#didn't say it would b good (:

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy Valentine's Day! (and this blog's first post anniversary!)

[patheticrafeenjoyer]

the OG4 P4L playlist

i had to fucking edit this all by hand so i wouldn't have to leak my irl spotify....... also, there's obviously much more than this, but i didn't put bob marley and/or peter tosh's entire discography on here even tho i know thats what kie has in there. just trying to get a sense of the kinds of vibe that each pogue would bring to the playlist.

[spoondoodles]

I blacked out and more Logince HS AU appeared on my canvas idk what happened (also ty @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat for some inspiration sorry it took so long to make a post about Them <3)

[rhaenin-time]

[unproduciblesmackdown]

winston my quant of billions

[lightbulb-warning]

i used to freehand comics all the time as a child and since the part i liked was the drawing part i would just draw panel after panel because i didn't want to stop drawing to think about icky icky words, plus the story TOTALLY still made perfect sense! to me! and noone else, but 'whoooo caaaaares omgggg its not like comics and sequantial art are a communicative meeediummmm lmaoooooo'. i spent my entire childhood telling myself stuff like "oh pfft I know this story by heart- ill SIMPLY remember the dialogue and write it later" ...and. I can't help but admire baby maiora's (call that a minora ba tm tsk) fucking audacity? hubris? confident wrongness? kid couldn't even remember to finish the comics in the first place? INCREDIBLE levels of unearned self assurance, wish that were me, genuinely- what an icon!!! anyway i think i have forever cursed myself

[kyouka-supremacy]

(╥﹏╥)

[paceypeternathanslawyer]

People are so clearly biased in their hatred of John B

I seriously saw someone attack John B because he "didn't cry enough after JJ died" ya'll dipshits do realize that he cried more than Kiara did? Yet I don't see them attacking Kiara... and Kiara was dating the fuckin dude!!

John B literally can't do any right in the eyes of JJ stans. Tomorrow I'll see someone say that John B is horrible because when he cried, his tears fell down on his left cheek vs his right cheek 🙄🙄

[variousqueerthings]

very funny when people on letterboxd describe a movie as "didn't reinvent the wheel" and it's like. lisa frankenstein. cocaine bear. i just don't think that was their intent as movies youknow. i think it was to have a fun time.

[ieidolon]

now that i'm playing dragon age: veilguard i understand hbomberguy so much better. think i could probably do a 3.5 hours long video called "dragon age: the veilguard is FINE and here's why"

[vaguely-concerned]

first of all rye 'hello fellow kids' ingellvar there is nothing in this world or any other I wouldn't do for you. second of all, considering where this story ends... I'm going to die. this conversation -- and how much he genuinely believes what he's saying at this point -- held up against the fact that in a couple of months max he's going to get her killed (well. that's how he feels anyway) and then go against everything she believed in and stood for as a person in the end and have to live forever with knowing that's how he honoured her sacrifice. (and live with how easy it is to live with, the way he doesn't regret what he did at all. she'll haunt him from time to time, that's fine, he's a watcher he's loved many a ghost before and will again. but that won't.) 'no one is beyond help? oh lace I'm so so sorry, wherever you are now please forgive me for who I am, but after what he pulled and by the time I'm done with him on my watcher's oath he will be beyond help. I'll hold every hand in this world that reaches back but his'. and she'll still be gone.

'or none of this matters'. im so fucking sad I feel sick *through tears* this is great I love fiction I love this game (embarrassingly genuine as is my wont)

[discjude]

whatever afterlife exists in SGE must be the funniest shit ever imagine being some Jaunt Jolie peasant who gets a little too in the way of the Snake and dying only to see The Literal School Master cheering the Snake on. Imagine dying of like cholera or something and taking a little Ghost Vacation to Camelot and seeing the King of Camelot - who's dead, apparently - beating the shit out of some random other boy with weird eyes. imagine how flesh and blood went down. Do you think they all had popcorn for that

[townofcrosshollow]

So a little while ago at work I was cashing out a woman who was mostly communicating with intonation but no words, which was perfectly understandable, and she seemed to understand what I was saying but I did more gesturing like I usually do with customers who may be deaf/hoh. At some point she made a motion with her hand that looked like sign language to me, and I felt a little embarrassed because I keep meaning to learn ASL and just... haven't. So after she left I started trying to see if I could figure out what she signed at me.

Boy. I was not prepared.

The entire fucking search results were just articles titled things like "sign language for beginners!" showing me words like "UP" and "MILK." I got so desperate I was typing in search terms like "basic american sign language FOR ADULTS"

[kennyomegasweave]

I know Ai and Oom's grandma is currently the most stressed ever cause Oom is kinda sorta maybe dying, so I do actually give her a little pass for being absolutely godawful in all the hospital scenes, but there is NO excuse for every other scene before the crash. Including all the flashbacks.

Like I know she's not going to ever apologize and Ai will forgive her regardless because filial piety, so I just really hope she starts treating Ai better now that she knows she's made her own granddaughter feel so worthless she truly thought her own grandma would rather her potentially die than her sister.

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

The press went NUTS when they found out the Dick was working as a pole dancer. It was big news, and everyone wanted to know how Bruce Wayne felt about his Baby Boy working as a stripper. B was… well, he was ticked. Not at Dick, no, he was just proud of him for getting a well paying job in an area he enjoyed. No, B’s fury sat squarely on the press. Papers that had gleefully printed sexual photos and articles about him were now aghast about Dick.

See, B’s whole “playboy” cover wasn’t originally exactly Bruce’s idea. He remembered vividly as a teenager the perceived humiliation of these adults sexualizing every little thing he did and of the constant anxiety of trying and failing to control his image; the way they seemed to pounce on any tiny flaw in his appearance or behavior and the paranoia that developed after the first of many photos of him was published of him just… going about his day, paired with a big red headline blasting him for daring to be a teenager. He remembered being terrified of being seen wearing a swimsuit and refusing to eat in public. So eventually, him leaning into this sexualization as a cover story wasn’t so much because he liked it, but because he knew how eagerly everyone would eat it up.

Now here was Dick, making an informed, consensual choice about how he wanted to be perceived, and they wanted to vilify him for it. So yes, B may have flew off the handles a bit, and yes, it probably wasn’t the best move to punch a reporter, but he had fought Hell to protect his kids from what he had gone through, and that sure as fuck wasn’t going to change any time soon.

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.