#(that’s not her real name i swear)
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raventrigonsdaughter · 8 days ago
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i keep going back to Kathryn explaining how Agatha does love and care for rio... but does not WANT to do so and how both just know each other too well that the lies slide right throught, anyway it all just makes me think this all could be way less dramatic and sad if these two went to therapy and developed communication skills, im still mad we not only did not see how they met and fell in love, we have not seen a single honest conversation between them not even when agatha tells rio to "leave her alone", not them solving ANY of their baggage if anything now it's even worse and more things for them to communicate because agatha is quite literally GHOSTING RIO CAUSE SHE DON'T WANNA FACE THE AFTERLIFE
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risetherivermoon · 4 months ago
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personally i think trudy was once a human woman, who was tuckers wife. her and tucker didnt have a great relationship, tucker loved her but he yelled at her constantly and had very high expectations for her, which she (being human) couldnt uphold
she died at some point, i think possibly in some kind of accident that also involved timmy, which is why he's the .5 kid, he knows the robot trudys arent his actual mom (which is why hes so depressed and reads sad poetry all the time, boys traumatized) and he's also a cyborg,
alternatively trudy, little tuck, & tiffany/tina all having died in an accident together, and timmy being the only human one in his family besides tucker, (or little tuck and tiffany/tina are just children that tucker made up so they could get that typical american dream life, but they had timmy before trudy died)
tucker keeps remaking her over and over again, trying to replicate his wife but also trying to fix her in the process. whenever one of the trudys fucks up, he just scraps her and starts again, but even the robots he makes aren't good enough for him.
to me tucker is an obsessed artist, attempting to recreate something he once loved but never being able to get it right, because what he doesn't realize is he never even truly loved trudy in the first place, he loved the version of her he had in his head
trudy will forever be just copies of copies of copies of an actual woman who wasn't even good enough for tucker in the first place, which is really just a good allegory for what life was like for a traditional 50's housewife, being treated as less than human and never being able to live up to society's expectations for women, of men's expectations for women.
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endlesslytired · 5 months ago
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to finish this absolute madness I'm dealing with trying to put these together I give you the ones I forgot to add bc I lost them or didn't feel like worked right yet I still like, plus ones that I just had no place for at all. (aka solo topaz stuff)
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bonusss, I wrote this very early on into playing hsr and realised this would be really neat to make in the maker. it's not much of a meme but a funny idea on stuff Kafka could have done.
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prevus poast:
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nightwingsaregoths · 2 months ago
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so sorry for Morrowseer... he was an advisor for the queen and met a fiery end, but if he existed in real life, he would have been that type of person who's been complaining about his horrid work-life balance for the past 5 years and has around 6 hours of sleep a night, makes Moon's blood pressure shoot up from merely existing in the same space as her mother (usually Morrowseer stays in the living room and Secretkeeper watches Netflix off her phone at max volume in the kitchen) but it's okay because they're keeping the marriage together until their only child turns old enough and leaves the house. Also drops comments about IceWings and SandWings and RainWings while Moon slumps in her seat and stares awkwardly while refusing to think about the very real people who flashed through her mind. He's also on medication for something and has one of those middle aged male afflictions that he'll have until the day he dies. We suspect that his genetics'll take him out in 30 years. Unfortunately, his sacrifices have done much for the family and Moon still feels guilty as he gripes about it. Still makes Moon feel like garbage when he compares her to all the other NightWing kids in the neighborhood, whose coursework, GPAs, and extracurriculars he knows in detail from all that NightWing parent gossip (he's still clowning on Farsight for letting Fierceteeth go to the community college). Also says something to Moon that will affect her psyche for years and then yells at her for being clearly affected by having a parent like him.
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louisisalarrie · 1 month ago
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acourtofquestions · 10 days ago
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Kingdom of Ash Chapter 55-56
Chapter; Highlights, Notes, Tags, etc.
The Thirteen were on edge. They hadn't yet decided where to go. And hadn't been invited to travel with the Crochans to any of their home-hearths. Even Glennis's.
None of them, however, had looked his way when they'd prowled past. None had recognized him.
Dorian had just completed another walking circuit in his little training area when Manon stalked by, silver hair flowing. He paused, no more than a wary Crochan sentinel, and watched her storm through snow and mud as if she were a blade through the world.
Manon had nearly passed his training area when she went rigid.
Slowly, she turned, nostrils flaring.
Those golden eyes swept over him, swift and cutting. Her brows twitched toward each other. Dorian only gave her a lazy grin in return.
Then she prowled toward him.
Another assessing stare. "I would have thought you'd pick a prettier form."
He frowned down at himself. "I think she's pretty enough."
Manon's mouth tightened. "I suppose this means you're about to go to Morath."
"Did I say anything of the sort?" He didn't bother sounding pleasant.
Manon took a step toward him, her teeth flashing. In this body, he stood shorter than her. He hated the thrill that shot through his blood as she leaned down to growl at him. "We have enough to deal with today, princeling."
"Do l look as if I'm standing in your way?" She opened her mouth, then shut it.
Dorian let out a low laugh and made to turn away. An iron-tipped hand gripped his arm.
Strange, for that hand to feel large on his body. Large, and not the slender, deadly thing he'd become accustomed to.
Her golden eyes blazed. "If you want a softhearted woman who will weep over hard choices and ultimately balk from them, then you're in the wrong bed."
"I'm not in anyone's bed right now." He hadn't gone to her tent any of these nights. Not since that conversation in Eyllwe.
She took the retort without so much as a flinch. "Your opinion doesn't matter to me."
"Then why are you standing here?"
Again, she opened and closed her mouth. Then snarled, "Change out of that form." Dorian smiled again. "Don't you have better things to do right now, Your Majesty?" He honestly thought she might unsheathe those iron teeth and rip out his throat.
Half of him wanted her to try. He even went so far as to run one of those phantom hands along her jaw.
"You think I don't know why you don't want me to go to Morath?"
"Tell me to stay," he said, and the words had no warmth, no kindness. "Tell me to stay with you, if that's what you want." His invisible fingers grew talons and scraped over her skin. Manon's throat bobbed. "But you won't say that, will you, Manon?" Her breathing turned jagged. He continued to stroke her neck, her jaw, her throat, caressing skin he'd tasted over and over. "Do you know why?"
"Because while you might be older, might be deadly in a thousand different ways, deep down, you're afraid. You don't know how to ask me to stay, because you're afraid of admitting to yourself that you want it. You're afraid. Of yourself more than anyone else in the world. You're afraid." For several heartbeats, she just stared at him.
Then she snarled, "You don't know what you're talking about," and stalked away.
His low laugh ripped after her. Her spine stiffened. But Manon did not turn back.
Afraid. Of admitting that she felt any sort of attachment.
It was preposterous.
And it was, perhaps, true.
But it was not her problem. Not right now.
Manon stormed through the readying camp where tents were being taken down and folded, hearths being packed. The Thirteen were with the wyverns, supplies stowed in saddlebags.
Some of the Crochans had frowned her way. Not with anger, but something like disappointment.
Discontent. As if they thought parting ways was a poor idea.
Manon refrained from saying she agreed.
Even if the Thirteen followed, the Crochans would find a way to lose them. Use their power to bind the wyverns long enough to disappear.
And she would not lower herself, lower the Thirteen, to become dogs chasing after their masters. They might be desperate for aid, might have promised it to their allies, but she would not debase herself any further.
Manon halted at Glennis's camp, the only hearth with a fire still burning. A fire that would always remain kindled.
A reminder of the promise she'd made to honor the Queen of Terrasen. A single, solitary flame against the cold.
Manon rubbed at her face as she slumped onto one of the rocks lining the hearth. A hand rested on her shoulder, warm and slight. She didn't bother to slap it away.
Glennis said, "We're departing in a few minutes. I thought l'd say good-bye."
Manon peered up at the ancient witch. "Fly well." It was really all there was left to say.
Manon's failure was not due to Glennis, not due to anyone but herself, she supposed.
You're afraid.
It was true. She had tried, but not really tried to win the Crochans. To let them see any part of her that meant something. To let them see what it had done to her, to learn she had a sister and that she had killed her. She didn't know how, and had never bothered to learn.
You're afraid.
Yes, she was. Of everything.
Glennis lowered her hand from Manon's shoulder.
"May your path carry you safely through war and back home at last."
She didn't feel like telling the crone there was no home for her, or the Thirteen.
Glennis turned her face toward the sky, sighing once. Then her white brows narrowed. Her nostrils flared. Manon leapt to her feet.
"Run," Glennis breathed. "Run now."
Manon drew Wind-Cleaver and did no such thing. "What is it?"
"They're here." How Glennis had scented them on the wind, Manon didn't care.
Not as three wyverns broke from the clouds, spearing for their camp.
She knew those wyverns, almost as well as she knew the three riders who sent the Crochans into a frenzy of motion.
The Matrons of the Ironteeth Witch-Clans had found them. And come to finish what Manon had started that day in Morath.
The three High Witches had come alone.
Rushing steps crunched through the icy snow, halting at Manon's side just as Dorian's scent wrapped around her. "Is that—"
"Yes," she said quietly, heart thundering as the Matrons dismounted and did not raise their hands in request for parley. No, they only stalked closer to the hearth, to the precious flame still burning. "Don't engage," Manon warned him and the others, and strode to meet them.
It was not the king's battle, no matter what power dwelled in his veins.
Glennis was already armed, an ancient sword in her withered hands. The woman was as old as the Yellowlegs Matron, yet she stood tall, facing the three High Witches.
Cresseida Blueblood spoke first, her eyes as cold as the iron-spiked crown digging into her freckled brow. "It has been an age, Glennis." But Glennis's stare, Manon realized, was not on the Blueblood Matron. Or even on Manon's own grandmother, her black robes billowing as she sneered at Manon.
It was on the Yellowlegs Matron, hunched and hateful between them. On the crown of stars atop the crone's thinned white hair.
Glennis's sword shook slightly. And just as Manon realized what the Matron had worn here,
Bronwen appeared at Glennis's side and breathed, "Rhiannon's crown."
Worn by the Yellowlegs Matron to mock these witches. To spit on them.
A dull roaring began in Manon's ears.
"What company you keep these days, granddaughter," said Manon's grandmother, her silver-streaked dark hair braided back from her face. A sign enough of their intentions, if her grandmother's hair was in that plait. Battle. Annihilation.
The weight of the three High Witches' attention pressed upon her. The Crochans gathered behind her shifted as they waited for her response.
Yet it was Glennis who snarled, in a voice Manon had not yet heard, "What is it that you want?"
Manon's grandmother smiled, revealing rust-flecked iron teeth. The true sign of her age. "You made a grave error, Manon Kin-Slayer, when you sought to turn our forces against us. When you sowed such lies amongst our sentinels regarding our plans— my plans."
Manon kept her chin high. "I spoke only truth. And it must have frightened you enough that you gathered these two to hunt me down and prove your innocence in scheming against them."
The other two Matrons didn't so much as blink. Her grandmother's claws had to have sunk deep, then. Or they simply did not care.
"We came," Cresseida seethed, the opposite in so many ways of the daughter who had given Manon the chance to speak, "to at last rid us of a thorn in our sides."
Had Petrah been punished for letting Manon walk out of the Omega alive? Did the Blueblood Heir still breathe? Cresseida had once screamed in a mother's terror and pain when Petrah had nearly plunged to her death.
Did that love, so foreign and strange, still hold true? Or had duty and ancient hatred won out?
The thought was enough to steel Manon's spine. "You came because we pose a threat."
Because of the threat you pose to that monster you call grandmother.
"You came," Manon went on, Wind-Cleaver rising a fraction, "because you are afraid."
Manon took a step beyond Glennis, her sword lifting farther.
"You came," Manon said, "because you have no true power beyond what we give you.
And you are scared to death that we're about to take it away." Manon flipped Wind-Cleaver in her hand, angling the sword downward, and drew a line in the snow between them. "You came alone for that fear. That others might see what we are capable of. The truth that you have always sought to hide."
Her grandmother tutted. "Listen to you. Sounding just like a Crochan with that preachy nonsense."
Manon ignored her. Ignored her and pointed Wind-Cleaver directly at the Yellowlegs Matron as she snarled, "That is not your crown."
Something like hesitation rippled over Cresseida Blueblood's face. But the Yellowlegs Matron beckoned to Manon with iron nails so long they curved downward. "Then come and fetch it from me, traitor."
Manon stepped beyond the line she'd drawn in the snow.
No one spoke behind her. She wondered if any of them were breathing.
She had not won against her grandmother. Had barely survived, and only thanks to luck. That fight, she had been ready to meet her end. To say farewell.
Manon angled Wind-Cleaver upward, her heart a steady, raging beat.
She would not greet the Darkness's embrace today. But they would.
"This seems familiar," her grandmother drawled, legs shifting into attacking position.
The other two Matrons did the same. "The last Crochan Queen. Holding the line against us." Manon cracked her jaw, and iron teeth descended. A flex of her fingers had her iron nails unsheathing. "Not just a Crochan Queen this time."
There was doubt in Cresseida's blue eyes.
As if she'd realized what the other two Matrons had not.
There—it was there that Manon would strike first. The one who now wondered if they had somehow made a grave mistake in coming here.
A mistake that would cost them what they had come to protect.
A mistake that would cost them this war.
And their lives.
For Cresseida saw the steadiness of Manon's breathing. Saw the clear conviction in her eyes. Saw the lack of fear in her heart as Manon advanced another step.
Manon smiled at the Blueblood Matron as if to say yes.
"You did not kill me then," Manon said to her grandmother. "I do not think you will be able to now."
"We'll see about that," her grandmother hissed, and charged.
Manon was ready.
An upward swing of Wind-Cleaver met her grandmother's first two blows, and Manon ducked the third. Turning right into the onslaught of the Yellowlegs Matron, who swept up with unnatural speed, feet almost flying over the snow, and slashed for Manon's exposed back.
Manon deflected the crone's assault, sending the witch darting back. Just as Cresseida launched herself at Manon. Cresseida was not a trained fighter. Not as the Blackbeak and Yellowlegs Matrons were. Too many years spent reading entrails and scanning the stars for the answers to the Three-Faced Goddess's riddles.
A duck to the left had Manon easily evading the sweep of Cresseida's nails, and a countermove had Manon driving her elbow into the Blueblood Matron's nose.
Cresseida stumbled. The Yellowlegs Matron and her grandmother attacked again. So fast. Their three assaults had happened in the span of a few blinks. Manon kept her feet under her. Saw where one Matron moved and the other left a dangerous gap exposed.
She was not a broken-spirited Wing Leader unsure of her place in the world.
She was not ashamed of the truth before her.
She was not afraid.
Manon's grandmother led the attack, her maneuvers the deadliest. It was from her that the first slice of pain appeared. A rip of iron nails through Manon's shoulder. But Manon swung her sword, again and again, iron on steel ringing out across the icy peaks.
No, she was not afraid at all.
Around him, the Crochans thrummed with fear and dread. Either for the fight unfolding or the three Matrons who had found them.
But Glennis did not tremble. At her side Bronwen hummed with the energy of one eager to leap into the fight.
Manon and the High Witches sprang apart, breathing heavily. Blue blood leaked down Manon's shoulder, and small slices peppered the three Matrons.
Manon still remained on the far side of the line she'd drawn. Still held it.
The dark-haired witch in voluminous black robes spat blue blood onto the snow. Manon's grandmother. "Pathetic. As pathetic as your mother." A sneer toward Glennis. "And your father."
The snarl that ripped from Manon's throat rang across the mountains themselves.
Her grandmother let out a crow's caw of a laugh. "Is that all you can do, then? Snarl like a dog and swing your sword like some human filth? We will wear you down eventually. Better to kneel now and die with some honor intact." Manon only flung out an iron-tipped hand behind her, fingers splaying in demand as her eyes remained fixed on the Matrons.
Dorian reached for Damaris, but Bronwen moved first.
The Crochan tossed her sword, steel flashing over snow and sun.
Manon's fingers closed on the hilt, the blade singing as she whipped it around to face the High Witches again. "Rhiannon Crochan held the gates for three days and three nights, and she did not kneel before you, even at the end." A slash of a smile. "I think I shall do the same." Dorian could have sworn the sacred flame burning to their left flared brighter. Could have sworn Glennis sucked in a breath. That every Crochan watching did the same.
Manon's knees bent, swords rising. "Let us finish what was started then, too." She attacked, blades flashing.
Her grandmother conceded step after step, the other two Matrons failing to break past her defenses.
Gone was the witch who had slept and wished for death. Gone was the witch who had raged at the truth that had torn her to shreds.
And in her place, fighting as if she were the very wind, unfaltering against the Matrons, stood someone Dorian had not yet met.
Stood a queen of two peoples.
Yielding only those few steps, and nothing more.
Because Manon with conviction in her heart, with utter fearlessness in her eyes, was wholly unstoppable.
The other two witches had fallen back, as if waiting to see what might happen.
But she yielded no further ground. A wall against which the Yellowlegs Matron could not advance. The crone let out a snarl, attacking again and again, senseless and raging.
Dorian saw the trap the moment it happened.
No one seemed to breathe at all as Manon plunged Bronwen's sword into the icy earth beneath and bent to take the crown of stars from the Yellowlegs witch's fallen head.
He had never seen a crown like it.
A living, glowing thing that glittered in her hand. As if nine stars had been plucked from the heavens and set to shine along the simple silver band.
The crown's light danced over Manon's face as she lifted it above her head and set it upon her unbound white hair.
Even the mountain wind stopped.
Yet a phantom breeze shifted the strands of Manon's hair as the crown glowed bright, the white stars shining with cores of cobalt and ruby and amethyst.
As if it had been asleep for a long, long time. And now awoke.
That phantom wind pulled Manon's hair to the side, silver strands brushing across her face.
And beside him, around him, the Thirteen touched two fingers to their brow in deference.
In allegiance to the queen who stared down the two remaining High Witches.
The Crochan Queen, crowned anew.
The sacred fire leaped and danced, as if in joyous welcome.
"Go."
The Blueblood witch blinked, eyes wide with what could only be fear and dread.
Manon jerked her chin toward the wyvern waiting behind the witch. "Tell your daughter all debts between us are paid. And she may decide what to do with you. Take that other wyvern out of here."
Spared by the Crochan Queen on behalf of the daughter who had given Manon the gift of speaking to the Ironteeth.
Within seconds, the Blueblood Matron was in the skies, the Yellowlegs witch's wyvern soaring beside her.
Leaving Manon's grandmother alone.
Leaving Manon with swords raised and a crown of stars glowing upon her brow.
Manon was glowing, as if the stars atop her head pulsed through her body. A wondrous and mighty beauty, like no other in the world. Like no one had ever been, or would be again.
And slowly, as if savoring each step, Manon stalked toward her grandmother.
Warm, dancing light flowed through her, as unfaltering as what had poured into her heart these past few bloody minutes.
She did not balk. Did not fear.
The crown's weight was slight, like it had been crafted of moonlight. Yet its joyous strength was a song, undimming before the sole High Witch left standing.
So Manon kept walking.
She left Bronwen's sword a few feet away.
Left Wind-Cleaver several feet past that.
Iron nails out, teeth ready, Manon paused barely five steps from her grandmother.
A hateful, wasted scrap of existence. That's what her grandmother was.
She had never realized how much shorter the Matron stood. How narrow her shoulders were, or how the years of rage and hate had withered her.
Manon's smile grew. And she could have sworn she felt two people standing at her shoulder.
She knew no one would be there if she looked. Knew no one else could see them, sense them, standing with her. Standing with their daughter against the witch who had destroyed them.
Her grandmother spat on the ground, baring her rusted teeth.
This death, though ...
It was not her death to claim.
It did not belong to the parents whose spirits lingered at her side, who might have been there all along, leading her toward this. Who had not left her, even with death separating them.
No, it did not belong to them, either.
She looked behind her. Toward the Second waiting beside Dorian.
Tears slid down Asterin's face. Of pride- pride and relief.
Manon beckoned to Asterin with an iron- tipped hand.
Manon raised a hand. "Let her go."
When there was no trace of the Matrons left but blue blood and a headless corpse staining the snow, Manon turned toward the Crochans.
Their eyes were wide, but they made no move.
The Thirteen remained where they were, Dorian with them.
Manon scooped up both swords, sheathing Wind-Cleaver across her back, and stalked toward where Glennis and Bronwen stood, monitoring her every breath.
Wordlessly, Manon handed Bronwen her sword, nodding in thanks.
Then she removed the crown of stars and extended it toward Glennis. "This belongs to you," she said, her voice low.
The Crochans murmured, shifting.
Glennis took the crown, and the stars dimmed. A small smile graced the crone's face.
"No," she said, "it does not."
Manon didn't move as Glennis lifted the crown and set it again on Manon's head.
Then the ancient witch knelt in the snow.
"What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches."
Manon stood fast against the tremor that threatened to buckle her legs.
Stood fast as the other Crochans, Bronwen with them, dropped to a knee. Dorian, standing amongst them, smiled, brighter and freer than she'd ever seen.
And then the Thirteen knelt, two fingers going to their brows as they bowed their heads, fierce pride lighting their faces.
"Queen of Witches," Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice.
As one people.
#Chapter 55#Chapter 56#Kingdom of Ash#Sarah J. Maas#Manon Blackbeak#Dorian Havilliard#Manorian#Asterin Blackbeak#The Thirteen#first read#read along#read with me#no spoilers please#First Read along with me NO SPOILERS PLEASE though warning for post & tags up to KoA 56 & more reacts/notes/quotes in tags below#The witches-alone-Morath-Glennis-Petrah why-don’t be poisoned-THE CROWN-her braid-their hatred & fear yet her forward#beyond what we give-is that a wyrdmark?-she would not-she would stand-not then but now becuase a cause-SHE WAS NOT AFRAID#he listened to her/believed in her-they did not tremble-they did not yield-she would not kneel-they came for her too-for them she did this#THE SWORD-uh yeah same-GONE WAS THAT WITCH-from the flame-AND HERE WAS THE LAST CROCHAN QUEEN-I love her#the wind answered-a queen of two people-convinction in her hearts fearless in her eyes and utterly unstoppable-you went for me#well Ansel said-SHE CROWNED HERSELF-matching crowns?-a phantom breeze the chill-the witch queen brow bow-that’s what she learned#they ran from her-mercy?-a debt-and one paid-true queens rising-a literal Star-not her death to claim-Asterin-manon I fucking love you#it’s yours-QUEEN OF WITCHES-Dorian smiled🥹-him watching his wife like same-he is us-short king-Iltsm#A sign enough of their intentions if her grandmother's hair was in that plait. Battle. Annihilation.—HAIR HOLDS POWER PEOPLE#Manon Kin-Slayer… a real rich name coming from her#because YOU are afraid-I kept reading peachy nonsense lol-chills-I’m gonna go cry-I love her#A blade through the world-shorter-bi bbs-the way she knows-it's a mate thing I swear-I'm not anyone's-#if you want someone who will allow that then ur wrong-shell keep him alive-double lines in the sand-your afraid-the word majesty#not back not now-a queen-a true queen against the world-afraid of everything-home?-HOLY SHIT RUN-mother matron crone#You're afraid-I will not be afraid-coward-the fear of fear-run now-hold the line-retreat and live-You’re afraid. Yes she was. Of everything#Fly Well they've run for a long time they know-but she would not-the truth time
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lionblaze03-2 · 9 months ago
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I cannot comprehend the mimzy hate tbh. She’s so silly. Just a mischievous little gal. She’s voiced by Sarah Stiles. When she arrives wacky slidewhistles are suddenly part of the music. She knew alsator when he was alive somehow and not only seemed to live to tell the tale at the time but also became his fucking friend. What’s there to hate
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imminent-danger-came · 1 year ago
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Do you think that -in the inevitable MK vs. his friends confrontation- Mei will accidentally seriously hurt him with the Samadhi fire? 🤔
Since strong emotions can cause it to run haywire, and there is nothing that would make her more afraid than having to fight her best friend.
There is NO way that they are completely done with the Samadhi fire. (Unless she lost it?? Subodhi did say she 'once' wielded it. So not anymore???)
But yeah- I bet it would come back into play during the MK/Mei battle. Especially if LBD mistook MK‘s destiny for her own. (Since that one vision she showed made it look like MK was burning before the world exploded. And she wanted everything he ended up having; the staff, his own powers, the Samadhi fire -indirectly, and well, a new title that implies destruction on a reality shattering scale.)
My view is that post the Embrace Your Destiny special, they resealed the Samadhi Fire (unsure if Mei still has her piece with her or if they successfully resealed it into 3 rings this time). We at the very least know she doesn't have it in s4 (MK has to save her in 4x01, she's worried about losing her sword in 4x05 which she didn't need with the Samadhi Fire in EYD, the Subodhi quote you mentioned). But, I don't think Mei using the Samadhi Fire again is completely out of the question. There are things that have come back that I never expected to be acknowledged again (The 1x01 seal being the same as the 4x01 and 4x14 flower fruit mountain seal was a huge shocker for me).
So the Samadhi Fire coming back into play with the MK/Mei battle? That would work super well! Especially with the way characters tend to reach for power and endanger their loved ones. It's a huge risk to take again, but if they feel they don't have any other choice it's something we know they're willing to resort to.
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colonel-chicken · 1 year ago
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It’s almost that time of the year again - ArtFight is upon us ! I’ll be drawing a few of my characters before it does, here’s my main girl who... Remains nameless. Eheh :)
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fayehartz · 1 year ago
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im supposed to be working on dipweek but my friend convinced me to make a webseries w them 😭😭‼️
gettin a bit too obsessed rn with these ideas,,,,,
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monards · 10 months ago
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sorry guys. I don’t talk about her a lot but I really love Barbeloth
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crayolacolor · 10 months ago
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12 year old me would be proud
( preview of what i'm gonna be posting on my art blog soon lol. i'll post a higher quality version of the one that's colored along with the digital version, the other one i'm just gonna digitize, 'cause i used sketchbook paper for it and not marker paper )
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dailyhermitdoodles · 2 years ago
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[121] a very determined and a very confused False
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I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVEN'T DRAWN THESE 2 TOGETHER YET AKNSKXOWNSK
I AM SO DISAPPOINTED IN MYSELF 😭
also very disappointed in y'all for never forcing me to draw them /j
But seriously, False's lore is just 👌
I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!
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voiceshearingyouloud · 1 year ago
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Even though my PTSD is still bad, and I still notice it when I’m home and around my mum, I know it’s getting better because I get so angry at her now instead of getting sad and angry with myself.
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narts-kakashi-doll · 2 years ago
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Some day. Some day I will get really good at drawing and then you'll see .. YOU'LL ALL SEE (my ocs. You will see ALL of them (evil laugh))
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bywandandsword · 2 years ago
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Just a friendly reminder that my little two year old niece is cooler than any of us will ever be
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