#Which led to this unhinged creation of mine

[time-valley]

Imagine a world where when Galahad finds the grail, it doesn't raise his soul to the heavens but instead sends him back in time with the future of the ruin of Camelot in his memories.

Imagine a world where Galahad must prove himself of worthiness to the holy grail by saving the Kingdom from certain doom. Imagine a world where Galahad is locked in a time loop of trying and failing to save his Kingdom.

And what if on his repeats of the years, he notices Mordred, who he has been shown to lead a rebellion against his king and bring about the ruin of Camelot. What if he notices a Mordred who is not yet filled with resentment but instead a Mordred who lingers in the shadows, watching, watching and wanting. What if Galahad befriends this Mordred over the timelines?

What then?

What if Mordred, not used to this new Galahad who acts strangely to him, notices something is wrong with the pure knight?

What then?

[feferika]

No one asked this, but here is an analysis of one of my favorite One Piece arcs strictly from a literature and film fanatic standpoint...

PART ONE: TRILLER BARK

Thriller Bark is the first favorite! Because it shows some of the unknown literary prowess of Oda sensei that many people probably would overlook (simply from it being so obscure with the references).

Now, the first obvious reference that this arc brings up is Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

We know just from a glance that all of these monsters are not quite what they seem from their stitched up appearances. Unlike the stereotypical take on Frankenstein’s monster of the bolts and thunder, we have the truly gruesome amalgamations and chimera-esc creatures truly rising up to greet us.

While these creatures are very comical in appearance, there are also extremely horrific looking moments with them.

Much like Victor Frankenstein, Hogback and Moria do not truly comprehend how their monsters can affect other people. Entire lives are being uprooted for the sake of these monsters that are mutilated for the sake of science and their own personal goals.

We see some of this through the unhinged use of Cindry’s creation which very much mimics the Bride of Frankenstein’s story in many ways.

While she is not solely created for the same purposes as the Bride of Frankenstein, she is still created for the sole desire of another person.

Her disjointed personality shines through in her actions that are very disparate from the original person. Simply put, they are not the same person at all despite having the same appearance. The entire essence of the original Cindry is lost in this creation and becomes a purely physical satisfaction.

These are also highly comparable to the 1932 film White Zombie for the smitten notions and the morally unacceptable actions of the lead character who sought to empower the women for his own. Which is also where we possible gain Cindry’s overall design from.

While many of the overall aesthetic of the arc is reflective of stories like Dracula by Bram Stoker and its many iterations in media, it is also fair to say it is overall taken from inspiration of all of the classic monster films and their aesthetics.

The Post-Thriller Bark moments with Dracule Mihawk, Perona, and Zoro merely expand upon this notion and further solidifies these references

For heaven’s sake, his name is basically Dracula! Anyways, I digress...

Now, let’s take a step back for a moment and analyze Hogback’s name for a moment. Hogback is a geographical term to signify an odd strata formation generally in mountains.

The name was probably chosen for the rough and jagged appearance, much like the person and his creations. Since these formations look much like the stitching of the creations, I find it a very fulfilling name for our doctor.

So, what about Gecko Moria’s name? What makes his name so unique?

Well, many of us who have seen the Lord of the Rings may remember a place called the “Mines of Moria.” However, many of us may not be aware of the origin of the name Moria itself.

So, J.R.R. Tolkien was a fan of many older forms of literature and is known for his work in transcribing many words for the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) from older forms of English that we would not be privy to today without his and others’ efforts.

One of the literary works that Tolkien took inspiration from was a Norwegian story called Soria Moria Castle (or Soria Moria slott). Now, I have read this story before and I absolutely adore it, but many of us may have never read it. So, I will briefly explain it. 

The main character, Halvor, is a good for nothing son who longed for something else in life. He was led astray by a man to set out at sea and is LOST. He gets off his boat and finds a castle.

Hmm. Strange. I think I remember Luffy and the Strawhat crew getting lost at sea and stumbling upon a mysterious castle through the ghost and fog.

Anyways, many things happen as Halvor is in this mysterious castle.

First, Halvor is warned about a three headed troll living on this land.

Second, Halvor is asked to wield a sword.

Third, a marriage deal is offered to Halvor with multiple women involved.

Fourth, there is a time where the parents of Halvor find their own son unrecognizable until a series of events later.

The story continues with more series of events with weddings and travel using magic, but what is important is that many other elements of the story shine through in this One Piece arc.

So, while many can chalk this arc up as being purely classic monster aesthetic, there is clearly more going on here than we first realized.

So, now we know why the name Moria is relevant. But what about Gecko?

In Japanese, Gecko means “Moonlight.” Which that alone feels fitting for a man that revels in the shadows for his malicious intentions.

Now, it would be folly of me to chalk all of these references up to solely one Norwegian folktale since many of these comparisons can be shared with the story The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells.

This is a story of a shipwrecked man who details the actions of the doctor on the island who creates human hybrid amalgamations using animals.

Many of the animal amalgamations mentioned in the story are also featured in this comic itself. For instance, the character recounts how he looked upon creatures that resembled “swine” much like our beloved Lola’s monster form. There is also mention of an ape-man, rabbits, sloth-creatures, hyena-man, etc...

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY! He mentions a leopard-man! Even a puma-man!

HE ALSO MENTIONS... DARE I SAY IT... DOG-MAN!

Anyways, it’s mostly about the animal-human hybrids. That’s what you need to gather from that story.

So, what about some of the other characters? Ones like our precious Ghost Princess Perona?

Well, there is no REAL evidence to what she is in reference to other than the idea of ghosts, poltergeists, and spirits often being entities that mock and toy with others. For instance, most western depictions of ghosts like the three bullies in Casper or some of the small-fry ghosts in GhostBusters.

I like to think of Perona’s ghosts as more of an Inkwell Era reference.

Which is also what I pertain to most of Brook’s enchanting humor. So, think cartoons like Betty Boop and you have the general idea of what I’m talking about.

Perona is also very characteristic of the idea of women who reside over the horror media and truly reign on it. We’re talking Elvira, Vampira, Morticia Addams, etc... Horror Queens to put it simply.

But this neglects some of the later iterations known as Scream Queens which over the years have gathered a more gothic punk aesthetic such as in The Return of the Living-Dead, Underworld, or even in REPO! The Genetic Opera...

So, yes. Plenty of horror aesthetic. Which is why we are hounded by zombies and can laugh throughout the entire arc. Since, that’s what classic horrors and cheesy modern horrors are all about.

Of course, Perona’s style itself is more reminiscent of Gothic Lolita culture, but I doubt any of you need little ole ME to point that out.

Why, we have grown up with that representation in many other forms over the years in anime anyways.

It would be odder if Oda sensei DIDN’T touch upon such a cultural iconic look.

So, yes. Perona is great and I adore her. But there are more characters to talk about! Like Brook! Who I have mentioned at least twice now!

Why the name? Why the violin? Why the gentleman look? Why anything?

First, I would like to point out that a brook is a small stream. Streams are known for a multitude of meaning, such as a stream of music flowing or a stream of silly words... Brook is a skeleton man with the power of BOTH and he has a flowing way of working with his soul.

So, then there is the gentleman look. He is specifically supposed to be a man of the past and look contrarian to the people of the present. Giving him a classic gentleman look carries this effect out perfectly and further exemplifies the classic horror setting of this arc.

So, what about the violin? Violins are one of the most performed classic instruments for horror stories but also for uplifting songs because of the varied range it has for musical prowess. Plus it’s an instrument that is easy to carry around and has a long lineage of usage. Perfect for a gentleman who has been around for a long time.

Brook’s introduction brought about plenty of classic tips of the hat to how to ward off evil spirits in a multitude of cultures.

Salt is often used for repelling a variety of supernatural beings, as well as being an ill-omen when spilled.

Crosses are generally used to ward off spirits of “unholy origins” like vampires and demons. Creatures that are created against God.

Garlic is used to ward of vampires.

Omamori (amulets) are used to ward off bad omens and offer protection.

Juzu (prayer beads) and others are used to prayer for resolution to suffering.

We also see glimpses of Ofuda (slips of paper) from Usopp like this one...

The Nobori (vertical flag) that Usopp carries says “悪霊退散/akuryou taisan” which essentially means “evil spirit/demon dispersal”

Usopp and Chopper in general have a very Van Helsing appearance to hunt/ward off the monsters. Van Helsing being the Dutch monster hunter from Dracula... Anyways!

This story arc would not be complete without discussing our dear Kuma. The man with many a shrouded mystery around him and even some analysis on him that I have which may delve even further than Thriller Bark. So, at this point if you are not caught up beyond Thriller Bark, then I would stop reading from this point on...

So, yes, Kuma. The bear symbolism is all there, I do not need to cover that part. What I do what to cover though is the other part of his name. Bartholomew is a name with a multitude of meaning in this story.

We all know that Oda sensei is very clever in his usage of historical pirate names throughout the comic in a variety of means. Bartholomew is no exception in this regard. Bartholomew "Black Bart" Roberts is the pirate figure that Kuma borrows a name from and that is where the similarities between the two ends.

Instead of taking on a particular personage after the pirate, instead his imagery is more similar to one of the Apostles of God.

We know this from Kuma’s very upstanding way of talking and acting, as well as his manner of carrying around a Bible (which has multiple variants throughout the series and is an arguable discussion).

However, I would like to propose that many of the actions that occur with, around, by Kuma, etc... Are all also very synonymous with legends about the Apostle of God himself.

For instance, his physical appearance is reflective of the common depictions of Bartholomew the Apostle as a man with dark skin and curly hair. He is also a person known for being skinned alive and beheaded for his death sentence.

I believe it is also no coincidence that the cross-esc symbol is a reference to this comparison. Even the way his ability works appears like one who is warding off evil.

One could say he’s... hands on...

Anyways! I love this arc and I really hope that other people like my analysis of it and have their own thoughts to share. I do acknowledge that much of my analysis could be my own opinions and not the truth, since most of this is not confirmed by Oda sensei himself. But! I still think it is worth sharing and worth talking about because that’s what literature is all about! Talking and discussing and making your own takeaways from it!

So, try not to be horrified by my... lengthy amount of words and pictures here...

Stay tuned for PART TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!

[adxmparriish]

everything he needs - read on ao3 track 3 of DEDICATED - a jurdannet roulette collab fic with @hazelsheartsworn @figonas @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @laequiem

SIDE A: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK FOUR -> TRACK FIVE SIDE B: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK THREE MASTERLIST

writer: lizziebxnnet words: 3.2k rating: explicit -> dom/sub undertones, light bondage, orgasm denial, overstimulation, cock ring

Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else. “Let’s play,” she says. Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

tags and fic under the cut

I am edgy.

Anxiety rolls around inside me, a living monster with claws and fangs crawling beneath my skin.

It’s no secret that most days being High King brings me little joy. I’d much rather laze about, drink wine, kiss Jude until I’m senseless, or simply be. The duties, while not always unbearable, drive me over the edge more often than I’d like to admit.

As the moon rises and filters silver light into our chambers, I glance over to our bed. Jude, beautiful as ever, is draped over the sheets looking at me. There’s a glint in her deep brown eyes that scares and arouses me. Her grin is mischief reincarnated, and I stare back at her with intent. Adjusting the crown on my temples, I turn to face her completely.

“I think I’d rather be on the other end of your knife than deal with any of this,” I say.

“I’m inclined to agree,” she replies, flopping over to lay on her back. She still wears her silk nightgown, some flimsy black thing she purchased at the sex shop. The straps are barely there, and a low neckline leaves little to the imagination. It hardly covers the mocha skin of her thighs, although I can hardly complain. “How would you feel about… a little game?”

I raise a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not,” she says with a wink, rising from the bed and moving to the dresser. It does nothing to calm my anxieties.

She opens the first drawer, rifles through it, and then pulls out one of our new toys. In her other hand, she holds a remote. The skin of my face grows warm. She pads over and shows me what she has.

It’s a cock ring, but there’s a small attachment on the side of it. She flips a switch on it, then presses a button on the small black remote. Immediately, buzzing reaches my ears and the ring begins to vibrate. I reach out to touch it, feeling the vibrations under my fingertips. Jude looks up and when we meet gazes, I can feel her excitement thrumming through her.

The ravenous beast under my skin loosens its grip, and I find want growing in its place. Wanting her, wanting this, wanting to try something new. To be under Jude’s control would be the most wonderful of changes — a much-needed release from duties and being High King. I want to just be hers, to be Jude’s husband, her plaything. I smile at her, my beautifully wicked wife, and surrender to her.

Not bothering to wait for a second longer, she pops the buttons of my pants and yanks them down. I’m half hard already, the mere thought of what this day will bring exciting me. She sits our new toy on the floor beside her as she kneels in front of me. She scoots closer, then looks up to meet my eyes. I stare at her, transfixed by her beauty. Chestnut hair, long and lush, falls down past her shoulders. Her legs, so strong and powerful and covered in soft, tan skin, fold underneath her. Her hands, callused and sneaky, reach out and grip my cock. My breath hitches in my throat.

She strokes me lightly, teasing. I close my eyes and my head falls back, exposing my neck. When I feel the warm heat of her mouth on me, I gasp her name. Her plush lips swallow me down, her tongue tracing the line of a vein that runs down the shaft. I reach out to touch her, to twist her hair between my fingers, but she swats my hand away. She’s such a treacherous, wicked thing.

I feel a fire begin to burn in my belly, my release within reach, but as if she can read my mind, she stops. She pulls off with a pop, and I open my eyes to look down at her. She has the toy in one hand, my cock in the other. She strokes me a few times, then slides it over me, securing it at the base. The pressure is slight but still intense. She licks the tip, collecting a bit of come that has collected there. Damn the meetings, I think. Nothing is more important than this.

She presses a button on the remote, and I see white. The vibrations rattle through me, making me groan. Pleasure ripples in my blood, and then as soon as it begins, it stops. I don’t know if I’m relieved or aggravated. I glare at Jude, but she seems emotionless. I know better, though. I know she’s relishing in the game of her own creation.

She’s switched masks. She’s the same Jude, the same woman I love so dearly, but she is a different version. She’s always High Queen, but now she’s mine, and I am hers. Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else.

“Let’s play,” she says.

Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

* * *

Sweat collects on my brow, and when the vibrations finally stop, I fear I might come purely from relief alone.

I look to Jude sitting beside me and notice the smallest of smiles playing at her lips. The Living Council is either clueless or pretending to be, and I’m not sure which is more ridiculous. I can feel the redness on my skin, and hear the panting breaths leaving my mouth. For more than an hour, I’ve sat in front of all of them and been brought to the brink of ecstasy more times than I can remember, only to be denied over and over again. I feel deranged, manic, unhinged. I want to come so badly that it is all I can think of. My hand longs to grab myself and rip off the wretched ring, but I don’t. I sit. I obey.

I know that, late into the night when Jude and I are in our chambers, I will be rewarded. It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.

“I don’t think it’s wise to trifle with the Court of Teeth,” someone says, and I should know the voice but I don’t.

“High King? What do you suggest?” someone else questions me, and I turn my head to the sound.

As fleeting as a strike of lightning, the vibrations start again. I grip the table, knuckles going white, as sensations rock through me. My eyes are open but unseeing. I can hear nothing but blood rushing in my ears, the pounding of my pulse. I shiver as everything aches, my cock almost sore from being denied for so long. I think someone says my name, but I can’t respond. My normally sharp tongue denies me.

“Are you alright, darling?” Jude asks from next to me, her hand laying on my forearm, and I almost come undone. The mere touch of her fingers against my skin causes a cascade of feelings, all of which crash into me roughly.

The buzzing stops and I deflate, my breathing ragged and slow.

“I fear I am not, my Queen.” I look up and the entire table stares with looks of concern on their faces. My already warm face flushes darker, embarrassment flooding to the surface.

“Excuse us,” Jude says, gripping my arm and pulling me upright. “Cardan needs to lie down and rest.”

I can hear people bidding us farewell but I don’t look at them, don’t even acknowledge that they spoke. I am led forward by Jude’s firm grip and sure steps. All I know is her and my own desire that swims through my veins. We walk for what feels like hours but I’m sure is only minutes, and then we reach our chambers. When we’re inside, Jude makes quick work of my clothes, stripping me carefully. When my pants are off and thrown to the side, I look down.

My cock is bright red, almost angry. Jude’s hand grasps it and I choke on a moan, my hips bucking in her grip. She looks up at me in wonder.

“So good,” she says, stroking me twice before letting go. “My beautiful, obeying husband.”

I ache at her praise. She leads me to the bed and I fall on my back. Jude begins stripping her own clothes, but when she pulls off the belt holding up her trousers, she tosses it on the bed next to me. She climbs on, pushing my arms up to the headboard. Involuntarily, my hands grab the wooden bars.

Jude straddles me, her body completely naked now, and bends forward. If I tilt my head forward just a bit, I could capture a nipple in between my teeth. I don’t, though. In this game, I don’t touch unless Jude instructs me to do so.

“Remember our colors?” she asks, and I nod. It’d been the first thing we established when we uncovered this new world, this new game. Green for go, red for stop, yellow for let’s slow it down.

She takes the belt and wraps it around my hands, then the bars of the headboard, before fastening it and pulling it taut. I pull and nothing budges. Our eyes meet and the glimmer in hers captures me in a trance. She leans down and kisses me.

Her tongue traces my lip and I open to her immediately, letting her consume me. When she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, pulling gently, I melt into her touch. Her hands are in my hair, fingers tracing the sharp point of my ears. My tail thrashes, then wraps around her leg. The tuft on the end strokes her inner thigh, right below her core, and she gasps into my mouth. I breathe it in, bathe in it.

I cry out as the swell of her ass brushes against my cock, and it twitches, aching for release. Immediately she sits up, pulling away and denying me.

“Jude,” I beg, pulling at the belt that holds my wrists.

“What?”

“Take this damned ring off,” I demand. Her brows raise, and I know at once I’ve made a grave mistake.

Her strong, threatening hand grabs my throat and squeezes, just hard enough to catch my breath. My eyes widen, my arousal grows even more, and my hips undulate. I fight for some kind of release, some relief of the pressure and pain growing, and find nothing. The lack of oxygen makes my head spin, but I force my eyes to stay open.

Jude leans down, her lips brushing against my ear. “You, my dearest Cardan, are not in charge.”

She eases on my throat, releasing me. She traces the line of my jaw with her fingernail, slowly and carefully. I can’t tear my gaze away from her, not that I would want to. In her element, she is ethereal. I shrink under the power she holds in the palm of her hands.

“You want to come?” she asks. It feels like a trick question, but I nod regardless. She shakes her head, disapproving.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, my Queen,” I say.

“That,” she declares, “is too bad.”

Despite her words to me, she turns and reaches down, removing the ring. I groan at the small release. She shimmies back so her sex looms over me, and I lick my lips. She is dripping, heat radiating from it. Any other time, I’d lean forward and taste her, my tongue dipping between the folds. Instead, I wait, my cock practically pulsing as it aches between my legs.

The warmth of her mouth engulfs me and I groan, her name a curse on my tongue. My hands yank at the belt holding them, the leather digging into my skin. I feel crazed, so much pleasure and pain swimming together and making me drown. I can’t focus on anything except her mouth, her tongue, the slick of her core tantalizing as it hovers over my face.

She hums as one hand roams, pinching the skin of my thigh, and tears prick at my eyes. A shock runs through my system and it takes everything I have not to release into her mouth. I am dizzy with desire.

“Baby,” Jude murmurs against my cock, her tongue licking a long stripe, “taste me.”

Like a starving man at a feast, I don’t waste a single second.

I lick at her, tasting every sweet inch of her. It distracts me from the wicked ways of her mouth in the most pleasing way. She moans at my ministrations, her hips bucking when I catch her clit between my teeth lightly. I devour her, unable to satisfy the hunger growing inside me. She is a long drink of water after a hot day, and I am parched.

Every inch of me burns for her, and I feel my orgasm building in my spine again. I moan into her center as it climbs, higher and faster and stronger.

“Jude,” I plead, “I’m going to come.”

Her wet mouth moves away from me, and my eyes sting as I’m denied again, my climax crashing to a halt. Every part of me hurts, longing to release. I feel like a bow, stretched taut and thin. Tears leak from my eyes and through the mist, I can see Jude’s face hovering over me. I blink the wetness away, and her hands brush the tears from my cheeks.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs, kissing my face. I almost forget about my throbbing cock through the haze of her words, but it’s still there.

Jude places her hands on my chest and then lowers herself, her sex wrapping around me as she moves down. I whimper at the feel of her, so warm and tight and lovely. Her mouth hangs open at the sensation, and her eyelids flutter closed. Again, I am struck by her beauty. She is radiant as sweat curls the hair by her face, drips down her neck, and pools in the swell of her breasts. I long to reach up, to cup one in my palms, but the damned belt still holds my wrists. She opens her eyes when she’s fully seated.

She wastes no time. She bounces in earnest, taking me under her power even more than I already am. I buck my hips to meet hers. The sound of our skin slaps together, and it makes the sweetest song. She leans forward, changing the angle so I go deeper, and my eyes roll in the back of my head. Pleasure like I’ve never known rolls through me like a wave, and I make an embarrassing noise in the back of my throat. My mind is nothing but Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude. It recants through my brain like an enchantment.

“Jude please — “ I begin, but a moan cuts me off when she rolls her hips.

“Not yet,” she replies to me, already knowing my request. I slam my head back against the bed, jerking my wrists against the belt tying me down. I want to come so badly it blinds me, makes me crazy. I whine and Jude looks at me.

“Color, Cardan.”

“Green,” I say immediately, sure as ever. She denies me but I relish it. I will come with her permission or not at all.

She smiles at me, and I glow under her approval. I am nothing if not her servant.

“Harder,” she commands.

I plant my feet against the mattress and bend my hips, pounding into Jude with reckless abandon. She forgets herself, crying out and gripping my ribs. Her nails dig into my skin. She closes her eyes as I meet her, over and over, the slapping of our skin ringing through our room, although I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart.

“Cardan,” she shouts, throwing her head back, “Gods, you feel so good.”

“Fuck,” I chant, slowing down and fucking her slower, deeper, hammering into her so hard that it jolts her.

Finally, a sweet release comes as she fiddles with the belt, untying my hands. I immediately have one hand on her hip, the other at her clit. My thumb circles and flicks it, making her groan loudly. Her hips falter as her own release threatens to overcome her. If I can’t come, I’ll be sure she does.

I can tell she’s close. Her breaths are short, her eyes are closed, and her legs shake. I grip her hips and flip us over. I pull her close, letting her legs dangle over my shoulders, and take her roughly. I pick up the pace, grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her hungrily. It’s clashing tongues and teeth, but it drives me wild regardless. Her warm breaths tickle my lips as she pants, completely overwhelmed. I circle her clit with two fingers, and a throaty sound rips from her throat.

“Come for me Cardan,” she demands, meeting my thrusts with her own.

In an instant, my body responds to her command, and like a wave crashing on the shore, I come. My vision goes black, then I see stars. It’s blissful pain as it rocks through me and leaves me breathless, every inch of me completely spent. Jude, delirious all the same, follows me. Her hands grip my back, nails digging into my skin as she unravels. We moan into each other’s mouths, kissing until we’re dizzy with it. I fuck her through the aftershocks of our orgasms, then collapse against her.

I clutch her, desperate for her closeness. She returns the grip, pulling me into her chest. I nose her neck, leaving wet kisses down her pulse. She hums happily as I cradle her in my arms. She rubs my back gently, and when I roll us so my back hits the mattress, she lays her head on my chest.

When I push her damp hair from her forehead, she grabs my wrist. It’s red, lines from the belt creasing the skin. She kisses it, then grabs my other wrist and does the same. My heart, so often cold and hard, is warm. I touch her face, my thumb brushing the soft skin of her cheek. She smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Your games are evil,” I say to her, making her smile wider. “Although I should have known. You’ve never been an innocent one.”

She laughs. “Neither have you.”

“I cannot argue with that.”

My fingers play in her hair, brush against her skin, and trace the round curve of her ear. Moonlight filters through our curtains and casts shadows across her face. We are both exhausted but I kiss her anyway, slow and sweet. She melts into it, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I love her, devastatingly so. Not telling her seems criminal.

“I love you, darling Jude.”

Her lips meet my jaw, and she kisses me there.

“I love you too,” she says.

As always, I wonder how I got so lucky to win her affections. When her fingers graze my neck, touching my pulse point, I realize for the first time, I don’t much care how we got here. What truly matters is that we are in this moment, basking in the love we’ve built. Whether I’m lucky or blessed, or somewhere in the middle — all of it fades to black in the warmth of Jude’s embrace.

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@slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @figonas @laequiem @hazelsheartsworn @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels @thefolkofthefic @kingandfireheart

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Fate of the Damned

Out of breath, out of strength, and out of courage, Caius Archarius fled down the road. His layers of armor weighed him down, causing his boots to sink into the mud with each step and squelch with grotesque sounds. Not quite as grotesque as the sounds of the enemy feasting on his fallen friends, the gnashing of teeth on human flesh, the gnawing on bones that snapped, and the screams of agony that echoed in his tormented mind.

A rain of blood had soaked the grounds and turned the dirt of the path into a muddy morass. It slowed Caius down, wearying him more with each step as he ran, then jogged, then stumbled forth.

The dark magic of the sorcerers had brought the end times upon this land.

More screams pierced the sky, reaching Caius the second he paused to catch his breath. This time, they were not in his head, reminding him of his failure and cowardice. The beast-men had kept someone alive, perhaps as provisions on their march to overrun the land. Or perhaps just to demoralize any human in earshot.

It finally dawned on Caius that he had dropped and lost his spiked mace on the battlefield he fled from. He drew his dirk, a short sword no longer than his forearm, and stared at its tarnished blade. It quaked in his trembling hand, so shaken was he. So useless he felt. His heart raced with such intensity that his own labored breathing and the rushing of blood in his ears eclipsed every subtle sound in his environment.

Then the clouds rumbled with distant thunder. He turned his attention to the heavens. Countless fires on the horizon paired with dark red clouds to paint a crimson sky. One drop hit his forehead, warm and sticky. Then more followed when blood began to fall from the clouds once more, turning into a torrent of unhallowed rain.

He knew that the trebuchets would soon be launching more fiery boulders to raze the countryside and festering corpses to spread terror and disease. The monsters blew their horns, heralding their next advance.

Caius reversed the dirk in his hand so the blade rested against his forearm—lest he trip and fall upon his own blade—though for a moment, he considered ending his own life then and there. Instead, he continued stumbling forward again, breaking out into a jog, and running for the final stretch. The blood rain stopped.

Finally, he too ceased his running and slowed till coming to a complete halt. Hunched over with heaving shoulders and breast, he surveyed his chosen destination. A desolate place where only the most dastardly wandered, a place permeated with despair and saturated with an air of ancient evil.

He had arrived before the Hanged Man’s Rest. The large tree’s gnarled roots stuck out of the ground and its mighty leafless branches reached in all directions. Rusted iron cages containing rotten bodies and hanged people, both human and beast-man, dangled from those branches, swaying in the wind. The chains that carried the cages emitted soft screeches when they shifted and legions of flies buzzed in the air.

A flock of crows sat upon the tree. Caius saw his own miserable reflection in their pitch-black eyes as they stared at him in eerie unison. As if all animals now conspired against mankind, in alliance with the hoofed and fanged beast-men that ravaged his homeland.

Whether imagined or not, Caius believed to hear the hoofed trampling of the beast army march behind him. The sounding of their horns called out, making sure there was no mistake about their advance. They would arrive here sooner than later.

He knew what he had to do.

Ignoring the crows as their eyes followed his every move, he approached a slab of stones shaped into an altar before the haunted tree. Upon that altar lied a skull, polished and bleached and engraved with cursed runes. Whatever blood had rained from the skies due to the magic worked by the beast-men’s sorcerers, there was none upon the skull. As if it was not of this world and never affected by anything in it.

One touch, one word, one wish, and Caius would use the skull. One simple deed that the holy men had forbidden his kin from doing. A secret once locked away in ancient grimoires, a blasphemy created by the necromancers of the lost world—a weapon of ultimate power. Many superstitions and legends revolved around this unholy relic.

All of them spelled out one thing clearly: conjure the cacodaemons with the unholy skull and make a wish. It shall come true.

And those who make the wish have thirteen days left to live.

Something he would have never considered before these darkest of days, something so heretical that his faith and conviction would never have allowed before. But watching his brothers-in-arms walk into battle like cattle to the slaughter had changed everything. He feared this skull-shaped relic of a forgotten age, but he dreaded the thought of what would happen if the beast-men reached the holy see.

Caius reached out and clamped his large meaty hand around the skull’s brow.

“Basgithlin,” he breathed out. His mentor, a master inquisitor, had taught him the magic word well and instructed him to slay anybody who uttered it in presence of this artifact. With this, he broke every vow he had ever made to the church.

A cold gust of wind swept over the clearing. A shiver ran down Caius’ spine. The cages and the hanged bodies stopped swaying. The world froze, as if that one act had paralyzed creation itself with his sheer audacity.

Despite being still short of breath, Caius held it in, he dared not make a sound. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears like drums, but a deathly silence engulfed him. Eyes wide with fear, he looked around, expecting to see something, anything at all. The clouds had frozen in the sky as well, the crows sat motionless on the tree of Hanged Man’s Rest. Nothing moved except for the broken warrior of god.

“You called, and I answer,” a soft voice whispered. It whispered, but the words carried the volume of tremendous power. “What is your wish?”

Caius located the whisper’s origins. One of the hanged men, unlike the others, now swayed in non-existent winds. In the hollow sockets from which the crows had plucked out eyeballs many moons past, two ghostly blue lights glimmered. The unhinged jaw with missing teeth moved as it whispered again.

“Speak your wish, mortal, but know the price. In thirteen days, your life I will come to reap. Have your heart’s desire, but your soul is mine to keep.”

Caius’ shook, his teeth clattered. He released his grip over the accursed skull relic and took a few cautious steps backwards. The glowing lights in the skull of the hanged man patiently followed his every movement. Caius set his jaw and mustered whatever shreds of courage he had left over in his chest.

“I want you to help me stop the beast-man army. I want us drown them in their own blood. I want us to show them the apocalypse. I wish for this to be their end-times!”

Deep, baritone laughter erupted behind Caius and he swiveled, only to find no source. Higher-pitched cackling came from the tree, and more bellowing hailed from elsewhere until the man was surrounded by a chorus of a dozen sources of demonic laughter. Then it all abruptly ended.

The marching of the beast-man army neared.

“A reckless wish, worded carelessly. So you shall have your wish, and I shall sate my appetite,” the hanging corpse whispered. Caius turned around to observe it once more. Its skeletal features led Caius to believe it gave him a sinister grin. The glimmer in its eyes vanished.

Then he spotted a dark figure, cloaked and hooded, and holding a halberd in one hand. Shadows veiled this stranger’s face. Caius’ head tilted as he stared upon the apparition in disbelief, for the figure stood upside-down, as if glued to another branch of the tree and defying the very laws of nature. When Caius blinked, the figure stood upright on the ground, just within an arm’s length before him. The man gasped and reared back another step.

Caius’ hand gripped his dirk tighter, fearful of the ominous figure.

“Let us go forth, and greet your foes,” whispered the figure, its hissing and malevolent voice mirroring that of the speaking corpse.

Caius’ heart dropped from his chest into his feet, the blood drained from his face.

He asked in a tone that turned desperate and pleading, “But what if I fall in battle?”

The stranger brushed past him and another gust of chilling wind swept over the Hanged Man’s Rest. The clouds roiled on the horizon and the corpses swayed upon the tree once more, motion returned to the world around them. The cloak of the stranger dragged along behind him on the muddy ground, concealing whether or not the evil presence even walked with legs upon the ground. And the stranger moved with a grace unnatural to this world, making nary a sound.

The army marched on, nearing evermore. The fires burned brighter on the horizon. The apocalyptic atmosphere intensified. The horde would be upon Caius and the stranger within the ringing of a clock tower’s bell.

“Thirteen days,” hissed the unholy being without turning around, continuing in its trackless stride, yet its voice never traveling farther away, as it filled Caius’ mind. “Whether you live or die. But you spoke of ‘us’ drowning them in their own blood. And so, we shall.”

A nervous—no, insane—laughter escaped Caius’ own chapped lips. A demented smile crept across his face and he asked, “But how will I fight if my body is bloodied and broken? What if the almighty collects my soul before you do?”

The cloaked figure moved on farther before answering.

“The almighty shall find nothing left over to claim, for this oath you cannot break.”

Caius followed. In the battles to come, his body would not yield to harm nor would he kneel to injury. By his side, this abomination would cleave through the foes, and they would kill warrior and sorcerer alike. And in thirteen days, he would die in horrible pain when claws from the underworld reached up to wrench his very spirit from his earthly vessel—and the agony of the hundred deaths he avoided by the daemon’s might caught up to him all at once.

Worse, he would see the beast-man hordes defeated, but only after they had overrun the holy see and destroyed the homeland he had sworn to protect.

Such is the nature of carelessly worded wishes.

Such is the fate of the damned.

—Submitted by Wratts

[caitlinmargaritareads]

Book 23- Pet Sematary by Stephen King

[Originally posted November 10, 2019]

It has taken me quite a while to articulate this review, and I’m still not 100% sure how to begin. After a week of putting pen to paper [and scratching out the pen to rewrite], I still come up short with my review for this novel. Let me start by saying it has taken a year of coaxing and talking myself up to be able to pick this book up. Over a year ago, a very kind customer of mine gave me two brown, paper sacks filled with all of her Stephen King books [partially due to my sudden interest and mostly due to her sudden need to Marie Kondo her place]. I immediately tore through The Shining, Carrie, and Misery, but subsequently had weird and unsettling dreams which made me take a break from King. Generally speaking, I like to choose titles based on the time of year [in the winter, I like to settle in with something dense that I can use as an excuse to stay in, and in the summer I opt for lighter, fun fiction that I can breeze through], so this year I decided to follow suit with Halloween and read the scariest book that I could imagine- Pet Sematary. Being an older title, many of my friends and acquaintances were excited for me to join the King Club by reading what is dubbed one of his scariest novels. I, however, had my doubts. As I’m sure has been established on here [many, many times], I am NOT a fan of horror or being scared. I will never understand why people choose to be scared and I’ve determined that it’s a switch in my brain which has been left dusty and unused [and I’m totally okay with that]. Pet Sematary forced me to take a giant leap into the unknown, and allowed me to expand my reading interests into a genre that I had only dappled in previously. I will try my best to concisely summarize the plot [emphasis on the word “try”] and then offer my own critical review of the text. As opposed to some of my other reviews, THERE ARE SPOILERS, so please be warned and skip the rest of this review if you are unfamiliar with the plot and wish to read it yourself.

The story follows the Creed family- Louis, Rachel, and their two children Ellie and Gage- as they move from Chicago to Ludlow, Maine for Louis to work as a doctor on the local college campus. As they begin exploring their new home, they meet their new neighbor, Jud Crandall, who immediately welcomes them and settles the unease that Louis had been feeling. Jud, a lifelong resident of Ludlow, gives them the lay of the land, warning them about the dangers of the main road they live on and pointing out the trailhead behind their property, on which he offers to give them a guided adventure. As promised, after a few days of unpacking and settling into their new house, Jud takes the family on a seemingly innocent trip down to the Pet Sematary- a small burial ground for the local children’s deceased pets. He shows them the space where his own childhood dog, Spot, is buried, and when asked about the deadfall of branches near the back of the sematary, he warns them to stay away. The trip to the sematary leaves the family disgruntled and unsettled- Rachel disapproves of their children’s close encounter with death, and Ellie becomes hysterically frantic that their cat, Church, will die and be put in the sematary. Louis soothes the woes and worries of his family, promising never to take his children back.

Normalcy sets in for the Creed’s, until Louis’s first day on the job when a young man named Victor Pascow is brought to the clinic. Irreparably maimed in a car accident and drawing what seem to be his last breaths, Victor comes to in Louis’s arms, grinning at Louis as he mutters this warning- “It’s not the real cemetary.” Louis, shocked by the young man’s alertness, cannot seem to respond as Victor continues, “The soil of a man’s heart is stonier, Louis… a man grows what he can… and tends to it.” Victor’s whole body dies at once, leaving Louis terrified, clutching the corpse, and grasping for some logical answer to this episode. Later that night after Louis falls asleep, Pascow comes to his bedside and guides a reluctant Louis down to the Pet Sematary. Pointing towards the deadfall behind the sematary, he warns, “Don’t go beyond, no matter how much you feel you feel you need to… the barrier was not made to be broken… Your destruction and the destruction of all you love is very near…” When Louis wakes hours later, he is convinced it was all an unsettling dream until he pulls back the sheets to reveal muddy feet covered in pine needs. The logical part of Louis’s brain takes over, trying to rationalize the insane experience. Soon the dream is all but forgotten, until the fateful day that Church is run over by a semi truck on the main road and killed.

Led by his trusty neighbor Jud, Louis has his first encounter with the Micmac burial ground beyond the deadfall, where he buries Church and is told the history of the tribe. The next day, Church saunters into the garage where Louis is working, smelling of sour earth, with pieces of plastic bag stuck in his whiskers. None too surprised, Louis brings the cat inside and feeds it, repulsed by the blasphemous presence of his daughter’s dead cat. Louis tries to rationalize with himself, thinking that the cat must’ve been stunned and not dead when he was buried. But Church does not seem to be his spry old self, walking in funny patterns and lacking the grace of a real cat, leaving Louis with a shadow of a doubt that he did, in fact, bring the cat back to life. When Ellie sees her old cat, she immediately notices the smell, and the fact that there is something off with Church. The family seems to ignore the glaring differences though, and continue on with their lives as usual while Church continues to exhibit more and more out-of-character behavior.

The plot finally comes to it’s point when their toddler Gage, is run over and killed by a semi on the main road. Distraught and unable to come to terms with his death, Louis sends his wife and daughter to Chicago to stay with his in-laws as he begins to plot his son’s second burial. Knowing what he plans to do, Jud harshly warns Louis to leave Gage in peace and tells the story of another local who brought back his son and was driven to murder/suicide after the fact. Unmoved, Louis continues with his plan and buries Gage at the Micmac burial ground. Gage comes back, possessed with unflinching evil, and murders both Jud Crandall and Rachel before Louis is able to kill him for good. Louis, unhinged by the horrors he has seen and convinced that he “waited too long” with Gage’s reburial, takes Rachel’s corpse up to the Micmac cemetery . “Darling,” it mutters, and then the story ends.

I want to start off by saying, I really liked this book. It scared the bejesus out of me, but it was so worth it. If you’ve read King, you know he likes to drag out the story [much like this particular review I’m writing]. He painfully details the protagonist’s backstory as a dramatic build up to the climax, and this can often lead some readers [myself included] to internally scream, “GET ON WITH IT!” However, with Pet Sematary I feel as if this technique truly lent to the creation of the story and was absolutely essential to the climax of the plot. While the idea of a cemetery in general gives me the creeps, what is even more unsettling is the slow unraveling of Louis’s mind. Whenever he tries to make logical sense of a situation [i.e. Church’s resurrection], he compromises another piece of his rational mind, and the more he does this, the more likely he is to do something rash and unreasonable. Now, I would make the argument that the presence of the Micmac burial ground [and it’s demons, spirits, etc.] are mainly responsible for the undoing of Louis Creed. I enjoy when a supernatural entity is the antagonist [its extra spooky when an unseeable evil occupies any story], and King does a grand job of creating this wicked presence which subtly alters and influences the minds of anyone who has visited the Micmac burial ground. Jud himself admits to wrong-doing by bringing Louis there, claiming there is a draw to the burial ground for all who have visited, and it is presumed that anyone who has been there will fall under the same spell. Talk about creepy!

The one thing I have an issue with is how quickly Gage is resurrected and then killed again. Now, don’t get me wrong, every single word that involved zombie Gage is horrifying and left knots in my stomach- Even now, I shudder as I think of Gage taunting Jud in his own kitchen before going in for the kill. BUT, it seemed to me that after ALL that build up, we should’ve gotten more time with possessed toddler Gage before he gets killed. The other point which had no resolution, and which I did not summarize, is Ellie’s sudden onset of clairvoyance after Gage’s death. As soon as her little brother dies, Ellie begins having horrible dreams about her family and the Pet Sematary. When Louis sends Ellie and Rachel back to Chicago, Ellie goes insane with worry and anxiety, convinced that something horrible is going to happen to Louis [or happen because of Louis] in their absence. In her dreams, Paxcow [aka Victor Pascow] comes to her, warning that Louis is in danger. When they finally get to Chicago, Ellie’s hysteria becomes so uncontrollable that Rachel decides to immediately turn around and go back to Ludlow to check on Louis [which is how she ends up murdered by her dead son]. King, however, does not go back to Ellie at all once Rachel leaves Chicago. This leads the reader to question what Ellie may already know, and whether or not she will end up back in Ludlow with her insane father and re-animated mother. My hope is that Ellie stays with her grandparents and never has to see her parents again- and maybe, hopefully, we get a sequel a la Doctor Sleep?!

All in all, this book was fantastically horrifying in all the right ways. I truly understand why this book is considered one of King’s best and most terrifying novels, and I would say I have to agree. If you’re a fan of a good thriller, and this review hasn’t completely ruined your will to read it, I recommend giving it a try. I’d loan you mine, but the back cover just fell off. If you’ve made it through this review, congratulations! I am currently cross eyed and giving up on any further edits or alterations.

5 out of 5 stars

[customessay123]

Mary Shelly’s “Frankenstein” Essay

try on Topic:\n\nThe widely distri exactlyed interpretation of bloody shame S fossaeys Frankenstein and its profound message.\n\nEs word Questions:\n\nHow does bloody shame Shelley view the possibility to fashion a new manner date?\n\nWhat was Frankensteins ism of breeding-time?\n\nWhat is the main agreement of the wholeegory?\n\nThesis Statement:\n\nThe author tries to say that lifetimetime is a yield. subsequently this gift is inclined no unitary rump carry it a track and it becomes the business of the creator. The new makes the lecturer implicated with the dubiety: Is a serviceman being able to stock indebtedness to bring back life?\n\n \nMary Shellys Frankenstein Essay\n\n \n\nIntroduction: Mary Shellys Frankenstein has is more than merely an run-of-the-m unhinged novel. It is a book that carries a profound philosophical message. The novel touched me to my very soul. It turn out to be a book non slightly a struggle against a titan exclusively a disaster of a scientist, who reached the object of his work and life and realized that breathless horror and turn ones stomach fil conduct his heart moreover all of these is on the surface. The deepest philosophical thought is covered and hidden, but is very deep. The author tries to say that life is a gift. After this gift is given no one can take it away and it becomes the state of the creator. The novel makes the reader concerned with the question: Is a pitying being able to take responsibility to give life?.\n\nFrankensteins philosophy is a date between the value of tender-hearted life and the value of a scientific discovery. This story is not exactly the calamity of professional Frankenstein but also of his human race. It is the tragedy of loneliness and fighting wholly with the domain.The tragedy of Viktor Frankenstein was a tragedy of him being a coquette in the hand of his have got resurrects for the believed that he was in their work force to direct to happiness or misery[p.34]. The next retell shows exactly how he grew up: they were not the tyrants to rule our hook according to their caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights which we enjoyed[p.37]. This subconsciously led him to the desire to have person he could control, to have an new(prenominal)(prenominal) trifle, another enjoyment, but he was unable to take responsibility for the beast he brought to life because this was not a shrink from but a animateness being. His chelahood was like a dream come dependable-strength but behind all the joys his p arent forgot to teach him something more more important - what is remediate or premature, morality and other vital categories. Mary Shelley express her concern nearly not bringing up children properly. She shows that a tragedy whitethorn run low even from a childhood full of happiness. One of the events that predicted the tragedy was when his mother brought Elizabeth for little Viktor, a pretty p resent for my achiever as she introduced it [p.35].\n\nThis very heartbeat taught him to take a human being as a property and it was the beginning of the prospective end. She presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, construe her words literally, and looked upon Elizabeth as mine-mine to protect, love, and hold dear and from that moment Elizabeth became a life-toy for him, except his toy [p.35].So one of the powers of the was the parents love machine-accessible with the inability to give anything to their child except providing joys for him. there was nought little Viktor could do. The other reason is having Elizabeth as his property. Could be that the booby that Viktors parent left(p) in his head near the true things around him do him study too some(prenominal) and everything at the same time which later led him to the wrong path: My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some law in my temperature they w ere turned, not towards childish pursuits, but to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things haphazardly[p.37].After days and nights of tall(prenominal) labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of generation and life; nay, more, I became myself-importance capable of scoop outowing vitality upon lifeless matter [p.51] Viktor finds a grown-up toy and creates a monster that is curst to be only(a) and never be love by anybody. The creature that was doomed to suffer without even discernment why!\n\nThe novel argues that no one in the world should ever consider himself to be the creator. Each alimentation being has the right to lie in and to be happy in this world which is the simple philosophy of life.When the creature asks Viktor to create somebody to love it get goings heartless resolution: Devil ... do you hold approach me? ... Be gone, nauseating insect! or rather, closure that I may walk you to dust! ... Abhorred monster! giant that thou art! the tortures of hell are too modest a vengeance for thy crimes. ugly devil! you reproach me with your creation; come on then, that I may extinguish the propel which I so negligently bestowed[p.68]. For him the life on this creature is nothing, just another caprice, just something used to want and does not need anymore. He, considering himself to be theology, does not care about what the creature feels and how lonely it is. Whom to demonic?Analysis shows that Victor is the dupe of the mistakes his parents did, and the Creature is a victim of Victors ill perception of reality. Thee answer says to it self!\n\nConclusion. Life is a gift and that is the main philosophy of the novel. If you give life to somebody as a parent or create a life like Viktor Frankenstein you have to fill in beforehand what to do with it and be able to take full responsibility for giving the best to your creation. The creature was Viktors toy and Viktor was the toy of his parents. Everything happene d in a chain reaction. One candid deed generates another straightforward deed and vice versa one evil generates another evil.\n\nMary Shelley shares a philosophy that should be internal the heart of each reader: life - is not a toy to play with! There is only one denotation of life and there should be no others: Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least(prenominal) by my example, how dangerous is the science of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his intrinsic town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his spirit will allow.\n\nWhat I learned from this book is that things are not always the way they appear to be. And what seems terrifying may turn out to be just the pain of persons heart. So share pure love is the only philosophy of life that should be kept in brain of each person.If you want to get a full essay, arrangement it on our website: Custom essay writing service. Free essay/order revisions. Essays of an y complexity! Courseworks, term papers, research papers. 100% confidential!Homework live help. Custom Essay Order is available 24/7!