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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year

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The Book: Everything We Know So Far and Possible Connections

The Book's lore is driving me crazy and I had to write this. This isn't meant to be a solid cohesive theory on anything but I wanted to compile everything we know about the Book, some rather disturbing implications of what that might mean, and which characters may or may not have a connection to it, as well as what that connection might be.

This is a long post, so I've bolded the key info. You can skim those if you don't want to go through everything. :)

***Major spoilers for BSD and for Beast!***

Main Series Information:

The first mentions of the Book occur in Chapter 28, when Fitzgerald tells Atsushi that the Guild's goal is to locate it. He tells Atsushi that only one copy of this book exists, and that neither flames nor abilities can damage it.

Fitzgerald claims he knows the Book is there because a prophet ability user foresaw that it had been sealed within Yokohama. When Atsushi asks what the relation is between him and the Book, Fitzgerald says that Atsushi is the guide to the Book.

In Chapter 35, Fitzgerald states that his goal is to use the Book to bring his daughter back to life.

The next mention is in Chapter 46, when Dazai talks to Fyodor in the alley. Dazai mentions that since Fyodor and the Rats don't have the firepower to burn down Yokohama, he instead needs to exterminate Yokohama's ability users to get to the Book, hence the cannibalism strategy.

Dazai says the true Book is a single novel with blank pages where anything written becomes the truth. Fyodor wishes to use it to make a world without the sin of ability users. Dazai says basically "good luck with that dude" lol. (Actually the line is "Give that a go, if you can, that is." which... might be significant?)

Chapter 58: Taneda dumps a lot of info on Ranpo. His assailant, who we know to be Sigma, stole a page from him, a single page removed from the Book in order to study it. The page has exactly the same capacity to make anything written become reality, it just has limited space to write. However, the Book has a restriction: it requires karmic/narrative consistency.

In Chapter 58.5, Mykola's speech about cages and the freedom of birds is ironically dictated word for word by a mysterious author. The translator note on the unofficial version I'm reading says the mysterious author is using imperfect Japanese with lots of katakana - I cannot confirm this myself, but it has interesting implications on our mystery author's identity if true. The page is used to position the Agency as the terrorists in the white hoods and frame them.

Chapter 59: Ranpo believes the Book was not made by an ability user but by something far greater than that. His proof is that unlike Mushitarou's ability, which can also alter reality, the people affected by the Book also have new memories to fit the alteration to the events. The Agency members remember committing the crime, even though they know they didn't.

In Chapter 70, Mushitarou reveals the DoA plans to use the other side of the page to eliminate the country at the next full moon. I am curious as to the significance of the full moon, given the moon's frequent recurrence in the series and Atsushi's ability connection to it. Chapter 74.5 establishes that the Sky Casino, with its 13 year history, was created 8 days ago when the page was written on, as a base for the next stage and also to "repay" Sigma for the use of his ability to retrieve it. In Chapter 75, Fyodor claims that Sigma, too, was written into existence via the Book 3 years ago - he has no memories before this point.

Chapter 77: the page was written with a condition that no police or law enforcement would believe in the Agency's innocence. However, Tachihara broke through that condition by reaffirming his identity as a member of the Mafia, which (metaphorically) tears the page.

Later references don't tell us too much more but I'll summarize them regardless. Kamui/Fukuchi has the page, which Atsushi knows from Sigma's info. Ranpo made an appeal to the police, explaining that the Agency was framed and the page preventing them from seeing the truth, and half the force sees the truth for themselves, breaking through the page's condition. Ranpo believed the direct opposition to the page's restrictions might sway Fukuchi into believing them (unfortunately, we don't know if this was right, as Fukuchi was not affected in the first place, being Kamui himself). And that's what we have so far.

Disturbing Implication #1: The Special Division knows/knew the location of the Book.

Taneda mentions that a page from the Book was taken to study. This implies that at one point, the Special Division had the Book or knew of its location. The higher ups may still know where it is. There are a few potential timelines here: the first is that the page was removed many, many years earlier, perhaps during the war, and the second is that the page was removed and tested 3 years ago, and Sigma resulted from these trials.

Disturbing Implication #2: Ranpo says the Book was created by something greater.

Something greater than ability users. I suspect this may be something outside their world. At this stage, it seems very likely this "greater entity" is an author - the author of the world we read about (it's Asagiri omg). An author, to the world they write, is akin to a god. I'm kind of joking about the Asagiri thing, but the "author" of the Book is likely someone/something that exists beyond the scope of the world of BSD.

Contradiction: The Book cannot be damaged by flame or ability, but pages can be torn out of it? How?

Beast Information:

Oh boy. Where to even start?

Beast Dazai states that the Book is the origin of the main universe's world, and it contains an infinite number of parallel worlds within it.

"What you write becomes a reality" is actually a misnomer. Writing in the Book calls a parallel world that aligns with what is written directly from the Book. This parallel world will then trade places with the real world.

There is a single physical reality, and infinite possible worlds. The Beast universe exists within the Book, as a possible world.

A version of the Book exists in the Beast universe. However, this Beast version of the Book is more of a weakness. Orders from the real world can overwrite Beast. And anyone who tries to write in Beast's Book will make Beast cease to exist.

Beast Dazai jumps at the end of Beast. This is because if more than 3 people know the truth about the Book, the world will destabilize - it may even disappear without Beast's Book being written in.

Beast Dazai created a singularity using his ability. It's not explained how he did this, but it has something to do with his nullification. He did this to read the memories of real-world/original Dazai - the Dazai who exists outside the Book. (It seems all but given that this is Dazai from the main timeline.)

Though the above conflicts with some of what we know in the main manga, we can take it as fact, I think. The narration is heavy on emphasizing that Beast Dazai is telling no lies in this scene.

Disturbing Implication #3: Any alterations are not inventions but transferrals, which means these events actually occurred in another universe.

This means that the Agency really were the DoA terrorists in a parallel world and they did carry out the plan. They really did take the hostages in this world. Tanizaki really did push the button. This would explain their memories. The caveat of no one in law enforcement believing them might make sense too - they're actually criminals in that world, so they would have no reason to believe them. "Trading places" also implies that the terrorist Agency universe has the terrorists trying to save the hostages like the Agency originally planned to do (potentially).

Sigma is an interesting case. If he really was written into existence from the Book, then he was called from another parallel world - literally displaced from his home. His amnesia likely occurred in that parallel world too.

Disturbing Implication #4: The parallel worlds are more fragile than the main world of BSD.

There is something different about our main universe. The Book that originates here is the real deal. But Beast's (and all the Books from different parallel worlds) leave them vulnerable. These worlds can be destroyed at any time if anyone tries to write in these Books. Only a select number of people can know how it really works before it starts to destabilize. What's more, at any point, someone could write in the real-world's Book and overwrite it entirely, and there would be nothing that any of the people within that world could do about it. And Beast Akutagawa, thinking back on the events of the story, comes to the conclusion that even though his world is "but a shadow", the desires, feelings and actions of the people within it make those people no less real than those in the original.

Beast is a goddamn existential horror.

Character Connections

Now, onto the characters who are known to have some kind of connection to the Book.

Fitzgerald wanted the Book in the Guild arc to bring back his daughter. While this is the first mention of it, given that he got his info from clearly secondhand sources (the prophet ability user or Fyodor, most likely), I don't think he has any sort of deeper understanding of it, nor a more personal connection. Ranpo seems to be figuring out the Book's logistics rather quickly, but I expect nothing less from the greatest detective, and he doesn't have a strong personal connection I can see as of yet. As for Fukuchi, whatever knowledge he gained 36 years ago might be connected... but again, I have nothing else to say on this front, considering we have little else on this (I'm actually more inclined to think it has to do with the war - which may tie in with the Book, but not necessarily). I would also be very surprised if Mori doesn't know something but I have no real evidence for this other than that the man is suspicious as hell. Then again, there's also Tokoyami Island, which "appeared" seemingly out of nowhere and is where Yosano's backstory took place and Fukuchi headed after his argument with Fukuzawa. It seems possible, if not likely, that it was created with the Book. So, let's go over some characters who we actually can expand on a little.

Taneda

Not much to say here other than what kind of research was being done with the Book? Given that Taneda had the page on him, was he the one responsible for the research being conducted on it, or was he just involved?

What kind of research was being done with the page? How were they testing it? The page was blank, so they must not have created anything with it yet. How then, did Taneda know how it worked and that the page would have the same capacities as the full Book?

Taneda doesn't seem to understand the Book completely - he thinks it was created by an ability user, after all, and like everyone else in the main universe he doesn't know the reason the Book requires narrative consistency (that it is pulling from other worlds, not just making anything written come true).

The Special Division likely had the Book at one point, but by the time Fitzgerald comes to retrieve it, it has been "sealed". Did the Special Division seal it? Why and how?

Atsushi

We know he has a lot to do with it. Atsushi and the Book are incredibly intertwined, and the initial conflict was kicked off by a bounty placed on his head for this connection.

He is called the "guide" to the Book. What does that mean? Is he meant to locate it? Unlock the seal? Or is he a guide on how to use it properly?

6 years ago, Shibusawa found Atsushi at the orphanage when he was just a kid and tortured him to extract his ability. He was a researcher who learned about the tiger from Fyodor, who called Atsushi's ability "one that guides the envy of all ability users". And we know Fyodor has been after the Book for a long time, so it's difficult to imagine this does not have something to do with it.

Atsushi is the only character to directly reference a real-life novel in the series and recall reading it. "The head may err but never the blood" and "I only regret what I haven't done" are from the real Nakajima Atsushi's "Light, Wind, and Dreams", a fictionalized autobiography detailing the last few years of the life of Robert Louis Stevenson. While other characters quote their namesakes' fiction on occasion, to my recollection, Atsushi is the only one who explicitly remembers reading the book, but finds himself unable to remember the author's name. Cute reference, or plot significant? You decide.

Atsushi's tiger is heavily associated with the moon, particularly the full moon. For some reason, the other side of the page is to be used at the next full moon and cannot be used sooner. Atsushi's ability crystal, pulled out of him by Shibusawa as a child, is described as "pale and glittering like the moon".

It is entirely unlike the red crystals that form in the Dead Apple separated abilities - including Atsushi's tiger (also red). It is, however, similar to Dazai's, which is white. Atsushi transforms into the tiger to swallow the moon-like crystal - to reiterate, it was outside him when he transformed. What's more, from Beast it's known that this instance was when his ability apparently activated for the first time - how could it do that if it was already removed from him? Later on, Shibusawa tries to take the crystal again and Atsushi's transformation deteriorates, that's true, but bear in mind that Atsushi was convinced that crystal was the tiger, which may have psychologically influenced this. In fact, the moon crystal may not be the tiger at all. It is entirely possible it is something else, and it is likely that which makes Atsushi so sought after. If it is, I refuse to believe this has nothing to do with the Book.

Atsushi's ability is described as the "spark of life that resists all abilities". A reference to his healing factor, perhaps? Or something more meaningful?

He's also referred to as an "angel" by Shibusawa who canonically got his information from Fyodor so... make of that what you will.

Tachihara

This isn't so much about Tachihara having significance in future but more about what his breaking of the page's conditions might mean.

At the crux of this is his split identity - he's a Hunting Dog, but also a mafioso, and his struggle between these identities is his core conflict in the Sky Casino arc.

Eventually, Tachihara, recalling Hirotsu and Gin's words that anyone in the Mafia knows that the Agency is innocent, frantically realizes they have the wrong culprits, thus breaking through the page's caveat that all law enforcement would never believe them, accompanied by a metaphorical tear in the page.

It's intriguing because we don't see this same dramatic depiction later on with the police when Ranpo appeals to them - Tachihara has changed his expected role from police to mafioso. Tachihara is no longer playing the "character" he was meant to play.

He tore out of that restriction in the story. His story line is now on a different path. There are some serious implications of that if a change in character can literally break people free of the Book's reality-altering influence. It is all-powerful so long as everyone plays their expected role in that narrative. Breaking out of that can change the story, even if only minutely.

Sigma

Of course Sigma is connected. He was apparently written into the Book three years ago - which means he came from one of the parallel worlds. (Provided Fyodor is telling the truth about his origins, but I think it would be very strange narratively if this wasn't - at least partially - true.)

I am curious if Sigma will regain some of his memories soon, or if it is even possible for him. If he can regain memories, then they would be from a world within the Book. Or, perhaps his memories don't exist because that world has been overwritten and no longer exists?

Is it possible for Sigma to communicate between worlds using his exchange of information? Maybe this is completely out of left field... I'm just curious what role Sigma is going to play in all this.

It's strange, for someone so obviously connected I... really don't have much to say about him. I just think we don't have enough.

Mykola

There isn't too much to say for certain about him, but I know I was super uncomfortable with his entire speech about birds and cages and freedom being dictated in real-time by the page. That's rough, buddy.

As of this moment, he's supposed to be dead, but somehow defied his fate and is still alive. He decided not to play the role ("character") he was previously meant to, and now he is the cast's biggest wildcard.

Mykola's fixation on freedom at all costs may have some interesting implications for his interactions with the idea of the Book. When his words were written on the page, was the page dictating his speech, or was it merely recording what he was already saying? If the Book is the story, then does the story control the characters, or, as it has been implied by Mykola and Tachihara, can the characters defy the story? When they defy the story, the story changes to accommodate this. Have they really, then, defied anything of significance at all? (For clarity: I don't know if this is where BSD will go with it - in actuality, I'm always confused when people theorize the Book's author is evil and controlling, or that the series will end tragically, given how much BSD loves to emphasize the importance of writing and reading and understanding and living. This is just an example of a few possible questions it may make sense for Mykola to fixate on.)

I don't have a lot to say for certain, but given his need to be free, his connection with Fyodor, and his Dazai-foiling traits, I'd think it very odd if he wasn't involved to some extent.

Dazai

...where to even start.

Dazai clearly knows things about the Book. He appears to know much of what Fyodor does, and it makes me curious as to whether it came up when they first met (whenever that was).

However, main series Dazai doesn't seem to have all the info Beast Dazai does. For one thing, he too echoes that the Book makes all that is written into it become reality. He may know about the parallel worlds within it and could just be lying by omission, but I've seen very little to suggest that this is the case.

Main series Dazai appears to know about certain events long before they occur (not everything though; I need to remind people that he can and has been thrown off/wrong about things before) - notably, most of these planned events revolve around Fyodor. He's been preparing Atsushi and Akutagawa specifically to deal with the upcoming threat posed by Fyodor's pursuit of the Book.

Beast Dazai was somehow able to read the memories of real-world Dazai by creating a singularity with his ability... somehow. It's assumed he must've created it while in contact with the Book (otherwise how else could he have read the memories) but it's actually not elaborated on and we still have little to no details.

If his nullification caused a singularity, then how? Was it a singularity with the Book? Himself? Whatever the Book was sealed with/in? Singularities are still quite mysterious, but they need to involve one of two things - an insurmountable contradiction, or an uncontrollable increase in power with no way to cap it. Given that nullification doesn't lend itself to an increase in anything, it's likely an inherent contradiction.

I think it pretty obvious that Dazai has some special knowledge of the Book; some connection to it. He's been preparing to combat Fyodor for many, many years, and he seems to want to take Fyodor out as quickly as possible. Clearly, his potential use of the Book is a big deal to Dazai and worth putting his full effort into preventing, which is a little odd, honestly, considering he only met him once before the events of Dead Apple. Fyodor must've really made a terrible impression on him.

Where did he come from? There's that post about how Dazai is in everyone else's backstory for some reason, but we don't know his yet. Here's what we do know: He has some kind of connection with the Old Mafia Boss. He wandered around Yokohama for awhile. He's not related to Mori or an orphan he picked up.

While I've seen suggestions that Dazai met Fyodor in the 2 year gap between his leaving the Mafia and joining the ADA, I think there's reason to suggest he may have met Fyodor before he ever joined the Mafia, as a young child. Just bringing it up as a possibility because Beast Dazai's forming of a singularity with it sounded intentional - which means at 16, he would already have known what the Book was. Did he get his knowledge from Fyodor? Someone else?

Why did young Dazai become so listless and unable to find a reason to live? How did he become convinced that he will lose everything he wants so badly to keep when he gets it? Why did he think he could predict everything in advance? Is it just his intelligence and observation? Or is there more to it than that?

While I'm not a huge fan of the "Dazai is the Book" theory (given that it would make him literally inhuman, which I think runs antithetical to his story), on reviewing all this I've come up with a new incredibly deranged and not-at-all-sound theory:

Dazai is the Book's seal. In this essay I will -

Fyodor

First of all, we know hardly anything about him. We don't understand his ability. We don't even know how old he is. He's been with V/the Decay of the Angel for many years apparently... he was involved in Shibusawa's actions... he has some kind of a history with Dazai... he perfected the art of dramatically standing on windy roofs... truly, he's an enigma.

On a more serious note, all we know is that he wants the Book to create a world free of ability users. Free of sin.

This doesn't seem to fully align with Fukuchi's goal. My proof? They have differing concepts of "angels".

Fukuchi's "angels" borrow from the Buddhist concept of Devas and also likely references Mishima Yukio's The Decay of the Angel. Fukuchi tells Tachihara that the angels are the politicians who remain in their lofty seats and send soldiers into war to die. His goal isn't revenge per se, but it does appear to involve dethroning them in a sense. He doesn't mention wiping out ability users nor of having any particular ill-will towards them.

However, Fyodor's concept is closer to the Abrahamic concept of angel, what with the numerous references to original sin, the script for the play in Untold Origins speaking of angels banished by God for their sins, etc. What's interesting is that the play emphasizes ability users as "angels" who have regained some of their prior powers (I find it difficult to believe Fyodor was not involved in the creation of this) - so Fyodor's "sinful angels" are likely ability users. What does this mean for their goals? Are they still aligned? Is the undermining of government necessary for the elimination of ability users? (Also quick note: do not quote me on any religious stuff - I am not religious myself. I do research sometimes but I'm very, very far from an expert ahaha.)

So, now: Cannibalism was part 1 of the DoA's plan, and all the ensuing stages will culminate in the use of the other side of the page.

Firstly, there's the obvious "what will the other side of the page be used for?"

But then there's something else. By the time Cannibalism occurred, the pieces were already in place for the next phase of the plan, where Sigma would steal the page from Taneda. Why then, does Fyodor still claim, on numerous occasions, to be after the Book? The page should be able to accomplish anything the Book can. Either there is something misleading in the information we have been told, or there is something he wants to do with the Book that isn't writing in it. I think the former is more likely but I digress, the latter is still a possibility.

A few more outstanding questions: Why was he spreading info on Atsushi to Shibusawa and presumably Fitzgerald, but not going after Atsushi himself? Wouldn't he want Atsushi as the Book's guide?

What is his connection to the prophet ability user Fitzgerald mentioned - is it him, with his uncanny predictive powers? Is it someone else associated with the DoA? Is it someone in the government? How long ago was this prediction made - was it made long enough ago that this is why V was active in Yokohama?

There's a lot that's very confusing about Fyodor, and I don't think we know nearly enough about him to make proper predictions as to his relation to the Book yet.

Akutagawa

He's only really tangentially related to it through his connection to Atsushi - if any showdown is going to happen involving the Book, you can bet he and Akutagawa will be teaming up for that.

At the same time, Dazai selected Akutagawa as a mentee a long time ago, and he's been planning for them to work together since he met Atsushi, specifically so they can prevent Fyodor from achieving his goals. In Beast, he mentions their abilities form a singularity together - likely that ability to "cut through anything".

I know this may be entirely wild and out of left field but if it can cut through anything... could it damage the impervious Book? Could it even destroy it? Or maybe it could destroy whatever is sealing it? Who knows, but it makes me think they're going to have to destroy something. (Interesting how this runs counter to sskk's need to act as protectors of the Book in Beast... so maybe it will be in defense. It's all so unclear.)

There's also the whole "dragon is the manifestation of the chaos of ability users". Atsushi and Akutagawa are the tiger and the dragon, at odds with each other via rivalry but also in balance. I think it would be very strange if Atsushi's ability were unusual but not Akutagawa's.

In addition to all the above, I am also side-eyeing all the author characters in this series. For one thing, there's very few of them. For another, two of them have died, changing the path of their respective best friends' lives - and in a series that actually... doesn't kill that many named characters off permanently, it's worth taking a look at.

Yokomizo wanted to transcend the boundaries of fiction in his writing to create a mystery that bled into reality - the ultimate mystery. Mushitarou writes to see his friend again, to connect with him through his greatest passion. Poe's ability allows him to take real people and pull them into constructed narratives that can be escaped once they are "solved" - when the story reaches its conclusion. He is also the one who spurs Mushitarou into writing to cope with his loss.

Natsume wrote a few books as well. We don't know completely what they were about (and from my brief research they don't seem to correspond perfectly to his real life novels - might be a reference to Kokoro but the story does not appear to be the same...), but at least one was a series of three novels, with the last featuring an assassin who stopped killing, but Natsume derided these books and said they were not very good. He tore out the last few pages from the third, final book that explained why the assassin changed his path, and gave the book to a young Odasaku with a note "Don't blame me if you regret [reading] it".

Odasaku wanted to complete that novel. It completely changed his perspective on the world and opened his eyes - he re-read it multiple times (if I remember correctly, he also read it over and over to a wounded and exasperated Dazai in TDIPUD lol), and the lack of an ending bothered him immensely, not just because the story was incomplete, but because the scene was necessary to understanding the assassin's character. Odasaku wrote to understand himself and others, because writing novels is writing people. Natsume seemed to think he was uniquely qualified to do so, but Odasaku disagreed, thinking that someone who took lives was in no position to write about them - to understand them.

Odasaku dies. In every universe, and before he gets the chance to write the novel that sits in his mind - except in Beast, where Dazai painstakingly maintained the world to ensure he stayed alive. It seems oddly specific that this one random person should die before having the opportunity to write the story he wished... and I have to wonder if the universe really doesn't want him writing that book for some reason. And if that's the case, then is there any reason (beyond saving Oda from killing) why Natsume encouraged him to do so?

As a bonus, in the anime, Odasaku is the one to title drop "to the stray dogs" as a cheers, which Dazai will later echo. This doesn't happen in the novel... but if you look back at the difference between the anime Book and the manga Book - you'll notice the manga Book's cover is blank. The anime's says "Stray Dogs". Could be something, could be nothing. But it's worth mentioning.

And that's pretty much it for now! As we get more info, I'll continue to update this post. If anything here gives you ideas, please feel free to ramble about it in the tags or comments, or shoot me an ask! I love to read all your thoughts. :)

#this is so long. if you made it through... congratulations! you are probably just as obsessed as i am hgnkvhgvnskf #feel free to add on. these aren't full theories or anything and a lot are just suggestions or open ended questions #i hope this is a helpful reference and at least sparks some interesting thoughts!#bsd #bsd meta #bsd the book #i don't want to tag everyone...#so i won't lol #storyrambles

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seramilla · 3 months

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EXORCIST AU

What has she done wrong that has led to this? She was a good soldier. Following orders like she was supposed to. Listened to every word to the D, trooped through every command, passed every judgement they decided upon. Yet... She finds herself standing on edge of Heaven's gates.

Just over the edge whole new world of destruction and suffering can be seen. Carmilla briefly glanced behind her. There stood her home... Her now ex home.

There weren't any more welcome looks. Just glares, that made her shiver to the core. The high angels of Heaven are staring daggers into her. And... She doesn't know why.

What's even worse. Her lover was there among them. Not even daring to look her in the eye. What kind of betrayal is this? She served heaven as she was supposed to, yet she was being chased away.

"Why!?", she screamed on top of her lungs towards them. They ignored her and pointed their weapons towards her. One of the higher ups, Michael stepped forward, bearing his spear.

"You know what you did. You betrayed Heaven and now must be punished by law." "But, but, I didn't... Arrrhgh", screamed Carmilla as the angel grabbed her wings, squeezing them together painfully.

"You don't deserve them."

Carmilla then felt excruciating pain spread through her spine. It made her fall to the ground as she writhed in pain, her back arching, her hands trying to find her now lost wings. Tears flew from her eyes as her screams turned into sobs.

After that, Michael grabbed her by the hair and started dragging her towards the edge. She fought as much as she could, trashing her legs around, trying to find some sort of footing, but to no avail. Clouds were always her worst nightmare, but now her only salvation.

Then, there was nothing beneat her. The last thing she sees were the angels by the gate. And her lover's tears falling down. That look of desperation and need to help, but inability die to the rules. At least she knows now that Sera wasn't against her. With that salvation, she accepts her fate as she is falling down from Heaven.

She is a fallen now.

How dare you make me cry before I've had my morning coffee!!! 😭😭 (It's the ass crack of dawn at the time I'm queuing this up)

(Also, I'm so sorry, I can't remember which AU this one is for. Is it proto-Exorcist Carmilla falling??? Let me know and I'll tag appropriately)

There is just something so fraught and heart-breaking about Carmilla being paraded out in front of the elders and other angels, humiliated and defenestrated in front of her peers and fellow Exorcists, that makes even the other angels who are bearing witness to the event take pity on her.

The concept of falling is not a new one. Ever since Lucifer and his legions dared to go against Heaven's mandate, the threat of becoming Fallen perpetually sits at the back of every angel's mind. It's a parable all elder angels tell their younger counterparts, that if they deter from the path or fall out of line, they could be tossed into the pit of fire. Heaven's control over its population is absolute, and they do not hesitate to make an example of one another, to keep angels and Winners alike in line, and maintain that control.

Carmilla's sin is similar to Lucifer's. She is a dreamer, in the sense that she wants better for herself and those around her. She has never given in to the pomp and circumstance of Heaven's hierarchy, or ever hesitated to question why things are the way they are. She's a "Lucifer apologist," is what they call her. She questions why Heaven pushes such antiquated, ridiculous rules, such that an angel of her limited standing can't mingle with the likes of a High Seraphim. Why two people who are in love can't be happy with one another. It's moronic -- it's bogus -- that she and Sera can't love each other, on their own terms.

That she's being cast out, for daring to touch another angel above her station, is beyond her comprehension. Not even mentioning that the other angel is a woman, which adds yet another layer of complexity to her sentence. Carmilla can't begin to comprehend the predicament she finds herself in. None of these pointless rules even make any sense!

Michael pushes her, and she falls, and during the descent, Carmilla can only ask why? Why hadn't Sera come to her defense? Why did she just watch them force her out, without saying anything? Why didn't Sera at least try to save her? Did their feelings and declarations of love ever mean anything? Or was it all just a farce? Were they just words whispered in moments of passion, that never held meaning beyond surface level?

Now Carmilla will never know. And as she falls, her head swims with so much regret and sorrow, and she cries tears of desperate grief. She succumbs to her fate as she disappears into the void, the flames licking at her aching back.

#hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #sera hazbin hotel #seramilla #lucifer morningstar #michael hazbin hotel #ask #fan theories #proto exorcist au

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still-a-morosexual-help · 1 year

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this is quite ramble tbh but this thought has been sitting in my head for so long. as a poc obey me player i have this little self indulgent scenario where my mc is talking w the brothers and they ask about how mc dealt w all the bs the other demons were giving them about being a human. and my mc is like “racism exists in the human world too??” and it made me think about how out of touch the brothers are from the human world. like do they know anything from the last 500 years of human world?

The funniest thing to me is like yeah there's classism and racism (though I would argue it's more classism than racism) within the demons of the Devildom but it seems to be mostly based on "how able am i to kick your ass" hence the more magically and physically powerful demons end up in higher positions (and this makes much more sense when you learn that the Devildom had no laws until Diavolo's grandfather so it would have very literally been "survival of the fittest")

However if you take out the magical/physical strength factor: demons, as we see in the game, come in all shapes and sizes and from different cultures and are never treated differently based on that eg: the ant sized demons and the nightlantern people

So all I can imagine is demons being like:

Humans discriminate each other based on *rapidly check notes* skin...colour????? and where you come from and what you believe in???? Not on who can knock out the most teeth????????????????

Just absolutely bamboozled by it

Also about knowing what the human world is like, we find out in S3 that at least Mammon has a pretty good idea what the human world is like because of how often he visits it due to running errands for Lucifer, paying debts to the witches, visiting his kid - to the point that he blends in pretty easily unlike some people *cough*Satan*cough*

ALSO ALSO

It's not human world racism but Nightbringer shows that the 7 brothers have a pretty good idea of what racism actually is, given the way they're initially treated by civilians of the Devildom (eg: how they're kicked out of shops) and how they still seem to be treated by the nobility. "Fallen Angel" also seems to be a slur or something similar which I will never get over

We also get to see a lot of racism from the angels towards the demons in S1-4 and vice versa in Nightbringer. Also, of course, keep in mind that the Devildom and the Celestial Realm aren't actually Hell and Heaven and it's not a story of Evil vs. Good, so like Mammon and MC say in Nightbringer there's no actual difference between being an angel or a demon other than living in a strict society vs living in a free/chaotic society

And going on a tangent here because this interests me:

About the Sins vs Nobility and how they treat lesser demons

We never see the Sins, or Diavolo for that matter, treating lesser demons badly despite being some of the most high ranking demons in the realm:

• With Diavolo of course it'd go against his personality to treat them differently

• The second Dames event shows that the Sins seem to have more of a problem with the nobility than anything else

• Which is supported by how against them the nobility are in Nightbringer

• Through Mephisto, in the current time, we see that though this attitude has mellowed out it hasn't completely left

• Despite the Sins and the Nobility generally being in a similar station of power there's a huge difference between their attitudes towards the lesser demons

• Mephisto for instance is so rich that not only is Belphie shocked by it but Mephisto has also never eaten a burger before which is insane

• Meanwhile, all the Sins have frequently held working class jobs, either because they're genuinely trying to earn some money or because they're covering a shift for a friend

• In Nightbringer, despite thinking MC is a lesser demon they're never really treated differently by the Sins. If they are ordered around (which again is very rarely) it's because they're literally working for the Sins and if MC doesn't want to do what they're ordered to they just... don't and they face no consequences. The Sins also acknowledge and respect MC's competence and opinion.

• Meanwhile, in Nightrbringer we see Mephisto (who is literally and narratively a representative of the House of Lords and Nobility) thinking MC's a lesser demon; ignore MC, dismiss their opinion and expect to be shown out of RAD by them without even being asked which heavily implies that due to their perceived difference in position this is MC's duty even if they don't work for Mephisto/Diavolo/RAD

• The Sins seem to see more of themselves in the lesser demons than in the Nobility which makes sense when you consider how they came to the Devildom with nothing, had to rely on Diavolo to survive, still live in what is essentially a RAD dormitory and have to actually work and earn money to buy the things they want

• Whereas, the Nobility are probably demons who had to fight their way to the top long before Diavolo's grandfather introduced the laws and then spent generations at the top, amassing wealth and getting more than used to their set status quo

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butmakeitgayblog · 2 months

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randomly stumbled across your AWTR au at 1:00 in the morning and I’ve spent the last hour reading through EVERY post under that tag instead of sleeping…

anyway if you’re still up for prompts I’d love to hear about their wedding! especially their vows to each other 😍

Ok well, 1. I apologize to the fullest extent of the law for so many things in that tag 😔 while I do enjoy hurting your guy's feelings, I'm also sorry for it. Know that 💕

2. Can't believe I've never answered this 🤧

Their wedding is a small affair, given the underwhelming population of their town and everything else involved.

Lexa doesn't have any family other than her father, and it's not as though she had a wealth of friends to fill up her side of the church. She has acquaintances around town, sure. Plenty of regulars that roll through the bookshop. Friendly faces that chat her up after her sessions at Sunday School are done at church. But... no one who she'd really feel comfortable bothering for something as insignificant as her tiny wedding.

So when Clarke made the executive decision that they were just not going to deal with any of that, she agreed with just a twinge of disappointment, but more readily— unmitigated relief. Because if Clarke's not interested in the frills of it all, well then Lexa isn't going to be either, so when they sit down with their pastor and parents, they make it clear that it's just going to be a quiet affair.

And that's exactly what they do.

They have a small intimate ceremony in the morning that is only them, Gus and Abby, right in the same church where Lexa's own mother had said 'I do'.

Lexa wears a simply yellow sundress with delicate flowery embroidery, and her hair pulled back in braids that complement her wild ringlets. Clarke once said she likes it when Lexa wears her hair in ways that show off her neck, so she meticulously found something that worked with her dress and still fit that bill for their big day. Clarke wears a power blue midi dress and leaves her hair down in relaxed waves, because she likes the way her soon-to-be wife runs her fingers through it whenever they kiss.

And that's it.

Or... it was supposed to be.

That had been the entire plan on paper.

Except when Lexa thinks that'll be end of it, just the plain vows in the church and then a quiet ride back home, Clarke takes her for a surprise ride instead. She takes the long way out to the lake where they had spent so many moon drenched nights falling deeper and more recklessly in love. And it's worth it, all the secretiveness and all the planning, when Lexa stares dumbstruck at the grassy field filled with people.

All the people she hadn't thought would want to come. The same ones she'd felt so silly for even thinking about bothering with an invitation.

Clarke had spent the most of the night before with her merry band of delinquents mowing knee-high grass and setting up tent poles, hanging lanterns and slinging up fake, waxy vinery she'd bought on clearance in the city over everything that stood still. It was tastefully understated, she had decided at around 2am when they'd finally called it a night. Classy even... if you squinted and turned your head just a bit to the side.

It was still technically a small gathering. Nothing but friendly faces who had jumped at the chance to show the quiet girl who served them coffee and sang to the little ones that they actually did care.

And Clarke just beamed next to her with a silent nod when Lexa looked at her to make sure it was real. Because she'd spent weeks planning it all out. Had nearly thrown up a few dozen times just getting down the logistics, all while lying to her fiance through her teeth.

A forgivable sin, she had steadfastly decided.

And so under the cheap vinery in the shade of Lexa's favorite reading tree, Clarke and Lexa recited their vows a second time for their friends and extended family.

#lesbienthespien #AWTR #a walk to remember au #this got long sorry 😬 i was gonna write their vows but this got away from me #also thank you for reading🥹

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nerdygaymormon · 5 months

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This might be a weird question, but do you know if the church still considers masturbation a sin? Recently had a temple recommend renewal and answered yes to living the law of chastity (as I see it, as a bisexual woman not in a relationship), but now I'm beginning to doubt. I've always thought of it as not breaking the law of chastity, but now I'm wondering if I was being to technical about it. I don't feel guilty for it, but I do feel guilty for maybe lying on the interview, if that makes sense. I don't know, I'm just confused.

We can get the answer to your question from the Church’s General Handbook. Go to 38.6.5 Chastity and Fidelity.

This section says Chastity means having sexual relations only with your spouse. What does “sexual relations” mean? Google says “sexual behavior between individuals, especially sexual intercourse.” Or put another way, sexual activity involving 2 or more people.

If you’re not involving anyone else, it’s just you alone, I don’t see that masturbation fits into this discussion about chastity as far as the Church’s handbook goes.

————————————————————

Masturbation is absent from the scriptures or on important church sites about chastity.

For example, there is a section of gospel topics on lds.org where you can get a brief overview of our church’s beliefs. Chastity is one of the topics. “Chastity means not having any sexual relations before marriage. It also means complete fidelity to husband or wife during marriage.”

The page goes on to say that to help us abstain from sex before marriage, we should avoid things that awaken our sexual feelings, such as controlling our thoughts, staying away from porn, and not doing the following with a person we aren’t married to: “passionate kissing, lying with or on top of another person, or touching the private, sacred parts of another person’s body, with or without clothing.”

Notice masturbation is not mentioned at all.

————————————————————

Christ taught “by their fruits ye shall know them.” Masturbation yields positive results, especially for people like you and me who are not in a relationship.

“Orgasm has been shown to help with relieving stress, aiding with pain (especially helpful for menstrual cramping), regulation of hormones and prevention of certain cancers.”

Our marital status does not change the fact we are people with sexual needs and drives – which are God given. Be willing to trust yourself.

————————————————————

Here’s something else that may be helpful. When you feel the Spirit, then you’ve been forgiven or are being made clean, or don’t have a major sin you need to repent of, “for the Spirit cannot dwell in an unholy tabernacle.” If you’ve felt the spirit recently, you’re doing just fine.

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yourtoradorasextendedwarranty · 2 months

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No. It's not Cancel Culture.

I've seen a lot of people recently saying that the right is embracing cancel alter. Which is actually kind of funny to me because that's never what cancel culture meant.

Long story short cancel culture as a topic or rather, as a phrase was basically invented for one very specific purpose. Cancel culture was invented to a culture of taking stuff from people's past, digging it up by going through various different social media websites blogs or other things, and then posting it online in a very public forum and then demanding others share that to that person's workplace.

"Are you in your 40s - 70s now? Well did you ever do blackface once upon a time when it was not seen as an absolutely atrocious thing to do? Well guess what we are going to do everything in our power to get you fired from your job. Ruin your life. Make sure that you can never make income ever again. And we're also going to try to get your family removed from their livelihoods as well."

"Are you a race car driver? Did your dad say the n-word once before? Did he do it before you were ever born? Well we're going to remove your sponsors and make sure that it is harder for you to have a life because the sins of the father are the sins of the son".

"Do you have an opinion on LGBT things that we don't like? Are you one of those gay people from the past who think that it should have been called a gay partnership rather than gay marriage? Well we are going to make sure that your life going forward as an absolute living hell and that you are not considered part of the LGBT community despite the fact that you were probably there fighting for the rights to be considered normal before any of us were ever born."

Those things generally speaking are what we refer to as cancel culture. Digging things up from 3 to 5 years ago or longer and then bringing them to people you know are absolutely willing (and often incited) to call businesses and jobs and other things and get that person removed from polite society as an entirety.

However, cancel culture is not posting something publicly to a social media site as a way to inform (yes there's a difference. The moderates don't incite. You all do) With no calls to action. Just saying "hey these people exist", and yes there people taking it on themselves to tell businesses that their employees advocate for violence. Because fun fact about speech. I am for freedom of speech under the laws of the Constitution. However calls to action are not free speech. Truth is, a lot of the people who have been fired should have actually been arrested. Because it's not a joke when you tell someone to try it again or to do it again or saying "next time" knowing the implication.

Because if that same exact thing had happened with Joe Biden and you had a bunch of Fringe lunatics on the right saying "next time don't miss", they would be in solitary confinement for the rest of their lives because the justice system leans heavily in favor of democrat power. So, the right is finally learning their lesson. Which is that if a person doesn't support your rights to speak you don't defend theirs. And I know that there are going to be people who don't agree with that. They are going to say that that's not moral or not principled. But you know why I don't care? Because I'm not on the right. And because I actually support free speech. But here's the problem.

If you willingly defend the rights of people who would take your rights away at a heartbeat that's not being called principled that's called being a moron. Because if you were to save someone knowing they would willingly kill you in the same given situation you're not winning any victories. You're not doing yourself any favors. Have some semblance of self-preservation.

Because I can promise you, there is no point in having morals or principles at all if they are only going to be utilized as a weapon against you. Am I saying that you should forsake your morals or forsake your principles? No. I'm saying that if there are other people who value living in polite society the same as you and they would defend you if you were in need then you can defend them when they are in need. You can still have morals and principles. I'm not saying don't.

But stop letting it be a weapon against you. Because when you let it be a weapon against you, all you do is tie yourself down to be beaten. Your morals and principles will mean nothing if you're in a gulag or you're dead. So, forgive me if I am not apologetic towards the people who asked for an act of extreme violence to happen again. Because what was it that the leftist used to call it? Not "cancel culture" but "consequence culture". If a business does not want to keep you employed with them because you publicly express violent rhetoric, that's their right.

Because what was it that Destiny said whenever people got banned when they said learn to code? "It's a private company they can do what they want". Well guess what Destiny. Kick banned you and they can do what they want. Twitter demonetized you and they can do what they want. If you can't stand up for other people's rights whenever you have power you do not deserve to have people who actually value those rights stand up for you when you're not in power anymore.

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offshore-brinicle · 5 months

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[Cracks knuckles]

More simple observations then anything, admittedly.

First things first, Dante uses golden bough resonance seemingly on command, seeing a possibility and thus wishing it into reality, which isn't exactly how we've seen it beforehand - namely in how it manifests the fathoms of one's ego into reality. The image of the symbol we've come to associate with collecting a bough is red and yellow with added chains, as opposed to its usual pure gold - the implication of which is that the specific construction of their head allows them to fine tune this output of reality warping in some way or another.

Given what Faust says of the laws of causality and such, I believe that they were fine tuned to be able to exclusively manifest concepts regarding time, possibly making it more powerful in exchange for limitations on what they can do. This personally reminds me of the people in IV, who were 'revived' by the fathoms but only in body [that is, if I'm remembering correctly] whilst Dante brings back everything of the sinners.

Then this brings us to the actual abilities [currently, ability] themselves and the menu around it. Firstly, the button one clicks to active them is labeled 'Durante' which: is believed to be the baptised name of Alighieri, means 'during' in Italian, comes from the Latin word for 'endure' and was the name on Dante's coat on an early art piece of them on the bus. The idea of 'enduring for a period of time' both fits with the Canto and how Heath endured through his childhood for only the period of time he thought he could be with Cathy, and how Dante endures through the pain of death only for limited amounts of time. Though I do not know of how to tie in Alighieri's name with the game, alas.

Anyways, onto the actual mechanic, once we open it's menu, we are greeted by an unfinished but upright tree of life from the kabbalah, with 'Hokma' at current being the only one unlocked. The chain motif appears again, representing Dante's control over it - or some kind of contract or agreement being made with it, as with the chains binding the sinners. There is also additional text on there but I simply cannot read it, a shame.

The symbol used is the one for Hokma's floor in LoR, with the only other place it has been seen in Limbus being Gregor's base E.G.O, alongside the symbols for Malkuth, Gebura, Chesed and Binah. We also see it when the ability is first awakened, with overlayed hands settling in the 9'oclock position, the same one Dante started the game off with, and white chains are seen again as the symbol of connection/control. This of course yet another thing tying the boughs to Lobcorp and its consequences, this time with specific reference to a very important character. We do skip over Keter for the time being, which I don't know enough to comment about.

We also see 'Pigritia' or 'sloth' under Hokma's symbol, but given as there are more parts of the Kabbalah then sins in game, we may end up bringing in some other sins like 'vainglory' from past ideas around christanity. Plus, this implies a connection between Gregor and sloth, which is proven true in how it the affinity of his base E.G.O. The sins the other badges rep. may also be ones connecting more personally with Gregor as well, but we'll see in due time.

Now. Golden bough synchronisation isn't something I believe we've seen before, but it is in the corner of the home screen whilst Dante commits season name. This could be Dante's bough synchronising with one of the ones on the rooftop in order to perform that feat, or something else I am too tired to think of right now.

The ask is. Really long but! I do think the fact they are called 'sapling of light' abilities is really interesting, it implies a more grown version of the seeds of light sowed within the people of the City - I believe its either grown as a result of interacting/resonating with the boughs, or due to Dante's experiences and developments through their journey. This also presents a non-zero chance that Dante is an attempt to recreate the seed of light project, something I'm sure at least a few of Limbus' workers [coughcoughFAUSTcough] know of in some capacity.

I believe that's it for that for now, though.

HONESTLY REALLY FANTASTIC ANALYSIS, I also caught up on the thing about Dante's name and the label on their coat since my mother language is Spanish and "durante" means "during" in it, so it naturally led me to understanding it easier.

God the appearance of Hokma's symbol was such a jumpscare it left me agape, but also the fact that it's the symbol used for Hokma ever since the Library came to be as well as the Sephirah in the floor, and also the fact that Hermann is interested in The Well which seems to be the "river" under Wuthering Heights being some kind of unique area that connects to it hence the ghosts and apparitions from other worlds. It makes me wonder even more about the state of the Library and Angela's ultimate goal in the true ending is finding a way to dismantle The Head, since now it means Dante is not just connected to Carmen but The Library.

I wouldn't be surprised if Limbus and N Corp are in some kind of race to recreate the Seed of Light but with their own purposes, mainly Limbus taking in count what you just said and the fact that the path layed out for the Sinners to reach their own "awakenings" is awfully similar to how the Sephirah were used in the original Seed of Light, though not as calculated and controlled as Ayin's plan and prone to failure since we technically only had 4 out of 6 attempted boughs collected with Heathcliff's burnt one and only 2 of the 6 missions resulted in an EGO realization/self-actualization in Yi Sang and Ishmael. Sinclair made some progress at least while Gregor and Rodion stayed the same but Heathcliff....feels like he got worse, really. Bodysack stayed the same and the one time it's "awakened" it's used in the Canto it's as an act of self-hatred and once everything is over it stays the same symbol of death, just now with a new obsession driving him forward in bringing back Catherine somehow which is definitely not going to turn out well in the future.

Somehow I didn't catch up on the 'Pigritia' part, it's interesting that it uses a different term from the actual Sloth Peccatula, since Acediae would be more accurately translated as "apathy", but the fact that it all connects to Gregor again and he acknowledges Hermann again and stops calling her "mother" is also an intruguing development. Hell, it's actually most likely that the Bough Hermann gave to Nelly and Catherine is the very same one they took from Gregor in Canto I.

As always thanks for your asks I love reading people's observations and analysis.

#Canto VI spoilers #project moon #limbus company #lcb Dante #lcb Gregor #lcb Hermann #and Hokma but idk if to tag him #answers

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dailydemonspotlight · 1 month

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Chernobog - Day 90

Race: Fury

Arcana: Moon

Alignment: Dark-Law

August 9th, 2024

A lot of religions are focused on dualities- the contrast between good and evil, life and death, as these are obvious parts of life. Sin versus virtue, the entire karma system, so much of the world is focused primarily on contrast, and this is reflected just as obviously in several former mythologies as well. Ancient times were far more focused on contrast and duality, whether it be the eternal Canaanite conflict between Baal and Mot being a metaphorical representation of life and death essentially duking it out, to the very obvious examples of the contrast between Hades and Demeter. However, what I want to focus on today is a far lesser known pair of deities, both originating from Slavic mythology, specifically in the Polabian tribes: Chernobog and Belobog. Granted, Belobog will get his own entry later down the line, but a lot of the mythology between the two is very intertwined, so it's hard to talk about one while avoiding the other.

Information about Chernobog is incredibly scarce, as it was an already obscure deity made even more obscure by a lack of primary sources. However, there are at least some sources to work off of, unlike a certain counterpart... but I'll get to that in Belobog's entry. This is about the Black God. Chernobog is primarily attested to in 'Chronicle of the Slavs,' a book published by ancient priest Helmold, and one of the main sources for pre-christian Slavic culture we have. While mentioned only briefly, the book does describe the first concrete reference we have to Chernobog's cult, wherein Helmold describes a strange ritual practice the slavs undertook in regards to Chernobog. To quote,

Also, the Slavs have a strange delusion. At their feasts and carousals, they pass about a bowl over which they utter words, I should not say of consecration but of execration, in the name of [two] gods — of the good one, as well as of the bad one — professing that all propitious fortune is arranged by the good god, adverse, by the bad god. Hence, also, in their language, they call the bad god Diabol, or Zcerneboch, that is, the black god.

The bad one described, of course, seems to be Chernobog, a name gotten from literally translating Black God in Russian. However, this is just a cursory glance at Chernobog, and what we really want to focus on comes later down the line. Chernobog was a minor deity by most aspects, only worshipped (or possibly feared?) by a small people-group who saw him in conjunction with Belobog, who was seemingly a later interpretation of the contrasting deities, as a primary name wasn't given for the 'good god' to contrast the 'evil god.' My leading sentences about contrast also were a bit of a mislead, as Chernobog wasn't truly seen as evil, at least based on the paper linked above. The two slavic deities we can be sure did exist, being Perun and Veles, were neither wholly good nor wholly evil, and their clashes were less of life and death and more of ideals. They were both revered in equal measure.

This seems to pose the question; did Chernobog even exist? At least based on the source we can reference, given that Helmold wasn't literally just lying, Chernobog did seem to exist, but only as a minor deity to some small cults. Frustratingly, though, this is the only main source we have regarding Chernobog, as after this 12th century paper, it would take another 4 centuries before we got yet more references to the deity, now seeming to have taken a shift from a minor occult deity to a major one in Lusatian paganism, a then-dissolved sect of paganism during the bronze age. In 1538, a scholar named Thomas Kantzow published 'Chronicle of Pomerania,' in which he wrote this in regards to Slavic mythology.

In addition, they worshipped the sun and the moon and, lastly, two gods whom they venerated above all other gods. One [of them] they called Bialbug, that is the white god; him they held for a good god. The other one [they called] Zernebug, that is the black god; him they held for a god who did harm. Therefore, they honored Bialbug, because he did them good and so that he might [continue to] do them good. Zernebug, on the other hand, they honored so that he should not harm them.

All of this ultimately comes down to the idea that Chernobog (referred to as Zernebug) appeared to be an evil god, though his existence is incredibly mysterious and hard to track. His aspects, his appearance, almost everything about him is incredibly obscure, to the point all we can really do is cross-reference him with similar deities in similar roles, such as Set or Mot. For all we know, he may not even exist! However, this lack of knowledge does give people plenty of room to interpret him, and this does lead to one of the best designs in SMT in my opinion. Chernobog is cool. There's nothing much more to it- the mushrooms, the blade, the skeletal face, it's all an insanely badass design, with unique ideas behind it.

I think the mushrooms and the skull all point to themes of decomposition, tying into his role as the black god, and while he's not explicitly tied to death, it can be extrapolated that he is, in some way, connected to it. Sometimes, you just need a baseline idea to go nuts, and Kaneko sure did with this design. While I wish I had more to say about Chernobog itself, the god is defined by its obscurity, so sometimes less can be more.

That's a cop out, Vee-ho.

Shut up.

#shin megami tensei #smt #megaten #persona #daily #chernobog

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ibijau · 5 months

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Sins of the Fathers pt 4 / On AO3

It wasn’t Jin Ruyi alone who came to fetch Wen Yuan that morning. Jiang Yanli was there as well, and she’d brought baby Jin Hui with her. As puzzled as he was by this change in their routine, Jin Ling greeted his mother and offered her to share their breakfast (his breakfast, really, since Wen Yuan rarely had it with him).

“I think I will, thank you,” Jiang Yanli replied, coming to sit at the table. “But A-Hui is a little fussy this morning, I think he could sleep some more after all. A-Yuan, would you mind taking him back to my house with Ruyi and putting him back in his cradle? She’ll show you how.”

Instantly, Jin Ling found that suspicious. He’d seen enough babies in his life to tell that Jin Hui didn’t seem particularly sleepy. And normally Jin Ruyi would be clamouring that she could take care of her youngest brother without help, but instead she remained meek and smiling, as if she’d been coached for it.

Wen Yuan, less used to their family dynamics, obediently nodded and took the baby from his mother-in-law, holding him as if it were the most precious treasure in the world as he left the house with Jin Ruyi.

A little on edge, Jin Ling poured his mother some tea, which she took with a smile.

“A-Yuan really seems to love children, doesn’t he?” she remarked. “I don’t think he’s seen many of them before coming here. At least, he never mentions anyone his age or younger from Yiling. But he’s very good with them, very patient.”

Jin Ling shrugged. “Well, he’s never going to have any, so I don’t know if that’s a good thing that he likes them.”

Jiang Yanli shot her son a surprised look, but did not comment on that remark. She didn’t need to. Of course Jin Ling had said the wrong thing again, even if it was the damn truth. Wen Yuan would never have children. Jin Ling might, if he decided to become the sort of man his grandfather was, but Wen Yuan couldn’t afford that sort of scandal, not when he was the wife in this marriage.

Breakfast passed silently, which unnerved Jin Ling. His mother had to be there for a reason, and that reason couldn’t be that she just wanted to see him. Nobody ever just wanted to see him anymore. Now that he had joined the world of grown-ups thanks to his marriage, people only made time for him when they needed something from him, or so it seemed to him.

“A-Ling, I have a favour to ask you,” Jiang Yanli said when they were done eating, proving Jin Ling right. “It is a favour, not an order, I want this to be clear. You can refuse, and I will make other arrangements. But I also think it would be best for everyone if you agreed.”

Jin Ling grimaced. “What do you want, mother?”

“It’s about Wen Yuan,” she explained, and of course it was. Nothing else seemed to matter lately except that boy. “I don’t have all the details yet, but it seems that his education is… somewhat incomplete.”

Jin Ling shrugged. “Yeah, we’ve all noticed. So what? Aren’t you already teaching him?”

His mother nodded.

“Where I can, yes. But it seems he also hasn’t been trained as a cultivator,” Jiang Yanli explained with a concerned frown. “Or at least not enough to develop a golden core. It is not from lack of skill: I’ve tested him in what capacity I can, he has potential. And it is not a lack of interest on his part, either, his attitude when the twins and BaiBai talk about their lessons made that clear. I think he just wasn’t given the chance.”

“Then just have him train with the rest of us,” Jin Ling dismissively replied, before quickly grimacing as he realised what that meant. “Wait, no, don’t do that! Jin Chan would make his life a living hell, and mine too. He thinks anyone who didn’t have their golden core at twelve is an idiot and should be kicked out of the sect!”

Jin Chan himself, naturally, had performed that extraordinary feat.

Jin Ling’s own core only formed a little before his fourteenth birthday. It was a reasonable age by any logical standards, but Jin Chan liked to act as if that was a complete disgrace. Maybe because his cultivation had never really improved after that important milestone, while Jin Ling was still making steady progress.

“Your cousin’s treatment of him is one thing that has me concerned,” Jiang Yanli agreed. “Jin Chan can be… a difficult child. And speaking to his father would do little good.”

Jin Ling nodded. He didn’t like Jin Zixun. More importantly, he suspected his mother had nothing but disdain for her husband’s cousin, although she was never anything less than polite when forced to be around him. But she had to be forced to be in his company, and her politeness lacked any warmth. She might as well have spit in Jin Zixun’s face and called him a toad, it would have been the same for anyone who knew her.

“That’s why I was thinking maybe you could try tutoring Wen Yuan,” Jiang Yanli went on with a smile.

“Me?” Jin Ling exclaimed. “Why me? Why not a senior disciple? Or even a proper teacher? We have so many elders in the sect, surely one of them could do something useful for once?”

His mother sighed, looking more severe than he’d ever seen her. Once more Jing Ling had the feeling he was disappointing her, as he now did every time he showed any emotion over that damn stupid marriage.

“A-Ling, I’m going to talk to you like an adult, and I hope I can trust you not to repeat these things,” Jiang Yanli said in a tone of voice so serious she sounded like a stranger. “I am not sure why your grandfather has decided he needed an alliance with Yiling, but I think we both know him well enough to suspect he is planning something, especially considering the current tensions between the great sects. And whatever he is planning, I fear your father and I don’t agree with it.”

It surprised Jin Ling to hear his mother speak so plainly. She never openly involved herself in politics if she could help it, but of course she couldn’t have missed what was going on. Even Jin Bai and the twins had noticed enough to incorporate it into some of their games. They’d play at a new war sometimes, one between the Jin and the Nie, for which they imagined extraordinary causes.

Usually, they’d spend most of the game arguing over who got to be Nie Mingjue and Jin Zixuan, clearly the superior characters to play.

Jin Ling didn’t think it’d ever get as bad as an actual war, because most of the Jin sect opposed such a conflict. But there was no denying Jin Guangshan and Nie Mingjue disagreed on everything these days. Even Jin Ling’s marriage had caused its own tensions. Apparently, Nie Mingjue had opinions about allowing anyone named Wen back into a major sect.

Jin Ling would never accuse his grandfather of purposefully angering Nie Mingjue in hopes he’d start something, forcing the Jin sect to heroically defend themselves with the help of their new ally the Yiling Patriarch.

He wouldn’t have accused Jin Guangshan, but he also wouldn’t be surprised if that turned out to be the truth.

“I would feel safer if Wen Yuan did not have to be alone with people I am not sure I can trust,” Jiang Yanli said. “All of the sect’s teachers answer to your grandfather and would find it difficult to resist his demands to influence him. I cannot tutor him myself, it would be ridiculous to pretend I can teach cultivation. Your father could not spare the time. I considered sending him to learn alongside the girls, but I fear it might be awkward for him to be around much younger children, and I could not ask them to protect him the way I can ask you.”

“But I’m too young to be teaching anyone!” Jin Ling protested. “Also, he hates me!”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, A-Ling,” his mother replied, the slightest hint of scolding in her voice. “He’s a little shy, and might have a bad impression of Jin cultivators due to some things that happened when your father was young. If Wei Ying told him certain stories… but you’re not like that at all, and Wen Yuan can see it. And I don’t think you’re too young to teach, either. The Jin sect is just really unusual with this,” she sighed. “Were you born in any other sect, you’d have started helping teach the younger disciples a long time ago. At your age, Jiang Cheng was already overseeing even the adults’ training sometimes.”

“At my age, jiujiu was a sect leader,” Jin Ling grumbled. “You can’t compare us.”

His mother smiled, something a little sad showing on her face. She had that expression sometimes when the conversation went to the days before the Sunshot Campaign. Just like her brother, she’d never really spoken of that period since Wei Wuxian had completely cut them off, and Jin Ling had been discouraged from asking. They had both lost so much, and that’s all everyone thought he needed to know.

“A-Ling, I am asking this because I believe you can do it,” Jiang Yanli said, reaching over the table to take his hand. “If I thought it might be too much for you, I would have directly looked for another option. If my trust in you is not enough to convince you, though, consider the advantages.”

“You mean like more time with Wen Yuan?” Jin Ling scoffed.

“And less time with Jin Chan,” his mother retorted with a smile. “Naturally you would no longer attend as many shared lessons with other disciples if you were to tutor your husband. Your father has agreed that if you accept to do this, your own progress should be supervised in individual sessions with teachers instead of the group classes you have at the moment.”

Jin Ling stared, a grin creeping on his face. For years he’d begged and threatened to be granted that exact thing, and finally it was within reach. To finally be spared the company of his cousin… Sure Wen Yuan wasn’t fun to have around, but he was miles better than Jin Chan.

“Father knows this?” Jin Ling still cautiously asked. “He’s fine with it?”

Jiang Yanli smiled at him. “All he wants is for you to be around people your age. When he was young… your father was very isolated, inside the sect and outside. It caused him a lot of problems, especially with your uncle and with Wei Wuxian. And since you're…”

“Proud and bad tempered,” Jin Ling finished for her.

“Very secure in your beliefs for a boy your age,” his mother corrected with a fond smile. “Which isn't a bad trait to have as an adult, even if it can make life difficult at your age. Your father was like that too. He remembers how much pain it caused him, and he worries you will be hurt too. He's trying to protect you.”

Jin Ling scoffed and crossed his arms on his chest. He'd heard variations of this for a while. It sounded stupid the first time. It still sounded stupid now.

“I hate Jin Chan.”

“We know that now, A-Ling. And that's why your father and I hope you will agree to tutor your husband. It would be the easiest way to remove you from your cousin's company without making it look like you're avoiding him, wouldn't it?”

With great reluctance, Jin Ling nodded. For all that he'd dreamed of no longer being around Jin Chan so much, there was no doubt his cousin would have still found ways to sour things for him if their time together stopped without good reason. Even like this, Jin Chan would manage to laugh at Jin Ling, saying he was too obsessed with his ugly wife or something. But it was normal for a married couple to cultivate together, and Wen Yuan didn't look bad these days, now that his cheeks weren't so sunken.

“Then let's start this as soon as possible,” Jiang Yanli said, smiling brightly. “You are excused from your classes today to start preparing for your new task. The Library would be a good start I think, but see if you can talk to your little uncle. Guangyao started learning around the same age as Wen Yuan, I'm sure he can provide some insight. And tomorrow afternoon, you can start tutoring Wen Yuan.”

Jin Ling frowned, a little unsettled that things should move so fast. He couldn't complain, though, when it meant one less day around his dreadful cousin.

#zhuiling #lingzhui #jin ling #lan sizhui #wen yuan #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #lingzhui arranged marriage #I swear next chapter the boys will actually interact I sweaaaar

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loserharrington · 1 year

Text

i’d like to preface this by saying i am not an expert on religion (or non-religion) this is simply information i’ve learned over the years of research and talking to those who do practice satanism. if i’ve got anything wrong feel free to correct me

with that being said, i’ve always had this idea that The Munson Doctrine followed the rules of the church of satan. be it the 9 satanic statements or the eleven satanic rules

eddie has a laveyan cross patch on his vest so he must practice satanism to some extent. Especially since it’s a pretty large patch in an obvious place.

it’s sort of complicated because it’s not really a religion but it’s still a practice. (one of personal freedom and rationalism.) it’s basically things he lives by to better himself and the way he interacts with others. the “rules” don’t need the approval of any deity because satanism rejects the idea of all gods. (it goes hand in hand with atheism) it simply encourages individuality, skepticism and living your life the way you want to no matter how “sinful” it may seem to others.

i think it’s safe to say eddie resonates with this. he’s seen blatantly rejecting and criticizing societal norms and questioning why he and his friends are seen as freaks and targeted because of their interests

now here’s where i start inferring things about how he practices

i’m sure he’s added to these rules (hence the name Munson Doctrine instead of a direct reference to the rules of the church of satan) but i think it still loosely follows those rules. eddie just seems like the sort of person who’d take something like this and make it his own, which is essentially what satanism is. (again, it’s not a religion so it doesn’t require specific rituals to be done)

or, he misunderstood or interpreted some of the rules given to him differently than others might’ve, which lead to the quote that started this whole rabbit hole i’ve fallen down.

Quote: “I just couldn’t accept the fact that Steve Harrington was actually a good dude. … No way man, NO WAY, that like, flies in the face of the laws of the universe, and my own personal Munson Doctrine.”

i’m leaning toward the idea that he added his own rules and beliefs to the list because satanism encourages freedom and self expression, so he can essentially do whatever he’d like with his practice as long as he’s not infringing on the rights of others. (again, this would explain the name Munson Doctrine)

he might have added things (such as bullies/bystanders never changing. i.e: steve harrington now being a good dude when, in eddie’s eyes, he wasn’t before) because of his own experiences with people like that. [read here for more on that]

regardless of what he might’ve added or why, i do think that the Munson Doctrine is something he actively lives by. (ignoring the fact it could have just been a joke he threw in there to express his shock on how much his perception of steve had changed)

now here’s the fun part. my head canon i built off of this head canon.

i like to think that eddie didn’t come up with the munson doctrine on his own. his mother might’ve been a big influence in why he practices laveyan satanism.

now here’s why i think that:

1. it’s obvious eddie has some sort of ill feelings about his father, going as far as to say he told himself he didn’t want to “wind up like he did”.

this could just be him referencing the fact his father has been incarcerated for various crimes or it could be him referring to his character as a whole including his religion

this ties into fact that we see Wayne (who we assume is Eddie’s father’s brother due to their last names) is actively religious — at least enough to have religious decor around the trailer so it’s safe to say the munson brothers grew up religious

2. we know absolutely nothing about eddie’s mother which means i can make it all up !

eddie referring to his personal beliefs as his “Munson Doctrine” could imply that he’s not the only munson who follows these rules. he does say it’s his “personal” doctrine so i will choose to believe that is in reference to the new things he’s added as he’s grown up and experienced more things in his life

but before then, his mother could have instilled rules into him that he still follows to this day. rules such as these:

i just love the idea that eddie still has some connection to his mother and this is just one of the ways he honors her, but the idea of eddie finding comfort in satanism later in his life due to feeling alienated by the people of Hawkins because he’s different is just as good

in conclusion:

i choose to believe the munson doctrine wasn’t just a silly throw away line, and it ties into the religion he seems to practice

#stranger things #eddie munson #character analysis #eddie munson character analysis #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things 4 #the munsons #the munson doctrine #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #☕️

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bonefall · 1 year

Note

Could you give us a run down of what the leaders were like in shadowclan from marshstar on? I feel like we have a good idea of the thunder clan leaders but not the others

The succession of leaders in BB!ShadowClan is Marshstar, Houndstar, Cedarstar, Raggedstar, Brokenstar, and from Nightstar on you know the drama. Ragged and Broken will get covered in 'Brokenstar's Cataclysm' eventually.

Marshstar

Was Ripplestar's lover and deputy. Survived the disastrous defeat at the Gathering.

With their ambitions to bring SkyClan back dead, Marsh had to focus his attention on his Clan. They lost a lot of warriors...

But, some of the rebels of other Clans had been exiled, so there was a small boost in population.

ShadowClan developed its "reputation" in the Ripple Era, of being cold and cruel hearted. They were attacked a lot and became notoriously aggressive at defending their borders as a result.

He wasn't a 'happy' person. Always a bit forlorn and defeated.

Really did not like being a leader in these circumstances. His warriors didn't usually feel comfortable approaching him, you could tell he did not want to be in this situation.

Eventually, he picked Houdfang as his deputy. Houndfang was extremely aggressive, but not ambitious. Marshstar wanted to leave a leader after him who would be strong, forceful, and defend the Clan ruthlessly.

When he died, he was buried beside Ripplestar. ShadowClan has a complicated relationship to their legacy, their graves are far out of the way in the Forest Territory, and overgrown.

Marshstar sat through about half of their StarClan trial, but quickly grew annoyed. He hated this game of being interrogated, questioned for his sins, his life being weighed. Like... screw you people, "I can already see that Ripplestar and Spottedpelt aren't with you so why should I care about this? Thank you for your time, this is a waste of mine."

In terms of personality, Marshstar is soft-spoken but tired. He can be a pessimist or a realist depending on his mood.

As part of the Dark Forest crew, Marshstar is usually tagging along with Ripplestar's clique.

Houndstar

They weren't lying that Hound can Star

He was BRUTAL. He was always skirting just around the edge of the code, he "encouraged" disproportionate violence against attackers.

His punishments for violating the code against killing was light and his punishments for violating the Law of Loyalty were heavy.

During Darkstar's Commandment, Houndstar took Oakstar's side at first. It seemed like a foolish dream, and the fact this would put an end to kitten stealing seemed odd. Yes, he'd seen kits stolen from his Clan, but he'd stolen from others equally. Challenging each other for resources is what warriors do.

However, he turned around on it before Oakstar did. Houndstar was still a pious cat, with much faith in StarClan. If Darkstar had been given a commandment, he trusted her. Three kits dead was a heavy cost.

He believed very strongly in the idea of legacy and was very close with his children. I'm planning for him to have at least two litters; BATEAR might be in the oldest one, Mousewing was in the younger and was never able to meet her brother.

I might hit this character with the Woman Beam

Cedarstar

Wasn't actually very violent. He was a logistics guy. Fantastic deputy.

Not even half as peaceful as Pinestar, but they vibed. Did a fair amount of trading, particularly flax for leather. Cedar chips as well, as the only cedar in the territory is planted by Carrionplace.

I think Cedar had some corny satisfaction in being The Cedarbringer. He was a bit of a nerd.

DON'T mistake this for nonaggression though, Cedar was just as willing to push borders as any other leader.

His deputy, Stonetooth, is his dad. He chose him for his age and wisdom. Cedar also definitely had kids of his own, I'm planning for this family to have been pretty big at some point.

When Heatherstar took power and started their campaign to take the Mothermouth Moorland, Cedar rose to the challenge. The conflict was standard at first

But as it dragged on, as ShadowClan stopped having access to flax and was losing their important summer hunting grounds, it stopped being the normal amount of inter-Clan violence.

The battles got larger and bloodier with each season

The war drained his lives away. Though he'd overseen the gentler years of the Campaign Era, the stress had caused him to lose weight and turn gray before the end.

He passed on the baton to Raggedstar, commanding that he never let WindClan take their territory from them. At first, Raggedstar agreed wholeheartedly, ready to win the conflict for ShadowClan.

#BB!ShadowClan #Better bones au #Cedar will probably get a few moments in Pinestar's Crusade since he is an ally of Pinestar

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applepiesupreme · 3 months

Text

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/144374053

Chapter 18

“The hell is she doing?’’

“Making a ‘earthen oven’, apparently,” Hosea answered before he re-inserted his pipe back between his lips and continued to watch Savigne stomp on what looked like mud.

Dutch scratched his neck. “For?”

“Baking stuff would be my guess.”

"Getting’ a bit domestic here, ain't it?" Micah said from the tree he was leaning against. He spat to the side. "Don't like it, Dutch. Thought this here was an outlaw camp."

Dutch just watched in silent contemplation, his coffee in one hand, cigar in another. To Hosea, his dislike for Savigne was obvious, as was the effort he made to conceal it. Concealing his thoughts and emotions was second nature to Dutch, something he did reflexively, almost unconsciously. He lived life like it was a game of poker, cards always held close to the vest.

Hosea shrugged. “Why shouldn’t she? Pearson has a whole setup, nothing odd about cooking in camp.”

Dutch hummed his agreement, gently rolling his cigar between his fingers, a contemplative look on his face. They sat in silence and watched Savigne as there was little else to do in camp. It was a hot day and everyone else had either rode out or had ran back into their tents for shade.

“You know Hosea,” Dutch said at last, “I’m surprised you’re not with me on this. That you can’t see how this…” waving his cigar towards Savigne, who was now plastering the wet mud over the dome she had built out of sand, “...isn’t good for Arthur.” Jack ran over to join her and she was showing him how to help. He looked excited to get his hands muddy.

Hosea gave him a sidelong glance. “Not sure what you mean. Arthur looks in a better mood to me.” That was an understatement but an intentional one. He knew losing this tug of war had wounded Dutch’s pride and it wouldn’t do anyone good to scratch that scab.

Arthur didn’t look in a better mood, he looked happier than Hosea had seen him in years. His version of happy, of course, which was a lot more muted compared to other folks. For Arthur, happiness was a lack of restlessness, of a state of peace. Happiness was less brooding, less running away from camp or spending days in his tent, glumly re-evaluating his life choices. Not getting drunk every night and going around picking on folks, needling and teasing them to rile them up for the chance to get into a fight. Hoping Bill or Javier or John will take the first swing so he can pummel them because Arthur was bigger and stronger than most of them, more experienced in fistfights and, with whiskey in his veins, as formidable as a cardinal sin.

“Sure,” Dutch consented, “But that only means he’ll fall harder when things go sideways. As they must.”

“How so?”

“She’s not coming with us,” he said with a tinge of exasperation. “Look at her! The woman is building a kitchen while we’re running from the law.”

“I don’t know why you can’t just enjoy things as they are. None of us know what comes tomorrow. If we did, we’d still have the money from Blackwater, for one thing.”

“Forget about the past. We all made some mistakes, I’ll give you that. Can we at least agree that we can’t stay around much longer, given the state of things?”

“It’s a big country. Have you ever considered that we can make it if we scatter?”

“Scatter?” The surprise on Dutch’s face was the first genuine emotion he had seen today.

“Well yes, I mean we don’t have to hang around each other like a clump of kitten. People here can go their own ways, can’t they?”

Dutch blinked at him. “Their own ways? To do what? People here are here because they got nowhere else to go.”

“Pshhhh…they’ll find somewhere to go when they have to, trust me. You telling me Pearson can’t do nothing by himself in the world? Not like we suckled him on our bosom, the man joined us fully grown. All these people joined us from somewhere, and except for John and Arthur, none were children. They’ll go back to that somewhere.”

Dutch shifted in his chair with discomfort. “We are family.”

This nonsense again, Hosea thought. Sure, Arthur was family to him. He couldn’t love him more if he was his own blood. But that’s exactly why he was ecstatic that this whole situation with Savigne had worked out. It could be Arthur’s last shot at some domestic bliss and Hosea pitied any man who never got to experience that. His short years with Bessie had been the pinnacle of his life and he would give anything to relive them.

“Even in families, children leave and go about their own lives,” Hosea pushed.

They were silent for a long time. Savigne was stomping on mud again and adding what looked like hay to it. Jack was right there with her, stomping along.

“So you mean to tell me we should just what – part ways?” Dutch huffed eventually.

Hosea chewed on the stem of his pipe. It had gone out a while ago, but he enjoyed the weight of it between his teeth.

“What use of sticking together after the last job is done? Can’t live like this forever.”

“I don’t see why not?”

“Live like some religious commune? Didn’t take you as one for that sort of thing, Dutch.”

“Doesn’t have to be like that,” the other man snorted. “Life is easier together, isn’t it? You need something, you got all of us to help you. Javier needs something, Mary Beth needs something – we’re all here. Protection for our folks…people are social creatures for a reason.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Hosea said finally, turning to him.

“Tired?”

“Of being the leader. I mean why not just take your woman and enjoy life without the headache of how to provide for a bunch of grownup folks?”

Dutch rolled his shoulders. It had been clear to Hosea for a while now that what had started as a necessity and a few men taking young Arthur and then John under their wing, had grown into something bigger for Dutch. He went about crying how hard his job was all day, but at the merest suggestion that he didn’t really need to do it, acted offended. Hosea was starting to believe that Dutch didn’t really want things to change because he didn’t want a life where he wasn’t the leader of a group.

“What’s that woman doing now?”

He glanced up at Molly, leaning against the tent pole and looking like she had just woken up. “I believe she said it’s an oven.”

Molly snorted. “Is she going to bake bread or something? She’d be more useful helping Ms. Grimshaw.”

So would you, Hosea thought, but of course didn’t say it.

Molly strolled to stand behind Dutch, giving his shoulders a massage. Their audience had turned into four. Savigne and Jack were heading to the water to wash off their muddy feet.

“Stomping in mud like a peasant,” she muttered. “Baking bread. At least the other one was a proper lady. What was her name?”

“Mary,” Dutch said, absent-mindedly.

“Yes, that one. She was prettier. Graceful. Don’t understand what he sees in…her.”

Hosea ignored her. Savigne got along with most people in camp, but ever since her relationship with Arthur had become official so to speak, there was an underlying current of resentment towards her from some quarters. Arthur wasn’t hanging out with them as often or volunteering for as many duties in camp as he used to. He would still come and sit by the fire most nights, but he was more distant and now divided his time, especially his time in the evening between them and Savigne.

They watched Savigne and Jack play in the water, splashing each other. “I like her. She’s a headstrong woman, goes her own way,” Hosea mumbled around the stem of his pipe, trying to defend them without overtly defending them. “They're just enjoying each other's company, no harm in it.”

"But see here," Micah drawled, "that bothers me none. They wanna play house, it's a free country. But gotta say, I worry if Arthur is getting a bit soft."

"You worry that the guy who beat your face in is getting soft?" Molly snorted and didn't see the baleful look Micah shot her way.

"Arthur is fine," Dutch interjected mildly. “A woman isn't going to change him. He's just having fun."

Hosea bit his cheek because he knew this expression on Dutch. Dutch was worried. He was protective, you could say even possessive of Arthur. He had always depended on Arthur's skill set more than anyone else in camp. But ever since the Blackwater business, Dutch was convinced - nay, obsessed - that Arthur needed to be present for every job. He hadn’t been there that day and things had gone sideways in a big way. He wasn’t wrong - Arthur was the best gunslinger in camp, he had the nerves to see things through, he had undying loyalty to the gang and a good, clever head on his shoulders to improvise. John was perhaps just as good in shooting folk, but he was a wildcard - the man had run away for a whole year because he was fed up with his nagging woman and his wailing kid. That’s something Arthur would never do. Well, would have never done. Before. Now all bets were off of course.

All in all, Arthur was the queen on Dutch’s chessboard, and any game was infinitely harder without a queen. Unfortunately for Dutch, now he had gotten a taste of something different, something Dutch simply couldn’t provide for him and he was liking it. No wonder Dutch resented Savigne. Maybe he saw Savigne the way he saw all opposition: someone acting with the sole intent to undermine him.

Molly grimaced and went back into the tent.

“He’s more than a son to me,” Dutch said, relighting his cigar. “But she has him wrapped around her little finger, can’t say I approve.”

As opposed to wrapped around your finger, Hosea thought darkly.

As if speaking of the devil, Arthur rode into camp. He jumped off his saddle and walked towards them. His eyes flitted shortly to Micah who took the cue and slunk away. The animosity between those two kept getting worse. The more serious his affair with Savigne became, the frostier the cold in Arthur’s eyes turned at the sight of Micah.

“Dutch. Hosea.”

Hosea looked at his blood covered shirt and checked his face if he was drunk, but no, Arthur seemed sober. Business then, not personal.

All three looked up when Savigne squealed with delight at Jack holding up a frog. Arthur’s gaze shifted. “The hell is that?” he waved his hat at the new structure by his tent.

“Behold!” Hosea chuckled, “Your new oven!”

He grunted, puzzled. “She goin’ to bake bread or somethin’?”

“I reckon you’re gonna find out soon enough.” Hosea gave Arthur a side glance. “And don’t you forget about poor old me if she does.” Molly came back out and, saw the disinterest in Dutch’s eye, gave him a pouty, hurt look and walked off with a bottle at hand. Hosea smacked his lips and said he’s going to check on the Braithwaites and ambled away, leaving the two man to their talk.

“You don’ wanna send me out with him, Dutch,” Arthur growled. “One of us ain’t coming back from that, I tell ya that.”

”Can you drop this nonsense?” Dutch said, exasperated. He noticed the frosty flicker in Arthur’s eyes.

“Nonsense?” was the low, disbelieving question.

”He paid for his mistake. He was drunk.”

”Don’ care. I killed folks for less.”

”He knows you mean business,” Dutch tried, softer. “He’s never getting near her again, he’s not stupid.”

”Unless he drinks again you mean. Since yer buyin' that bullshit.”

”We’re all here,” Dutch insisted. “He won’t dare…”

”We was here that night. And I don’ remember anyone else puttin’ their fist in his face.”

“I don’t remember you doing it for Jenny,” Dutch drawled and watched the other man tense up. It felt good to tarnish Arthur’s newfound halo. This playacting was tiresome. He knew who Arthur was in his heart - a mean old dog: loyal and steadfast, but also selfish, brutal and cold. Only time he played the hero was when it either amused him or benefited him. He had mellowed a bit when Isaac was around and tried to be a better, worthier man for Mary, but it hadn’t stuck. In fact, after those affairs he had only turned meaner. To him, that had been Arthur’s prime - a dependable man who was not afraid of getting his hands dirty. This…boy, playing house in an outlaw camp, following a woman’s heels like a puppy wasn’t his real self.

There was a long moment of silence. “I know I ain’t no knight in shinin’ armor, goin’ ‘round saving folk, Dutch. Guess you could say, I didn’ care enough,” the younger man sighed finally. “Truth is, Jenny wasn’t my woman. She was a sweet girl, but I didn’ know her or cared one way or ‘nother.” He shrugged, unapologetic, eerily reminding him of the old Arthur he knew for the first time in months. “That ain’t the case no more. Fact this man has done it before means that’s his nature, so maybe think on that.”

”I get that,” Dutch said, frustrated. “And I’m telling you, she’s safe.”

"Don’ feel safe to me,” Arthur crossed his arms and leaned back on the tent pole, looking out.

Dutch was offended at the implication: Arthur didn’t trust him. When the onion was peeled down to its last layer, this was at the heart of their conflict and it infuriated him. He was reluctant to take it head on though, because this Arthur was a different man and could possibly not fall for the “How dare you!” outrage card and then he would have no other play left.

"We need Micah,” he tried instead and ignored the other man’s grimace of disagreement. “You know how many folks we lost. Micah is an excellent gunslinger, even you can’t deny that. I’m just thinking of the gang here.”

"You sayin’ I ain’t’,” was the dark chuckle of a response.

“Forgive me but yes, I think your priorities have…shifted.”

The dismissive shrug surprised him. Was a time, this argument would have offended Arthur greatly. Dutch felt a subtle fear creep in that he was already too late to reel him back in, that he was standing at a station, bag at hand, waiting for a train that had long since passed.

“Aren’t we family? Does the gang mean nothing to you anymore?” he said, barely keeping his voice from shaking.

The deepest cut he could inflict and Arthur merely tilted his head in thought. Unbelievable!

“Family,” the younger man huffed finally. He bounced off the pole, turned around and gave him a long look. “Am I family?”

“Of course you are. I would call you my son but you are much more than that to me.”

The gunslinger nodded as if expecting this answer. “All them years, I did as you asked, when you asked, how many times you asked. Didn’ I?” He nodded again to himself, not waiting for an answer. “Now I’m askin’. If I’m family, show me. Send this rattlesnake away. Whatever slack comes with it, I’ll pick it up, y‘ave my word.”

Dutch clenched his jaw. “As soon as he’s not useful anymore-”

The other man stepped closer, shaking his head. “No. Today. Now.” He gave Dutch an intense look. They stood glaring at each other for a moment.

"Son…” Dutch tried.

Arthur waved his argument away, eyes locked to his.

He swallowed, feeling boxed in and hating it.

"Y'ain’t gonna do it,” Arthur said finally. There was bitter amusement in his tone. But something else, too. Something like…a hushed understanding. The moment hung between them and once again he was overcome by the feeling that he had missed the train.

"You have no right to-” he jumped to his feet, insulted.

To his amazement Arthur stepped around him and kept walking. He called after him but received not even a hesitation in his step. He watched in disbelief as he marched away and Savigne jumped up from the table she was sitting at to come around to meet him. That smile on her face, the look in her eyes... he hated it. He had saved Arthur, raised him better than his own father, taught him how to shoot, how to shave, how to read, gotten him his first woman, given him a purpose in life. What had she done other than batting her lashes and parting her legs?

He watched how Arthur stopped a small distance away from her, rigid and tense. How she noticed his posture and hesitated.

Savigne changed her mind and stepped back, wary of his anger and unwilling to play games when he was in this mood. Suddenly her innocent attempts at mischief seemed crude and petty.

"You want to sit down?” she asked cautiously instead, turning to pull out a chair.

He gave her an inscrutable look and didn’t move.

"You okay?” she said quietly, unsure what to do. Last time she had seen Arthur angry was when he had bashed Micah’s face in and that Arthur, calm and collected like this one on the outside had been capable of such nonchalant violence, that the memory still made her nervous. She didn’t think he would hurt her, but she didn’t want to worsen his mood with her clumsiness.

"Waiting,” he said through clenched teeth, his chest heaving.

"For?” she asked, pulse strumming.

"Yer thing,” he said finally, somewhat softer. When she still didn’t move: “Unless ya don’ wanna no more.” There was bitter disappointment in his tone, as if he expected the rejection. Why he wanted today what he obviously so begrudgingly, reluctantly endured, she didn’t know, but he had a vulnerability, a tension about him since he had set foot in camp and it had only grown deeper after his talk with Dutch.

She set her jaw and stepped up, took a breath of courage and hooked his shoulder to pull him down. For a moment it felt like he wouldn’t comply, a childish pettiness in his refusal because he had been reduced to asking for it, but then he stiffly bent down and allowed her hug. She was surprised when she felt his left hand on her lower back, almost in an awkward attempt to hug her back. She kissed his cheek and whispered “Welcome back”, hands tightening on his shoulders and lingering longer than usual.

She stepped back when she felt him nod. His eyes flicked to her and she thought that they were a shade softer.

"I hesitated,” she huffed, brushing her blouse, “because your shirt’s bloody and disgusting.”

The small grin of relief that broke out on his face was like the sun piercing rain clouds.

“Fair,” he said and his mood visibly lightened.

"I got you something,” she said and pulled out a chair. “Come sit.”

His eyebrows rose as he stalked over to take the chair and turned it to sit with his back to the camp. She ran to the tent and returned with a bottle and two shot glasses. She placed the bottle in front of him and he took it to inspect the label.

"Luther said it’s the good stuff,” she moved to sit to his right. “I don’t know much about whiskey, hope he’s right.”

He grunted and uncorked it, poured both glasses and held his up. She clinked her glass to his. “To luck!”

"Sure could use some more o’that,” he grumbled, but she was glad to see the corner of his lips curl up.

He gulped it down in one go while she took a sip. Whiskey went straight to her head.

He smacked his lips and rolled his tongue around his cheeks.

“Well?”

He grunted in approval and poured himself another shot. “Smooth,” he said, reading the label again. “Why’d ya get this fancy stuff?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

"You got a raise or somethin’?”

“I just came into some money.”

"That so?”

"Yeah. $200 a month that I don't have to pay as rent anymore.”

He gave her a sheepish look and she cackled, pleased. He chuckled despite himself and shook his head. “Should ‘ave known,” he mumbled and sipped his second glass.

Dutch’s phonograph started suddenly and Arthur grimaced, shifting his gaze to the lake.

Savigne glanced towards the camp, then back at him, her eyes crawling over his bloody shirt. She rose from her chair. “I’m going to get some water. Then we’ll clean up. Take the table in please?”

"Yes ma’am,” he sighed.

She went and collected two buckets of water, one with soap and without. When she returned to the tent she told him to undress. He did as told, amused. She wiped him down with soapy water first, taking her time, gliding the washcloth over the strung, rigid muscles of his shoulders as the fingers of her other hand found knots to untangle. She pressed, burrowed, kneaded and watched his head loll as he grunted in satisfaction. She traversed his broad back, down his narrow waist to draw lazy circles on his buttocks, her free hand mimicking the motion on the other cheek. He squared his feet and she glided it along his inner thighs, down his legs as she kneaded his calves and then back up in the front, stroking slowly and gently between his legs, feeling him harden at her touch but ignoring it, gently caressing his abdomen and then up his chest. Then she took the washcloth in regular water, wrung it and did the same thing, just as slowly to rinse him off. He was fully aroused by the time she made her way to the front and stepped up to her, a hand playing with her locks, his eyes set on her face, his breathing faster. She didn’t shy away from his erect cock and gently wrapped the washcloth around it and stroked it meticulously, her other hand caressing his trembling stomach muscles. His hips twitched towards her, drops of water glistening on his dark pubic hair. He uttered a low moan and panted with need but she ignored that too and moved up to finish his chest.

He reached for her but she danced back and started to unbutton her blouse. He wasn’t in the mood for rejection and stepped after her, slapping her hand away, resuming the unbuttoning himself. “Don’t rip it,” she murmured to slow him down. He peeled off her clothes and leaned in to kiss her but she pushed him away. “You have to wipe me off first,” she whispered and handed him the soapy washcloth. She smiled coyly at his frustration and he bit his cheek to imply that he would play her games. For now. He mimicked her movements and despite his full blown erection, his touch was deceptively light and gentle. “Missed a spot,” she whispered when rushed, and “wet the cloth again” and “Do that part again.” He gave her a look, pupils dilated, but stubbornly did as told.

It took a while but as soon as he was done he grabbed the back of her neck and jerked her towards himself, to give her a hungry kiss, his other hand squeezing her buttocks. “Ya done teasin’?” he mumbled into her lips, the fingers on her nape rough. She struggled against his grip and he chuckled darkly, kissed her again, holding her head in a vise. Whatever had been on his mind earlier was the furthest thing on his mind now, that was for sure. Savigne knew he was in a mood, had known it since he had walked in with a bloody shirt and those hiked shoulders, and she loved that she was the outlet, the cure for his frustrations; that she was the well that he returned to drink from again and again.

“Time t’make you dirty again,” he grinned before he hoisted her up and walked over to drop her on the table, settling between her legs. His hands ran up her upper legs, fondling hard before light fingers danced over her folds, making her yelp and bite her lip.

"Yeah, think ya done teasin'," he smirked when he felt the wetness there and he grabbed her hair to kiss her again, his other hand on her lower back, jerking her flush against himself.

"I don’t think…this table will…hold me,” she tried between rough kisses. His skin was still wet, sticking against hers as she ran her hands over his shoulders. Arthur ignored her trepidation, stroked himself twice and promptly guided himself in. She held her breath as his swollen head breached her. He grabbed a buttock to pull her on himself, slowly rocking in, then back out, then in again a little further as she panted into his mouth. Like a pendulum gaining force, in and out and back in until he was fully sheathed, pulsing in her, filling her and stretching her. He groaned at the sensation and paused with the effort to remain in control.

Then he kissed her again, hands hooked around her thighs to pull her in. Since that first night, every encounter was colored by his unabashed want for her and it coiled a spring in her gut. That look he gave her with hooded eyes, the tension of his fingers against her flesh, grabbing, clawing, pulling at her - all reflections of his desire for her and it wound up her body, breathing life into it like winding gave life to a stopped watch. Dutch’s phonograph was blasting an aria in the background and distantly she was thankful for the cover because when he started to move again the table creaked fiercely. She crossed her ankles behind him and he pulled her closer still, one arm across her lower back to hold her in place, the other hand splayed on the table behind her, allowing him to buck with more force.

He rocked into her unhurried as his lips traversed her neck and shoulders, his hand kneaded her buttocks. Too soon the friction against her inner walls started to build and her moans became harder to contain. She started to claw at his shoulders and hips. He pushed her back then and when she fell on her elbows he leaned in to kiss her breasts with a wild hunger, suckling her nipples, gently biting the plump flesh, licking and scraping his teeth at the sensitive underside. Savigne whimpered as he crawled over her to loom, hips rolling and bucking faster now, wet skin slapping against wet skin. She arched her back and he sharply jerked her ass half off the table, angling her before he resumed his pounding.

Her arms wobbled and her ankles uncrossed when she fell flat on her back. Her threw her legs over his shoulders, bending her in half when he leaned over her again. His right arm wound against her thighs on his chest to secure them while his left hand grasped the edge of the table above her head. She tried to mumble a protest about being bent over awkwardly but it evaporated when he continued bucking into her, reaching deeper yet. Soft cries bloomed between her gasps as he fucked her into the table, folding her on herself. She gripped the forearm above her head, felt the corded muscles straining with the pressure of his hold. Her other hand cupped his cheek as he grunted, huffed and groaned above her, watching her face while he rolled his hips and rocked into her harder and faster.

She cried his name and he peeled her hand from his cheek to guide it between them.

“Touch yerself,” he whispered, eyes never straying from her face. She immediately recoiled, feeling exposed when she was trapped under him like this, in full view of his hungry gaze. He rolled his hips and smacked into her with with vigor, forcing a shudder of gasps from her. He snatched her retrieving hand and guided it back between them, his eyes sharp as ice. “Do as yer told,” he growled, his voice low and hard.

She glided her hand over her swollen folds and whimpered. Reaching lower, her fingers parted around his cock pistoning into her, making his breath stutter. His eyes were glued to hers as she moaned helplessly and did it again, eyelids fluttering with ecstasy, fingers gliding up and down, brushing and massaging herself and him at the same time, pulling a sound from him she had never heard before. Sliding and caressing, pressing and dabbing, closing and spreading again until suddenly the tightly wound coil in her gut unfolded so fiercely that she spasmed, rising on the back of her head, digging her shoulders into the table, convulsing with the force of her orgasm. Her heels sharply dug into his shoulder blades as she distantly felt his hot mouth close on a nipple when her back arched. A moment later he spat a whisper of a curse followed by a series of moans and his hand gripping the edge of the table clenched hard enough to make the wood sing.

When she finally remembered to breathe again, his forehead was between her breasts, hot breath painting her skin and her legs were still slung over his shoulders. He whispered a husky “Christ,” before he shakily straightened, carefully dropping her legs from his shoulders and snaking his hands around her back to pull her up. Her muscles twitched and shivered as they elongated after being pressed awkwardly. She sat in his embrace, feet dangling as he huffed into her neck.

"Don’ move,” he whispered long moments later and pulled out to walk away. She swayed on the table, a trembling flushed mess. He returned with the washcloth and wiped between her legs, threw it back into the bucket and bent over to place open mouthed kisses on the inside of her thighs while she combed her fingers through his hair. He kissed his way up, over her stomach, licking the faint bite marks on her breasts and throat, kissing her jawline and finally kissing her mouth, hands cupping her face.

His eyes were that amazing shade of blue green when he pulled back, calm and gentle, as if he wasn’t the man who had fucked her mercilessly minutes ago.

"Ya okay?” he asked quietly. He was always distinctly gentle with her after an episode like this – not exactly apologetic, but more careful in how he handled her, more doting. Almost as if his superiority of size and strength over her excited and aroused him, but afterwards there was a veiled undercurrent of guilt or shame for using these advantages against her.

"I’m...okay," she panted, wiping her hair off her face. The music continued in the background and they listened to it for a while, foreheads touching, hands caressing; trying to extend that weightless feeling of the afterglow just a little longer. "And you?" was her belated question, intentionally vague and broad.

"Am now," he sighed.

Not for the first time she wondered what he used to do before they met when he was hot and heavy like this because at times she marveled at the force of his sexual frustration. Odds were, a lot of drinking and fighting. And probably pleasure houses, if if he was into that sort of thing, since Mary married a long time ago. The idea stirred a sour tinge of jealousy in her, even though she knew she didn't have the right to be jealous with whatever came before her. Didn't she have old flames herself? Still, it was hard to counter an emotion with logic and she struggled with it. Maybe that sort of thing was nature or maybe it was the lack of it growing up, but despite telling herself she's above such petty things, in her heart of hearts Savigne had always been jealous when it came to affection and though she knew it to be more casual for a lot of folks, she couldn't grasp the concept of sex without at least a little bit of affection, so naturally she was jealous of that, too. It was ironic, really, because half the time she was correcting Arthur that she isn't "his" woman and that she didn't belong to anyone and yet here she was, wondering who else had been touched by him, kissed by him, filled by him.

A little annoyed at herself, she pushed against his chest and he stepped back with some surprise, allowing her to jump off the table. "I'm going to refill the buckets," she said, starting to put on her clothes. "I'm all sweaty, can't sleep like this."

"I got it," he countered and pulled on his cotton pants and left with the buckets.

She gathered and placed the dirty clothes in the baskets and sat on the bed waiting. He returned and gently slapped her hand away when she reached over. He wiped her off and grabbed her arm when she turned to put on her chemise. "Did I hurt ya?"

"No," she stammered and smiled. Then more assured: "No." She knew that he didn't mind hurting her at all; in fact, there was a side to him that greatly enjoyed it, but he was cautious in mapping out her borders and red lines.

She turned again but he didn't release her, nudging her to look up at him. "I need ya honest," he said seriously, those eyes crawling over her face, prodding, searching for the reason of her mood change. Arthur was surprisingly intuitive and perceptive. At times she was amazed how quickly he read her mood swings. Even when he couldn't exactly guess what was going on with her, he almost always knew that something was and the more time they spent together, the eerily better he got at it.

"I am," she said and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "I liked it. Which should be obvious unless you're blind and deaf."

He nodded and let her go. Eventually they lied down facing each other as the last notes of the music died out.

He was perched up on his elbow, thoughtful and quiet, gliding his hand over the lingering marks of his iron grip on her body.

"Tell me what's in yer head."

"Mostly it's nonsense," she sighed.

"Like why yer here?" he said a long while later, eyes flicking to her face.

“What do you mean?” she asked, cautious.

“Here. In camp. With me.”

He was a man of few words and at times untangling his meaning was an art form.

“Shouldn’t I be?” she said finally.

He grimaced, his fingers caressing her hip, her rib cage, shoulder and back down, watching the cotton of the fabric smoothen under his hand. “Can’t think why,” he said, attempting casualness but she heard the timbre of self-doubt. He was one of the most confident men she knew but at times revealed a surprising tendency for self depreciation and the events of the day must have rattled him somehow.

“I know we’re very…different,” she tried. “But different things sometimes complete each other, no?”

He was silent for a while, seemingly thinking about that.

“If I was to leave, would you come with?” he said suddenly, before his eyes shied away again.

“Leave where?”

He shrugged, his warm palm gliding up and down and up and down. “Don’ know. Somewhere else.”

She thought on it for a while, caught a bit off guard. They hadn’t been together for very long but in all these months, he had never asked anything of her. Now he was suddenly asking for something very big.

“Would you want me to?” She said carefully.

He scoffed. “Ain’t I askin’?”

“Okay then. Probably,” she said.

This seemed to surprise him and his hand stilled momentarily on her hip as he gave her a long look.

She snorted at the doubt in his face, amused.

“Why?” he said at long last.

Because I love you, you fool, she thought. “It’s not the shooting lessons, I’ll tell you that,” she said instead.

“Y'ain’t sick of me yet?” he pushed.

She wondered if this is what she sounded like when her stupid inner voice babbled in her head.

“Wouldn’t be here if I was.”

He didn’t seem mollified. She cupped his cheek and he stilled, finally meeting her gaze.

“It’s the tent,” she whispered as seriously as she could. “I really like this tent.”

A smirk bloomed on his lips. “Honesty at last.”

“Clearly it’s all calculated,” she said, waving her arm about. “Besides, I might need saving again, smarter to stick around you.”

He snickered, amused, but his gaze was unmistakably warmer.

“Of course once I learn to shoot, it’s a different story.”

“Well then I ain’t got nothin’ to worry 'bout,” was the smug retort.

She gasped and slapped his hand away but he didn’t move, just grinned at her with that damn gaze she couldn’t hold.

“Said you liked it,” he drawled, hand gliding over her hips, eyes more playful.

She flopped on her other side. “Unlike you, I’m working tomorrow. Let me sleep.”

She felt him reach over to the lantern on the crate and turn it off, then settle behind her, arm draped over her.

“I like being with you,” she said a few minutes later, more somber. “It’s not that hard to understand.” The camp had grown quiet, all she could hear was the lap of the water and the buzzing of insects.

He was silent for a while. “I ain’t a good man,” he said finally.

“What does that even mean?”

“You forget what I do for a livin’?”

“Oh…” she mumbled, “…that.”

“Yeah. That.”

She thought of his bloody shirt from earlier, his odd mood since. “Did something happen today?” she asked.

It took a while, but eventually he said “Had to do somethin' I ain’t proud of,” with some reluctance.

There was a very long silence between them. Savigne didn’t have Arthur’s sharp perception, but she was convinced that he was at last asleep. His heartbeat was steady and his breathing low.

“When I was twelve or thirteen, I was transferred to this orphanage in a small town for a few years,” she whispered to the darkness of the tent. “There was a Tommy there. Some kid, maybe like early twenties, who was a menace. The meanest person you can imagine and crazy, too.”

When she had been in her own tent, she would sometimes talk to herself. Because most of her life was spent around others, in rooms with multiple bunk beds, in meal halls filled with other kids, in crowded classrooms, having a place that belonged just to her, where she was alone was a luxury. Talking to herself in the privacy of her own tent had been an affirmation that she had earned it, that she had made it.

“He had his own gang. He wasn’t even that big; he was a gangly, wiry kid, but you know how some people have that something that others fear and follow?” she asked, a rhetorical question she didn’t expect an answer to. “He had that. There were men older than him in that gang, kissing up to him all day, acting like foot soldiers to him. Anyway, Tommy would go around causing all kinds of mayhem, beating folks, robbing them, extorting them, you name it.”

“Eventually he found out that Mister Stiller…” she hesitated, trying to think how to say it, even though she was her only audience. “He…uh…‘liked’…his daughter…a little too much.” Her face heated up in the dark but she kept still, not wanting to squirm and wake him behind her. Thinking of Elizabeth always made her want to squirm.

“Everyone knew about it. They pitied Elizabeth. Folks were extra gentle to her. Like, they would give her free cans of food when she went grocery shopping or an extra few feet of cloth if she was at the tailor or they would give her a discount if she needed new shoes. As if all that would make up for the horror that girl was suffering through every night,” she hissed, clenching her jaw.

“But nobody had the courage to do anything about it. Not the so-called law, not the judges, not the churchgoers sitting next to him every Sunday. Because Mister Stiller was an important man and he owned half the town. But, you see, he didn’t own Tommy.”

“One night Tommy broke into his house, slapped his wife around when she tried to stop him, dragged Mister Stiller out to his horse, took him god knows where and beat the living shit out of him. I mean, ‘breaking both arms, both legs, cracking his skull, splitting some of his ribs’ kind of beating. It's not like Tommy liked Elizabeth or anything, it was the principle of the thing, you know? Unlike all those ‘proper’ townsfolk, he wasn’t willing to look the other way. Mister Stiller miraculously lived, in case you’re wondering, but he never walked again. He never ate solid food again. Among other things. Can’t say I’m sorry about that.”

Something hooted outside and she wondered what it was. The tent swayed gently in the summer breeze, shadows moving. Arthur was warm and quiet behind her. Everyone in camp sounded asleep, too. A sense of belonging came over her, of comfort, of…home. Something about the moment was perfect and she paused, mystified and spellbound by the feeling.

“Now, people knew it was Tommy, of course,” she whispered on after a while, “But once again, nobody did anything. That’s small towns for you. Probably smart, considering the boy had his own army at that point and besides, nobody was eager to become the next Mister Stiller.”

“I think on that sometimes and I think ‘so was Tommy a bad man?’ And I think, yes, he probably he was. To many people, most people even, he definitely was a terrible man. But I bet to at least one person in that town, he will forever be the greatest man who ever lived.”

She listened to the steady drumming of his heartbeat on her back. Her mind went to the day when she was standing in that dark pantry, her wrists tied, terrified. She couldn’t make out the muffled words outside the door but she sensed the intent, an inkling of what was waiting for her and it had made her shake like a leaf. She didn’t know if she had the strength, the resolve to go through it, to go somewhere else in her head when it happened, and then when it happened again. And again.

“You’re never going to convince me that you’re not a good man,” she whispered, trembling with the memory.

She jumped with surprise when his hand slowly moved to cover hers. She slightly curled her fingers around his, anchoring the hold. He didn’t say anything but she felt a warm kiss bloom on her shoulder like a flower.

She thought she would be up all night, haunted by old memories, but she was fast asleep when another hoot came, not that much later.

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