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signs-of-the-moon · 8 months ago

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Moon High: Chapter 21

Warriors came rushing to aid as they heard the cry of the ginger she-cat ring clear across the forest. Leafheart hunched over the mutilated body of her son, Flamepaw, and Moonpaw watched on helplessly. There was so much happening all at once that it was hard to concentrate.

Moonpaw blinked, seeing Thornberry and some of the other mentors gather to console the grieving she-cat. Then, in the next moment, when Moonpaw blinked again, Smokepaw was beside her. He appeared to be speaking, judging by the movement of his mouth, but no words could be heard. The only thing Moonpaw could hear was the rapid thumping of her heart and a ringing in her ears. She tried to force herself to pay attention. But it was difficult. She didn't feel like she was present at the moment. Her body didn't feel like her own.

Moonpaw stared with wide unfocused eyes at the smokey gray tom. He continued to try and communicate. Then Smokepaw's brows furrowed as he realized Moonpaw couldn't understand him. He turned, and Moonpaw blinked again.

The next thing she knew, she was being led through the woods. Beepaw walked on one side of her, just behind Smokepaw. She was saying something, but again, nothing seemed legible to Moonpaw.

Time flew away from her like a bird on a strong gale, because the next thing she knew, the group was entering Treeclan's camp. Mothsong and Berrypaw ran over to them, checking every cat over. They seemed so distant to Moonpaw, like they were walking just at the edge of her vision. Smokepaw gestured towards his littermate, and for the first time in a while, Moonpaw could partially make out what was being said.

"She's... ...shock," Mothsong noted, her words cutting in and out of Moonpaw's consciousness. Moonpaw could barely feel the brush of the medicine cat's tail against her shoulder as she was prompted to follow towards the healer's den. An orange blob lay near her feet as she passed. Yet her mind wouldn't allow her to focus well enough to see exactly what the shape was.

Moonpaw then found herself settling into a nest as the calico she-cat brought over some herbs. I'm not sick, Moonpaw protested internally, confusion clouding her mind. She wasn't the one who should be tended to right now. But Mothsong didn't seem to think so, judging by the look of concern on her face.

"...eat...." Moonpaw barely heard her say. And though she felt like taking the medicine was pointless, Moonpaw followed directions anyways. She swallowed bitter plants first--thyme and goatweed, Moonpaw remembered their names being. Next, a tiny seed rolled onto her tongue and slithered down her throat, just as a soothing scent entered into her nostrils. Chamomile? Moonpaw guessed as her head grew heavy. She saw Mothsong in front of her. The beautiful medicine cat signed the word "sleep" in the Silent Language. Then, as if on command, Moonpaw found herself being pulled into a deep, restless slumber.

An uncountable amount of time passed before Moonpaw stirred awake. Her head felt heavy and body felt numb as all of her consciousness returned to her at last. She could finally think and see clearly. The medicine Mothsong had given her worked wonders on her foggy mind. But now Moonpaw felt stiff as a log. Stretching, the silver and white she-cat moved to stand from her nest. But before she could, a rustling sounded from the entrance of the medicine den. Moonpaw curled back up into her sleeping spot, not wanting to be reprimanded for leaving it before she was given permission. Two cat-scents made their way to her nose, before she could see who was coming.

"I'm glad I could catch you," Moonpaw recognized the smell and mew of Mothsong.

The second scent belonged to Wolfheart. "I was already on my way here. I wanted to check on Moonpaw."

"You must be Starclan sent, then."

"What do you mean?"

The medicine cat ushered the gray and white tom deep into the den, past Moonpaw and closer to the medicine stores. She didn't speak a word, but motioned for the tom to make himself comfortable.

Wolfheart wrapped his tail around himself as he sat, his back facing Moonpaw.

"Has something happened?" Wolfheart spoke aloud the question his daughter had in mind. His voice was pleading, begging to know what knowledge Mothsong withheld. Moonpaw peered through half-squinted eyes, trying to gauge what was going on without being caught.

Mothsong sat next to the wall of her den, too distant to notice her patient had woken up. Her focus was rested on Wolfheart. A turbulent expression took over her features as she paused a moment or two to find the right things to say.

"Starclan sent me a dream early this morning. A prophecy they wish to be shared."

"A...prophecy?" Wolfheart sounded to be in disbelief. Moonpaw shared his sentiment. Prophecies were rare. It was even rarer for them to be shared with an ordinary cat. But if Mothsong was so insistent with telling Wolfheart about it, then he must be involved somehow.

Excitement began to bloom in Moonpaw's chest. Was Wolfheart a prophecy cat? That would mean he would be a hero, just like in the stories of the ancients Badgerface spoke of!

Mothsong lifted her chin, her eyes growing dim. When she parted her jaws to recite Starclan's words, she spoke in a voice that did not sound like her own. "A great threat lurks, brought forth by darkness and forged by wolf's strength. Only when the moon can face its fate will the night rise. Do whatever possible to keep its light alive."

The air grew thick with tension as silence settled in. A few heavy moments passed. Mothsong appeared to return to normal. Still, there was unease between both the adult cats.

Wolfheart swayed his tail thoughfully. "...What does it mean?"

Mothsong shook her head. "I do not know. But this is the message Starclan has asked me to share."

"And they wanted you to share it with me...? Why? Do you think...it has something to do with my daughter?" Her father's fur was bristling, as if he were afraid. The faint scent of fear creeped its way to Moonpaw's nose, confirming her suspicion. Was he scared that Starclan had wanted to share a message with him? Or was he more fretful of what the prophecy meant? Moonpaw, too, found herself wondering what their words foretold. It wasn't the prediction of grandeur and heroism she had hoped for her father. Instead it sounded to be a more illfated warning.

"It's a possibility. But there's a chance the message could be more metaphorical as well. All I know for certain, is that things will reveal themselves in their due time."

"That's true." Wolfheart sighed. "I just...hope this doesn't mean Moonpaw's in danger." Moonpaw saw Wolfheart's head shift. He must have been glancing at her over his shoulder. But she couldn't exactly see his eyes from the direction his body faced. There was a sag of guilt in the gray and white tom's posture, as if whatever was prophesied was his fault. Love and sympathy squeezed Moonpaw's heart. She wanted so badly to sit up and comfort her father, but she would be caught easedropping if she were to do so.

Mothsong rested her tail upon Wolfheart's shoulder reassuringly. "Whatever happens is in the paws of Starclan. But they have never steered us wrong before. So please, have faith in them, and whatever their plans may be."

I will keep faith in them, Moonpaw swore, peering over at her dad as she hoped he'd do the same.

The gray and white tom fell silent for a moment. "...I trust your wisdom, Mothsong. But please, if you learn anything new, let me know first."

"Of course." Mothsong blinked slowly.

As if summoned by the thought of him, Wolfheart turned around to face his kit. Moonpaw quickly shut her eyes, hoping her father didn't see her awake. Heartbeats later she felt his fur pressing to hers, and the rumble of a purr in his chest.

"Are you waking up already, chipmunk?" He checked. Moonpaw resisted the urge to flinch. Instead, she slowly fluttered open her eyes, looking up at the loving face of her kin.

"Papa...?" She feigned fatigue in her voice as she spoke. Wolfheart smiled down at her, running his tongue over her ears and cheeks.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

Tired, miserable, confused, were some of the words that came to mind. Instead of speaking Moonpaw shrugged, resting her head against her paws.

"I understand," Wolfheart hummed, nuzzling her. "You should rest more. Hopefully you'll feel like yourself after."

That sounds like a good idea, Moonpaw agreed and gave a yawn. Wolfheart rose from her side and walked out of the medicine den. Mothsong followed him out not long afterwards with flowers in her jaws.

Moonpaw rested for a while more, ruminating in thoughts of the present and the future. Most of all she thought about the prophecy and what it could mean. Eventually, her body grew tired of laying in its resting position. Her paws itched to move and go into the camp where the rest of the clan would be gathered. With a swish of her tail, Moonpaw stood and padded out of the medicine den.

In the center of camp, Flamepaw's body laid. Berrypaw had just finished rubbing herbs into his pelt. But he wasn't able to cover up the death scent in time. Due to the long journey home, and the state of Flamepaw's body, birds of prey managed to catch on to the passing of the young apprentice. When Moonpaw looked up she could see a hawk soaring by the dusk kissed clearing every now and then. But the threatening hoot of an owl kept the other predator away. Tonight's vigil would be extra guarded, Moonpaw bet. A shiver ran down her spine as she made her approach towards her deceased clanmate. Several cats were ahead of her, each taking a few moments to sit close to Flamepaw and share tongues with him one last time. Then they'd move aside, allowing other cats to come forward and do the same. Most cats remained in the open to sit vigil for the remainder of the night. While those too young, old, or not close enough to Flamepaw took their leave and headed to their dens to sleep.

As Moonpaw took her turn to sit vigil, she noticed Den Keepers scaling the trees in camp. With precision and care, they wrapped greenbrier vines around branches, high above where any cat would normally climb. They used moss and broad leaves to grip the thorny appendages tying them tightly before descending to the ground. The vines were a cautionary measure, to deter feathered fiends from landing within striking range of the camp. Good, Moonpaw sighed with a bit of relief, tucking her legs beneath her as she bowed her head near Flamepaw's and prayed.

After her prayer, Moonpaw lifted her muzzle and began to groom his cheek. His fur smelled strongly of lavender and death, but beneath--if one pressed their nose close--Flamepaw's natural scent could be caught. Moonpaw did her best to commit it to memory. Then she rose to her paws, and after one last press of their foreheads together, the silver molly moved away. As she did, Leafheart looked to her apprentice and nodded at her thankfully. Moonpaw returned the warrior's gesture with a respectful head dip. Then she moved to flank her mother and father, who watched on from the edge of camp. Moonpaw saw yerning crackling in Wolfheart's pale green eyes as she settled with him. His focus was fixed on Blazestar who sat solemnly beside his mate.

Brightsky nudged Wolfheart encouragly with her muzzle, prompting the gray and white warrior to go sit beside his old friend. Wolfheart seemed cautious as he moved to take the chance and padded over to Blazestar. He dipped his head deeply to the clan's leader before taking a seat beside him. Wolfheart looked between his clanmates as if waiting to be judged. But no one spoke out. Instead, Blazestar rested his tail on the younger tom's shoulders and blinked at him with gratitude. He seemed to be reassuring Wolfheart of something. Whatever that may be breathed a small puff of confidence into the gray and white tom. Moonpaw was happy that her father could be there to support Blazestar.

Beside her, Brightsky sniffled a little, her cheek fur dampened with tears. At the other side of her, Magpiepaw laid. Her muzzle was buried in their mother's fur for comfort. Moonpaw wanted to say some soothing words to them both, but for once she had nothing to mew about. Grief tightened in her chest. All Moonpaw wanted to do right now was enjoy the comfort of her living loved ones. Speaking of loved ones, Moonpaw's thoughts suddenly landed on Hazepaw. Would he be waiting for her tonight? Something had held him up from joining the Gathering yesterday. Surely he'd be wanting to see Moonpaw tonight instead. Should I really sneak away to go see Hazepaw, though? Moonpaw wondered as her gaze flitted between her clanmates. Seeing their miserable faces made Moonpaw feel even worse. No one would be of great comfort here. So, Moonpaw set her mind on going off into the woods alone. Backing away, Moonpaw turned tail and headed for the Entrance Tree. Smokepaw called out to her as she climbed, asking where she was going.

"I need some space..." Moonpaw confessed before taking off into the trees. Wind flowed through her long fur as she ran across the forest towards the familiar rocks of Rubble Path. The trees thinned the closer she drew to the territory's edge, until finally only grass and sand remained. Moonpaw parted her jaws to taste the air. She needed to know Hazepaw was waiting for her. But any scent of hin was stale. Maybe he's disguising it, Moonpaw hoped.

"Hazepaw?" She called out, stalking to the top of Rubble Path. She peered down, looking between the jagged stones for a familiar white pelt. Then her eyes began to comb the sand and brush nearby. "Hazepaaaaw!" She called again, her voice echoing with the rise in volume. But no reply ever came. Nor did anyone emerge from the dark surrounding her. Great disappointment weighed heavily upon Moonpaw, even worse than what she'd felt the night before.

"Hazepaw..." tears began to well in the silver and white molly's eyes. She sniffed, then hung her head. I need you... the words remained inside her mind as she sobbed softly to herself. Moonpaw let herself cry alone for a while, until the worse of her grief was finally released. Then after calming down, she turned, retreating back home to curl up in the paws of her family.

As the first rays of sunlight began to crawl across the forest, Treeclan gathered together as one within the clearing of camp. They huddled in a large circle around the deceased apprentice they mourned. Some cats parted to allow Badgerface, Daisypetal, and Elmfoot through. Mothsong and Berrypaw had just finished wrapping Flamepaw's torso with vines--to keep him in one piece during the move. The medicine cats dipped their heads in respect to the elders as they got out of their way. Guards came to surround the old warriors as they took their place around Flamepaw.

Then, Daisypetal lifted her muzzle and began to release a keening cry into the morning air. Blazestar joined her, with Leafheart and their kits joining two heartbeats after. Moonpaw heart ached as she listened to their cries. Then she brought up her nose and joined the rest of her clanmates in a mourning song. Flamepaw's spirit was being commended to Starclan; his soul likely accepted by this time after facing judgment in the Twilight Passage. Flamepaw was a good cat. Silverpelt will welcome him with open paws, Moonpaw assured herself as the clan finally finished singing. Then, the elders lifted Flamepaw's body. Flanked by the Guards, the old warriors marched the deceased tom towards the thorn barrier and out of Treeclan's camp one last time. The clan watched after them for a few extra moments before finally breaking apart. Some cats went about their duties for the day. Others headed to their dens for a nap. Moonpaw contemplated doing the same, the weight of all that happened still heavy upon her. But Moonpaw knew she'd have no luck sleeping. So, instead, she took herself to the nursery.

Brightsky trilled in surprise as she noticed her daughter following her tail. "Moonpaw? Do you need something?"

"I want to have a talk with the queens," Moonpaw explained earning a nod of understanding from her mother. Brightsky ushered the silver and white molly into the nursery with a whisk of her tail. Moonpaw ducked beneath the large tree roots as she padded down the slope into the den. Since light had barely managed to greet the world, there was no need to adjust to the darkness within.

Mapleshine and Silverhawk sat up in their nests, their attention focused on Moonpaw. Surely they knew she was here for a session with them. And the pair seemed ready to listen to all that needed to be said. Moonpaw sat in a spot between all the queen's nests. But she sat closest of all to her mom.

"Speak, child," Silverhawk prompted with a nod. Her gesture was welcoming and wise. "Get whatever you need off your chest."

Moonpaw took a deep breath, then spilled her guts about everything. About watching Flamepaw's hunt, and how he pushed himself to chase the squirrel to the Thunder Path. She described how she felt witnessing his death, and confessed just how close she'd been to being struck as well. And she spoke about her experience with shock. The only things Moonpaw omitted were the prophecy she'd overhead in Mothsong's den, and any talk of Hazepaw. Though Moonpaw desperately wanted to speak of how Hazepaw had failed her last night. But that would take admitting to sneaking off to see him. Moonpaw wasn't willing to divulge that secret.

After listening to the last of her vent, the queens finally took their turn to speak.

"Oh, love," Brightsky crooned, nuzzling her daughter's cheek. She moved forward, wrapping herself around her kit."You know what happened to Flamepaw wasn't your fault."

"I know...." Moonpaw sighed, leaning into her mother. "But I was there! I feel like I could have saved him...."

"From what it sounds like, you were barely off from becoming crowfood yourself," Silverhawk chimed in, rather crassly. She lifted a back paw to lick between her toes. "Another heartbeat more and you'd be right alongside him in the burial grounds. There was no saving Flamepaw."

"But maybe if he'd heard me calling out for him, he would have stopped?" Moonpaw rationalized.

"There's no use dwelling on the 'what if's,' and 'maybe's,' hon," the Den Mother countered softly. "What's done is done. No cat blames you for not being able to do more."

Mapleshine twitched her whiskers agreeingly. "Besides, you did do something. You went to get help! No cat would have found Flamepaw for quite some time if you hadn't been there to alert the clan of his accident."

But there was another cat around, Moonpaw remembered suddenly. Darkfire had been nearby the Thunder Path. Yet she'd done nothing to stop or save the young apprentice. But why? Moonpaw wondered. Had Darkfire not seen Flamepaw get hit? Moonpaw was unsure. But she didn't want to incriminate Darkfire by mentioning her presence. Even if sessions were meant to be kept confidential. It doesn't matter anyways, Moonpaw told herself. Maybe I'm just looking for someone else to blame.

"Thank you all for listening," Moonpaw mewed with a head dip. "I'm feeling a bit better now. I think...I think I'll go find something to do to keep my mind off of things."

"That sounds like a good idea," Mapleshine agreed. "When you leave, would you mind sending my kits into nursery? It's time they got some rest."

"Sure," Moonpaw agreed with a stretch as she got up. Once more she dipped her head in respect to the queens before making her way out of their den.

By the elder's tree, Moonpaw spotted Mapleshine's kits playing. They were with Sunpaw, who batted at Honeykit and Sleekkit, while Peonykit tried to nab his tail. He laughed, looking so care free. It was as if he hadn't just lost one of his brothers. Maybe Sunpaw was distracting himself with the joy of the kits. Maybe it was his way of coping. Moonpaw hated to ruin his fun. But Mapleshine had requested her kits to come home to her. So, Moonpaw made her way over to the group slowly, only speaking when she became noticed.

"It's Moonpaw!" Honeykit squealed with joy. They rushed over to the apprentice, stretching up to touch noses with her. "Hi!!"

"Hello." Moonpaw purred in greetings. Her gaze moved from the golden kit in front of her to the others. "Its time for you all to go to the nursery. Your mother is waiting."

"But I don't wanna sleep yet!" Sleekkit griped. "Nightpaw said when we're apprentices, we have to be ready early in the morning for the dawn patrol!"

"That's when you're apprentices though," Sunpaw chimed. "You have a few more moons until then. For now, you have to do what your mom tells you. Besides, you've been awake all night. You've gotta be tired by now, right?"

"No!" Sleekkit squeaked, just as a yawn bubbled from his chest. The black and white kit's pelt fluffed with embarrassment. Moonpaw and Sunpaw both chuckled with small mrrows.

"C'mon, let's walk them home," Moonpaw suggested, sweeping her tail around the kits. Sunpaw followed them, matching pace with Moonpaw.

"How are you feeling?" He checked. "I saw you go into the medicine den yesterday."

"I'm alright now. I was in shock, after being so close to the monster and seeing Flamepaw..." she trailed off.

Sunpaw nodded, sadness glowing in his eyes. "I'm relieved that you're ok, at least."

Moonpaw made a small noise, pressing her body against his. Sunpaw purred in response, leaning into her embrace.

"Why don't we go out hunting once the kits are in their den?" She suggested suddenly. "I think we could both benefit from time away from the clan. And it would take our minds off of things for a while."

Sunpaw thought for a few moments as they walked. "That sounds nice. I'd like to spend some time with you," he admitted. The ginger tom seemed to cheer up a little at the prospect of going out together. Moonpaw had to admit she felt excited, too. After saying farewell to Mapleshine's kits, the pair of apprentices took off for the Entrance Tree and out into the forest, where they spent the rest of the morning forgetting their sadness together.

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corvidarcana · 1 year ago

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Oops! Whoopsie!

#i havent even thought about startinf the next prophecy chapter yet whoops #ill get around to it eventually #im falling behind on my writing goal for my book rn so that’s getting my priority

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 8 months ago

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analyzing some images (for fun)

so i found this pair of promotion images for good omens season 1 on the good omens reference library server and it’s hooked me so so bad im having feelings about it. we’re analyzing them now. not really for meta purposes just fun to see the parallels and differences :)

everything under the cut !

unique traits

aziraphale:

1) his plank background. its older, its crisp, it smells like wood from the screen. mmmm

2) the pencil shavings at the bottom. he does a lot of writing honestly, so i like this. also adds a messy and cozy vibe he always seems to have in that shop…. i like that blessed shop fr

3) his SUSHI. little soy sauce drops near it too—just the right amount of deliberate mess. our first formal introduction to aziraphale in the present day and beginning the Tomfoolery just happens to have sushi... i watch that scene and i go “yeah, that sums up aziraphale i suppose�� very nicely. (they dont have sushi Up There) (im literally never gonna forget that)

4) the ray of light shining on the scene. tiny thing, but a bit of the heaven is peeking through..it also sort of blurs the whole image but i think thats just me.

5) and we’ve saved the best for last: the big whopper. the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter, witch. I LOVE THAT BOOK!!!!!!! i cant remember if that ring stain was there but if it isnt in the show on the actual book i’d assume thats to add that ‘thy cocoa doth grow cold’ thing. ALSO. you know what’s being used as a bookmark in the pages?? a check for the ritz. he bookmarked their one chance for living . with a ritz check . MMMMMM. my GOD. that means so much to me even if i cant convey it in words. he KEEPS THE CHECKS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

crowley:

1) let me get my favorite out of the way. crowley’s glasses have fire in their reflection. we’ll talk about the glasses themselves later but the REFLECTION IN THEM. fucking FIRE, BOOKSHOP fire, PAIN, SRIVING THROUGH THE M-25, HELL, I DONT KNOWIM HAVING FEELINGS!!! i do believe this is a bookshop fire reference though, the flames feel too Familiar. the lengths people will go to to attack others 🤧

2) the leather seat background!!!!!!! probably meant to look similar to the bentley’s seats but i cant recall their texture, exactly. maybe just meant to convey modernness—unsure. still, its there <3

3) the tiny little crisp plant </3 its trying his damned best to stay perfect. it might a specific plant that means something, but i cant tell at thsi angle, so i’ll assume its a mini version of the ficus he keeps in the flat. its so SMALL and sitting in ANOTHER POT i CANT

4) the snake slithering!! black and red (in this image it looks orange lol) bellied scales!!!! slithering there, chilling, being crowley, showing hints. love it

5) QUEEN RECORD!!!!! TRYING TO OVERRIDE IT WITH TCHAIKOVSKY!!!!!! the tape over it does a reminisence to crowley’s handwriting, but in a clean ‘this made made to be a font’ way. not exactly just yet. ive become a fan of tchaikovsky recently. amazing darling wonderful crowley, trying to push the rock up the hill for eternity 😞

6) HIS LITTLE DEMON KEY THING. HOLDING A TINY LITTLE BENTLEY CAR KEY OHHH. thats how he doesnt lose the tiny key despite probably not needing one of those. and he CHOSE that intentionally probably. little wings and red circle….URGHHHHHHH

similarities

mmmmm now here’s the good shit. similarities! i’ll bullet point most of them but ohhhhh. ohhhh these. i’ll go from top to bottom as best i can….

1) one of their shoes, obviously. crowley has them iconic snakeskin shoes while aziraphale has his old loafers like the old loafer he is /pos

2) chateauneuf de pape wine bottle labels! (crowley’s is under his glasses, aziraphale’s is next to his shoe). oh my fucking god theyre MATCHING. the labels are old, battered, of course labeling the drink’s age, but mmmmm its these tiny details that get me going….

3) their respective drinks in their mugs—crowley’s a black mug coffee (or what looks to be coffee) and aziraphale’s angel mug tea (or what looks to be tea). i think about that mug sometimes. where did he get that from?? mystery for the ages….

4) their glasses, of course. crowley’s iconic sunglasses and aziraphale’s reading spectacles. i cant really tell the reflections in this pair, but if its supposed to be fucking fire, im done with this. im giving up forever

5) their own watches! aziraphale’s is visibily older while crowley’s is visibly modern, but they function just the same. also, crowley’s is set to 2:56:59 (presumably PM), which is around the time we see when crowley starts checking his watch at warlock’s birthday party. its almost time for disaster to strike!! 😃

6) and finally….their ties!! they have their own ties!!! or more accurately, neck accessories, but i digress. i mesn i assume its crowley’s neck tie, because the fabric looks… different. either way, crowley’s neck thingie is very whispy and aziraphale has his funky little bowtie i love so much,,,

okay thats it. there’s no canonical implications, any fantheories, none of the sort. just saw a pair of images and my mind went GOD DAMN!!!!!! theyre very important to me. i need to look at more promo material 😔

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable spouses #dont have an analyzing tag so. this is it for now

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divorceblogger · 9 months ago

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hey love of my life, you've read dune right? can u explain the kwistaz haderach scheme like im 10 years old

I willll <3 people aren’t wrong when they say that the ‘kwisatz haderach’ is just a very, very special boy that a white guy was writing about in his silly sci-fi book before he decided to write more seriously about the dangers of imperialism and colonialism in the subsequent sequels. but really, the kwisatz haderach’s most narratively important role in the story is as the messiah-ruler figure of a despotic, genocidal empire; and he’s still a victim of the story he creates, a helpless product of his bloodline’s imperial ambitions and generations of political scheming.

where the definition of kwisatz haderach gets more complicated is when you start to pay more attention to the worldbuilding side of things apart from just looking at the role he plays in the larger story.

in the books, the bene gesserit essentially begin a breeding program to develop a biological product who’s supposed to have superhuman capabilities - capable of training in the bene gesserit way & developing the ability to peer into ‘male avenues’ which are beyond a bene gesserit’s ability - as well as ‘female avenues’ (which the bene gesserit are restricted to). the ‘female avenues’ referred to here are probably mostly in reference to the inherited biological memory of the past, and the reverend mothers (who inherit the memories of previous reverend mothers) probably possess the most heightened state of a bene gesserit’s powers. I suspect the male avenues refer to the ability to peer into the future although it’s never clarified - but to summarise, a kwisatz haderach is supposed to have mental powers that enable him to explore time, access the past and sort through different possible futures which can enable him to shape/choose what form it takes (dune messiah deals with the tragic consequences of losing your free will and expands more on the concept). spice and its various forms are the drugs which enable bene gesserit to train and develop these powers. the significance of the kwisatz haderach to the fremen is more complicated, although you probably already understood what was happening there - the bene gesserit plant ‘prophecies’ and superstitions through its branch of the missionaria protectiva to develop a mythology and faith that a trained bene gesserit - ideally the mother of the kwisatz haderach - can exploit to her advantage to protect the product of several centuries of breeding in case the necessity arises. and jessica and paul do actually exploit the fremen to their advantage in the books and the movies, if more explicitly in the latter.

the movie obviously simplifies this concept more to its benefit. the bene gesserit, with their own political agendas, vaguely describe the kwisatz haderach as someone capable of leading the universe into a better future, which sounds too good to be true for a reason. jessica tells paul that the bene gesserit tried to develop a mind capable of bridging space and time and those are words also used in the book - the movie just does away with most of the weird, inane gender stuff.

#alia and paul are actively the worst things to happen to the empire. it is also fully possible for them to be sympathetic figures #and I think a lot of people can’t wrap their head around that fact. well. more of you should read julius caesar by shakespeare :/#text #dune #asks #sansacule #also helloooo I’ve missed you! it’s nice to see you again ❤️❤️

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obsidianpen · 4 months ago

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These questions about Lightning make me wonder what direction you plan to take it. I know you don't use the same things in every story, which makes them so delightfully unique. This is just my wishful thinking for you to explore the prophecy more. I know that in the books the power that defeats V is love, but for some reason I feel like there's something more to it than that. Harry is the chosen one, and that could mean so many things. Jamie, have mercy on me and please tell me something about this new story of ours 🥺🥺

omggg what me ramble about my the plot of a fic im not writing? Please

okay so

SPOILERS in case I ever do get around to writing Lightning

Here’s what I know so far about how the beginning of the fic is going to go (and I may, ofc, change my min entirely):

Harry, a young auror in training, goes back by accident, due to a dark ritual involving the ring, an illegal time turner and human sacrifice that he Ron and Hermione attempt to bust on their own, ignoring ministry protocol. Things go very awry, Harry ends up in 1950 ish, alone. Oh and he has a ton of gold, thanks to an interaction Draco that happens earlier that day - how lucky

Harry carries a terrible blood curse with him, and knows immediately that this shit is going to kill him and soon if he doesn’t seek medical help. But he also knows that time traveling like he did, no matter the circumstances, will send probably him to Azkaban, if not off as a test subject to the DoM. He knows they’ll look into his memories if he comes off as suspicious at st mungos, because it’s a real dark curse, and he’s a horrible actor and he’s awful at Occlumency and he knows it, so

harry concocts a ridiculous plot that allows him to pull out alllllll of his memories but with a plan in place to get them back after his curse is lifted, and sets things up so he wakes up right outside st mungos, where he knows they’ll take care of him

he is well taken care of, the poor lamb, to be attacked on Christmas Eve!!! and spends a few days there, maybe makes some hospital friends who have also had their memories fucked with

they assume he was the victim of some awful mugging, and that the perpetrator wiped his memories after and did such a terrible job and that’s why Harry can’t even remember his own name (they deduce his first name is ‘Harry’ only because he wrote it on the inner tag on his robe beforehand; a healer tells him that next time he writes his names on his personal belongings, he ought to put his last name, too)

but he still has his wand - how lucky! So they tell him he should go to ollivanders, as it looks like one of his (man remembers every wand he ever sold, ten galleons says he’ll remember you)

so Harry does, and the moment he asks, ollivander’s face goes slack - he’s clearly been confounded. He goes into a back room, hands Harry a moleskin bag, and bows him out of his shop without another word.

Harry goes back to the room he’s renting, and it’s NYE btw, and he opens the bag to find a shit ton of galleons and two vials, both glowing silver, one so bright it’s almost blinding. There is a handwritten note on each one. ‘Before you died’ and ‘after you died’

another note reads something along the lines of, ‘hi Harry, these are all your memories. I’m not even sure if you should take them all back or not; it might be better if you didn’t. It’s not often you get a chance to start over. But I know you - ha - so you’ll definitely end up taking them back. Maybe think about it first. It’s not great. I think I’d take the do over. really, think about it. Oh, and while you’re considering it - avoid Knockturn alley.’

harry does indeed find this all ominous, and assumes he must have been a horrible horrible person. He probably stole all this gold! What if he killed people for it! So he takes his sad amnesiac self down to the Leaky and starts to day drink heavily as the new year approaches

he is friendly with the young bus boy named Tom, who swears he’ll be running that pub someday.

as if gets busier later in the day, quite crowded, Harry gets more depressed. At one point, half the bar seems to cheer when a new person arrives. harry looks. He’s tall. He’s very handsome. He immediately makes Harry’s mind go on high alert and he’s instantly anxious and doesn’t know why.

tom the busboy tells him that if he keeps staring like that, the bloke is going to notice. Sure enough, he does. Harry looks away and is having a crisis (why am I staring at that handsome man? Why do I keep calling him handsome? Am I gay, and I forgot? Wtf is wrong with me)

so he goes to leave, but Tom the bus boy got busy, so he shouts to get his attention so he can say goodbye to his bestie. “Tom!”

”…Yes?”

wrong Tom. Harry is suddenly eye to eye with the very tall very handsome very scary man. He’s staring down at him, looking confused. “Have we met…?”

harrys body acts without his consent. He moves in ways he did not know he could move - in a flash he has his wand out, pointed at this man’s temple, has him backed up against a wall, his elbow across his throat, pressing on his windpipe.

about a dozen people around them are ready to kill Harry at once, but mystery tall man calls them off with the barest gesture. Harrys heart is pounding and he is having all these horrible confusing thoughts, like ‘should tear his head off, lock him up, stop him now, ruin him’

And he’s looking right into his eyes while thinking all these things, so TR is just drinking it all in, unbeknownst to him

Owner of the bar yells at harry. Harry, so very confused and too guilty and panicked to even apologize, just leaves. he goes somewhere far away for a bit… and decided to take the first vial of his memories then

mental crisis ensues

aaaaaaand I actually have a lot more than that semi planned but that’s the exposition 🥲

#Lightning #tomarry

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hypnostouched · 1 year ago

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What im most thrown by in Dark Heir is that Eleanor carried Will. With everything in the first book, with her being so firm that he is not her son - that she actually birthed him is so interesting to me and I had to go look back at the first book. Will does wonder what him not being her son means, if she found him as an infant or went through a weird pregnancy to have him but.

I wonder if he is her son. In a blood sense; I wonder if Will is Sarcean reborn AND the Blood of the Lady.

His Dark powers are sealed within him, it takes magic to touch them and I wonder if this was intended by the rebirth or this is because he has the Lady within him, sealing his stronger abilities. James can't do anything else when he's focused on magic; so if the Lady's blood is focused on sealing the Dark then of course he wouldn't be able to use Her power to do anything else.

Eleanor was Blood of the Lady, and Will follows her words like law. She is his moral compass, and although he fails her, he is tormented and anguished by that failing. I wonder if that goes deeper than her just being his mother.

We know that the prophecy is supposed to end with the Blood of the Lady killing the Dark King but it feels incredibly unfair for that to fall on Elizabeth. Visander might count now but thats too obvious; The Queen's Champion, now wearing the body of the Blood of the Lady. Thats the obvious outcome, death by his hand.

No, I wonder if Will might kill himself. Blood of the Lady, killing the Dark King. I know Pacat lets anime influence his writing, and I'm considering Code Geass. Fix things, put it all on false shoulders and kill them.

#dark rise #dark heir #dark rise spoilers #dark heir spoilers #will kempen

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wrongcaitlyn · 2 months ago

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Ok now that we have a secound tsats book coming out i feel the need to read all the solangelo fics

Do you have any long solangelo fic recs? U feel like I've read them all

of COURSE i do omg i have to admit that a lot of the fics in my bookmarks are shorter ones/oneshots but i think that the solangelo fandom just tends to write more of those?? or at least that's just my experience based on what i've read - but here are some longer fics that are must-reads!! (don't have as much time to write in depth reviews as my past recs so just assume that i have lines of caps lock keysmashes for all of them bc i swear they're incredible)

la vita è fatta così by HowlingAlchemist

When Bianca somehow comes back from the dead, she, Nico and Will are sent on a quest that will hopefully answer some lingering questions. But Nico and Bianca are not the kids that they once were, and things get very difficult as a result. this one is more bianca & nico focused as a plot HOWEVER there's a lot of absolutely wonderful solangelo!!

The Stolen God by @tsarinatorment

Python is defeated. The prophecies are restored, and Nero has fallen. Apollo has not been seen since. His trials are over; why isn’t he back on Olympus? i KNOW that i've already rec'd this one but if you haven't read it. like literally. go read it. seriously. (and also it's another one where solangelo isn't really the *main* focus, BUT there's lots of solangelo content <3)

FAR GALAXIES by @rosyredlipstick

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled out her PADD from her coat, slow enough that Nico only slightly twitched. Jason’s transmission was loaded up on the screen—at the bottom, their signature tag was spelled out. “Guardians of the Galaxy. That supposed to be a joke?” “More like an aspiration,” Jason said. - Space, the final frontier. Or whatever. this one's actually one im currently reading and i'm abt halfway through rn and love it!!

okay usually i define a "long" fic as 100k+ words but after looking through all of my bookmarks im realizing that those are literally the only ones i have. so! we're lowering the word count minimum to over 40k+ words bc these are also amazing fics!! (currently wishing there was a way to sort bookmarks by word count)

peach tea by ghosttotheparty

Please Stay by CoolBeesBro

like the sun and stars above by demigodbeautiies

Bad Sons by thesungod

will also subtly self promo my hunger games fic which has a lot of mcd and is very very fun imo

so that's wild it looks like i need some long solangelo fic recs too?? why are most of my bookmarks oneshots??? its actually so funny bc in other fandoms i have a bunch of long fic bookmarks and rarely any oneshots so it's an interesting little statistic. pls drop more recs if you have any!!

#wrongcaitlyn #wrongcaitlyn asks #ive also definitely read more than this in terms of just reading longer fics #but im very picky with bookmarks so ig there are reasons i didnt bookmark more of them #definitely need to find and read more though

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visenyatargaryen · 4 months ago

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as yall know i dont watch house of the dragon bc im literally so tired of this shit but i will never stop taking about daenerys. seeing all those gifsets and edits of hotds last episode and seeing that daenerys WAS supposed to be the one to end up on the throne and save the living from the dead and knowing she was set up to go mad and be put down like a rabid dog makes me go absolutely insane tbh i am seeing RED. it is painfully obvious and clear in the books that since agot george martin is setting daenerys up and writing her to be azor ahai reborn. all of the signs point to her. all those prophecies ARE about her. and in got they killed her off like a fucking rabid dog so they could make the fucking starks kings and queens. but daenerys was the one supposed to be alive and even in hotd they show that. so what was the fucking point. why did they make her go mad and kill her off. i will never forgive and i will never forget and i will always wish nothing but misery on d&d and every single one of yall who cheered when she was murdered. daenerys LIVES

#im so so mad #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #alessia talks

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stephofromcabin12 · 6 months ago

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Im going to assume you’re all with me lol

Little Camper/PJO ask game:

Send in the following and I’ll reply:

🫒 tell me an LC spoiler without context (in meme form)

🔥 tell me a pjo hot-take

💨 least favorite book in the RR-verse?

💖 favorite book in the RR-verse?

🍓 take a quiz and figure out your damn godly parentage already!

🎨 draw this! (And then you tell me what to draw)

📝 Share some meta/headcanons about *insert cabin here (and their campers) here*

🤫 Share some meta/headcanons about the gods

🤯 Make a new camper right here, right now!

👻 Give me a prophecy! (I’ll draw some tarot cards and try to write a prophecy based on it)

🃏Gimme a tarot card of the day (so Ames can practice her memory of the tarot)

👾 Gimme all your book recs!

💿 gimme all your music recs!

🗣️ gimme some writing advice!

✨ gimme some art advice!

🫵 Gimme a peptalk! (Pls specify what you need a peptalk for, otherwise you’ll get a very generic peptalk lol)

+🎤 Adding this means I have to reply w a voice note

#ask game #🫒#i am apollonough #pjo #asks and answers

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moonlitlex · 1 year ago

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i have so much to say abt chalice of the gods so im just gonna copy paste my review from goodreads here. you can also read it on goodreads

ok. i promised i would hate this book. and i do. i hate this book. i also hate rick riordan. in addition, i hate capitalism. i promise that’s relevant.

let’s talk about the book now. i’ll cover the things i love first. i love percy jackson. i love grover. i love annabeth. i love sally. i love paul. i love percy annabeth and grover together. all of these things are very obvious and self-explanatory. percy is hands down THE main character of all time. i have nothing bad to say about him. his literal fatal flaw is loyalty. he’s actually perfect and has no flaws. this is expected from the son of sally jackson, the perfect person. paul is sweet and kind to sally and that’s really all that matters. annabeth is awesome and supportive and so is grover and they’re all besties forever. you get it. you’ve read percy jackson.

the jokes are better than before. there are definitely some legitimately funny jokes in this book, which i was really missing from the last few rick riordan installments. and i don’t think this is because rick suddenly got funnier. i think it’s because this style of joke works for percy. of all of rick’s protagonists, percy seems the most natural fit for these jokes.

sally is great. grover and annabeth are generally on form. so is percy, as much as can be expected from rick riordan at this point. i will elaborate on this later.

now to complain. this is the stupidest premise i’ve ever heard of. percy is a high school senior. he is going to go to new rome university. he needs 3 divine recommendations. this is already a stupid premise but don’t worry, it gets worse. poseidon reveals that the reason percy needs these recommendations is that it’s a special requirement for him specifically made by zeus. and the reason he gets to have this stupid requirement is that he’s a child of the big three and shouldn’t exist.

hello. zeus. yes, lord zeus, it’s me. alexis.

what the absolute FUCK are you saying.

this doesn’t MAKE SENSE. the only reason percy shouldn’t have existed was that the gods had a stupid pact to not have any kids because of a stupid prophecy. two things here. one - that prophecy is OVER. everything turned out fine. thanks to percy jackson. you’re welcome, gods of olympus. two - percy has literally saved olympus TWICE now. two times. this is genuinely such a dumb and made up reason to send percy on a quest that i can’t even turn my brain off and enjoy it. it’s not fun. leave percy alone. LEAVE HIM ALONE.

it’s literally insane how stupid this setup is. rick keeps writing books about how the gods are horrible and take advantage of the demigods and the demigods live terrible lives. in this book, percy has LITERALLY saved olympus TWICE and motherfucking zeus (literally) had to be talked down from making him get 25 letters of recommendation to 3. this is AFTER percy spent 3 years in pjo almost being killed and got his memory wiped for 6-8 months depending on which book you read in hoo and then got sent on a quest to save the entire world AGAIN. this CHILD got like a 2-4 month break (depending on which book you’re reading) and he woke up with no fucking memory and had to spend like 2 more months fighting monsters and the literal primordial earth goddess. and now he has to go on literally pointless quests that someone who didn’t just get back home from saving the actual world could ALSO just do. because he needs to get some fucking letters of recommendation.

look. genuinely. percy jackson should snap at this point in the story. this boy should’ve snapped like at least 5 books ago. at minimum. rick wrote the perfect setup to show us percy’s instant descent into madness. he should LOSE it. all the gods have done for the ENTIRE time he’s known he’s a demigod is treat demigods like disposable tools. this is the point in the story where percy goes. wow. luke was right. you guys are all assholes who don’t care about us even a little bit. i am NOT saying what needs to follow is a fanfic-esque dark!percy story where he successfully destroys olympus or something. what i AM saying. is at bare minimum this is where percy goes you know what fuck you i hate you guys and washes his hands of being a demigod at least temporarily. at the very least he should sit back and think yeah, i don’t really want to go to new rome university. it’s not worth it. i will just go to a different university. look. it’s percy jackson. he can literally one shot all but the most fearsome monsters (typhon, the giants, a drakon, etc). he is literally going to be 100% completely fine going to mortal university AND he wont have to deal with zeus’s annoying ass.

listen. MY percy jackson wanted to kill smelly gabe as a 12 year old because he abused his mother. MY percy jackson doesn’t like bullies. MY percy jackson challenged ares to a fight just on the basis that ares was a fucking asshole.

MY percy jackson is not going on useless fucking quests to go to new rome university of all places.

which reminds me. why DOES he want to go to new rome university. this is percy jackson. he LOVES new york. why is percy “what did they do to my city” jackson going to university ACROSS THE COUNTRY from the city he loves. why is he doing that. and hey look. sally and paul (and soon estelle) are ALSO going to be in new york. so like WHY is he leaving for real. percy my fatal flaw is loyalty jackson. IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE OK! it’s percy he is seriously not going to have issues with common monsters attacking him. we literally saw him fight off titans and giants a fucking hellhound isn’t gonna get his ass. WHY is he leaving. it does NOT make sense.

there’s this scene ok. where sally tells them she’s pregnant. and percy’s like oh my god…. i’m going to be in california…. and my sister is going to be here…. and i was just sitting there going. yeah bro. why are you going to california. i literally do not understand. you literally are from nyc. you live here. your family is here. your friends from chb are like a short pegasus ride away. there are like 50 universities in new york. just go here. why are you leaving. you are percy jackson. being a new yorker is literally one of your defining traits. stay here. WHY AR EYOU LEAVING I DO NOT UNDERSTAND PERSEUS

and listen. if your argument is that annabeth is going to be in nru. why the FUCK is ANNABETH going to nru!!!!! WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT!!!! EXPLAIN IT!!!! percy LITERALLY says annabeth is such an overachiever she’s already run out of ap classes to take. he literally says that. why the fuck is this girl going to nru where let’s be real her admission is guaranteed. annabeth is 100% someone who would want to go to an ivy. and would you fucking believe it there’s an ivy right here in nyc. like let’s be fucking realistic here. annabeth started her architecture career at SIXTEEN designing the city the fucking GODS live in. so like. don’t you think she’d want to be a bit more challenged. don’t you think she’d want to go to a university that is actually recognizable to mortals. annabeth did NOT love new rome that much like did richard forget what he wrote. this girl was freaking out about new rome until percy said he only likes it because they could live together there. she literally does not care about new rome and she is WAY too ambitious and academically inclined to be happy with going to some small as uni 99% of employers have never heard of.

this isn’t even the worst character assassination in the book. that award goes to the way rick wrote percy. percy. my darling percy. my beloved percy. perseus jackson. light of my life. as i said before, he is MOSTLY on form. the him really wanting to cali thing is definitely ooc for him but it is NOTHING compared to the sheer amount of times rick portrays percy as stupid in this accursed novel. his internal monologue is constantly shit like i’m always so behind annabeth and omg i’m being so dumb right now and annabeth calls me seaweed brain because i’m an idiot and blah blah fucking blah.

dick riordan has forgotten that perseus jackson is, in fact, not stupid at all. he is INCREDIBLY clever. he is just not particularly academically inclined/not very book smart and it would also be perfectly understandable given the fucking books that riordan wrote to interpret that as percy being very discouraged from engaging with his studies. he genuinely enjoys chiron’s class at yancy because chiron is an engaging teacher and encourages him. he spends 90% of his time in pjo deducing what’s going on with extremely limited information because rick decided none of the characters can tell him anything because of plot and exposition reasons. in son of neptune he literally just coasts on having sherlockian (not bbc that’s a whole other angry review) powers of deduction. to the point where the characters around him are amazed at how he’s figuring stuff out. literally in house of hades annabeth’s pov’s are constantly her commenting on how she gives percy shit for being a dumbass but he’s actually really clever.

it genuinely feels like at some point during the writing of mark of athena rick decided to just slowly start making various fanon ideas canon. percy being stupid is very commonly accepted fanon because he doesn’t realize how smart he is (and fans don’t realize he’s an unreliable narrator) and the fans also love to infantilize characters with more in your face adhd (leo is another victim of this phenomenon). we’ve spent 5 books in percy’s head and he doesn’t think he’s particularly clever so it makes sense to ignore the mountains of evidence pointing towards his quick and creative thought process in favour of haha percy is dumb jokes.

the wild thing is, percy isn’t even that hard on himself in pjo. he obviously doesn’t see himself in the same way we later come to find out other people see him (mainly thinking about hazel and frank in son of neptune, which is the only time in hoo he genuinely feels like the same character as pjo percy) but he’s not really dealing with crazy self doubt and self esteem issues. he does have his down on himself moments but they’re all extremely understandable given the context because he literally faces impossible odds in every single pjo book. at one point he’s disappointed he couldn’t tell that ares and luke manipulated him… like yes bestie that’s a very valid thing to feel upset and betrayed about. it doesn’t mean that he’s actually stupid though and genuinely he comes across more as humble and not realizing just how awesome and cool and interesting he is than anything else. percy consistently shows that he is really clever. half of pjo is percy figuring out a new and interesting way of defeating his enemies and the other half is percy figuring out how to bait his enemies into a duel to improve his odds. it’s horrible what rick does to percy in his internal monologue.

it’s to an insane degree. yes i realize i have already written 500 words about percy not being stupid alone but i must stress how egregious this is. it’s literally characters who have previously acknowledged percy’s intelligence who start remarking about how he’s stupid. in house of hades percy and annabeth get out of fucking TARTARUS and reyna makes a jab about how percy wouldn’t be able to find his way out of a paper bag without annabeth. that is an INSANE thing to say for reyna and for rick. rick has not written a stupid character so it’s weird to make that something a character does without really trying to show them being wrong. from reyna’s perspective, this is a guy she was complimenting a few short weeks ago. this is a guy she immediately wanted to make a leader at the camp that she loves and is her home. this is guy she barely knows and she pretty much immediately proposes to him. WHY would she suddenly start making jokes about how dumb he is? it’s not like she actually knows him better now. he came to the battle with reinforcements and basically immediately dipped after the feast. how are we to accept reyna treating our beloved perseus in this horrific manner? we simply cannot. it is unnacceptable. this is inaccurate.

it’s so WRONG to do this to percy. yES I UNDERSTAND I HAVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT THIS FOR TOO LONG. I DON’T CARE. PERCY JACKSON IS MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE AND I NEED TO DEFEND HIM FROM THIS SLANDER. I AM ONLY PARTIALLY JOKING. listen. liSTEN. this is the guy whose signature move is manipulate your enemy into dueling with you when you’re outnumbered or outmatched. he very coolly manipulated bob into killing his own brother (btw this was very hot and sexy and clever and attractive perseus is king of gaslight gatekeep girlboss). he is NOT stupid. he is impulsive. he is extremely oblivious about some things. he is NOT stupid. i watched perseus jackson grow up for 5 books and he is not stupid. i always say this. i always say that percy is not stupid and richard riordan refuses to listen to me.

there are such horrendous lines as “i am a guy of limited talents. if i can’t kill it with water, a sword, or sarcasm, i’m basically defenseless.” richard how DARE you say this about my beloved perseus. he is NEVER like this. he literally would never say that. even at absolute worst percy’s internal monologue was “this plan is stupid and will get us killed. but it’s the plan i have.” he’s NOT a being defenseless guy. what hte fuck are you saying. richard did you read your own books. RICHARD. DID YOU. at one point he says that he is constantly several steps behind annabeth’s thought process. he has literally never thought this before and it is also untrue. richard. i hate you. read your own fucking books oh my god.

ok. i think i have sufficiently harped on the fact that percy is not stupid. now i will complain about another thing. and this was just in one part but it bothered me and this is my review so i get to talk about whatever i want. if you don’t like it read someone else’s review. don’t hate read my review. i didn't charge you money to read it

at one point, percy has to wrestle a god who hercules once wrestled. and annabeth says something about hercules brute forcing it. and look. i GET that hercules was freakishly strong. i get that. i understand it. but when annabeth says hercules just brute forced it they’re both like ah shit i can’t do that. perseus. beloved. you ripped the minotaurs horn off its head with your bare hands as a 12 year old with no training. you are literally insanely strong as is. that is an insane thing for a 12 year old to be able to do. hell, that would be an insane thing for a grown adult to do. i don’t think rick realizes how op percy is. he was so caught up in making percy cool (which is, you know, extremely understandable and right and correct percy jackson is the coolest man in fiction for a reason i get it) that he forgot that he made percy extremely unbelievably powerful too. with the curse of achilles he was potentially matching minor gods in power level. he fights while sustaining mini-hurricanes and explodes glaciers and shit.

some more things. the prose is… acceptable. the plot reads like a fever dream. there is a smoothie shop called himbo juice that annabeth percy and grover are evidently regulars at. and there are. himbos. that serve. juice. so you can imagine what this fever dream looks like. like the last couple rick riordan releases, this one reads like published fanfiction too, just with better quality of writing than the sun and the star.

there are some WEIRD continuity errors in here. one of them is fairly minor but i still noticed it - percy says his father compared his mother to a princess. this is not true. poseidon compared sally to a queen. specifically, he called her “a queen among women”. i know this because i am sally jackson’s number 1 fan.

more egregiously, however, is annabeth’s yankees cap heebie jeebies. percy puts on annabeths’s cap and gets the heebie jeebies while using it. and then he goes wow annabeth. you never told me that using the cap is like this. and annabeth is like yeah well. power is like that. richard. riordan. did you fucking FORGET that percy has, in fact, worn annabeth’s cap before. and it was literally completely. once again, richard, did you read your own books.

one more good thing - when percy fights geras/gary, who is the god/personification of old age, the way he does it is by imagining him and his friends getting older and embracing it. this was a genuinely good and sweet moment and it was very touching. the trio’s talks about this after the fact are also absolutely a return to form from riordan. for like, a few paragraphs. but still.

the biggest problem is just how obvious it is that this book is a cash grab. we had pjo. then we had a sequel series. then we had ANOTHER sequel series. and now we’re getting random standalone novels that are extremely unnecessary and don’t add anything. rick riordan has dollar signs in his eyes. these are not stories that make sense. these are not stories rick genuinely wanted to tell. these are stories that are being told because the purpose of publishing books now is to maximize profit. (sidebar - i told you the capitalism thing would be relevant. you should believe me more often. smh) the only reason rick is still writing these books is that they make money. they feel extremely empty and hollow.

percy is trapped as a teenager forever because rick refuses to let him age up. percy accepting old age would make FAR more sense for a percy who’s in his 20’s and just now realizing that he lived past all the shit he thought was going to kill him and he has a real life that he likes and he could actually grow old now. but percy must be a child for marketing purposes, so he stays a child. the world itself is trapped in a cycle of the gods promising they’ll be better and the gods literally not changing at all. and for the sake of the book series, it can’t change. if we had real change in the world, that would actually mean something, silly. we can’t have consequences. we have to reset every 5 years like a fucking comic book so that we can make infinite money. this is the infinite money glitch irl. just make trash that doesn’t need to be made. the end point of capitalism is making trash no one asked for that has no artistic merit just because you can make money off of it.

by the way, dr emily wilson’s iliad translation, which was also out on the same day, is LESS expensive than this book. this cashgrab nonsense novel is MORE expensive than a book a professor in classics who has a phd spent 4 years on. this is just wrong. the fun and stupid cashgrab book should NOT be more expensive than a book that someone spent 4 years meticulously translating from ancient greek. it’s just so clear and in your face. trials of apollo absolutely felt like a cashgrab but at least there was SOME semblance of effort there. this is literally just the most plain and simple cashgrab novel you can make.

hey. you know the infinite monkey theorem? the infinite monkey theorem is that a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter keyboard for an infinite amount of time will almost surely type any given text including shakespeare. richard riordan is a monkey with a typewriter. you get it. you’ve read percy jackson.

rick riordan struck gold with pjo. it’s genuinely to this day one of my favourite things i’ve ever read, flaws and all. it’s FUN. it’s COOL. it’s THEMATICALLY COHESIVE. the characters grow and change. they feel like real people with personalities. it literally doesn’t even matter how op percy is because THAT’S how good of a character he is. he is so compelling that you want to read about him anyway even though you can tell right from the minotaur fight that this kid can decimate whatever opponent he has. the books are funny and moving because you can genuinely connect to these characters. the more i read rick riordan’s work, the more certain i am that pjo was a fluke. i don’t think he knows what he’s doing. i think he should retire from writing.

unfortunately for me, richard riordan seems to have no intention of retiring. he has announced another percy jackson book that will be released next year. i assume there will be at least 2 more books based on the setup in this one.

rick. listen. i know you’re listening because what else will you do with your time. rick, why are you doing this. hasn’t percy been through enough. when will it end. give it a rest. stop it. get some help. at the very least, read your own books before writing percy. i am right about him and you are wrong about him. you are the author and i’m killing you right now. i am strangling you and i am hitting you with weapons. all at once. i am very proficient at causing deaths. (this is a metaphor referring to roland barthes’ death of the author. i wish no bodily harm to richard riordan).

this book is… alright. percy is my smart king. sally jackson is queen of my heart. it’s a fun read but you do have to turn your brain off completely and read through some serious percy defamation.

[edit: i am downgrading this book to one star (was at 2). the more i think about it, the more angry i am. there is literally a paragraph tailor made to rub jason's death in our faces. it's about how he looks forward to getting old being married to piper and having grandchildren. it's a very low blow. jason is literally rick riordan's biggest missed opportunity and he's rubbing in how poorly he treated jason even after killing him off for apollo's character development.

annabeth still keeps putting percy down because rick doesn't realize how mean she is i guess. she's still scared of him. canonically. which is a really weird and fucked up thing to write imo. this relationship doesn't seem healthy in canon (they are healthy in my head, however, because i know what women are like) but rick refuses to address it or let them break up. i LOVE annabeth. i love her. but she is an extremely flawed character and rick never treats her as such. and it just makes it exhausting to read about her.

percy IS on form but it genuinely feels like he's tlt percy, not post hoo percy. his inner voice sounds way more immature than it has for most of pjo and in son. riordan also repurposes the "look, i didn't want to be a half-blood" line from tlt to make a dumb little joke about how high school is hard. it was a GOOD opening line. it immediately set the tone and told us so much about percy in literally just a handful of words. now it's a joke about how being a senior in high school sucks. it's this mcu-esque allergy to being sincere that pjo never had.

there is BARELY any grover in this book. i love grover so much that i was cheering any time he was there, but there is very little of him. he's in like 2 or 3 scenes and has his own side plot going on with juniper and being bad at understanding what his girlfriend wants or whatever. extremely unnecessary and not what i want for grover. this book kind of ends up feeling like it's about annabeth but from percy's perspective. she gets good moments at percy's expense. percy spends the book monologuing about how annabeth is way smarter than him and all he has is his sick ass water powers and the best swordfighting skill in 300 years, both of which are very downplayed. percy explodes a river and it's treated like this crazy freaky scary thing but two years ago in universe he made a volcano erupt and everyone was like yeah this makes sense percy is that powerful. in son he explodes a glacier and it's just a normal tuesday for him. he literally doesn't even react to it. and now we're supposed to believe his exploding and purifying a river feat is some unbelievable feat.]

in conclusion, i want a refund. no i did not purchase this book. however, i would like to be reimbursed about $5000 in emotional damages. i will also be suing richard riordan for defamation on percy’s behalf. good night new york city. and my beloved perseus jackson who lives in new york city.

#alexis.exe #pjo #cotg crit #rr crit #cotg spoilers #cotg #i hope yall who dont want negative stuff have the crit tag blacklisted lol dont come at me

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cherubispunk · 1 year ago

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ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (part i // ichor.) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader

summary: stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the 'man made from metal', forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.

a note from lucy: so, its back. i'm officially back! basically, I went through it. accidentally deleted my blog. had to start from scratch. repost it all. but! I'm here. you're here. we're all here! Greek mythology is a huge love of mine. I always like to add a small sprinkling into my fics where possible. and now im writing one based wholly of two greek myths: eros and phsyche, and circe. I've read Madeleine Miller's 'Circe'. I fell in love with it, it's genuinely one of the best books ive had the pleasure of reading --hence the fact that this is heavily based off it in terms of 'lore'. Din is the perfect character for these myths to be translated into fic. So, without further ado, I present to all you lovely people (again lol), my mythology!au; ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. for @inklore and @psychedelic-ink's haunted hoedown. A three part fic with our beloved space cowboy. I really hope you enjoy it as I put a lot of time and thought into this. I love you all, you wonderful Pedro fanatics.

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wc: 2255 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Circe' twice in this chapter alone, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to past sexual assault (very mild), cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eating, choking, breath play, oral sex - f receiving, edging, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

series m.list | m.list

You had done many things under the pseudonym of Circe. Bird. Crow. What your mother and siblings used as a knife to your throat. An insult in the form of a name. One that man whispered in myth around fires. One a sailor would call out in fear upon reaching the shore of any island in the vicinity of Aeaea. It clung to the disgusted curl of their tongue like the tang of sour fruits. Lemons of Sicily. Limes from crete. Wrapped in letter parchment, sweetened with ink.

Across from you is the god responsible for many of those tall tales. In his gold sheathed glory, olive skin gleaming with a ripple of muscle against the warmth of your hearth. Under it flows ichor, steadily. His winged sandals flutter in a twitch every few minutes. A subtle sound that is heard little too often over the lilt of his voice. Hermes. A deity you invited to your bed when he would visit, indulge in the stories of how he stole cattle as mere youngling, delivered messages of ruin to mortals. Travelled the planes of the underworld from the Styx to Elysium Plains. Hades and his sunken eyes on his throne. Where winged sandals would carry him overseas with his travellers cap and staff of entwined twin snakes.

He would sit upon your chair, open his loose lips and a drone would pour out, Maybe to a mortal he would seem all so interesting. One to dote hours of your day to the thick honey like pouring of his voice in your ear. But to you – the witch – a goddess in your own right, he was a mere drag. A rake. A god worthy of being turned to swine at the unjust sight of his curling smirk.

You would have drifted off it weren't for his voice picking up in interest, your ears perking up with it. The high buzz from his drone of white noise faded, ebbing into coherence while his lips drifted in voice. Practised and perfected movement the way any divine being did.

“The fates speak of a man. Made of metal.” He mused, studying his thumb and forefinger as a stand of your lionesses hair was snagged between it. You wished to singe it from his fingertips. “A warrior.” “From overseas of Greece?” Now, and only now, he had your attention.

“Further.”

You muttered a curse under your breath. Where would be further. “He will sail on a ship, strand himself on your shores engulfed with fire. And you shall do as you have before.”

“Take it?” You sneered, sitting forward in your seat, teeth bared at him. “I suppose I shall feed him before he sets his disgusting hands upon me.”

“Oh come now,” He smirked, “Were you not to take him to your bed regardless?”

“I shall sew your mouth shut for such accusations.”

Hermes sighed, rolling his eyes in all his dramatics. Lounging in his seat.

“Circe, you humour me with your feral tongue.”

“And you disgust me with your plight.” “Ah,” he held up a single finger, humour on his face at the top of his curled lip, “I may be bored. But at least I have the world. You, Circe,” he spat, raising a brow in sickening amusement, “have nothing.”

Your face drained of colour. Your heart aching in its chasm of a chest, ribs pinching. He was right. Your oasis was still a prison. Despite its bars of gold, it still held you. Contained you.

He stood in his victory over you, taking one last look around. “One last thing–”

“Oh, there’s more, is there?” You sighed, staying seated. For all his heirs and graces, he was no more worthy of your respect than the dirt caked to your bare feet in winter's first bite. The god merely crossed his arms, a diving wind rustling the blonde curls upon his head, wrapped in laurels,

“You must never look upon his face.”

You sat in a furrowed brow muddle. He had drifted to the wind, turned to a shimmering spectacle of dust, in nothing more than a blink.

—

He came with a blundering sputter. In a ship that was no ship of wood that sailed on tides. A hunk of chrome with spitting fans of fiery heat. A thwip through your cloudless skies to crash upon sandy shores.

He came…with a child. A green creature with pointed ears similar to satyrs, no taller than your mid calf, alien to you. Wide hickory eyes that masked his face with innocence, having seen things unspeakable to even brave sailors. And when they sat at your table, piled plentifully with sweet figs, legs of mutton infused with rosemary, steamed and seasoned greens, and honey in its jar, the man of metal left all deserted by his lips. His plate was clean, wine untouched in his cup. Never once needing an added refill. Nor did he speak kindly. Rather, reserved. Gruff, distorted by something in his helmet seemingly fused to his head. While the child chewed on the fleshy roasted bone of lamb.

Rhythms of autumn, songs of summer, ballads of winter watched over you and the meadows you walked. Gardens you tended to. Woods you roamed. And he did too. There was something within him. Under that beskar. It called, howled, growled in insubordination. A vulgar hatred of being vulnerable out in this position. Where you held an advantage of both terrain and power.

So he took in a way he knew. In carnal, biting desire paced by him. Phallically. Reversed the role of who won who, made you beg in your own bed, in the drowning pools of darkness. Never to see his face.

But oh so familiar.

The first time he took you was akin to a memory in the very moment it happened. A haze of something so absurd it couldn't possibly have been true. Played out the way it did. The Mandalorian watched while you bathed. In a creek not too far from the path. A rock for your lioness to splay out over, sunbathe and make her coat gleam gold like the ichor in your veins. Her ears pricked at a sound he made. One you did not hear with your head submerged under the clear pool.

She looked up, lifting her whiskered chin from her large paws, and her eyes met his. He did not fret. Nor did he stop and turn away from the great willow he stood below. Only glanced from her to the curve of your bare chest rippling above the crystal waters rippling surface.

From there, he had stalked you to the deeper parts of the forest where even your familiar did not follow. Watched as a wicker basket was tucked under your arm, flowers and mosses being picked from the ground as you went about gathering pharmakeia for your draughts.

He appeared, bringing his musk while his hand clamped down over your parted lips. Pressed your front firmly into the tree, hands scraped gold raw by the silver birch’s peeling bark.

“Don’t.” He growled upon your demand to turn around. “Face the tree.”

And you obeyed in tandem with the hiss of something– his helmet– as it dropped to the dewy floor by your bare feet. A single kiss, seasoned with sparse prickled hairs was laid to the nape of your neck, a wondrous dichotomy to the events yet to unfold, noises of restraint on the tip of his tongue, the back of his throat. The skirts of your dress were gathered in messy haste, undergarments pulled to the side, revealing the shine of your own slick. How you dreamed in secret nights of this very moment. His taking of you, his claiming of your cunt— grunting while he invaded the tightness of your walls, flayed you open forever like a sacred text, ready for him to read once again.

A large palm of his, gloved in leather, pressed to the nape of your neck where the notch of your spine ended and your skull began to curve, thumb pressed to flesh, fingers curled into gnarled hair. You gasped, cold air nipping the back of your exposed thighs, fully clothed still, yet bent to submission by the masculine will of him. Naked.

The orgasm was The Mandalorians. And the Mandalorians alone. You never questioned the burning ache of pending release. Merely let it simmer in the tight heat of your walls at the mouth of your cervix. His noise still stinging in your ears, shocking the breath from your lungs. He took no time. It was a rush for his release. His domination of the witch of Aeaea.

From that moment onwards, you imagined his lips, recited in drugged sleep to the egyptian cotton and goose down of your pillow. His irises. To write a poem on parchment about something you could not see, nor ever would per his and Herme’s telling. Fingertips itching to feel warmth of skin, not beskar. While his armour was smooth, buffed, polished to shine in rays of Helios's chariot, it was cold to the touch. You had his visage mapped in your mind. Well trodden by fingertips such as the paths by the tall cliffs. The Mandalorian. Nameless. Faceless.

He spent each night for a fortnight in your bed. The first, he parted your legs himself, and the rest they were already spayed open for his wanting. He snuffed the candles with his thumb and forefinger, unsheathing them from his gloves before doing so. You watched with intent from the sheets as his visage dominated the tall door frame. Shoulders broad and intimidating the negative space he occupied. Only when he was shrouded in utter darkness did he remove his helmet, climb his way up to your parted lips. Curating a careful path from them, over the column of your throat, descending your navel to the forbidden fruit gleaming, ripe and juicy for his lips. Ready for his first damning lick of your sex.

Like the apple in the garden of Eden, temptation on Lucifer's forked tongue, he delved deeper, rested his naked face between your tensing thighs. Broad arms, still sheathed in beskar curled under them, dragging you closer to his open mouth while your arousal, slick and thick as honey, drizzled out your weeping hole to his open, wanting mout.

His tongue drew ellipsis over the twitching bud of your clit. Thick and firm, the tip pressing into your cunt, following your hot seam down to your quivering hole. He dipped inside, curling it to draw the taste out. You couldn't see his eyes. But you liked to imagine they were open to feast on the sight of your quivering and naked chest the best he could without the guide of the candlelight. Now snuffed into curling stings of smoke. Staring while you were shaking under the pleasure rolling up from your centre and cascading like a landslide down your spine. It made you shiver. The soft plush of your legs swallowing his exposed ears, the small, neatly trimmed curls tickling the sensitive flesh. His coarse beard, scruff scattered in a smattering over his sharp chin scratching your skin.

A low groan rumbled from the back of his throat, your tang dancing with light feet over his taste buds And his nose bumped into your clit as he tasted more. Devoured your cunt like his last meal.

It wasn't long before you felt the burn behind your eyes replicate in knots in your belly. Tightening at the mouth of your cervix while he ate at you. A cry of his name bursting from your chest as he flicked his tongue with vigour. He had one aim in mind. To taste your release. The sticky mess that would coat his lower face.

“Give it to me.” He commanded. And oh, how you tried. You willingly left this realm while he licked at your pussy, his tongue languidly rolling up one side of your labia, up to your clit and circling it, then down the other side to plunge into your tight, clenching hole once more.

You nimble fingers curled into his hair. It was coarse, wispy at its ends where it started to coil loosely. And you gripped it as you ground your core into his face. RIding and grinding into his face that was exposed to your quivering cunt. Not ready to part with the way his ips enclosed around your clit and added enough suction for you to see Ouranos and all the stars that tattooed his blue skin.

You panted a chorus of heavenly oh’s. Breath came in heavy as he pulled back to spit. You felt it, cold in contrast to your own heat, drooling down to your slick entrance. It quivered when he added a finger, curling up from the second knuckle. It was merely one digit. But it stretched you out, had you reeling while he beckoned your orgasm closer to materialising in your belly.

He could smell the musk of you and it was divine.

He had your orgasm building and building into a near state of harrowing oblivion before he let it rip through you. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And then it broke, like some great epiphany from him as an enigma.

He stood, replaced his helmet, leaving you boneless. A quivering, babbling mess of sweat and slick in your own sheets.

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