#Content warning for the book on child and animal abuse

[disneybooklist]

Toby Tyler (1960)

Toby Tyler: or, Ten Weeks With The Circus by James Otis Kaler (1881)

[hippiegoth97]

Hangman's Joke: An Eddie Munson x Reader Halloween Special (The Crow AU) Part One

Collage by me :)

Masterlist

A/N: It's finally here, guys! I hope you all enjoy, I worked very hard on this one! And I have to thank @keikoraven for being the best beta reader in the world! I still have two parts to write, but I am ecstatic to get spooky season going!

Tag List: @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafeyscurtainbangs @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @userchai @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @bimbogorewhore

@mediocredreams @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @ali-r3n @emxxblog

@cxrrodedcoffin @queenimmadolla @kellsck @keeksandgigz

If anyone wants added/removed from tags please let me know <3

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, fem!reader, brief mentions of sex, mentions of sexual abuse/ritual abuse/child abuse, violence, blood, character death, murder, smoking, alcohol use, use of homophobic language, grief, angst, mentions of dead animals, mentions of threats, subjects concerning satanic panic

Word Count: 8.2k

divider by @strangergraphics

Part One

“People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.”

October 30th, 1991

Hopper steps out into the crisp fall night, the air biting its way under the collar of his windbreaker. He shoves the door to his vehicle closed, flicking the ash of his cigarette with his other hand. “How bad is it?” He asks as Callahan and Powell approach him. There’s four other police vehicles parked out front of the Crystal Ridge apartment complex, the berries and cherries flashing across every surface in a choppy swirl of light and dark. Unmasked disgust reads on every officer’s face, though Hopper isn’t sure if it’s regarding the scene, or who the victims are inside. 

“Well, it’s not good. And it’s certainly not going to ease any of the tension in town.” Powell replies with a sigh, shaking his head. 

“No shit.” Hopper says flatly, tossing his half-smoked cig away. He walks toward the building, going up the front steps and down the hall until he finds the unit cordoned off with police tape. A few more officers are inside, snapping photos of the carnage, as well as snickering amongst themselves about ‘amusing’ items they find in the residence. All nudging elbows and scrutinizing fingers pointed at books and figurines on nearby shelves or tables, nevermind the bodies lying in the middle of the living room floor. “Something funny here, boys? Last I checked, murder isn't a goddamn joke.” Hopper barks, the mouths of his lower officers clapping shut all at the same time, their eyes widening at being caught in such an immature display. They resume their work in silence, snapping photographs of blood splatters and discarded weapons. 

Hopper takes in the scene, focusing his attention on the victims first, as one should in these situations. Eddie and Y/N Munson, aged twenty-five and twenty-three, respectively. Married for two years, hopelessly in love since Hopper first caught them necking in Roane County Cemetery back in the fall of ‘82. Eddie, known to the Chief as the town’s resident metalhead and small-time drug dealer. Despite his intimidating exterior, Hopper knew he was a good kid who just happened to get into a bit of trouble every now and again. It made him rather proud to see Munson turn it around once he graduated in ‘86, becoming a mentor for troubled Hawkins youth with his Hellfire D&D Club. 

And then there was Y/N, the Bonnie to Eddie’s Clyde. Dressed from head to toe in black leather seemingly since birth, paired with the sweetest, most welcoming smile. Hopper recalls the times she’d cover for Eddie whenever he got busted, and how easily he let them both go. A small twinge of reminiscence tugs the corner of his lip up, but only for a moment. Y/N became a librarian, encouraging the youngsters of the town to embrace literature and expand their developing minds. The kids absolutely adored her, like a spooky big sister who always had their back. There’s sure to be thousands of tiny tears when the news breaks tomorrow.

To see what’s now become of possibly the kindest people in Hawkins he’s ever known, it truly makes Hopper’s heart ache. He gazes upon their bodies, an unwelcome sting coming to his eyes. His pupils dart from place to place, unable to settle on any singular gruesome detail for too long. Their clothes are torn to shreds. Their limbs are splayed about in an eerily doll-like fashion, though their hands meet in the middle, as if to hold one another one last time. Thick, angry slashes and stabs puncture their skin. Clotting blood soaks the remnants of fabric and pools into the carpet below. Their eyes haven’t clouded over just yet, looking as if they’ll spring to life with a hearty laugh any moment now. Surely, they’ll sit up and shout ‘GOTCHA!’, revealing that this was all some twisted Halloween prank. Hopper hopes for it, even prays for it a moment. But the relief he wants never comes. There’s no bright blinking eyes, or smiling mouths, or their matching infectious laughter. It’s all been snuffed out of them completely. 

A sudden choked gasp breaks the monotonous click and whirr of crime scene cameras, and a bloodied arm snatches at Hopper’s ankle. “Holy shit!” Jim yelps, wondering if his wish actually came true. His eyes snap to where the sound came from, finding Eddie gasping for air on the floor as a small trickle of blood flows from his mouth.

“H-Hop?” Eddie wheezes, his features frightened and confused. His thick curls stick to his cheeks in nests of coagulated crimson. Numerous cuts are visible on his chin, forehead, and just below his eyes. 

“I’m here, kid. It’s gonna be okay.” Hopper replies, kneeling beside the young man. Eddie’s in real bad shape, so this promise is probably a lie. “We got a live one, boys! Get a medic in here!” Jim yells, snapping the other officers, who have been watching on in horror, into action. “We’re gonna get you outta here, kid.” Hopper takes hold of Eddie’s shaking hand, doing his best to comfort him.

“Where’s Y/N?” Eddie gargles out, trying to turn his head. Just as Hopper is about to lie to the young man again, the EMTs come in with a stretcher to wheel him out of here. 

“She’ll be right behind you, Eddie. You’re both gonna be fine.” Jim reassures him, squeezing his hand, noticing the rapidly weakening grip of it. Not much longer now, he thinks. At least his pain will be over soon. The medics roll Eddie away, disappearing down the hall of the complex to reach the ambulance.

“You lied to him, didn’t you?” A redheaded girl says in the doorway, tears streaming down her cheeks. Max Mayfield, another familiar face. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” Hopper replies, stepping to the right to shield her young eyes from Y/N’s corpse. He remembers seeing Max with the Munsons quite often, having formed a special relationship with them. Her own home life hasn’t exactly been peachy since she moved to Hawkins with her parents and stepbrother. Said inherited sibling has always been bad news, causing Hopper nothing but trouble for the last few years. 

“I know. I saw the cars outside, and I know what people in town have said about the Munsons. But they aren’t like that…devil worshippers, or whatever.” Max states, rolling her eyes at the baseless accusation she’s heard thrown their way hundreds of times. 

“I know that, kid.” Hopper sighs, stepping closer to her.

“She’s dead, right?” Max asks, looking down at her feet. Tears drip onto the tips of her converse, though she keeps the sobs inside. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Jim answers, no need for polite truth-twisting now. 

“Can I…say goodbye?” Max lifts her head up again, brushing a stray hair that’s escaped her ponytail behind her ear. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Hopper shakes his head, stepping closer to lead the girl away from the bloody mess. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride home.” He offers.

“Okay. Thanks.” She nods, not bothering to sneak a morbid glance behind her as they walk down the hallway. They make their way outside, bypassing the other officers.

“Where you off to, Chief?” Callahan pipes up.

“I’ll be back, just dropping Ms. Mayfield at home first.” Jim answers without turning back, opening the passenger door to let the child hop inside. He closes it after her, going over to his side. “Maybe secure the perimeter properly before I get back, hm?” He suggests gruffly to his subordinate. 

“You got it, sir.” Callahan chuckles dryly, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. “Hey.” He lightly smacks Powell on the chest as Hopper pulls out of the lot of the complex. “Secure the perimeter.” He orders unseriously, earning a scoff from his fellow officer.

“Give me orders again, and you can secure my foot in your ass.” Powell laughs, going about his business.

The drive to the Mayfield-Hargrove household is a quiet one, almost painfully so. Max is slumped in her seat, staring out the window at all the places her surrogate parents will no longer be able to visit or ride past on their motorcycle. The record store where they bought every piece of their extensive metal collection, of which they let Max borrow from whenever she liked. The ice cream shop they’d take her to after a nasty day at school or big fight at home. The cemetery where Y/N taught her how to do grave rubbings. She supposes they’ll both be buried there within a few days. At least I’ll be able to visit them again, she thinks, cursing herself for such a selfish thought. More tears pour from her eyes, hot and stinging. She sniffles, trying to hide the evidence on the sleeve of her hoodie.

“Here.” Hopper reaches over, popping open the glove compartment to reveal a collection of napkins from various fast food joints. 

“Thanks.” Max says softly, reaches for a few of the napkins, closing the compartment afterwards. She wipes her eyes, blowing her nose. “I’m sorry for sneaking in. I just had to be sure.” 

“Sure of what?” Jim asks, finding her phrasing rather odd. Like she knows something.

“Well, you know how this town’s treated them. The comments they got, the threats.” Max fiddles with her crumpled tissue.

“Sure do.” Hopper agrees.

“I’ve heard Billy talking about them a lot. The same satanic crap everyone else does, at first.” She pauses, further drawing Hopper’s attention. He glances at her, finding the napkin becoming shredded to pieces in her hands now. “But lately, I’d been hearing him talk with his friends about…’taking care’ of them. You know what I mean?” She looks at him now, appearing far more afraid than she did when Eddie was being carted away in his near-dead state. 

“I do.” He nods, and her shoulders relax a little, as if she’s relieved to have someone believe her. It certainly isn’t outside of the realm of possibility that Billy had something to do with this, though Hopper highly doubts the little fucker acted alone. He almost never does when it comes to starting trouble. His shithead entourage is usually right on his heels at every wrong turn. Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan, and Jason Carver. The four of them have spent their entire collective time in Hawkins wreaking all sorts of havoc. Drunken parties, even drunker fights, vandalizing police vehicles, getting frisky with nearly every young lady in town in various public venues. You name it, and those four have been busted doing it. Unfortunately, their status in town almost guarantees they never see as much as a few scant hours of community service. Hopper worries that brutal murder may soon be added to that list.

“Do you think he…did it?” Max asks, a mix of disbelief and realized terror in her voice.

“I don’t know, kid.” He replies as he pulls up to her house. “But, it’s my job to find out. Don’t you worry, I’m gonna catch whoever did this.” He says with resolve, hoping to bring the girl some comfort. 

“I hope so. Doesn’t seem like anybody else wants to.” She says sadly, recalling how uncaring the other cops looked when she snuck past them in her quest to confirm the worst.

“Well, they don’t have much choice, since I’m in charge.” He laughs, earning a small giggle from Max as well. “Now, get inside. I’m sure your mom’s worried sick.” 

“Probably.” She rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the ride, Hop. And for helping the Munsons.” She smiles at him, and he returns it. Max hops out of the car, and Hopper waits for her to make it inside before pulling away. He catches a small glimpse of Billy in the window, who’s wearing a far more smug smirk than usual. 

“I’ve got my work cut out for me.” He sighs, pulling out a fresh smoke as he drives back to the crime scene. 

“Where the hell were you?” Billy asks as Max comes into the house, shedding her damp jacket and setting her skateboard by the door.

“Nowhere.” She answers softly, hoping to avoid an altercation.

“Bullshit. Why the fuck was the pig Chief dropping you off?” He snarls, more than ready to take out the reaming he received from his father earlier tonight on Max.

“I was just…out. It started to rain, so Hop offered me a ride.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs, beginning to walk away towards her room.

“You went to see if those freaks were dead, didn’t you?” He asks cruelly, following her.

“They weren’t freaks! They were my friends!” Max snaps, turning to face her brother in the doorway. 

“You know what they did, Max! They hurt that kid Pete Howell, made him do all sorts of fucked up satanic shit! Everyone in town knows about it!” Billy yells, stalking over to get in her face.

“That’s a lie and you know it! The Munsons would never do that! To anyone!” She shrieks back, taking a step forward. Billy looms over her, fury in his eyes.

“We all saw the bruises, Maxine! And other kids came forward, too! Eddie made all those Hellfire kids drink his blood and touch each other for his rituals! And don’t even get me started on that bitch, Y/N!” He continues to spew lies in a fervent rant, spit flying from his lips. “She gave kids books about witchcraft, encouraging them to put evil spells on each other and sacrifice their pets! I can’t even imagine what messed up shit those two got up to when they were together! Hell, they were probably just waiting for the right kid to come along so they could kill ‘em! It could’ve even been you!”

“Shut up!” Max screams, slapping Billy across the face with all her might to make him stop. He grunts in surprise at the pain, and a throbbing sting spreads through Max’s hand. Before Billy has time to react to what’s just happened, Max runs into her room and slams the door, locking it tight.

“Open this fucking door, Max! You know I’m right about them! You just don’t wanna see it! But you will! Once the cops go through all their shit, you’ll see how evil they really were!” Billy keeps it up, pounding his fist into the door. Max climbs onto her bed, pulling the covers over her head as fresh tears spring free. “You’ll see! And I’ll be right there to say ‘I told you so’! You’ll see them for what they were, just like everybody else has! Fucking freaks who needed to be put down! Savage animals who worshiped Satan! Do you hear me, Max? Do you?! You’ll fucking see!”

“Shut up. Shut up. It’s not true. It’s not. Shut up. It’s not true…” Max murmurs to herself over and over, covering her ears to block out the noise. She refuses to listen, she can’t let Billy’s words get to her. She can’t let the memories of Eddie and Y/N be soiled. Not by him, not by anyone. 

Jim spends the rest of the evening overseeing the processing of the scene, ensuring every piece of evidence is bagged and labeled, leaving no stone unturned in the entire apartment. He can’t leave anything to chance if he’s going to catch these sick fucks. Looking over every detail more closely has made it very clear that no singular person could be responsible for this level of carnage. Y/N’s body has been wheeled away by the coroner, but the bloody outline of her remains on the floor. Eddie’s own became a little muddied when he was taken to the hospital, smudges and smears leading where they ought not to. Disconnection, a word that rings in Hopper’s mind as he studies it.

He receives the call a short time before things wrap up for the night, Eddie didn’t make it. He barely made it into an operating room before the blood loss took him out. Hopper supposes it’s better that way. Rather than Eddie get all cut open and stitched up again, only to find out his wife is gone. He doubts the young man would’ve been able to cope with the loss, or anyone, for that matter. Jim certainly didn’t take the death of his own daughter very well, it’s one of many reasons why he ended up back in this podunk town. At least now, (Hopper hopes, anyway), the Munsons will be able to rest peacefully with one another, no longer subject to the unbridled hatred they faced from their so-called neighbors. He imagines them in a far happier place, speeding around on their motorcycle, blasting heavy metal from the portable stereo strapped to Y/N’s hip, riding down a long, winding road to that great big D&D campaign in the sky. If Jim hadn’t become rather disillusioned with religion, he could almost believe it. 

After Hopper has dismissed everyone, he stops by the corner store to pick up a six-pack to indulge in once he arrives home. He spends the short drive struggling to hold the anger and tears in, he’s already spent hours keeping up the stoic act that’s required of him. Add on top of  that the immense frustration that came from his lower officers besmirching the badge with their careless conduct tonight, and he’s about ready to punch a damn hole in the wall. The moment he makes it through the door to his place, tosses his hat and jacket to a chair in the corner, and sinks down onto his sofa, he can’t hold it back any longer. A choked sob escapes his trembling lips, a harsh breath sucked in right after it. His shaking hands fumble with one of the beers, struggling to push the tab open. When his finger slips a couple times too many, he drops the can onto the floor in defeat, his head falling forward into his hands. He cries softly, still hanging onto the idea that his manhood might be in jeopardy if he lets out the wails he’s got chained up inside. He just sits, eyes scrunched closed tight as tears spill from them, his chest heaving in thick, noiseless bellows as he mourns. 

In an odd way, he had become a bit of a father figure to the Munsons over the years. Neither of them had much in the way of loving homes, except for Eddie’s uncle Wayne. But the poor man worked a lot, leaving Eddie to fend for himself most of the time, though it wasn’t really his fault. Wayne provided everything he could for the boy, until cancer took him unexpectedly in ‘88. Shit, that day was sunshine and lollipops compared to this one. The preceding funeral was small, only attended by Eddie and Y/N, himself, and a few of Wayne’s coworkers from the plant. Eddie kept things short and sweet, just the way his uncle liked it. Afterwards, the three of them went to the Hideaway for a couple drinks. Hopper ignored Y/N’s use of a fake ID, given the circumstances, as well as being off-duty. There wasn’t a dry eye between them, though warm smiles graced their lips regardless as they recalled happy stories of Wayne through the years.

Hopper slowly wipes his hands down along his face once he gets ahold of himself. He picks up the dropped beer, surely it can’t blow up on him after sitting for so long. He cracks it open despite his tear-blurred vision, and chugs it down like bitter medicine to drown his sorrows. It warms his belly instantly, foaming up into a loud belch once he’s swallowed. He sighs, feeling just a little bit better. He supposes the rest of the pack should finish the job, at least for tonight. He sits back on the sofa, clicking the remote to the TV and hopes something is on this late. He grabs a second beer from the bundle. The hiss of the seal breaking seems to hush his thoughts, like a kind woman comforting his uneasy mind. The first sip is like a tender kiss, dizzying his head and warming his body up from the inside out. “Shit, I really need to get laid.” Hopper thinks aloud to himself, not exactly intending to put much effort into such a task. Oh well, nothing another sip couldn’t fix.

A few months earlier…

“We’ve got another one.” You say as you pick up what must be the fiftieth dead animal that’s been left outside the door to your apartment. It’s a pigeon this time. But you’ve found mice, squirrels, rats, frogs, a couple cats, and even a raccoon laid out for you in this very spot before. It’s been happening for months, both before the accusations leveled against you and Eddie, and even more so after.

“Shit, again?” Eddie sighs, scrunching his nose as you hold the pigeon by its feet. Its neck has been snapped, a dribble of blood coming from its beak. “That’s the third one this week.” He leaves you alone with it for a moment, retrieving a plastic bag from the kitchen. “And we’re the ones accused of hurting little critters like this one.” Eddie scoffs in frustration on his journey back to you. “Maybe we should call Hop again.” He offers as he holds the bag open for you to put the poor animal inside it.

“There’s no point, Eds. Even if they catch whoever is doing this, someone else will surely take their place.” You reply in resignation, letting the bird plop into the bag with a dull rustle. Eddie ties it off, the two of you going back to the kitchen. He tosses the pigeon in the trash, and you both wash your hands. You would bury the animals, out of respect, but living in an apartment doesn’t exactly allow for burial sites. Not to mention said animal cemetery would fill up pretty fucking quickly with how many new additions show up on your welcome mat.

“It would be better than doing nothing.” Eddie huffs, drying his hands with a towel.

“Let’s face it, love. This town hates us. Always has. Always will. If we get Hop involved, all it will do is show them that they’re getting to us. Then they win.” You reason, though it would be  untruthful to say the ongoing torture you’ve both endured isn’t getting to you. But the narrow-minded people of this town don’t need to know that. If anything, the intense urge to carry on out of spite drives you to keep the discomfort to yourself. Outside the walls of your own home, that is. 

Neither you or Eddie are strangers to torment. Even back in your school days, all kinds of nasty names would be thrown your way in the halls of Hawkins High. You’d found refuge in each other pretty quickly back then. You were a budding little freshman, and Eddie was a junior barely skating by in all his classes. From the moment your eyes met, you were both total goners. Eddie’s wild curls and boisterous attitude sent you careening head over heels, and your dark style dragged him down the same road right alongside you. Your shared love for metal music and all things nerdy deepened your connection, further weaving you together as a gleaming example of true love, soulmates. You got each other, when no one else did. 

Your bond has only grown stronger over the years, sturdy roots set in your hearts. You helped Eddie study when ‘86 was his last chance to graduate, which was quite a task in itself. Despite your rebellious style and interests, you’re quite the bookworm. You were patient with him, keeping him on track with sweet kisses and touches as ‘rewards’ for doing so well, among other things. In turn, he spoiled you to no end, taking you on sweet dates and presenting you with whatever new book you’d been eyeing lately. And you always had each other’s backs when bullies came your way. Silver tongues have served your mouths well, and a defensive punch on one another’s behalf didn’t hurt, either. 

And, until recently, your shared adult lives have been better than you ever imagined. You moved in together right after graduation, finally free from unfair curfews and sneaking in through bedroom windows. Eddie got himself straightened up, ending his dealing days and getting a job as a mechanic, while still mentoring the Hellfire club on the side. Meanwhile, you have quickly established yourself as the coolest librarian Hawkins has ever seen. The library has never had  such a wide selection of horror and fantasy, everything the kiddos love, despite their parents’ protests. They also happen to love you, for encouraging their curiosity and creativity.

When Eddie popped the question a couple years ago, you were over the moon. It was a beautiful Halloween Wedding, with you in a black gown as you stood at the altar with Eddie in a field littered with colorful leaves. Hopper was kind enough to officiate, and Wayne and all the kids you care so much about were in attendance. Your own parents refused their invite, having long-since rejected you for your ‘un-Christian ways’. So, Wayne did the honor of giving you away, which meant the world to you. The ceremony was short and sweet, and after some simple sandwiches and cake in the park, Eddie whisked you off in his arms to enjoy the perfect honeymoon at home. Nothing but fucking for a solid week straight, all of which was the ultimate mix of affectionate and wild. Neither of you would’ve had it any other way. Every single second of your entire relationship has felt like the easiest thing in the entire world, bringing you nothing but happiness.

What you’ve been subjected to lately, though, is far from easy. As has been said, you’re no stranger to mistreatment. You don’t get through life looking the way you do, liking the things you like, without earning a few dirty looks and unseemly comments. It comes with the territory. But the last few months are nothing you’d ever expected.The stares and verbal jabs are there, alright. But then there’s the graffiti on your front door, poorly drawn pentagrams and misspelled swears. The dead animals, delivered to your door numerous times a week. Broken mirrors on your shared motorcycle if it’s parked on the street a little too long. Books stolen from the library that you later find burned by the dumpsters out back. Calls for books to be outright banned and removed from the library due to ‘satanic or inappropriate material’, all of which have thankfully been dismissed by the Mayor and any other officials involved. Freedom of speech wins out, for once. Although it doesn’t mean much, when everything has only escalated since the Pete Howell incident.

Pete Howell was a freshman member of Eddie’s Hellfire Club, a sweet young kid who has a similar homelife to your own. Unloving parents, who usually don’t pay much attention to him…unless he’s in trouble. They’re far more attentive then, so to speak. That’s how this whole thing started. Pete came to school last month with far more bruises than usual, ones he couldn’t write off as clumsy mishaps. When questioned by teachers, and Eddie, he vehemently denied anyone did anything to him. He said he ‘fell going down the stairs’ and would be fine. Knowing that was clearly bullshit, Eddie did the right thing and asked Hopper to look into it. 

Someone must’ve tipped off Mr. and Mrs. Howell that he was coming, because by the time he knocked on their door, they had the whole story cooked up for him. They claimed that Eddie had brought him to your apartment after a D&D session, and the two of you made him engage in all sorts of vile acts. Ritual sacrifice, spellcasting, and various sexual activities as a means to summon the devil. Hopper didn’t buy a word of it, he knows you both far too well to think you’d ever be capable of such a thing. 

To be properly thorough, he had a doctor check Pete out, ask him more questions. While there was no evidence of sexual abuse, Pete started singing a far more zealous tune than he was before. He screamed bloody murder about all the evil things you’d done to him, how scared he was, how much you hurt him. It made you sick to your stomach when Hopper came around to warn you that he had no choice in searching your place for evidence. To think that anyone would accuse you or Eddie of doing such disgusting things, it sent your heart sinking like a stone in your chest. In order to clear up this ridiculous matter, you allowed the police to go through all your belongings, and answered every single question they asked. Hopper thankfully kept the reporters at bay, but it didn’t take long for the populace at large to spread the rumors like wildfire. 

The couple of weeks during the investigation were absolute hell. You could barely leave the apartment without a police escort, and whichever officer you were assigned at the time seemed less than enthused to assist you. When you did dare to step outside, cameras were on you immediately, as well as a sea of recognizable faces shouting and screaming at you. Calling you a whore of the devil, a witch, a monster, saying similar things to Eddie as well. These were people you’d known your entire life, and they turned on you with very little resistance. The fanatical preachers, trashy tabloids and exaggerated news stories breaking out across the country certainly didn’t help. 

When you and Eddie were finally cleared of any wrongdoing, things only got worse. There were demands for Hopper’s badge, or his head, as well as yours. What they did get was Eddie’s banishment from school property. ‘To be on the safe side’, as Principal Higgins put it. Pete has stuck to his story since then, you imagine under threat of being beaten even harder next time. You don’t blame him, he’s just a scared, hurt child. His parents have garnered mountains of support from the community, who have come together in an effort to drive you and Eddie out of town, by any means necessary. Threatening phone calls at all hours and vulgar letters slipped under your door have joined the mix now, to a point where you’ve left the phone unplugged, and taped the bottom of your front door to prevent the letters from fitting under it. You often have nightmares of people breaking into the apartment, and hurting you or Eddie. It’s become difficult to get much sleep, without Eddie having to hold you close and coo sweet nothings as you cry. It makes you feel like you’re going insane at times, your mind left searching as to how people who once seemed rational could act in such a way. Satan is on everyone’s mind these days, and their devil detectors are now permanently poised directly at you. 

“I’m just so tired of being scared all the time. I worry about you every time you walk out that door, or when I do. I'm afraid that one day, one of us might not make it back at night.” You find yourself breaking down again, tears welling and lips trembling. You turn away, frustrated with losing what little control you have left. You ball your fists at your sides as you choke on anguished sobs. Eddie’s arms wrap around your middle as your eyes squeeze shut, his chest meeting your back with a welcome warmth.

“I’m scared too, sweetheart. Every time I drop you off at work, I spend every second hoping I don’t get a call or visit from Hop at the shop.” Eddie says softly, holding back his own tears. His hands find yours, loosening the knotted knuckles. He slowly makes you face him, his heart breaking at the redness of your face, the hopeless expression it carries. It kills him that he can’t do more for you, to protect you. He’s suggested buying a gun a couple of times, but you always refuse. He’s not exactly a fan either, but what else can he do? He intertwines his fingers with your own, keeping you close. “All we can hope for is that this will all blow over soon. Then we won’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know, love. I just wonder how long they’ll keep it up.” You reply, sounding utterly defeated.

“They’re bound to get tired of it eventually. Until then, we’ve got each other. We’ll be okay, angel.” Eddie assures you, pulling you further into his arms.

You sigh, welcoming his embrace. “I really hope you’re right, babe. Not sure how much more of this I can take.” You press your cheek into his chest, unable to quell the ever-growing uneasiness brewing inside you.

October 31, 1991

“We’ve got them all set up for you, Chief. Whenever you’re ready.” Powell says as Hopper steps out of his office, having sent the cavalry to pick up a certain group of young men who sit at the top of his suspect list.

“Perfect. I’ll start with Hargrove.” Hopper smiles, chugging the rest of his black coffee, handing the mug off to Callahan. I’m gonna enjoy this, he thinks to himself as Powell leads him to the interrogation room. Their footsteps land on the linoleum with purpose, closing the distance between him and where the suspected ringleader in all this is being held. Jim sincerely hopes Billy gives him a good reason to manhandle him a little bit, some well-earned payback for what he’s done. His fist balls up of its own volition at the thought, his fingernails nearly drawing blood as they press into his palm. He closes his eyes and takes a very deep breath once he and Powell reach the door, letting it out nice and slow like his officially-mandated therapist showed him. 

“You good, Chief?” Powell asks, his hand trained on the doorknob as he awaits Hopper’s go-ahead.

“Never better.” Jim opens his eyes again, nodding to the officer. “Let’s do it.” With that, Powell opens the door, stepping inside with Hopper right behind him. “Know why you’re here, kid?” He asks Billy, not wasting any time. The young man is sitting in a stiff chair on one side of the table in the room, legs spread wide in tight blue jeans. A matching jacket rests over the back of the chair, leaving him in a ratty old t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscles and tattoos.

“Not a clue.” Billy bites, crossing his thick arms. “Mind filling me in?” He asks with a smirk, adjusting in his seat. There’s not a lick of fear struck within him, only annoyance. As if being questioned about a serious crime is only a minor inconvenience to his day. Hopper has brought him in here many times before, but usually for far more petty things. He’d like to think any normal person would be at least a little bit nervous in this scenario. The completely unbothered demeanor Hargrove holds sends a chill scurrying up his spine.

“No problem.” Hopper grins back, already forgetting all the anger management techniques Linda has shown him. He drops a manila folder onto the table, opening it to face Billy. “As you know, Eddie and Y/N Munson were murdered last night in their apartment. Pretty gruesomely, if I might add.” Jim spreads the crime scene photos out across the table, letting the kid have a good long look, searching for a reaction. But Billy’s eyes barely flick down for a glance, deepening the unsettling feeling in Hopper’s stomach. 

“What’s that gotta do with me?” Billy asks, shrugging his shoulders. His lip is fixed stiff, eyebrows drawn downward to evoke confusion. But Hopper isn’t buying it.

“Why don’t you tell me? Where were you last night?” Jim asks.

“I was out with friends.” Billy answers coldly.

“Which friends?” Hopper continues, hoping to make the kid slip up in his quick succession of questions. The method usually works out pretty well for him.

“Tommy, Steve, and Jason.” Billy answers just as quickly, his eyes barely blinking as he keeps up just fine. 

“And what were the four of you doing?” Hopper questions.

“Drinking beers, hanging out.” The young man responds.

“And what time was this?” 

“I dunno, man. All night, probably?” There it is, a flash of uncertainty. Hopper can use that.

“Probably? I’m gonna need you to be more specific.” Jim smiles, hoping whatever lies Billy’s got lined up will start to crumble.

“Do I look like I wear a watch? I don’t know how long it went on for. But we stayed at Steve’s all night, our girls were there, too. You can ask them.” Billy snaps, losing that cool, calculating exterior.

“Oh, you bet I will.” Hopper chuckles, feeling a little too much satisfaction at making the kid crack just a bit. It’s the small victories that matter in life, after all. If he keeps at it, with the other boys, too, he’s almost certain he can nail them for this. “You wanna know what I think?” Jim asks, hoping to goad a few more mistakes out of Billy before taking a run at the other three.

“What?” Billy scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Hopper stands up, leaning as far over the table as he can reach. His face sits centimeters away from Billy’s, and the proximity seems to shake the kid up just the tiniest bit more. “I think you and your psychopathic little friends were real upset when I found no evidence of the Munsons doing what everyone claims they did. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands. They certainly suffered enough harassment and threats. Someone was bound to get fed up pussy-footin’ around and do what everybody in this town has wanted to. I think you rounded up your boys, and finished the job. I think you broke into the Munson’s home, you tortured them, and then you killed them. That’s what I think.” Jim resists the urge to spit in the young man’s face, backing off and sitting down in his chair.

Billy sits with the accusation for a moment, before bursting out laughing. It’s certainly not the reaction Hopper was expecting. “That’s quite a theory you got there, Chief!” He hollers, pounding his fist on the table as if he’s just been told the funniest joke in the entire world. “You’ve got a real sick sense of humor, I like it.” He chuckles as he calms himself down. Deep red amusement colors his cheeks and throat. “Too bad you can never prove it.” He sighs loudly, pretending to be disappointed. “Like I said, I was with my boys, and my lady, havin’ some drinks. I’d tell ya more, but I doubt you wanna hear the details of my sex life.” He laughs callously, before continuing. “Now, even if I did kill those freaks, I doubt anyone will miss them.” His smile grows a little, revealing the joy in his words. “We all know what they were, what they were capable of.” He speaks slowly, baiting Hopper into losing his cool. 

“And what would that be?” Jim asks, daring the little fucker to say another word about them.

“They were a couple of evil devil worshippers, posing a threat to this community! A community you’re meant to be protecting, Hopper!” Billy shouts as he stands, his chair sliding back. “You know what that witch bitch and her faggot husband did to Pete Howell! And you did nothing about it!”

“I did my job.” Hopper bellows back, getting to his feet. “I searched their apartment, I made them feel like criminals to put this ignorant town at ease! I had Pete checked out! I did everything I was supposed to, you insolent fuck! I couldn’t find a damn thing to back up this bullshit you and everybody else continue to spew all over the place!” His voice raises more and more with every sentence. 

“Chief.” Powell says quietly, hoping to get his boss’s attention. But Hopper pays him no mind. In fact, he goes around the table to get at Billy, quickly leading him backwards by the collar to slam into the wall.

“They were good people! They never hurt anyone! Even in the face of all this hatred you hurled at them, they still managed to be kind! Which is more than I can say for you, or anyone else in this godforsaken town!” Jim shouts in the young man’s face, earning no reaction besides that same stupidly smug smirk. He breathes heavily, still gripping Billy’s shirt in his hands.

“I’d like my lawyer now.” Billy says coolly, having lured Hopper right into his trap. He’s aware of the close relationship the Chief had with the Munsons, so it was easy enough to exploit. No way a judge will convict him now, not after the investigating officers have gotten physical with him. Add on his rock-solid alibi, and he probably won’t even see any charges. 

“Fuck.” Hopper sighs, his head falling to look at the floor once he realizes what he’s done. He can kiss justice for Eddie and Y/N goodbye. His hands slowly release Billy’s shirt, and he turns away to have a fucking breather before he goes for his next opponent. 

The other young men provide the same story to Hopper, asking for lawyers shortly after their almost identical retellings. Things were already not looking good after his outburst earlier, and it’s only getting worse as the night wears on. As predicted, the ‘girls’ in question for the alibi 一Nancy Wheeler, Carol Perkins, Vicki Carmichael, and Tina Johnson一 all corroborate Billy’s tale. The lawyers and parents give him an earful or two, and he’s left with four empty interrogation rooms and no arrests by the end of his shift. He goes home feeling even worse than he did yesterday, picking up two six-packs on the way home this time. Time will tell if he’s ever able to recover from this, but as one of Y/N’s gag oracles would say: ‘outlook not so good’.

October 30th, 1992

Inky clouds flood the night sky as the hour grows late, small blooms of light from the full moon willfully piercing the thick blanket in defiance. Max sits cross-legged before Y/N’s grave in Roane County Cemetery, scrubbing red spray-painted graffiti from it with a soapy sponge. She dips the sponge in a bucket beside her to refresh it, ignoring the knot tied up inside her at what the defacement says. ‘Burn in Hell Bitch’. An accompanying message still sits untainted on Eddie’s, ‘Burn in Hell Fag’.

“They could’ve at least bothered to put the commas in.” A low voice speaks from behind Max, startling her. She turns around, finding Hopper standing a couple feet away. He wears a sad smile beneath his wide-brimmed hat, coming closer to her. “Want some help?” He asks, groaning slightly as he joins her on the moist grass.

“Yeah.” Max replies, nodding. “Thanks.” She reaches into the bucket, handing him the sopping piece of foam. “I swear, every time I clean this shit off, someone comes along and puts something else in its place. I’m sick of it.” She expresses her frustration, feeling free to do so in Hopper’s presence.

“You and me both, kid. But I’m sure the Munsons appreciate you lookin’ after them.” Jim says, rubbing away at the ‘F’ on Eddie’s headstone. 

“I can’t believe it’s already been a year.” Max says sadly, low roars of thunder rumbling through the clouds above.

“Me either.” Hopper sighs, scraping a little harder now. It’s the least he can do, given how miserably he failed at catching the killers. He’s barely been by to visit since the funeral, too twisted up with guilt to bear looking at these very stones. The epitaphs are simple, yet capture exactly who the Munsons were. ‘Loving Wife (or Husband), Caring Friend, and Free Spirit’. 

Hopper remembers being tasked with handling their final arrangements, no living kin of theirs was interested in doing so. He allowed Max to help a little, choosing flowers and program designs. Small stuff, so Hopper himself could handle the hard part. Like selecting coffins, and deciding what these very graves would say to whoever may visit them. Max picked black dahlias, Y/N’s favorite. Jim also let her inside the apartment once the mess was cleaned up to find clothes for them to be buried in. He initially worried if it would’ve been too morbid for such a young girl, but she knew them well enough to select exactly what they would’ve wanted. A sleek black leather dress for Y/N, and a nice black shirt and clean matching jeans for Eddie. Hopper even made sure their wedding bands were released from evidence, and any other significant pieces Max could think of. He didn’t want to leave them incomplete before they were laid to rest. No one at the station seemed to mind, having already washed their hands of the case before the ground could break to bury the Munsons.

The funeral itself was a small affair. Only Hopper, Max, a non-denominational minister, and the few kids in town who weren’t banned from going were in attendance. The proceedings were peaceful, though, thankfully free from any protesters. Everything was kept short and sweet, the way the Munsons would have wanted it. Jim doubts they would’ve cared for a drawn-out sobfest, quite the opposite. They would’ve wanted whoever cared to show up to remember them as they were. Two sweet, loving, hilarious, eccentric, beautiful people who made the world so much brighter just by existing in it. So, that’s what he did. When the bodies were lowered into the ground, Hopper walked the kids to the ice cream shop, and everyone took turns telling their favorite memories of their lost friends. There were lots of laughs and tears, leaving the day feeling unbearably bittersweet. Just the way Y/N and Eddie wanted it to be.

“Is it weird that I talk to them sometimes?” Max asks, breaking the silence. She doesn’t look at Jim, worried he may judge her.

“Not at all. I used to talk to my Sarah sometimes.” Hopper says, dipping his sponge in the bucket. “She was my little girl…” He trails off, wondering how much he should tell her. “She got sick, and we did everything we could for her. But it wasn’t enough.” He adds, letting out a low sigh.

“I’m sorry.” Max says, looking at him now. 

“Don’t be, it was a long time ago.” He shakes his head, forcing a smile as he returns to scrubbing. 

The two of them keep going until all the offending red is washed away, leaving Y/N and Eddie looking spotless once again. They speak casually, passing the time in one another’s company, ignoring the flashes of lightning that periodically screech across the sky. Max dumps the bucket out once the work is done, wringing the sponges out thoroughly. “Mind giving me a ride home? Looks like it’s gonna rain.” She asks, peering up uneasily at the stormclouds. 

“Sure, kid. I’ll even get you some grub on the way.” Hopper agrees, taking hold of the bucket to carry it for her.

“BK?” She asks hopefully, pouting her lower lip out.

“You got it.” Hopper chuckles, finding a smidge of Sarah in Max’s feigned puppy eyes. “C’mon, we’d better beat this rain.” He takes her hand in his free one, and they walk together out of the cemetery just as the first drops start to fall.

The clouds grow thicker, claps of thunder and strikes of lightning clashing in the sky like a raging battle of the gods is taking place. A lone crow flies overhead the newly cleaned headstones, its caw barely audible over the storm. It lands on Y/N’s grave as the rain begins to pour in curtains, ruffling its shiny feathers, pecking at the newly-washed stone with its obsidian beak. It lets out another caw, tilting its head side to side in curiosity as it peers at the ground. A booming rumble breaks through the air, followed by a bright white streak of lightning piercing the earth where the woman lies resting. The crow caws again, and the ground begins to groan and wheeze as it shifts. Bulging rolls form beneath the green grass, rippling in thick waves. 

The bird makes its call one final time, a crack suddenly splitting the earth open in a tangled mess of dirt and roots. A puddle quickly pools in the hole, mud sliding down inwards. And a twitching hand springs up out of the grave, clawing for purchase on the slick edge of the rift with black painted fingernails.

To Be Continued…

[animefeminist]

“The Courage to Speak”: Mental illness and recovery in Natsume's Book of Friends

CONTENT WARNING: Discussions of mental illness and child abuse. SPOILERS for selected episodes of Natsume’s Book of Friends.

I first watched Natsume’s Book of Friends, an anime based on Yuki Midorikawa’s shoujo manga of the same name, about two years ago. I was in tears throughout most of the experience and it quickly became one of my favorite anime of all time. I was charmed by the characters and blown away by the gentle beauty and warmth of the world.

The story spoke to my own experiences and feelings in a way that was hard to understand. It was as if the series had given me this hug of reassurance I didn’t realize I needed. Some wounded part of me I’d never fully recognized had been soothed. I was surprised that the show could speak so much to my reality, because it’s premise is pretty fantastical.

Read it at Anime Feminist!

[rinofwater]

Alright, so I've probably got this translation of the first story in the Mononoke spin-off book about as good as I can get it with my (non-existent) Japanese skills. It's a step up from machine translation and several steps down from like...what an actual translator can do, but I did my best and it's at least coherent enough to keep up with what's going on

So obligitory disclaimer, I don't own the original book or any of the ideas in it, you can go buy it the raw version off of Book Walker for about $5 USD, this is just a fan translation because if this book ends up with an official translation in my lifetime, I will be shocked, but I still wanted to read it. So uh. Don't sue me please and thank you

And of course, it's not Mononoke if it doesn't qualify for a mile-long content warning list, which is as follows:

-Graphic depictions of violence -Graphic depictions of child abuse (verbal and physical) -Graphic depictions of animal abuse -Body horror -Mentions of human trafficking -Mentions of sexual assault -Mild swearing -Non-graphic nudity

-I think that's all of them but let me know if I missed something

Anyway, all that out of the way, here's the link to the google doc for anyone interested, hope folks get something out of it

Next story: Kame-hime >

[queer-ragnelle]

So, there's a lot of books that you complain about being awful (most of which I haven't read), usually because of the interpretation of some character (or many characters).

Is the problem with most of these books:

1. That the character on question has been written as a bad person,

2. That the interpretation differs from the Vulgate Cycle,

3. or the specific combination of those two things?

Or have I completely misread this situation?

See the thing is, yes it has to do with interpretation of characters, but perhaps not as superficial as it sounds! While I do love the Vulgate and prefer a more nuanced Mordred, that’s not really the root of the issue. I want Mordred to topple Camelot. I don’t expect or want authors to follow the Vulgate exclusively, there’s plenty from Chrétien or SGATGK or Parzival or the Mabinogion I’d love to see incorporated and they often are! Yay!

The real answer is a complicated thing that can only be expressed through examples because citing “misogyny” or “racism” doesn’t convey the magnitude or severity of the problem. Medieval society was misogynistic and racist at times, I don’t think those things should go ignored in a retelling. It would cheapen the narrative to pretend Guinevere’s or Morgause’s situations weren’t brought about largely due to the patriarchal systems at play nor do I want to pretend everyone who met Palomides was race blind.

Here’s an exhaustive list of sourced examples to indicate what I’ve encountered that really turned my stomach in retellings…content warning for everything from animal abuse to rape to genocide. This is gonna be long….

Adding more/intentional incest.

Agravaine sexually attracted to his mother Morgause (The Once and Future King by T. H. White) or to his aunt Guinevere (Arthur Rex by Thomas Berger, The Road to Avalon by Joan Wolf)

Gaheris sexually attracted to his mother Morgause (The Wicked Day by Mary Stewart)

Mordred sexually attracted to and raping his mother Morgause (Morgawse by Lavinia Collins)

Uther sexually attracted to his step-daughter Morgause (Igraine by Lavinia Collins)

Kay sexually involved with his uncle Lancelot (Guinevere and Morgan by Lavinia Collins)

Mordred sexually involved with his aunt Morgause (Guinevere Evermore by Sharan Newman)

Morgause attempting to seduce her teenage son Mordred (The Wicked Day by Mary Stewart)

Arthur marrying his sister Morgan (Bedivere by Wayne Wise)

A life-long sexual relationship between Arthur and his aunt Morgan (The Road to Avalon by Joan Wolf)

Mordred and “auntie” Morgan having sex (Merlin and the Sword (1985))

Exceedingly graphic first-person rape of Guinevere by her cousin Maelgwn (Queen of the Summer Stars by Persia Woolley)

Mordred kidnaps and tries to rape his sister Avlynn (Merlin and the Book of the Beasts (2009))

Increased racism.

Using modern slurs like the N word against Palomides (The Once and Future King by T. H. White)

Aggressive and confrontational Safir “restrained” by white characters and called “homicidal Moor” by Kay (The Book of Gaheris by Kari Sperring)

Palomides speaking in broken English mentioned as a “turn-off” for Morgause (Morgawse by Lavinia Collins)

Palomides a former slave orphaned and raised culturally British instead of immigrating to Britain and constantly othered as “the Arab companion” when the others don’t have modifiers like that (Queen of the Summer Stars and Legend in Autumn by Persia Woolley)

Depicting Arab Bertilak as perpetrator of pederasty, random anti-black or anti-Asian allusions, random antisemitism, etc. (Arthur Rex by Thomas Berger)

Tristan wanting to put down “barbarian” Palomides and drives him to madness (The Enchanted Cup by Dorothy James Roberts)

Black face Palomides (The Black Knight (1954))

Adding pedophilia/child brides.

Girls including Morgaine forced into ritualistic sexual situations for “ceremonial” reasons (Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley)

Eleven year old Morgause given to Lot in marriage by her mother Igraine who lied about her age (Morgawse by Lavinia Collins)

Child bride Isolde (Legend in Autumn by Lavinia Collins, Enemy of God by Bernard Cornwell)

Merlin sexually involved with fosterling Nimuë and later attracted to young Olwen (The Winter King and Excalibur by Bernard Cornwell)

Morgause preying on minors (The Wicked Day by Mary Stewart, The Book of Gaheris by Kari Sperring)

Pedophile/serial killers Kay and Mordred (Dragon’s Child and The Bloody Cup by M. K. Hume, The Queen’s Knight by Marvin Borowsky)

Morgause sexually abusing Agravaine (Queen of the Summer Stars by Lavinia Collins)

Pederast Arthur sleeping with young Peredur and Geraint (Arthur the King by Allan Massie)

Lancelot grooms young Mordred to be his lover (Mordred, Bastard Son by Douglas Clegg)

Bademagus raping 13yo Lynette (The King’s Damosel by Vera Chapman)

Warp a character into a rapist.

Morgause/Morgan tricking Arthur to sire Mordred (The Once and Future King by T. H White, Excalibur (1981), The Hollow Hills by Mary Stewart, Bedivere by Wayne Wise, Morgan by Lavinia Collins, Guinevere by Sharan Newman, Camelot (2011))

Gawain threatening Guinevere with rape then eventually banished from court for raping someone else (Guinevere and Morgawse by Lavinia Collins)

Exceedingly graphic first-person rapes of Morgause by Lot and Mordred, Morgan by Urien (Morgawse and Morgan by Lavinia Collins)

Morgause laughing when she learns how traumatized Arthur is after her seduction of him (Queen of Summer Stars by Persia Woolley)

Agravaine threatening to rape Guinevere (The Road to Avalon by Joan Wolf)

Perceval raping Layla and getting turned on watching the rape of someone else (A Knight’s Tale by Richard Monaco)

Lancelot forcing himself onto Guinevere (First Knight (1995))

Lancelot raping Galahad’s gf (The Winter King by Bernard Cornwell)

Bors tries to rig a dice game in which the prize is sex with Nimuë (Cursed (2020))

“He would not fucking say/do that.”

Arthur, Lot, Geraint, Urien, and Lancelot are wife beaters with minimal to no consequences (Warrior of the West by M. K. Hume, I Am Mordred by Nancy Springer, Igraine and Morgan by Lavinia Collins, Knight Life by Peter David)

Lancelot doesn’t rescue Guinevere leaving her to burn at the stake by Arthur (Fall of Knight by Peter David)

Lancelot used Guinevere for political gain (Excalibur by Bernard Cornwell, The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman)

Lancelot married to Elaine then cheats on her with Guinevere and causes his wife’s death leaving Galahad an orphan (Merlin (1998))

Agravaine skins Elaine’s cat and wears it (Queen of Summer Stars by Persia Woolley)

Gareth helps Gawain torture Pellinore to death (I Am Mordred by Nancy Springer)

Genocide.

Arthur picks up where Uther left off and continues to commit genocide against magic-users, Merlin helps (BBC Merlin (2008-2012)

The red paladins commit genocide against the fay, Lancelot helps (Cursed (2020))

Gawain uses sun powers to commit genocide in the holy land, other knights like Tristan, Mordred, and Agravaine help (F/GO Camelot Wandering (2020) and F/GO Camelot Paladin Agateram (2021))

Lancelot as high king of Britain commits genocide against allies of Arthur to stay in power, other knights like Dagonet, Lot, and Calogrenant help (Kaamelott: First Installment (2021))

So yeah. It isn’t ideal that Lamorak is old in Sword of Lancelot (1963) or Dagonet is stoic and boring in King Arthur (2004). But like, whatever! I like those films! Same goes for replacing Gaheris with Geraint in Sarah Zettel’s series or cutting Gareth out of Gillian Bradshaw’s trilogy. Kind of a bummer, lame even, but not a deal breaker. The things about these bad retellings that drive me mad are much more sinister than that, rooted in really detestable opinions about women and children and people of color.

Can’t Mordred, Agravaine, and Morgan be normal scheming/evil/power hungry like they were in BBC The Legend of King Arthur (1979) or Howard Pyle’s books or Knights of the Round Table (1953) instead of whatever the above are doing? Not to mention the complete violation of Guinevere, Morgause, Lancelot, and Gawain as characters. I’m so tired, man.

Hope this clears things up. Sorry if you made it through that list. I’m sure you hated reading it as much as I hated writing it. But I think it makes it clear the problem here and that I’m not just being picky. The psychic damage is taking its toll.

[chai-and-cherries]

5 Insanely Underrated (Dark) Queer Book Recs for Your TBR (No Spoiler Reviews!)

I ain’t gonna beat around the bush, folks--this post has been a long time coming. Over the past year, I have somehow stumbled into my new favorite genre, leaving the careful days of YA comforting fantasy reads behind (but not forgotten!). I used to never be one for the dark, grisly, and not so man-made horrors beyond comprehension. But with the help of time, mind devouring storytelling, and gut wrenching emotions the world loves to carve out of us all, tastes have changed! So without further ado, let me recommend 5 of my favorite (darker) queer reads of 2022. Titles are linked to official Goodreads summaries while I have included my no-spoiler reviews below.

Some of these are horror, some fantasy, some tragedy, and most a mix of the above. As the new year draws closer, if you’re feeling ready to branch out (or branch in!!) please consider giving these severely underrated titles a read. And support lesser known authors while you’re at it!

As the title of the post implies, these books tend to brew darker than your average cup ‘a joe. So please heed included trigger warnings and take care! 

1. You Will Love What You Have Killed by Kevin Lambert

(Original title: Tu aimeras ce que tu as tué. English Translation by Winkler Donald).

Genres: Adult Fiction, Horror, Canadian Literature, Queer AF

Review: If you’re not a fan of blood, gore, and every horror under the dying sun, scroll away now. Starting off incredibly strong and incredibly twisted with French-Canadian Lambert’s debut novel, You Will Love What You Have Killed, this novel is neither for the faint of heart nor some of the hard of heart. I went into this book knowing next to nothing about what was in store and left somehow feeling more empty than before. As arguably the darkest and most gory book on the list, this surrealist take on childhood rage and post-humous revenge on the town that discarded you before you had a chance to fight back is bound to haunt you long after you’ve finished it. Lambert’s own style of dark and nauseatingly twisted humor will either seal the deal for you, or leave you running for the hills. To be honest, I loathe this book as much I appreciate the queer, surrealist landscape of apocalyptic vengeance. Brownie points for being flat-out strange.

Content Warnings: if you can think of it, chances are its here. loads of death and murder, including that of children, suicide; ableism; homophobia, transphobia; pedophilia, rape, sexual abuse, explicit sexual descriptions, abortion, necrophilia; animal abuse, killing of animals; child abuse, emotional abuse and verbal abuse (by the narrator); cancer; 9/11 (comprehensive list via Ashton on GoodReads)

2. Hell Followed With Us by Andrew Joseph White

Genres: YA Fantasy, Horror, Sci-Fi/Dystopian, Queer AF

Blurb: In this world on the brink of man-made/god-induced apocalypse, trans-boy Benji has to fight not only to survive a hellscape determined to burn itself to the ground, but also his own role in bringing about the End. Hell Followed With Us is a queer rage manifesto, the gospel for those forced to become monsters by the same society that weaponized and then condemned them for being such. White’s novel not only brought healing to a large part of my own religious trauma, but it helped me embrace the very “monster” the so called righteous would have damned. Because when the world will villianize you anyway, revolution may very well be embracing the monster within--the monster the world forced into being. This one is definitely a keeper, and definitely a re-reader. The character diversity in this book is incredible, also for the simple fact that it isn’t forced or seemingly “trying to meet a quota”, and for canonically calling out [redacted].  

Content Warnings: For a comprehensive list courtesy of the author himself, please visit his website here. 

3. Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca

Genres: Adult Fiction, Horror/Psychological Thriller, Short-Stories, Queer AF

Blurb: Shorter but no less impactful than the rest, Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke is a twisted foray into the psychology of human obsession. After reading the blurb, I tried to prepare myself for the following unease and depravity I was promised. And god was that promise delivered on a silver poisoned platter. Set to the backdrop of chat forums and online messaging, LaRocca weaves a sadomasochistic love story between two women searching for deeper connection. But love isn’t exactly the right word, is it? After all, things can only get worse from the start. Suffice to say, wholesome does not live in these pages. And I need more. 

Content Warnings: animal cruelty/death, body horror, gore, mental/emotional abuse, exploration of kink, very toxic example of a dom/sub relationship.

4. Angels Before Man by Rafael Nicolás

Genres: Adult Fantasy, Mythology Retelling, Romance, Paranormal, Queer AF

Blurb: I try not to pick favorites on list recs, but as my most recent read of the year, Nicolás’ debut novel has quickly been shelved in my mind and heart’s hall of fame. Angels Before Man is a queer retelling of the fall of Lucifer from a paradise that may not be as, well, paradise as it seems. With narrative prose so poetic that epics of the ancient world come to mind, and themes of religious rebellion and queer rage reminiscent not only of other novels on this list but also the lives of countless individuals whose love warns at revolution, Angels Before Man tells the story of the greatest disobedience Heaven had to face: the creation of sin, born from the first love that turned a jealous god to rage. As ABM only released weeks ago, I sincerely hope it’s only the beginning for this book and author. Bible? Who needs her. The Word of God? I don’t even know her. I’ve got Angels Before Man. And so will my friends because I’m gifting them this heavenly-gem (heh, see what I did there?) for the holidays. 

Content Warnings: Courtesy of the author himself (list also included at start of book): Blasphemy, off-page sexual assault with related internal monologue post-incident, Self-harm, Atypical depiction of grooming, Animal death, Abuse (emotional, physical), Sexual content, Body horror, Graphic depictions of violence, Incestuous term use, Potential correlation to homosexuality being sinful, Depictions of mental instability

5. Siren Queen by Nghi Vo

Genres: Historical Fiction, Historical Fantasy, Magic Realism, Queer AF

Blurb: Of the 5 recs on the list, I have to be honest and say with full disclosure that this is my one cheat as I have not actually finished it yet. But as I can attest from the 60% progress I have made, along with two of my close friends who recommended her in the first place, Siren Queen is a breath of fresh air in a genre that is understandably stifling at times. Interweaving the monstrous industry of Hollywood with actual monsters, Siren Queen explores the sacrifices made and prices paid for the chance at stardom and just being seen, all while embracing the monster society demands of us. Largely character-driven, this book has been a slower read than the rest, but its commentary on workers’ rights and inequalities, among other social issues often at the forefront of WASPish-run Hollywood, has kept me engaged since the start. 

Content Warnings: racism, racial slurs, fatphobia, violence, family violence, homophobia, sexism, drug abuse, addiction.

[romana-after-dark]

Blessed be the Fruit: Chapter 3

Commander!Joel Miller x Handmaid!Reader

Series masterlist Join dark!Romana's tag list Dark!Romana's Masterlist

Summary: You begin to realize everything is not as it seems in the Miller households.

AN: Sorry this is kinda a boring chapter but I felt I needed to do some building. Next chapter we will start getting debatched lololol but I wanted to focus more on Ellie if that makes sense?

Content and Warnings: DARK JOEL! DUB CON!

Although no violent rape happens like in TWW, reader is under systemic misogyny and a society of ritualized sex abuse. Everything other than the violent rape scenes, everything that happen in either The Handmaids Tale book or show are liable to happen here including but not limited to discussion of rape, child abuse, child marriage, ritualized sexual abuse, sexual abuse in general, acts of violence, major character deaths, mentions of miscarriage but never shown and never pregnancies we know of. Big ole homophobia warning, specifically in regards to lesbophobia. As for Joel, PIV sex, breeding kink, degrading (slut, whore etc but thing like Raider!joel) forced breeding and breeding kink, power dynamics, Joel is not the good guy but he’s also not the worst, slightly rough sex but not violent. Warnings are liable to be added as the story goes but I’ll always update. As always if I miss something please tell me, but i extensively label my warnings and in the end media consumption is your own choice. If you would like to know if this is a happy ending or not you can message me and I’ll tell you that way I don’t spoil for everyone but you can decide if this is for you.

Immersability: Reader has long hair, can conceive children theoretically. At one point, she has to pose as Ellie's mother and I know this can be loaded in terms of skin tone. I am no genetics expert but I know dark skinned parents can have white passing children, like Lional Richie and Nicole Richie. It's up to you to see if this is going to take you out of the story or not.

Only additional warning I can think of is sexualization of a minor but it's not from either of our Miller brothers.

Support writers, reblog and leave comments!

*****************************

Elizabeth was watching you in the doorway as you kneaded bread. All day she had been lurking in corners and hallways, eyeing you with that intense stare.

“Can I help you, Miss Miller?” You ask her, never daring to look away from your task. Like wild animals, eye contact could be seen as a challenge, and the wild, abrasive girl was not someone you wanted to test.

Looking around, Elizabeth checks the surroundings before scurrying up to you. “Did he hurt you?” She said, scanning the expanse of your body despite nothing but hands and neck being visible. 

A flush creeps up that you attempt to stifle as you think of last night, of Commander Miller stuffing himself down your mouth, but the concern in Elizabeth's eyes softened you. “No, he didn’t.”

She took your word rather quickly. It was clear that although she seemed to know her father was capable of harm, she was ready to push that thought away whenever possible. “Okay. good. I know that old man can get a little crazy.” She chuckles a little bit in a nervous manner as she looks up at you and hesitantly you smile back. She was something else. 

“You can relax a little, you know. With me anyway.”

You smile, but don’t acquiesce. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss Miller.”

“You don’t have to call me Miss. Miller. Ellie, preferably. Miss Ellie if you really need to.”

Brave girl. You suppose that’s what happens when you have strong protection of a man like Commander Miller. “You’re the firstborn daughter, Miss Miller is appropriate.”

“Not the first born daughter, actually” 

Oh, that was new. There was no reason you would know this information, know any information on the Miller family really. “Oh” was all you could manage.

“My mom and dad had a daughter before. You can’t say anything about it, my parents barely talk about it. I only found out because Gina was drinking a few years ago. I got in trouble at school and she drunkenly told me that Sarah would never have done this, blah blah blah.” She rolled her eyes, but her downcast face shows her genuine hurt. “I asked who Sarah was, she told me that was her daughter, actually her daughter before the handmaid system. She died from a terrorist attack, that’s all I know.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You were. Both of the death of the young Miller child and of how cruel Elizabeth’s mother was. The girl was privileged in many ways to be sure, but she was still a victim of Gilead as much as anyone and with her mouth, will be lucky to survive her 30’s. Commander Miller must know this, of course.

She shrugged. “It’s whatever.” She watched you braid the bread to get it ready to rise. “You’re not going to tell anyone about last night, are you?” Her voice suddenly sounded so young, vulnerable. She is just a teenager after all, no matter her rank.

“No, Miss Miller.”

A sigh of relief. “Oh thank gooood”

Your eyes widen at her taking the lord's name in vein, but she brushes you off, waving her hand. “Oh please, I’ve been questioning this shit since I was a kid. That’s how I got this bad boy.” She points to her face, the scar that cuts into her eyebrow.

Could Commander Miller… no, he wouldn’t hurt her, would he? You’ve seen how protective he was of her… did she get disciplined at school?

Your questioning look must have been obvious, so Elizabeth clarifies, seeming eager for someone to talk to. From what you could tell, Riley was her only friend. Too old for the kids, too unmarried for the wives. She spoke with pride. “When I was 10, I told Gina I wanted to be a commander. Gina told me girls can’t be commanders, I said I wanted to be the first. We went back and forth for a while, eventually I said I didn’t care about gods plan, I didn’t want to have kids…” She brushed back her hair she had down. Out of regulation. “Gina backhanded me, her wedding ring cut my eye.”

You never liked Gina. Wives weren’t someone to be liked, they were to be respected… but now you didn’t have that for her either. “Honey, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” She wore her scar like a badge of honor.

“What did the Commander do?”

“You can just call him Joel to me.”

Now that made you laugh. “No way.”

“Can you at least call me Ellie? I hate being called Miss Miller.”

You sigh. “Fine, but only when it’s just us.”

She grinned at that. “Anyway, I ran out of the house and to my uncle Tommy’s. Gina doesn’t like Tommy and neither does Tommy’s wife, Deborah. Deb and Gina were yelling at Uncle Tommy that this wasn’t his business, Uncle Tommy yelling that I was his niece so it was his business, I was bleeding, it was a whole thing.” Ellie chuckled, clearly hiding the trauma with humor. It was not lost on you that she called her mom Gina. “Dad was gone on business that night so he took me to the hospital and I stayed with him that night until dad came back. He was so goddamn mad.” She chuckled at the memory. Only reason he didn’t hit her right there is I begged him not to. He told her if she ever laid a hand on me again, she’d end up on the wall.”

You knew this wasn’t the point, but something of the idea that Commander Miller was so protective of his daughter was… endearing? Turned you on? Both?

“He seems like a good dad.” You spoke honestly, setting the bread to rise.

“He’s fine, I guess.” Ellie jokes. “Won’t teach me how to read though. Says he’s worried I’ll read something I shouldn’t and get caught.”

As you clean up, you feel her eyes still on you. “Yes?”

“Did you learn how to read before?”

How old did she think you were? “Well, not at school-” You were about to tell her your mom did when she jumped in excitement.

“So you know??”

“Yes, but-”

“Can you teach me?”

“Ellie! No way! You dad will kill me!”

“No he won’t!” She whines. “I’ll make sure of it-”

“No.”

“Yup. You’re teaching me.”

That makes you turn around, facing the insolent girl with more determination. “I said no.”

“I’ll pick the lock to my dads office, I’ll steal some shit. He won’t even notice.” She began walking away.

“El-” When she walks out, you shut your mouth quickly as Lisa walks in and avert your eyes.

She speaks in a warning, taking the bread you were tasked with and setting it aside. “Don’t let the girl fool you. She’s not your friend. She’s got no filter and I’m willing to bet she’d throw you under the bus to save her own skin. That’s not an insult, but she is still a child no matter what Gilead says.”

“Yes ma’am”

She hesitates before relaying her message. “Commander Miller wants to see you tonight.” When you look up to her with a questioning glance, she cut you off. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”

The less you know, the better.

*

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you stood outside Commander Miller’s door, trying to knock, but you couldn’t do it. Commander Miller was intimidating, and after last night, he told you he wasn’t going to waste a single drop of his cum on your mouth again…

You didn’t need to knock, Commander Miller opened the door. He seemed so different from the man you had seen last night in this very room; he was calm, collected. This was the Commander Miller you’d known before.

 “Well, don’t just stand there.” He gestured inside his office and you carefully scampered inside. When Joel closed the door, you braced yourself, wincing when he steps away from the archway. He seems to notice. “Sit down.” Commander Miller gestured to the couch, and when you sat down on the couch you expected him to lay you down, but instead he sat on the couch across the coffee table.

“You tell anyone about my daughter?”

Eyes wide, you attempt to placate what you felt was an oncoming storm. “No! No promise, please-”

Commander Miller raises a hand to hush you. “I know. I doubt you would.” He watches you for a while with that intense stare, hard eyes on you before sighing gruffly and sinking further in the chair. Arms crossed in contrast to his spread legs, black pants and a white button down; far more casual than she’d seen a man other than your husband and lover since childhood. Frozen in fear, you hand pry your gaze from his face and take in his features. Strong, alkalinen nose was always the first thing that caught your attention. He was commanding, but his soft eyes endeared trust. It was no wonder he was one of the earlier leaders of the Sons of Jacob. Commander Miller was a natural leader.

“Relax, will you?” Commander Miller brings you back to reality. You don’t respond, so he sighs, standing up as your eyes follow him. “Drink?” He asks.

This must be a trap. “No, thank you.” Handmaids weren’t allowed to drink.

Commander Miller chuckles and mutters a low “Good girl.” but sets a drink down in front of you anyway. Good girl… the term of endearment settled low in your stomach… maybe you were a harlot after all, so easy…  “You aren’t pregnant, so drink if you want.” He grabs his own drink and returns to his seat after grabbing a few items off his shelves. Books and magazines. “Listen, nothing’s happen’n tonight. You aren’t ovulating so theres no point. Let’s just… get to know each other better. I think that will make this whole arrangement less stiff.”

“This whole arrangement?”

He points his finger up and gives it a twirl, signifying the household. “All of this. I never asked for a handmaid, so I’m not exactly thrilled.”

 A small, nervous laugh escapes you. “You’re not thrilled?” Immediately you regret your attitude but Commander Miller huffs a laugh.

“I suppose you did get the short end of the stick on this arrangement.” He concedes. Still fearful, you try to keep the pose of a submissive handmaid.

“I am honored to at the opportunity for penance, Commander Mill-”

But Commander Miller waved your words away with a flick of his hand. “Joel is fine.” When he saw you about to protest, he cut you off yet again. “Joel.” He insisted. “I know my daughter’s tryna get you to call her Ellie, that’s okay too. Just don’t tell Gina.”

Commander- Joel, Joel spent the next two hours trying to get to know you here and there. He let you look at the old women’s magazines you remember your mother reading v early on and when he saw you actually reading, he allowed you to browse the bookshelves. It was dangerous, all of it, but surely this was common… Surely the commanders, wives and children broke molds sometimes… it was only human to want a connection.

And you wanted a connection. You couldn’t help but fall into him just a little bit

*

There was a big dinner being held tonight, all of the Miller’s family and friends were attending, some of which you knew. Angela had been sent over to help prepare so as to not leave it all to Lisa, so you and her were chopping vegetables for the salad that would be served shortly.

“Angela?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“The other day…” You look around the kitchen… empty… still, you speak quietly. “You called the younger Commander Miller…” another pause to check. “Tommy?”

Angela smiled and chuckled. “Yeah, I did. What about it?”

“Well… are you… and Commander Miller…” You lean in to whisper. “Outside of the ceremony?”

She turned to you, curious. “Did your Commander Miller” She mimicked your whisper. “Outside of the ceremony?”

You nod.

“I was wondering how long it would take. These men are all the same.”

A sigh of relief. “So it’s not just me.”

“No, not at all. It’s very common.”

Family began to arrive as you and Angela set up the table. Mr. and Mrs. Jones arrived along with her father and mother. Riley and Ellie attempted to run off together but Gina snapped at Ellie to socialize in the parlor. The younger Commander Miller arrived with his wife, Deborah, a mousey looking woman who never looked pleased to be here. A few others trickled in, including a man about the age of the younger Miller who Mrs. Miller promptly introduced to Ellie. 

“Commander Bedford, this is my daughter, Elizabeth, a friend of Mrs. Jones.” She glared at Ellie until Ellie curtsied.

Gina may not have noticed the man learning at Ellie, but Ellie sure did. “Do you know my dad?”

Commander Bedford began to speak. “Yes of course, but we actually have another connection, I’m your friend Riley’s uncle, I just moved back to the area, actually. I remember meeting you a few times when you were just a child.”

Disgusting. 

“Bedford!” A booming voice came from the other side of the room. Thomas Miller. “How the hell are yuh!”

Gina chastised him, but Commander Miller paid no mind. At first it appeared as if Thomas was merely friendly greeting an old friend, but the subtle way he placed himself in front of Ellie was clear to you. 

“Tommy, good seeing you.” Bedford seemed less than pleased.

“How did things go in Chicago- oh, I suppose the women don’t need to hear about this.” He chuckles.

“I suppose not.”

“Ellie sweetie, why don’t you go show Riley that painting you’ve been working on, the one you showed me last week?”

Ellie jumped at the chance, finding Riley and running away from the crowd. 

“Actually, Bedford, will you excuse me and Mrs. Miller for a moment? Joel’s birthday is coming up and we have to find a way to annoy him.”

Impressive. Bedford excused himself, and when Tommy turned to Gina, his voice was suddenly darker. “If Joel wanted her with a 40 year old man, he would have arranged a marriage months ago. Stay in your place.”

Gina didn’t back down. “My place as her mother is to find her a match.”

“You don’t care about a fuck’n match or her, you just want her out of your hair. Now knock it off before I tell Joel.”

That was enough to shut her up. You moved on to the wine cabinet to look for the wine Mrs. Miller wanted tonight, but as you are looking, Thomas Miller was suddenly leaning against the wall. “Nosy little lady, aren’t you?” and you startle at the sudden realization.

You turn and curtsy. “I’m sorry, Commander Miller, I was just-”

“You were just eavesdropping.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Yes you did, but it’s fine.” He had the same eyes as his older brother. Soft, putting you at ease. Kind. “Listen, had Gina said anything to you about Ellie or marriage recently?”

Now you were put in a position, stuck between a man you barely knew and the lady of your house. You should have loyalty to Gina, not the brother of your commander… but one looked at you like furniture and one seemed to have the young girl’s interests in mind…

“She um… She said Commander Miller spoiled her, and that the reason she wanted me was to uh… start over…”

Commander Miller rolled his eyes. “Bitch.” He looked back at you. “Only reason he married her in the first place was because he knocked her up when they were in college. Our parents made them get married so goddamn fast and then told everyone Sarah was premature.” Chuckling, he seemed like he expected you to laugh along, but you were. He stops, dropping the charm and turning only slightly serious. “You can relax, you know -” Tommy calls you by your name. Your real name. Not Ofjoel. “That’s your name right? Angela told me.” Angela, not Ofthomas. “It’s fine. I swear I’m not like other commanders. I’m a cool commander.” He tries to joke, but it lands flat. “Sorry, I don’t really know how to be normal about this. I know Joel is intense but I just can’t seem to fit into the whole strange new world bit.”

He seemed genuine. Thomas, Angela and Ellie seemed like the first real, genuine people you’d met in years and it was jarring… but you didn’t want to ruin it. “It’s okay. I’m just not good at acting normal. This is all I’ve really known.”

He looks sad at that. “Yeah, you’re pretty young aren’t you?”

You nod.

“I’ll let you be but… if Gina says anything to you about Ellie, wanting to set her up or something… can you please tell me? Or tell Angela to relay the message?” 

“I will.” You promise, and you intend to keep it. She was just a kid, after all.

The wine you needed was almost out so you went to the wine cellar to fetch another bottle. As you descend the stairs into the cool basement, your mind reels from the revelations of the last few days. What the hell was going on with the Miller household?

However, when you open the door to the cellar you find another secret of the Miller household and this time you thought you might be the first to find out.

Riley jumps off where she had Ellie pressed up against the shelves, arms disentangling from each other, lips unlocking in panicked gasps. Riley’s blue dress rustles as she quickly steps back from Ellie’s white, the colors separating as they did.

You watch them in shock as the two teenage girls gape at you, fear in their eyes and red flush in their face. A face that said they knew they were going on the wall.

*****************

Dun dun DUUHHHHHHH

Yeah sorry, Deborah is an oc lol I just could not picture Maria as a wife lol

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie...

And fucking Gina keeps getting worse.

Again, not a thrilling chapter but I think it sets the stage of a few relationships.

I promise next chapter we'll finally get more of Joel

please let me know what you think!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @dins-riduur-anthe @morallyinept @fan-fiction-floozyy @med494 @taliarose12 @flvrdoll @k-ra @sam-2me @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @moriartyyouwhore @hereforthepedrofanfic @alwaysmicado @noisynightmarepoetry @kyloispunk @jenna-ortega @lunitareads @labyrinthofheartagrams @swimmjacket @magpiepillsjunior

[wallacejwriting]

BY THE RITES OF STARS ★ an anti-military science fantasy

the first book in the starkyda universe

genre | science fantasy, military fantasy, steampunk/gaslamp fantasy

audience | adult

pov | multi-pov, (usually) third person limited, present

series premise | a bunch of queer, disabled dragon riders try to raise a rebellion, take down a fascist, patriarchal regime, and save the world at the same time.

themes & tropes | chosen one(s), prophecies, meddling gods, dragons & dragon riders, griffon riders, magic/military academy, anti-military, anti-fascism, power of friendship/love, the power of being different, found family, animal companions, magitech, Hard Magic, if you try to get rid of us we only get stronger

content warnings | queerphobia in all its forms (homophobia, acephobia, transphobia, polyphobia, etc), fatphobia, ableism & eugenics rhetoric, child & spousal abuse, systematic abuse, indentured labour, animal death, graphic violence, misgendering, dead naming, animal abuse, some very minor cannibalism as a side effect of other stuff

★ SYNOPSIS

For three hundred years, the world of Lumira has existed on the brink of apocalypse. Only the hard work of the dragon riders, stationed across the three lowest islands, keeps the otherworldly fungus, known as the Blight, from swallowing the world. But it is no longer enough. Six years ago, Saoirse Cuirc declared herself a girl before the statues of the Gods and spoke with the Goddess herself, Sáerlaith, who declared Saoirse the first of nine Chosen - people on Tairkyda who would stop the Blight and save the world. Now, in the present, Saoirse, her best friend Lucian, and many others are on their way to their first year at Tairkyda's military academy to become dragon riders. But from the very start, it's clear that she, Lucian, and all the other "different" initiates aren't welcome. Divided into different flights, pushed down and harassed by students and teachers alike, and constantly chasing after a goddess she can't seem to find, Saoirse is failing before she even starts. And Lucian, split into a flight with Kiryu, who won't stop picking fights with him, isn't fairing much better. Elsewhere in the school, Jules, an indentured student, fights back against unfair rules and clashes with a professor who vows to make them understand consequences. When Jules discovers that one of their flight mates, Sabine, is cursed and will die within the year, they rally Wren to help save Sabine and her brother. But the further they dig, the harder it is to stay out of reach of those who want to harm them. In engineering, Lara and Bran are both after answers that neither one can find alone -- Lara is trying to save her father's career, while Bran hunts for the answer behind the hiccups in the island's magitech. Cináed, their new lab assistant, just wants to go home to Underside, and if helping these two gives them a chance, then they'll do whatever it takes. And in Underside, Kat hunts for a way to Topside to find her missing sibling and teams up with the silent and deadly Rhys, who wants revenge for their murdered mother. But their journeys to Topside, and to their goals, will be far more fraught than they can imagine. All Saoirse wants is to be normal. All Jules wants is to go home. All Wren wants is to be strong. But if they are to save their new friends, stay in the academy, keep their dragons, and have any chance at fulfilling the duties of the Chosen, duties all three are quickly thrust into, they'll need to work together, learn everything they can, and be prepared to give up everything in the face of both saving the world and making Tairkyda into a home they want to live in. The last years of a three century war are beginning. But it's not just saving lives that matters. It's creating reasons to keep living, too.

★ CHARACTERS

Saoirse Cuirc: 19, she/her, trans woman. Heiress to the Cuirc family. Type 1 diabetes. Anxiety disorder. Fat.

All Saoirse has ever wanted was to just be a normal girl, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't even taste it. Anxious, overeager, and already feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, Saoirse is the first of nine Chosen and is meant to find the rest and serve as their leader. Except Saoirse doesn't want to lead. She just wants to make friends and get to pretend she isn't the world's best chance at avoiding destruction. But she can't forget, not even for a second.

Jules Locke: 19, they/them, non-binary. Fringe farmer. Autistic. Migraines. Fat.

Blunt, hardworking, and endlessly curious, Jules is dragged into the world of dragon riders and politics when they stumble across, and hatch, a dragon egg near their family farm in the Fringe. Indentured until they can pay it off, Jules is determined to get home to their grandfather as quickly as possible - but their plans might be waylaid after they discover Sabine's curse and find themself unable to leave her to fight alone.

Wren Hashimoto: 19, they/them, trans masc. Youngest of the Hashimoto family. Stoat beastie. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. Celiac.

After an entire childhood spent under the well-meaning and overbearing thumbs of their family, hatching an egg means Wren finally has some freedom. But arrival at the academy quickly proves that this world is not built for them, and Wren finds themself fighting just to keep their head above water. The people looking down want Wren to fail, and Wren will stop at nothing to disappoint them. But the true fight might not be with the world outside, but with the vast, burning anger inside them that might swallow their world whole.

Kiryu Furukawa: 19, he/him, cis man. Half-fae and least favourite of the Furukawa family. Juvenile arthritis. Tinnitus. Alpha-gal syndrome. Eating disorder NOS. Bipolar disorder.

Born out of wedlock and to one of the few fae still in Lumira, Kiryu has had the cards stacked against him in Tairkyda since the start. But it wasn't until he was nine years old, when his father found out about and tracked him down, that Kiryu even knew he was destined to be cursed. Until then, he'd been a normal kid. Trapped in his father's house and slowly worn down by years of bigotry and abuse, Kiryu got quiet, started playing stupid, and did everything he could in hopes of getting home to his mother and sisters. Now, with a dragon hatched, his father and eldest brother have recruited him in a mission to change the Chosen, and if he succeeds, he'll finally get to go home and breathe. Now if only he didn't despise his father and this culture and didn't take every opportunity to pick fights and start chaos.

Lucian: 19, he/him, cis man. Beastie. Saoirse's personal guard and companion. Gigantism. Migraines. Fat.

Lucian's first memories are hunger, fear, and pain. His first memory of light is Saoirse, then known by another name, and she gave his world light and meaning. For years, Lucian has lived in Saoirse's shadow, off the streets and out of bad homes only because she took interest in him. He protects her with everything she has. But he longs for more. Lucian longs for open skies and smiling faces, for notoriety that comes not from Saoirse, but from his own name and his own merit. And when he hatches a dragon egg, something he never thought he could do, Lucian isn't sure if this will give him more opportunity to make a name for himself, or seal him into his role as Saoirse's number two forever.

Sabine Bellerose: 19, she/her, cis woman. Oldest child of the Bellerose family. Blind. PTSD.

Sabine is dying. She knows she's dying and, furthermore, she knows she can't be saved. That's fine. All she wants, before her father's stupid curse kills her, is to save her brother. But when she hatches a dragon egg she didn't even want, the timeline changes. Her father sends her off to the academy with an hourglass around her throat. The day after the school year ends, Sabine will die. Frustrated and helpless, Sabine will fight with everything she has to save her brother. Herself? She gave up on herself years ago.

Cináed: 19, they/them, genderless. Half-fae and indentured servant of Topside. Autistic. Hard of hearing.

Cináed's not supposed to be here - here, in Topside; here, as staff; here, unable to leave because of the stupid charm wrapped around their ankle that they can't get off. If they could, there'd be nothing stopping them from running home and finding their sister again. After nine years of waiting, very few consequences are going to get in Cináed's way of finally tasting freedom. But for them to get there, they'll have to work alongside two of Topsiders up-and-coming magineers, and the more Cináed's responsibilities to Topside and feelings for both Lara and Bran grow, the harder it is to run home for good.

Lara Acardi: 21, she/her, trans woman. Cerebral palsy. Seizures. Fat.

Everything can be understood if you are patient, humble, and never give up. This is Lara's life motto. Raised by a brilliant, warm man, who is also the head military scientist of Tairkyda, Lara has spent her life in awe of science and magic. She is a person who chases ideas, opportunities, and dreams, even if they might seem far fetched. And when her father struggles to find a solution to a new Blight problem, which leads to pressure from above, Lara recruits her friend Bran, and new lab assistant Cináed, into helping her solve the problem and save her father's reputation and career.

Bran Fáolan: 22, he/him, trans man. Albinism. Autistic. OCD.

Bran and his family have never fit into the upper crust of Tairkyda. Described, at best, as "overly obsessed weirdos", Bran's widowed mother encourages her children to do what brings them joy. For Bran, that is science! Driven by an insatiable need to create something impossible, something no one else has seen, Bran toils in the engineering labs everyday, seeing little point in personal relationships or like, being nice. But when the anomalies he's tracking start to add up, Bran ropes Lara and Cináed into helping him discover exactly who, or what, is causing the magitech in Tairkyda to malfunction and flicker.

Padma: 12, she/her, cis girl. Fisher beastie. Left hand amputee.

Padma survived what many others wouldn't: a limb amputation due to Blight. She only survived because Shahin, her adoptive father, found her and saved her. And she's never stopped trying to save him back. Quick on her feet and vicious with her teeth, Padma has spent years running in the shadow of her fathers' criminal empire in Underside. Now, with the magitech malfunctioning more than ever and Topside tight-lipped about it, Padma has the perfect opportunity to go undercover and get information for her dads. The pressure doesn't matter - all that matters is not letting her dads down. If she can do that, she can do anything.

Katriona "Kat": 22, she/her, cis woman. Berserker. Right arm amputee (above the elbow). Bipolar disorder.

Nine years ago, Kat lost Cináed to Topside and it's all her fault. She just wanted them to eat something good. She thought if they stole from Topside they could make good money selling what they grabbed. Instead, she lost the only family she had left. Now, Kat is an underground fighter; letting out her anger in the ring while she saves up money to get information about Topside and Cináed's whereabouts. When Kat gets the chance to team up with someone even scarier than her, she takes it to get to Cináed quicker. Despite her anger, Kat's pretty good at taking care of other people, particularly those younger than her. A lot of kids in Underside go to her for help.

Rhys: 15, they/them, agender. Farsider. Wolf beastie. Autistic. Nonverbal.

Rhys did not exist before they were six years old. They appeared, stumbling, broken, and weeping, in Underside nine years ago. After accidentally killing over a dozen people with strange shadows, Rhys fainted, and a doctor determined that Rhys had survived Blightfall, the final, and fatal, stage of Blight. Many wanted to study them, many wanted to use them, but Rhys ended up with Madeline, a woman who came to be their mother. Rhys loves Madeline. Rhys loves Underside. And Rhys has terrible powers that no one else does. And when the Enforcers of Topside kill their mother, Rhys casts aside their deep desire to be good - to be a hero - and takes up revenge. No one gets away with killing their mom. No one.

★ SETTING

Starkyda is a world in three parts: the Aether (above), the Nether (below), and Lumira (the world between). It's got similar technology to the 1880s-1910s era of development, it's in the first big stages of its industrial revolution, and magic is woven into everything. This is a world of floating islands. After a great flood many many years ago, the Gods rose the islands and their people into the sky to protect them from the endless waters. There were many changes during The Flood, including the hybridization of all living creatures. Cowpigs and chickurkeys and raccoorrels. (Also the dragons do not talk, just so we're clear.) Magic is not restricted to bloodlines or anything similar in Lumira. Any person can wield magic and the stars provide the layouts of every spell possible. However, without taeliswood - a highly guarded resource on Tairkyda - a person can only access a fraction of the magic in the world. Only through wealth, connections, or access to the military academy is it possible to gain the taeliswood for proper wand cores, brooms, and even the most coveted of all: a taelismera. Tairkyda, our main setting, is the lowest inhabited island left in Lumira. Those lower fell into the ocean after the Blight infected the island's living soul and killed them. Without a soul, the island plummets. Tairkyda is an island, divided. Topside, the city above ground, is deeply classist and run by five separate and feuding groups known as the Five Families. Only the academy is a neutral ground. The Wall, which separates the inhabited island from the Blighted sections, holds its own culture, as does the Fringe, the large ring of farms that wrap around the outside of the city, beyond the protection of most of its walls. But perhaps the most disparate section of the island is Underside - the literal underbelly of Tairkyda, located beneath the infrastructure of Topside and dug into the caves, the cliffs, and the dirt itself, until a mirror of Topside exists within its shadow. This is the more overt criminal world of Tairkyda, and mostly it houses those deemed undesirable by society or who were unlucky enough to be born down there. The military academy is the heart of Topside and is where all members of the military, whether foot, support, dragon rider, griffon rider, etc., are trained. The academy provides the largest supply of dragon riders to the war against the Blight. While two other islands have small colonies - Starletom and Hornkider - nearby, neither has a robust dragon rider population and few eggs choose to hatch for them each year. It is not an exaggeration to say that, as the world stands, if Tairkyda were to fall into the ocean, it would mean the end of the world.

★ LINKS | Book Tag / Series Tag / Rambling Tag / Profiles / Excerpts / Worldbuilding / Playlist

★ TAGLIST | @reminiscentrevelry,

ask to be added or removed from the taglist! taglist used for snippets, character profiles, worldbuilding posts, and other larger, wip related content.

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part VI: horseshoe overlook ii

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 13.3k

summary: you, Arthur, and Hosea find some important horses on your trek to a hunt gone-wrong. Away from camp, Arthur opens up, letting you peek through his point of view to his heart-breaking past. Dutch asks for your help.

a/n: chapter six! Arthur and reader find their heart horses, there's a lot of hurt/comfort too which we love. Oh and I spoiled a plot point to Jane Eyre, so sorry if you were planning to read it, but also it was published 176 years ago so maybe get onto that. Also the tuberculosis in Jane Eyre was just a coincidence, so don't fret. I plan on keeping Arthur tb free. Lastly, there is some good ol' fashioned 'talking about our feelings' in this chapter. We are opening up and talking about trauma, yay! BTW, series hit 50k this chapter! Anyway! Enjoy

warnings: animal abuse (seeing a horse that has been abused), mentions of former child abuse, mentions of infertility, all are described briefly, nothing graphic.

SERIES MASTERPOST

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo10300 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup

Arthur’s supposed to be on watch, and you’re supposed to be doing laundry. But he’s tired of staring at trees and you’re sick of cleaning beer and stew out of Uncle’s long johns, so here you are.

Technically, Arthur hasn’t completely abandoned his task like you have. You’re both sitting on a decent sized boulder, the one he always sits on during his guard shift, just off the trail into Horseshoe. But his eyes are not focused on the trees, instead they fixate on his journal, where he is sketching something on the ivory pages. You’re all too curious, again, about what he’s drawing, but he's positioned in a manner so the contents remain hidden from your nosey gaze. He hasn’t missed the way you subtly lean every once in a while, peering down your nose to try and see the pages. Each time he notices, a small smile tugs on his lip, and he pulls the journal a little tighter towards himself. Arthur’s carbine rests between you two on the rock, next to a little bag of candies that he had picked up when you were in town a few days ago. Currently, your nose is in a book, but you haven’t been reading it for a few moments, instead peeking over the pages at Arthur. It’s nice to get away from camp for a bit. The past few days you’ve spent doing house chores for Grimshaw. She was less than happy when you “Went to the saloon all day with the men” as she put it, those couple days ago. She made sure that you made up for the lost time, and you were stuck peeling potatoes for so long that your hands went numb. 

It’s a beautiful day, the sun shines brightly, and a warm breeze passes through the camp. Birds chirp, singing their tunes as they build nests in the trees above your head. A few rabbits have passed by, even a fox, filling up on food before the storm hits, another reason you’re avoiding your chores. Charles had warned everyone that by the look of the clouds, a big storm was coming, probably tomorrow. You’ll be damned if you spent the last nice day staring at Pearson’s apron or a laundry bin.

You watch as Arthur moves his eyes from the journal to the bag of sweets, and he reaches into it, pulling out a yellow candy. With an almost unnoticeable frown, he drops it back into the paper  bag, and pulls out a red one. He seems satisfied enough with this choice, and he brings the little treat to his lips. It’s been so long since you’ve had the pleasure of candy, and you’ve gone and eaten nearly half the bag. You haven’t had money for pleasantries in a long while, not since your momma died anyway. 

“You don’t like the lemon ones?” You ask, reaching into the bag and pulling out the one he had dropped back inside. You pop it into your mouth, eyes slipping shut in bliss from the sweet, tart flavor of the candy. Arthur looks up at you for a quick moment, scanning over your face with a chuckle before trailing back down to his journal. 

“Nah, I like 'em well enough, but I noticed they’re your favorite. Didn’t wanna take all the good ones from ya.” 

You smile, grabbing another yellow candy from the bag just as you feel the remnants of the last one finish dissolving. You missed hard candies. They weren’t exactly high on your list of priorities before joining the gang. You put your book down, a piece Marybeth had let you borrow. You’ve read it a few times, and you already know exactly what the pages entail. However, you don’t know what the pages of Arthur’s journal look like. 

“Whatcha drawin’?” You ask, criss crossing your legs on the boulder. Arthur huffs a laugh, having expected this question. 

“Nothin’ much, just somethin’ little.” Arthur whispers. You’re confused as he leans down towards the grass, plucking a dooryard violet from a little patch of the wildflowers. So many of Arthur’s actions throw you for a loop. He’s so… dynamic, constantly showing you new sides to him that you would never expect. 

He unsheathes his hunting knife, quickly snipping the stem of the flower off. Now what really throws you off is when Arthur leans over, concentrated, and tucks the flower behind your ear. He adjusts your hair accordingly. 

“There,” He whispers, settling back into his former position to admire you. “Purple looks good on you, well except when it's your cheek that's purple but-” Arthur jokes, nodding to your bruised cheek, and you laugh, shoving him a bit. 

“I was just about to say that you’re goin’ soft, but now you’re makin’ fun of me. I guess things are back to normal.”

Arthur’s face turns to mock hurt, as he squints at you. 

“I ain’t goin’ soft.” He chides. 

You placate him, putting your hands up. 

“Alright, whatever you say, Mister.” 

With a smile, you pick your book back up. Arthur reaches into the bag of candy, pulling out a yellow one. Words need not be said as he mumbles to get your attention, and when you look up, he tosses the little yellow candy towards you. You catch it, tossing it into your mouth and thanking him. It’s quiet as both of you pick your books back up. It’s nice, with you both silently enjoying each other's company. You’re lost in the world of Jane Eyre, and Arthur lost in his journal. Every so often Arthur will peek up from his book, glancing at you for a moment before returning to his sketching. 

You reach the bit of the novel where Helen is lying on her deathbed, finally succumbing to tuberculosis. This particular scene has been read and reread by you many times, but it still manages to choke you up. Helen is so brave in the face of death, so sure of the paradise that will await her. And poor Jane, another loss, another grief. You’re not sure what happens after death, but if there is an afterlife, you’re not so sure you’ll be on the pleasant side of it. Tears begin to prick the sides of your eyes as Helen speaks her last line to Jane, begging her not to grieve, beckoning her to find joy. Arthur eyes you curiously from the side of his eyes, wondering what about that little book has you so in your head. With a sigh, you finish the chapter and sniffle, placing the book down to take a breath. Arthur’s charcoal stills on the paper as he hesitates, a question on his lips. 

“What's goin’ on in that head a yours? Tough read?” Arthur asks, gesturing to the little ruby colored book in your hands. You meet his gaze with a raised eyebrow, placing the book down on it’s opened pages to keep  your spot. 

“How about a compromise? I’ll tell ya…if you show me what you’re drawin.” 

Arthur’s eyes turn dark with mock threat as he whispers, tone gravelly. 

“Never.”  He chuckles, and you sigh dramatically. 

You both slip into a comfortable silence again, and you find yourself bored. You don’t feel like reading any more, and you’ve picked through most of the yellow candies, so in a futile attempt to distract yourself you toy with your spurs, flicking the rowel and watching as it spins. Arthur notices this, and he huffs. He’s noticed in the past few weeks that you’re always keeping your hands busy, always toying with something or other. He thinks back to when you were tracing constellations on his palm in the bath, and his head hangs low with some shame, and a pain. 

“I uh- I been meanin’ to apologize…” Arthur mumbles, eyes fixated on his book. 

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, what on earth does he have to apologize for?

“The other day in Valentine, in the bath house. I overstepped- or I misread the situation n’ Im sorry. Never meant to make you uncomfortable, Star.” Arthur all but whispers, a heavy feeling settling in his gut because he doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to push you away, and he is. 

Immediately your heart sinks, you’ve been meaning to have this conversation, practicing your words when you lie awake at night, unable to sleep. But all the things you wanted to say slip from your mind.

“That wasn't… you didn't-" You mumble, at a loss for words. There's so much you could tell him right now, so much you could explain. But you don't. No, instead you shove it down, pulling that unbothered facade over your face that has been protecting you from heartache for years. 

"We don't gotta talk about it, Arthur." You whisper, flicking the rowel of your spurs and avoiding his eye contact. 

You can still see it though, as Arthur leans back, cocking his head with a downcast face. He wants to talk about it, but you can't. 

With a sigh, you lay back against the rock, hands behind your head to look up at the clouds. As soon as your back hits the rock, Arthur sighs, humorously irritated. 

"Dammit woman will you just- " Arthur chuckles, pulling you back up to a sitting position by grabbing your forearm. 

"Just hold still for a minute, I'm tryin' to do somethin…" Arthur smiles because you're always moving, you can't sit still, and a moving model proves to be a difficult one. 

You go back to your sitting position, and Arthur leans over towards you, adjusting the violet in your hair. Your eyebrows are pulled together in confusion for a moment until you spot the little journal sitting in his lap, closed over his charcoal. Your eyes go wide, and your lips crack into a shocked smile.

Arthur leans back, picking the journal back up and opening it. For a few seconds his eyes run over the soft features of your face, and then he looks down to his paper.

"You're- You're drawin' me ?" You ask, perplexed, honored.

When Arthur glances up, seeing the look on your face, he gets nervous. He probably should have asked your permission first. He didn't mean anything strange by the drawing, and he doesn't want you to think that. 

Arthur scratches the back of his neck, searching for words to explain, but falling short.

"Uh- yeah, I am. But I don't mean anything odd by it. I just like to draw things that I like or that I find- Well, I don't know, usually I draw things that I think are pretty. Like nature n' plants and uh…" Arthur rambles, terrified you're gonna think he's some type of pervert. A smile blossoms across your face, a full, genuine one. He's dug himself in with his words he realizes when you lean in toward him, voice quiet. 

"...and me?" You ask, finishing his sentence. Arthur smiles crookedly, eyes on the paper as he responds. 

"Yeah, like you." 

You smile, content. Arthur continues sketching. The quiet scratching of charcoal on paper is the only reminder that he's still beside you as you slip your eyes shut, soaking up the last of the sun. You listen to his sketching, to his breathing, and the little sighs and chuckles he lets out when you move too much. He knows you can't sit still, it's just one of those little things about you. 

After a while, the sketching stops, and you peek one eye open, glancing down at Arthurs hands. He sets the charcoal down, closes the book and then dusts his hands off of his jeans. 

"You gonna let me see it?" You ask, turning towards him, adjusting the flower in your hair. 

"I never really shown anyone this… My new one or my old." Arthur says, quietly. 

"You don't gotta, it's okay." You reassure, sincerely. He's very closed off about the journal, and you respect that. Having one yourself, you understand the desire to keep it hidden away. Arthur thinks for a moment, looking down to the leather bound journal in his hands. 

"Here," he whispers, opening it to the correct page and handing it towards you. You hesitate, not wanting to push him, but he nods for you to go on.

"It's just for fun, I'm not real good or anything." Arthur adds, always having a lesser opinion of his works. 

You very gently take the pages from his hands, pulling the book towards you. You cover your gaping mouth in shock. Anytime Arthur has previously mentioned his drawings he downplayed them greatly. You should have expected this, as he always down plays his talents. But you had expected messy scribblings, doodles. 

What Arthhr has created is beautiful. He intricately copied your face onto the paper, perfectly portraying you in his own style. His shading is perfect, contouring your face and the bright smile plastered onto it. He's drawn the violet, sticking out from behind your ear. 

"Arthur…" You gasp, taken aback by his artistry. Next to the journal is a little note, accompanied by your name, spelled out in all caps, and a little drawing of the north star. 

She joined me for my guard shift again. We was bored so I started drawing while she read something or other. She looked real pretty with that flower in her hair, oh and she likes YELLOW CANDIES.

Arthur blushes a bit, embarrassed that you've read his thoughts, but he knows you won't judge him for it. Make fun of him, however? Knowing you, you will. He chuckles, glancing up to your face. 

A throat clears behind you both, and you jump, turning to see Hosea standing there. He curiously eyes Arthur's journal in your hands, eyes flickering between the two of you, knowing that you're the first person he's ever shown those pages to. 

"How's your watch goin'?" Hosea asks, knowingly quirking a brow. 

"Just fine, now whatchu need?" Arthur asks, gently taking the journal back and binding it up. Hosea is unshaken by Arthur's attitude, having dealt with it for nearly twenty years. 

"Your horse. I'm heading to the stables to buy a new ride, but I need a way to get there." Hosea answers. 

"Thought that was your horse there? Why don't you ride him down to the stables?" Arthur asks, gesturing up the slope towards the hitching posts to where a massive black shire horse resides. You don't recall seeing the beastly animal before, but then again you've been stuck with Miss Grimshaw. 

"Yes, well I'm giftin' that bastard to you. He's a nasty son of a bitch, and I'm too old to be thrown. I nearly died a handful of times just getting him back here. I stole him from a fella on the road a few days back, now Karmas got me." Hosea says, angrily gesturing towards the stallion who is pinning his ears and pawing the ground impatiently. 

"He can't be all bad. You know anything about him?" You say, eyebrows pulled together as you stand up, walking up the slopes to the posts. The two boys follow you. 

"Well before I robbed him of his horse and his hunting map, me and this fella got to drinkin'. He was boasting about this damn thing, and said it was immortal. Apparently he was ridden by a bounty hunter before this, and got hit with more bullet shrapnel than you'd believe. Somehow he managed to stay alive. Fella was drunker than a skunk though, so I reckon you should take it with a grain of salt."

You stand back with Hosea as Arthur steps towards the uneasy animal. The horse stomps, ears pinned, and Arthur coos to him, hands up in surrender to the animal. 

"That boys' always had a way with animals." Hosea remarks, watching as Arthur calms the shire enough to pet it. His hands meet the dark horse's neck as he shushes. After a few moments, the horse begins to calm. His tail stops swishing, his ears prick to the sides, listening to Arthur and his lip becomes loose. 

"Real good, boy. Now don't go kickin me, I'm just gonna take a look, I ain't gonna hurt ya." Arthur coos, running his hand from the horse's front shoulder down to its hock and pastern. He whistles lightly, pulling his hand back up. 

"Feller weren't lyin'. Legs are covered in old scars. It's a miracle he didn't die from infection or just get put down." Arthur says, patting the horse's croup before backing up, eyeing the horse from a few steps back. 

"He got a name?" Arthur asks, and Hosea shakes his head. 

"No, never given one." Hosea adds.

"Reckon I'll start callin you Balius, you're a strong one." Arthur says, moving back towards the horse and picking up his hoof, checking over the state of it. 

"Balius…?" You ask, not sure why Arthur would have picked that name. It's beautiful,  but foreign to you. 

"Ah, Balius. An immortal horse, a gift from Poseidon." Hosea smiles, looking at Arthur and the horse. 

"Arthur, he's a smart one. Too humble to show it often, I'm afraid." Hosea whispers to you. 

You think back to Boadicea. Arthur must take some interest in history and mythology. You curiously watch him, seeing Arthur in a different light. 

"Okay, I can take him off your hands. Go ahead and ride my Walker to the stables. Just board him there for now, I'll see how this big guy does." Arthur says, pulling an oatcake from his satchel and feeding it to a now calm Balius. 

You glance to the unhitched horses, seeing your buckskin grazing with the other gang member's horses. He's a small thing, not much muscle on him and Colter certainly didn't help that fact. He's a good horse, but not what you need. You need something strong and quick, something younger. 

"I'll join you, Hosea. I've been meaning to get a new ride for a while." 

"I might as well go too, get him checked out by a stable hand. He's gonna need a different saddle. Boadicea's is still down in Blackwater and the saddle on the walker is a piece a' shit." Arthur pipes in. Hosea places a hand on each of your backs as he smiles, leading you towards the unhitched horses. 

"I'm not sticking around, I'm afraid. Once I get this horse I'll be heading back up to ambarino for a hunt. I hear that there's a beast of a bear up there." 

Arthur stops, hands on his belt as he raises an eyebrow. 

"You want help with it? Y'aint so young no more, Hosea." Arthur asks, not wanting to overstep, but worried about Hosea's cough and age. Taking on a bear is hard for someone your age, let alone Hosea's. Hosea hesitates.

"Star's daddy was a gunsmith. Sure she knows her way around what we need and I can track better than you, let us go, as long as the lady wants to." Arthur adds, looking over to you quickly. 

"Alright, suppose some company would do me some good up in the mountains." Hosea nods, glancing behind him at the horses. 

"I reckon me and Arthur get these horses saddled up. I'll have Charles take the rest of your shift. Dear Star, why don't you go pack a bag, we may be away a few nights. Oh and check in with Dutch, he was asking for you. Tell him we're heading out for a day or two." Hosea orders around, and you nod, anxiety pooling in your gut.

"Dutch was askin for you?" Arthur asks, shooting a look at you and then Hosea. You nod, biting your lip.

"Yeah, said he wants to get to know me on a more personal level… Whatever that means." You mumble, and Arthur's face is drawn up in distaste. Without another word, you head towards your tent. 

You wave at Jack on the way, noticing that Abigail and John are fighting again. You feel bad for the boy, caught up in this life. You ignore the hungry cries of the O'driscoll, tied to a tree on the other side of camp. Dutch is a fool for bringing him here. With a sigh, you part the canvas to your tent, drawing the flaps closed behind you. A little wooden box rests on your bedside table, a gift from Tilly after you'd done her a favor. You pick up the wooden box, hand resting in the lid, and yet you hesitate to open it. You know it's not gonna be good, maybe enough change for some canned goods, but not a horse, which you need.

Frustrated, you slam the box down harder than necessary. Your hand grabs an old saddle bag from under your cot, and you move to your wardrobe. 

You don’t have a tent kit, but you do have a bedroll, so you grab it and stuff it into the bag alongside a few pairs of jeans and some underthings. Damningly, you forget to grab your coat, leaving it stuffed in the bottom of your wardrobe. 

Once your bag is packed you can no longer ignore the wooden box that is haunting you. You sit down on your bed, picking it up and holding it in your lap. You pull the lid off, looking down to a measly five dollar bill. It's not chump change, but it won't help you with a horse. It's the last of the money you have from stealing in Tumbleweed. You hope that with the gang you'll never have to live like that again. You were barely making it, never knowing where you were gonna get a meal or sleep. Anytime you needed to purchase something you had to steal. And now here you are, thinking about how in the hell you're going to steal a horse. 

You pluck the bill from the box, fold it over and stick it into your satchel. 

"Can I come in?" A voice says from outside your tent. It's Arthur, and instinctually you smile.

"Sure c'mon." 

Arthur steps through the flap, coming over to your bed. You scooch over and he sits down beside you on your cot. 

"What's the matter?" Arthur asks, taking his hat off and placing it on the cot. You sigh, closing the box and putting it back on your table. 

"I still feel like I'm just runnin." You whisper, noting the double meaning of your words. 

"From what?" Arthur asks, no judgment in his eyes. 

"Everything," You huff, "Myself mostly. My past, my feelings. Just robbing and killing and lying to survive. I'm stuck back in Tumbleweed, Arthur. I have no money, I have nothin' to my name. I need a damn horse before this one up and dies on me but I can't even afford the cheapest one. I'm gonna have to steal a damn horse." You sigh, running your hands through your hair, plucking out the violet and twirling it between your fingers. Arthur rests his hand on your knee, and you look up to his ocean eyes. 

"Star, you got the whole gang now, okay? You don't gotta watch your back now, cause we all got it." You nod, knowing he's right and feeling better for it.

"I'll help ya get a horse, c'mon." Arthur says, patting your knee for good measure before standing up and placing his hat back on. 

"I'm not lettin you buy me a horse." You bite.

"Marybeth caught word of a train job. You come rob with us, n' get your cut, you can pay me back." Arthur says. You know he would never actually ask you to pay him back, he's only offering this to make you feel better.

Arthur extends his hand out to you, and once you take it, he pulls you up to your feet. He grabs your packed bag from the cot, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Alright, go check in with Dutch, I'll get your horse loaded."

Arthur holds the tent flap open for you, and once you exit he files out behind you. You go your separate ways then. Dutch's large tent seems to rise over the others, intimidating you. But you strengthen your resolve, walking towards it with purpose. 

Just as you reach to pull the canvas aside, Molly  pushes through the flap, knocking into you and pushing you to the side.

"I'm not blind, Dutch! I know what you're doing! You won't even TOUCH me anymore because you’re thinkin about her!" Molly yells, and her voice pierces the ears of everyone in camp. She points her finger at him, seething with rage before grunting loudly. 

"You're delusional. Again." Dutch says, rolling his eyes, frustrated. 

Molly flips him the bird before stomping off. Dutch only watches her go with distaste. 

"Sorry, I didn't intend to interru-" 

"Nonsense. I'm sorry. Miss O'shea has been… difficult as of late." Dutch says, clicking his tongue against the room of his mouth. He comes beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder and leading you into his tent. 

"Would I be correct in assuming that you've been avoiding me?" Dutch asks, groaning as he rests down into his chair. Everything about the man is dominating. His stature, his stance, his words. He demands respect, and those who don't give it to him receive a bullet. Naturally, with you being you, you test his boundaries. Arthur trusts Dutch, but he gives you an odd feeling.

"Why would I avoid you?" You chuckle, watching as some of the charisma bleeds from his eyes. He gets off on being frightening, and you've just insulted his resolve.

"Hmm." Dutch squints at you, unsure if you're just ignorant or if you're intentionally pushing his buttons. He grabs a cigar from the pack on his desk, placing it between his lips.

"I only came by to tell you that Hosea, Arthur and I will be off on a job hunting for a few days. They asked me to let you know."  

Dutch nods, holding a match to the candle on his table until it lights before bringing the lit match to his cigar. He makes you wait, lighting the cigar, slowly inhaling and then releasing the breath of air. 

"Okay… I hope you haven't forgotten about our little chat. I've got plans for you. As soon as you return, come see me. We've got a lot to talk about." 

You dip your head in understanding, and turn to exit. 

"And miss?" Dutch calls after you, and you stop, turning on your heels. 

"Hmm?" 

"Do be careful on that hunt. Be a real shame if somethin' scratched up that pretty little face." Dutch says, and your stomach rolls as you exit. 

You try to quell your anger, try to be the bigger person. Dutch is the one person who you cannot piss off. Your tongue gets you in trouble often but you won't let it leave you without a home. You move through camp, Dutch's remark playing through your head. The boys are waiting for you at the hitching posts, and they see your rage from a mile away. 

"Miss Star, what is it?" Hosea asks, checking his girth to make sure it's tight before climbing onto Arthur's horse.

"It's that prick." You snap, finger directed at Dutch's tent. 

"What's the fool gone and done now?" Hosea asks, grabbing the reins and adjusting in the saddle. 

"Dutch? He botherin you?" Arthur asks, glancing between you and Hosea. 

"Oh I can handle it just fine. Miss O'shea don't seem to be handlin' it so well though. Bastard makes her cry and then two seconds later starts tryin' to flirt with me." You growl, climbing into your saddle. You follow Hosea, cantering out of the Overlook. 

"He tried to flirt with you?" Arthur growls. 

"This isn't new for Dutch. He finds something shiny, new, and he wants it. Happened with him and Marybeth too, but I shut that down quick." Hosea yells back. 

"He knows better. I'll have a word with him when we get back." Arthur hisses, disappointed. 

"No. I've got it." You respond. 

"Don't mind him, hard as it may be. Lately he's been nothing but greedy when it comes to women. He's downright disrespectful, demeaning… Annabelle would be ashamed." Hosea shakes his head.

"Annabelle?" You ask, never having heard the name before. You turn in your saddle to look at Arthur. 

"She was Dutch's fiancé. Got killed by Colm O'driscoll." Arthur mutters, an old pain resurfacing. 

"She was a sweet girl. She was good for him, too, and kept him in line. Along with young Arthur over here. He and John were a pair of fools when they were kids. She was always badgerin' them." Hosea chuckles at the memory. 

"Nah, that was mostly Bessie. John used to steal my damn cigarettes all the time. Course that was my fault. God knows little Johnny Marston couldn't do no wrong." Arthur chastises.

"Oh be quiet, Arthur. We all knew you were sneakin them to him. Along with the booze." 

Your eyebrows are pulled together in confusion as the two bicker, and you laugh. 

"Yeah well gettin' the kid drunk was the only way to shut him up." Arthur explains. 

"Wait-" You laugh, "You all knew each other when you were kids?" You ask, trying to piece together the timeline, picturing them all younger.

"We brought Arthur in when he was only a boy, about fifteen if my memory hasn't lost me. Our first stray, our unruly son. For a long while it was just me, Dutch and Arthur. But then I found Bessie and Dutch, his Annabelle, and then eventually we took in John." Hosea explains, trotting over the railroad tracks into the auction yard. 

You can't help but chuckle, the thought of their younger years is a sweet idea. They really are a family, you can see that now 

"How did you end up with them? How did you end up doin' this?" You ask Arthur and then Hosea, spurring your horse.

"I was just a kid, livin' on the streets for a long while, stealin' to get by. The city weren't kind to me. After a few years I decided to get away, take my chances out in the woods. I needed a horse to get away from the city." Arthur explains as you slow your horses, riding towards the livery. Hosea chuckles, and you can't help but smile, wondering where this might be going. 

"So one day I'm sittin' on the sidewalk beggin' for spare change. See these two horses hitched outside the gunsmith, real fine horses. Saw a white one, knew it'd be quick and strong, just what I needed." 

You chuckle, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Get up close to it, no one's lookin' so I throw myself up into the saddle." 

Hosea is smiling brilliantly at the memory, as if he's back in the same setting. 

"That horse threw me faster than you could blink an eye. I'm layin' there on the street like a fool, feelin' sorry for myself when suddenly these angry lookin' outlaws peek over me, lookin' down at me in the mud." 

"And that was where we found him." Hosea laughs. 

You make a note to ask why Arthur was alone at such a young age. Your heart breaks at the idea of him, just a kid, begging for money in the streets. You've heard amongst the laughter of the gang that The Count won't take anyone but Dutch, and Arthur appears to have been the first to test that theory. You trot past the butcher's, making your way towards the stables. Once again, you pass the peculiar one armed man posing as a veteran. You nod to him lightly as you pass, and he smiles in return. 

"We can fill you in on old stories during our trek up the hills. There's a lot of goodones, especially about Arthur here." Hosea chimes, dismounting from Arthur's walker in front of the livery. 

"Great." Arthur says, sarcastically elongating the word.

You slide down from the buckskin, forgoing your eyebrows as you hear commotion on the other side of the closed stable doors. A horse shrieks, whinnying with fear as thumps sound out against the door. 

"Just grab her halter!" A man yells, and the stable doors shake from an apparently hard kick to them.

"I can't! She won't settle, goddamnit she's goin' through!" Another man screams, and suddenly the door cracks and is pushed open. 

A beautiful Palomino mare pushes through the door, terrified and angry. You jump back out of the way with a gasp, almost getting trampled by her. 

"Star, get back!" Arthur yells as the horse rears up, crying out with an ear piercing whinny. 

"I got her!" One of the stable boys yells, swinging a lariat over his head. He releases a coil as the rope flies through the air, landing around the mare's neck. 

The rope only seems to terrify her more, and she drags the poor stable hand who's heels drag in the dirt, trying to pull her in by force. 

You know that there's no way he could possibly force this horse to do anything. She's tall, lean and strong. Her piercing blue eyes are a symbol of her ancestors' spirit. She's a force to be reckoned with, an open flame, you can tell from just a glance. 

"Stop! Stop- you're scarin' her!" You call to the boy with the rope, handing your buckskin's reins to Hosea. You walk towards the spooked mare as she rears, hands placed up to placate her. 

"Be careful, miss, please. She's dangerous. Wasn't taken care of properly by her last owner n' now she don't trust men. Maybe she'll take to you." The man calls. 

You look to her sides, to the scarred over wounds on either side of her stomach where spurs have dug in harshly, and to the sores on her mouth from where a torturous bit has been yanked far too often. 

"Oh you poor girl." You coo, taking a step towards her. 

Arthur shifts behind you, wanting to just grab you and pull you backwards. But he knows by now not to question you. You can handle your own. Still, it doesn't help his anxiety as he glances at Hosea. 

The horse is locked onto you. She has stopped rearing, but she snorts and huffs, prancing and snorting nervously. 

"Drop the rope." You order the boy, but he hesitates, stuttering. 

"I- I can't, I shouldn't. She'll run off again, and my boss-" 

"The lady wasn't askin', now drop the damn rope." Arthur orders from behind you, and your lips crack into a small smile, grateful that he has your back, that he trusts your sometimes insane decisions. 

The kid obliges, immediately dropping it to the ground. Your fingers are crossed, and much to your relief, the mare stays put. 

Her crystal blue eyes are locked onto you, separated only by the thick, long white forelock that covers part of her face. Her golden coat is broken up by a thick white blaze, and she has four tall white stockings. 

"Easy there girl, I'm not gonna hurt ya." You whisper, inching towards her. She stomps her right hoof, ears pinned back. You stand still, waiting for them to pop back up before you continue. 

She has a presence about her, something deeply human about those eyes. There's a sense of understanding in them, a clarity that you find only in the rarest of beasts. 

"She's got that affinity for animals too, huh?" Hosea whispers to Arthur, looking between you and him. 

Hosea notices that Arthur doesn't turn his head, doesn't acknowledge the older man because his eyes are locked onto your back, watching as you approach the mare. Arthur is looking after you with a small smile, a glint in his eyes that Hosea hasn't seen in so long. He doesn't remember the last time he's seen Arthur with so much… life in his eyes.

"She's incredible ain't she?" Arthur whispers back, eyes glued onto you as he speaks. Hosea brings his hand up to Arthur's shoulder, offering it a light squeeze. 

"She sure is, son." 

Oblivious to their conversation, you shush to the horse, calming her down some. No one moves save for you, not wanting to interrupt this moment, lest the mare run off again.

"That's a good girl, see I'm friendly I swear it." You whisper, smiling as the horse stands steady on her feet, ears coming forward curiously towards you. Holding your breath, your fingertips reach out, inches away from her pale nose. She snorts, sniffing at you, gauging your intentions. 

At the same time, you move towards each other, and your fingers brush against her soft coat. At first the mare hesitates, but after a second she leans into your touch. You laugh, petting under her forelock. When you turn around to show Arthur what you've done, you find him sweetly looking over you, eyes bright, proud. 

You gently reach and grab the rope from her neck, using it to lead her back towards the stables.

"I ain't never seen nothing like it miss! She just- she just calmed right down for ya!" The stableboy says excitedly as you lead the mare back inside, followed by Hosea and Arthur with the other horses.

Hosea and Arthut deal with their horses, selling, buying and stabling while you chat with the stable hand. 

"Can I help you with anything? Seein as you helped me out." The young worker asks you as the older one helps Hosea pick out a ride. 

You hold the mare's rope in your hand, scanning down over the other stalls. There's a dappled standardbred, a silver turkoman, a roan nokota, a morgan… nothing that catches your eye. 

You turn back towards the mare at your side, then to the stable boy. 

"I want her." You say, no chance of compromise in your voice. The stablehand looks at you oddly.

"You- you want her? Miss I don't think that's such a good idea, she ain't right in the head!" He explains, but you've found your resolve, and you are going home with this mare, one way or another.

"You turnin' down a customer?" You bite, raising an eyebrow at the boy and purposely drawing his attention to his boss. Surely the owner won't appreciate his hand turning away a paying customer. 

"No! No of course not, ma'am!" 

"That's what I thought. She have papers?" You ask him, and he turns around with a sigh. 

“Yeah she got papers.”

You nod, satisfied with the response.

“She’ll be nine hundred n’ fifty, miss.” The boy says, handing you your papers and your gut sinks. $950?  Quickly coming up with an idea, you smooth your face over with a small smile. 

“I'll take her for fifty.”

The boy laughs, snorting at your attempt at a bargain. 

“We already lost enough money on this horse. You can have her for nine hundred.” 

You squint, eyeing the man up and down. 

“Seventy five.” You bite. 

“I'm sorry lady, that just ain’t happenin’. This is one of the nicest horses we’ve had, and I can’t just hand her to you for nothin.” He says, chuckling as if you’re crazy. 

“You sure about that? This horse nearly killed you.” You lean back on your heels, eyebrows raised, “You said she don’t like men, right? If I walk away now are you even gonna be able to lead her to a stall?”

The boy glances between the horse and you, and the mare pins her ears at him, biting out as if she wants to rip him apart. He sighs loudly, running a hand over his face before looking back to you.

“Four hundred.” He offers you, and you squint, releasing a little of the mare’s lead so her bites and kicks towards the man land a little closer to his face. 

“Two hundred.” You bite, and the man rolls his eyes. 

“Listen, lady, my pa will kill me-” He starts but you interrupt him. Hosea and Arthur have already checked out and boarded their horses, and they watch you with amused chuckles. 

“You’re startin’ to piss me off mister! Would you rather your pa kill you, or this horse? Cause the more you continue to irritate me, the looser this rope gets, and, the lower my offers get. Now, let's try that again. I’ll take her for one hundred.” You bite, leaving go of some more rope and the man has to back up to avoid the mare’s pinned ears and kicks.

“Jesus! Fine, a hundred works. Just, get her away from me.” The boy yells, and you pull her rope back in towards you, calming her down with a very satisfied smirk on your lips. 

Arthur pays the man the hundred dollars, and you switch saddles from your buckskin before stabling the horse. Arthur picks out some carrots for everyone’s new horse’s and before long the three of you are walking out satisfied, with three new rides. You stop outside of the stables as everyone mounts up. Hosea had purchased the turkoman, and now he swings a leg over it with a very satisfied grin. 

“So we all got new rides, eh?” Hosea chuckles, waiting for you and Arthur to mount up.

“It seems so.” Arthur chuckles, watching as you comfort your palomino before getting up into the saddle. She feels nice to ride, got solid feet, and she doesn’t buck or fret. You pat her neck once you’re in the saddle, and then signal to the boys that you’re ready to head out.

“This one should do me good. Got nice bloodlines, a good age.” Hosea says, waiting for Arthur to mount up. 

“What about her? You pick out a name yet?” Arthur asks, pointing lightly towards your horse for a moment. You frown slightly. 

“No. I ain't much good with pickin’ names out truthfully, maybe somethin’ will come to me eventually.” You mumble

“Awe, well ya gotta pick somethin’ out. Horse as fine as that needs a proper name… She’s a spitfire for sure. You gotta find a name that fits her spirit too.” Arthur explains, placing a foot into the saddle and swinging a leg over. You hum, thinking. 

“Well what would you name her, Arthur?” Hosea asks, turning his horse around to butt in a little. 

“Oh, I don’t know, I was just thinkin-”

“C’mon, what would you pick? Tell me.”You interrupt his ramblings and Arthur looks down at his saddle horn. 

“I guess I’d call her Athena. War, wisdom, beauty, sure seems to fit her description.” Arthur says, looking the mare over. Hosea smiles a bit, as do you because you can’t believe he’s hidden this apparent interest in mythology from you. First Balius, now Athena? He’s so complex, you smile.

“Athena” You test out the name, liking the way it rolls off your tongue, and even the mare’s ears prick up when you say it. 

“Athena it is…” You whisper, smiling as you lean to pet the mare's neck. Arthur chuckles, watching the two of you. 

“We best be on our way then, by the time we get up there it’ll be good huntin’ hours.” Hosea calls out, trotting up the road. You and Arthur follow after him, making a triangle formation up the main road. You all pass the building that's half built, and you notice they’ve made some more progress, as wooden beams stick up, framing the roof. There's a ‘coming soon!’ sign plastered out front. 

“Say what are they building there, anyway?” You ask, watching as the workers carry cut beams and tools. 

“A blacksmith I hear, some real peculiar feller. They say he's real… imaginative. Sounds to me like he’d be better off in a city, but he liked the ‘quaintness’ of Valentine.” Hosea pipes up from ahead. 

“He’s… imaginative?” You ask, unsure of the creative limits to Blacksmithing of all things.

“They say he makes decorations, jewelry, all kinds of peculiar trinkets and the like. Alongside regular stuff, of course. He makes tools, and the odd bits are more of a side gig.” Hosea explains, trotting around the bend past the sheriff’s office. 

“Strange…” You mumble, glancing back at the building one last time before it disappears behind the sheriff's office. 

“Where exactly we headin’?” Arthur asks, spurring Balius into a canter now that you’re all out of town. 

“A little stead, called O'Creagh’s run. Beautiful hunting up there, but it’s a bit far.”

“Let’s ride, then.” Arthur responds, and you all push your horses into a gallop. You use vocal cues, not wanting to touch Athena’s sides with your spurs. She responds well, and within no time you’re all galloping back up north. 

— — — — 

A few long hours later you finally arrive. O’Creagh’s run is a beautiful little place, with wildflowers, grassy hills and a glass-clear pond with massive fish swimming through it. As you ride past, you see a man in a boat, fishing over the waters. 

“Just a bit further, we can leave the horses up ahead off the road.” Hosea says, veering from the road and trotting up a small hill. Big boulders stick out of the ground in places, and you maneuver Athena around them. 

Hosea leads you to a little opening, and he slides down from his horse. 

“Why don’t you grab that gun? And whatever bullets you see fit. We’ll let dear Arthur here shoot the bastard.” Hosea chuckles, pulling out a map and looking it over for a few moments before nodding. 

“Alright this is the place to start lookin.” Hosea says as you pull the springfield rifle from your saddle, loading it with express bullets.

“And what exactly are we lookin’ for?” You ask, never having hunted before. 

“Bear shit, tracks, fur, blood, anythin’ really.” Arthur answers, patting Balius before coming towards you.

You nod, falling into step with Arthur as you both follow Hosea. The three of you walk around for a long while, scanning the ground, slowly inching around. You see nothing but rocks, grass, leaves, and sticks. Arthur has noticed that you sigh loudly every few minutes, kicking a rock or a stick out of your way as you grumpily walk around in search of anything.

“Arthur, this is boring as hell.” You whisper out of earshot from Hosea. Arthur chuckles lightly, rubbing at his stubble.

“You won’t be sayin’ that when there's a half ton beast comin’ at you.”

“If we ever find it that is.” You huff, crossing your arms as you follow the men. After a few minutes, Hosea stops, waving you both to come over. 

“Bear dung here, fresh.” Hosea explains, looking over the pile. 

“Never thought I’d be glad to hear it…” You mumble under your breath. 

“How close you think, Arthur?” Hosea asks, looking up to the younger man. 

“I reckon he ain’t far. See a few tracks here,” Arthur points in the direction of the disturbed trail. “They disappear up here, it splits off into two trails.” 

You look at the two trails. One wraps around the side of the hill, and the other continues through a valley. You’re tired of standing around, walking slow  and looking at bear shit, so you nod, walking through the valley. 

“Where you goin?” Arthur asks, gesturing to you with furrowed brows. You turn around, slowly walking backwards to yell at him. 

“Goin’ to find this thing!” You holler back, and Arthur sighs, telling Hosea to go with you while he searches the other trail. 

You wait for Hosea to catch up to you, chuckling as Arthur stomps up the hill in the other direction. 

“I don't mean to question your thought process, but what's your plan if we do come across this bear?” Hosea asks as you pull your rifle around into your hands. 

“Well I guess I’ll shoot it. N’ if that don’t work, you go get Arthur, or we run, I don’t know.” You admit, shrugging your shoulders lightly, “Wasn’t this your idea?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah but now that we’re actually here, I’m wondering if this was a bad idea.” Hosea huffs, and you crack a smile. 

You walk the trail for a while, not really seeing much for about ten minutes. Just as you're about to turn around you see something on the grass up ahead. You jog up to it, crouching to the ground. 

"Hosea, I found a fish! He's eaten most of it, he can't be far now." You chime, looking at the fresh blood and teeth marks. 

"Uh, Star?" Hosea calls your attention, barely over a whisper. Slowly, you turn around. 

Hosea is standing facing away from you, frozen in a statue-like stance. About forty feet down the trail stands the largest bear you've ever seen in your life. Its face is scarred, an eye is missing. On all fours this bear is as tall as you, and your breath hitches in your throat. 

"Don't move." Hosea whispers, as the bear inches forward. You can't help it, fear taking over as you stand up from your crouch. 

You take a step backwards, and your boot squishes right down onto the fish. The slip surprises you. Instinctually, you gasp, pulling your foot back away quickly with a yelp. 

The bear's ears prick forward at your noise and motion, and he roars, spit flying from his mouth as he charges. 

"Oh SHIT!" You scream as the bear charges straight forward. Quickly, you pull your rifle around and fire. You hit the bear in the leg, and then in the shoulder, and you curse your shaking hands. The bear charges for Hosea, but as you continue trying to shoot it, it switches direction, coming straight for you. You gasp, pumping bullets into it, missing some, hitting random areas and grazing it in others. It will not go down.

You cry out as the bear gets closer, firing once again before it runs into you, a paw against your chest as it knocks you to the ground. Your rifle is knocked away from your hands, and lies uselessly far away in the dirt. Your heart pumps rapidly as the bear roars in your face, ready to tear you to pieces. 

You quickly reach down, unsheathing your knife as the bear's claws against your chest push down painstakingly. Your ribs ache from the impact of hitting the ground so hard, but you can do nothing about it as you plunge your knife into the bear's chest. It yelps, snarling and growling as you pull the knife out, sinking it back in until the bear falls to the ground at your side with a yelp. 

You pant, chest rising and falling rapidly as you lay on the ground. Your eyes slip closed as you drop the knife to the ground. 

"Am I dead?" You whisper, peaking an eye open, relieved to see the setting sun. 

"Oh my God, Star, are you alright?" Hosea calls out from his position backed against a tree on the ground. You ask yourself the same question, noticing that it hurts when you breathe, your ribs ache and there are some scratches against your collarbone where the bear had dug his claws in, but other than that you're okay. 

"Think so." You hum, just as Arthur approaches, sprinting down the grassy patch. 

"What in the hell happened?" Arthur yells, glancing between you and Hosea and the bear, dead at your side. 

"We found the bear." You whisper, placing a hand over your ribcage and hissing. 

"The bear found us." Hosea corrects, standing up from the ground with a sigh. 

"I'm sorry dear girl. I wouldn't have brought you up here if I would have known." Hosea says, feeling guilty. 

Arthur comes over to the grass where you are lying, and he sits down beside you. 

"You alright?" He asks, seeing where a deep patch of blood soaks through your shirt. It's not yours, but he's sure you're hurting somewhere. 

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just let me lay here for a minute n' feel sorry for myself." You whisper, breath coming down from its heightened pace as you slip your eyes closed. 

"I'm afraid my age seemed to have slipped me. I ain't as young as I used to be and it shows. I'm shaken up beyond repair, think I'll return to camp to lick my wounds." Hosea chuckles, "You folks comin' with?" He asks. 

Arthur glances down at you, noticing the way you cling to your ribs. You shouldn't be riding, it's probably best that you rest for the night.

"We'll set up camp here, be back in the mornin'. She should just rest for now." Arthur responds, and you're relieved for it. A few hours' ride home does not sound fun, and besides, you packed a bag in case. 

"Okay." Hosea smiles, "I'll see you kids then, be safe." 

Then Hosea directs his attention to Arthur. 

"Take care of her, son." 

With that, Hosea leaves, whistling for his new horse and trotting off into the night with it. Once he's out of the trees, Arthur looks to you. 

"C'mon, I'll set us up a camp. Looks like that storms finally comin' in." 

You think back to what Charles had said about the rain, and peek up to the evening sky, colored with black clouds. 

Arthur pulls you to your feet and you groan, before he whistles for the horses. 

"I'll get you settled then get that bear." Arthur hums and you nod. 

Arthur starts a little fire a ways away, getting it set up with his percolator and an iron cooker. Once it's set up nicely, he goes back to skin the bear. You grab your bag from Athena, rolling out your little bedroll on the grass before sitting down on it criss-crossed. The night is cold, and you dig through your bag searching for your coat. 

You groan, realizing that you must have forgotten it at home. Rain starts to drip down quietly, just a sprinkle, but it's enough to chill you to the bones as you bring your knees up to your chin. 

"Why ain't you got a coat on? You're shiverin'." Arthur points out, walking back toward you with a pelt and a bundle of bagged meat in his hands. His eyebrows are drawn together as he comes forward.

"I forgot it." 

Arthur chuckles, setting his things on the ground beside the fire before going towards Balius.

"Course ya did." He chuckles pulling something from his saddlebag before coming up behind you. You crane your neck up to look at him as he drapes a coat over your shoulders. It's tan with a warm wool interior, it's warm, and you wrap it around your body as tight as you can, shivering. 

The coat is so big on you, it swallows you up, and you relish in the warmth. But the most intriguing aspect of it is the scent. The coat smells just like Arthur, like gunsmoke and tobacco and something else so indescribably him that you dig your frozen nose into the fabric. 

"Don't you got a tent…?" Arthur asks kindly, worried over you. He places a few cuts of bear meat over the cooker on the fire, eying you as he does. 

"Hm hm" You mumble, shaking your head no. 

"Why didn't you say somethin'? Here let me put mine up, you can sleep in there for the night." Arthur says, checking to make sure the bear meat won't burn before he starts gathering the materials to build your tent. 

"Why don't you change into a fresh pair of clothes. Your shirts covered in blood, that can't be helpin' your chill. N' you can check for any cuts that need bandaged up." Arthur suggests, down on one knee across the fire, stabbing the beam supports into the wet soil. 

"I ain't just gonna strip down right here. Especially not with you right here." You point out. Arthur stands up, tying together the posts. 

"Get changed. You're freezin' to death n' you're worried about a gaze when we're in the middle of nowhere." Arthur chuckles, shaking his head at your stubbornness. You look down at your ruined clothes, blood spattered across your torso from stabbing the bear in the heart whilst he was right over you. 

"Fine but you better not peek." You say, standing up and walking over towards Athena.

"Star-" Arthur sighs, laughing, "I ain't gonna peek." 

"Good. Cause if you do peek I'll have to kill ya," You smile. "No man's ever laid eyes on me indecent before, and that sure as hell ain't changin' now." You mumble, not even thinking about your words. Arthur however, stiffens, hands stilling where they were pulling the canvas over his tent. His shoulders tighten and he swallows thickly. No man…? Ever…? 

He coughs, awkwardly. 

"Alright well, uh. Hurry up." He mumbles, putting all of his focus onto the tent and forcing himself not to turn around. 

You take his coat off, letting it fall to the grass. Arthur counts the pieces of clothing as they fall, flinching each time a new piece hits the ground. It seems to be forever until you're undressed, but eventually you stand naked in the night. You're facing away from eachother. And if he did turn around, he would be met with your exposed backside… but he won't. He's a gentleman and he's made a promise that he intends to keep. 

You stand bare facing Athena, digging through your saddlebag as a slight panic starts to creep up your neck. The rain has picked up, coating you in a cold, yet glistening wet. You dig through the bag, realizing that you hadn't brought a shirt. You were so worried about Dutch and money that you didn't bring the most basic of necessities. You shiver, covering your breasts with your hands. 

"Arthur…?" You ask, sounding so coy and small, it's foreign to your ears. 

"Everything okay? You decent?" Arthur asks, swallowing thickly.  

"No! No, I didn't… I didn't bring a shirt." You say, quietly. 

"Oh… Go ahead n' take one from my bag. It'll swallow you up, but be better than nothing." Arthur answers, finishing the tent as the rain picks up. He makes an obvious attempt not to look at you as he turns around, grabbing the meat from the fire and taking it into the tent. 

"Just come in here when you're ready." He hollers from inside. 

You go over to Balius, leaning up on your tiptoes to reach into the shire's bag. Your fingers brush against a soft cloth, and you pull out a neatly folded jade green shirt. It's long sleeved, it'll be warm and it smells like him. You smile, pulling it over your bare body. The shirt comes down to your mid thighs, and the top buttons are undone three holes down, leaving a little of your chest exposed, including three scratches from the bear along your collarbone. You frown at it, pulling his coat back on before reaching for your undergarments and sliding them up your legs. 

Your jeans are destroyed, muddied and caked in fur and blood. You don't bother to put them on, knowing they're garbage. Instead you opt to just wear the shirt. It covers you enough, and you prefer sleeping without pants anyways. 

You grab your saddlebag, running through the rain until you break through the tent flap, finally escaping the cold water.

"Jesus, cold huh?" Arthur laughs at the way you've barreled into the place. He has turned the whole floor into a bed, as there's not much room. The two bedrolls beside each other take up the whole floor. Arthur sits up, two plates in his hand, and he holds one out to you.

"Frozen." You whisper, sitting on your knees and wrapping Arthur's coat further around you before taking the plate from him. He's cooked up the bear, seasoning it with some oregano and thyme, and you smile for it. 

"Maybe if you were wearing pants, ya wouldn't be so cold." Arthur chuckles, forcing his eyes away from the glistening rain on your thighs. 

"Yeah well I don't want to." You bite, getting an idea, "Oh! Arthur, I brought rolls!" You chime, digging through your saddlebag until you find the little dinner rolls. You hand him one, and he lifts it up in a little toast. 

"Thanks, look, we're havin' a proper dinner." Arthur chuckles. 

"Yeah for once." 

You eat and chat, enjoying each other's company for a long while. The rain on the tent roof is comforting, and the thunder that usually frightens you doesn't seem so bad now that you're with him. After you've both had your fill, he puts the plates away. You're still shivering, and Arthur's too big shirt slips down over your shoulder. 

His eyes flicker to your exposed shoulder, and you go to pull the cloth back up but he knocks your hand away. 

"You didn't tell me he scratched you." Arthur mumbles, eyes flickering up to your own as you shrug your shoulder away from his touch, covering it again. 

"Just a scratch." You whisper, looking down to the sore wound. 

Arthur slides forward, chest towards yours, so close that your knees touch.

"Let me salve it." He whispers, and you look up to his crystal blue-green eyes. 

"It aint a big deal, Ar-"

"Please." He urges, eyes locked onto yours as you nod your head lightly. 

He reaches into his bag, pulling out the same little tin of poultice that he'd used on your thigh in Colter.

"I use this on you far too much. You oughta be more careful." Arthur whispers, and his breath floats down to your skin, warming you and causing a chill to run over you at the same time. 

He gently takes the collar of your shirt, well his shirt, and pulls it down to expose more of your chest and collarbone. You shiver, not from the cold, as he runs his finger alongside the scratch with feather-like lightness. 

"Steady." Arthur chuckles, a sound you're familiar with and he applies some salve to your cut. It's so intimate, another thing that's becoming familiar with Arthur, which terrifies you.

To calm your anxieties, you instinctually trace your fingers over the scar on your right thigh. Arthur notices, and he brushes your fingers away from your leg gently. 

"Still botherin' you?" He whispers against your skin. You shake your head, ignoring the way his fingers rest on your thigh. 

"N-no, just a habit I guess." You stutter, rendered speechless. Artgur focuses his attention back to your collarbone, neatly covering it with the poultice.

His lip quirks halfway up in a smile before he continues. 

"Didn't know if you was gonna make it down here after Colter. Thought that fever was gonna do you in." He mumbles, thinking about all that you’ve overcome. Your eyes are downcast, watching as his hand applies the salve to your scrapes. He finishes with your collarbone, and closes the tin up. 

“I didn’t know if any of us were makin’ it down from Colter.” You admit, watching as Arthur pulls the shirt back up over your shoulder. 

“I'm worried about Lenny,” Arthur sighs, “wherever he and Micah ended up. And I hope Sean is safe for now till we can get to him.” 

You nod, thinking about Sean stuck down in Blackwater. 

“Yeah, me too. Javiers’ down there with Josiah now. Charles should be heading down in a day or two to help him scope out the town.” You whisper, sighing before tying your hair up and lying down on your bedroll. Arthur hums, watching as you turn towards him on your side, curled up in a ball inside his coat. He chuckles, lying down on his own bedroll beside yours. He lies on his back, hands on his chest, thinking. You’re shivering still, even with his coat. Arthur takes his hat off, fully laying back while keeping an eye on you. He notices that your eyes are far away, your breathing slow and concentrated.

“Caught up in that head again. Whatcha thinkin’ bout?” Arthur asks, crossing his ankles as he intertwines his fingers over his stomach. You hum with a sad smile, drawn out of your stupor by his words.

“My parents… My past.” You admit, pressing one hand against the ground and propping your head up with the other. 

“After I shot that creditor I thought I’d never stop runnin from the law. There was so much blood on me, I thought I’d never wash it off.” You whisper, sighing and biting your lip to stop it from trembling. Arthur turns onto his side, mirroring you by propping his head up so you can talk face to face.

“I guess I haven’t yet. I still got blood on my hands.” You frown. Arthur nods, looking down at the space between the two of you. 

“Was he the only man you killed before joinin’ us?” Arthur asks, and your lip trembles. 

“No… After I left, I was nothing. Just a shell of a person, cared for nothin’, for no one. I was so damn angry. I killed bounty hunters, lawmen. I killed-” You choke on a sob, shoving it back, “I killed people that hurt me, n’ people who tried to hurt me.”

Arthur doesn’t speak, listening to your story. He wants to know how you’ve become so hurt, so afraid of feeling.

“God, my parents would be disappointed if they could see me now.” You chuckle, humorlessly. Arthur’s eyes slip shut with some pain, and he reaches out to brush a tear from your eye with his thumb. 

“Now Star, that ain’t true.” Arthur coos, heart breaking at your tears.

“Oh, it is. My daddy was anyway, when he was alive. You’d never come across a stricter man, in his later years anyway. Didn’t let me get away with or try nothin.” You huff, “Didn’t stop me from tryin’ though.” 

The wind howls outside, and you shove yourself tighter into your coat.

“Tell me about em.” Arthur asks, and you’re surprised by his curiosity, furrowing your brow, but continuing nonetheless. 

“They were in love, truest love you’d ever see.” You smile, and Arthur sees the sparkle in your eyes while recounting your childhood. “I was their only kid, their little miracle.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows pull together, and you rush to explain. 

“You see, the doctor said momma couldn’t have children n’ that's why she started callin’ me Star. She wished on em’ every night for a baby… Here I am.” You say, smiling sweetly and toying with the blanket of the bedroll. Arthur concludes that you’re right. You are a miracle. You had to have been made from some divine intervention, you're too perfect to be otherwise.

“She was feistier than me, even. I know where I got it from. N’ daddy was grounded, level headed and smart. They kept each other balanced. It was all near perfect… till momma got sick that is.” You mumble, looking up to Arthur. He’s smiling down at you, a warmth in his eyes that is piecing together the background of who you are. You blush, realizing that you’ve explained everything about yourself, and asked him nothing. 

“What about you?” You ask, “What was your childhood like?”

Immediately Arthur’s smile falters, and he lies back on his back, sighing. You’re afraid that you’ve overstepped, or upset him, but after a moment he opens up. 

“Nothin’ good.” He mumbles, a dark edge to his words. You leave yourself as an open ear, ready to offer him the same comfort that he’s provided you. You want to know about his parents, his life. Hell, you want to know everything about him, as long as he’s comfortable telling you. He has so many layers, so many contradictions.  You’re curious as to where they’ve all derived from.

“Momma died when I was just a kid, smallpox. After she passed it was just me and daddy. He was a cruel bastard, the type who enjoyed the pain he caused. See, I was more of his punchin’ bag than his kid. He made me steal for him, made me kill for him. I knew what would happen if I didn’t listen to him. Not that it mattered, nothin’ pleased him.” Arthur sighs, running his hand over his face. 

“Don’t talk about him much…” He whispers, afraid by how much he’s just opened up to you, afraid you’ll push him away. 

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.” You whisper, hand resting on his forearm. You want to say more  but what else can you say?

“Daddy was never kind, never good. He hurt my momma too, even when she was sick. My momma was good. She deserved so much better than that piece of shit. I wanted to protect her so badly. Was just a kid, n’ I wanted to kill him, Star. I saw what he did to her and…” Arthur’s fist clenches involuntarily, “I wanted to kill him.”

You’re at a loss for words, shocked and aching for the trauma he must have gone through. And just being a kid, he never felt sorry for himself. He just wanted to protect her. It speaks volumes about his personality, and you see pieces of that hurting little boy in Arthur today. 

“I ran away once, few months after she passed.” Arthur admits, looking up at the ceiling of the tent. 

“Just a boy, only eight or so. I didn’t get real far. He found me, made sure I never ran away again. He knocked some teeth out, just baby ones.” Arthur adds, as if that somehow makes it better, “even broke one of my goddamn ribs.”

“Arthur–” You interject, tears pooling in your eyes. He offers you a little smile, letting you know that he’s okay to continue. 

“I never ran away again, not till I saw him swing. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw me standin’ at the gallows, knowin’ I wasn’t gonna do anythin’ to stop it.” 

Tears slip down your cheeks, and you want to hug him, to hold him, to do anything to take this pain away from him. 

“I walked up to the gallows when it was over, picked his hat up from the mud. I wear it to remind myself who not to be… I know it's in me, I got his blood, his rage.” 

You glance to Arthur's hat on the ground, seeing the meaning behind it. For the first time since he’s started talking, Arthur looks at you. There are unshed tears in his eyes, ones that you wish you could wipe away. 

“How can you look at your wife, your boy, and wanna hurt them?” He asks, searching your eyes for some answer that you cannot provide. He inhales, forcing those tears back.

“He was a sick man,” Arthur growls, an anger coming over him, “I never would have hurt my son, Star. Not ever.” He hisses, and you sit up on your bedroll, eyebrows pulled together. 

“...Your son?” You ask, and Arthur curses, head in his hands.

You cross your legs, looking to him with no judgment, only worry. 

“Yeah, I had a boy… Isaac was his name.” Arthur starts, eyes slipping shut. He wants to tell you, wants to explain everything, but it's too much.

“Can we-” Arthur sighs, looking up to you with so much pain in his eyes that your heart shatters. 

“Can we just lay here for a bit? I wanna tell you everything, I do, but it's a lot, all at-” Arthur rambles, voice quiet. He stops when your hand finds its place on top of his own. 

“It’s alright, Arthur.” You say, sincerely. And you take his hands, pulling him up to a sitting position. To his surprise, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his head to rest on your good shoulder in a hug. 

“S’okay.” You whisper against his hair as Arthur snakes his hands around your waist. 

“I'm so sorry, Arthur. You didn’t deserve any of that pain.” You reassure him, but he brushes it off. 

“I was alright. All over now-” 

“Don’t. Don’t downplay your pain, it doesn’t work. I should know.” You whisper. 

You both stay like that for a while, neither onr of you wanting to pull away. Arthur is feeling more vulnerable than ever, but he trusts you more than anyone. He knows you’ll keep this between the two of you. 

"You're nothin' like him, Arthur. Nothing." You whisper, and Arthut nods, finally hearing the words that he's needed to hear for so long. 

After a few more minutes, Arthur pulls away, resting down on the bedrolls and patting the space beside him. He's just a little closer to your side than he was before. He wants to thank you, to explain that you've helped him in so many ways, saved his soul time and again, broken down the walls around his heart, but he's not sure how. 

You smile as you lie down next to him, soothed by the rain. Your hands are in between each other, resting on the blankets. After a while your heart beats faster, feeling his fingers brush against your own. Slowly, as if testing the waters, his hand moves closer to yours, until you both mutually intertwine your fingers. You smile as he runs this thumb over your knuckles. You’re the first to fall asleep, but even then, Arthur doesn’t pull away. The two of you are wholly comforted by each other's presence, just not quite sure how to show it.

— — — — 

The next day, you arrive back at camp feeling better. There's a weight off of your shoulders, having cracked away another one of your layers before Arthur. He feels relieved and more afraid all the same. He had told you more in one night than he’s told anyone. Even Hosea. Still, he doesn’t regret it. He’s glad to know that some of the dark conversation is over, and he can breathe a little easier now that it’s no longer weighing on him. As you dismount, hitching Athena, Arthur moves past you, tapping your arm with a little nod. You smile, just taking the mare’s saddle off as a loud voice calls to you from the otherside of camp. 

“You’re back!” Dutch hollers, arms outstretched as wide as the smile on his face. You turn to him, still wearing Arthur’s shirt alongside your old jeans. Dutch doesn’t miss this, and his eyes glance from you to Arthur in his tent, wondering exactly what you and Arthur got up to on your getaway. 

“I am.” You say with a sigh. 

“Good, now come with me.” Dutch says, and you know there's no room for argument as he leads you through camp to his oversized, white tent.

“What's this about Dutch?” You ask, irritated, as he holds the canvas up for you to walk under his arm into his tent. He enters after you, sitting down in his chair, propping a leg up on a wooden crate. 

“Everyone seems to be saying good things about you…” Dutch hums, looking over your body, sizing you up, to see where he can best play you like a damn chest piece. 

“That’s… good?” You somewhat ask, completely unsure of where he’s going with this. He leans back, the front feet of his chair tipping up into the air as he squints at you. 

“Why haven't you been on a job yet? A real one?” He asks, and you scoff. 

“I was on a job, with Arthur and Hosea, but you kinda threw a hitch in that plan when you blew up a goddamn boat.” You bite, harsher than expected. His tongue darts out over his lips, dark eyes scanning you over. 

“Marybeth got word of a train, sneaking through Lemoyne in the dead of the night- filled with rich passengers. It’ll be cruisin through virtually unprotected.” Dutch emphasizes the last word, a dangerous glint of power in his eyes as they flick up to you. He seems to have pieced together where he wants you, he's found a play for you to work for him.

“I want you there.” He says, pointing at you, at your brows pull together. 

“Alright…” 

“A lot of these boys- they’re good boys- they can shoot, and they can steal. But you? You’re a schemer, a player. I can see it in those eyes. You’re like me, like Hosea. We could use your head out there.” Dutch speaks as if his plan is coming together. 

“And I’ll get a cut?” You ask, making sure this isn’t charity work. 

“Of course.” Dutch responds. You nod, thinking it over. 

“Alright, whens it comin’ by?” You ask, and Dutch smiles at your eager attitude. 

“Few weeks. Talk with John and Arthur. Come up with a plan, do as you see fit.” He explains, and you nod, moving towards the exit. 

“Oh and miss?” Dutch calls after you, and you turn around. 

“Do make me proud. I'm not a man you want to cross.” Dutch warns, and you crack a smile, nodding at his attempt to frighten you. 

“Sure thing, Dutch.” You respond, and he sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking over you.

“That attitude. I would say it's not ladylike, but I've always been attracted to women with spitfire like yours.” Dutch says, voice almost as low as the glint in his eyes. You bite your tongue for a moment, adjusting your weight to your other foot, and cock your head.

“Molly know you’re sayin’ things like that, Dutch?" You hiss, and Dutch’s smile falters. His stare becomes menacing. 

“Molly and I are done-” He starts, and much to his growing rage, you interrupt him. 

“Yeah I can see why.” You snap at him. His face turns red with anger as he stands up, and the chair scrapes loudly from how quickly he gets out of it. He comes straight up to you, towering over you, but you don’t back up. 

“Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to?” Dutch growls, and you only smile sweetly, looking up to him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Dutch. I thought you liked women with ‘spitfire’ like mine.” You hum, watching as he steps back, shocked and insulted. You chuckle, parting the canvas of the tent. 

Causing the gang leader to hate you is probably not a great idea, but you can’t help it. He needs to be humbled by someone. And it's funny. He sits on his high horse, in his castle-sized tent, ordering everyone around while reading, listening to music and smoking cigars. You laugh at the contradiction in his philosophy. He is exactly what he swears to destroy: an overseer, a power hungry fool. Satisfied with your little victory over Dutch, you settle in your tent, pulling out your journal. 

It's been a busy few days. Got a new horse, Arthur calls her Athena. She is something special, by god. Beautiful Palomino, eyes blue as the sky. Took her up with Arthur and Hosea to catch a bear, but it nearly caught me first. Arthur and I stayed up there the night, it was real special. We talked a lot. He said things I'm sure he's never said before, and so did I. It was nice, having someone to talk to. I worry for him. There's so much pain in his heart, so much ache, old and deep. I hope that one day he can move on from it all, start anew. I guess I wish the same thing for me too…

[tac-the-unseen]

Slasher x reader request page!!!

Who I write for:

Michael Myers

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Billy Lenz

Brahms Heelshire

Hannibal Lecter

Will Grahm

The Lost Boys

(If you want to see a specific horror character that isn't listed send in an ask and I'll answer.)

What I write:

FLUFF

Angst

Occasional sumt

Gore (It's a slasher book What did you expect?)

Sfw Headcannons

Nsfw Headcannons

What do I mean by Reader?:

It's always been a little pet peeve of mine when writers will say 'Reader' but actually mean 'OC'. When I say reader, I mean you babe! The 'Reader' I write for almost always uses general neutral pronouns, No descriptive features, and no background (unless prompted). You control the character, I just write them!

My No's:

I'm not comfortable with anything that involves CNC, SA, Incest, ddlg/lb, animal abuse, child abuse, or anything you know will absolutely need a content warning!

I'm AroAce so writing smut is a bit odd to me but I have and I'm willing to continue. I'm a huge avocator for safe, sane, and consensual.

If you have a question relating to some kind of kink You want me to write for, ask anonymously or DM me privately. Please just be polite!

Also No Freddy Krueger (I've just always hated his character)

Poly coupling:

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

Hannibal Lecter & Will Graham

David, Dwayne, Paul, and Marko

All with Reader included!

Thanks!

[jetwhenitsmidnight]

Model Home by Rivers Solomon

Release date: 1 October 2024

Genre: adult literary thriller/horror

Synopsis

The three Maxwell siblings keep their distance from the lily-white gated enclave outside Dallas where they grew up. When their family moved there, they were the only Black family in the neighborhood. The neighbors acted nice enough, but right away bad things, scary things—the strange and the unexplainable—began to happen in their house. Maybe it was some cosmic trial, a demonic rite of passage into the upper-middle class. Whatever it was, the Maxwells, steered by their formidable mother, stayed put, unwilling to abandon their home, terrors and trauma be damned.

As adults, the siblings could finally get away from the horrors of home, leaving their parents all alone in the house. But when news of their parents' death arrives, Ezri is forced to return to Texas with their sisters, Eve and Emanuelle, to reckon with their family’s past and present, and to find out what happened while they were away. It was not a "natural" death for their parents . . . but was it supernatural?

Review

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Thank you to NetGalley for an ARC!

This book is awful.

Don't get me wrong, this is a brilliant novel, but I found the reading experience to be really difficult. Not that I struggled to keep reading; I couldn't put it down. This book took a toll on me mentally as it went to some pretty dark places, some of which I did not see coming.

The writing is in the typical sort of litfic style, which I am usually not a fan of, but it really works to cultivate the overall mood/atmosphere of the book. The prose flows well, and strikes a fine balance between being complex but still readable.

The author uses the haunted house novel as a vehicle to explore themes of white supremacy, generational trauma, and cisheteronormativity. I am not smart enough to get everything, but the author does an excellent job of conveying the themes in the narrative.

There are time jumps, switching between the present day and scenes from Ezri's childhood, as well as dialogue without quotation marks, which were disorienting to read, but served the narrative well, as it conveyed their current mindset.

I really resonated with Ezri's relationship with their mother, as well as the themes of generational trauma; while my relationship to my mother is much better than their's, there were certain moments between them that I found quite relatable.

I read some reviews that didn't like the plot, or the ending; while there is definitely a large tonal shift at the end, due to the plot, I think that it makes sense thematically.

Overall, a book that is definitely going to be staying with me for some time.

Content warnings

I'm including the content warnings at the bottom of this review, as it contains spoilers; however, if you struggle with dark themes and difficult subject matter, I would advice that you check the content warnings before reading this book.

Keep in mind that I may have missed out certain warnings.

Death, suicide

Child abuse, emotional abuse

Homophobia, transphobia, slurs

Child sexual assault, grooming

Explicit sexual content

Animal death

Mental illness, depression, dissociation, suicidal thoughts

Chronic illness

Threat of gun violence

Racism, classism

Vomit

Disordered eating

Gaslighting

[deusluxuria]

Someone on here a while ago asked me if I could elaborate on a post I wrote about (anime) Fugo's Stand being a metaphor for some effects of trauma.

(I just now wrote a whole-ass thing in Evernote about this, and then Evernote damn ate the whole thing lol - I'll try to write a smaller thing then)

(Content warning: mention of p3dophilia / CSA in a fictional story)

Fugo desperately begged his teacher (who had already done something to him in the past) to leave him alone. His teacher didn't. That's when Fugo beat him with the book. Only to be ostracized for it, accused of "seducing" his teacher for better grades (when he was a child??), and exiled from his own family.

With Purple Haze, an embodiment of his rage, no one can come near him ever again.

Trauma can be infectious like a virus when we let it guide our rage to harm others -- rage makes the body strong, but the mind weak. Trauma can make us lash out to protect ourselves in ways that we may deeply regret later. Especially unresolved trauma; unacknowledged trauma.

Purple Haze is uncontrolled rage. Because Fugo can harm people with it, without the intention of doing so.

"If you don't heal what hurt you, you'll bleed on those who didn't cut you."

And unlike his teammates, he can't even safely throw a punch with his Stand. There is no way for him to use it without the possibility of harming people he's trying to protect.

The abuse of Fugo was never brought to justice. There were never repercussions. Things went in the polar opposite direction. So his pain stayed inward. And just as a balloon will burst if you keep adding air to it with no release, so will a person full of suffering that has been willfully ignored by everyone.

Furthermore... Fugo rarely uses his Stand. As if he's afraid of it.

He's ashamed of the unhealed parts of him that can make him dangerous even to his own friends.

Everyone on Bruno's team has a history of incomprehensible trauma. But it's clear to me from Fugo's Stand -- and from his refusal to follow his friends rather than a violent, tyrannical boss who tried to kill his own daughter -- that he doesn't know where to begin with his heartbreak.

Maybe he has never talked about it -- about the devastating betrayal by his teacher, his school, the law, his parents. Maybe he's never fully realized that the outcome was beyond unfair and that he didn't deserve any of that. Maybe he doesn't yet understand that there is life outside of trauma, or he has never had the chance to realize that.

I see him as someone who still thinks it's his fault (whether that's in his soul and not so much a conscious thing, or he believes it so much that he would tell someone else that he deserved his trauma).

Everyone was against him after he attacked his teacher. There was no one to confirm to him that his teacher was a monster and that he had been completely abandoned. It would've been easy for him to believe what the masses were saying about him, as he had no support system whatsoever.

There was no one to protect him. There was no one on his side.

It's possible that, because of this, Purple Haze is the way it is because Fugo never learned to control it.

Stands are representation of the user's soul. And Fugo's soul was lost, heartbroken, scared, and enraged.

[mariacallous]

For almost a decade, Nick Roy has been scanning North Korea’s tiny internet presence, spotting new websites coming online and providing a glimpse of the Hermit Kingdoms’ digital life. However, at the end of last year, the cybersecurity researcher and DPRK blogger stumbled across something new: signs North Koreans are working on major international TV shows.

In December, Roy discovered a misconfigured cloud server on a North Korean IP address containing thousands of animation files. Included in the cache were animation cells, videos, and notes discussing the work, plus changes that needed to be made to ongoing projects. Some images appeared to be from an Amazon Prime Video superhero show and an upcoming Max (aka HBO Max) children’s anime.

The findings and security lapse—detailed in a report by the Stimson Center think tank's North Korea–focused 38 North Project, which helped analyze the findings along with Google-owned security firm Mandiant—provide a glimpse at how North Korea can use skilled IT and tech workers to raise funds for its heavily sanctioned regime. It also comes as US officials increasingly warn about North Korean IT workers infiltrating companies and their outsourcing.

North Korea’s internet is a small—and fragile—space. The repressive nation only has 1,024 IP addresses and around 30 websites that connect to the global internet. While there is a limited internal intranet, only a few thousand of the country’s 26 million people can get on the internet. When they do, it’s highly controlled: These select few North Koreans can use the internet for an hour at a time and have a person sitting next to them approving their use every five minutes.

When Roy discovered the exposed cloud server, it was being updated on a daily basis. Martyn Williams, a senior fellow on the 38 North Project who helped analyze the contents of the server, says the server likely allowed work to be sent to and from North Korean animators. The server itself is still live, but it mysteriously stopped being used at the end of February. While there is a login page, its contents can be accessed without a username and password. “I found the login page after I found all the exposed files,” Roy says.

Inside, the files contained editing comments and instructions in Chinese which were translated to Korean, the researchers write in their report. “For a lot of the animation files, we would find things like spreadsheets with details of the workflow,” Williams says. A sample of the files shared with WIRED show detailed anime images and video clips, with notes for the authors and date stamps on various files. In one instance, the report says, an animator was “asked to improve the shape of the character’s head.”

Based on the documents and drawings, the researchers were able to identify some of the shows and projects the North Koreans were working on. Some of the projects included work from season 3 of the Amazon show Invincible, which is produced by California-based Skybound Entertainment. There were also documents linked to Max and Cartoon Network show Iyanu: Child of Wonder, produced by YouNeek Studios, as well as files from a Japanese anime series and an animation studio in Japan.

Some file names gave away clues about the series and episode numbers. There were also files and projects the researchers could not identify—including a “bunch of files” with videos of horses and a Russian book on horses, Williams says.

Sanctions placed upon the North Korean regime, for its ongoing human rights abuses and nuclear warfare programs, prohibit US companies from working with DPRK companies or individuals. However, the researchers say it is highly unlikely that any companies involved would have a clue about North Korean animators working on the shows, and there is nothing suggesting the companies violated any sanctions or other laws. “It is likely that the contracting arrangement was several steps downstream from the major producers,” the report says.

Spokespeople for Amazon and Max spokesperson declined to comment for this story. YouNeek Studios did not respond to a request for comment.

“We do not work with North Korean companies, or Chinese companies on Invincible, or any affiliated entities, and have no knowledge of any North Korean or Chinese companies working on Invincible,” a spokesperson for Skybound Entertainment says. “We take any claims very seriously and have commenced an investigation into this.” In a post on X, the company characterized the findings as “unconfirmed” and said it is working with authorities to investigate.

Williams says it is possible that a front company in China is used to help disguise the activity and involvement of North Koreans. The researchers were able to analyze connections to the exposed server and, despite most having their location masked by a VPN, spotted access from Spain and three Chinese cities. “All three cities are known to have many North Korean–operated businesses and are main centers for North Korea’s IT workers who live overseas,” the report says.

While Williams says the researchers did not find any identifiable names of North Korean organizations buried in the files, the country has a well-established animation company called April 26 Animation Studio, which is also known as SEK Studio. Originally set up in the 1950s, the studio has worked on hundreds of international TV shows and movies.

However, in recent years, the US Treasury Department has sanctioned SEK Studios, individuals linked to it, and various “front companies” that it says are used to “work for foreign customers.” Many of these have links to China, according to the sanctions. “SEK Studio has utilized an assortment of front companies to evade sanctions targeting the government of the DPRK and to deceive international financial institutions,” a statement issued as part of the sanctions in 2021 says.

The main aim of these efforts, says Michael Barnhart, a North Korea researcher at Mandiant, is to raise money for the North Korean regime. The country’s hackers and scammers have stolen and extorted billions of dollars to help fund its military ambitions in recent years, including from huge cryptocurrency heists. In early 2022, the FBI issued a 16-page alert warning companies that remote North Korean freelance IT workers were infiltrating businesses to earn money they could funnel back home.

“The volume is much higher than we were expecting,” Barnhart says of North Korea’s IT workers. They are constantly changing their tactics to avoid being caught, he says. “We had one not too long ago, where during the interview, the person’s mouth was just off-frame. You could tell that someone in the background was speaking on their behalf.” Technically, Barnhart says, companies should verify their remote workers’ devices and make sure that there is no remote software connecting to a company laptop or network. Businesses should also put extra efforts at the hiring stage by training HR staff to detect possible IT workers.

However, he says, increasingly there is a greater crossover between North Korean IT workers and individuals who are members of known hacking groups or classified as advanced persistent threats (APTs). “The more we focus on IT workers, the more we’re starting to see APT operators and efforts blending in with those,” he says. “This might be the most quick learning-on-your-feet, nimble nation-state that I've ever seen.”

[me-writes-prompts]

Hey there! I'm really trying to get more into writing after struggling for years to get my head right. One thing I know is that I need to be a better reader first! So what are some books you recommend? I recently read the Locked Tomb series and loved it, a friend of mine is recommending the Murderbot Diaries, and two books I really enjoyed that weren't SciFi/Fantasy were Piranesi by Susana Clarke and Dark Matter by Blake Crouch. So I guess I'm really into SciFi/Fantasy/Mystery type books. I like Horror too! Not really a fan of Romance, but I'm willing to have my mind changed if the right books come along! Any books you'd recommend? :) (sorry for the lengthy ask)

Hi! I'm really glad you asked this because I do have recommendations for books that are enjoyable and also have a distinct style of writing. I've added the trigger warnings, so please be aware of those!

The first one is: On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

This book talks about the speaker, Little dog, in his late twenties, writing a letter to his mother who cannot read. He was born in Vietnam, and goes in depth with the mother son love but also explores the topics of race, class, masculinity and much more. (You have to read this book! The author has such a poetic style of writing that never lets you get bored of it! Trigger warnings: on-page death, child abuse, drug use, violence, depictions of war and sexual assault, animal abuse, Violence, Depictions of war, PTSD, Death of a friend)

The guest list by Lucy Foley

This book is a murder mystery. There is an exclusive wedding taking place on a remote Irish Island. (This book is very interesting right from the bat, and I found it binge-worthy from start to finish. Definitely a re-read! Trigger warnings: Sexual content, Drug and alcohol use, Violence, Profanity, Crudeness, Murder and explicit self-harm, sexual assault.)

Before the coffee gets cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

It tells the story of a café in Tokyo that allows its customers to travel back in time, as long as they return before their coffee gets cold. (Not my fave of all time, but since you said you like Fantasy, you have to read this! It's very interesting and has short stories of different characters that keeps you on your toes. Trigger warnings: Abandonment, Blood, Cancer, Car accident, Death of a parent, Grief, Infertility, Medical content, Pregnancy, Miscarriage)

Almond by Sohn Won-pyung

The main character, Yunjae, was born with a brain condition callled alexithymia that makes it hard for him to feel emotions like fear or anger. (I read this book and really liked it. It's an in depth of how Yunjae, the main character, goes through with having such a condition. It's a five star over all! This book contains: Extreme bloody violence, Bullying, Animal harm)

[licncourt]

I totally understand your opinion about amc Lestat but don't you think this could just be Louis' perspective on him? Or Claudia herself? They portrayed Lestat as a demon in first book, I want to give a chance to the 2 second , the show plays a lot with things from point of view and memory, I think people are giving up too soon...

I've talked about this before, but it was over a year ago now so I'll explain again.

While I understand where you're coming from, I honestly don't think it would matter to me. Even if what happened in ep 5 was 100% something Louis or Claudia dreamed up, I would still have major issues because:

Even though ep 1 had a content warning for Paul's suicide, there was absolutely nothing before ep 5, something that the viewers had established trust with the creators to do. I think there's one now on AMC+, but that was added weeks later after backlash. The showrunners doubling down and the episode director almost mocking fans who were upset was incredibly tasteless as well.

The story as pitched by the showrunners feels very much like bait and switch false advertising. It was pitched to the viewers as a gothic love story that was "the most faithful adaptation of IWTV ever". Not to mention the insane tonal shift into something that moved from fantasy violence against NPCs to brutal domestic violence and the vampire version of sexual assault. Anyone coming from the books had no reason to anticipate this dynamic between Loustat, nor would anyone who checked out the source material prior to see if they would be okay with it

If they go the "Louis/Claudia imagined this/made it up/misremembered the events" route, I think that's a questionable at best and offensive at worst narrative to put forth about domestic violence victims since the showrunners seem to not see anything wrong with it. Portraying it is one thing, not seeing how presenting domestic abuse as "the fallibility of memory" is pretty messed up is another

Especially considering Rolin Jones' comments after one of the episodes that he wanted to "play with race" as a white man, I find the ep 5 events combined with the dynamic in ep 6 gross as hell. It's explicitly referred to as being like a master/slave relationship, that's insane considering the stated goal of the show was to make the story modern and racially aware. Obviously AMC wants Loustat to be romantic endgame, but they're starting off with a white man basically owning his black partner and child like animals

My problems with the episode also extend to Claudia's sexual assault. Again, not something that was in the book at all but rather added by a white male creator because I guess that's the only way women are allowed to face adversity in media. Claudia is already an incredibly tragic character, that was absurd to add for what, drama? Having Daniel make cruel comments about it to Louis and having Lestat (a canon sexual assault victim) mock her for it is the cherry on top.

Overall it was just a really shitty thing for the creators to do no matter what the ultimate outcome. Several of my good friends who are book fans were extremely triggered by the scene and totally blindsided by something that felt completely gratuitous and honestly like shock bait to be edgy and generate social media buzz. Again, unbelievably tasteless.

I don't have any faith in the good intentions of the creators anymore, and that sucks because there were a lot of good things about the show before that.

[heartmush]

i really admire your writing!!! i wanted to know if you have any book or story recommendations :D thank you!!!

thank you so much!! ;__; writing is an incredibly important part of my life (as well as my creative process), so i really appreciate the compliment.

here are some of my favorite short stories:

Prime by Caoilinn Hughes

Wolf Alice by Angela Carter

Funny Little Snake by Tessa Hadley

Onion by Caitlin R. Kiernan

annnd some favorite books:

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

Half Bad (from the Half Bad Trilogy) by Sally Green

Frankissstein: A Love Story by Jeanette Winterson

literally show me a healthy person by Darcie Wilder

please be warned that these stories contain heavy and/or potentially triggering topics, so approach with care. i have listed the triggers (that i can remember) under the read more. please note that these content warnings may also contain spoilers for the story.

It's been a while since I've read these stories, so most of these trigger warnings are from sources I found online— take them with a pinch of salt, and take care of yourself as well.

Prime: implied parental abuse, child death, insect mentions (crushing a wasp/being stung)

Wolf Alice: parental death, descriptive gore, description of character's first period

Onion: xenophobic remarks, fatphobic comments, anorexia/ED mention

House of Leaves: animal death (graphic death of a dog), adultery, unreality, rape, incest, sexual abuse, alcoholism, child abuse, agoraphobia, suicide, family death, gun violence, stalking

Half Bad: graphic descriptions of torture, violence, and physical abuse, much of which is directed at or perpetrated by children

Frankissstein: sexual assault, rape, transphobia and trans misogyny, animal cruelty/death, miscarriages

literally show me a healthy person: suicidal thoughts, suicide, parental death, self harm, sexual assault, domestic abuse, terminal illness, drug use, alcoholism