#yeah I’m using your tags

[sunny1927]

ENA TREND IS REALL FOR SUNNY!! >0< 💥💥/pos

Anyway please enjoy my ENA Oswald/Mickey trend animation?? Yeah something along those lines haha! (ENA Oswald/Mickey (my vers) inspired by @rockhousejai of her ENA Mickey/Oswald version , she drew them so beautifully and definitely should check out (along with her art too :DD) teehee :3)

[goodmorningmiles]

“Until My Fingers Bleed” Lithograph. 2023.

[elodieunderglass]

Guys GUYS

Concept: Throw Your Heart Over as an animated show of some kind but there are, like, educational appendixes at the end of each episode like “the making of planet Earth” but it’s about some Fascinating Fact. So for example, in an episode in which the Celt and his Irish Hobby have been doing weird feats of equitation in the corner of Killie’s eye, there would be an ENTIRE 20-minute documentary video essay in which people like @mylittlehony would be able to explain to you everything about the Irish Hobby, from whether it did give rise to the Thoroughbred, to how it fared in medieval battle, and how it gave rise to the term “hobby.” We’d bring in linguistics and DNA evidence and people would be fascinated, they’d be like “but my horseboy yaoi show” and we’d be like “it was a TRAP to get you interested in……… medieval horse warfare apparently. Uhhh. next episode has a recipe for Sachertorte though. And then we are getting FULLY into… narrowboats… and Kendal mint cake.”

But but but the funny thing will be that a pennywhistle-based musical motif that pops up associated with the ghost horses would be “concerning hobbies”. and you THOUGHT this was a LotR joke combined with wry commentary about how WORRYING these interests are. But then halfway through you hit the Irish Hobby infodump, find out that it was a joke about hobby horses, and put a KNIFE THROUGH YOUR TV SCREEN

[kagooleo]

so with confidence I present my rarepair...fluffyriceshipping!

they were originally a joke ship (which was my last chance to get out) but they grew on me more and more throughout last year, and months later they've become my favorite pair to draw! their name was the funniest thing to make of them because i got to joke around with their jpn names

the tl:dr of them is that there's a lot of good drama to make of thirty-somethings with the weight of responsibility of their respective cultures on their shoulders, as well as their personal thoughts of the trainers of their respective regions, all this culminating together to be really compelling for me to develop, so I'll ramble a Whole lot more under the cut about them :D!!

~

ok now that the people that wanted to see more about what i'm crazy about when i'm not online are here you guys better prepare for the worddump lmao

before they meet its postgame and they’re both in their thirties (early to mid), lance post gsc/hgss still upholds his champion position and managing the dragon's den alongside any g-man/undercover rocket work on the side (in workaholic mode), riley post dppt is occasionally battling at the battleground but also holing himself up with patrols on iron island and doing egg research and training his aura (Also in workaholic mode)

i'd say all the work makes byron and roark try to get him a break from all that, convincing him at some point to take a vacation! see the sights my guy you've been workin yourself to the bone

it's canonically shown in hgss that riley does appear as a partner for the battle tower, so at some point he is in johto! the region resonates with his cultural sensibilities so maybe he revisits it again to instead actually relax there.

lance would probably catch his hat flying away when he's visiting elm's lab (a fellow egg researcher) in new bark and riley would have absolutely fell first for him (and i'm a sucker for meet-cutes,,,)

and from there they hit it off! being both skilled trainers in their own right they battle and go out to eat after and talk about their family (clair and the elders, for riley's case his family friends byron and roark), their culture (dragon clans and aura guardians), and then when they talk about their respective trainer kiddos (silver and dawn) something clicks between them (it’s a Really rough snippet but hopefully it’s decent)-

"Do you have any kids? I know the news loves to make up some kind of story about secret love affairs with a random person." the guardian says, awkwardly.

Lance smiles, "Oh, yeah! I have one but he's technically not mine." Riley chokes on his iced tea.

"I'm sorry?" A million thoughts roll through his mind as he processes his words said so matter-of-factly.

"Haha, sorry, sorry, I'm only partly joking."

"E-Elaborate..."

The champion explains the general gist of things as he's met him, Silver, his kid-by-odd-circumstance, was homeless for a while, but was training alongside some other up and coming trainers. Uncovering some Rocket related files, he learns he's the son of the boss of the entire organization, and after some on and off meetings he eventually got him a place to stay at the Dragon's Den, and soon after began living with him at his place when he warmed up to the idea of adoption.

There are times he gets overwhelmed with all that he's been through, and some nights its all too much. But Lance was there with him, stayed with him every step of the way, unlike the one who gave him that abandonment anxiety in the first place.

"He's my kid, not by blood, and maybe not by his family, either. But instead, by his own decision he chose to stay with me. I'd want him to keep the freedom he has now." Lance states, firmly. "And now he's grown up as strong as I believed he could. I'm proud of him, as much as he tends to deny that." Riley senses his draconic aura swell with pride, mixed with a humbling sincerity in his words.

"What about you? Any kids of your own?" the sudden flip of the question surprises the guardian briefly.

"N-Nothing adoptive but…I suppose it's similar, in a way to meeting them as you have."

The guardian's turn, now. Dawn was someone he met when he was training on Iron Island, and also served as a guide to get her through the caverns. When he felt something off in the aura surrounding the area, he eventually learned of Galactic causing the pokemon on the island to feel restless and agitated. With her, they were able to clear the island of their antics and even gifted her a Riolu egg on her journey. From there, he was impressed with how strong she was, and did hear from Cynthia that she raised his present up to evolving her into a Lucario. He couldn't have been happier.

That was the case, until he caught the aftermath of the events of Mt. Coronet.

What Cyrus did, the lengths he'd go to, and dragging the both of them into a mess that could have torn the world apart.

After that, Dawn stayed home for a while. Cynthia put him as a contact for her mom, who was really worried for her. With his aura and her friends, Lucas and Barry, they were a big help for her recovery. And eventually, after a lot of time and work, she became the region's champion. She messages every now and then to him, as processing any trauma is never an easy road, but he realized how lucky she was to have the people she'd met to keep her steady, and knew she'll be alright.

"I...still wish I could've done more for her," Riley says, quieter. "Cynthia told me about what happened in that other world, and it...it was a lot for Dawn, a lot of emotions to help her figure out." he finishes, sheepish.

"…I don't blame you for feeling that way, I wouldn't know what to do in a scenario like that, either." the champion says, unsure too.

"It's amazing, in a way. All these kids going through so much on their own. I'd be proud were it not so scary, realizing how young they are to go through what they have been through."

"There's only so much you really can do, as an adult. I've realized that fact a long time ago." Lance's aura felt oddly melancholic, as bright and pretty as it may appear. "It's either immediate or slow when things change for them, and sometimes you'll have to make a choice on the spot when the time comes for them to decide what they want to do." It sounds like he’s speaking from experience, but the melancholy makes it appear that he's had some regrets.

“I trust in them to find their own path, eventually. When they’re together, those kids are gonna be alright on their own.”

His reassurance helped, even if only by a small amount.

-

I should make some kind of master post about them at some point but WAH god I’m so happy I can actually put them together in pokemon masters, they’ve really grown on me and I’ve developed a lot for the both of them in my free time, but yeah this is the rarepair that’s been on my brain for ages now, a gaze into my goo brain 🤪

[bk-179]

@projectmoonlightproductions dude that line you wrote, “forcing yourself to live to prove that you deserve your sentience” in relation to gingerbrave? has stuck with me for DAYS. In the best way, but still.

Gingerbrave does love living in the real world, and having friends and jellies and sunlight and snow and being surrounded by a living, breathing warren, but I feel like she wouldn’t truly be able to ENJOY or otherwise be comfortable in it for a long time because living, like almost everything else important to her so far, is a duty. It’s a duty because not only does he know that he was made to be eaten, but that she was one of a group.

For me, part of the horror of Gingerbrave’s situation is that he wasn’t (at least superficially) special. Her ENTIRE KIND was made to be prey. Her entire species is subjugated and rendered carnage for no reason other than the vices and cruelties imposed on them by a godly figure.

I feel like Gingerbrave would know on a certain level, in a certain part of his brain, that those cookies in that oven and on those plates were meant to be living, breathing kids. Kids like him. Kids that should be playing animal jam and going to school and eating slightly freezer-burnt chicken tenders and singing and laughing and running and living. What makes Gingerbrave different from all the cookies left behind on that oven tray?

I’m imagining gingerbrave, once they’re leading a “normal” life, throwing herself into everything. Trying to be the best and happiest and experience everything, with the underlying message in her brain playing “you need to live for them. They never got and never will get this; if you waste this chance in any way, you’re letting down every single one of those killed children.”

before he can get to the “living as a rebellion” mindset which is like. Infinitely more healthy in the long term, gingerbrave needs to get over the “living as a duty” thing I gave her. Btw he’s like, 12-is at this point in my personal timeline lolz. Womp womp. But uhhhh yeah!

[referencees]

Hey guys if you’re not tagging your stuff properly especially in fandom tags, people are gonna block you. Tags are the only way to filter content and when you don’t use them properly you mess up the filtration system on this site. The only other way to get your posts to go away is to block you.

I have blocked so many x reader fanfic authors because I just don’t want to see any x reader or character prompt stuff. But unfortunately a lot of these users are both young and new to tumblr and don’t seem to know (or maybe care) how this sites mechanics work. And they don’t tag any of their stuff properly so filters don’t work at all. So the only other way for me to get the spammy amount of x reader stuff out of fandom tags is to block every person that posts it. That’s literally the only other way.

If you don’t want to get blocked for really dumb reasons just tag your stuff correctly. Literally one x reader tag is all you need.

[myfairkatiecat]

Okay I’m going to say it, some of y’all treat the KOTLC tag like it’s a tumblr community instead of an organization system that gathers together everything people post and tag as KOTLC

[a-milgram-sideblog-396]

ich komme but kazui

aka kazui when he realises shidou speaks some german (kazui has yet to realise that the rest of the song is in finnish) alts and ref under the cut

had this idea as soon as I heard the song. Ignore Till. Not executed as well as I would have wanted, it’s way out of my comfort zone, but here.

I hope this is tumblr safe

also here’s what I stand by for good measure Y’know <3 (link to arab.org, free daily donation button to press)

okay bye I’m never gonna draw anything like this again

[hanlight]

A lot of the online buddie shippers genuinely hate 9-1-1 on abc and I think it would be much better for themselves and the rest of us who actually enjoy the show if they just… stopped watching it ��‍♀️

[fluffypotatey]

That is, huh. A lot more of a thought out response then what I was going for lol. I was like “what little rat does that remind you of” “the dude spying in the castle just now” when I rhetorically said “what shadowpeach does that remind you of” and you debunked it 😭 but since we’re talking about this now

Wiki calls em “an interconnected, self-perpetuating cycle. Yin and yang can be thought of as complementary and at the same time opposing forces that interact to form a dynamic system. Yin and yang transform each other: like an undertow in the ocean, every advance is complemented by a retreat, and every rise transforms into a fall.” Idk about you but with Mac getting chaos powers, I figured the show might take inspo from this, what with the cycles and all too. There might be an opposite “order” power in contrast to Nines. If Pandora’s box is literal, MK is “hope” there’s a lot of other symbolism fandom likes the stereotypically portray into their ShadowPeach lol. But they have day/night too. Nobody has to think too hard to take inspo, and most shows don’t in my experience. Shout out to Ninjago and ATLA just mixing culture and language in a way that annoys people and placing it under one umbrella.

well i mean, lmk is already playing with the themes of order and chaos. except there Order was on the side of the antagonists while MK was Chaos (being the harbinger and all). we saw it with LBD and Azure and now with Nines

also, lmk’s order can be seen when it talks about Fate and Destiny and even the “story”, but in a way where they are shown as being too fixed and bureaucratic compared to the lessons being taught to MK and by MK which are “your fate (order) is your own and can only be determined by you.”

we had it with MK telling LBD “do you really think the universe cares about any of us?”

we had it when Macky told MK “if you tread the paths already carved for you, then you doom yourself into a self-fulfilling prophecy”

we have it even more explicitly in s5 from Wukong: “sometimes you need to carve your own path and fuck all the rest”

lmk is all about finding that balance between the chaos of your mind and the forced order of the world around you. our own daily ying and yang that we must balance, and that is why i don't place those themes with shadowpeach just because it takes away from the crux of the show where it’s original focus is on MK and how he changes and grow throughout the seasons

tbh i think their day/night themes with ying/yang are significantly minor. the major focus with them is the themes of betrayal and reconciliation and past haunts

[ao3screenshotss]

sometimes i worry about my internet footprint and the fact that it might stop me from getting a job in the future or something (i literally run a blog posting screenshots from fanfics i read) but then i think ‘well damn, if they can find all this information about me then i don’t deserve the job cause i know i wouldn’t put in that much effort to find information on someone’ and i feel better

[ssreeder]

I'm so looking forward to iroh and zuko properly talking and seeing irohs reaction to zuko being gay.

Like we all know he doesn't agree with the fire nation rn but how will he react?

Will he not support him cause sokkas a guy? Will he not support him because it's SOKKA? Will he accept him? Will he reveal he's known for years zuko was gay?

Especially with everything that happened with zhao, regarding to what jee said to bato on their date. (Which is a very understandable perspective, zuko just got out of this very sexually traumatising situation and almost immediately starts a relationship (his first relationship) with sokka, but then again it is a very unique situation)

One thing I love about some atla fics is how they portray the FNs thoughts on queerness, cause on one hand they were one of the only country's (I think) that treated men and women the same but then again it's also the fucking fire nation.

And I also think zukos whole canon arc can be very comparative to queerness,

His dads an asshole and after speaking out against him he throws him out, and zuko try's for 3 years to regain his father's love and acceptance, and then faced with the opportunity of regaining it takes it immediately regardless of who or what he may hurt (iroh, his own morals etc) but once he makes it back home realises how fucked up everything is and eventually confronts his dad and openly tells him he doesn't agree with him then runs aways.

I also wonder if iroh secretly knows jee is queer it doesn't seem that likely to me but it also is iroh so who knows.

<3

I do think Iroh’s reaction will be a big moment for not only the story but for Zuko’s character development. Right now, Zuko’s technically still a prisoner, holding himself there by assuming Iroh will not understand or judge him when in reality he’ll never know what his uncle is thinking until they TALK ABOUT IT. (Which the FN royal family is just sooo good at healthy communication I don’t understand why this is so hard for them lol?!)

I do agree that the suddenness of the relationship combined with the intensity from both zuko and Sokka is very alarming for people looking at it from the outside (I mean we all totally get it cause we were there but others are like uhhhh hmmmm ok this might be concerning) so I get them gossiping and wondering if this is truly real or what the fucks going on with those boys.

I love Zukos canon arc because there’s just so much about zukos story that can be relatable no matter who you are and I think that’s why he is a fan favorite (it doesn’t explain why we torture him the way we do but ehhhh it’s fine haha)

Hmmmmmm does iroh know Jees gay? Depends on how saucy those music nights got ;)

[chibishortdeath]

He is made of glass, wears a necklace of teeth, smokes, and will try to mimic your appearance and replace you, but he is your friend!!! :D I love the X68000/Chronicles doppelgänger he’s one of the enemies of all time :3. Banger music in that level too, Tower of Dolls is one of my favorites!

[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.

[not-kamenx]

I have a love hate relationship with Ekusu’s hair ITS BEAUTIFUL BUT FOR SWORD DRANS SAKE IT TAKES FOREVER TO MAKE IT LOOK GOOD

anyways Jaxon/Ekusu fans u get food in a while I’m drawing him right now

[poppyseed799]

btw I don’t know if this is a thing anyone is thinking about but I’m not gonna stop drawing Jimmy as a canary. It’s a lovely bird. It’s still something that’s been really important to his series. There’s no reason to drop the canary headcanon just cuz Lizzie fell into the void.