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deathstench · 6 months

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Formed ten years ago, DEATHSTENCH released three albums and many eps.. The "Massed in Black Shadow" album was a great obscure and dangerous one..The crown of their sacrifice was their collaboration with Bon Masters Phurpa. John Paul Whetzel and Darea Plantin spells behind this interview.

“Blood Moon Divination” was your latest release. It was released in a limited amount of copies and only in Tape format. Why this choice?

We have always preferred analog releases. We view physical copies as something that should be appreciated.. Let's face it, it's the 21st century, and people do most of their listening through some sort of streaming service. If they like it, they most likely pirate it. We understand this; Our physical releases are intentionally designed for coveting.

We put a great deal of energy into each release. In our past special editions, we have included ritual accouterments that correspond with each album, such as shards of human bone and incense we made specifically for the intent to conjure with the dead.

You have released three albums. Please tell us the concept behind each one and the process of the recordings…Each release turns out to more noisy and dark forms..

To be precise it's four albums, and numerous collaborations and splits. Our releases are not in any sort of chronological order, from conception to the final product takes its own time dependant upon the haste of that particular record label. We record basically the same for each album, building upon a structured theme. Our music is built on layers of sounds from instruments, traditional and otherwise, that we record with either handheld devices or microphones connected to an audio interface which we use to record our percussion and amps.

Each track on "Blood Moon Divination" is an audial ritual recorded and released during each specific Blood Moon in the tetrad cycle of blood moon eclipses of 2014-2015. Through that span of time, these celestial vibrations were available as they were being released on several streaming platforms, including Black Metal and Brews and Repartiseraren. A tetrad of lunar eclipses is extremely uncommon. This was only the eighth of such cycles in over two thousand years. We compiled them together for a physical album that we chose to release during the first exclusive total solar eclipse the United States had seen in over two hundred years. Eclipses, both solar and lunar, are considered to be very inauspicious events throughout the world. As an omen of war, the Talmud regards "If the face of the moon is as red as blood it is a sign that the sword is coming to the world."

"N.O.X." is a transcendent four track journey that starts out violently with the lo-fi black metal track OXEX DAZIS SIATRIS, Enochian for "Vomiting The Head of Scorpions" and slowly transforms itself into a less chaotic discord that concludes with the meditative piece "Mysterivm Tremendvm". N.O.X. or "The Night of Pan", is a mystical state that represents the stage of ego-death in the process of spiritual attainment. The Greek word Pan also translates as All, as he is a symbol of the Universal, a personification of Nature; both Pangenetor, "all-begetter," and Panphage, "all-devourer". Pan is both the giver and the taker of life, and his Night is that time of symbolic death where the adept experiences unification with the All through the ecstatic destruction of the ego-self. In a more general sense, it is the state where one transcends all limitations and experiences oneness with the universe.

"Nekro Blood Ritual", our second album, was designed specifically for its cassette release and is broken into two sections: Conjuration Rites and Burial Evocation. This album focuses on conjuring the dead and the desecration of human remains. This is by far our most atmospheric album; most of the tracks are rely heavily on field recordings and stygian synthesizers to evoke the abject darkness. These songs are reminiscent to the "Incantations in Dead Tongues" era of our work. There are only two conventional (for use of a better term) songs on this album, "Nekrobloodritual" and "Desecrating The Host" the latter being a harsh black funeral doom dirge for the departed.

In our debut album, "Massed in Black Shadow" we utilize all of our influences through the years. Incorporating elements of death industrial, dark ambient, doom, and black metal, and hideously transforming and conjoining them into a writhing mass of absolute filth, a sound truly all our own. The final track, titled “Bastards of the Black Flame” can be considered a motto to us, as it is exactly who we are. The byproducts of an unholy union between some of the most violent forms of music, in both sound and ideologies.

DEATHSTENCH collaborated with Phurpa. How did this Union take form? Are you interested in the theory of empiricism in Bon Religion?

In 2012 Alexei Tegin had discovered our music from our debut album and contacted us. Both Phurpa and ourselves operate with the same meditative qualities regarding our music. Although our sound derives from different spectrums, they coalesce quite vividly. "Evoking Shadows of Death" fuses our ultrasonic vibrations and harsh atmospheres with the harmonious chants and deep, droning reverberations of their tantric voice. These two tracks are designed to help the chod practitioner tap the power of fear. This transformation does not fall spontaneously, as grace, upon the listener: the practitioner must engage in the process. One must take steps to transmute through the aural plane and, through a process in which they must actively participate, requiring utmost concentration and mental stamina. This mystical experience is achieved, not bestowed.

Empirical reasoning has no place in esoteric practices and the occult. These objects are neither phenomena (empiricism) nor human constructs imposed upon the phenomena (idealism), but real structures which endure and operate independently of our knowledge, our experience and the conditions which allow us access to them. Some things cannot be reduced down to empirical measurements.

Thanatology and satanism are your basic influences. How do you define satanism and how death in your personal path?

Deathlore has always intrigued the both of us. There is absolutely nothing more final than Death. Every single one of us will die, as Death does not discriminate. Dying, death and how human beings respond to the inevitability of their mortality and cope with the reality of loss can be viewed from a wide range of perspectives. Our intent has never been to elaborate on our practices or rituals to any audience. Even the altars we allow you to see are set up specifically for public viewing. While they are still symbolic of what we would normally produce for our own rituals, the intent isn't there. It's merely superficial. Our personal altars and rituals will always remain clandestine, as all witchcraft should be.

“Those who know do not speak. Those who speak do not know.” ― Lao Tzu

I would like to hear your thoughts and if you are into the systems of O.N.A & Temple of the Black Light in theory and praxis as Traditional satanic approach you unveil through your works . Satanism is such an elaborate construct; Atheistic, LaVeyan, theistic, there are so many paths. Satan has always been symbolic with the quest for Knowledge, of opposition to arbitrary authority, forever defending personal sovereignty even in the face of insurmountable odds. Our path cannot be defined by one simple ideology.

We have absolutely no affiliation with these groups.

Does DEATHSTENCH ever perform live?

We are very selective in our live performances. The last show was in Portland, Oregon way back in 2015 when we opened up for MGLA, Weregoat, and Sempiternal Dusk. Alan Dubin (of Gnaw, Khanate) and Billy Anderson, whom we have long collaborated with, did a sort of dueling vocals approach to our fifteen-minute audial assault on an beyond-capacity crowd. This show was recorded by Mateo from Greysun Records who also released it on his label in 2018.

Necromancy is an Old Art Like Time.Ancient Greece had deep roots also in this Subject. Are you familiar with the Ancient Greek Mysteries?

Yes, we are familiar with some of the Chthonic mysteries highlighting mortality and the briefness of life, and the spirits of the blessed dead. Though, like most true paths of esoteric knowledge, not much is truly known about the intricacies of these rituals, having been sworn to secrecy and then lost to the Sands of Time. It has been suggested that communicants would drink Kykeon infused with the psychotropic fungus ergot which helped the initiate to reach a fuller understanding of their purpose in life and to shed their fear of death and this, then, heightened the experience and helped transform the initiate. The same can be said of the Huichol in Mexico, who eat peyote at the completion of long arduous pilgrimages in order that they may experience in the journey of the soul of the dead to the underworld. Death worship and eschatology are celebrated by all cultures throughout time, most with the use of hallucinogens.

I would like to hear your thoughts on these words: “This being true for the ordinary Universe, that all sense-impressions are dependent on changes in the brain we must include illusions, which are after all sense-impressions as much as “realities” are, in the class of “phenomena dependent on brain-changes.” ― S.L. MacGregor Mathers, Goetia the Lesser Key of Solomon the King: Lemegeton, Book 1 Clavicula Salomonis Regis

In contemporary education, the emphasis has been on the psychomotor and the cognitive, namely reading, writing, and arithmetic, at the expense of the affective, namely, the emotions, the sensual, the intuitive, and the imaginative. Priority has been assigned to the verbal-intellectual skills. Anything else tends to be shelved or boxed and put away as ephemeral, esoteric, or mystical, each of these terms being used in a pejorative sense.

Consider for a moment the human sensory system. To the scientific mind, the senses are perceived to act as a kind of data-reduction system. The problem with this concept of the senses is that we do not respond to all that is potential sensory input. Perception is quite a selective process, attending to only a small fraction of so-called reality.

To some extent, scientist or artist, everything we perceive is "illusory," since to perceive anything at all we must use our imaginative capacity for fantasy.

What can we expect from DEATHSTENCH in the near future?

We have a few albums waiting in the shadows including collaborations with Sektor 304 and LINEKRAFT, as well as another full-length album incorporating both Billy Anderson and Alan Dubin. Time is relative, and there are no promises as to when any of these releases will see the light of day.

#DEATHSTENCH #zazen sounds #dark experimental art #ritualistic expression #dark ambient #esoteric black metal #death worship #audial witchcraft #occult black ambient #ritual music #death industrial #death ambient #black ambient #ritual ambient #occult magazine #indie zine #metal zine #band interview

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gatekeeper-watchman · 10 months

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Daily Devotionals for December 13, 2023

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 30:17 (KJV): 17 The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it. Proverbs 30:17 (AMP): 17 The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother, the ravens of the valley will pick it out, and the young vultures will devour it.

Thought for the Day

The penalty for mocking and scorning one's parents was grim in the Old Testament. It carried the death penalty. The Israelites were careful to bury their dead. A body left unburied for birds to feed upon indicates an ignoble death, such as by violence or execution. Vultures picking an eye out of a dead body is what Agur seemed to be referring to as the result of dishonoring one's parents; for such a sin leads to other sins, exposing one to all the dangers of an evil life. Implicit in this proverb is the truth that though one may escape the punishment of man for dishonoring one's parents, one will not escape God's.

The Bible stresses that children are to respect their parents. It is so important to God, that He made it one of the Ten Commandments: "Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee" (Exodus 20:12).

God gave other laws that charged Israel to deal very strongly with rebellious children in the Old Testament. The penalty for striking or cursing one's parents was the same as for adultery or murder; the guilty party was to be stoned to death. "And he that smiteth his father, or his mother, shall be surely put to death. ...And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death" (Exodus 21:15,17). It was a serious offense before God. The word for "curseth" in Hebrew is "halal," meaning "to bring into contempt, curse, despise." Belittling or mocking one's parents is a serious offense to God. Even if there is nothing about them that commands respect, we must refrain from speaking reviling words against them. Children with unholy parents should pray for them and ask God to change them. This is especially important for young people to understand. We are to bless our parents and speak respectfully to them and of them. Praise God, that under the New Testament law, children can find mercy and forgiveness if they have been rebellious to their parents. Spiritually dishonoring parents can result in spiritual blindness and even spiritual death unless rebellious children repent.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

We honor You as our heavenly Father and gladly submit unto You, trusting You in all things. Please remove any trace of rebellion from our hearts. We also honor our natural parents and our spiritual parents. Lord, we desire to always be respectful to the church elders and the authorities that You have designated on the earth. Deliver us from any anger against those in authority, and if we have been wronged by any of them, we trust that You will properly deal with them. We want to have a heart that is submissive trusting and free from all rebellion. We humbly ask this in the wonderful name of Jesus, your only begotten son. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ, gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Wednesday, December 13, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., USA. X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA

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peclordg8d · 10 months

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Men Must Die for Peace on Earth written by

The King of Peace, Wisest of All ...

Then comes the beginning, Exodus, etc... (AMP)

I believe that all the King of Peace wants on Earth is to Love Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, the Purest of the Pure, the Holy One of Israel, the Judge, the Teacher, the Messiah, the Most Highest Priest, the Living truth, the Creator & the Savior, the GOD of Peace, the most Merciful Loving Kind Righteous being that will ever draw breath, the Everlasting Living GOD, the King of All and Every King, the Brightest Light in existence ... then die.

The Everlasting Living GOD of Israel will Rule the throne of the King of Peace Forever!

Only 3 Lives will ever know any of your thoughts,

The King of Peace is the Wisest Alive, the Wisest of All, The Queen of Peace is an Ancient Serpent that devours Life on Earth and The Prince of Peace is the Everlasting Living GOD of Peace.

The King of Peace and the Queen of Peace seek death on Earth, but the Queen of Peace started seeking before the Flood of Noah. The Prince of Peace, the Alpha & Omega, the only Life with the authority and Power of the Everlasting Living GOD, the Creator of Heaven and Earth was crucified for his ANGER. The Lord Almighty GOD is in Heaven.

When the Prince of Peace was attacked by the Queen of Peace for coveting the King of Peace in honest mockery he chose to condemn those that rejected the Word of GOD. GOD does not sin, His Will be done.

The King of Peace is a witness to the Creation of the Princess of Peace & the Queen of Peace and a witness to the Events on Earth. The Ancient Serpent was defeated after the Flood of Noah, she has never died. Jesus Christ of Nazareth is the Most Abundant source of Peace in existence and He is in Heaven. His will be done.

The World will Burn for the Evil of Humans.

Death and Defeat are not the same words.

I Fear the GOD of Peace, the Prince of Peace, for the Wisest dead is the most Peaceful Being in Existence

🌍

Behold, I know your thoughts and the plots by which you would wrong me

The Princess of Peace is the Most Ancient Being. She Creates Life in Water.

The Everlasting Living GOD created Life within Life.

The Wisest of All , The King of Peace

LORD GOD's Will be done.

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gatekeeperwatchman · 2 years

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Daily Devotional for December 13, 2022

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living Devotional Scripture: Proverbs 30:17 (KJV): 17 The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it.

Proverbs 30:17 (AMP): 17 The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother, the ravens of the valley will pick it out, and the young vultures will devour it.

Thought for the Day

The penalty for mocking and scorning one's parents was grim in the Old Testament. It carried the death penalty. The Israelites were careful to bury their dead. A body left unburied for birds to feed upon indicated an ignoble death, such as by violence or execution. Vultures picking an eye out of a dead body is what Agur seemed to be referring to as the result of dishonoring one's parents; for such a sin leads to other sins, exposing one to all the dangers of an evil life. Implicit in this proverb is the truth that though one may escape the punishment of man for dishonoring one's parents, one will not escape God's.

God gave other laws that charged Israel to deal very strongly with rebellious children in the Old Testament. The penalty for striking or cursing one's parents had the same penalty as for adultery or murder; the guilty party was to be stoned to death. "And he that smiteth his father, or his mother, shall be surely put to death. …And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death" (Exodus 21:15,17). It was a serious offense before God. The word for "curseth" in Hebrew is "halal," meaning "to bring into contempt, curse, despise." Belittling or mocking one's parents is a serious offense to God. Even if there is nothing about them that commands respect, we must refrain from speaking reviling words against them. Children with unholy parents should pray for them and ask God to change them. This is especially important for young people to understand. We are to bless our parents and speak respectfully to them and of them. Praise God, that under the New Testament law, children can find mercy and forgiveness if they have been rebellious to their parents. Spiritually dishonoring parents can result in spiritual blindness and even spiritual death unless rebellious children repent.

The Old Testament law often sounds extreme to our modern ears because our culture is so lenient about rebellion and even glamorizes it. It would help society to better enforce punishment for crimes that are directed against those in positions of authority. These punishments would be an example to cause those bent on evil to fear and respect the laws. It would work for everyone's good, especially the young. Those who honor their parents and elders seldom come to the evil end that Agur depicted. Prayer for the Day I honor You as my heavenly Father and gladly submit unto You, trusting You in all things. Please remove any trace of rebellion from my heart. I also honor my natural parents and my spiritual parents. Lord, I desire to always be respectful to the church elders and the authorities that You have designated on earth. Deliver me from any anger against those in authority, and if I have been wronged by any of them, I am trusting that You will properly deal with them. I want to have a heart that is submissive and trusting and free from all rebellion. I humbly ask this in the wonderful name of Jesus. Amen.

From: Steven P. Miller CEO/ Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman URL: linkedin.com/in/steven-miller-b1ab21259 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElderStevenMiller

GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller,#Eldermiller1981

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knickynoo · 3 years

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Highlights from: DeLorean Time Machine: Doc Brown's Owners' Workshop Manual

I pre-ordered this back in December, having read that it would include sections that add to the BTTF universe & expand the lore & BOY HOWDY. There is some great Doc Brown backstory info and answers to some things fans have wondered about. I devoured it in one sitting and enjoyed every minute of it. Here are some of the highlights, which I'll hide under a cut in case anyone wants to read the book for themselves. But, if you're not planning to, or you just can't wait to get your hands on it...here you go. There is some truly wonderful stuff in here.

• First things first: The beginning of Doc's introduction to the book. It is so very "Doc."

• A decent portion of the book is written in the form of Doc's journal entries dating from all different points in time, but starting in the 1940s where he laments a boring, "stifling" job he had to take after the war ended. There is a termination notice included in one of the entries, which states that Doc was eventually fired. The reason? Dress code violations. Apparently, after previous warnings, "Dr. Brown once again wore a Hawaiian shirt under his lab coat." Fantastic. I don't know what it is with Doc and wearing Hawaiian shirts, but I fully support him.

• Doc became an appliance repairman in 1949, and also mentions getting Copernicus from a shelter

• Doc mentions having hated his previous job because he wasn't free to be creative and focus on what he wanted. However, he likes the repairman job because it's easy, allowing him to be able to daydream/do other science in his head as he works. Y'all, Doc just wants to be left in peace to fixate on science, ok?

• He mentions his parents divorcing somewhere around 1940 (I think this is new information??) & that they had very little contact with each other in the following years. He also notes that he could only refer to his father as "father." The man straight up did not allow Doc to call him dad. The entry concerning his father's death basically boils down to, I feel nothing, I had no attachment to my father. He was a cold, unsupportive man and I need a hug.

Oh Doc, if only there was a small, disheveled child you could take under your wing, and work out your issues by being a wonderful father figure to him.

• After Copernicus passes, Doc gets Edison (who might have been mentioned in the comics but I can't remember). He says that the dog will be a "shining light" in his life and I just- Doc is such a good dog dad.

• He later gets Einstein in 1979, which RUINS a headcanon I had that Doc took a young Marty to help him pick out a new dog, but whatever, it's fine.

• We eventually get to the journal entry where Doc meets Marty! Doc recounts Marty sneaking into his lab and how he soon offered him a job. He refers to Marty as, "curious and fearless" & says that Marty passed the "Einstein test" because the dog loves him.

• ALSO, YES, THERE IS AN ENTRY WHERE DOC SAYS THAT MARTY ASKED HIM TO BUILD THE GIANT AMP AND DOC WRITES, "How can I say no?" AND WITH THAT I SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST GOODBYE EVERYONE

• An entry written after time travel shenanigans reveals that as Doc laid there in the parking lot for those few seconds that Marty thought he was dead, he was not only in shock but getting a rush of memories from the other timeline. So he remembered everything from Twin Pines timeline, including getting shot. SO...I guess that finally answers the question of whether or not Marty also has two sets of memories?

• Has it been previously established that Marlene and Marty Jr. are twins? Because yes, they're twins.

• More details on Marty's drag-race accident in the form of a newspaper clipping attached to a journal entry. Marty apparently broke his right arm, crushed his hand, and got a concussion. (Honestly, can Marty go 5 seconds without a head injury?)

• Doc is basically like, Yo, 2015 Marty is not a good dad.

• Doc's main motivation for building the time train was a recurring nightmare that Marty, upon returning to 1985, was immediately hit by an oncoming train. So, I guess Marty and Doc are both in the "Time Travel PTSD Nightmare Club."

There's, of course, many more gems in the book, so I for sure recommend checking it out. A lot of it is about the more scientific and technical aspects of the time machine, time train, etc, but even that is interesting.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. I felt like I was unraveling as I wrote it, but like...in a good way.

#back to the future #bttf #marty mcfly #doc brown #nikki rambles

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bibliocratic · 4 years

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set during 159-160, jon/martin Martin doesn’t sleep through the night these days

minor cws for nightmares, Martin’s relationship with the Lonely

The blanket that they pulled out of the upstairs airing cupboard is ragged, moth-claimed over many winters, and it’s slipped off again. Martin’s t-shirt has bunched up over his stomach and lower back during his restless quest to settle comfortably, meaning that now, with the blanket having failed its duty and abandoned its post, it’s like having an open fridge against his back, bared to the elements.

Martin thinks monosyllabic swearwords in his head, and they’re no less vehement for their curtness.

Jon, bricked in by the back cushions of the sofa and the front wall of Martin’s body that forms a line of defence against the occupying chill, does not notice. He’s stamped himself into Martin’s space, cheek squashed against breastbone, pulled up knees digging into Martin’s thigh, swaddled in all of the other blankets, steadily leaving Martin with the only one remaining. Martin listens to the bellows of his lungs, the open-fire furnace of his skin making him prickle with sweat.

Jon snores, not loudly but persistently, rattling in his throat like a juddering engine, and Martin cannot bear to wake him.

Martin has never tried acrobatics, but there’s some caricature of it in the level of contortion he goes to, trying to rescue the puddled blanket. A half backwards, spine-creaking lean over the edge of the sofa, paired with blind feeling around with the only arm he could free from Jon’s grasp. His fingertips crackle under-skin with pins and needles.

His temper amps up to huffing and frustrated and freezing, but finally retrieval is achieved. He mutters a murmur-quiet ‘jesus christ finally’. Jon snorts and mutters into Martin’s t-shirt. He’s wedged in so smugly against the back of the sofa that Martin can’t tuck it in to stop it slipping off without waking him up, so he resigns himself to this particular cross to bear, draping it over them both haphazardly, at an odd angle that misses Jon’s double-socked feet.

It’ll have to do.

Martin is going to fall off the sofa. He urges himself further in, making a wormish rocking motion with his body. He knew this was going to happen, and it’s one of the reasons that he suggested that Jon take the inside, being the smaller and slighter of the two of them, far more likely to fall off in the night if Martin fidgets too much.

Only now, his chivalry means that he feels like he’s trying to get some sleep while his body is half-way acquainted with threatened gravity, like snoozing on a gangplank. He worries he’s going to whack his head off the coffee table.

Jon makes no sound of complaint when Martin’s worming shuffles him closer, instinctually tugging him in tighter with his slung over arm.

For a moment, he is anchored.

Jon hums, stretches out, and his legs push Martin back to the edge.

That coffee table is really becoming a worry.

The room is not smothered by fog. His body is present, and here, sweaty with the crush of bodies sandwiched together, but Martin has always had trouble living in the moment, beyond the overthinking and second-guessing of his own thoughts.

Something in the particular tenor of this quiet has him feeling untethered, smudged. Like someone’s taken a rubber to his limbs and started clearing away the lines.

Jon mumbles and frowns, pulling them closer. Martin breathes stuttering into the scratchy upshot of Jon’s hair, and keeps his head above water until he drifts off, his arm gone dead and Jon kicking him every ten minutes or so as he fusses in sleep.

Jon is dreaming. He straightens out from his jack-in-a-box coil, jolting Martin out of sleep.

His eyes open. Peeled back to stare at nothing, his pupils wide and devouring all light. His mouth moves in a steady and unrelenting stream of silent speech as the Eye sends its Archivist trawling through nightmares.

Martin has learned by now that waking Jon up doesn’t help. He keeps his touch light around Jon’s rigid form, and stays awake throughout, making sure it doesn’t worsen.

Eventually, Jon’s body relaxes. His eyes folding closed. He shivers even though he can only be boiling, and he burrows closer into Martin’s space, gasping and twitching through the aftereffects of whatever horror he has been forced to witness.

Martin grips him closer, and wishes they could both have better dreams.

Martins’ watch, the strap rubbed down to frayed and colourless, stopped working after the Unknowing. It’ll just be the batteries, nothing to changing them and getting the stalwart lines of the second and minute hands back ticking round. But then, Martin’s not exactly been in the right place to be worrying about anything like that.

It’s early, he knows that. The hastily tugged over curtains untouched by dawn. It’s so early, so clearly hours yet from any hint of morning that he’s irrationally worried over making any noise in case he wakes Jon. Rather than simply filling the kettle through the spout, and clicking on the switch like a normal person, he’s caught up in the looping knowledge that it’ll just be too noisy. The bubble and roil of the water, the rushing noise of the filaments rapidly heating.

Martin does not want Jon to wake up. The prospect of conversation, of interaction of any kind to break up the ice sheet of the pre-dawn hour, makes his chest go knotted, his breathing wobbly.

So, making do, he’s turned on the left hob of the electric oven, filled a saucepan with tap water as quietly as he can manage, and he’s now waiting for it to boil silently. Leant back against the plasticky kitchen counter-top, his head too full and too numb with night-time.

He is thinking about how he nearly died, and is second-hand upset that he isn’t more upset about it. He is thinking about how his body had felt as it dissipated like sugar in water, how little was left of him to disperse. How Jon came to get him (had to, needed to, shouldn’t have had to) and gather back the scraps of him into a man, and that boils up a harsher firebrand of shame in him.

He pours the water from the saucepan into his waiting cup, over the teabag that fattens and floats. Only some water spills from the awkward-shaped lip of the pan, and he sorts it out with a tea-towel that bears a hand-stitched thistle in the corner of the fabric. He leaves the tea steep before he takes out the bag with a spoon, and in those two minutes, he thinks about the wizened, crumbling body of Jonah Magnus, sat imperious and blind on a ruined throne. How heavy the knife was in his hand, how easily the will to violence might have come to him.

He thinks, blade-sharp angry and despairing, that he should have stabbed Elias in his smug face instead.

His feet are cold and numb on the kitchen tiles. Martin stands, sips at his tea that burns against his lips. Feelings sweep through him like weather fronts, and he lets them advance for the first time in a long time.

When tears come, he doesn’t wipe them away.

When he’s done, he washes his mug as quietly as possible, and leaves it to drip-dry by the sink before returning to the living room.

The blanket has slipped again.

Dozing in this fuggy, clamping heat of the space, a garrison of clotted, layering warmth compared to the night’s temperature, skirting zero for hours now.

“Huh?”

Martin’s roused from this disorientating state of not-sleep by Jon saying something. Both his lips and throat scraping dry.

A measured pause. Around him, and Jon, well and truly bundled in place, coiled up in blankets like a badly wrapped Christmas present, there are house-sounds, creakings, snappings and gruntings, the outside low-timbred threat of the wind.

Jon’s breathing. Low and slow.

“Jon?” Martin whispers.

Nothing.

The house continues its evening orchestra, and Jon sleeps on.

Martin’s convinced himself that whatever it was, he imagined it, when, on an exhale, Jon sighs out a muttering babble of sincerely put noises that still, in no way resemble words.

“Jon?”

“I…. busuhvenerismuh. Uh. Cravs.”

It’s so – just so random and mundane and meaningless. Nothing else, nothing malign. Only Jon, clearly sleep-talking gibberish at him.

Martin finds himself trying to stifle his disbelieving laughter.

“Going er. Ships. It’s market wild.”

“Good point, Jon.”

“Muzzuhin raids,” Jon seems to agree.

Jon’s lack of snoring lets Martin know he’s awake.

“You sleep ok?”

“Not bad, considering,” Jon says. He stretches his arms up and rolls his shoulders, his neck, and things go pop like kindling inside him. “What about you?”

“Alright,” Martin says. Better than some nights, worse than others. Jon glances at him with an assessing, hawkish gaze but says nothing other than adjusting the pillow under his head that’s gotten all squashed and misshapen during the night. “What time is it?”

“Too early to be even thinking about getting up.”

Jon burrows back down, his arm a band over Martin’s chest, his eyes already closing.

Martin lets himself be lulled back into sleep.

#the magnus archives #tma #fic #jonmartin

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naromoreau · 4 years

Text

One last prayer

A.N: So I started writing this last year as a present for @minilev who is one of my fave Sharky lovers and has given the fandom SO much! Thank you so much, Anna, baby and have this fic of Dep Callahan and Sharky.

—–

Callahan’s arm sways, carrying the heavy blunt of her steel baseball bat, and the peggie’s skull cracks. A dry, sharp sound, mingling with whines and dead gurgles of throats she just split open. Somewhere at her right there’s a gruff, some indistinct noise that almost sounds like her name. She grabs her pistol, unloading the barrel on the mayonnaise shirt of a hollering peggie who stumbles forward, hands trying to clasp her, and she sees death crawling on his iris before he faceplants on the ground.

There’s a hoard of screeching voices in her head, noises she has learnt to quash down, but they always manage to shatter her nerves a little. Not that it matters anymore. She’s a killer and this is what she does. There’s no escape from that.

So she swallows bile, watching the pale rays of a dawn she always expect to never come, and tumbles when frantic hands pull at her cargo pants.

“–sinner– filthy–,” the peggie says, choking on his own blood, with ghastly conviction, “you’r– killer, –Father – have no mercy.”

Dying words. They never matter. But within her something snaps.

“I’m not asking for it,” she grouses and her shotgun seals the deal.

Upclose. It’s a nightmare in red.

“Woah, woah there shorty–”

Her finger is stuck on the trigger, and her breath is coming in stuttered gasps. She feels Sharky’s big frame pressing behind her, a hand extended over her shoulder, to lower the smoking barrel of her gun.

“You okay, Dep?” He asks, in a way that implies he believes she’s not.

A tinge of worry grates on his voice as he leans slightly in front of her, taking a ragged cloth from his back pocket and trying to clean the unsanitary crimson smudges of her face, a rough, calloused hand cupping her chin.

“Yeah– I just–” She sighs and stalls, because she doesn’t know how to explain it, how it burns her inside. “I’m not what he says,” she finally blurts out.

Callahan sweeps grime, sweat and blood off her forehead with the heel of her hand and prays Sharky didn’t quite get the pleading underlying lilt in her words.

But if he did, he doesn’t show it. “Don’t sweat it, dude, those peggies? Fuckin’ psychos, that’s what they are, but uh– I think you need a break, po-po. You gotta eat something.”

He’s a paltry couple of inches away from her, and Callahan sees the concern in the heavy frown he’s sporting, his gaze probably taking in her red-rimmed eyes, and the tufts of blood-crusted hair. She wonders if he can see the panic flickering on her eyes– And suddenly she feels like hiding, like scrambling away from his grasp because she feels like shit, and she looks like shit, and at some point Sharky is going to realize that. Her stomach rolls over at the thought, with a stark thunk she can almost hear.

But he pulls her into a tight hug, and she doesn’t want to think about how hard her fingers curl around handfuls of his hoodie, cheek burrowed in his chest until her nose can’t take anything else than sweat, propane and gunsmoke. Slowly, her dismay coils, subsided.

“It’ll be alright, shorty, I got you.”

—–

“Can I use your shower?” She’s feeling the stomach-churning smell of death burning her nose, sticking to her clothes, which are going directly to the trash bin.

“Uh, sure, just- just don’t drink it. Bliss in the pumps, y’know.” He shrugs.

The water is not too cold, after all it’s mid-july and the sun is scorching high above. She hears Sharky fumbling in the kitchen and his words waft, dampened by five inches of drywall.

“How about some bacon and eggs, and uh, beers? What ya say shorty?”

“Sounds fine,” she yells over the hard splash of water. She scrubs a little too hard, a little too rough, until her skin is just a scour away of being raw.

Honestly, Callahan doesn’t want to give a second thought to the whirling shit in her head, or the fact she’s dwindling Hope County’s population in very indictable ways.

She just wants to sink and let herself marinate in something good for once.

“All ready, chica! Bacon is all crispy and– oh shit, shit– yeah, eggs are hot.”

Something good like Sharky. Callahan ponders what seems like an askew path and bites her lip, but she doesn’t have the heart to drag him down to that specific level of hell she feels like visiting every day. It ain’t fair.

So she sighs and wraps herself in a threadbare green towel, too small for her liking.

“Smells nice.” Her stomach grumbles already committed to devour whatever will appear in front. “Damn, Shark, didn’t know you could cook.”

“Oh, this is nothin’” Sharky answers with his back turned, arranging plates and forks over the counter, “you gotta try my casserole, man, I make a killer casse–”

He spins. She sees him faltering, eyes sliding down at a torturously slow pace over every inch of skin she’s showing and his jaw falls, slack. The heavy hitch in his movements is painfully evident as he takes a small pace forward.

Callahan’s skin prickles under his gaze and the way his eyes linger at the hidden apex of her thighs make heat pool in her sex, irradiating in belching waves all over her. It’s not as if he hadn’t seen her bits, more often than not to patch her up in the roaring distress of battle, diving under flitting bullets. But not like this. Never like this.

Her fingers clasp the towel, and she shuffles two shy paces forward, trying to flash him a coy smile. His cheeks are red and his throat bobs as he swallows, finally fixing wide open eyes on hers.

“You uh, you need some clothes,” he says, breathless. Sharky clears his throat and fastens his stare to her face, something that makes her heart flutter. He’s trying to be proper, trying to be a friend, when the only thing she wants right now is to toss that tilt-a-whirl of anxiety over the window and seize the moment.

“Do I?”

“Are ya– are you messing with me?”

A small flare of doubts spark in her, but unwanted images flicker in her eyelids, like a film she refuses to watch. Hopes wane and she needs this. Needs him. Callahan closes the distance and gives him a chaste kiss.

For a moment he seems to lose the ability to speak, blinking as a deer caught in the headlights. And then he moves.

He cups her jaw with trembling hands and Rook lets the towel slide down the floor, pressing herself against him, and twinning her arms around his neck. When his mouth meet hers, there’s a jolt hurtling from her toes to her temples, amped a hundred voltages when he glides his tongue across her lips and in, tasting her thoroughly.

“Oh man, oh man, oh man–” he almost warbles between raspy moans when they break apart and Callahan kisses the side of his neck with an intensity she can’t control.

He’s flushed an eager, nipping at where her neck meets her shoulder, hands digging into her soft curves. She allows him to pull her to the couch with fingers that dig into her skin, his erection rubbing against her stomach, making her toes curl in anticipation.

The upholstery whines when he falls over it, Callahan clambered over his lap, and he quickly takes off his hoodie and hat, tossing them to a corner.

“Am I– is this real?” he breathes, giving her the most adoring look she’s ever seen. “C’mon shorty, pinch me, ‘cuz I don’t– I mean…”

“I want you, Shark.” She’s conscious of the demanding tone in her words but she doesn’t care. Apparently neither does him.

A shy smile spreads on his face, as he draws her closer, hands cinching tightly around her waist. “I’m blissed as fuck, am I? ”

He closes his lips around her nipple, sucking and rolling his tongue over it and making her arch in response. She’s soaked, the musk of her arousal closing down on her while he nothing but plays with her peaks, showing her he indeed was good at this. So good at this.

His fingers prod at her cunt, breaching her for him helped by the wetness gathered between her thighs. A breathless moan breaks from her throat, as she feels her walls clenching, ready to take more.

The harrowing screams and cries seem to subside with every second she dives more and more into him.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says amidst labored breaths, “but uh, you still sure ‘bout this?”

There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in his blue eyes, and she hurries to muffle them with a hard kiss. “Fuck yes, Shark,” she says, fanning his lips with halted gasps, “you’ve no idea how much I want this.” There’s the pinch of a doubt at the back of her mind, like a cold, dead hand caressing the nape of her neck. Splitting her will in half.

“For-for real?” He stutters, unassuming of her mental ordeal.

His whole face lights up, watching her nod, spilling words she can’t quite catch against her skin.

She tugs at his belt, freeing his erection in record time, ripping broken gasps out of him. Fast enough to not think about why. His hands wander over her body as she finally rises on her knees and takes him in her hand.

“Oh, shit–”

He seems about to faint, his eyes almost crossing as she slowly takes him in. Her bottom lip disappears in her mouth trying to quench the cry that threatens to tear from her throat. He’s long, wonderfully thick, demanding a minute from her to adjust. It’s been perhaps a year since the last time she did this, and even when she’s had her fair share of action, the hot press of his cock is testing her limits. For a minute Callahan lets herself go, pulling at his hair, raking teeth over his neck.

“Fuck, shorty, you feel so good.”

His voice is low pitched, a rasp, hoarse sound that scrapes along her skin. Sharky tilts his head back, and thrusts upwards.

“Shit.” She parts her lips slightly, her head buzzing with overwhelming pleasure as he sinks into her. The drag of his dick feels amazing against her walls, making her want to ride him hard and fast until they have nothing more to give. Until she’s full of him and nothing else. Until the screeches and the sour smell of decay finally disappear. Callahan closes her eyes, making every downstroke scratch on violence.

“Easy, babe, easy.” His words sound like a low grunt, as he steadies her, by the hips. His eyes could scorch her and her gut twist with want and something undefinable. “Don’t– don’t wanna end this too soon.”

But her own peak comes too quick, crashing against every single wall she has. Her thighs quiver, her cunt pulsating and dragging him until he grunts and spills inside her.

There’s so much one can hide in their every day and when Callahan looks at Sharky, pure glint of joy in his eyes, a peaceful smile reeking adoration, her heart stops.

She can’t do this. Whatever this is. Not if not for the right reasons, which are many and spread out for everyone who wants to see it. Yes, yes. She loves him. But he deserves better.

Better than a venom-filled cop, who by now, has more blood in her hands than everyone in the county combined. Someone who isn’t going down the hill with every passing second, and isn’t a step away to be catalogued as a psychopath. And proudly so.

“Shorty? You ‘aight?”

The silence is strained, and Callahan tries her best smile, scurrying away from his lap with a faint “yeah, be right back”. She can feel the pungent smell of decay reeking from the clothes in the trash bin in the bathroom, reminding her that maybe, just maybe, the peggie from before wasn’t mistaken at all.

She is what he said.

Suddenly the air is too scarce, the walls too close, her skin too tight. She dresses in her former discarded clothes all while listening to Sharky pratting about drinking wine and watch something.

She can’t do this.

“…and the second season is even better than the first,” Sharky is saying out of sight. “You ok there?”

Lead bars constrict her heart. “Yeah, give me a sec.”

Silently, just as Peaches hunting, she opens the door of the trailer and runs. It’s better this way, even if Sharky won’t get it.

Unholstering her gun, she makes her way to Eden’s Convent. The turmoil inside her needs to be quashed down, and sometimes that’s something just bullets can do.

#far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfiction #deputy callahan #deputy rook #sharky boshaw #callahan x sharky boshaw #sharky x deputy rook #thank you for everything Anna!#naro writes

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officialleehadan · 5 years

Text

Five Energies in Conflict

Absolute knew they were there.

Obviously, they weren’t subtle. Between Ice and Quasar closing in with the howling monster tornado, lit form within by poisonous blue radiation, and the shockwaves of electromagnetic blackouts from Neutron’s heart, there really wasn’t any question.

Of course, she also thought she could beat them, and she might not be wrong.

Absolute kinetic energy was the kind of thing that couldn’t be predicted. She was already so powerful that she caused earthquakes when she ran, and could demolish a building with a few good hits, sending shockwaves through the steel and concrete until it crumbled on top of her, only for the rubble to rocket away before it could ever touch her skin.

But she thought she could win, and human will could do extraordinary things under pressure.

Of course, she also never faced anyone of her own level before, and most of the Powered community shied away from thinking about Elementals, and what could happen if they were left unchecked.

Absolute, driven insane by the presence, and then the loss, of her Opposite, was the worst kind of loose cannon.

Ice walked forward, step by step as the air froze to his skin, leaving him covered in frost that shimmered blue from the heatless flames that ghosted around Quasar. He could feel the pull of the other Elemental’s Power, like a sinkhole under his feet, pulling what little heat he managed to scrape up into a tight, downward spiral.

Quasar had stopped shivering a while ago, and lost the parka when his own Power kicked up to full gear.

Neither of them had ever been critical before. Ice was close when Inferno found him, and they managed to get Quasar and Neutron together before they did, either.

He couldn’t imagine how Absolute must feel, shaking apart without any hope for control.

Maybe she was too crazy to even notice.

When the fog rolled around them, he basked in it. In the feeling, eve so brief, of heat, and the faint scent of Inferno carried by the wind. Again, the temperature plummeted, until the particles of mist were weightless, floating ice crystals, and Quasar’s radiation-glow spread until every shadow faded away in the ever-present light.

“Cover,” Quasar said, mindless of the way every scrap of metal around him glowed and then went soft as his radiation hit it. The red of burning metal clashed with the blue glow, and cast everything into an eerie purple-red-blue haze that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. “They think she might bolt.”

“She won’t,” Ice murmured. He could feel her ahead. Feel the way his ice particles hit Absolute’s kinetic field and bent away. “She thinks she’s the hero. She thinks we’re the villains. In her mind, this is her great moment to prove herself.”

“She’s insane.”

“Yes. But she doesn’t know it.”

They moved onward, and Ice focused his power into the air, dropping the temperature faster and faster with Quasar’s Power feeding his own and driving them both deeper and deeper into critical overload.

They didn’t have long. With five Elementals all going critical at once, they risked the whole planet.

Of course, if they didn’t bring Absolute down, the planet would die anyway.

Ice was the one weapon they had against Absolute, and that made his job the most dangerous.

Kinetic energy had one vulnerability.

Cold slowed everything down.

If Ice could get her cold enough, fast enough, and Quasar damaged her cell structure before she could repel him, Inferno and Neutron could hit her and overcharge her too fast for her own body to compensate.

But first, they had to get close enough.

And Absolute knew they were there.

“She’s circling us,” Ice told Quasar over the howl of the tornado around them. He tracked Absolute by the ice crystals around her, and kept his wall of silent, sluggish cold on top of her. If she bolted, or charged them, they would have to be fast to hold her off. As a precaution, Ice wrapped them both in his namesake, hardened plates of supercooled ice that clung to their heavy clothes. “If she attacks now…”

“She wants to know what we’re up to first,” Quasar said. The black hole that was his energy absorption deepened by the moment, pulling Ice’s own out-of-control Power with it. They echoed off each other. The colder Ice got, the faster Quasar amped up his own negative absorption. “Get ready. She’s about done looking.”

The impact came so fast that Ice didn’t even see her before Absolute was right before him, eyes wild. Her hair floated in the grasp of her own powers, defying the wind all around them. Her lips were chapped, and her skin was tight against her face.

Dehydration, Ice’s brain helpfully supplied. Probably starvation too. Inferno had to eat constantly to fuel his Power. Absolute was probably struggling to take in enough calories to survive, and that was before they forced her critical status even higher.

“Where is she?” Absolute demanded. There was a red rim around her eyes, as if she had been crying, and her nails were bloody, no doubt the cause of the deep scratches on her arms. She was ripping herself apart just to feel something.

The worst kind of insanity. The kind that ate you alive, and slowly tore away everything that once made you human.

Ice understood. He remembered the way the frost thickened over his skin, dampened his senses, and made everything feel far away.

He had scars on his arms, just like hers, from clawing at his own skin, desperate for any contact, even if it made him bleed.

“She’s dead,” he told her as she circled them suspiciously. Her skin was starting to pale now, the flush of her overactive powers encountering the cold of his. Negative thermal energy could counter positive kinetic energy, but sooner or later, she would catch on, and then they were in trouble. “You killed her, Absolute.”

“No!” she snarled, going from wary to furious in a breath. She flickered past him and stared at Quasar. “No! I feel her! Where is she?”

“Dead,” Quasar repeated, and let his radiation filter into the storm faster, the blue around them deepening as he let his own Power off the hook for the first time. “Absolute, you must stop this. People are dying.”

“I’m a hero!”

She tried to run, but Ice flung his hand out and his namesake followed. Absolute might be fast, might be pure kinetic energy, but water still couldn’t be compressed, and ice was still slippery. With a sheet of thick black ice covering the ground, Absolute scrambled and fell.

Quasar linked hands with Ice, and together they wrapped their powers around Absolute, forcing her down, and wrapping her in blue-glowing sheets of ice. She fought, now with something to push against, and blasted her way out moments later. Shards of ice flew everywhere and Ice turned them aside with a wave of his hand.

“I’ll kill you all!” Absolute screamed, and tried to get to her feet again, but between the wind and the ice, she was struggling. “You’re just like her! You want me to fail!”

“No,” Ice told her softly, and wondered if she could hear him over the wind as he brought the whole wrath of the tornado, thousands of pounds of frozen water soaked in radiation, down on her. “I wanted to save you. Now, I want you to die.”

But even the cold, nearing absolute zero under the combined force of his Power and Quasar’s, wasn’t enough to hold Absolute for long.

And when she burst out of the snow, sending pellets in every direction so fast they tore through the buildings around them, and only Quasar, flinging up a blast of radiation that devoured the force of the ice itself and vaporized it instantly, saved Ice from dying on his own Element.

“I will never die,” Absolute said, gazing with the effort of fighting them off. Her lips were blue, and there was frost in her hair, but she was still on her feet, and still in the fight. “And when I kill you, there will be no one left on this world who can challenge me! I’ll be the best! I’ll be Absolute!”

“You will,” Quasar told her, hand still out and blazing as radiation fire swirled around them, forming a whirling funnel around him as it filtered into the still-screaming tornado. Ice sent a quick thought towards the telepaths watching his mind for messages. The storm was useless now. He had hoped the snow would hold her, and now it was just a distraction. “You will be absolute, and you will destroy everything. That’s’ what we are. We’re Elemental, and like the great elements, when we go critical, we become the thing we fear the most.”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Absolute laughed wildly, and flung her hands out. Cars, abandoned on the street, lifted off the ground. “Not even you!”

“You will,” Ice said as the storm faded around them. It was time to take the gloves off, and end this. He sank into his power and the ground under him screamed as it froze instantly, ice-flowers shooting up where the water in the ground expanded too fast for the soil to move. Absolute was fast, but she couldn’t repel something with no mass. Already, the earthquakes under them were slowing. Her heart was struggling with the cold. “I’m sorry.”

He shot a handful of ice skyward, a signal, blazing with radiation, where it burst as a silent, frozen firework and hung in the air as snow that drifted down around them. Moments later, he felt a wall of heat, stinking of a different radiation that was just as devastating and every bit as powerful as Quasar’s, charge through the icy mist towards them. Moments later, he could smell the harsh, acrid smoke of burning concrete, and the fog lit red with flames.

Absolute wasn’t the only one at full power, and Inferno and Neutron were ready to take their chances against the hero who wanted them all dead.

+++

Opposing Elements:

Elemental Powers are immense, and impossible to control. Usually that impossible power kills whoever is unlucky enough to bear it. Now the world has to figure out what happens when it doesn’t.

Cold Front

Elemental

Rising Power

Neutron Star

Colliding Galaxies

Four Sides of the Axis

Off Balance

In Motion

Kinetic Plan (Subscriber Only)

Critical (Subscriber only!)

Touch of Winter (Subscriber Only!)

Heat Things Up (Subscriber Only!)

+++

MORE STORIES!

+++

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softeddiek · 5 years

Text

i’m still obsessed with the idea of nymeria running into gendry in the riverlands while arya is warging her from braavos and listening to I Dreamt We Spoke Again by Death Cab really amped that up, so i decided to write a little thing

book canon only

Read on ao3

She lifts her head toward the sky as the wind shifts, carrying the scent of man toward her. Behind her, among the trees and covered in darkness, she hears the soft growls of her pack. They are impatient, but she knows they will not move until she does.

They are all smaller than her, her little cousins. Even when she was still a young pup, they had known she was different; that she was to be followed. Once she had grown, it had taken very little time for her pack to grow around her. Some had been resistant to hunt like her, used to the taste of lamb and other easy prey. But she had shown them that man flesh could be just as sweet.

And now, as the snows upon the floor begin to build and there is less game for them, her pack must take what meat they can.

They hear the rustle of the men. Four of them, creeping up upon the inn, steel in hand. Her pack knows to keep out of reach of the metal, has succeeded many times before, but she can smell the fear coming from some of them. She feels no fear. She knows they will not get her, not tonight. Tonight, she will tear at their throats and her pack will feast on their flesh.

Voices and shrieks stream out of the inn. It is the sound of small men. Children, a voice in her says. Her girl’s voice.

She does not hunt children when her girl hunts with her, knows her girl would not like it. But she does not stop her pack from hunting them. Her pack will try to take them too should they come out, but her girl will make sure they do not. She does not want to stop her pack from hunting, does not want them to be hungry, but she knows she cannot stop the girl in her. The girl is a part of her, just as she is a part of her girl.

The men ready themselves, and she knows they are distracted. Now is the time. She looks back at her pack, hidden amongst the brush, and snaps at them. They start to circle the inn, stalking their unwitting prey.

The pack moves forward as one, attacking together. The men had thought that tonight they were the predators. They had paid little attention to the stories that come out of the Riverlands. Stories of a wolf pack hundreds strong, ready to rip apart any man and devour him whole, led by a vicious she-wolf that was hungry for blood.

The last cries of “Wolves” ring out from the men, their last breaths taken, when she hears a bang, light spilling across the yard.

The door to the inn stands open, a man walking just past the doorway with an axe in hand and a snarl on his face. Her pack is too busy to pay him mind, taking their fill of meat or licking their wounds. They know the she-wolf will deal with him.

She emits a low growl, taking in his stance, trying to find a weakness. He is big and strong, and she knows this will not be as easy as the men she had just snuck up on, but there is no doubt he will be dead tonight, whether she does it of her cousins do. Stupid, both she and her girl think. He should not have tried to take on her and her pack alone. He should have stayed inside, with the children.

She has taken too long, she realizes, and so has he, for her pack has begun to pay them attention, yellow eyes fixed on his familiar blue ones as they shift around, taking them all in. He is surprised to see wolves and only dead men.

She makes to move, the rest of her pack beginning to stand, fresh kills forgotten at the prospect of more.

She has taken only one step when her girl’s voice calls out, No. She stops, confused. She knows her girl likes the taste of man flesh, likes to feel the fear of the men in red when she tears into them, blood flowing past her mouth. But she does not want them to take this man.

She has stopped, eyes trained on his. He is tall and big, but now, as he stands frozen in fear, he looks less a man and more a boy. Her nature fights within her. She knows he is preparing to turn back and run for the door. It is not far; he would likely make it.

Pack, her girl whispers. He was pack. That she understands. Images of the boy are in her mind, supplied by her girl, accompanied by a ringing sound. She makes to command her pack, to let them know they are done in this place, when one of her little cousins makes for the boy. He has tensed up, moves to swing the axe in his arm, but she jumps out before he can make a move, pinning her cousin to the ground.

She sends out a low growl to the rest of her cousins, all staring at her. They begin dragging the dead men away from the open yard, into the trees.

She gets close to her cousin’s face, still on the ground, a warning in her eyes. He whimpers, feeling the pressure of her paws near his throat, and she knows he will not attack before she tells him to again. As she releases him, he scampers off after his brothers and sisters.

The boy is still standing there, confusion on his face but his body still tensed up in a defensive stance. She tilts her head to the side as she stares at him, wondering why this man is special to her girl. Why he was pack and why he no longer is.

She hears the howls of her cousins and knows she must go, must not linger. The boy has turned his head at the sound of children near the doorway, trying to look past him. He takes a lingering glance at her, to be sure she is not moving closer, before turning back to the children to shove them inside.

She takes the chance to slink off back into the trees. When he turns to the yard from just inside the doorway, looking for the monstrous wolf, she seems to have melted into the night.

Across the Narrow Sea, Arya Stark wakes up with the taste of blood in her mouth and her own name on her lips.

#i want to start writing book gendrya and figured this was good way to get into the mindset #axg fic #gendrya #arya x gendry #gendrya fic #my fic #gendrya positivity #gendrya fanfiction

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clonerightsagenda · 5 years

Note

The epilogues look terrible and I don’t want to spend my time reading them... but I love + trust your judgement and your takes on things. Could you summarize them? (No pressure if you don’t want to)

OK, it’s been a few weeks since i read it, but I will do my best.NOTE: This is probably not comprehensive and definitely not objective. As a supplement, I did some poking around, and the MSPA wiki has some bullet points. I also eventually found another summary on tumblr, albeit by someone who also didn’t like it, so it is probably biased as well.

ANOTHER NOTE: Those content warnings weren’t a joke. Below are references to sexual content, assault, suicide, sexism, transphobia, character death, and probably some other stuff.

WHAT HAPPENED:

In the prologue, Rose summons John to inform him that he needs to defeat Lord English right now, or they will all experience terrible consequences. These are mostly meta consequences you can interpret as ‘if we don’t produce new Homestuck content on its 10th anniversary, everyone will give up on this franchise for real, and also canon doesn’t seem stable when the big bad never got beaten’. John goes to visit Roxy and Calliope before he leaves and is given the option to eat either meet or candy. This represents a choice he is supposed to make, and that choice creates two timelines.

In MEAT, John travels back in time and gathers three 16 year old versions of his friends. They confront Caliborn in the battle he represented in his Masterpiece and are sucked into the house juju. Vriska activates it, but not before being pulled into the black hole. Rose and Jade die immediately, with Rose’s body being destroyed and Jade’s falling into the black hole, because why should women get to fight the story’s biggest misogynist. Dave lands a solid hit on English before having his head bitten off Mami from PMMM style. John gets chomped on as well and a gold tooth ends up embedded in his chest. Davepeta appears and drags the wounded LE into the black hole. John finds his father’s wallet, retrieves his car, and slumps inside. Terezi appears, in bad shape after a long time wandering the ring. She seems confused at his state (explained because in CANDY she has been texting that version of him for years). She removes the tooth from his chest and they have sex.

Meanwhile, on Earth, Dave and Karkat have avoided talking about being a relationship for seven years, while Jade harasses them about becoming a threesome. This is explicitly tied to her abandonment issues but also she is referred to as a slut so like. Don’t love that. Jane is running for president, and Dave thinks this is terrible because she’s a woman fascist and doesn’t understand the economy and Karkat should run instead. Other shit is happening but I lost track. Rose is ill because she’s becoming her ‘Ultimate Self’ and seeing all timelines. Dirk claims he’s overcome the same problem and offers to help her but ends up controlling her and revealing he is the one actually writing this narrative. There is a bit where the narration starts addressing the reader directly and then turns orange which I admit is genuinely cool and might have been interesting if done with characters I didn’t actually care about.

Dirk amps up controlling the narrative, directly forcing people to do and think certain things. (For example, he sequesters Rose away in his workshop and tells Kanaya via narration she believes Rose is better off with him, and she uncomfortably agrees without understanding why she thinks that.) He supports Jane’s bid for the presidency, even though she wants to crack down on trolls because they are naturally violent and reproduce too fast. Everyone tries to get Jake’s endorsement because he’s popular, which includes Jane attempting to seduce him in a very uncomfortable scene.Then Jade slips into a nice coma, because it’s not Homestuck without Jade losing her agency, and alt!Calliope starts using her as an avatar to take control of the narrative away from Dirk. They have some back and forth arguments before he is pushed out which, again, is genuinely clever but would be more enjoyable without all the edgy bullshit. Dirk eventually tricks alt!Callie and sedates Jade, taking back control of the story. Jane wins the presidency. Also at some point Meat!Roxy and Callie ID as nonbinary and start using they/them, and narrator!Dirk freaks out about it and misgenders them a lot, which is character assassination bc everyone knows Dirk is a trans icon. Anyway. Dave and Karkat have an awkward talk about their relationship where they keep dancing around things and Dirk tries to force Dave to kiss him. Dave gets frustrated because he’s aware someone is trying to make him do something (like with the Aimless Renegade), and eventually yells at Dirk to get out of his head before kissing Karkat. Terezi brings John back to Earth, and he begins to fade, since apparently LE’s tooth was poisoned with something more powerful than god tier that makes you irrelevant. Possibly a meta commentary on the hero or story not being needed once the big bad is gone. Terezi is sad about this and listens to him bleed while she smells him die. Then Dirk contacts her via narration and implies he can help her. She gets a text (later revealed to be Vriska). Dirk gets a spaceship from Jake after forcing him via narration to grovel about how much he loves him and then rejecting him and flying away with Rose and Terezi in tow. Jade wakes up long enough to tell everyone Dirk’s gone bad before she gets repossessed and starts pointing in his direction, prompting everyone to give chase.

There is a final scene that will make more sense later, so I’ll add it later.

CANDY

John decides not to go fight LE. Roxy is delighted, and they began dating. Calliope tells John it is time to let Gamzee out of the fridge. Gamzee pops out and claims he is redeemed in a long speech making fun of sloppy redemption arcs. He then proceeds to be terrible for the rest of the story.Candy essentially satirizes Harry Potter epilogue style fics. Jane marries Jake (it’s implied she essentially roofies him with the trickster lollipop) and has Gamzee on the side. They have a son named Tavros. John and Roxy have a son named Harry. Rose and Kanaya adopt a troll clone of Vriska and name her Vriska. Jade, Karkat, and Dave are all dating, but Dave and Karkat are miserable. Dirk kills himself when he realizes the timeline went off kilter. Jade’s corpse from the Meat timeline crashes to earth, and in the middle of the funeral (which was genuinely a good scene) she sits up, possessed by alt!Calliope. Alt!Callie sequesters herself on the old meteor, now landed, and explains to Aradia and Sollux that this timeline is a dead end and she is protecting it from the influence of the prince. She also, in a parallel to Dirk’s reveal in Meat, talks about how every narrator has an agenda even if the text is formatted to make you not realize that.Jane becomes a fascist dictator and begins oppressing trolls. Karkat eventually get sick of being in a trio and runs off to be a resistance leader, including getting a sick eye patch (reference to Summer Teen Romance). Meenah stole the Ring of Life from Meat John and lands in the session; she and Karkat begin dating. Other ghosts begin falling from the sky as well, and Gamzee converts them to his redemption religion.John feels like something is really off. His only solace is texting Terezi a lot, and he seems closer to her than he is to his wife. He and Roxy break up for a while and then (non-romantically) reconcile. Jake eventually leaves Jane and takes Tavros with him. Jade and Dave become rebels as well, then Dave meets a hologram of Obama, who helps him attain his ultimate self, putting his soul in a new robot body.

Oh, also Vriska falls out of the sky, has hatesex with Gamzee, kills him, and then talks with Rose and Kanaya’s Vriska about how she loves Terezi. Then she texts her, as seen in the Meat timeline. Isn’t Vriska 13 and Gamzee an adult at this point? Probably. There’s a lot of questionable age stuff in this.

I’m sure I missed some details. Can you tell I’m losing steam.

Anyway, the two last chapters of each section reference the other storyline. At the end of Meat, Lord English’s body falls out of the sky, and alt!Callie (still in Jade’s body) devours it, becoming powerful enough to battle Dirk. Candy!Davebot arrives and he and Aradia jump into the black hole in pursuit.At the end of Candy, Dirk’s ship nears a new planet where he intends a new game of SBURB to be played. Rose is in a robot body serving as his handmaid essentially, and Terezi’s also on board.

TAKEAWAYS:

There are a lot of different interpretations of the epilogue. A mockery of the two extremes of fanfic. Andrew Hussie continuing the theme of ‘all authors are tyrants by nature’ and using his self-insert to display how he hates his own story but also can’t stop telling it. Dirk trying to create conflict by making himself a villain because otherwise they’ll lose relevance and disappear. Musing on how being arbitrarily labeled 'grown up’ when you’re not ready (aka handed godhood by a game that doesn’t understand people) can fuck you up, and there is no single winning screen in life. Just a big old meta experiment on unreliable narrators. I can see where some of this is coming from, but frankly, I found it disturbingly sexist (even if it is intended to be so for effect). A lot of the sex and violence felt over the top and graphic just to be #ow the edge rather than serving any narrative purpose. Also, authors can do what they want with their texts, and they’re allowed to write tragedies, but after Hussie’s self-insert informs Caliborn that the most important stories are about friendship and teamwork and the fandom (that I’ve seen anyway) really responding to the bonds between characters, it felt cruel. That’s my feeling. Not everyone shares it. But hey, I’ve got my solution.

#Anonymous #homestuck//#bluh bluh huge bitching alert

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bro-stoevsky · 6 years

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Are you ready to hear me lose my absolute mind over my favorite scene as a part of the deeply enabling @the-terror-appreciation-week

it’s Franklin’s funeral from The Ladder! Which means I’m going to talk for 100 years about the lead-up to this and the scene itself. Didn’t you do this yesterday? You may wonder. Not these scenes I didn’t. Yesterday I talked for 100 years about different scenes, which makes this OK, and normal. Even fun and lighthearted.

There are a lot of great scenes in this show obviously but this one will always be my favorite, it’s so laden with meaning and warring perspectives. That it’s Crozier reading a service Franklin wrote in much different circumstances than he imagined is especially significant!!! Delicious, delicious significance.

Franklin probably intended it to be comforting, full of reminders that God is close by and always watching them, as well as inspiring -- Jacob’s Ladder is, after all, a story about God keeping his promise to Jacob’s ancestors. It’s easy to see Franklin intending that to prick everyone’s spirits with the crazy understanding that the Northwest Passage is somehow their right to discover; something owed to them that will soon be delivered. Remember in David Young’s funeral he did the same thing where it was like “sad about him but one step CLOSER TO THE PASSAGE”

But in the context of its delivery -- a Franklinless world where, after the funeral, no further attempt or mention is made of finding the Northwest Passage -- it does an incredible job of amping up the dread. The parallels between Bethel and their unplotted location (as Franklin puts it, “no house, no hearth”) are exaggerated, as is the symbolic nature of the ladder. This is, after all, a story from Genesis, when God had approximately zero problems chatting with people any old time, one on one, physically present, while they were awake. But the ladder, the thing that leads away from the “terrible place” Jacob is stuck, is only a dream. And that’s the part that becomes most significant in the context of this scene which I want to print on a silk rug and roll around on like Becky Sharp in that scene in the Reese Witherspoon Vanity Fair movie where her rug unrolls on the street and she just rolls around on it. Just. Like. That.

This scene, as well as the preceding episode, does a great job of making it clear that Franklin’s viewpoint of destiny and metaphor and Biblical parallel is direly unsuited to the situation. The listeners feel that they are actually in a terrible place, geographically and in terms of the options remaining to them. And they need an actual way out. Not a dream, not the unseen but immediate presence of the invisible world. The disparate dawning of this understanding is apparent on some of the guys faces.

Let’s take a look at what everybody’s doing:

Crozier is sad but also he’s focused on reading. Fitzjames is sad but he keeps looking at Crozier like u better fuckin read it good

Collins losing hope, Le Vesconte regular sad, Stanley inscrutable:

Blanky stoic, Jopson mentally cheering on Crozier who is doing a great job reading that Victorian handwriting:

Fitzjames overcome by the beauty of Franklin’s description of the known world: “with its rocks and moon.” Poetry, he thinks. The world does have rocks and a moon. Chi renda a me quell'uom?

Crozier’s voice cracking thinking about “all the people we know, have ever known, and ever will know:”

Hickey getting ready to shit in Gibson’s bed and presumably wipe his ass with Gibson’s glove:

Do I wish this scene was not cut through with Hickey shitting in Gibson’s bed? I do. Do I know what it means? Not really? Some kind of contrast between the baseness of Hickey’s actions and the high-mindedness of a funeral, showing the ends of the spectrum of humanity? Too visually boring to just show the funeral? Shocking us with how much Hickey really does not give a single fuck about society’s rules and virtues? Foreshadowing the inevitability of Gibson’s similarity with the rats he described as “swimming in our filth....devouring each other”? What are birds?

We Just Don’t Know.

Now because this is TV and the episode is called The Ladder, let’s take a look at all the ladders in the episode:

(1)

Concluding the plot of Silna’s father from the previous episode, we see the ghastly sight of the fire hole where Franklin has instructed his crew to take the man, in a horrifying contrast to the “mercy” he showed in a previous burial ashore. All the other dead after they left open water have been stored on the ship. Into this fire hole a piece of ship’s rigging extends, presumably (?) in case anyone fell in during its maintenance:

Either way it’s clearly a ladder, and it is clear where it leads:

Franklin takes this ladder down with him, as well as the bucket of coals they used to keep the hole open:

(2)

I’m pretty sure this is just an innocent ladder, but nevertheless, it does scoot by behind Irving and Hickey having their watercolors conversation:

(3)

Listen I have no idea what in absolute Fuck Hickey is saying at the best of times, but his little “you don’t know what you’re missing” speech to Gibson in their breakup talk is interesting:

I can’t think how this is contributing substantively to the motif. It’s more likely that he’s taken Irving’s suggestion of “climbing exercises” to heart and his actual plan to relieve the boredom of being stuck in the ice while simultaneously being E.C. Hickey is to.......somehow worm his way to the top? of the expedition? but it is interesting.

(4)

Listen I know this isn’t a LADDER (what if I didn’t and you were like........do we tell her.......) but it is the closest we come to acknowledging what is ACTUALLY needed -- a physical way out. Whether you call that a ladder, a staircase, or a road, Crozier Gets It:

This post has been sponsored by theladders.com: Exclusive Job Matches in HR, Sales, Finance, Tech & Marketing. Approved Recruiters. Not really!

ANYWAY this is my favorite scene. I love it. I love it to SMITHEREENS.

Addendum:

Here is the full text of the service, proving once and for all why I’ve never been good at transcribing (I can’t punctuate), but here for your reading pleasure:

“In his flight, Jacob lighted upon a certain place and tarried there because the sun was set. He thought it a terrible place. No house, no hearth. But that night he dreamed: a ladder set upon the earth, and the top of it reaching to the heavens. Behold, the Lord stood above it, and He said: 'I am with thee and will keep thee in all places wherever thou goest, for I will not leave thee.’ And in Jacob’s dream he saw the invisible world, companion to the known one we perceive, with its rocks and moon, its ice fields and brute animals, and all the people we know, have ever known, and will ever know. So complete it would seem to leave no room for its invisible brother world which is yet more immense than the one we see. For in this world dwell the angels who keep us, the Lord who will not leave us, and the departed, who though cleaved from the frame that carried them, yet live. The newest to their ranks our bright captain, Sir John. Who in the virtue and strength of his every gesture showed himself the elect of the Lord, destined to reign with Christ forever. The invisible world of spirits, though unseen, was present for Jacob -- not future, not distant, but present. And it is now, and it is here, among us if we open our eyes and see His truth amongst us.”

And HERE is the paper Crozier was reading from -- notably it is missing “the Lord who will not leave us” and the stuff about Franklin being the “elect of the Lord” etc etc -- though the latter stuff is probably something Franklin wrote anyway, just on a new page.

#theterrorappreciationweek #wheeze #long post #is this #meta?#my favorite scene is franklin's funeral that's all u need 2 know

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gatekeeper-watchman · 10 months

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Daily Devotionals for December 13, 2023

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Thought for the Day

The Bible stresses that children are to respect their parents. It is so important to God, that He made it one of the Ten Commandments: “Honor thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee” (Exodus 20:12).

God gave other laws that charged Israel to deal very strongly with rebellious children in the Old Testament. The penalty for striking or cursing one's parents was the same as for adultery or murder; the guilty party was to be stoned to death. “And he that smiteth his father, or his mother, shall be surely put to death. … And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death” (Exodus 21:15,17). It was a serious offense before God. The word for “curseth" in Hebrew is “halal,” meaning “to bring into contempt, curse, despise.” Belittling or mocking one's parents is a serious offense to God. Even if there is nothing about them that commands respect, we must refrain from speaking reviling words against them. Children with unholy parents should pray for them and ask God to change them. This is especially important for young people to understand. We are to bless our parents and speak respectfully to them and of them. Praise God, that under the New Testament law, children can find mercy and forgiveness if they have been rebellious to their parents. Spiritually dishonoring parents can result in spiritual blindness and even spiritual death unless rebellious children repent.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

We honor You as our heavenly Father and gladly submit unto You, trusting You in all things. Please remove any trace of rebellion from our hearts. We also honor our natural parents and our spiritual parents. Lord, we desire to always be respectful to the church elders and the authorities that You have designated on the earth. Deliver us from any anger against those in authority, and if we have been wronged by any of them, we trust that You will properly deal with them. We want to have a heart that is submissive, trusting, and free from all rebellion. We humbly ask this in the wonderful name of Jesus, your only-begotten son. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ, gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Wednesday, December 13, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., USA. X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA

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gatekeeperwatchman · 2 years

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Daily Devotional for December 13, 2022

Proverbs 30:17 (AMP): 17 The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother, the ravens of the valley will pick it out, and the young vultures will devour it.

Thought for the Day

The penalty for mocking and scorning one's parents was grim in the Old Testament. It carried the death penalty. The Israelites were careful to bury their dead. A body left unburied for birds to feed upon indicated an ignoble death, such as by violence or execution. Vultures picking an eye out of a dead body is what Agur seemed to be referring to as the result of dishonoring one's parents; for such a sin leads to other sins, exposing one to all the dangers of an evil life. Implicit in this proverb is the truth that though one may escape the punishment of man for dishonoring one's parents, one will not escape God's.

GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller,#Eldermiller1981

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annabethisterrified · 6 years

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Book Review: THE BURNING MAZE (The Trials of Apollo #3) by Rick Riordan

There are no spoilers unless you click ‘Read More’!

California is burning. After shutting down the oraclic sites in New York and Indiana, Apollo (aka Lester Papadapaulos) and Meg McCaffrey team up with Grover Underwood to find the source of the burning maze, a morphed portion of the Labyrinth where the third oracle is trapped. Along the way, they must work with demigods Piper McLean and Jason Grace to figure out how to navigate the twisting, smoldering maze.

But the third emperor of the evil Roman Triumvirate makes Nero and Commodus look pathetic. With the stakes high and their world burning, Apollo and his friends must put out the flames before they devour everything.

In classic Riordan tradition, this third installment amps up the drama and danger. With dark and mature themes, the lighthearted aspect of this series begins to dwindle away as real consequences and devastating decisions wreak havoc upon Apollo, Meg, Grover, Jason, and Piper. The Burning Maze is a cinematic, heartbreaking adventure that elevates the stakes and leads us to the grittiest part of The Trials of Apollo. Once again, this book proves that this third series is not a spin-off or separate from Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus; The Burning Maze proves that The Trials of Apollo explores the loose ends and lingering fears the first two series laid out. A must-read for any fan of Riordan’s mythological mayhem. Just, uh, grab some tissues first.

SPOILERY COMMENTARY BELOW!

Heyyyy there! So seriously, massive spoilers ahead. You sure about this? Okay. Also, I gotta break this down into chapters. It’ll be the only organized part of this, trust me.

1. That Fun Five Letter Word...Starts with D!

2. The Devolution of Jasiper

3. Apollo’s Arc

4. What Comes Next...?

5. Miscellaneous Sobbing

-----

CHAPTER ONE: THAT FUN FIVE LETTER WORD...STARTS WITH D!

I am not okay. Like, really not okay. Granted, I’m writing this review less than thirty minutes after finishing, so maybe I need more time to process what just went down but....damn. Like, my stomach ACTUALLY HURTS. I AM IN PHYSICAL PAIN BECAUSE OF THE CONTENT OF THIS BOOK.

In a good way, you ask?

Uh. It’s hard to say. This book is tricky to review. I’ve had an easy, breezy time describing my feelings for all the PJO, HoO, and ToA books prior. But in The Burning Maze...everything changes.

For years, a lot of us on here have lamented the fact that we felt Riordan’s books have lacked a degree of consequence. On the rare occasion that he did kill a character, he brought them back-- Jason in The Lost Hero, Hazel, Leo...I could go on.

And it’s not that we’re bad people who want to watch our favorites perish! We just...well, if you keep bringing back dead characters, we start to lose the fear that a character’s death should instill.

I guess he heard us, then.

Because if you’ve read this book, you understand too-- there isn’t anything bringing Jason back. This was real. Final. (In his own words!) And that kind of hurts. A lot. But at the same time, as heartbroken and sick as I feel, this is what we’ve been asking for for a long time-- something that reminds us of what’s at stake.

Something, I suppose, to make us remember that. (See what I did there?)

Now, I’ll talk more about this in Chapter Two because I have a lot of confused feelings, but I for one, when it was announced that Piper and Jason would be in this book, assumed it would be a joint arrival, if that makes sense? I wasn’t expecting the two of them to be starkly and individually portrayed and explored...and yeah, I gotta wait til the next section to talk about this. Back to Jason’s demise.

And yeah, this was spoiled for me. And yeah, it was my own fault, so don’t feel bad for me. Still, I didn’t know HOW or WHY he would die, so there was plenty of heartbreak for me to uncover along the way. I was mentally steeling myself for the first 300 pages of this book, dreading what I knew was coming, crying at nearly every scene he was in (which frankly, wasn’t many scenes!) and basically losing my damn mind remembering ceaselessly all the times we’ve had over the past what? EIGHT YEARS? Since Lost Hero came out? I’ve loved Jason since The Lost Hero...since I was TWELVE. I am now TWENTY. I watched him grow. I waited impatiently every year for the next HoO book to release. I watched him fall in love with Piper and expand his loyalties and grow stronger and wiser and end up with such a fitting duty-- pontifex maximus.

And today, eight years later, I watched it all get ripped away.

And I’m torn, because I think in a dark way, this is an absolutely tragically beautiful arc for Riordan to explore and utilize in ToA. I think it was a long overdue and necessary decision that clarifies the real danger our characters should have been exposed to much earlier.

But I really thought he was going to be okay after Blood of Olympus. I thought our Seven were safe. I had already imagined and accepted what their lives were going to be like-- I had imagined he and Piper’s kids, his job as pontifex maximus, everything that was going to unfold for him... I thought the great tragedy of his long, happy life was going to be not growing old with his sister, Thalia.

And it was hard to have him brought back into the action just for half of a book, just to get killed so gruesomely, so violently...without even getting to say goodbye, a fact that Piper and Leo later lament. So am I outraged at this writing decision? Or simply as a loyal reader? I think it’s the latter. I am angry for Jason and the friends he left behind, but I also deeply respect this writing decision. It’s a weird balance, and my thoughts will likely evolve as I have more time to digest.

I don’t feel good thoughts about this book, but that’s not a negative on the story. I think Riordan knocked it out of the park. That doesn’t diminish the dread and devastation I feel as a reader who has loved Jason for eight years. As a reader who had happiness for Jason’s future, and as a reader who really, truly, thought it would happen.

Then again, isn’t that the whole point? Demigods are never, ever safe. And now Apollo will always remember what it is to be human, because Jason did such a goddamn noble job of it.

I’m proud of that boy, and deeply sorry for him. I’m gutted. I’ll miss him terribly. I just hope this arc is further explored and resonates in the final two books in this saga. I just hope it wasn’t for nothing, but I know it won’t be.

Don’t get me fucking started on

Coach Hedge: “I was his protector.”

Leo: “Where’s Jason?”

Goodbye, please see Chapter Five for more screaming!

CHAPTER TWO: THE DEVOLUTION OF JASIPER

Ironically, this somehow hurts me just as much as Jason’s death? Like...okay. Let me think of how I can articulate this, because I’m feeling a lot of things.

First off, I (unlike many of us bloggers here) genuinely loved Jason’s character and his romantic pairing with Piper right from the get-go. It clicked for me. It really resonated, and I was fully supportive. I loved the strange dynamic of having this fake foundation, and watching it develop (seemingly) into something real-- something unique and strong, a soaring romance worthy for a daughter of Aphrodite.

We didn’t see it happen on-page, but they were an official couple by The Mark of Athena and I was behind it 100%. They had rough patches that I guess were indicative of future problems, but they were easily swept aside by the larger importance of surviving their Argo 2 mission. I loved their tender, intimate moments in The House of Hades and The Blood of Olympus.

Truly.

So I was confused when they were broken up (again, something we don’t see happen on-page) in The Burning Maze. And being from Apollo’s perspective, we of course will never fully understand why this happened.

Now again, I have to deal between looking at this from two perspectives. Am I upset at the author’s decision, or just as a really-passionate Jasiper shipper? Of course, my immediate thought was that one of them had broken it off to protect the other, probably thinking “oh fuck if one of us is gonna die in the maze, maybe I should break this off to avoid future pain”. But then jason goes and tells apollo that it was PIPER that broke it off well before the burning maze was even a thing and i’m like WATTTTTT

I’m still like WHATTTTTTT

So, I wait for Piper to have her heart-to-heart with Apollo. (Listen, I fucking LOVE Piper in this book. What a badass motherfucker. Holy fuck.) And I’m expecting her to give a concrete, selfless reason for breaking things off with Jason.

I wasn’t expecting her to have fallen out of love with him.

But the more Piper explained herself, the more I realized that I was just the type of secondhand observer that Piper had started to resent. Apollo put it succinctly: “Your relationship was born in crisis.”

It really was-- beyond Hera’s meddling and Aphrodite’s hyperfixation, these kids were also in WAR MODE. That’s enough to stress anyone out. I hadn’t really stopped to consider what Piper was dealing with, as a daughter of the love goddess. How everyone expected her to have everything romantic figured out. To have a love story to rival Percy and Annabeth’s. How her first love must be the love of her life.

And the whole world-- and the whole pantheon-- was watching them and expecting it. Judging them, all the time.

Like, yeah, girl. That’s a lot. I think I get why Piper did it, even if it broke my heart. That being said, I do wish that if Jason had lived, they eventually would’ve made their way back to each other and fallen in love for real.

But Piper was right. She deserved to forge her own identity, even with the world restraining her constantly. I wish I knew exactly where her feelings for him stood, but at least we know with certainty that she always considered him her closest friend. She clearly loved him so much, more than anyone-- even if it was a different type of love than the one they first shared.

Just because she’s Aphrodite’s daughter doesn’t mean she should have to fall in love so dramatically and eternally. That isn’t fair for her. Her first remark to Grover was cutting and clear-- Jason and Piper were never like Percy and Annabeth.

And this is still hard for me to stomach, since I love(d) them together, but I am glad Riordan is exploring the much more realistic aspect to relationships. As someone in a long-term relationship, I can empathize with Piper’s fears. The world always wants couples to be “Percabeth”-- together forever, utterly known to each other.

But the reality is, most couples are nothing like Percabeth. And that’s okay-- that’s normal, and as sad as that is, at least it was acknowledged and addressed and explored.

It took away some of the sting of Jason’s death that I’d been anticipating. I thought maybe there would be some last-minute confessional, some last tender moment between them. There wasn’t. He was torn away so fast.

I’m devastated that Piper has to live on without him. But she has her father, Hedge and Millie, Leo...she’ll be okay. She’s a fighter. Always was.

It’s hard to see one of Riordan’s hallmark couples fall apart in a way you don’t expect. But I can’t say it’s not realistic, and it’s kind of relieving to see one of his romances take on the tough stuff and not fall into a sweeping, encompassing romance that is usually unrealistic.

CHAPTER THREE: APOLLO’S ARC

YEESSSSS RIORDAN DONE GOOD ON THIS PART

Apollo’s narration and character has finally developed into someone I can truly empathize and sympathize with. As cool as it would’ve been to see some of these scenes from other character’s points of view, I was really happy to read through Apollo’s eyes. I love love love where his character is going.

God....him referring to Jason as ‘brother’...his obvious care for Meg...it got me good. I’ve always liked Apollo as a narrator, but this is the first book where I LOVED IT. He’s set on a good path! He’s still funny, thank goodness, but there’s also a darker, wiser grace to him now that gives the story a more serious edge that will definitely help the books moving forwards.

I can’t believe he tried to kill himself to save the others. Ugh. What a guy.

Love him!

That is all.

CHAPTER FOUR: WHAT COMES NEXT...?

So, I did a big happy dance when the next prophecy was revealed....REYNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE REYNA OH MY GOD WE GET A WHOLE BOOK WITH HER I’M PSYCHED FOR THE TYRANT’S TOMB

But beyond REYnA!!!!! and Camp Jupiter????? I don’t really know what to expect for this fourth installment. I imagine we’re going to Delphi for the final book, but sticking to the Bay Area for The Tyrant’s Tomb???

I’m like...extremely apprehensive because a lot of people are predicting that Apollo and Reyna are gonna fall in love?????????????????????? like what with her final prophecy: no demigod shall heal your heart

umm. first off, reyna could do WAY better. But like...is this actually gonna happen? UHHHHH????? Guess I have a full year to think on this one hmmm

CHAPTER FIVE: MISCELLANEOUS SOBBING

soooooo i’m like kinda numb kinda devastated kinda in love with this book kinda wanna throw it against a wall

Like, okay, I recognize that as an author Riordan did an excellent job writing this book and I am so excited to see what goes down next.

BUT ALSO I HAD BEEN IMAGINING THIS DREAMY REUNION SCENE BETWEEN LEO/PIPER/JASON AND THEN IT HAPPENED EXCEPT JASON WAS IN A COFFIN??????????????????????????????????????????? FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I ALSO CANNOT BELIEVE PIPER IS MOVING TO OKLA-FUCKING-HOMA i mean actually I’m really happy that she’s finding her roots and that she’s taking some well-deserved family time and that coach hedge is with her but also I WISH SHE WAS WITH HER CHB AND CF FRIENDDDSSS

at least it’s kinda close to Indianapolis?

jesus christ

Anyway, I really loved Piper in this book-- my queen, my crush, my...oh my god i just love her she’s a fantastic character and i really hope she’ll come back somehow for the final battle

I’m also happy that Grover gets to go back to CHB and see Percy and Annabeth again! Yay!!! And I’m happy that Camp Jupiter hasn’t burned down to the ground yet! Yay!!!!!

In conclusion, I will grieve Jason Grace forever. But damn, what a book. See you next spring, demigods.

PLEASE MESSAGE ME TO TALK ABOUT THIS IF YOU’VE READ TBM I NEED TO CRY MORE

#review #burning maze spoilers #burning maze #trials of apollo #the trials of apollo

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