Topher Lydon
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Everything posted by Topher Lydon
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Enrico is trying so hard to be the evil mastermind, but Ezra has upended his world
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Taine is a major problem for Ellis, and is rather amusingly well known in demon circles for being a pain in the ass. The whole second book (I am on chapter 12 right now of that one) revolves around this fact.
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Ellis is content to watch. He is a demon who is sustained on small evils... sins... You have the moral bastion that Taine is trying to be, all about consent and not using/abusing the body he's been entrusted with. The ethis of say, sleeping with someone younger than him, in a borrowed body without permission... That's Ellis' delight. He wants the good man to fall, to give in to the temptation, and boy o boy is Tyler one big old package of temptation. Taine had no real choice but to tell Tyler, it was the right thing to do. Present the truth, even if it makes you look insane, and let Tyler choose what he wants to do. Tyler surprises me repeatedly in this first book, he's not afraid of the situation, and likes Taine for who he is, not what he is.
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Timmy's Pa goes through a lot of growth, realizing what's more important to him. And all he's ever been is worried about his son.
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Yeah it's more performative Indie wrestling... British amateur scene is quite wild. In a later story I am thinking of having him go pro. Tyler "The House" Cole.
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I call this Beaten Dog Syndrome. Oliver has been crushed under Tarquin's will for so long, that he knows but he also knows what fighting it costs him. He gets there, he does... but it wouldn't be a compelling story if we don't have good men stumbling along the way. Ollie loves Orel, deeply, he's just jealous here, and that's a very human thing to go through.
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all 6' of Trouble Ahh Tyler is great: "Some one's gotta suplex the witch, can I suplex the witch?"
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yep, Taine's in trouble.
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Chapter Four The café on Regent Street was called "The Sitting Room," which Taine suspected was meant to sound charmingly bohemian but instead made him think of dentist waiting areas and uncomfortable chairs. The actual chairs, however, were deep and worn and surprisingly comfortable—vintage velvet in faded jewel tones, arranged around mismatched tables that had probably cost a fortune to look this shabby. Tyler had chosen a corner table near the window, two coffees already
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Tarquin likes keeping Orel on a leash. His control of Orel ensures he controls Oliver. All part of Daddy dearest's plan. And rather Shakespearean in the scope of it's evil.
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Yeah I make mistakes all the time with consistency. Problem of being on my own and beta reading an hour before posting a chapter. If you catch a mistake, let me know and I will correct it if I can. The older Carter books are riddled with consistency errors (Nature of them being written out of order)
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Interpretive dance?
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Orel, the real King of the Hill. Tarquin's just squatting.
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next chapter or so. That moment of realization when they figure out that the drama going on around them in school is all for show.
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Tarquin's failure is that he never sees Orel coming. Orel's tougher than he looks, and now that he's found his Finn, he's determined.
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Tim.. Tim why are you stuffing my socks down your trousers? Because, Justin, some of us don't have a giant pipe thing that's permanently set to burst out onto the stage at any moment! "Was that a compliment?" "Shut up Justin and give me the other sock!"
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Coins, in this day and age? "Is that a hard on in your pocket?" "It's my debit card" "That's... disappointing." "You try getting a roll of quarters these days!"
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There's also the small fact that the hotel room looks like a set-up. Neither of them are sure anything happened. Which makes the situation cruel. They *could* be completely innocent. Two straight lads forced to perform.
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Me, I think it's Tim's rigidity, he's spinning and Justin hasn't recovered enough to be able to catch him. Lots of candidates for the Archivist. Lots of candidates for other victims.
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We all know that Barista's are demons, the gossip, the misspelled names on coffee cups, and the lemon squares
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Chapter Three: The Performance Justin leaned against the battered fender of his Ford pickup, two blocks from the main entrance of Hilcrest High. He nursed a bitter, lukewarm Tim Horton’s coffee in one hand and gripped his phone in the other. It was a cold, grey Monday morning, the kind of day where the air felt heavy and damp with pre-winter misery. He hadn’t slept. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, beating out a world-class sense of doom. He was wearing his best—
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