#what... *is* the poisoned tag here

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Sometimes a day makes you want a Starscream to bite and squeeze

[amphibianaday]

day 1421

[baconplasm]

[hotasfahrenheit]

my top 10 ql shows of 2024

we're a week into the new year already so i guess i should finally get this list posted 👀👀👀

to make this list, i kept an ongoing note in my phone all year of all the ql shows i watched, and then i sat down a couple days ago (*cough*a week ago*cough) and rearranged them to figure out which ones were my favourites. i didn't have any kind of ranking system going through the year (besides being very sure by the beginning of february what was going to be my absolute favourite of the year- and i was right) so this was all based on the vibes i was feeling about all these shows as i made the list, thinking back on them over the year.

i had JUST finished one of these shows so that's part of why i wanted to let it sit for a few days- make sure my ranking wasn't skewed by the feeling of having finished a show then immediately making the list right after while it was fresher than anything else. a week on, i'm still solid on these. i think. i keep looking at this list and being like "wait, did i really love that show more than this other one? did i? how is that one not in the top 10? wait but the ones above it are also just so good" and if i don't just post a list then i'll never stop fidgeting with it, so here we go!

10 - 4Minutes

was 4Minutes perfect? no, but i enjoyed the twisting layers of narrative and the speculation and discussion around this show so much. there were multiple times i thought i had things about the story figured out, and i kept being close to correct, but it kept finding ways to surprise me anyway.

9 - Love Is A Poison

this show was an unexpected delight in so many ways. it was funny, it was smart, it was wild, it was bonkers, i hope they get to make more of it.

8 - Jack & Joker

the longing, the heists, the shenanigans, the friendships, the everything about this show. it got a lil shaky towards the end but on the whole it was such a fun time, and it's still so incredible and such a triumph that they even got this show made, and i love it forever.

7 - Meet You At The Blossom

ANOTHER TRIUMPH OF A SHOW. so pretty. so splendid. so many long sleeves being waved around. so much nonsense and adventure. a fantastic pairing of characters, a fun side couple, just all around perfection.

6 - Love Sea

does this show get a biased boost in the ranking because i love Fort and Peat so much and even an imperfect show with them in it was going to be something i loved? maybe. possibly. probably. Peat spent the whole time looking expensive and pretty, and Fort spent the whole time looking like he was going to devour him, and they're just so good together. sorry not sorry.

5 - 1000 Years Old

this show gets two gifs, because they're my gifs, and i loved it SO MUCH. definitely a weird little show, but it had so much heart, and the way the story built was incredible, and it was just such a warm, beautiful show about found family and embracing your weirdness and being yourself and also love. all about love. the deepest love, and patience, and being willing to try again no matter how many times it takes. also soup, and so many umbrellas.

4 - My Stand-In

(this gif is from this set i made)

this show. THIS SHOW. the acting, the story, everything about it was absolutely insane and was all-consuming especially towards the ending of it. i love stories with complex, nuanced characters, and i love actors who can make you angry with how good they are at playing terrible people. this show had me shouting in the group chat all the time and it was just such a wild ride. an EXPERIENCE from start to finish.

3 - Love In The Big City

an absolutely stunning work of art. i watched the first two episodes with @poetry-protest-pornography when it first released then we both got busy with life for a bit; i listened to the audiobook at work the last week of December and immediately slammed through the rest of the episodes compulsively. i couldn't stay away. i had to inject it into my being. i'm aware that i interacted with and experienced this story differently than a lot of people i've seen talk about it on here because it didn't resonate with me in all the exact same ways as i am a straight person, and i saw a lot of people talking about how deeply it spoke to them about the queer experience, but the themes of loss and loneliness and searching for purpose and meaning and love were universal enough that this show did a number on my heart and soul and still is echoing in me now.

2 - Let Free The Curse of Taekwondo

another stunning, emotional show. this story had me in its GRIP from the first episode and has still not let me go. it was a rollercoaster and was such a deep tale about forgiveness and finding ways to just live life and how it's never too late for a new beginning. about how sometimes you can't let go of people, and you shouldn't. about being able to find and keep love and joy even through the darkest times and places.

1 - Love For Love's Sake

aslkdfjhalsfkdjhafd obviously. obviously this was my number one. an absolute powerhouse of a story about love and acceptance and being willing to not only help other people take second chances on life, but allowing yourself to as well. about being willing and open to loving and caring for others, and loving and caring for yourself. about taking control of your situation and writing your own future. about love, for love's sake.

THAT'S THE LIST.

everything here is obviously my opinion, if there's a show you're curious about that you loved that you don't see here, comment and i'll tell you where it ended up in my longer list (unless it's something i didn't get to this year!) and let me know how my list compares to your faves!

-------------------------------------

Bonus round: honorouble mention - Knock, Knock, Boys!

listen, as much as i loved all the other shows here, i considered making this a top 15 list instead of 10 because i loved this show so much and it didn't feel fair that it wasn't included. it was goofy, it was heartfelt, it was fun the whole way through and i really loved it a whole lot. 15 would have been too many tho, so this just gets an honourable mention at the end instead.

-------------------------------------

any gifs in this post that don't have credit under them are ones i made! i don't have the time or energy to make new gifs for every show so i just pulled from things i'd already made and had on my hard drive, or used ones made by others where needed. thanks to the other gif makers whose stuff i used!

[iusedtoweavecrowns]

On the oath of Feanor

Strap in for a long rambling post!

I've spent the last few days going down the rabbit hole of Bret Deveraux's blog - I'd already read his posts on the battle of Helm's Deep and the Siege of Gondor which I enjoyed immensely (I love analysing things I like and thinking about them from new angles if it's done from a friendly perspective even if it uncovers some faults (the faults in this case are mostly in the movies not the books)), this time I went in from the direction of Game of Thrones (I especially liked the posts on how the Dothraki hold up when compared with the Mongols and other real world steppe nomads - short answer, not at all) and found this post on how oaths and vows worked in the medieval times and before (ancient Rome and Greece) which got me thinking about the oath of Feanor.

Firstly, Tolkien (having of course worked thoroughly with medieval literature), really wrote in all the traditional components:

a) saying what you will do (this swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending who findeth keepeth etc the silmarils (I took the text from tolkiengateway, I'm aware there's several different versions but didn't want to get into it that deep)). It's also common to name yourself in the oath which they do: it's clearly stated the relevant parties are Feanor and Feanor's kin

b) naming the godly party who is overseeing your oath (our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! and later calling upon Manwe and Varda as witnesses (I assume it's also witnessed by all the elves present, witnesses are important))

c) naming the price you will pay if you break your oath (in essence cursing yourself)(to the everlasting darkness doom us if our deed faileth)

(Another thought i just had on the wording of this particular version is if you remove the extra meat, the bones of this oath is they swear to kill anyone who keeps the silmarils from them (not just by holding them to yourself but also by casting away - the only way to be near a silmaril and not get entangled in this oath is to return it to Feanor's kin asap) and to pay the price (eternal darkness) if they fail in this task. There is no clause to absolve them of this failure through death for example (dying would be failure and result in eternal darkness?) so if you go with the idea that actually they just went to the halls of Mandos and could return from there, unless they are freed from the oath, it would absolutely still be in effect both in death (if the dead have agency - and there is presedence in the dead men Aragorn calls upon to fulfill their duty even from beyond the grave - whose very crime is breaking an oath!) and afterwards upon their return.

Thus the trap really is set and it made me think if all our modern thought on if they could have found this or that loophole or done this instead of that or just not fulfilled their oath is approaching this from the wrong perspective.

People believed in their gods. People believed in oaths, though saying belief here is perhaps the wrong word. An oath is basically a contract with a god as one of its parties and people truly did believe the god held them to it (I would imagine even more so in Middle Earth in an era where gods are literally right there and the question of belief in them is not relevant). Unless Eru themself releases Feanor and his kin (Manwe and Varda are just witnesses not the parties to whom the oath is bound) this is it. There are no loopholes I can see. And in-world people would know this and expect them to keep the oath, oaths and keeping them is on what the whole vassal system works for example. Forswearing an oath other than bringing divine punishment upon you makes you untrustworthy to the extreme (which is worse - being a kinslayer or forsworn? Either would make you a pariah I imagine).

"You swear an oath because your own word isn’t good enough, either because no one trusts you, or because the matter is so serious that the extra assurance is required. That assurance comes from the presumption that the oath will be enforced by the divine third party. The god is called – literally – to witness the oath and to lay down the appropriate curses if the oath is violated. Knowing that horrible divine punishment awaits forswearing, the oath-taker, it is assumed, is less likely to make the oath." (from the blog post)

If the oath is broken, you are breaking one of the systems on which the world functions (being able to trust someone who swears an oath of loyalty for example, knowing that this is not something anyone can simply back down from and go oh no I changed my mind actually) and if you break it and nothing happens? What does that say about the gods? For the gods' honour to remain intact they also must rain punishment upon you or all other oaths where they have been named come to question. I am not a feanorean apologist (okay I am but I'm not saying that kinslaying is good actually) but in-universe the other people around them would know and I imagine expect them to keep their oath (which once again has no back doors! no death we will deal them ere day's ending unless we like them and they actually do deserve a silmaril) and yet they do not deal death to everyone who holds a silmaril right away. They do hold back.

(This lead me down a line of thought of what if what's driving them mad there, as at least fandom likes to interpret it, is not the oath itself, what if it's the not keeping the oath? Because they are for a while there not keeping it (that they did nothing while Luthien held a silmaril is a big deal actually). Idk it's a subtle difference there but somehow it makes sense to me as an idea: what if the oath itself is not an evil entity whispering in their minds yearning to be fulfilled or whatever, it's the not acting upon it though the clauses are met - they are testing the patience of a god and of godly retribution. And whether Eru Iluvatar wants to be the enforcer of such an oath? Does Eru get a choice? (The blog post brings up that "in the literature of classical antiquity, it was also fairly common for the gods to prevent the swearing of false oaths – characters would find themselves incapable of pronouncing the words or swearing the oath properly" but Eru here has not stopped them nor sent some sort of divine message saying no I will not keep you to your oath, not until the very end.)

All this to say that it's hard for us in the modern world with a modern mindset to put ourselves in this space of mind. For us an oath is not the cornerstone of society, it's not something we believe in. We get a few oaths or vows here and there - swearing upon the bible to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth (at least they do that in American dramas), marriage vows, I recently encountered a soldier's oath of loyalty from WWI - are these still a thing? But they are just words to us, words you can break without divine consequences. Our words matter less to us in this way.

We think automatically that the honourable thing would be to break the oath and you know not go to war against innocent people (although honour is another category we don't put much faith into any more. We think of goodness but that's not the same thing). But I think in-world it really is a much harder dilemma because breaking an oath is about the least honorable thing you can do. And you are cursed. The oath doesn't need to be an evil entity like the One Ring for it to matter immensely and have great power. The oath itself doesn't need to be like an evil spell that affects the people who took it. The weight of it, the maddening distressing quality of it, can just be the dilemma, the eternal questioning it forces you into - to do horrible things but keep your word, your honour (you could argue the upholding of your word is the most important thing you have - even if you lose all worldly possessions your word's trustworthyness can't be taken from you unless you break your word yourself)(but can you keep your honour by doing something dishonorable?) and your literal safety from divine punishment or break it and save lives for the price of your own and if divine punishment doesn't kill you, being able to exist in the society. When your word, your oath, can be broken, how could you be trusted in literally any situation? (As a side note from the blog: "In the ancient world you might try to mend fences by consulting an oracle as to how to expiate the guilt of a broken oath (to be clear, you are mending fences with the offended god, not the mortal you made the agreement with)" - I now crave fics where the Feanoreans do decide to forswear the oath and are not like idk immediately swallowed by eternal darkness so they go on a wild escapade of Making It Up To Eru). In any case this is peak tragedy material - like prophecies that fulfill themselves in the effort to avoid them oaths too are meant to be inescapable. And the First Age is definitely a tragedy.

To end, a quote from the end of the blog post stressing something the author brings up often because we as modern people tend to struggle with it:

"People in the past generally believed their own religion. One of the most common – and most dangerous – pitfalls I find myself helping my students to navigate around is this one: assuming that because we don’t believe a given religion, no one of any sense at the time could have either. This is of course, when you think about it, obviously untrue. Moreover, it reduces people in the past from complex intelligent humans with agency to dummies who just didn’t know their stupid religion was stupid (it wasn’t, they weren’t).

What many of these examples of bungled oaths show is a kid’s understanding of how swearing and vowing works – they are little more than ‘pinky-swears.’ But societies in the past where these rituals were common believed they were effective – meaning that the ritual of oath-taking made the promise so given more trustworthy, more binding, more dangerous to break.

///

A formal oath, properly uttered and secured with appropriate sacredness, was a powerful, binding thing. These are people, after all, who thought the divine retribution on the other end of breaking that oath was very real. Even if we don’t believe that, we should take their faith seriously – if for no other reason than failing to do so often renders their behavior into nonsense."

[hannahchronism]

HEY!!!

[widowshill]

— But it's almost midnight. — Oh, that's the point! At the stroke of twelve, he turns into Dracula. C'mon, Vicki – he won't bite.

pose ref.

[lords-of-mayhem]

why tf are you poisoning the black metal fandom with your deranged wigger retardspeak? varg is giving babygirl cuz pigtails

you’re a weirdo and die

Have you considered he IS giving babygirl tho?

Also, all men in black metal are giving babygirl. Especially your faves

[trauma-express]

I feel Simon doesn’t have toxic masculinity, but he has toxic vibes in his extreme black and white thinking.🧐

Well on one hand I agree that his problem is more black and white, 'us vs them' mentality rather than any issues specifically w seeing womanliness/femininity being weak or anything. But I do think he does have aspects associated with toxic masculinity, though it's more a angry internet nerd guy way than in some alpha male dudebro way.

For one, we can see from his writings and models that he's very interested in war and soldiers and 'Rise of the True King' can be seen using the 'guy getting power and he respect that naturally belongs to him' (listen, we can't all do it like Tolkien). Apart from these showing Simon's need for a world he can understand and be in control of, they could also be seen as typical male power fantasies.

He also prefers to present himself as being logical, and people against him as being unreasonable or weak when he's just as driven by his emotion, which is a pretty typical trait of this type of guy.

I really don't think the subtext of his arc being an angry cishet white guy who refuses to change his damaging and bigoted beliefs, mainly conflicts with women, and ends up attacking his semi-official romantic partner, a black girl, over it was unintentional. His relationships with Grace and Samantha are fascinating to explore because they are complicated, but while I understand they had a lot to fit in 10 11 min episodes I would love to have met his mother. That is a missing puzzle piece i would love to fit in to place, but we just have to theorize (And I have).

(also I have been writing up another meta abt Grace and Simon's relationship, specifically in regards to [though I hate how pop-pysch the term is but i can't think of anything more to describe it] emotional labor if anyone is interested)

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

"What would the Fabricator eat...?"

(Transcription under the cut)

Francisco: I'm now thinking we should have added more food in this level... Charlie: It is noticeably missing, isn't it? Francisco: Yeah! Charlie: What would the Fabricator eat? What's her favorite snack? I'm thinking, like... a little dessert. Like a French bonbon or something. Francisco: Yeah... Maybe it's a scorpion sandwich with a chaser of antidote. Charlie: Ohh, yes! I think she would like- in the same way that people like spicy food, she would like poisonous food, and then antidote chasers. Francisco: Yeah... Charlie: ... That's horrible!

[oozeandgoo-art]

This is where I blog from.

[lore-grandma]

[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.

[gintamajustaway]

The fandom has gotten really dark since you left.. certain shippers are really aggressive about their ships to the point of bullying. I kno you’ve dealt with stuff like that in the past and you handled it all so well I remember reading some anon asks.. any tips n’tricks?

OOF, WHELP -- not sure I'll be much help given that I have no idea what state the fandom is in. All I can really say is that you're going to find aggressive shippers no matter what fandom you're in. My method to dealing with people like that was to just block them and add them to my blacklist. The only times I ever engaged with them was if they came at me directly (which rarely happened -- the more aggressive they are, the more cowardly they were when it came to confrontation) or if they put a callout post about me directly in the main fandom tag. I always clapped back at those people just because like lol if you've got a problem with my fics or my decision to delete them all, okay cool, I don't care, but doing stuff like putting a long-winded complaint post in the main tag is so childish and stupid.

The best advice I think I can give for this is to just not care LOL I sure as hell never did and still don't. Never will! Shipping is supposed to be fun and the people who actively try and take that fun away from others are struggling with issues outside of fandom, but shipping is their outlet so that's where their aggression manifests. Happy people don't care about drama over fictional characters, so go be a happy person! Utilize that block option and live your best life!

[comradecowplant]

training a mischief of rats to lurk outside his home and chew through his internet cables any time hasanabi brings up korea 🙄🙄🙄

[widowshill]

r/v + loneliness.

102 / Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca, ch. 4 / 4 / 8 / Art Wallace, Shadows on the Wall / 603 / Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca, ch 4. / 473 / Richard Sherman, Demo: "Lovely, Lonely Man/Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Finale" / 2