless · 2 months

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What’s A Rose in Fairyland about?

Thanks for the asks about this one @azapofinspiration, @duodipersponsh, and anon!! Alright, the original story, hehehe >:D I have been having a lot of fun plotting this one out! The basic premise is:

Right on the very outskirts of Fairyland, there is a small village of humans. Now, the forest of Fairyland is known for being very very bad for humans, as in "if you go in you'll never come back out", so they really shouldn't be living there — but in their defense, their village was not always on the edge of Fairyland.

Fairyland has been growing. Very rapidly. And it is now consuming their village, and no one knows why.

Most people in the village flee, but by then some of the residents have been infected by the roots of the forest. This means they cannot go too far from Fairyland, or else they'll become rooted in the ground and turn into trees, thus expanding the forest even further.

Pretty soon there's only a scattered group of people left in the outskirts of the village, both infected and not, watching their old houses be consumed. They know they can't survive there forever. Even if food weren't an issue (most of their farmland is now forest), there are monsters in the woods. Living too close makes it all too likely that they'll end up eaten.

So the main character of the story, Rose, decides to venture into Fairyland herself and figure out what the hell is going on with the fae.

...Unfortunately, Rose has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and cannot pick up on subtext to save her life.

You can imagine how this might become a problem when facing a forest full of tricksters.

But yeah! Most of the story is gonna take place in Fairyland itself, and there's going to be some mystery elements, as well as character stuff — also, I have been really enjoying figuring out how the ecology of Fairyland is going to work! Fantasy ecology is so fun to mess around with (magic as an additional energy source!!)

I'll put an excerpt under the cut (since this is already getting a bit long lol), as well as some art I've been working on of Rose :D

Rose pushed through the brush, ignoring the tug of briars at her cloak, and emerged into a clearing.

It was brighter than the surrounding forest, but only slightly. The sun was still filtered through layers and layers of greenery that turned the light heavy and liquid, oozing down from above like honey. The few sunbeams that made their way to earth illuminated circling insects, their threadlike wings catching in the light as they whirled about in the air.

The clearing seemed entirely empty, but the surrounding trees appeared almost uncomfortably close to being a perfect circle. Rose thought about the fairy rings spoken of in childhood tales, and narrowed her eyes.

Still. It was the most direct path to take, wasn’t it?

The moss covering the ground was so dense and damp that Rose’s boots sunk into it with every step she took. She avoided stepping on the many mushrooms pushing up from the earth, remembering Martha’s warning about disturbing them. Rose really didn’t need her feet turning to wood while she tried to walk.

Suddenly, she paused.

Inside her lantern, the salamander had begun behaving oddly.

While before it had been peacefully curled around the candle’s wick, slumbering away, the creature was now crawling in rapid circles, seemingly in a panic.

“What’s the matter?” Rose asked, raising the lantern up to eye level so she could study the salamander closer. “You want out now?”

She crouched down and unlatched the front glass panel to free it, but the salamander didn’t take the offered exit. Instead, it dove straight into the flame itself and huddled there, quivering, its big eyes reflecting the fire as it stared back at Rose.

“Hmm,” said Rose.

She relatched the panel and stood, holding the lantern close to her chest. Then, with her free hand, she drew her sword, and held it before them both.

It felt a bit silly to be brandishing the blade at thin air — nothing was moving, aside from the lazily drifting insects. Still, the salamander had to be frightened of something.

“I’ll protect you,” she told the bundle of anxious flames, and strode forward with grim determination.

Before she had gone more than a single step further, she was caught around the waist by an arm, and yanked backwards against what felt like a human chest.

Without looking or thinking twice, Rose thrust the pommel of her sword back over her shoulder with every ounce of her strength.

The blow must have hit its mark, for she was released at once, and whatever had grabbed her let out a startled yelp of agony.

“Ow,” the voice said emphatically.

Rose whirled around, ready to strike again, only to find a human-shaped person there, doubled over and clutching at their face.

“By all the ancient wealds, what a prickly human!” the figure laughed, voice a little strained. “A little quick on the draw, aren’t you?”

When their hands lowered from their face, Rose could see the person was wearing a mask made of bark that hid all of their features, save for a rough pair of holes for their eyes. They were taller than her, and clad in an oddly fine-fabriced tunic and breeches of earthen tones.

Most importantly, however, their ears were long and pointed, standing out from amidst their long dark curls. An elf.

Rose leveled her sword at the elf, scowling. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Ah, not even a hello? How impolite,” the elf bemoaned. Then they swept a deep bow, apparently fully recovered. “I am Silvian of the Luminescent Grove, or as some might call me, he who wanders. And who might you be, little human?”

“Why did you grab me?” Rose asked, ignoring the question.

Silvian paused, then pointed a rather long spindly finger behind her towards the center of the clearing. “...There’s a swallower pit just ahead,” he said plaintively. “You were about to walk straight into it, so I thought I should stop you.”

Rose glanced behind her at the seemingly empty clearing, then at the salamander in the lantern, still shivering away in the fire.

Oh. Maybe that was what scared it.

“But you needn’t take my word for it,” Silvian added, leaning down to snatch a loose twig up from the moss. “Behold!”

With that, he chucked the twig past her, landing it straight in the middle of the clearing.

In the next instant, a broad chasm opened up beneath the twig, and what seemed to be a hundred spines erupted in a circle around the hole, barely an arm’s length away from where Rose stood. She jumped back at once, hiding the lantern and salamander in her cloak, and watched with wide eyes as the many spines dove inwards on the twig to drag it down into the dark depths of the earth.

Once the twig was gone, a small fountain of dirt spewed up from the hole, filling it back in at once. It looked a little like a mole hill—but it sank in on itself rapidly, moss growing back across it at an unnatural pace, until the center of the clearing was just as still and peaceful as before.

There were a few less insects in the air above the pit, but the rest of the bugs seemed unperturbed by the loss of their comrades.

Rose waited a few seconds until her heart had stopped racing. Then she sheathed her sword, turned back to Silvian, and bowed. “In that case, my apologies. I acted hastily,” she said gravely.

Silvian’s head cocked to one side, as though surprised by this. Then he laughed, and his eyes twinkled at her from behind his mask. “Don’t mention it! If you wish to make it up to me…why not give me your name, little human?”

“I’m—” Rose began, then stopped.

Thought for a moment, remembering Reuben’s words.

Whatever you do, don’t give a fae your true name.

“—Me,” Rose finished firmly. “I’m myself, and I’m not falling for that.”

…Nevermind that she almost had, the very moment he asked her. Hmm. She would have to be more on guard, it would seem.

(And here is my WIP of Rose and her kinda fucked up sword)

#while plotting this one out I have come to the realization that some of the later plot elements are uh—#possibly the meanest I've ever been to my own characters #so that'll be fun to write lol #anyway thank you for letting my ramble about my oc plot this was very fun to write out :D #this is the first original plot I've made in a while where I actually have a solid plan for the entire thing! I am excited aksfjksdjf #senhart's writing #original story #a rose in fairyland

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dysco-lymonade · 4 months

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#6 for kissing prompt using any clexa you want 😊

You’re now entering an unknown Clexa AU set some time during college.

Maybe it’ll develop into something? Send me your thoughts and questions.

The bass is pounding so hard that Clarke can see the sound waves in her cup of lukewarm beer. Her mind wanders to Jurassic Park and she wonders if she wouldn’t enjoy being hunted by a T-Rex more than being at this party.

Beside her, Finn Collins is apologizing profusely.

Again.

She knows he is speaking, but she’s not listening. She honestly doesn’t really care that he missed the opening of the art show. It wasn’t like she’d sent him an invitation. It was a small college-wide display that would be going on for weeks.

She sees a hand come in to her line of sight. When her eyes focus, she sees fingers snapping in front of her face. “Yo, Earth to Clarke.” Finn has successfully grabbed her attention, and her murderous gaze.

“Did you seriously just snap at me?” She furrows her eyebrows.

He doesn’t even flinch at her tone.

“Yeah I was seeing if I couldn’t make it up to you.” He shoots her what she’s sure is supposed to be a cute crooked smile. It really just makes her want to rearrange his face.

She sighs, trying to make it clear that she’s not interested, without having to actually say it. “Finn, look. I’m not sure what—“

He cuts her off with a hand on her forearm. “I know you’re upset, princess. But it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“What won’t?” Clarke shrugs her arm away from his touch just as his eyes wander to something behind her.

“Oh hey, Lexa. Can you give us a minute?” Finn asks.

Clarke doesn’t hear a response. Instead, she feels herself being turned around with a gentle grasp to her shoulder. It’s like she’s moving in slow-motion.

Clarke’s eyes briefly land on the determined face of one Lexa Woods before she’s suddenly too close to focus on.

Two soft palms cup Clarke’s jaw as slender fingers grasp around the back of her neck.

Then Lexa’s lips are on hers.

It’s so unexpected that Clarke hadn’t had a moment to ready herself. Lexa comes in too quickly, damn near chipping Clarke’s tooth.

Clarke can’t find it in herself to mind. Instead, she sinks in to the feeling of Lexa’s hands cradling her face.

Clarke wraps her hands around Lexa’s waist to pull her in tighter, just as she starts to feel Lexa pulling away.

Clarke can hear Finn muttering curse words under his breath as he wanders off.

“Jesus, Lex. What was that?!” Clarke all but squeaks. Now looking Lexa directly in the eyes.

Panic is the only word that could possibly describe the look on Lexa’s face.

“Shit. I just saw him over here bothering you again and I thought— I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think.” Lexa’s rambling and Clarke can’t help but find it endearing. Leave it to Lexa to step in and save Clarke from unwanted advances. She’s just never been quite so bold about it.

“Lex.” Clarke tries to get her attention to calm her down.

“That was bad, wasn’t it?” Lexa winces.

“Absolutely terrible.” Clarke teases back with a grin. “You should do it again.”

#clexa #clexa au #this could be another fun AU but I don’t have any solid plans on making it into anything #butttttt you never know #a little Lexa saving Clarke from unwanted advances AU #the other kiss prompt

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