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emeritusemeritus · 16 days ago

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Hey Little Train 2 [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Series Masterlist

Title: Hey Little Train 2/5 (5 part mini series)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader {Established Relationship/ Engaged}

Timeline: Set immediately after the war up to 4 years later.

Summary: The memoirs of a broken woman after the death of her beloved.

Warnings: SAD FIC. This one will hurt. Mentions of death, grief, depression, suidical thoughts. Suicide. Loss and pain, a lot of crying. Smut, sexual references, graphic sex. Dreams. Female reader.

Word count: 1.5k

Heavily inspired by Nick Cave & the bad seeds’ O Children’, the unofficial song of Harry Potter.

Hey little train! We are all jumping on

The train that goes to the Kingdom

We're happy, Ma, we're having fun

And the train ain't even left the station

"Oi that's mine! See, FG! You're GF, prat."

The sound of a boys voice pulled you out of your anxious thoughts as you sat on one of the platforms of King's Cross preparing for your first journey to Hogwarts. You watched in amusement as the boy, or rather two boys that looked eerily similar squabbled over a singular trunk on a trolley. They were accompanied by another three boys, some older and some younger, and a little girl, all with matching red hair that seemed to glow under the lights like a burning fire. They were followed, herded would be a more apt description, by a small but mighty woman who shared their hair colour and urged them along like a sheepdog herding the flock. You couldn't help but giggle as you watched the two identical boys quarrel, slightly pushing eachother before getting a warming tap to the back of the head in perfect synchronisation from who you assumed to be their mother. They both seemed entirely unfazed by the physical warning and chuckled amongst each other before taking hold of the trolley and from the look of it, trying to run over one of their older brothers. You giggled again when the slightly older boy let out a yelp of surprise but apparently it wasn't as quiet as you'd hoped and one of them turned to you, hearing your laugh and gave you a wide smile. He then nudged his identical brother, who you assumed to be a twin, and they both have a slight but comical bow which you found hilarious.

It was then that your mother returned with the drinks from the little cafe on the next platform, a little hot chocolate for you and a coffee for her. You thanked her and turned to look again for the boys but couldn't see them anymore, leaving you feeling a little disgruntled. At least their little show had distracted you from the anxious thoughts of leaving home and starting a new school.

You wiped a falling tear on your sleeve as you walked down the train to find a welcoming carriage, having just said goodbye to your mum on the platform as the train prepared to depart.

"Hey! You were at the station!" A voice called out, catching you off guard as you spun around to find one of the boys before, who stuck his head back into the carriage and called out. "Fred!"

The assumed identical twin also poked his head out and you saw his lips pull into a smile when he noticed you.

"Got anywhere to sit?" He asked and smiled when you shook your head. "Come sit with us!"

If you asked most of the students of Hogwarts, they would say that the journey from Kings Cross on the Hogwarts express was one of their greatest memories and the start of their magical journeys. For you, it started everything.

From the moment you chose to sit in that carriage with Fred, George and later Lee Jordan, you found friends for life. You were sorted into your house, something your mum was very proud of, and then met even more friends throughout the year group who had become great friends of yours, though no one could ever come close to the Weasley Twins.

Around your third year, things began to change between you and Fred. You started noticing him more, cheering a little louder for him on the Quidditch pitch and most notably, you noticed him noticing you more. You danced around each other for most of the next school year, a cycle of flirting and shying away until just before their trip to Egypt, when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. At first it was kept a secret, though of course George was always included in these secrets, but as soon as you met up after the long summer in the leaky cauldron just before school started with a tight hug and a meaningful kiss, your relationship was quickly made public.

You signed up together to serve in Dumbledore's army and though Fred and George had left earlier in the year to begin their business, you'd stayed and completed your education before following them. You moved into the little apartment above the shop with both twins and it was easily the best time in your life.

Fred had proposed to you almost as soon as the shop was doing well, buying a beautiful ring that made your heart soar each and every time you looked down at your hand. You were young but assured that there was no one else you'd want to spend your life with. He'd be the greatest husband, best father and more than anything your best friend for the rest of your life, you were certain of it. No man had ever come close to turning your head away from Fred's brilliant but mischievous smile and you were more excited than anything to finally be called Mrs Weasley after years of being called it teasingly by your friends.

"Mrs y/n Weasley," Fred said with a smirk one winter evening as you both lay in bed, hands loosely entwined as he fidgeted with your fingers and your engagement ring, stroking his thumb over your smooth skin. "Think we should set a date?"

You turned your head towards him, having been resting on his bare chest, the sparse hairs subtly tickling your cheek. Your eyes met his and you catch his little devilish smile as he pulled you further into his chest, both entangled in each other and amongst the duvet.

It's nearly Christmas and you're holed up in your shared bedroom, bathing in the glow of the warm twinkling lights from the string lights and the Christmas tree in the corner. You'd put it up whilst Fred was at work and surprised him after close with Christmas cookies, the decoration and a muggle Christmas film that was ready to play, not that you'd seen much of it since.

"What are you thinking?" You asked, throwing your leg around his own long legs. He lets out a little boyish chuckle and raises his eyebrow at you as he gazes down softly.

"This is hardly about my ideas, I'm pretty sure between you, Ginny and Granger, you've got moodboards, folders, clippings, the whole shebang. Probably already got your dress haven't you?"

You nudged him in reply, the smile beaming across your face as he over dramatises his reply, though proving that he knew you too well.

"No I don't!" You giggle, nudging him again as he captures you in his arms playfully, forcing you to stay still almost lying completely on top of him.

"Well... clippings yes but dress no."

He chuckles again, knowing that you'd be prepared.

"How old are the clippings exactly? Seeing as you've been obsessed with me since we were 12," he jokes.

"I think you'll find it was you obsessed with me! 'Ooh y/n do you want to come and test some whizzbangs? No George isn't coming, let's get a butterbeer, be a shame to waste that pretty skirt'."

He tackles you at the end of your little speech, most probably for the very high voice you'd used to mock his younger teenage voice, the slightly squeaky tone that you remembered so well.

"That was a very nice skirt," he flirts, now leaning above you with his face only inches away from yours.

"Well what a shame you ripped it," you taunt in a soft voice, getting closer to his lips, almost beckoning him to kiss you. His eyes flick down to your lips and his smirk increases.

"I feel no shame," he says before attacking your lips with a dangerously sultry kiss that seems to instinctively make you wrap your bare legs around his waist, keeping him anchored to you, just where you need him.

"You're so beautiful," he says softly, eyes gazing at yours with a look of pure love. His hair is damp at the hair line, short spiky hair messed up in every direction as you attempt to tame it with your fingers. He's wearing his characteristic cheeky smile but it's the specific one that seems reserved just for you, the softness in it enough to have your heart clenching.

"Not sure it's so much of a compliment when your cocks inside me," you tease, running your hands over the bulging muscles of his strong arms. You clench your muscles around him, revelling in his reaction to your pussy clenching around him.

"I'd say it's more of a compliment," he smirks, angling his hips so that he slips even deeper inside of you with his next thrust, nearly taking your breath away.

"I love you," you both say at exactly the same time, completely unprompted as he thrust languidly in and out of you.

"Jinx, can't moan for 5 minutes," you lean up to softly whisper in his ear, getting a devilishly brilliant idea. He laughs and you gasp, feeling the movement of his cock within you at his giggle and you use the moment to your advantage, taking control and flipping him over.

He looks shocked for a moment before his eyes widen at the new position, his eyes greedily scanning over your completely nude and exposed body just for him. You rub your pussy over his rigid length with just enough force that his eyes close tight, hands instinctively grabbing your hips in a strong hold. You reach down and give him an encouraging but teasing stroke and smirk as you watch him burn beneath your touch. You slip him inside of you, crying out at the new sensation as he hits deep, just the right spot that you needed. Your hips undulate, circling, riding in a perfect rhythm, breasts bouncing as you lean back, exposing yourself to him, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist watching. You ride him hard and fast, at least for a few moments before you slip back into a slow and teasing rhythms that had his quietly gasping and biting his lip, eyes squeezing shut and his grip on your hips almost bruising as he fights not to moan, knowing that he'd lose.

You bite your lip to hold back the smirk threatening to spread across your face and know the final nail in the coffin that would make him fold.

"Freddie," you moan out, reaching for his chest as you buck your hips quickly, feeling him in the deepest parts of you. "Freddie, my tits! Please need to feel you."

He desperately holds back his moans, his eyes barely staying shut at the mention of your breasts, his Achilles heel. His eyes peak open and you can't resist putting on a show, moving your left hand up to cup and squeeze your breasts, knowing how much he'd want to replace your hand with his.

"Please baby I'm so close," you plead, hardly lifting off of him now as you fight to chase your climax. His hand twitches on your hip, squeezing and hesitating before his hand reached up and cups your bouncing breasts, immediately making you cry out as his thumb rubs against your hardened nipple.

"Fuck!" He cries out, breaking his silence as you grind harder on him, both of you approaching your peaks.

"Yes Freddie, yes!" You cry out as you cum, overwhelmed by the feeling of him and the victory of winning. His whines as he cums, following you into bliss not a moment later as his hips rock up into you, pounding hard as he fights to keep you in place.

"Godric woman," he breathlessly gasps, head falling back onto the pillow as he comes down from his high. "You're dangerous."

"Only to you," you smile, climbing off him and flopping down into the space beside him on the bed, his arm outstretched ready to welcome you. You're both a sweaty mess, damp limbs holding on to eachother as your chests heave trying to regain your breath. You feel complete, happy. His arms entangle around you, keeping you tight to him and you feel him press a kiss to your hairline from the side, his nose poking you just above your crown.

Your eyes fight to close, feeling a wave of exhaustion slipping over you in a stark contrast to the energy and motivation you'd had just moments before. You're comforted now, even with the slight leaking of his seed that begins to slip out but you don't care, you'll deal with it later. All you can think of is Fred, his scent, his strong arms, him.

You wake with a start, gasping and fighting off the covers as you stare into the darkness, confused and dazed. You panic, expecting to find Fred in the dimly lit room, his arms stretched over you protectively, the feel of his breath on your neck. You look around for the desk in the corner of the room, the twinkling lights that were no longer working, the familiar sight of your clothes and his on the chair in the corner of the room. It's winter, almost Christmas, where's the Christmas tree that you sneakily put up in the corner of the room? Where's Fred?

It hits you like a tonne of bricks, the realisation that it was all just a dream, memories playing out in your unconscious mind like an old video recording of your life. The room is dark, cold and bare around you, with only the hideous gothic decorations that lined the walls, though you could barely see in the dark. You were alone, and always would be. You were cold, no longer warmed by the familiar body that lay beside you each night, their strong arms wrapped over you like an additional comfort blanket. No more would you wake happy and protected, no more would you wish to awaken.

The sobs that wracked your body were vicious and unyielding, the pain of the realisation too much to bear. You cried for Fred, for your lost love who had died a most horrible death, you cried for your future and for all the things you'd never achieve with him, for George and the pain he must be enduring too and you cried for you, feeling more alone than you'd ever been.

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #Fred Weasley death #sad fic

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intothedysphoria · 8 months ago

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One thing I love about the harringrove fandom is the agreement both that Steve is dyslexic and Billy is a MASSIVE reader.

Because while Steve’s always been surrounded by teachers or his parents or exes who either believe that he’s incapable of appreciating reading or that he just doesn’t care, Billy thinks that’s bullshit.

Because when Billy gets told to tutor Steve in English, he doesn’t start with a book for toddlers or fucking Shakespeare. They start with Billy reading him Wuthering Heights.

And at first Steve does not fucking get it. He doesn’t understand the plot, the message and especially not the dialect. But he finds himself enjoying it a lot. Billy’s a natural storyteller. He could be on stage.

Billy’s taste in books is both eclectic and weird. He’s reading Finnigan’s Wake for fun. In Irish. He likes Portuguese romance books and German surrealism and a lot of George Orwell. So much so that Steve kind of feels that love rubbing off on him.

He’d used to like reading. Before he was told he was doing it wrong. And even though he despised the books set by Hawkins High with every fibre of his being, there was this fire set in his belly, a want to impress Billy.

So he starts with The Hobbit. Eddie “Freak” Munson’s the only other dyslexic Steve knew and he loved that shit. How hard could it be?

The Hobbit is fucking difficult. It starts with a map, Steve thinks is in Elvish and some of the chapters feel like they go on forever. The words still bounce around the page and switch constantly. He likes it though. It’s weirdly fun as a story and he finds himself rooting for Bilbo.

Henderson can never know. That is the one thing Steve is certain of.

Billy doesn’t laugh when Steve tells him that’s what he’d decided to start with. He just rolls his eyes, not meanly and says he used to read that with his mom. Back in Cali. Before Neil fucked everything up.

Billy reads a lot of Oscar Wilde. The Importance of Being Earnest is constantly tucked into his back, dog eared and well loved. Steve knows enough about Oscar Wilde to know what that indicates.

Billy’s a poof. A faggot. A queer.

Billy is like Steve.

He doesn’t have the courage to look out for anything gay. Nothing even that hints at the matter. Steve knows that his dad has The Iliad tucked away in his office. He’s away on business while his mom sits in the kitchen and complains about America. Even after 15 years in the States, she still misses Poland.

His daring heist after she goes to bed leads to him sitting on the kitchen floor, crying about Achilles and Patroclus. Billy’s right, classics are a fucking bummer.

Steves not as stupid as other people think. He knows that if this were a book, him and Billy are hurtling towards deaths door. Even in real life, he’s seen the guys on tv, worn down to the bone on hospital beds.

Gay does not equal a happy ending.

He resolves to never touch The Iliad again.

Billy comes to their next session with a black eye and his mullet chopped off. They don’t talk about it.

1984 is depressing. And surprisingly apt for how Steve feels that his 1984 has gone. He does feel like he’s constantly being watched. Like being in love is illegal. Like saying anything too far against the government will have consequences.

Steve asks if Billy thinks Orwell wrote 1984 about America or Russia. Billy snorts but doesn’t answer.

That’s the note they end on for the year.

Christmas comes and goes. So does New Year. Two months of not seeing Billy aches in his gut.

Then he comes back.

It’s the middle of February. Billy’s been kicked out for a week. Steves playing nursemaid.

He’s beaten up pretty bad. Still, Billy insists he’s had worse.

Steve hedges around asking why it happened. Like the confirmation might suddenly make the full scope of their plight real.

Still, eventually Steve asks. Billy looks at him like he’s particularly simple.

He’s gay. Obviously Steve. And he actually has the balls to go out there, meet men, dance. Even if it does mean getting caught by Neil.

During his explanation, Steve notices they’ve gotten closer together. Like significantly closer.

They’re grazing hands. Electric.

Then Billy moves.

Billy kisses him and Steve’s world turns into a fucking supernova.

They kiss and it doesn’t make Neil vanish in a puff of smoke, it doesn’t make the shopkeepers who sneer at his mother go away, it doesn’t make Steve magically able to read.

But it does make Steve feel like maybe they’ll survive.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #dyslexic steve harrington #tw homophobic language #tw abuse

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 1 year ago

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"how do you kiss hard?" - ike eveland 2023

mike…

i swear i’m trying to do my requests i swear i swear it’s just that i keep hearing livers say things and that’s what gets the neurons firing for some reason

this entire fic is a joke if you know you know. and brother there's a lot to know

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship(?), ike is in a pretentious mood but dw about it, it’s literally just a page of making out with ike lol

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Between two pages of his book, Ike snorts. His mouth curves up, barely visible between the paper, amusement before his expertise can kick in. When it does, his brows knit together while that pitying smile remains.

A hand rubs along the back of his shoulder while you look over it. “Someone’s being pretentious.”

Ike stifles his laugh this time. It sounds like he’s sniffing. “Can you blame me? This author has such a good mystery plot going on, but they write so many romance clichés it’s not even funny.” He scoots closer to you on the couch and points out the words. “Look at that. How do you ‘kiss hard?’”

“What, you haven’t kissed hard before?” You joke.

“Hard no.”

“Naaah, you’ve definitely done it before.”

“Really, now.” The book collapses on itself with Ike’s thumb marking his page. As he slides a bookmark in, he reflects your coy energy right back at you. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well, sure.” You slide next to him on the couch. Feeling a monologue coming along, Ike sets the book aside to give you his undivided attention, if not a little pompous. “A light kiss would be like this.”

It’s over as soon as it starts. You brush Ike’s messy, blue-toned hair out of the way so you can peck him on the forehead. The print of your lip eases the quirk out of his eyebrow.

He flashes a smile, still trying to keep that pompous air up. “I know what a light kiss is.”

“Great job, honey. Proud of you.” His hair falls back into place as your hand trails down his face. It oscillates between the jawline and the sweetened apple of his cheeks, sprouting blossoms as your thumb presses along his skin. “Now here’s what a hard kiss feels like.”

‘Whiplash’ would be an apt name for it. The peck—the light kiss—it was tender, and in a way, how you took to Ike next was tender as well, encompassing and boiling along, unable to hold yourself back from pouring over. Ike squeaks. A tiny whimper under your churning, lost in the steam. He runs raw under your lips as you gnaw and writhe under his skin. An uncontrollable heat sprouts from your mouth, the breath of a dragon, along trails of gasoline and wet lips that set him alight.

He whimpers again. The pressure is almost too much to bear, but how you clutch onto his shirt draws him back to your warmth. The fabric curls under your grasp, threatening to wrinkle, tugging on his shirt and exposing where his neck connects to collar and chest. Ike bends apart when you take the base of his neck and reach for his jaw again, just as greedy for reciprocation as you are for that uncovered skin. It must taste delicious underneath your lips. You want to see him jolt at the pressure and the teeth marks under a bite, turning an angry, lovey red that begs for more before he does.

But that’s a kiss for later, and this is a hard kiss now, and if it wasn’t obvious before this isn’t his first. He clings to you by your hips, the rise and fall of his fishnets distinct under his hands, growing rougher as the seconds go by. If the mesh leaves marks on his palms, then they would match the smattering against his lips. You attack fiendishly. There is no tact nor methodology. Only the urge to take him apart, and leave him clueless as you meld along his circuits. Quick bites and glazed tongues pry him open with embers weaved between.

Even with your warning the hard kiss took him by surprise, and now he recovers. What were once whimpers are now hidden moans between the open-mouthed kiss, but if you could hear them between the ruffling fabric and craving hands, that’s lost to you. It’s the lingering vibration deep in his throat instead that drives you to take him in further. You line his mouth with nips and prods, guiding him to lace his tongue through the corners, a needle to fabric stitched tight.

Thready hands drag out from the curve of your hips and soak in the shelf along the small of your back. The tangle of limbs knit closer, then meet, then tumble out along the cushions of the couch. It doesn’t interrupt even as you readjust over him, sewing your body on top while he lays pinned underneath you, fluffy hair like a halo on the cushions of the couch with shivers down his spine and a slithering, satisfied sigh that shakes as he keeps you connected to his lips.

Your shirt hem brushes along Ike’s knuckles as he squirms, slotting himself against you, stroking and savoring skin on skin. The rest of the shirt runs between his fingers as they splay out on your back. They crawl upward even as Ike’s eyes are sewn shut, committing each inch of skin and spine to memory while you’re all he can sense.

With your touch spread across him, Ike looks like ruin. You let go, but the collar of his shirt remains lopsided, and the way his collarbone connects to rounded shoulders steals your breath away. His hair is even messier than usual now that your fingers tousle through it.

Your tongue nurses over what syrupy pain you left behind. His lips are rubied under your glistening care. You bring him back to health with a thumb rubbing along his ear and the rest of your hand combing through ashy brown hair, candy on your tongue so addictive one hit couldn’t possibly be enough.

The seams come apart. Blearily, Ike’s eyes open; two strikes of green and gold shine under long, half-lidded lashes. With your mouths still pressed against each other, he’s so close you can see the subtle streaks of color in his eyes. The traces of disbelief and delight unrestrained.

In a final move, you purse your lips for one last taste. There’s a tiny smack in the air as your mouth separates from his.

Moving away is like swimming underwater. You push yourself up and get a good look at Ike as you come down, still pinned down with your arms on either side of his shoulders. His clothes are disheveled.

The air is thick, not with tension, but rather the weight of the hard kiss. You can still feel your chest rise and small pants from Ike as the both of you regain your breath. “Get it now?” You ask.

“Reader,” he says, out of breath but firm. “You know we’ve done this before.”

A smirk spreads across your face. “So I jogged your memory?”

“It never needed jogging in the first place.” He’s been pink this entire time, but now it seems like he’s shying away after all the heated kisses. He buries his head into a cushion that muffles his voice. “You know it was a style issue, right?”

“Hm?”

“It’s not like I didn’t know. It was just worded awkwardly in the book.”

The dots slowly connect. “The book. So…”

“‘Kissed really hard’,” Ike quotes. He laughs, and his uneven breaths make him sound all the more spellbound. “The author could’ve used so many better descriptors and settled on ‘kissed really hard’. That’s such a weak move.”

“Yeah.”

“Passionate, sensual, helpless.” He ticks off as he raises his head. He kisses your neck, neither light nor hard. Something new to explore. “Debauched.”

“Uh-huh…” Your mind goes blank. There’s no reason for him to kiss you like this. It’s all on his own terms, because he wants to, and being the center of his attention now just because has you going woozy. You may have bitten off more than you can chew.

“Poor guy. Doesn’t have a clue on what we have.” Another pulse along your neck. Ike thumbs along your nape, a soothing gesture under short kisses growing rougher. He quotes the rest of the passage he showed you. “'Amy kissed Sonic so hard that he was thinking “Let's have sex” but he didn't say it because the teacher would show up by the time they started to have sex in History class. Sonic kissed back really hard and it was sexy to everyone.' I mean, seriously? His gay balls are the least of his problems.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *�� ° . ☆

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi ✧. ┊lol sonic high school reference

#ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #ike eveland fluff #luxiem x reader #luxiem #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en #4402 writes #out of everything i've written this is truly the velocipastor of my fics #also sorry i have a pattern of posting whenever it's a bad time for the fandom?#all i can say is #once again this is what mysta would've wanted

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macfrog · 10 months ago

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I'm obsessed with scom and so so happy that sweet duckie decided it's time to be born the second Joel is away!!! like, the kid KNOW their father fucked up and decided to take the matter into they own hand and deal with in the most devilish way.

now, that may be just me be but I honest to god hope it means that Joel DOES NOT get to see his child's birth. like he deserves to SUFFER the consequences of getting a gf (that he doesn't even treat right - btw this is the part that piss me off the more. why r u with her if u don't like her come on) instead of being with the mother of his child IN THE LAST MONTH OF THE PREGNANCY!

you fucked up, now is the time to find out. so yeah, he deserves to grovel. and honestly doubt whether he will ever be able to right the wrongs he has committed, or even believe he won't ever be able to do so.

also, Vanessa needs to wake the fuck up!! don't let no man treat you poorly like that! set his car on fire or something. God knows he deserves it.

But despite everything I still want a happy ending for them. Reader and Duckie deserve it 🥺

duckie has inherited nothing if not reader's apt to piss joel miller off ! listen listen. i am a just writer. i also happen to love when men fuck up. grovelling is no question. it will happen. i got u, dw

also set his car on fire or something i am HOLLERING hahhahahahha so true bestie slay

#the flip from anti-vanessa to anti-joel sentiment amongst my readers has been so unprecedented and i am living for it #chats #anon #fic: sweet child o' mine #fic luv

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mareastrorum · 4 months ago

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In anticipation of the Downfall finale, time for some fun speculation! I think Father Milo Cowst (Asmodeus) may be a Bard if he isn’t a Forge Cleric. Multiclasses are obviously possible, but there's a few reasons for my speculation.

To start, this is taking spells and abilities shown in C3E99 and C3E100 at face value. The protagonists are mortal embodiments of gods; for all we know, Brennan and the cast homebrewed some abilities to account for that level of power. It’s impossible to guess at that with any level of confidence. So, with that caveat…

First, Father Milo used Heat Metal to melt the lock on the hospital door. It's possible he used some other ability, but Heat Metal is the only non-homebrew D&D spell that seems apt for melting a lock. If Brennan had described some other effect (shattering, transmutation, etc.), I wouldn't be as confident. Heat Metal is only available to Artificers, Bards, Druids, and Forge Clerics (subclass specific). It's a level 2 spell, so that requires at least 3 levels in one of those classes.

Second, Father Milo tormented Dr. Bezel by freezing her in place and breaking her bones. I thought perhaps it could be Harm, but the vanilla text describes a disease, not holding someone in place. Hold Person doesn't do damage, and many Enchantment spells don't combine both control and damage. However, Dominate Person allows the caster to exert exact control over the target's body, which could be how he forced Dr. Bezel's bones to break. That spell is 5th level (requiring at least 9 class levels). It is available to Bards, Sorcerers, Wizards, and a number of specific subclasses, but not Forge Clerics.

The only class that can cast both Heat Metal and Dominate Person is a Bard. Otherwise, Father Milo would need to be a multiclass to have both spells. Unfortunately, we have not seen additional abilities to be able to deduce what type of Bard he might be. (My personal favorites for Asmodeus would be College of Eloquence or College of Tragedy, but who knows?)

The last thing that makes me suspect that Father Milo would be a Bard is how he behaves. Brennan is playing him as a very charismatic character, and his outfit is obviously one of a priest. Given how strict Aeorian security is, I expect that a Bard's magic and high skills in Deception, Persuasion, and Intimidation would explain how Father Milo managed to get into Aeor while wearing that without raising the alarm. Of course, that’s presuming he didn’t put it on after he got here or isn’t in disguise.

That said, a Forge Cleric may suit Asmodeus. They can wear heavy armor to begin with, and they are immune to fire damage at high levels. Forge Clerics also get a lot of fire spells, so while some abilities don’t appear particularly relevant (we cut to a montage of Father Milo using Channel Divinity to make a skeleton key for an hour…), it’s possible to flavor it more for the Nine Hells than creation.

Again, that’s assuming that there isn’t a different set of rules applicable to mortal embodiments of gods. A reminder from EXU Calamity:

Maybe we’ll find out tonight. :)

#critical role #critical role spoilers #downfall #father milo downfall #asmodeus lord of the nine hells #this is just fun speculation so don’t take it too seriously

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punks-never-die205 · 7 months ago

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How do you think K&K would behave during their first kiss with s/o? I mean, who would be the first to kiss s/o? Or they would kiss all at the same time lol.

And how about their first intimate time together? Who would start and who would "take the lead"? Whould they be more soft since is the first time?

Sorry for the many questions, I'm obsessed with these 2😍

No need to apologize, but I'm going to cheat a little.

How they act and react would depend on things with their s/o at least a little, but I do see both of them as tops and doms more than bottoms and subs - and because of the confidence factor they both tend to have, I'd see them being more apt to take the lead.

Now, an experienced/cheeky s/o might get the jump on either one, but they're not going to stay in control unless they're really willing to fight for it xD

But! have some First Kiss moments from A Light Touch and Unseen, my eustass kid x reader and killer x reader respectively.

A Light Touch:

"... I want to touch you." "You already are, Mouse." He muses quietly. "I want you," you poke him to emphasize your point. "To want to kiss me." "Pretty ballsy for a little mouse," Kid's voice is husky as the warmth of his right arm slips around your waist. His prosthetic – designed for the kind of fine detail work he had to do for your hand's creation – slips under your chin, tilting your head back. You swallow as your eyes focus on his lips for a moment before looking into his eyes. "Gotta be, if I'm gonna be your Mouse." You're sure your face is bright red but seeing Kid's eyes go wide makes the embarrassment worth it. "Fuckin' hells, Mouse." Eustass swears as his prosthetic slips into your hair, and he pulls you into a kiss. The taste of lipstick gives way to the scent of the workshop – the smells of Eustass Kid - wood, metal and heat. He leans back, just enough to break the kiss, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers going into his hair. You pull him toward you, and he complies, leaning back down into another kiss. He pulls you in closer than before, and you're held against a body that feels more like rock than flesh. There's a tug at your hair that causes you to gasp, and Kid pushes into your mouth without hesitation, his hot tongue causing your breath to catch as he controls the kiss and embrace roughly. It sends a rush through your chest and a soft moan slips into your mouth, causing the corners of his lips to pull into a grin. "That's a nice sound, Mouse," He says, his voice smoother than you've heard before now. "Make me make more, Kid." You demand, this first kiss making you needy.

And Unseen:

He leans in and you feel the barest hint of his lips against yours before he whispers your name, soft and sweet like silk and honeysuckle. The space between you vanishes. His lips press against yours and your breath stops in your throat. You push against him almost involuntarily, and your fingers wander. His hands flex against your body as he sets you against the wall. Breaking the kiss for a moment, your already needy gasps mingling in the small space between, you wrap your legs around his waist. "I don't want to sound ungrateful," you whisper, your voice nearly falling apart as it leaves your lips, "But I hope you mean to kiss me more than that." With your back braced against the wall, he only needs one hand to keep you steady. His other hand slips around to the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair. He leans into the kiss again, but this time his tongue presses against your lips. With a shiver at the delicious sensation of it you open up and let him in. Kid might have commanded obedience with fire and charisma, but Killer had his blade at your neck before you could even hoped to be commanded. His kiss was just as absolute, it was almost overwhelming, and you could feel the rush welling up in your eyes. The heat and passion of the inescapable embrace he has you in threatens to consume you and it wasn't until he broke off the kiss that you realize you'd almost been out of air. You gasp and tremble against him, holding on as though you'd be plunged back into the depths if you let go. You could feel his breath against your neck, hot and heavy as your own. He nuzzles into your neck and kisses gently along the crook of it. Each tender action eliciting a stifled moan from you.

#eustass kid #x reader #reader insert #quin answers #side blog #anon asks #massacre soldier killer

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devi1sange1 · 2 months ago

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The Wicked King: My Favorite Jurdan moments

A selfish compilation because I want to look at this and smile in the future.

Ch. 1

During a lull, he glances up at me, raising one black brow. “Enjoying yourself?” “Not as much as you are,” I tell him. No matter how much he disliked me when we were in school, that was a guttering candle to the steady flame of his hatred now. His mouth curls into a smile. His eyes show with wicked intent. “Look at them all, your subjects. A shame not a one knows who their true ruler is.”

I would like to say he always hated me, but for a brief, strange time it felt as though we understood each other, maybe even liked each other.

Once, he tormented me because he was young and bored and angry and cruel. Now he has better reasons for the torments he will inflict on me after a year and a day is gone. It will be very hard to keep him always under my thumb.

Ch. 2

“I’ve never been in love,” I tell him, refusing to be rattled. “And of course, you can lie,” he says.

Ch. 3

I’m playing the High King in her little pageant, Cardan said once in my hearing.

Ch. 4

I think of his horror at his own desire when I brought my mouth to his, the dagger in my hand, the edge against his skin. The toe-curling, corrosive pleasure of that kiss. It felt as though I was punishing him—punishing him and myself at the same time.

I feel dizzy and a little sick when the poison hits my blood, but I would be sicker still if I skipped a dose. My body has acclimated, and now it craves what it should revile. An apt metaphor for other things.

Ch. 5

“Carda—“ I remember myself and sink into a bow. “Your Infernal Majesty.” He turns and, for a moment, seems to look through me, as though he as no idea who I am. His mouth is painted gold, and his pupils are large with intoxication. Then his lip lifts in a familiar sneer. “You.” “Yes,” I say. “Me.”

The disturbing thing about Cardan is how well he plays the fool to disguise his own cleverness.

“What happened to your cheek?” He asks, his gaze focusing blurry on me. He’s close enough that I can see his long lashes, the gold ring around the black of his iris.

He looks around in amazement, taking in the mess, “Where—Do you really sleep here? Perhaps you ought to set fire to your rooms as well.”

I can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin linen of his shirt, can feel the flex of his muscles.

He looks up at me with his night-colored eyes, beautiful and terrible all at once. “For a moment,” he says, “I wondered if it wasn’t you shooting bolts at me.” I make a face at him. “And what made you decide it wasn’t.” He grins up at me. “They missed.”

“Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”

After a moment, his eyes flutter close. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself. “If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.”

Ch. 6

He is as ridiculously beautiful as ever, mouth soft, lips slightly parted, lashes so long that when his eyes are closed they rest against his cheek.

Cardan’s hands were clasped behind his back, and he stopped to sniff the enormous glove of a white rose topped with scarlet, just before it snapped at the air. He grinned and lifted an eyebrow at me, but I was too nervous to smile back.

“I am going to give you orders.” “Oh, indeed,” he said. On his brow, the gold crown of Elfhame caught the light of the sunset. I took a breath and began. “You’re never to deny me an audience or give me an order to keep me from your side.” “Whysoever would I want you to leave my side?” he asked, voice dry.

Ch. 8

“Perhaps.” The Bomb pushes herself up off the bed. “No tricks or traps. You think it’s safe to let our king in here?” I think if the boy in the crystal, of his proud smile and his balled fist. I think of the horned faerie woman, who must have been his mother, shoving him away from her. I think of his father, the High King, who didn’t bother to intervene, didn’t even bother to make sure he was clothed or his face wiped. I think of how Cardan avoided these rooms. I sigh. “I wish I could think of a place he’d be safer.”

Our eyes meet, and I am the one who looks away, my face hot.

“I kissed him on the mouth, and then I threatened to kiss him some more if he didn’t do exactly what I wanted.”

Ch. 10

Cardan gives me a look up through his lashes that I find hard to interpret and then rises, too. He takes my hand. “Nothing is sweeter,” he says, kissing the back of it, “but that which is scarce.” My skin flushes, hot and uncontrollable.

Ch. 11

A new ring glimmers on his pinky finger, red stone catching the flames of the bonfire. A familiar ring. My ring. I recall that he took my hand in his rooms. I grind my teeth, stealing a glance at my own bare hand. He stole my ring. He stole it and I didn’t notice.

I look into his eyes. His hand slides to my hip, as though he might pull me closer. For a dizzy, stupid moment, something seems to shimmer in the air between us. […] “You ought not to be here tonight, little ant,” he says letting go of me. “Go back to the palace.” Then his is cutting back through the crowd.

I still feel the warm pressure of his fingers against my skin. Something is really wrong with me, to and what I hate, to want someone who despises me, even if he wants me, too. My only comfy is that he doesn’t know what I feel.

“Why, our Queen of Mirth is none other than Jude Duarte.” […] I look over at Cardan and find something dangerous glittering in his eyes—I will get no sympathy there.

“Tell us what you think of our lady,” Locke asks Cardan loudly, with a strange smile. The High King’s expression stiffens, only to smooth out for a moment later when he turns toward the Court. “I have too often been troubled by dreams of Jude,” he says, voice carrying. “Her face features prominently in my most request nightmare.”

“Some among us do not find mortals beautiful. In fact, some of you might swear that Jude is unlovely.” […] “But I believe it is only that her beauty is… unique.” Cardan pauses for more laughter from the crowd, greater jeering. “Excruciating. Alarming. Distressing.”

“Perhaps she needs new raiment to bring out her true allure,” Locke says. “Greater finery for one so fine.” The imps more to pull the tattered, threadbare rag gown over my own to the delight of the Folk. […] “Wait,” I say, pitching my voice loud enough to carry. The imps hesitate. Cardan’s expression is unreadable. I reach down and catch hold of my hem, then pull the dress I am wearing over my head. It’s a simple thing—no corset, no clasps—and it comes off just as simply. I stand in the middle of the party in my underwear, daring them to say something. Daring Cardan to speak. “Now I am reading to put on my new gown,” I say.

Cardan steps closer to me, his gaze devouring. I am not sure I can bear his cutting me down again. Luckily, he seems at a loss for words. “I hate you,” I whisper before he can speak. He tilts my face to his. “Say it again,” he says as the imps comb my hair and place the ugly, stinking crown on my head. His voice is low. The words are for me alone. I pull out of his grip, but not before I see his expression. He looks as he did when he was forced to answer my questions, when he admitted his desire for me. He looks as though he’s confessing.

“Will you dance with me?” I ask Cardan, sinking into a curtsy, acid in my voice. “For I find you every bit as beautiful as you find me.” […] Cardan’s smile is unreadable. “I’d be delighted,” he says as the musicians begin to play again. He sweeps me into his arms.

“Whatever you do to me,” I say, too angry to stay quiet, “I can do worse to you.” “Oh,” he says, fingers tight on mine. “Do not think I forget that for a moment.” “Then why?” I demand. “You believe I planned your humiliation?” He laughs. “Me? That sounds like work.” “I don’t care if you did or not,” I tell him too angry to make sense of my feelings. “I just care that you enjoyed it.” “And why shouldn’t I delight in seeing you squirm? You tricked me,” Cardan says. “You played me for a fool, and now I am the King of Fools.”

Our gazes meet, and there’s a shock of mutual understanding that our bodies are pressed too closely. I am conscious of my skin, of the sweat beading on my lip, of the slide of my thighs against each other. I am aware of the warmth of his neck beneath my twined fingers, of the prickly brush of his hair and how I want to sink my hands into it. I inhale the scent of him—moss and oakwood and leather. I stare at his treacherous mouth and imagine it on me.

I think of Locke’s expression while Cardan spoke, the eagerness in his face. It wasn’t me he was watching. I wonder for the first time if my humiliation was incidental, the bait to his hook. Tell us what you think of our lady.

Ch. 12

“I thought you were leaving,” he snaps. “And I thought the Queen of Mirth was welcome wheresoever she goes,” I hiss back.

“Out!” he says, at which point even Fala heads for the door. “Except Jude,” he calls. “You, tarry a moment.” […] “Give me an order again,” I say, “ and I will show you true shame. Locke’s games will be as nothing to what I will make you do.”

Ch. 14

He survived on cat milk?” I exclaim. The Roach gives me a look, as though I’ve missed the point of his story entirely.

I think again of the globe I held in Eldred’s study, of Cardan dressed in rags, looking to the woman in my chamber for approval, which came only when he was awful. An abandoned prince, weaned in cat milk and cruelty, left to roam the palace like a little ghost. I think of myself, holding in a tower of Hallow Hall, watching Balekin enchant a mortal into beating in younger brother for poor swordsmanship.

Ch. 15

We are alone in a way we have not been alone for a long time, and when he takes a step toward me, my heart skips a beat.

“Yes, well, I don’t think it would be politically expedient to put thumbscrews to a princess of the seas.” I look at him again, at his soft mouth and his high cheekbones, at the cruel beauty of his face. “Not thumbscrews. You. You go to Nicasia and charm her.” His brows go up

“Use your wiles,” I say, exasperated and embarrassed. “I’m sure you’ve got some. She wants you. It shouldn’t be difficult.” His eyebrows, if anything, climb higher. “You’re seriously suggesting I do this.”

He stalks toward me, close enough that I can feel his breath stirring my hair. “Are you commanding me?” “No,” I say, startled and unable to meet his gaze. “Of course not.” His fingers come to my chin, tilting my head so I am looking up into his black eyes, the rage in them as hot as coals.

“You just think I ought to. That I can. Very well, Jude. Tell me how it’s done. Do you think she’d like if I came to her like this, if I looked deeply into her eyes?” My whole body is alert, alive with sick desire, embarrassing in its intensity. He knows. I know he knows.

His beringed fingers trace over my cheek, trace the line of my lip and down my throat. I feel dizzy and overwhelmed. “Should I touch her like this?” He asks, lashes lowered. The shadows limn his face, casting his cheekbones into stark relief. “I don’t know,” I say, but my voice betrays me. It’s all wrong, high and breathless.

He presses his mouth to my ear, kissing me there. His hands skim over my shoulders making me shiver. “And then like this? Is this how I ought to seduce her?” I can feel his mouth shape the light works against my skin. “Do you think it would work?” I dig my finger nails into the meat of my palm to keep from moving against him. My whole body is trembling with tension. “Yes.”

Then his mouth is against mine, my lips part. I close my eyes against what I am about to do. My fingers reach up to tangle in the black curls of his hair. He doesn’t kiss me as though he’s angry; his kiss is soft, yearning. Everything slows, goes liquid and hot. I can barely think. I’ve wanted this and feared it, and now that it’s happening, I don’t know how I will ever want anything else.

We stumbled back to the low couch. He leans me against the cushions, and I pull him down over me. His expression mirrors my own, surprise and a little horror.

“Tell me again what you said at the revel,” he says, climbing over me, his body against mine. “What?” I can barely think. “That you hate me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me that you hate me.” “I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say, it over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” He kisses me harder. “I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t think of anything else.” At that, he makes a harsh, low sound.

I have never felt anything like this.

He begins to unbutton my doublet, and I try not freeze, try just to show my inexperience. I don’t want him to stop.

He leans up to pull of his own jacket, and I try to wriggle out of mine. He looks at me and blinks, as through a fog. “This is an absolutely terrible idea,” he says with a kind of amazement in his voice. “Yes,” I tell him, kicking off my boots.

He shucks his cuffed white shirt over his head in a single elegant gesture, revealing bare skin and scars. My hands are shaking. He captures them and kisses my knuckles with a kind of reverence. “I want to tell you so many lies,” he says.

I mirror him, fumbling with the buttons of his breeches. He helps me push them down, his tail curling against his leg then twisting to coil against mine, soft as a whisper.

His eyes are open, watching my flushed face, my ragged breathing. I try to stop myself from making embarrassing noises. It’s more intimate than the way he’s touching me, to be looked at like that.

I hate the way I cling to him, the nails of one hand digging into his back, my thoughts splintering, and the single last thing in my head: that I like him better than I’ve ever liked anyone and that of all the things he’s ever done to me, making me like him so much is by far the worst.

Ch. 16

I do not want to consider what happened between us. I do not want to think about the way his muscles moved or how his skin felt or the soft gasping sounds he made or the slide of his mouth against mine. I definitely don’t want to think about how hard I had to bite my lip to keep quiet. Or how obvious it was that I’d never done any of the things we did, no less the things we didn’t do.

I don’t know how I will face Cardan again without behaving like a fool.

Ch. 18

His fingers trace their way down her arm to the back of her wrist, and I remember vividly the feeling of those hands on me. Me skin heats at the memory, a blush that starts at my throat and keeps going from there.

Kiss me until I am sick of it, he said, and now he has most certainly gorged on my kisses. Now he is most certainly sick of them.

Ch. 19

Our eyes meet. If I look away, then he will know I am embarrassed, but I fear he can tell anyway. My cheeks go hot. I wonder if I will ever be able to look at him again without remembering what it was like to touch him.

“It seems I have a singular taste for women who threaten me.”

He takes a step toward me. “The other night—“ I cut him off. “I did it for the same reason that you did. To get it out of my system.” “And is it?” he asks. “Out of your system?” I look him in the face and lie. “Yes.” If he touches me, if he even takes another step toward me, my deceit will be exposed. I don’t think I can keep the longing off my face. Instead, to my relief, he gives a thin-lipped nod and departs.

It occurred to me that maybe desire isn’t something overindulging helps. Maybe it is not unlike mithridatisn; maybe I took a killing dose when I should have been poisoning myself slowly, one kiss at a time.

My spies tell me Cardan spend the night alone—no riotous parties, no drunken revels, no contests for lyres. I do not know how to interpret that.

Ch. 21

The last time we were in this house, in the maze of the gardens, his mouth was streaked with golden nevermore, and he watched me kiss Locke with a simmering intensity that I thought was hatred. Now he studied me with a not-dissimilar look, and all I want to do is walk into his arms. I want to drown my worries in his embrace. I want him to say some totally unlike himself, about things being okay. “Nice dress,” he says instead.

I know the court must already think I am besotted with the High King to endure being crowned Queen of Mirth and still serve as his seneschal. […] But what if I actually am becoming besotted with him?

Kill him, a part of me says, a part I remember from the night I took him captive. Kill him before he makes you love him.

“But if you’re planning on taking someone to bed—or better yet, several someones—choose guards. And then have yourselves guarded by some more guards.” “A veritable orgy.” He seems delighted by the idea.

I keep thinking of the steady way he looked at me when we were both naked, before he pulled on his shirt and fastened those elegant cuffs. We should have called a truce, he’d said, brushing back his ink-black hair impatiently. We should have called truce long before this. But neither of us called it, not then, not after. Jude, he’d said, running a hand up my calf, are you afraid of me?

“Go,” I say. “Forget our bargains. Forget everything. Get out of here.” “Why are you doing this?” she asks me. “For Cardan,” I say. I leave unsaid the second part: Because his mother is still alive and mine is not, because even if he hates you, at least he should get a chance to tell you about it.

Ch. 22

I hope Cardan misses me.

Sometimes I think about Cardan while I am lying there.

I wonder what would have happened if I’d admitted he wasn’t out of my system.

The High King has made a bargain to get me back. […] He has been free of me, and now he is willingly bringing me back. I do not know what that means. Perhaps politics demanded it; perhaps he really, really didn’t like going to meetings.

Ch. 24

Cardan’s face is impossible to read. He doesn’t look at his brother. Instead, his gaze goes to me. Everything in his demeanor is icy.

I am small, diminished, powerless. I look down, because if I don’t, I am going to behave stupidly. […] What might he have done for my return? I try to recall my commands, to recall whether I forced his hand.

“You promised her whole and hale,” says Cardan.

“Perhaps you no longer want her,” Orlagh says. “Perhaps you would bargain for something else in her place, King of Elfhame.” “I will have her,” he says, sounding both possessive and contemptuous at once.

She spits on the floor. “You don’t understand. Your High King did this for you. Those were the terms under which Queen Orlagh would return you. Balekin chose the Court of Termites as the target, the Undersea attacked us, and your Cardan let her. There was no mistake.”

Ch. 25

The only thing I wonder is why not let me languish beneath the sea?

I never thought he liked me enough to save me. And I am not sure I’ll still believe it unless I hear it from his lips.

“I remember you,” says the door. “My prince’s lady.”

Ch. 26

I crawl into Cardan’s bed, and although I fear I will toss and turn with nerves, I surprise myself by slipping immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep. Upon waking in the moonlight, I go to his closet and dress myself in the simplest of his clothes—a velvet doublet whose collar and cuffs I rip pearls from, along with a pair of plain, soft leggings.

I slip into Cardan’s room. […] I walk to where he sleeps and press my hand over his mouth. He wakes, fighting against my grip. I press down hard enough that I can feel his teeth against my skin. He grabs for my throat, and for a moment, I am scared that I’m not strong enough, that my training isn’t good enough. Then his body relaxes utterly, as though realizing who I am. He shouldn’t relax like that. “He sent me here to kill you,” I whisper against his ear.

A shiver goes through his body, and his hand goes to my waist, but instead of pushing me away, he pulls me into the bed with him, rolling my body across him onto the heavily embroidered coverlets.

“Balekin and Orlagh are planning your murder,” I say, flustered. “Yes,” he says lazily. “So why did I wake up at all?” I am awkwardly conscious of his physicality, of the moment when he was half awake and pulled me against him. “Because I am difficult to charm,” I say. That makes him give a soft laugh. He reaches out and touches my hair, traces the hollow of my cheekbone. “I could have told my brother that,” he says, with a softness in his voice I am utterly unprepared for.

“He gave your guards orders to keep me out of the palace.” “I will give them different orders,” Cardan says. He sits up in the bed. He’s bare to the waist, his skin silvery in the soft glow of the magical lights. He continues looking at me in this strange way, as though he’s never seen me before or as though he thought he might never see me again.

“I have thought and thought since you were gone, and there is something I wish to say.” Cardan’s face is serious, almost grave, in a way that he seldom allows himself to be.

“I wasn’t kind, Jude. Not too many people. Not to you. I wasn’t sure if I wanted you or if I wanted you gone from my sight so that I would stop feeling as I did, which made me even more unkind. But when you were gone—truly gone beneath the waves—I hated myself as I never have before.”

“Perhaps I am foolish, but I am not a fool. You like something about me,” he says, mischief lighting his face, making its planes more familiar. “The challenge? My pretty eyes? No matter, because there is more you do not like and I know it. I can’t trust you. Still, when you were gone, I had to make a great many decisions, and so much of what I did right was imagining you beside me, Jude, giving me a bunch of ridiculous orders that I nonetheless obeyed.” I am robbed of speech. He laughs, his warm hand going to my shoulder. “Either I’ve surprised you or you are as ill as Madoc claimed.”

“Please get out of bed, Your Majesty,” repeats the bomb. […] Cardan slips out of the sheets. He’s naked, which is briefly shocking, but he goes and pulls on a heavily embroidered dressing gown with no apparent shame. His lightly furred tail twitches back and forth in annoyance. “She woke me,” he says. “If she was intent on murder, that’s hardly the way to go about it.”

Cardan sighs and walks toward me. I know this is necessary. I know that he doesn’t intend to hurt me. I know the can’t glamour me. And yet I draw back automatically. “Jude?” he asks. “Go ahead,” I say. I hear the glamour enter his voice, heady and seductive and more powerful than I expected. “Crawl to me,” he says with a grin. Embarrassment pinks my cheeks.

“I find the more I listen, the more I am reminded that I have been awakened after very little sleep. I am going to send got some tea for myself and some food for Jude, who looks a bit pale.”

Cardan shakes his head and drinks another cup of tea. “We show her that I am no feckless High King.” “And how do we do that?” I ask. “With great difficulty,” he says. “Since I fear she is right.”

Ch. 27

“Oh ho,” he says. “My darling seneschal. Let us take a turn around the room.” He grabs me and pulls me toward the dance.

“Cardan,” I try again. “You must not do this. I order you to pull yourself together. I command you to drink no more liquor and to attempt sobriety.” “Yes, my sweet villain, my darling god. I will be as sober as a stone carving, just as soon as I can.” And with that, he kisses me on the mouth.

I feel a cacophony of things at once. I am furious with him, furious and resigned that he is a failure as High King, corrupt and fanciful and as weak as Orlagh could have hoped. Then there is the public nature of the kiss; parading this before the court is shocking, too. He’s never been willing to seem to want me in public. Perhaps he can take it back, but in this moment, it is known.

But there is also a weakness in me, because I dreamed of him kissing me for all my time in the Undersea, and now with his mouth on mine, I want to sink my nails into his back. His tongue brushes my lower lips, the taste heady and familiar. Wraithberry. He’s not drunk; he’s been poisoned. I pull back and look into his eyes. Those familiar eyes, black, rimmed in gold. His pupils are blown wide. “Sweet Jude. You are my dearest punishment.”

“Jude Duarte, you will leave the High King’s side,” Balekin says. At that tone, Cardan’s focus narrows. I can see him straining to concentrate. “She will not,” he says.

Ch. 28

He reaches up and presses my hand to his face. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how I mocked you for your mortality when you’re certain to outlive me.” “You’re not going to die,” I insist. “Oh, how many times have I wished you couldn’t lie? Never more than now.”

“I saw your mother tonight,” I say. “All dressed up. The time I saw her before that was in the tower of forgetting.” “And you’re wondering if I forgot her?” He says airily, and I am pleased that he’s paying enough attention to deliver one of his typical quips. “Glad you’re up to mocking.” “I hope it’s the last thing about me to go. […]”

“You should go.” “Why?” I ask, annoyed. For one, this is my room. For another, I am trying to keep him alive. He looks at me solemnly. “Because I am going to retch.”

“You’ll stay with him?” I ask the bomb, she nods. “No,” says Cardan. “She goes with you.” I shake my head. “The Bomb knows about potions. She knows about magic. She can make sure you don’t get worse.” He ignores me and takes her hand. “Liliver, as your king, I command you,” he says with great dignity for someone sitting in the floor beside the bucket he’s retched in. “Go with Jude.” […] “Damn you,” I whispered to one or maybe both of them.

“But how did she make you agree?” I demand. “She has no power. She could pretend to be me, but she couldn’t force you—“ He puts his head in his long-fingered hands. “She didn’t have to command me, Jude. She didn’t have to use any magic. I trust you. I trusted you.”

Ch. 29

“If Taryn had given me a command, I would have known it wasn’t you. But I was sick and tired and didn’t want to refuse you. I didn’t even ask why, Jude. I wanted to show you that you could trust me, that you didn’t need to give me orders for me to do things. I want to show you that I believed you’d thought it all through. But that’s no way to rule. And it’s not really even trust, when someone can order you to do it anyway.”

“Faerie suffered with us at each other’s throats. You attempted to make me do what you thought needed to be done, and if we disagreed, we could do nothing but manipulate each other. That wasn’t working, but simply giving in is no solution. We cannot continue like this. Tonight is proof of that. I need to make my own decisions.”

“You made me the High King, Jude. Let me be the High King.” I fold my arms protectively over my chest. “And what will I be? Your servant?” […] “Marry me,” he says. “Become the High Queen of Elfhame.”

I feel a kind of cold shock come over me, as though someone has told a particularly cruel joke, with me its target. As though someone looked into my heart and saw the most ridiculous, most childish desire there and used it against me.

“So let me guess, you and me to release you from your vow for your promise to marry me? But then the marriage will take lace in the month of never when the moon rises in the west and the tides flow backward.” He shakes his head, laughing. “If you agree, I will marry you tonight,” he says. “Now, even. Right here. We exchange vows, and it is done. This is no mortal marriage, to require being presided over and witnessed. I cannot lie. I cannot deny you.”

This is a solution, but it doesn’t feel at all practical. It’s the stuff of absurd daydream, imagined while dozing in a mossy glen, too embarrassing to even confess to my sisters.

I imagine what it would be like to have my own crown, my own power. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be afraid to love him.

“Yes,” I say, but my voice fails me. It comes out all breath. “Yes.” He leans forward in the chair, eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t wear his usual arrogant mien. I cannot read his expression. “To what are you agreeing?” “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.” He gives me a wicked grin. “I had no idea it would be such a sacrifice.” Frustrated, I flop over on the couch. “That’s not what I mean.” “Marriage for the High King of Elfhame is largely thought to be a prize, an honor of which few are worthy.”

He slides my ruby ring off his finger. “I, Cardan, son of Eldred, High King of Elfhame, take you, Jude Duarte, mortal ward of Madoc, to be my bride and my queen. Let us be wed until we wish for it to be otherwise and the crown has passed from our hand”

Time seems to stretch out. Above us, the branches begin to bud, as though the land itself heard the words he spoke.

Catching my hand, he slides the ring on. The exchange of rings is not a faerie ritual, and I am surprised by it. “Your turn,” he says into the silence. He gives me a grin.

I still can’t quite believe this is happening. My hand tightens on his as I speak. “I, Jude Duarte, take Cardan, High King of Elfhame, to be my husband. Let us be wed until we don’t want to be and the crown has passed from our hands.”

He kisses the scar of my palm. I still have his brother’s blood under my fingernails. I don’t have a ring for him. Above us, the buds are blooming. The whole room smells of flowers.

“You look as if you’ve barely rested.” I rise to be sure that if he falls over, I can grab him before he hits the floor, although I am not so sure of myself either. “I will lie down,” he says, letting me guide home toward his enormous bed. Once there, he does not let go of my hand. “If you lie with me.”

We trade kisses in the darkness, blurred by exhaustion. I don’t expect to sleep, but I do, my limbs tangled with his, the first restful sleep I’ve had since my return from the Undersea.

“Well, wife,” he says to me, a chill in his voice. “It seems you have kept at least one secret from your dowry. Come, we must dress for our first audience together.”

Ch. 30

“Give us your seneschal, Jude Duarte.” […] Cardan’s eyebrows go up. His voice stays light. “But she’s only just returned from the sea.” “So you don’t dispute her crime?” Says Orlagh. “Why should I?” Says Cardan. “If she’s the one with whom he dueled, I am certain she would win; my brother supposed himself an expert with a sword—a great exaggeration of abilities. But she’s mine to punish or not, as I see fit.”

“Hear my judgement,” Cardan says, authority ringing in his voice. “I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life.” […] “But I am the Queen of faerie,” I shout, and for a moment, there is silence. The everyone around me begins to laugh. I can feel my cheeks heat. Tears of frustration and fury prick my eyes, a beat too late, Cardan laughs with them.

“Deny it, then,” I yell. “Deny me!” He cannot, of course, so he does not. Our eyes meet, and the odd smile on his face is clearly meant for me. I remember what it was to hate him with the whole of my heart, but I’ve remembered to late.

#ch 26 is my absolute favorite #favorite chapter of this book by far #jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #let me know if there are any mistakes😭#Jurdan moments

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aria-ashryver · 5 months ago

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Welcome To The Jungle | Choices MC Colony | Episode #4

Dorian: so, just to recap: a nearby settlement hired a PI to investigate whether a neighbouring faction of theirs were actually cannibals -- turns out they are, and now that PI is running for her life and needs our help? Rin: That's pretty much what I picked up over the comms, yeah Marianna: Seven pirate raiders from the Venom Chokers Daenarya: Oh, hey I know those guys! Yeeeeah, yeah they'll eat you. Brienne: Some of them also spit fire. Luca: Sorry-- they spit what, now? Anitha: We're helping her, right? Dorian: …Us versus seven angry, fire-spitting, cannibal raiders? Oliver: Yes, we are helping. Dorian: Yeah, totally! Nothing about that sentence is terrifying! Luca: snorts Rin: …chicken. Dorian: I'm not scared. Marianna: Yes, you are. Dorian: Shush.

Aaaahhhhh oh god everything is fine aaahhh

Good news! Carina is safe and (mostly) well! And since we did such an excellent job on the rescue mission (and were sooooo brave and not at all terrified) she's decided to join us for good.

Welcome to the Jungle, @stars-are-within-me's Carina 💖👋 Lovely to have you aboard

[LINK] - Episode 3.5 (ask) - a little overview of the base so far!

Okay, welcome to Episode #4, folks. Its been an exciting few weeks of raids, illnesses, and wild animal attacks, so I think our MCs are due a nice period of calm to relax, take stock, build up our base, and enjoy the bonds of friendship.

ok so we took stock, the stocks aren't great.

Turns out doubling your colony size overnight really hits you in the food department! Who knew. Fortunately, we do have some folks who know a thing or two about crops and gardening, so we've now got two thriving farms, as well as some chickens (Wilbur and Clementine) and our new cow (Tallulah) who we traded some nomads for.

omg the baby chicks are sleeping in the hay that's so cute 😭

(also, something weird happened and all of our crops were turned into strawberries for like a week before I noticed? We had to replant everything lmao. Idk who was behind that one)

Its been nice to just see folks bonding and chatting about stuff while they work too 😊 At the moment, Evie and Luca are the OG colony besties - Evie helps Luca with their building projects quite a bit, so they have lots of time for Top Notch banter. Clearly.

Luca: *ADHD-fuelled rambling* Evie: yeah, i like this one he's weird

Some of the other colonists are finding comfort in each other in this harsh and unforgiving jungle too 👀 A few situationships have started to crop up here and there?? (and I find it utterly hilarious that once again, its mostly the Blades MCs who are Blades MC-ing)

IMPORTANT NOTE: If you want to change/update any of these settings (bc I'm limiting things like lovers and marriage, etc at the moment), just let me know! [Here is a link] to current sprite stats!

Luca and Oliver have both been flirting a lot lately, so I feel like they might the next two to become a thing lol.

Luca: Great party, Oliver! Just what we needed after getting attacked by cannibals. That was crazy, right? Oliver: Yeah, that raid was a nail-biter. Ha, good thing no one else got bitten though. Luca: …You could bite me. Oliver: … Luca: If you want. You seem broad-minded. Oliver: ...what? Luca: what?

Speaking of biting people (apt segue is apt); a group of vampires have asked if they could host a coven meeting at Cedar Station! (They'll pay us with books!! Fuck yeahhhh books!)

Ricky, stop interrupting the coven meeting. Read the room. It's full of purple smoke and spooky spectral demon eyes.

One of them liked Cedar Station so much, she decided to stay! Cameron? Sergio? No, we used aliases. It's Jiahao. Yes, my cape is amazing.

Welcome to the Jungle, @choicesmc's Jia!! ✨ (I've never had a vampire colonist before, I'm hyped)

Ooh, and right on the heels of this! A roaming caravan of hunters and traders passed by the colony (and enjoyed the seaside for a little bit lol) -- and one of the guards who had been helping herd and protect their animals decided to stick around too!

Welcome to the Jungle, @dutifullynuttywitch's Autumn!! *wipes tear* our lil family keeps growing 🥹

I'm so glad this has just been a period of relaxing and making new friends. I'm really enjoying this calm. Surely nothing bad will happen, right?

Surely nothing bad will--

Surely nothing--

*grits teeth* Surely nothing bad will--

SEVENTEEN MAN-EATING MONKEYS???????

Guys please not now, do you not see us hiding from the swarm of angry monkeys??? 😭😭😭

ok no, we can always make time for humanitarian aid. We were sooo brave and fought off enough monkeys so Marianna and Oliver could sneak away and donate money to *checks notes*: Norma Rubivine the child brawler who is very good at mining despite being only 7 years old because she is a Dirtmole.

(me, crying: Norma come back and hhelp me w the monkeys. Please. Norma.)

Surely nothing bad will hap--

Surely nothing-- AGAIN with the insects???

(*through tears*) Surely nothing bad will--

Aaahhhh ow ow ow almost everyone is downed we have run out of hospital beds aahhhh

So uhhh. Let me end this episode by saying: Dorians arm got cut off by raiders and he almost bled to death and I felt really bad so I made him mayor.

🎉🎊🎉

Thank you once again for letting me borrow your darlings @dr-colossal-pita @choicesmc @rosesnink @stars-are-within-me @lover-also-fighter-also @cadybear420 @storyofmychoices @dutifullynuttywitch ✨✨✨

#Welcome to the Jungle #don't forget to lmk if you want your sprite relationship info changed!

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abyssalzones · 2 years ago

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3, 16, and 20 for fiddleford :}

oh i am going to get so specific

3 - A song that reminds me of them

It's cruel to make me pick just one. But let's go with... Rooms on fire, by Stevie Nicks.

16 - A childhood headcanon

He's the youngest of seven, and definitely the least rowdy. I'm inclined to say his engineering skills were born of a very practical need to repair things around the house, or on the farm itself, when his siblings were more apt towards breaking things. I also... wouldn't be surprised if that atmosphere lent to some of his anxiety.

20 - A weird headcanon

You know that post on here of someone's tiktok talking about the weird way people's houses are set up ("you hit one very normal looking lightswitch and next thing you know ur host comes running in... like 'oh god I can see how you thought that was a lightswitch but that's actually the switch that releases a bunch of feral raccoons into the livingroom'")? That's along the lines of how he re-configures the manor. It's... mostly on purpose.

#lab creations #lab notes #really low quality in the preview sorry. just wanted to draw something #gravity falls #askbox

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year ago

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OH! OH! Kalymir, Ludwig, Rei, and Stitches, whose obsession has a severe case of pyromainia!

Kalymir loves fire, this is a total win in his eyes. Though honestly, stop setting the fortress on fire. There's a lava room if you want to play around in there. Believe it or not, there are personal belongings that Kalymir can't have burned so easily. Though your shenanigans only incentivize him to figure out new, better ways to fortify rooms containing very important things. He definitely joins you in your little pyromaniac stunts, even asking you to set him on fire. It feels nice. Fawn over him while he's burning, Kaly will flex for you.

Ludwig honestly is more concerned you'll hurt yourself than anything. You uh- Might wanna get that treated. Until then, he'll make a lot of "toasty" jokes when you commit what can only be called arson. Ludwig brings sunglasses and a foldable chair so he can sit in the middle of the flames for a picture and then the two of you haul ass because you're criminals and he's slightly more sane than you on this. Very hot of you to be so destructive though, that's why he can't bring himself to stop your antics.

Rei invites you to every stunt of his that has fire. Not that it usually hurts him, but you might like the visuals, yeah? You even get to hold the flame emitters, or join the crew in those types of preparations. Rei will also show you different types of fire, including the deadliest of all (to demons at least), holy fire. Yeah, spooky. He's absolutely unrepentant and will help you set fire to anything you want. A hospital? Yeah sure, fuck it, he's going to rail you while it falls apart.

Stitches couldn't be more thrilled. You like fire? Watch him flare his sockets at you, sickly greenish fire erupting from every crevice in his pumpkin head as he spins it around just to get a reaction from you. Wanna hold his whip? He can summon the fire, and you'll set trails ablaze as the two of you gallop into the night. He may be mute, but anyone can tell by the wide open-mouthed grin that he's laughing manically. Maybe, with enough magical training, you can become apt enough to wield a tamer version of undead fire. He'd kill to see it!

#Kalymir oc #Stitches oc #Ludwig oc #Rei oc

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years ago

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Idia & Rollo: A Tale of Two Brothers

HI I’M WRITING ANOTHER ANALYSIS BECAUSE I’M STILL GOING CRAZY OVER GLORIOUS MASQUERADE PART 5 🤡 *honks clown nose*

***Spoilers for chapter 6 of the main story and Glorious Masquerade!***

***CONTENT WARNING: extensive mentions of death and allusions to suicide and suicidal ideation.***

This analysis was inspired in part by this illustration; Idia and Rollo are both standing trial for their crimes. However, notice that while Rollo is frantically defending himself, Idia stands calm, almost accepting of his fate and awaiting judgment. Please keep this illustration in mind, as I believe it to be an apt visualization of both the similarities and the differences between the two.

On a surface level, there isn't that much that's the same about Idia and Rollo. They don't even "speak the same language", as Rollo expresses confusion at the slang Idia uses when referring to gargoyles as Malleus's "oshi". Idia is socially anxious, introverted, and nerdy, with hobbies and interests such as video games, idols, and manga/anime. He's intelligent, but he's also self-absorbed, often bragging about his own genius or making inventions just to make his own life easier (such as a tablet so he can attempt classes remotely). Idia also has a habit of insulting others for "not being on his level", or even talking them down or acting frightened when they exceed in areas he doesn't deem important, such as athletics. On the other hand, Rollo is far more astute and serious, setting high standards for himself and for others. Despite this, he does well with people at a superficial level and is well-liked by his peers. He is practical and sparing about how he uses his intelligence and magic, usually only limiting them to scenarios which they are necessary to utilize.

However, if there is one major, glaring similarity between Idia and Rollo, it is this: they both love and care for their younger brothers--and they both lost those beloved brothers in tragic accidents, which deeply affected their courses in life and their mindsets as they grew up. What's more, they both became emotionally closed off from others as a result. The difference here is how they coped with their losses and came out the other side.

Idia has been groomed from birth to be the perfect heir that will eventually succeed his father as director of S.T.Y.X. and the Shroud family itself, which oversees the Underworld. Because of this, he has usually been contained to his studies and scarcely saw the outside world. His younger brother, Ortho, who was not burdened by these responsibilities and loved playing with Idia, one day convinced his older brother to sneak out with him to play in the world above. When Idia disarms the security systems to aid in their escape, a Phantom escapes and tragically ends Ortho's life. This incident traumatized Idia to the point where he stayed in his room for roughly 2 years, barely asking anything of others but spare parts. During this time, he invented a robotic version of Ortho to act as his brother, aware that the A.I. would never be able to replace the original that was lost. When the events of episode 6 occur, Idia is able to finally acknowledge Robo!Ortho as his own person, and comes to terms with the original's passing. He decides that he must live on, and gradually opens up to his classmates once he has this revelation.

Rollo's younger brother unlocked his magic before Rollo did. (I will call the unnamed younger brother "Brollo" for the sake of simplicity.) From a brief flashback at the end of Glorious Masquerade, we know that Brollo truly loved magic and using it because it made Rollo happy when he did. Unfortunately, this magic (presumably a fire spell) got out of hand one day and ended up consuming Brollo. Since then, Rollo cursed magic, blaming other magicians for not intervening to rescue his sibling. Then, in a horrible twist of fate, Rollo discovered his own magic after Brollo's passing. Not only does Rollo turn out to also be a mage--one of the people he detests for not helping his brother--but his own unique magic, something that defines him as an individual, is driven by negative emotions and engulfs him in flames... More fire, just like the fire that took Brollo from him. Rollo not only experienced that trauma, but let that trauma fuel him and become an integral part of his identity. This would later convince him that magic is a "sin" that tempts people and decide that it would be better off if Twisted Wonderland were robbed of all of its magic. He cites his motivation for taking such an extreme stance as "saving" others. Even when he is defeated and apprehended by the NRC boys, Rollo holds fast to his beliefs and refuses to admit to any wrongdoing.

Notice where their paths diverged.

Idia was in a situation where he was more directly responsible for Ortho's death. If he hadn't meddled with the security, the Phantom would have never escaped and Ortho would not have been gravely injured. Because of this, Idia accepts the burden of responsibility and feels immensely guilty due to his involvement. This is a good deal of the reason why he shut himself away from the world following Ortho's death and why he has issues with socializing for so much of the main story; Idia feels ashamed for what he has done, so he turns to his own interests as a way to cope with it. Without Ortho there to encourage him to reach out to others and attempt at friendships, Idia falls victim to his own hopelessness. Why bother making friends? Why bother reaching out? His future has already been decided for him, and the one time he tried to avoid his fate, someone he loved was lost to him forever. It's pointless and futile to try, and he says as much in episode 6. All of the test subjects will have their memories of their time gaming wiped--so why be friendly with them and enjoy himself? It's all meaningless. Idia's guilt turned inward, and whether he realizes it or not, everything he does is an unconscious reflection of that guilt, right down to the defeatist attitude he adopts following the initial trauma.

Rollo is the opposite of Idia; his guilt turned outward, and he never came to accept it, so it ended up poisoning him and his perception of the world. This explains why Rollo took extreme actions against all of Twisted Wonderland, whereas Idia was contained (again, internalized guilt) and only Overblotted when tempted by the promise of reuniting with his dead brother.

To go into more detail with Rollo... Sebek mentions in Glorious Masquerade that he cannot understand his motives; if Rollo hates magicians and magic, and Rollo IS a magician, then does the logic not follow that Rollo, by proxy, must hate himself? Idia echoes this sentiment when confronting him, accusing Rollo of actually hating himself the most for being powerless to help Brollo. That's... most likely true, given the circumstances, but notice that it is Sebek and Idia that have to say this for the audience to understand, rather than Rollo monologuing about it. Why? Because Rollo is in denial about his internal conflict. Time and time again in the event we hear him talk about how OTHER people are disgusting, how OTHER people misuse their magic... and when he talks about his own magic, he refers to it as "a curse", "a burden". It's clear he views magic, including his own, as a very negative thing. Rollo's wording is especially telling when he has been beaten, weeping over the loss of his flowers, his salvation, even though he has been claiming all this time his actions were for the good of OTHER people, not himself.

Unlike Idia, Rollo was not the direct cause of Brollo's passing. However, Rollo must feel responsible in some part (whether consciously knowing or not), as it is implied Rollo indirectly encouraged his brother's use of magic (because seeing Brollo's magic made him happy). He must have also felt an immense guilt for not unlocking his magic sooner, for not being capable of stopping the magic from raging out of control. But Rollo, being powerless at the time, did not direct his anger at himself, but at the people around them. Blaming others is just an easier solution than accepting blame yourself, and that was the route Rollo went down. However, in refusing to acknowledge the part he played himself, it caused more hatred to fester. Rollo could never be happy, could never be satisfied, because everywhere he looked, he saw sin--but not within. Like Idia, he emotionally closes himself off from others, not speaking about his experiences to others and instead writing them down in journal entries... but Rollo takes it so, SO much further, spending years and years plotting his "salvation" to come into fruition. He tries to justify this to himself and to others as a means of saving them, but as Idia rightfully points out, that's just an excuse to vent, an excuse to save himself and to be liberated of the burden called magic. It sometimes slips out in the way Rollo speaks about his goals: how people will not have to suffer from painful memories “again” (ie Rollo won’t have to relive the past), how they will be freed from “dark and cold despair” (he’s speaking about it in such detail, like he is speaking from experience).

I actually don’t think what Idia said is completely true; yes, Rollo wants to save himself. However, if that were the case, why wouldn’t Rollo just have the crimson flowers relive himself of magic and no one else’s? It’s because Rollo honest-to-God believes the world would be better off without magic, even if that means he has to force his will upon others. He wants to not only save himself, but prevent anyone from ending up like Brollo. Again, I believe there is a part of him that subconsciously feels guilt for not being able to help his brother, so now Rollo is overcompensating/overcorrecting by ensuring that he “helps” everyone. His extreme wording plays into this; by using harsh terms like “villains” and constantly citing morality, it sounds as though he is trying to convince even himself that what he is doing is correct. He is someone that inherently values morality and justice, but his definitions have become twisted thanks to his grief and guilt. Rollo so reverently defends himself and his worldview because that is the only way he can rationalize tragedy and make sense of the trauma he has experienced.

Perhaps the saddest part of Rollo's story is that, unlike Idia, he doesn't change his mindset (or at least he doesn't want to). By the end of episode 6, Idia has started to come out of his shell to hang out with his classmates and play video games with them, and he has accepted Ortho as an individual. Rollo still believes he is in the right and refuses to talk to the people who offer to lend an ear (the gargoyles) to his woes. He still claims he will never see eye-to-eye with magicians and swears he will continue working against their interests. What’s important is that he is put in a situation where he is forced to face the inner demons that torment him, the guilt that he has yet to address in full, thanks to the NRC boys putting his self-righteousness on the spot. Rollo is being punished, but also given a chance, to be like Idia--to grow from the past, rather than let it continue to consume him.

It was so genius how they implemented Idia in Glorious Masquerade; it can be said that Malleus is Rollo’s foil (in that Malleus represents all the frivolous use of magic that Rollo detests), but in a way, Idia is also a foil to Rollo due to their similar backstories. I love that for the first half of the event, Idia was being his usual self, complaining about being away from his room and from Ortho, making jabs at his classmates, trying to minimize socialization, and occasionally geeking out. Even when the crimson flowers make themselves known, Idia is anything but enthusiastic to assist. He would rather run away from the issue, or just throw in the towel and Game Over than put up a fight. However, there is a dramatic shift in his behavior as soon as he, Malleus, and Azul find Rollo’s diary and learn of his motives from it.

Idia goes all quiet and becomes serious about stopping Rollo. Funnily enough, Azul initially interprets this behavior as hesitation, or Idia showing sympathy for their adversary. On the contrary, Idia knows more than ever that Rollo has to be stopped. Why is Idia suddenly so motivated when he wasn’t before (in spite of knowing the full weight of this threat)??? Because he realizes, whether he likes it or not, that Rollo is just like him. And while Idia may not care for Rollo, the fact is that Idia understands and empathizes with his experiences--but at the same time, he disapproves of the way Rollo is going about coping with it. As Idia puts it, Rollo has a right to be angry and to ruin his own life, but he has no right to drag other people down with his misery. Idia is drawing from his own experiences, how he holed up in his room and hid away from the world with his sorrow and rejected lucrative offers instead of causing trouble for others. Later on (in episode 6), Idia would be an inconvenience because of his Overblot, so he is speaking on those experiences as well. Idia has been on both sides of this, so he understands what Rollo is going through, AND what the worst possible outcome for it could be if he’s left unchecked.

Worse still is Idia knowing that Rollo has also lost a younger sibling--but instead of trying to move on from it, Rollo has fixated and is weaponizing his tragic past to justify his evil actions. As Idia demands of Rollo, is this really what Brollo would have wanted? Or is Rollo just lying and superimposing his own views over Brollo’s wishes, conflating them to make something that fits his narrow-minded and hateful view of the world? Idia is in a similar situation as Rollo, but he has never tried to use Ortho’s passing to excuse or to justify his actions. Even when he Overblotted, sure, Idia was rampaging, but his concern was always Ortho first and foremost. When he gets shot with lightning, Idia loses his cool over Ortho being hurt and rushes to check on the damage he has taken. At his lowest point, Idia still cares for his brother above all else, so it makes sense that he’s disgusted by Rollo essentially using his dead brother and his “wish” to justify doing awful things to innocent people.

This is why Idia says he cannot forgive Rollo: because Rollo is a dark mirror of himself--a version of Idia if his pain had been directed outward instead of inward. Someone who can’t let go of the past, and is ruled by it, spreading their suffering onto others instead of learning to live with themselves and their sins. He’s horrified that Rollo would use his brother’s passing to justify bringing a similar sadness upon do many others by robbing them of their magic. It’s such a perversion of grieving over a loved one, Idia cannot stand it. Both boys demonstrate to us unhealthy methods of coping with their circumstances (turning the guilt and hatred inward vs turning the guilt and hatred outward), but Idia was the one to learn and grow from his sorrows whereas Rollo continues to wallow in them.

It is Idia and Idia alone who understands everything Rollo is going through. All that pain and regret, wishing so desperately that life had been fairer to them and to their poor brothers... He even understands wanting to “destroy the whole world because it hurts knowing that [his brother] will never come back to him”. These are feelings Idia has had himself, but the difference between him and Rollo is that Idia can see those feelings for what they are: misguided, misplaced. He knows that even if life has been unfair, it doesn’t justify making others pay the price for it. He knows that making others suffer won’t get him a happy ending, and that it won’t bring Ortho back. He knows that doing all of this won’t make Rollo happy, it won’t really free him, because the past and the guilt associated with it will always remain no matter what changes in present day.

Rollo will only be free once he reaches acceptance in the cycle of grieving, if he lets go of what happened before and decides to live for himself without shame, like Idia has. Instead, Rollo has chosen to lash out at the world, using his brother’s passing as a fuel for his self-righteous fire. It’s the only way he can live with himself, because were he to accept his own guilt, his ego would break. The magic unique to him, Dark Fire, all of the inner turmoil he has held up to this point... that makes up who Rollo is. And if he doesn’t have that... then what’s the point of it all? He’s not ready to come to terms with that possibility, so he shunts it out for the easier solution, which is being rid of that magic altogether. In that mindless pursuit of his goals, he has lost sight of what he is truly after, his “salvation”: being at peace with Brollo’s death, and finding a reason to live on in his stead.

As Idia tells him, it’s alright to feel guilt, and there is nothing wrong with using the love we have for those who have passed as motivation to keep living. Idia was someone who was fully prepared to “join” Ortho in the afterlife (his choice of word, not mine), and Ortho had to convince him to stay. There’s too many games Idia hasn’t played yet, manga he hasn’t read, shows he hasn’t watched. There’s so much of life he has yet to experience, and he shouldn’t throw that away. Ortho tells Idia to return to his friends, to live--and with that, they said their final good-byes, and Idia is finally able to move on. Now he is passing along that knowledge, that plea to live, to Rollo, even if he detests Rollo’s character, his intentions, and the motivation behind it. For as much as Idia hates people, he would hate to see someone go down the dark path he had been destined for, had it not been for Ortho’s intervention, even more. I imagine it must be a weird feeling Idia is experiencing, some mix of disgust, displeasure, pity, and the feeling of “bro, I know where you’ve been and I know you can be better than this”.

Though Idia is definitely in the right in this situation, I want to call attention to the fact that Idia isn’t exactly intervening for purely selfless reasons; he was ready to fuck off and leave the City of Flowers to (metaphorically) burn and was putting forth no effort to save it until he caught that thread that connected him and Rollo. Even then, Idia’s not concerned with saving Rollo’s soul or whatever, he just wants to make it known Rollo is a bad person and should feel bad for what he has done because they are similar. If Rollo had had some other tragic backstory that didn’t involve a dead brother, I doubt Idia would have been reinvigorated to stop him as he was in canon. They have a kinship through their brothers whether they like it or not (and trust me, neither of them like it 😅), and that is ultimately what drives Idia to intervene.

Idia’s love for his brother not only allows him to connect with and empathize with others against his better judgment, but that love also supersedes Rollo’s hatred and guilt. He is able to reach that final stage of acceptance, while Rollo is still angry and bargaining for a way out.

Anyway, that was my very VERY long-winded way of saying I think Rollo should be forced to hang out with the Shroud brothers in fact, I’m working on a fic about this 🤡 because he could honestly stand to learn a lot from their character arcs…

#twst #twisted wonderland #Idia Shroud #Rollo Flamme #twst analysis #Ortho Shroud #Ignihyde #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #notes from the writing raven #twst character analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis #Azul Ashengrotto #Malleus Draconia #tw // death #tw // suicide

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j4m3s-b4k3r · 3 months ago

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CREEPY Steve

2024 is the 50th anniversary of Stephen King’s first published novel, CARRIE. The story of a bullied telekinetic teen, who gets blood-soaked payback at her prom. Since then, he's written 65 novels, 200 short stories, and 5 nonfiction books. A freakish feat, almost worthy of one of his supernatural characters.

King’s first published story was when he was 19 years old. He continued selling short stories after graduating from the University of Maine, and while teaching English at a public high school, all later collected in NIGHT SHIFT. He's averaged more than a book a year since 1974. Many of his novels were initially released under a pseudonym, lest their sheer number dilute his ‘brand’. I became aware of King via the early movie adaptations of his books. CARRIE, THE SHINING, and THE DEAD ZONE. A great introduction, as those early films were all good, whereas most adaptations of his work are terrible, sadly.

During one of the Halloweens in the covid era, Julia & I got into a CREEPY STEVE frame of mind. Watching the better film adaptations, and listening to audiobooks. Those narrated by Will Patton were faves, as he really brings the characters to life. The Bill Hodges trilogy - Mr MERCEDES, FINDERS KEEPERS and END OF WATCH - were all marvellous, and introduced the wonderful character Holly Gibney. Who then appeared in further stories of her own.

There are 10 Stephen King short story collections, and all that I’ve read contain several gems. JUST AFTER SUNSET has the terrifying (yet somehow hilarious) tale of a man trapped and left for dead in a capsized porta-potty. DIFFERENT SEASONS contains the stories that inspired THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION and STAND BY ME. Donald Sutherland starred in a great film entitled Mr HARRIGAN’S PHONE, taken from IF IT BLEEDS. Which also contains another great Holly Gibney story.

ON WRITING: A MEMOIR OF THE CRAFT, is an engaging book, narrated by the author himself. Part memoir and part how-to instructional. Reminding me of William Goldman’s ADVENTURES IN THE SCREEN TRADE, in that it can’t truly deliver the secrets to making the magic that it promises, but serves up entertaining & revealing autobiographical anecdotes instead.

We are now used to seeing vampires in contemporary settings, so some of the 1970s impact of SALEM’S LOT has been lost. But both the book and its movie adaptation have many indelible images. Such as a vampire child hovering at the window.. (an inspiration for John Ajvide Lindqvist perhaps?)

After listening to book after book of King’s, and loving their brilliantly observed characters, and wonderful dialog, DARK TOWER was conspicuous for not having the elements that are normally intriguing in his books. Maybe I’ll give this series another shot someday, as friends swear it gets better.

We read THE SHINING and its sequel, DOCTOR SLEEP, watching & enjoying both movie adaptations. King apparently despises Kubrick’s version of THE SHINING - "The book is hot, and the movie is cold; the book ends in fire, and the movie in ice. In the book, there's an actual arc where you see this guy, Jack Torrance, trying to be good, and little by little he moves over to this place where he's crazy. And as far as I was concerned, when I saw the movie, Jack was crazy from the first scene.”

After reading the book, I understand King’s critiques, and agree with his second point. Jack Nicholson seems already about detonate on his drive to the hotel. Whereas King’s Jack was driven to madness by the malignant spirits within it. However, Kubrick’s film is so indelibly stamped into my mind, that I cannot unsee it. Nor unlike it neither (sorry, Stephen).

“Plot is, I think, the good writer’s last resort and the dullard’s first choice. The story which results from it is apt to feel artificial and labored.” - Stephen King.

I work in storytelling too, but in my biz it’s the dullard’s choice all the way - everything plotted & discussed, ad infinitum. King apparently starts with the merest idea, then writes straight ahead, surprising himself as he goes. A magician pulling a string of goodies out of his own head. At his best, this approach produces stories that feel naturalistic, with surprising twists and turns.

At his worst, it can be rambling, meandering and self indulgent. Especially when he struggled with addiction. Apparently, King was so out of control in the late 1980s, that he was confronted by an intervention after finishing the TOMMYKNOCKERS manuscript. A pity then that the editor wasn’t given more latitude in tidying up that waffling mess before it went to print..

Stephen himself agrees - “I mean, The Tommyknockers is an awful book. That was the last one I wrote before I cleaned up my act. And I’ve thought about it a lot lately and said to myself, “There’s really a good book in here, underneath all the sort of spurious energy that cocaine provides, and I ought to go back.” The book is about 700 pages long, and I’m thinking, “There’s probably a good 350-page novel in there.”

We enjoyed the screen adaptations of IT, CHRISTINE, 1922, THE MIST, and 11.22.63. After soaking in worlds King has created, on page & screen, it became clear that the recent NETFLIX hit, STRANGER THINGS, is merely glorified Stephen King fan fiction. By the end of the pandemic, we’d chewed through many stories, yet only a mere fraction of The King Catalog.

King is thought of as a master of the paranormal, but his real genius is for the everyday. Some of my favourites King stories are his straight crime fiction, or stories about real life. Even his famous horror stories are grounded by settings in relatable blue collar situations.. The writer Peter Straub even compared King to Dickens: “Both are novelists of vast popularity and enormous bibliographies, both are beloved writers with a pronounced taste for the morbid and grotesque, both display a deep interest in the underclass."

How does a man who’s been a millionaire for decades, with a very recognisable face, keep an ear for dialog patterns of common folk? Does he wear a disguise, and lurk in truck stops, diners, dive bars, and greyhound bus stations, taking notes?

“He's one of the first people to talk about real Americans and how they live, to capture real American dialogue in all its, like, foulmouthed grandeur... He has a deadly ear for the way people speak... …Surface-wise, King's work is a bit televisual, but there's really a lot going on." - David Foster Wallace

Lately, we’ve embarked on yet another quest to chip away at the KING oeuvre. Having already fallen in love with Bill Hodges & Holly Gibney, it was fun to watch the Mr MERCEDES TV series. Even though the filmmakers took liberties with the characterisations. Rather than the shy, smoking, middle aged, OCD woman of the novels, the TV Holly is a perky & cute 30 something. An autistic variation on the manic pixie dream girl trope. (sigh..)

Taken from a short story collection entitled EVERYTHING’S EVENTUAL, the gripping movie 1408, starring John Cusack & Samuel L. Jackson, is the creepy story of a skeptical paranormal investigator, whose cynicism is challenged by spending a harrowing night in an actual haunted hotel room.

In THINNER a selfish fat lawyer is cursed into anorexia by a gypsy. Entertaining, in 'the guy deserves everything he gets' manner of a parable from the Twighlight Zone. It seems to have inspired Sam Raimi's DRAG ME TO HELL.

GERALD’S GAME seemed like a story written on a bet, or an author’s exercise - “write a novel where the protagonist never leaves their bed for most of the story.” To me it felt like it might have worked better as a short story. When King fails (for me, anyway) it's when there hasn't been enough editing.

King has apparently said that PET SEMATARY was his book that scared him the most, and it is extremely creepy, but for me, MISERY was even more terrifying. I'd already seen the film, and Kathy Bates’ Oscar winning performance, but the book is even scarier somehow. There’s nothing paranormal about this story. There is utter horror, but it is the worst kind that there is - the twists & turns of the human mind.

Despite, or perhaps because of, King’s great popularity, literary critics long damned him with faint praise. In 2003, when he received the National Book Foundation’s ‘Medal of Distinguished Contribution to American Letters’, some became openly hostile:

"The decision to give the National Book Foundation's annual award for "distinguished contribution" to Stephen King is extraordinary, another low in the shocking process of dumbing down our cultural life… ..What he is is an immensely inadequate writer on a sentence-by-sentence, paragraph-by-paragraph, book-by-book basis." - Harold Bloom

Bloom is dead, so King gets the last word - “A lot of today's reviewers grew up reading my fiction. Most of the old critics who panned anything I wrote are either dead or retired".

In 1999, Stephen King was flattened by a vehicle while walking along a highway - "After the accident, I was totally incapable of writing. At first it was as if I'd never done this in my life. ...It was like starting over again from square one." As someone who was been flattened too (but in a very different way) one of the many inspiring things about King is how he recovered from that terrible accident, to do some of his very best work.

CREEPY STEVE is a one-man multimedia idea engine, keeping the publishing & Hollywood machines running. We are still enjoying poring through the King library (listening to THE INSTITUTE now) so if any of you have further recommendations, please let me know in the comments!

#essay #stephen king #illustration #The Shining #pet sematary #salems lot #supernatural horror #horror movies #horror fiction #holly gibney

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