my dad likes to call the stretches of time where you’re not creating “dreaming periods” and says that they’re meant to allow you to absorb all of the beauty, life, and inspiration from the things around you so that when you’re able to create again, you will have fanned your spark back into a flame. sometimes its hard to see those moments as anything but stagnation, but he always says that they’re natural and healthy and needed—things that should be embraced rather than feared.
We hit not over 3,000 followers on the 1001Days blog, but 10,000 downloads!
**(Examples of what the winner receives)**
This is an amazing amount of support, and we’re so glad that you all have helped us and enjoyed the game so far! To celebrate this milestone, we’re doing a GIVEAWAY!
The rules are these:
1. You must be following this blog.
2. You must reblog this post. (Spamming reblogs don’t count, sorry!)
There is to be ONE WINNER, and the winner will get a waist up with their
preferred character/romance option in the game.
The winner will be picked at JULY 20!
If you have anymore questions, send us an ask, and Mod Alien will do their best to answer!
❤️ Again, THANK YOU for your continued support, and we’ll see you then! ❤️
Hey everyone! This is another fanfiction - but this time between Manon Blackbeak and Petrah Blueblood. It goes from the time period of Heir of Fire, to the end of Kingdom of Ash (I have NOT read KOA before making this.) Anyways, enjoy!
Word count: About 2,800
It wasn’t a secret that there were relationships between witches in the clans. It wasn’t that uncommon either, and no one really cared. The Blackbeak Matron had a lover in her own coven, and there were others that you would need both hands to count.
What was uncommon, however, was relationships - of any types - between different clans. The Ironteeth already didn’t like each other, not to mention that they barely met. It was better that way - before they ended up ripping each other apart, much like the War Games had proved they would in a heartbeat. They were rivals, and it would always be that way.
So what surprised Manon is that she found herself waiting by Petrah Blueblood’s bedside after those War Games, just hoping that she would wake up.
Maybe some part of Petrah really had been damaged when Iskra had given that order to kill, and Keelie had died on the rocks of the battlefield. The golden-eyed witch didn’t blame Petrah for her pain, because she had a small feeling that she would feel the same way if her own wyvern, Abraxos, suddenly died.
It was the day after she had killed that Crochan prisoner, and even after the time she spent with Abraxos, she couldn’t help but dwell on her words. Made you into monsters. Manon dwelled on it even more as she sat next to Petrah’s barely breathing form, knowing that if her grandmother found out, she would be punished even more than she already had.
Manon looked down at the Blueblood witch. Her sparkling blue eyes were closed, and her deep golden hair framed her pale face like sunlight. The witch had to force herself away in order to prevent herself from running her fingers across her cheeks. She looked frail, and in her face etched deep sadness. It hurt Manon, in some unknown part of her.
Manon stood from the stool, hearing footsteps grow louder on the floor of which Petrah laid. With a small glance back, Manon Blackbeak left the chambers through the window and made her way back to Abraxos. She needed to think without the witch in front of her.
Manon wasn’t sure whether to feel devastation, fear, fury, or nothing at all. She tried to feel the latter, but it was hard to with everything that had just been piled onto her. Her second for as long as she could remember was to be executed at sunrise tomorrow, and Petrah - Petrah - had defended her in that witch trial.
What would have happened if that tall, thin, beautiful witch with the hollow face hadn’t defended her? Would she be the one dying that next sunrise? Or would Asterin not be the one dying? Manon didn’t want to think of the idea that if Petrah had not interfered, her second would not be dying. But she knew deep down that it was her own damned decisions and mistakes that led to this.
She would give her Second a short end, because that was what Asterin deserved. When she knew that along with her own decisions, it was her Matron’s hatred of Asterin that had led to this, too.
But now, Manon had cornered that same witch who had defended her, golden eyes seeming to spark with emotions she did well to keep hidden. It was only this close that Manon finally realised how her freckles stood out against her skin, how her golden hair had been brushed to a beautiful color again - so unlike when she laid in her room in the uppermost chambers of the Omega.
Manon wondered if Petrah knew that she had sat by her bedside for however many hours, the exact amount forgotten in her immortal mind. The witch found that she hoped that Petrah didn’t know.
“Hello, Manon.” Her blue eyes still held that fierceness and unfinished business that she had spoken to Iskra with, and it made Manon realise with a jolt that, no, Petrah did not have her head in the clouds. That Petrah was an Ironteeth witch, and that she probably only put on that facade to trick her rivals and enemies. It was smart, and deadly. And, Manon realised with hatred at herself, hot. “What brings you here?”
Manon didn’t even think about how Petrah knew exactly what she was here for. “Why did you speak in my favor?”
A ghost of a smile graced Petrah’s lips before she spoke. “I think you know why, Manon.” She didn’t even have time to ask her to elaborate before Petrah walked off, still in her fighting leathers.
So Manon Blackbeak stood in that empty hall, looking at where Petrah had disappeared. She did not know how to answer the question hanging in her head, and Manon was unsure how she would even begin to, with all that laid upon her shoulders. With a sharp turn of her body, she stalked off towards her tower, brain churning with questions and ideas.
Made.
Made.
Made.
As she clumsily hung onto Abraxos’ leathery hide, those words repeated in her mind. Along with what her grandmother had finally admitted. She was a Blackbeak. But she was also the last living Crochan queen with the murder of her half-sister, Rhiannon.
A Queen. A living, breathing Crochan Queen. Well, maybe not living much longer seeing the state she was in, but.. It shook Manon to her core. To her husk of a heart, and Manon genuinely did not know how to feel about this, or much less how to process it.
Her bitch of a grandmother - Manon felt queasy at the thought of her being related to that monster - had killed her mother and father, and made her kill her half-sister. Manon may be a kin-slayer, but the Blackbeak Matron had done it willingly, and would not hesitate to do it again. Just like Manon would not hesitate to kill her if she saw the Matron again.
Her mind drifted off to what Petrah thought of the ordeal, and Manon could not find words why it did. She would probably be disgusted - like no doubt the rest of the Ironteeth were. But maybe Petrah and the other Bluebloods would understand that it was not Manon’s fault, and that she was still Ironteeth.
But did Manon even want to be an Ironteeth witch anymore? With what the Matron had done, along with Iskra Yellowlegs and the rest of her clan had done. With the shred of kindness Petrah had shown her - even if they were in rival clans.
No. She would always be an Ironteeth witch, and she would be a Crochan Queen. But Manon knew that she would have to pick which one to stay with. Because of she didn’t, that would ultimately be her downfall.
Dorian Havilliard and Manon Blackbeak had no feelings for each other besides sexual. Manon had learned that fairly quickly. He was handsome, and made her core burn, but Manon desired nothing beyond that. And Dorian saw her as a release - because human woman were too fragile.
Manon wondered what had made the King of Adarlan think that. What sad part in his life had made him decide not to go after a human woman, even if being with an immortal one would bring him the same sadness, too.
But it was that time with Dorian that she realised - had she ever felt real emotion for a man? No. That was not what witches did. What Ironteeth witches did - her father had proven that the Crochans did. But Asterin had proved that Ironteeth witches could, too.
Manon wondered if she ever felt any real emotion for another witch. She didn’t think she did. She didn’t see why she would feel that useless emotion. The white-haired beauty was unlike Asterin in so many different ways, and she had a feeling that she would be unlike her in their ability to love.
She hoped that she did, too. Because Manon would forever remember the words that Asterin had said. Joy so complete it was pain. The idea of being at such a mercy to something made Manon queasy. But things were changing. That much was obvious when she had to kill her half-sister. When her grandmother tried to kill her. When her grandmother had lied to her face about Asterin.
When she had saved Petrah. That decision alone had rocked her into the mess, and Manon had only now realised that. Maybe she was closer to being like Asterin’s flame than she ever thought.
What surprised Manon Blackbeak - she guess Manon Crochan, now - was not the fact that they had retrieved the third Wyrdkey. The parts she carried were heavy in her leathers, her nor Dorian wanting to trust what would happen when all three were together.
No, it was the fact that as she sat on the edge of a cliff, far off from the small army of Crochans she had managed to find, is that Petrah Blueblood joined her. Petrah did not bring a wyvern; she had brought one of the brooms that all witches alike had used before magic went out over ten years ago. But now they worked.
The white-haired witch supposed that Petrah couldn’t bring herself to have another wyvern, or that she wanted to come here as discreetly as possible. But the Matrons would have made her get another, so it was probably the latter assessment.
“You sure did destroy Morath.”
“You sure did state the obvious.”
Manon looked over at the golden-haired beauty, her blue eyes seeming darker in the night. “Why are you here, Petrah?”
It seemed to be that Petrah hesitated for a moment, and Manon was about to tell her to get the hell away when she finally spoke. “I come here to warn you. Your grandmother” - Manon almost cringed at the word - “has heard about what you are doing, and in all of your destroying of Morath, none of the Matrons have died. Neither has the Blackbeak Matron, who I saw you almost rip to shreds.”
Manon wasn’t as surprised as she was mad. She appreciated the warning - she did - but she was furious that she had not managed to kill the Matron bitch who, frankly, deserved to die in her eyes.
She guessed that it would be Asterin’s life to claim in the end. Her fiery cousin deserved it, for what the Matron had done to her.
“Thank you.” The words came out as Petrah was about mount her broom again, and Manon stood. She could feel Petrah looking at her - and her eyes perhaps lingering a bit too long on certain places.
“I would join you, except to do so would be a dishonor to my mother, and to the Blueblood Clan.” Manon watched as Petrah lifted those two fingers to her brow - respect of a Witch Queen - and then finally took off into the starry night.
The idea of it terrified her, but she also found herself longing to see more of Petrah. How she knew where she had went, Manon did not know, but she wished that Petrah would stay.
Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius was not dead.
But Dorian Havillard was, and had left the lands of Adarlan to Terrasen as he forged the lock and put Erawan, Maeve, and the rest of the valg back where they belonged. To that realm, which Manon had no want to know whatsoever.
The fact made Manon sadder than she had ever been in a while, with the war having taken so many of her Thirteen and army of Crochans she had gathered up. Taking her second - but also her grandmother - and taking Dorian.
Dorian - he was someone who Manon was describe as a friend. Nothing more than that, but he should have been honored to even be considered a friend to Manon. No mortal man had ever had the pleasure of being called her friend.
No, he shouldn’t have had to feel honored, Manon thought, trying to hold back tears she had barely shed before, I should be honored. She had so much grief weighing on her shoulders - grief that she know cared about, now acknowledged. The war against Erawan, holding those keys, her friend and some of her Thirteen dying.. It was weight that Manon wished she did not carry. Wished she did not now have to uphold herself as a Crochan Queen - and possibly Queen of the Witches.
The beautiful white-haired witch sat on an unknown hill and cried. Manon did not care if anyone saw her, because she needed to let out all of that grief that had been slowly building up in her ever since she saved Petrah from being splattered on the Omega floor.
She could not tell how long she cried there until a hand laid upon her shoulder, and a comforting presence - smelling of myrrh and rosemary - seated itself besides her. Manon found herself not caring much if this presence was about to kill her, but as she lifted her head, she wiped her tears with the edge of her new cloak. It was not red, but a deep navy blue.
As her golden eyes met such familiar blue ones in the beginnings of dawn, she blinked. The sun shone on the much too familiar deep golden hair, turning some of the strands as light as her own moon-white hair.
“Petrah,” Manon began, unable to tear her eyes away from that calm and understanding face. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was soft and hoarse, and she wished that it was not.
“It seemed that you would need…” Petrah trailed off slightly, as if wishing for something but unable to say it. “It seemed that you needed someone to talk to. After everything that’s happened.”
The kindness in that statement made Manon’s heart swell with both sadness and longing. She wished for Dorian - who had listened to her, even when they were not taking an edge off with each other. Who she had confided in, even if it was just little pieces of information. She wished for someone who she could talk to again, and that she could return the favor.
Manon supposed that that was the reason why she finally spoke to Petrah. Tears flowed, and a comforting and light hand on her shoulder had slowly turned into an embrace as Petrah listened to her speak, the sun slowly rising higher as the time passed.
“I do not know how I am supposed to lead all of those witches by myself. How I am supposed to, with all of this grief still weighing on me. The curse has been lifted off of the Western Wastes-” a gasp came from Petrah at this “-yet, I do not know what will happen. Will the Ironteeth and Crochans live together? Or will I be forced to take a side again in another war for the Wastes?”
Manon had been ready to be the High Witch of the Wastes one day, but now she doubted her abilities to. Maybe in a clear state of mind, she would realise that it was just her emotions clouding her usual sharp judgement. Now, after crying for how many hours and being held by a witch she had long wondered about her feelings for, she felt better.
Manon waited in silence before Petrah finally spoke, that calm voice seeming to lift all of her worries off of her shoulders.
“I believe.. That you can do it. That the Ironteeth and the Crochans will live in peace together, because when you put your mind to something Manon, it happens. I have seen it happen for the past one hundred years, and I have no doubts that you will be a great Queen. That Ironteeth and Crochan blood in you will make you a fine Queen. You just have to believe in yourself, even if it seems impossible right now.” Petrah’s fingers moved some of Manon’s hair away from her tear-painted face, and Manon couldn;t resist the small shiver that wracked through her body. “If you want, I will join you. In whatever way you wish for me to. Because I believe that the world needs to change, and you have the power to do that. What use will it be if we are constantly fighting over who had the rightful claim of the Wastes?”
Manon smiled softly at the witch who she was being held by, and she laid a hand on her face. “I would love for you to join me, Petrah. I admit.. My feelings for you have been complicated. But I don’t think I could do with without some help from a witch who always has had her head in the clouds.”
And, as a grin lit the Bluebloods face, Manon watched as she leaned closer until their lips touched together.
Instead of that despair that had been clouding her, she felt excited for the future. Especially if Petrah Blueblood was joining her.
She looks out along the grassy plain, her golden eyes squinted. In front of her stands a witch in her prime, with a face she has engrained in her memory for all of eternity.
Obedience.
Discipline.
Brutality.
That’s what the witch had been taught for the past one hundred years. And by that same witch who stands in front of her now, blood from her nails and teeth, and surrounded by an endless army of Valg and Ironteeth.
This past year, Manon has done the opposite of what she’d been taught. She guessed that it was only natural - maybe that Crochan blood in her did have some effect on who she had become. The small army of Crochans she had found had fled, and now she was almost alone on this battlefield.
She was glad they had fled. Her whole life she had been slaying them, and now she would do no more slaughtering of the Crochans. No more slaying of her kin, after this final battle.
Those golden eyes locked onto those of the Blackbeak Matron in front of her, blood flowing down from her wounds and onto her armor. In her right hand she held Wind-Cleaver, the sword sharp and covered in black and blue blood. In her left, her iron nails shined in the noon sun.
“You’ve become weak,” the Matron spat, the two of them so still and otherwise silent that you could hear a pin drop. Manon was tense as she continued, and she took in every word. “I should have killed you when I had the chance. Crochan blood. Pathetic.”
Manon laughed - a wicked, yet tired laugh. She was so, so tired. But she had to distract her long enough. Distract the army behind her grandmother long enough. “Why didn’t you?” Manon started circling around the Matron, looking for a spot to finally launch her attack.
“You should be grateful you’re alive, you little bitch!” Apparently the Matron’s patience had been worn thin with the months she had spent wanting to kill Manon. And before Mother Blackbeak could launch her final attack against Manon, she ran straight into that army of Valg and Ironteeth witches.
Manon usually didn’t flee, but for this final sacrifice she would.
And as she fled, Manon felt pain. Something she had never begun to feel until she had killed her half-sister Rhiannon that day in the Ferian Gap. That strip of red cloak was still braided into her moon-white hair that now looked as black as the night sky she would never see again.
It wasn’t physical pain, though she felt that. It was emotional - something that struck deep in her heart and as clear as the moment she realised what she needed to do. She thought of all of the people who were important in her life, and she hoped this sacrifice would not be in vain.
Asterin, her fiery second, who had endured so much pain at the claws of her grandmother. Who had ultimately ended up meeting the darkness as they infiltrated Morath, and an end that Manon would never forget herself for.
All of her Thirteen, who she wished were safe. Manon had ordered them all - or the ones that had not met their end - to stay away, because she could not bear others dying at her hands. They deserved to live as long as they could, and the witch hoped they would
The Crochan witches she had slain her whole life, and would ultimately leave behind without a true Queen. No, there was no time to have a child, and especially not in this battlefield of a continent that would be bathed red by the time they were done with it.
The court of Terrasen, who battled their own further up North. Of the fae warriors, who though she didn’t particularly care for, admitted they were formidable warriors. Of the shape-shifter, who may forever hold the shape of their Queen. A Queen who may still be in shackles, or dead. Or by some twist of fate, she would be alive, and the world would be rid of Erawan. The court of warriors she was currently helping by giving up her life.
Elide, the young Blackbeak who had hoped, even when there was no reason for her to. When she was left forgotten by that court, but still searched far and wide for. And hoped for a better world for them all. She continued to look for that Queen, and Manon admired the considerable amount of courage she had.
Of Dorian, the King who had been both a friend and a release for her. No, they would never be attracted to each other romantically, but it was nice to have that friend. Someone who had even a small semblance of what she felt, and knew that distractions were needed.
She even thought of the Blueblood Petrah, who had stood up for her after Rifthold, and been by her side when it was called for. Manon was hopeful that she was not in the army that parted like the sea for her.
She thought of Abraxos. The flower-sniffing worm who understood her. Spoke to her. Was there for the last year of her long life and she would forever be grateful. He lived, and Manon knew that he would be okay even if she was not there. He would be strong, and Manon would see him in whatever afterlife that was to come for her.
Lastly, the Crochan Queen remembered Rhiannon. Her half-sister of the father that was long dead by the hands of her grandmother, and had continued the search for her. The half-sister she had slaughtered. Maybe she would meet her in that afterlife, too.
When the darkness came, no one knew what would happen after that besides the Gods. And maybe they did not even know. But what she knew for sure, was that it would be a sweet, sweet thing to finally kill the Blackbeak Matron.
Her immortal life didn’t seem to be immortal as she gathered up all that she could muster, Mother Blackbeak still chasing her. This was her one chance, and she could not waste it.
The magic brewing inside of her started to consume her even more, and she knew it was time. With Wind-Cleaver in both of her hands, she turned to face her Grandmother, a wicked grin on her face.
White Demon.
Manon Witch-Slayer.
Manon Kin-Slayer.
The Last Crochan King.
Former Wing Leader and Blackbeak Heir.
Manon Blackbeak.
So many names and titles. Manon would forever be proud of them, in some space in her heart. The part of her that would forever be a Blackbeak.
In a burst of heat and darkness, and with a boom that shook the world, Manon Blackbeak did not exist. The Blackbeak matron did not exist. Neither had the Valg and Ironteeth witches who had surrounded her.
All that was left was a ground of black and blue blood. No sign of the once yellow-green grass that had died from a result of this battle. No sign of the red cloth that had been in Manon’s hair. No sign of her body, either.
The blast had destroyed everyone in the surrounding area, and Manon Blackbeak’s sacrifice was in vain.
From the sea, a returning ship to Terrasen from an unknown continent heard the blast. Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius and her companions wondered what had happened. But they would find out soon enough.
If I die due to a mass shooting, just know that I don’t want your fucking thoughts and prayers! If you’re not going to try and take action to establish gun control then just fucking shut up and don’t put my name in your mouth.
With the soon arrival of the 14th book, I decided to share a theory I'm currently coming up with. It's short right now, but who knows how long it'll be 😅
Right now, as on the Death book, we know that the apprentice had the plague and was burned at the Lazaret. They were an apprentice of Julian, and had a fight with Asra beforehand. However, the ritual in which Lucio tried to regain a new body Asra made his own deal - traded some of his heart to bring the MC back to life. This same chapter, Lucio is calling the MC a thief and calling out to them.
The card is Temperance. Temperance is usually associated with finding a balance, along with moderation and patience. This makes me think that the MC will have to find a balance in between things - even if in a way things have already been balance in regards to them. MC could have stolen Lucio's body which was intended for him, and that brings the balance, or Asra giving up his heart could have been the balance (more obvious answer). But something else could also need to have a balance. Life and death.
In Nadia's Death book, the High Priestess imposter says that the MC is a ghost. What if this is literal? Lucio is in between life and death, and so the MC could be too. This is technically a balance, but what if it means a true black-and-white balance? One lives, and one dies. MC and Lucio. Lucio and MC. This book will either bring a lot, or set things up to bring a lot. Which brings me to my next part.
The next tarot is devil. This is the card that Lucio is represented by. The upright devil card means this, according to labyrinthos.co;
"Getting the devil card in your reading shows that you have feelings of entrapment, emptiness and lack of fulfillment in your life. It might also mean that you are a slave to materialism and opulence and no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to shake off the feeling of wanting to indulge in luxurious living. "
This last part can be especially important, because what if by luxurious living, it means more than just not having the plague? Maybe it means living forever? A stretch, but it's possible. However, this ia surely going to be the book in which Lucio shows up. It is his card, after all. It may be another thing like with The Hanged Man & Death. Two chapters for Temperance, one for the Devil.
However, the reversed Devil card can mean 'restoring control'. This is important. Lucio wants to return, maybe to resume control? Punish the MC for possibly taking his body that eas meant for him?
TLDR; balance can be restored possibly by killing lucio or mc and bringing the other fully back to life, and lucio is coming back in devil book to fuck shit up
This probably makes absolutely no sense at all, and probably isn't even a theory, but I wanted to share it with Temperance and the Masquerade coming up!! Also, sorry it's so long and probably weird, it was on mobile.
If you’re European, in a couple of weeks you will be denied any and all access to fandom contents on Tumblr and everywhere else on the internet. Here’s why.
On June, 20th the JURI of European Parliament approved of the articles 11 and 13 of the new Copyright Law. These articles are also known as the “Link Tax” and the “Censorship Machines” articles.
Articles 13 in particular forces every internet platform to filter all the contents we upload online, ending once and for all the fandom culture. Which means you won’t be able to upload any type of fandom works like fan arts, fan fictions, gif sets from your favourite films and series, edits, because it’s all copyrighted material. And you won’t also be able to share, enjoy or download other’s contents, because the use of links will be completely restricted.
But not everything’s lost yet. There’s another round of voting scheduled for the early days of July.
What you can do now to save our internet, is to share these informations with all of your family members and friends, and to ask to your MEP (the members of the European Parliament from your country) to vote NO at the next round, to vote against articles 11 and 13.
Here you can find more news and all the details to contact your MEP:
So I talk about books on my blog (whether reading them, dressing up as a character, etc), and I really just have to recommend my favorite book??
It's called The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern. Usually I don't like romance, but this book is so beautifully written.
It's about these two young magicians in the late 1800s-very early 1900s who are pitted against each other by their instructors in a game of what they believe is to be their skill. They end up falling in love, and unfortunately I can't say much more otherwise I may spoil something
But seriously, I definitely recommend checking it out if you like romance and some fantasy elements!! (Also if you like angst)
half of the notes on this post are people going “um i think you meant girls and also i hate boys they are disgusting” and the other half is boys going “this isnt about me nobody could ever feel that way about me”
like do you maybe see a connection here?? and also could you stop??
Soft boys! Trans boys! Boys with chubby cheeks! Skinny boys! Lanky boys! Boys with acne scars! Boys who run! Boys who draw! Boys who cuddle! Asian boys! Black boys! Brown boys! Pale boys! Short boys! Quiet boys! Funny boys! Boys with anxiety! Boys with autism! Dyslexic boys! ADHD boys! Athletic boys! Math boys! Boys who grew up watching history documentaries! Gamer boys! Fashion boys! ALL THE BOYS!
CHUBBY BOYS WITH CUTE CHEEKS AND THE FRECKLED BOYS AND THE TALL LANKY BOYS AND THE TRANS BUFF BOYS AND THE TRANS FEMININE BOYS AND FEMININE BOYS IN GENERAL JUST ALL BOYS SOFT OR TOUGH 💕💕
Even us lesbians love you boys you can be brave and soft and strongd and hansome and shy, yall are fucking cool and being friends with boys is amazing bcctheyre smart and funny!
EVEN IF YOU AREN’T ATTRACTED TO GUYS, YOU CAN STILL MAKE THEN FEEL GOOD ABOUT THEMSELVES WITHOUT STEREOTYPING ALL OF THEM!
LIKE SERIOUSLY SO MANY PEOPLE TALK ABOUT BEING MADE TO FEEL LIKE SHIT AND THEN MAKE OTHER PEOPLE FEEL LIKE SHIT AND CALL THAT JUSTICE. I’M FUCKING SICK OF IT.
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