#the king that lives in the hearts of the people

[starguardianniom]

Harumasa, Asaboo, Miyaboo and Soukaboo

EVERYONE HARUMASA DID IT HE FREAKING COMMISSIONNED HIS BANGBOO FORM FROM VIRTUAL REVENGE AND ALSO HAD ONE MADE OF MIYABI AND SOUKAKU THIS IS NOT A DRILL THIS IS FREAKING CANON AND REAL!!!!

Ok so I just did his latest trust event and boy was I not prepared for it. He legit paid to have Asaboo made, then had Miyaboo and Soukaboo made as well, and they are named that way because he's the one who named them.

THIS IS REAL PEOPLE!!!!!!!!

I FUCKING TOOK THE PICTURES AND IT GETS BETTER!!!!

This is how this whole thing starts, he made them as souvenirs. We cannot thank you enough for doing God's work, I love you so much. <3 <3 <3

Miyaboo speaking like Miyabi.

Soukaboo is hungry like Soukaku.

Asaboo is also lazy and just wants to relax, thankfully with Harumasa it will be able to do just that. T_T <3 <3 <3 My heart!

You tell me buddy, that's some well spent money, I bet these would be extremely popular if they ever reached the market, I just want to have them too, Hoyo, if you can make Section 6 have bangboos of themselves we the players should totally get them as well, no? I feel these 3 will be in the shop in the future, cause while they have the models, why not? I hope that we'll get to see these 3 after chapter 5, would be hilarious. Harumasa chilling at home with his cat and bangboo, Miyabi, her bangboo and her dad, who will probably laugh his head off when seeing it while also cooing at it for 5 hours straight, and Tsukishiro using Soukaboo to help her with Soukaku, though this tend to switch between Soukaku helping her with Soukaboo and Soukaboo helping her with Soukaku, when they team up, she is in for double the trouble. Unfortunatly no Yanaboo but oh well, since Tsukishiro and Soukaku lives together it's fine.

Yes they are~ <3 <3 <3 I want Asaboo and Miyaboo as plushies this size your honor take my wallet please and thank you very much~

Yeah your bangboo self was named Harumasaboo back in Virtual Revenge but I guess you changed it to your last name because it's less of a mouthful and also that you're too lazy for this long name so Asaboo it is, not to worry, both names are fine and canon now!

Brief resume of Virtual Revenge, and it looks like Harumasa is still traumatized by it, can't blame him, he's the one who was stuck as a bangboo the longest so he was the first on the brain dead list, given he is already terminally ill I can imagine he really didn't like being put in a similar situation in simulation. My poor baby.

And we are eternally grateful that you did my king~ It explains why they say those lines as well, it's really wholesome. <3 Also he calls himself, Miyabi and Soukaku their parents, my heart! So cute!

Yes. I just hope Tsukishiro won't kill you for it, though she did say she loved his bangboo form, and since they are in the likehood of Miyabi and Soukaku she probably won't get mad, let's hope.

Yes and I will do it in every filter as well~

A proud father and his 3 kids~ I bet in the future he will be asked to babysitts the other 2 alongside his. XD

With these cute faces there's no way there can be a bad photo!

Oh yeah?

Hey, no one is judging you in how you deal with the bad memories, if it works for you, who I am to tell you to not do it? Not the method I would use but to each their own.

And there it is, an offer you couldn't refuse. Good choice, I wouldn't have said no either~

Gonna have to skip to after the end because I'm only allowed 30 pictures but the girls keeps the bangboos and Harumasa keeps Asaboo like planned, I'll let you discover yourself how they reacted to them.

Hint: considering they take them home it went well~

Harumasa Triads~

Miyabi Triads~

I swear Harumasa keeps going after my heart I love him so much my heart!!!

[elvensorceress]

sunday snippet

I meant to have this fic done ages ago but it's now somehow three times as long as it was, I've rewritten it five times, and I'm still working on it 🫠 oh well. have a snippet from snickerdoodles.

@tizniz @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @kejfeblintz @smilingbuckley @sofa-king-lame @chaosandwolves @smilingbuckley @belasmalhotra @bekkachaos @blutterlie @sazanahashi @livinginsunnyhell @epicbuddieficrecs @sparklespiff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @dangerpronebuddie continued from Wednesday

Eddie tries again, but still sounds rough and hollowed out. “I don’t want to drag you down. Okay? You should move on and forget me and— and it’ll be better.”

Not so much for Eddie. He’s never let go of anything in his life. It’s all there hiding under the surface, stuffed in cages. But Buck should move on. Buck should survive him. 

Is this their only future? It feels like losing everything. Eddie is losing everything. He’s kidding himself if he thinks he hasn’t already lost Chris. What if Eddie doesn’t survive this time? What will happen to everyone he loves? Everyone who loves him?

Does anyone love him? Does he mean anything to anyone? Has he ever meant anything?

“Forget— I should forget you?” Buck snaps, his anger un-contained fire now, not just a hint of smoldering kindling. Vicious, spitting, sparking, living flames that will turn everything to ashes. 

Maybe they should actually fight and say awful things and then it would be easier to walk away. 

Eddie’s not sure he could even manage that right now. There’s nothing left in him. No fight, no fire. It’s all shattered, scattered pieces. But he would try. If Buck needs that. 

He might need that. He snaps again, “Like you’re a pair of socks that disappeared in the laundry? Or something I meant to pick up at the store and spaced? Like it’s easy? Like you’re nothing? Like this? Us? You and me? Means nothing?”

Okay, when he puts it that way… it sounds dumb. But how else can Eddie stop hurting him? “No,” Eddie says. Not fiery, not loud, not anything. “No. Just. Something that doesn’t—”

“You're my best friend. You— you’re— I’ll let you go. Okay. Whatever. I’ll do that because I know you and I know you need Chris and I get it. I wouldn’t want you to do anything but love him exactly the way you do. But I won’t, will not and can not pretend that you aren’t my best friend and my partner and the person I love more than anything. All right? I’m not going to do that. I’ve spend years—literal— almost a whole decade of years loving you more than anything. I’m not going to just forget that or forget you. I’m not throwing that way. I’m not ever going to lie and say otherwise. This is not a ‘move on and grow out of it’ scenario. I love you more than anything in the world. Okay? You told me I wasn’t expendable and I had to deal with that so you have to deal with this. You mean everything to me and I love you, and that isn’t going to change even when you leave.”

“—hurt you,” Eddie finishes. It doesn’t really sound finished now. He says it because he was already saying it. 

But that the fuck does he say now? 

Eddie doesn’t usually think of himself as small, quiet, or fragile. But he feels like that now. His feeble words sound like it even in his own ears. Small. Inconsequential. Torn apart.

Buck steps back toward him. Not enough that they’re touching, but enough that they’re closer. “Hurt me. Drag me down. I don’t care.”

Eddie recoils. No. No, he hates that idea. He is not doing that. Not intentionally. Not. What the fuck. 

He knows he said the words. He said them because his mother said them and they stuck and haven’t left his head or his heart and it’s all he does. Ruin people he loves. 

Buck shakes his head. “Be in the way. Burden me. Share whatever weight you’re carrying. Be something that stays even if you’re not here. Be part of my life even if it hurts. I don’t care if it hurts, I need you to be something to me. Having nothing of you would be a hundred, thousand, million times worse. I am in this with you. I always have been. Don’t shut me out just to spare me. If you’re facing the fire, I want to be right there with you. Please don’t make me lose everything of you. Please don’t— please. Don’t pretend this is nothing. I can take you leaving, I can’t take this,” he motions between them, “meaning nothing.”

Eddie stares and doesn’t move. And stares harder like it will help him understand. 

He knows he’s breathing still because there’s air. 

Maybe he’s not breathing. But something is making air flow in and out of his body. Like rescue breaths? Supplemental oxygen? It’s not Eddie doing it, he’s not taking in air, but it happens anyway. 

He doesn’t understand. Maybe he never has. Maybe his brain stopped processing information when he stopped breathing because the brain can’t function without oxygen. Something like that. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t. 

Buck wants something of him even after everything? After all the people who have walked out on him and treated him like he doesn’t matter? Even with how Eddie fails and hurts people who care about him? He means something to Buck? Even though he’s hurting him and abandoning him and losing him? Eddie’s just another person who leaves him. He can’t hurt Buck. He can’t keep doing it. Buck doesn’t deserve this. And Eddie deserves no loyalty, no forgiveness. 

He doesn’t deserve anyone’s love. Not in any form. He shouldn’t have it. He’s never had it. 

“I don’t—” Eddie tries to say. He has to say. He has to make the words come out. “I don’t want to hurt you the way Abby hurt you. I don’t want to do that.” 

Buck shakes his head again and starts to say something.

Eddie beats him to it. “I know it’s not the same. I know I’m not— I know you don’t— It’s different. Still. I know how she hurt you, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t know how to not do that. I’m leaving you here. In my house. Just like she did when she left you. And I have to—” Do the same fucking thing? Give him up? Walk away? Destroy everything they made together? And maybe the only way to survive is to do what Eddie does best and ruin everything? 

He looks back at Buck and doesn’t mean to say it. He wasn’t going to say anything. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. He should be mean and nasty and he should tell Buck he means nothing, this means nothing, and then Buck can just be justifiably angry and hate Eddie properly. 

And it would spare him. Whatever pain and tragedy that is associated with being near Eddie. It would spare Buck. 

That’s what he should do. 

That would be mercy and kindness. Pick up the weapon and blow this all to hell. 

Eddie can’t breathe. He can’t do this. Any of it. 

He can’t let go. He can’t lose Buck. 

And then he’s suddenly confessing, “I don’t want to do this."

It’s too late. It’s always too late. And what he actually wants has never mattered. He doesn’t matter. He never has. He twists his hands together and has nothing else to hold onto. It’s too late, so none of this matters. Eddie doesn’t matter. But he meets Buck’s lost gaze, stares into his eyes for three seconds, and he can’t keep it in.

“I want to be with Chris. I miss him so much. Every minute of every day. But I don't want to leave here. I don't want this. But it doesn't matter what I want. It never has. The one time I said, 'What about me? Why didn't you think of me?' Chris left. He left because I hurt him. And my dad says, ‘don’t wait thirty years to listen to your son.’ So I listen. I don’t know what the hell else to do. I listen, and I do what all of them ask. Even when it’s the last thing I want and I’ve already said, no, please stop, I need more time, please hear me. They don’t listen to me. I’m still nothing to every single one of them. And I just keep thinking why don’t I ever count? Why don’t I matter even a little bit?

"You think you aren't everything to me, too? Do you think that I don't love you just as much as you love me? But I don’t get to pick you. I don’t get to have anything of you. I hurt everyone I try to love including you and Chris. I’m not enough for anyone, in any way. I can’t love anyone the way they need or the way I’m supposed to. You say you’re defective parts, well I’m fucking broken.

"That’s why you should forget me. I don’t matter. You shouldn’t care. I should mean nothing because I am nothing. I’m not worth this. If I were a better, stronger person, I’d make you hate me. But I can’t even do that. I don’t want to hurt you more. I have to lose you and I don’t know how to lose you. I love you more than anything and it’s not enough. I don’t know what else to do but say, you should move on and forget me.”

Eddie turns away and covers his face, tries to hold his head because it’s aching. It’s too much. That was too much. He’s not supposed to be falling apart. Everything is supposed to be getting better. 

Shards of ice crack and fracture and break underneath him. Everything in the cage around his ribs snaps and he’s crying into his hands, trying to keep it together. Trying and failing. Always failing. His face is already wet. He was already broken. A long time ago. So many times. 

Buck is suddenly behind him. Not distant. Close behind him. He touches Eddie’s back gently and then steps around until he’s standing in front of him. He reaches between them and rests his hand on Eddie’s chest. As if he can stop the never-ending bleeding that’s somehow always pouring from Eddie’s heart. “You are enough, Eddie. You’re more than enough."

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 12/24/2024

pair of portentous tuesdayposts: this one is christmas eve and the next one is new year's eve

trying something new with the reading section, where i list off a bunch of books i bounced off and briefly explain why. let me know if this is interesting, or if it's more interesting when i finish a book i sort of enjoyed and really dissect what didn't work for me like with that annoying evil wizard book a couple weeks ago.

listening

the true champ of the past few weeks has been friends at the table's (an actual play podcast about critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, and fun interaction between good friends) horror/weird west season Sangfielle, and i know i have listened to about sixty hours of it bc i have played about sixty hours of stardew valley. i am currently on ep 49, one before the last finale episode, and it feels like it is wrapping up in a very rushed and weird way? maybe i will feel differently after listening to the six coda episodes wrapping up everyones' characters?

the song of the week is fleet foxes’ white winter hymnal, which is morbidly festive without being strictly christmas-y and is not salting the open emotional wound within my chest that is The Holiday Season. album released 2008. christ im old

-

reading

the concept of this gag award is EXTREMELY funny to me. i wish the EFF sent them a little physical trophy. perhaps a challenge coin.

bounced off a lot of stuff. the six larger books and the far top right are all from my absolute favorite thrift store with the worst vibes, who regularly has a 8/$1 media sale bc they actually want to be more of a kitchen goods and home decor thrift store and don't really want to constantly be overflowing with records no one buys. yet here they are.

i really do need to find a good indie used bookstore around here that will take books and give me back slightly more in store credit than in cash. bc i would like to fill some missing chunks of trilogies/fill out the star wars shelves a little more. but every time i have gone to half price books i have had an unpleasant time.

lumberjanes/bravest warrior/adventure time were not making me feel nostalgic and in fact made me quite sad instead (more in a memento mori way than in subject matter) so they're going to a friend's kid

glad i looked up Heartthrob (despite the really good premise of woman haunted by her heart donor) on my library's comic app bc the third one seems to mostly take place in a mental hospital which is really never a vibe i want

GRIFTER has art i don't love and a bland storyline about an ex-marine who is the saddest boy in the world and can also detect literal space aliens living among us. no thank you

tangle's game has a close-call near-sexual assault in the first chapter. no thank you! cool dystopic social credit score premise but no thanks!

gil's all fright diner is about the king of vampires and the duke of werewolves but they're hicks. the narrator hates that they're dumb hicks. did not jive with the authorial voice on this one

i bought Two Tickets to Tangiers in high school bc it looked cool and have only cracked it open now, almost fifteen years later. fifteen year old kay did not yet have the context clues from the cover that it would be a very racist travelogue

i need to stop trying agatha christie. i am never going to like agatha christie

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watching

somehow i have seen the first tinker bell fairies movie three times this week bc that's all my bestie's toddlers want to watch. a really stupidly stacked cast??? how did all these people have free time in 2008???

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playing

finished the community center in summer 2 of stardew valley (wildly popular and very intense farming sim) and would have finished it in winter 1 if not for the FUCKING pufferfish. i hate fishing minigames and i especially hate the fishing minigame in stardew so i am excited to leave it the fuck alone for a while.

my cauliflower got stupid mchugelarge?? i do not know why they did that. also a meteor fell on my farm and gave me a bunch of really valuable ore, just like real life meteors.

i do kind of regret picking the beach farm bc so much of my day is spent watering, but i am trying to lean harder into animal products and being more of a fun silly flower farm instead of the intense agriculture i find myself doing. i have the greenhouse, i have a small patch of sprinklerable land, i will simply make sure to buy some of every seed each season and if i really need something i will toss it in the greenhouse.

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making

people are being very gracious about their mediocre colored pencil portraits. most of my gift budget this year was two flat rate boxes to my siblings. silly little pet portraits are very cost effective if you already have art supplies, nice paper, gumption, and very cheap small frames.

[talonabraxas]

🔸 Serapis Bey 🔸 Talon Abraxas

Serapis Bey is the chohan of the fourth ray, hierarch of the Ascension Temple at Luxor, and the thirteenth member of the Council of Adepts of the Ascension Temple. He is also known as Serapis Soleil, Serapis of the Sun.

The fourth ray is the ascension flame, the white light of the Mother in the base-of-the-spine chakra. Out of this white light comes architecture, the principles of mathematics, the foundations of the building of the Matter temple and the pyramid of Self. In the presence of Serapis, one knows an entirely different conception of what we call the Christ, the real person of us all.

Embodiments

Known as the Great Disciplinarian, Serapis came from Venus with the Ancient of Days to rekindle the sacred fire in the hearts of a wayward mankind. His great enthusiasm to reclaim the sons of man as kings and priests unto God swelled and mounted into a flame of iron will, determination and discipline.

High priest in the Ascension Temple

He was a priest in the Ascension Temple on Atlantis. As guardian of the ascension flame, he carried the flame safely up the Nile River to Luxor just before Atlantis sank. Serapis gives us a glimpse of this experience in his own words:

I remember well when the first rumblings of the sinking of Atlantis were present. For, as you know, the sinking of that continent came in stages. By the grace of God, the warning given allowed many to escape. And we made our way to Luxor....

You may wonder why a spiritual flame requires transporting by mere mortals. It is always so that children of the light tend to think that such things ought to happen magically and miraculously. Perhaps a touch of the fairy tale has spilled over into religion, and people have forgot that all that has been wrought by God and man has been the joint work and effort, above and below.

I will tell you, then, why it is so—because the only place that the flame can truly abide, apart from the altar so dedicated, is the living heart of the living adept.

There in Egypt, Serapis and the brothers who accompanied him built the Ascension Temple, and there they have guarded the flame ever since, alternating duties as they continued to reembody specifically for that purpose.

Serapis Bey continued to reincarnate in the land of the Nile, foregoing his own ascension until about 400 B.C. In these lifetimes he became the sponsor of some of the greatest architectural feats that have ever been brought forth upon the earth.

Serapis Bey, the chohan of the ascension flame and hierarch of the Ascension Temple at Luxor, Egypt, speaks to each one of us:

"The future is what you make it, even as the present is what you made it. If you do not like it, God has provided a way for you to change it, and the way is through the acceptance of the currents of the ascension flame."

[acupofinkedblood]

Skateboard x worrisome reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Let’s get one thing straight and the other one not. First of all, for some reason you have been smitten by this self-proclaimed king of the Skatepark — which is actually true to some extent — that is also the guy who wants to impress everyone with his skating skills even when it comes with him landing right on his face. As for the other thing: With all due respect, what did you see in that guy? His charm? His demeanor? His face card? Well, list all the things you love about him if you want. Skateboard isn’t actually that bad, he’s still a lovable guy to you. Especially when he is literally your boyfriend. But if you say he’s a nice guy who only does silly things with no bad motives then I’m going to hold your hand before shaking you back into reality

• Did you know he is the leader of his very own gang, or were you completely unaware of it? If it’s the latter, then I don’t blame you. Like, just look at him, there is no way anyone could have guessed that he is that big of a hotshot in Playground. He doesn’t seem to take anything seriously that much, so it does seem like a surprise to you when knowing that. To know that your boyfriend who is also coincidentally a gang leader despite his laid-back attitude sure does sound like something that only happens in a dream, but then again, that’s just how he is. Maybe he does tell you before but you can’t really hear it clearly, or he just straight up forgot to inform you about his gang. Well, now you know

• Seriously, Playground isn’t a place that should be jokingly considered to live in safety or just stay there for a short while in general. To be able to live in Playground without losing a limb is beyond impressive. Violence and chaos are lurking in every corner of the region itself. Moreover, because it’s Windforce’s territory, not even the Banland’s police force dares to interfere anything that is going on inside Playground at all. It’s understandable if some demons decide that it’s best to move to another place due to the jeopardy of that place, they do it for their own safety after all. That place is pretty much a hellhole stimulation for newcomers

• When you first met Skateboard, you were a bit taken back when knowing that he was actually a Playgrounder. It’s nothing personal, but you aren’t deaf. You have definitely heard about the rumors surrounding that factor yourself. If you keep an eye on the news, maybe you might see a few robberies or accidents caused by Playgrounders mostly. Okay, judging people by their factor wasn’t the right thing you should do, sometimes the stereotype can be wrong after all. However, couldn’t help yourself but felt like you should put your guard up around Skateboard. At least before you know that you can trust him

• And he managed to just do that. Not only did he succeed in earning your trust fair and square, he also won your heart in the process as well! His laid-back demeanor caught you off guard. Aside from Boombox, he was probably the first good impression you had of Playgrounders for quite a while. Sure, he was rather cocky and full of himself sometimes, but you knew that Skateboard just wanted to have fun doing so. At least you haven’t seen him dragged anyone down in the mud before, so you assumed that he wasn’t that in the category gangster’s stuff, only a troublemaker — Because like I said before, who would have thought Skateboard out of all people was a gangster? — or at least, he didn’t get involved in it too much

• And now you just realized how wrong you were when making that assumption, eh? Because not only is your boyfriend belongs in a gang, but he has built quite the name for himself as the leader of said group as well. Skateboard is full of surprises, isn’t he? Pick up your jaw sweetie, I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s the truth about your boyfriend who you think that doesn’t have much of a braincell. Hell, even I don’t understand how is he the leader, so just bear with me

• Of course, the moment you realize that about your boyfriend, you have mixed feelings that you can’t really name it all. But there is this one feeling that you know damn well that is there inside your heart: Worry. You are worried about your own safety, but you are also concerned about his safety even more. SFOTH above, who knows what sort of danger that is attached to this line of work he is dealing with almost daily? You can only imagine, and it sends a chill down your spine

• Sure, you know Skateboard is more than capable of defending himself against whatever life throws at his direction. Trust me when I say that Skateboard is stronger than most people give him credit for. You gotta have a deadly grip to use your board to beat the living shit out of someone almost immediately while still keep it in your hand without slipping away, not to mention the muscles he has built in during his time skating and fighting, especially on his legs. He is toned — although it isn’t that obvious, probably a sleeper build — but you know that he can beat asses up if he wants. But that doesn’t make you less of a worrywart than you are, does it?

• It’s not like you’re underestimating him, no no. But you’re afraid of what if he overestimates his own ability and bite more than he can chew. Gang’s activities are what make you worried most about him though. They aren’t technically the safest to some extent: From fighting, to doing drugs or drinking the night away, then back to illegal deeds before it starts leading back to violence again. You have heard enough about how most people who have died in Playground were involved in gangs’ fights whether they are a just a civilian or not, you don’t want your boyfriend to be the next. Your worries are valid, considering that you only wish him a proper safety

• When he comes home all injured again, that’s when you have the chance to step into the scene with a medical first aid kit and your typical lecture to his reckless behavior. He has lost count how many times have you brought up this topic ever since you knew he was a gang leader. Hell, he has mesmerized your words because of how much you keep repeating it in his ears. Skateboard might probably click his tongue when you mention his broken horns that he has to wear a pair of fake ones to hide it as a point of how dangerous it can be, he will argue back with his excuse on it’s just a minor accident that happened years ago when he was still a rookie. Now look at him, he knows himself better now. He can take responsibility of his own actions and the mistakes that come with it. The gang needs him after all

• Skateboard usually jokes about your overprotective behavior towards him, although it’s obvious that he can take care of his own bullshit. But he is just that: relaxed, borderline careless, a bit cocky though always looking for entertainment around him. He doesn’t really want to stop, he is quite the adrenaline junkie after all. You know damn well that you can’t talk him out of this life, so at least all you can do is to get some sense of self-protection into that thick helmet of his. You’re not babying him, you’re just looking out for him in distress. You know him well, and it’s better for you to just say it over and over again so it will stay inside his mind rather than an unwanted accident

• To say that there aren’t arguments between the two of you because of that is unrealistic. You two have your own points of view that you wish to keep, and it will lead to conflict. Knowing Skateboard, he will walk out first before the conversation goes too far beyond his control. He does that because he needs time to think for himself too. Fuck, Skateboard knows that you’re worried, but you’re going to be the death of him if you keep keeping that attitude up. He loves you, he really does. And as much as he hates it, you have a logical point even when it’s completely against his idea at first. Skateboard will try his best to figure a way to help balance the situation between the two of you, and he won’t mind asking for help from his close friends or even his fellow gang’s members for that purpose. Have some faith in him, he wants the best for the two of you so that you both can reach an agreement

• In the end, believe me when I say that he does understand your point to some degree. It’s just that he doesn’t want you to think that he’s going to bid you a goodbye after dying in a gang fight or something. He knows better than just sticking his head into serious situations which he knows that it will be the end for him. With a few peacemakers and his sincere promises to keep his head on his neck, you finally get over your anxiety and just accept his style of life. Though you can still be such a mother hen sometimes, but not too extreme like before anymore. Skateboard can live with that. He doesn’t mind you nagging him here and there sometimes after all

• You have soon come into terms with his lifestyle. He promises that he will keep you updated on how is he at the moment so you can give your heart a break from exhausting it off by pacing back and forth in your place while you overthinking some stuff that might happen. Skateboard can be so unserious quite often though. Imagining him face-timing you just so he can show off the pile of people he has dragged around because they dare cause problems inside his territory. Don’t worry, he won’t show you the details of it, it’s more like how he tells you to stop worrying because he gets his own strength. You will be a bad liar if you say it doesn’t make you laugh a few times he does that, because you do

• Skateboard’s gang is like his family, and he just wants you to give them the benefit of doubts. He has been their leader for years without being beaten up to death before — minus those times when he got hospitalized before he met you — he knows what is he doing. Give them a chance, they aren’t that bad. Especially those who have followed Skateboard from the start. Heck, they can even do you a favor by keeping an eye out on him whenever you’re not around

• His gang members see you as family as well. It’s an unspoken rule for them to greet you like how they normally do to their boss — which is also your boyfriend — in a casual yet still friendly manner. If you ever find yourself in a tough spot, just a word and they will back you up through Skateboard’s orders. ‘In the gang, we’re all fam’ is what they told you before. Despite you’re not exactly a part of their gang, they still treat you like one. Here’s a tip to make it easier for you to get used to them: Just see them as Skateboard’s siblings or distant cousins. It will feel like a family reunion rather than a gang meeting. And hey, it does fit them actually, since they also see each other as family too

• Sometimes when he isn’t wearing anything, he just hops in and cuddle with you in an affectionate manner. It’s not something else that you have in mind, get your mind off the gutter. The reason why he does that is so you can feel his presence bare against your body, to know that he’s still there beside you. He knows how worrisome you can be. This is the least on the list of what he can do for you to help you relax. Funny thing is that it actually works since it does soothe your worries somewhat. Feeling his body, tracing every muscles and scars on his body across his body— it serves as a reminder to you that your boyfriend is still there, in flesh and bone with a beating heart

• He loves it when you feel the damages on his body. Each scar is a story to tell, and he doesn’t mind your touch lingers a bit more on it. Same goes with his actual broken horns. While you’re at it, he will coo sweet reassurances into your ear to let you know that you can’t really get rid of him that easily. The two of you are a package deal at this point. Sure, Skateboard isn’t technically the best with words. Nonetheless, he still knows how to calm you down enough verbally while he uses physical affection to give you that sense of comfort. Get emotional with him if you want, he won’t judge. He understands your feelings after all

• Skateboard loves you, please remember that. As long as you’re happy, he’s happy too. He doesn’t mind you being a nervous wreck. That just means he will have to spend more time with you to let you know that everything will be alright. You will be alright. He, too, will be alright. Skateboard is willing to put up with you for it, so don’t worry. You’re not a bother to him, never have been

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: My idol notices at me today (๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑).ᐟ.ᐟ

[hide-in-imagination]

Tengo mi sangre ardiendo, por un poco de tu mirar... (x)

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 241

Wing au? Wing Au. With perhaps a bit of a twist. Also a hint of eldritchness perhaps. For fun! 

Ghosts have wings. Sure, they aren’t normally seen, not in the visible spectrum, but they do. Scanners pick them up, and sometimes a ghost might even reveal them, which was hypothesized to be some sort of animalistic intimidation attempt. (Something more than one Amity Parker rolled their eyes at)

Everyone had seen them at least once- the motorcycle-driving ghost’s mass of shadowy feathers, the green-haired girls matching shaggy ones, the rocker’s ones that looked like pages of music before bursting into flame. Even the box ghost’s had been spotted- feathers looking more like sheets of cardboard than anything else. 

It wasn’t until the whole kidnapped to the ghost zone that anyone saw Phantom’s, but that was another tale unto itself really. Honestly the arrival of the GIW would have maybe been seen as positive before, but the fact that many of them had looked in the mirror or gone to the doctors only to find feathers beginning to sprout on their back soured it. 

Especially as the GIW continues to prattle on and on about how all ecto-contaminated scum are less than human, less than bacteria. And well, what does that make them? Them, who have been to the realms of the dead and gods and back, touched by the swirling green energy in ways incomprehensible? Changed by that energy? 

So the people silently brush hidden feathers together, quietly rebuff the white-wearing lunatics from the city as best they can, and hope to anything listening that they can stop anyone else from disappearing. That maybe they can find the few no one noticed had been taken before it’s too late, even if they have to tear down the entire government to do it. 

[p4nishers]

thinking about the relationship between mightily oats' "the worthwhile [words] don't burn" and constable dorfl's "the words in the heart cannot be taken"

[carlottastudios]

Every day I get closer to making an unhinged behemoth of a post listing all of the things about Kaeya and his possible connections to mythology & stuff that I notice but NOBODY ELSE SEEMS TO BRING UP IN THEIR THEORIES

(edit: OMG I reached the tag limit I'm so sorry)

[duahauuoplanh]

no, love is something that should be encouraged and celebrated instead.

[firestorm09890]

if kh4 is supposed to be like a soft reboot for the series I hope this means that they replace Yen Sid with a different guy. "Yeah Nobodies aren't real people and they're faking everything so you should be fine killing them" "sorry Sora I don't care what feats you've accomplished you let yourself get manipulated so you can't be a Master" "I'm going to sit here and dump exposition on you in the most boring monotone you've ever heard" man you're past your prime let someone else do it

[rainintheevening]

Caspian IX & Caspian X

There was a time / I used to look into my father's eyes / In a happy home / I was a king, I had a golden throne / Those days are gone ... I remember how it all changed / My father said / Don't you worry, don't you worry child / See Heaven's got a plan for you /Don't you worry / Don't you worry now

- 'Don't You Worry Child' cover by Kurt Schneider & Sam Tsui

For @an-angels-fury because this song has been making me feel things.

[ratatatastic]

"Who's idea was it to put the cone on your head for the parade? Was that all you?" "Zach Eisenberg [Director, Executive Operations]—I think is his name—he takes care of us a lot at Amerant Bank Arena. I don't know his exact role with the team but he's just kind-of always around, and helps us out. He's friends with Brooks [Koepka.] I think he helps Brooks when he comes to the games. Anyways he found a pylon or I think I might have told him—I was pretty drunk at the time but I think I told him to go get a py—'if you could find a pylon, find one!' 'Cuz they sprung that speech on me, kind-of, last second, you know, five minutes before I was supposed to go up there. I'm like, 'What the fuck am I gonna say?' So I had him go grab the pylon and I grabbed it on the side of the stage right before I was gonna do my speech. And luckily all the clips are of that, you know, me telling him to go fuck himself... 'cuz the rest of my speech was terrible. There's really nothing to it! And I'm so happy that, you know, all the clips are only of that so!" "Yeah, we didn't know you said anything else! I thought that was the entire speech!" "That's all that matters!" "Exactly, exactly! I got away with it there!"

The Cam & Strick Podcast | 7.30.24 (x)

i love finding out they basically told ekky he was gonna have to do a whole speech 5 minutes before he was up while hes been drenched from rainwater and alcohol for like the past 6 hours absolutely pissed out of his mind like yeah no wonder his speech basically culminated to THANK YOU SOUTH FLORIDA AND ALSO GIVE IT UP FOR MY D PARTNER WOOOOO yeah that tracks

"But what golf tournament* were you at shortly after that? Somebody was dressed like a cone? Was that Lomberg who was dressed in like a costume? A cone costume?" "He came—Brooks came up to you—" "No, that was his buddy, that was his buddy. He was actually a Sunrise police officer. I actually saw him last night at the Zach Bryan concert! But yeah, no, that's one of his buddies. No, he was completely put to bed the day after. Right? Like he texted me—I personally didn't care, like, how many people at a hockey game are calling me a cone and telling Barkov he's got no hands like it's—you know, that's hockey. That's sports, right? So I didn't give a shit but—yeah, no, it was all in good fun. And then I got a way to get him back! It's perfect!" "But when you did see the first video of him in the box—and I remember watching that, I'm like, 'this motherfucker is rolling esctasy!' His eyes were fuckin' gigantic, he's like, 'Aaargghh.' Like, 'I can't take him, he's calling me a cone! I can't—' But that is kind-of odd that a professional athlete is gonna call you a cone and he's like a fan of yours...it's just—it was really bizarre!" "Goofy!" "Yeah..." "And his eyes were black which, you know..." "What does that mean?" "I just know what that means... and he was fucked up, you know..." "Yeah, yeah! He was definitely fucked up and he agreed that he was fucked up. And he apologised so I didn't care, obviously. And then when I was at that golf event I should've thrown a beer at his backswing or something—at the LIV event when he was actually competing? I should've fucked with him but I couldn't do it... I couldn't—I couldn't find the courage to throw something at him..." "So did he reach out to you like that night? And say, 'Hey, dude... I was just joking, you know...'" "'I took some pills and...'"

*2023 LIV Golf Team Championship (Miami) held from Oct. 20-22 in Doral

[and i suppose more context here lombo and koepka are friends and he even showed up to his cupday when he went golfing in parkland and not to mention that lombo facilitated koepka apologising to ekky so its why the whole cone costume came to be really]

theres a lot more context about this incident and the ensuing storm after it so for archival sakes here are articles about it (x)(x)(x)(x)(x) because its quite a saga but its water under the bridge and there's only so much tabloid-esque coverage thats been reignited after the ekky speech i can take about an athlete who's dumb enough to insult another guy while hes drunk off as his ass in a fucking public setting

but anyways i think its really funny that i said to myself wow thats an oddly petty thing to admit to you know the whole wanting to throw a beer at his backswing ekky... for such a good vibes sweet man who like the only thing youve particularly said about the cone novella is "we'll never be buddies" to which you quickly retracted and then went "holding ill will against somebody and pulling negativity in your body is never a good thing"

and then i remembered who he attended the liv event with and it all made sense

behind every aqua whos being a little mean there is a much worse much more evil looming presence who is encouraging them down this dark path (a gem but especially a june gem)

truly a tale as old as time

[dent-de-leon]

So many people are so mean to Kingsley and say they hate him simply because he's not Molly and I am fighting them off with a sword. None of you fuckers are true Tealeaf enjoyers. Love my boy or die by my blade; what did he ever do to any of you 😭

Hello! The thing is--I do understand why Kingsley can be upsetting to people, I really do. Especially when we've had Molly for such little time :( And it does make me sad that Kingsley doesn't seem to get the same treatment as the rest of the Nein, or that he's not as loved, so I understand both perspectives.

But honestly to me, a part of the appeal of Kingsley is that...although he's grown and changed, a part of him is still Molly; it's the thought that this shard of a soul was loved enough that it managed to endure, to grow and find its way home.

I love the ending of Lucien's novel, because the thought that Molly felt for Lucien enough to want to reach out to him in the very end, the way they both make peace with each other and decide to be reborn together--it's so heartwarming and cathartic, and it really feels like the final piece to me that King's introduction was missing.

I think, terrifying as the thought is, Kingsley himself is also aware that he's grown from Molly's soul shard (and Lucien).

Kingsley: “Not now, but in the future, I'd like to hear about your friend. Later, once I--once I know me better.”

Yasha: “I would love that.”

Kingsley: “Thank you.”

Yasha: “It's nice to have you back.”

Kingsley: “It's nice to be here.”

Yasha: “You know what I mean.”

Kingsley: “I do.”

The fact that he calls out to Yasha and knows her as Love, remembers the tarot card names he gave to everyone. The moment when Jester casts Greater Restoration, and King is lost in his pretty dream of the circus--"I was having the nicest dream."

And more than that, he keeps asking for Lestera specifically. "There was a--oh. There was a circus. And a...a beautiful woman, in a red coat. She was telling me secrets, showing me how to keep secrets. Show secrets--I...Where's the woman? No, not her...where's the woman--" Molly's heart, the part of him that loved Lestera and Yasha and the rest of the Mighty Nein? It's still there, still feels for all of them. "I get...feelings from you. All of you..." And that to me is such a comfort.

Lastly, I'm still very much struck by the fact that Molly always intended for Mollymauk to be more of a temporary name, one he kept until he was ready to choose another for himself--it feels kind of like Molly was his birth name, and Kingsley is more of a tiefling virtue name. I love the way that King changing his name when he's reborn mirrors Molly's worship of the Moonweaver--and how he incorporated his religion into his tarot cards. There's something nice about how King is still following those tenets of the Mooweaver, even if he doesn't quite realize it. For everything that's changed, there are many intrinsic aspects of Tealeaf that still ring the same.

"Each deck of Moon Oracle cards are different, as each deck evolves with the owner. When a card is weathered or simply no longer speaks to you, replace it with a new card of your own design. Something personal and true. Trust yourself; what is true for you will ring true for others. Some choose to change a card each Lunar cycle. Some decks magically destroy a card when it is replaced with a new one--such decadence!"

One more thing, but--I think that, because we've gotten so little time with King (and haven't really gotten the chance to hear Taliesin really talk about him ;; CR please give us a Kingsley Tealeaf Q and A one day I am begging--) there's so much about him that's open to interpretation or that's left intentionally vague. And the same could be true about Molly's initial soul shard too. "If souls could grow from but a piece..." Even Molly's own goddess is surprised when he's reborn as Kingsley. There's no precedence for this. He's an anomaly, an impossibility...a miracle.

All that just to say, that. I don't think one interpretation of King is inherently better than another, and I'm sure a lot of people aren't happy about my interpretation either. But I understand why King is as decisive a character as he is. He'll always be important to me though--and I'll always see him as being a part of Molly, a shard of a soul that was full of so much love and joy, he got another chance to live again and be reborn. And I'm happy if this little tiefling king is able to bring others the same kind of joy and comfort he brought me.

[talonabraxas]

Solar Barque Talon Abraxas NEKHT, THE CAPTAIN OF SOLDIERS, THE ROYAL SCRIBE, SINGETH A HYMN OF PRAISE TO RA, and saith:

Homage to thee, O thou glorious Being, thou who art dowered with all sovereignty. O Tem-Heru-Khuti (Tem-Harmakhis), when thou risest in the horizon of heaven a cry of joy goeth forth to thee from all people. O thou beautiful Being, thou dost renew thyself in thy season in the form of the Disk, within thy mother Hathor. Therefore in every place every heart swelleth with joy at thy rising forever. The regions of the South and the North come to thee with homage, and send forth acclamations at thy rising on the horizon of heaven, and thou illuminest the Two Lands with rays of turquoise [colored] light. O Ra, who art Heru-Khuti, the divine man-child, the heir of eternity, self-begotten and self-born, king of the earth, prince of the Duat (the Other World), governor of Aukert (Kingdom of Osiris), thou didst come from the Water-god, thou didst spring from the Sky-god Nu, who doth cherish thee and order thy members. O thou god of life, thou lord of love, all men live when thou shinest; thou art crowned king of the gods. The goddess Nut embraceth thee, and the goddess Mut enfoldeth thee at all seasons. Those who are in thy following sing unto thee with joy, and they bow down their foreheads to the earth when they meet thee, the lord of heaven, the lord of the earth, the King of Truth, the lord of eternity, the prince of everlastingness, thou sovereign of all the gods, thou god of life, thou creator of eternity, thou maker of heaven wherin thou art firmly stablished.

The Company of the Gods rejoice at thy rising, the earth is glad when it beholdeth thy rays; the people who have been long dead come forth with cries of joy to behold thy beauties every day. Thou goest forth each day over heaven and earth, and thou art made strong each day be thy mother Nut. Thou passest over the heights of heaven, thy heart swelleth with joy; and the Lake of Testes (the Great Oasis) is content thereat. The Serpent-fiend hath fallen, his arms are hewn off, the Knife hath severed his joints. Ra liveth by Ma’at, the beautiful! The Sektet Boat advanceth and cometh into port. The South and the North, and the West and East, turn to praise thee. O thou First, Great God, who didst come into being of thine own accord, Aset and Nephthys salute thee, they sing unto thee songs of joy at thy rising in the boat, they stretch out their hands unto thee. The Souls of the East follow thee, and the Souls of the West praise thee. Thou art the Ruler of all the gods. Thou in thy shrine hast joy, for the Serpent-fiend hath been judged by the fire, and thy heart shall rejoice for ever. Thy mother Nut is esteemed by thy father Nu. -Hymn to Ra, from the Papyrus of Nekht

[acourtofquestions]

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.