#a love that is both pure and innocent yet monstrous and all consuming

[shhhsoftnwet]

A future only Seo Doyoung can fantasises about

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @henbased and @marivenah for some wip goodness (thank you beloveds)

tagging: @cloudofbutterflies92 @aceghosts @galaxycunt @ocdemon-747 @unholymilf @wrathfulrook @amalkavian @fourlittleseedlings @harmonyowl @mccarthycormac @mxanigel @madparadoxum @carlosoliveiraa @confidentandgood @afarcry5fromstraight @nightbloodbix @roofgeese @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @clicheantagonist @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @statichvm @peppertheferalraccoon @josephslittledeputy @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @v0idbuggy @direwombat @florbelles @poetikat @cassieuncaged @shallow-gravy @cassietrn @strangefable @stacispratt (no pressure of course)

writing tag list here to be added/removed

well i'm back with some of chapter 51 of American Beasts. It's Kit and the kiddos again. I've shared little snippets of this here and there, but this is a bit more cohesive:

“You’re not our mom!”

Her jaw tightened on reflex, her brows knitting together to meet with the lines that creased there. She took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know that,” she muttered. 

“So then just leave us alone.”

“I can’t,” her voice broke into a soft whisper. “Please, let me take care of you.”

A little chubby hand reached out from under the bed and gripped onto the toe of Kit’s boot, fingertips stained with blood from when the little girl had held her earlier. She lowered to her knees, dropping down to her hands to look at the faces of the children. Placing her hand on top of Quinn’s, and stroking the toddler’s hand with her thumb. The frozen chill on the child’s skin mellowing her, making her heart ache.

She couldn’t bear the thought of becoming what her father had been to her as a child. Someone to fear rather than respect. A God whose love and mercy she had never received. Kindness never shown. They didn’t deserve that life, she wasn’t so sure even she did.

“Please?” She begged Carter, pleading with a child as she sat bent over in supplication. Her piercing stare turned glassy as she looked at the little boy. “Please come out,” she whispered, her voice trembling and weak as if she were praying for an angel’s assistance in her hour of need. “Please, I promise I can be better.”

Kit wasn’t sure why she said it or who exactly she was saying it to. Was it a promise to herself, to the children, to God? Or some version of the future she so desperately clung to, the one where everything would turn out for the better, where the man she needed lived and there was hope and light at the end of the tunnel and not just more darkness – never ending and all consuming.

“Please.” Her eyes flitted over the boy’s face, desperation sinking into her. There had to be some version of this scenario where things worked. God wouldn’t have sent her here just to have it all go wrong again, he wasn’t even that cruel to Abraham. 

Carter sighed and started to crawl out, while Quinn stretched out her arms the way an infant would when it was desperate to be held, letting herself be swung up into Kit’s waiting arms to be cradled against her chest.  Kit’s heart beat faster as she held Quinn tight to her and looked between both of the children. “I know that you’ve had your heads filled with stories about me and the family. But I swear to you, I swear to you both I will protect you with every last breath in my body if you just trust me. Please, come outside, come with me back home, come with me where I can keep you safe. Safe and protected…innocent and pure.”

Safe.

Repeating the word over and over, reminding herself she didn’t have to be that monstrous thing, that abomination that took the lives of those who had yet to even live. She could be trusted, she could be good. She wasn’t bad. She was good. God, she swore she could be good. If not for her, she’d do it for them. 

Her hands shook as she clung to the toddler in her arms, leading the two children outside where vehicles waited and bodies lay scattered on the ground. Death had followed them up into the mountains, to where refuge was meant to keep them protected from the violence of the cult. Guttural moans and the last cries of pain shouted out before being silenced forever echoed up into the canopy above, but Kit remained unfazed. The mysterious woman who’d come to find them was unshaken by the horror, standing silhouetted by the lights of the truck, basked in darkness except for the halo that surrounded her body.

As Kit placed Quinn back down on the ground beside her brother, Carter was quick to wrap his sister in his arms. Staring out at the faces of men with stringy hair, and unkempt beards, their clothes tattered and worn, some of them even marked upon their foreheads by the cross of the Project, he did his best to stay brave, watching them move around the grounds of his family home with weapons in their hands. 

Kit’s void-like stare focused on how his eyes traveled over the members of the hunting parties that had come to find her, refusing to let fear overcome him. He was strong, there was no denying that fact. “Don’t look at them, okay? Look at me, Carter,” she cooed. His dark eyes falling back to meet hers. “I can’t in good conscience leave you and your sister here alone. You’re starving, you’re cold. You’re babies. You’ve done a great job keeping yourselves alive, but you can’t live on bread and peanut butter alone.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you. We’re not gonna be doctornated.”

She kneeled down once more, no longer towering above them, they were eye to eye. Equals. Bathed in the headlights, she looked even more the angel before him, red hair shining with gold, totally illuminated as she held out her hand towards him, palm facing upwards. “You can trust me. No harm will ever come to you. As long as I’m alive no one will ever lay a finger on you or your sister.”

Carter froze, his eyes ticking back and forth as he questioned everything he was taught and what he knew. But his answer didn’t matter, not as Quinn stepped forward and placed her little hand in Kit’s, looking up at the woman with giant brown eyes. 

“Quinn! Get back here.” He reached out for his sister, but it didn’t matter, she’d already made her choice. “We can’t, Quinny.”

Chin hugging waves of brown hair fluttered over the little girl’s shoulder as she turned to look at her brother. “Don’t wanna stay.” Climbing Kit like a koala, the little girl locked her arms and legs around the redhead’s torso. “Take us home,” she whispered, nuzzling her head against Kit’s wounded chest.  

Swallowing heavily, looking down at the little bundle in pink fleece pajamas, warmth spread throughout her again like a light that shone from the little girl into her. Stroking her hand through the girl’s soft curls, for a brief moment she leaned down and sniffed Quinn’s head, breathing in the scent of her until Kit’s lungs were filled to the brim. 

Holding out her hand towards Carter, Kit gave him a gentle smile. “I’m not leaving you behind. You and your sister are a package deal. I intend to keep it that way.”

“I’m not joining the cult.”

“No one said you have to.”

Carter’s eyes lowered from hers, his focus turning to her hand. Standing there, arguing with himself in his head. The same indomitable will she had, one that refused to give up without a fight. She was already swelling with pride about him. 

“I’m not trying to replace your mom and dad, I’m just trying to keep you alive.”

“Why?”

Her eyes teared up, choking back the guilt that had weighed on her for so long. Biting back on the fear and the anger and all the nightmares that had plagued her for years. Those dark brown eyes that watched her from the dark recesses, staring out blankly, empty – haunting her. Kit’s voice was a hoarse croak as she spoke, “I’ve made my mistakes. I hurt people. Innocent people. I can’t have you on my conscience too.”

His eyes fell, face filled with concern, and then without another word, he stepped forward and took her hand. Her fingers clasped to his and she tilted her head, not quite believing it had really happened. A nervous smile curled her lips as she stood and led them towards the waiting vehicles.

[french-toast-enjoyer]

Short story — part two!

this is a continuation of my story from earlier!

the same content warnings for suicidal ideation and gore still stand !

Yusuf realizes now that he should be sobered, humbled, afraid. In the den of the minotaur.

But fear is no object as he turns and takes in the sight of the beast. Any death is sweeter than the bitter winter outside.

The creature hunches tall over him, bestial yet weak; adorned with jagged horns and clawed hands and split hooves— the cautionary visage of a minotaur. He's covered in thick, damp fur and a faded red cloak like a creature of the night, yet he’s too– ill to look predatory. His frame is giant and brutish, yet he strains to hold his wretched head up.

He doesn't seem like the abomination the townsfolk whispered about. Even in this pen of rot, he can't imagine the creature indulging the loving eroticism of death.

But it’s starving.

The beast needs to feed, and the man needs to die. Such is life for animals like them.

If the folktales are true, the creature will taste the man’s flesh and be blessed to never hunger again. If they aren’t, it doesn’t make much difference.

It doesn’t move to claim him, it only stares with lidded black eyes.

Even so the man goes on and places his life in the maw of the minotaur. He clenches his eyes shut, draws in a sharp breath, and submits to his own devouring.

“Please,” the man begs an unmoving Kallus, "end me, make love to me with your fangs. Feast upon me so that you may live– so that I may rest in peace.”

Close your jaws around him. The voice commands, Have your fill. End this.

"No," The beast utters, almost usure which voice he’s denying, "won't.. hurt you,"

His words are blunt and forceful and he no longer looks at the traveler. He’s fighting the scent, fighting to preserve something.

But despite the minotaur's objections, the man’s desire persists.

"I’ve nothing left." He grovels, “Let me offer myself. Let my death have meaning, please. I beg of you.”

“Won't lash out in hunger. Won't.” Kallus says through clenched teeth.

“And what of the slaughtered animals?” the man seethes, casting eyes on the den of rotting creatures, “What barrs my innocence from that of any creature fallen on the blade of your desire?”

The minotaur’s face distorts in grief, eyes all too present for a moment.

“Was not always... like this,” he mourns, languishing over his wretched body, “was… human once, was cursed with this body.”

“Like the faerie tales.” the man whispers, “You’ve not yet devoured a human, have you?”

“No!” he cries, staggering back with disgust, “Can not destroy my kin– can not become such an animal.”

Oh.

Silence consumes them both, yet before another word escapes either man– there comes something more intimate.

A touch.

A freezing hand ghosts across the side of a monstrous face, and holds it with wifely fervor; unafraid.

“Oh, my other,” the man whispers, “I am not kin, I am not prey; I am an oblation. To eat of my flesh would be an act of love– would make you a god,"

His words are pure bullshit. Flattery, but part of him believes.

The minotaur lets his gaze drop to the man’s neck, transfixed. It would taste so sweet, he thought, sweet and forbidden. A rope is still wrapped around his neck, the other end strung up on the branch of an old elm tree. He’s resigned, unwilling to break away.

The man’s words arouse something within Kallus. He fears he can’t stop himself from doing what he's wanted to do since the stranger arrived. But he tries. Again he denies the man.

“Then I must go, and find my death somewhere else.” he resigns, hanging his head and turning to walk away.

“No.” The beast orders.

“... What?”

“Stay here– just for tonight.” the beast says, calmer now.

And with a lasting prayer that morning will not come for him, the man obliges his new master.

Under the dim light above the den Kallus finally sees the wanderer, and in simple terms, he is moth-eaten.

Wrapped in ragged wool is a pale, thin, pestilized body. His face is gaunt and aging, his dark hair is long and unkempt, and his cheeks are scarred, tinged red with the biting cold.

He hungers as well.

To the beast he’s fragile as stained glass.

Just as beautiful too.

“Have you a name?” the man asks, watching the creature pace around the room.

He stops dead. Caught off guard by the thought that anyone cared enough to ask.

“Kallus,” he answers, in a strange, hushed tone, “and you?”

The man falters for a beat, and swiftly pulls something from around his neck.

“I was once called Omega.” He says, presenting a silver pendant with the Greek symbol on its face, “It means end of all things.”

Kallus looks at the rough edges of the relic, and in turn the rough edges of the man himself.

“But that was long ago.” he adds sharply, snapping up the necklace and stashing it away, “my real name is Yusuf.”

The creature turns the name over in his mind, drinking in the very warmth of it.

“‘Yusuf.’” he repeats, and the man shivers at the possessive way he says it.

That’s it, he thinks, call me yours.

Night has all but fallen, and the storm picks up outside. Yusuf shakes beneath his tattered cloak as he sits on the floor of the den. He curls into himself a bit, as if mourning or nursing a wound.

Those worn brown eyes catch Kallus leering, and the body shifts to cover its emaciated nature. It only draws him closer.

The behemoth moves forward on all fours, trying to be light and gentle as he skulks over piles of ravaged bodies. They’re a chorus of voices beneath his claws and hooves, led by that shameless old desire.

Maim him. Hurt him. Kill him.

It’s easier to resist, looking into his eyes.

“Are you hurt?” asks the minotaur, almost closing the distance between them.

“No.” he replies, withdrawing into his cloak.

The beast huffs and raises its towering head.

“Show your arm.”

“No, it’s nothing.” You’re going to devour me anyway, the man thinks, almost resentfully, it’s only another reason to give in.

“Show.” he orders, voice stern yet not unkind.

The man buckles under the weight of the command.

“It’s not important, it's just– my arm. I can’t feel it,” he mutters, revealing the affliction.

The limb at his right is frostbitten, reminiscent of a burned tree branch. Blackened, waxy skin stretches across the tender, withering hand. The darkness creeps up below his elbow where it meets a pale, soft body, like a falconer's glove.

It’s troubling how well Yusuf hides the pain, and how the hand hangs rigid as a body in the gallows.

“It’s dead weight.” he admits, “ but– it’s begun to spread, and it hurts. I can’t hunt, I can’t start a fire, I can’t treat it. It’s always there.”

Kallus reaches out, cautiously. He’s afraid to even touch the man in this state, considering his– ideations.

“You can still survive,”

“No, I can’t. Not like this.”

“Then find a way. Darkness is coming, you must learn to live with the pain.”

“I won’t live. It's unbearable. You could never understand.”

The beast’s ears flatten against his head, and he bites his tongue and seethes, quietly.

“Understand far too well.” Kallus all but confides, “Pain may never fully leave, but you will make it.”

“And what about you? If I survive and leave this place, what happens to you?”

There comes no reply.

The chorus is one voice stronger now.

“Why are you so stubborn?” he lashes out, “You can have me. You’ll starve if you don’t!”

“You are not a body to be offered!” Kallus dercies, violently shaking the thoughts from his head.

“Then why? If you don’t want to kill me, why would you ask me to stay?”

“Alone,” he admits.

“Do not want to be alone. Do not want you to be, either.”

Yusuf stops short at that, breathing in ragged bursts and slumping against the rigid floor. He’s begun to cry, he realizes, sharp and guttural as if his grief is being bled from a drainage wound.

He’s only helpless for a moment as a claw laces beneath his chin, tilting his head to meet a blackened gaze.

“If I am to be your god,” the behemoth says tenderly, “then-- must protect you.”

The images that flash in the man’s mind are conflicting.

Soft winter mornings in the warmth of his leviathan arms.

The spread of decay, the illness, the mourning.

Making it out together, finding hope.

Being a helpless voyeur to his god's demise.

“How?” Yusuf asks, cradling his dying arm, “How could anybody save me from all this?”

Kallus’s breath hitches as a certain hunger returns to him, yet the shame dissipates knowing that the desire is all his own.

“Sever it and offer it to me.” he says, “Let me have my fill.”

And for the first time in what feels like years, the man smiles.

[kindaeccentric]

When I was writing my university bachelor's degree thesis (that I'm still to defend) about Penny Dreadful as a modern adaptation of Frankenstein I noticed how the original novel's homoeroticism is realized by the series in an interesting way.

In the way he is presented, it seems to me that Victor secretly desires men, but thinks that only through creating a perfect one by himself he's allowed to touch other man's skin. His endeavour to pierce the veil between life and death is an excuse, since Victor from the series grew up lonely after the death of his mother and he searches for companionship, for someone who would love him unconditionally, like his mother used to. He believes he can find such love only in a person he creates himself, brings from the dead, and who would see him as his only friend, calm and obedient. Yet his first instinct is to make a man, not a woman, and a handsome man at that.

I can imagine both Rory Kinnear and Alex Price are not everybody's cup of tea (I do find them attractive, they are quite charismatic), but the way the original Creature and Proteus are shown makes them attractive. Proteus we see through Victor's eyes, when he is tending to his body before its even reanimated, when he sketches him (a sure sign of affection) and when he teaches him how to eat in a way that becomes seductive, because of how the camera lingers on his lips and then, in a closeup, on his fingers running down his long throat, immediately bringing to mind erotic imagery. Some may argue that Victor tries to emulate the relationship between his mother and himself taking the parental role and projecting onto Proteus the role of his childhood self, and as much as it is partially true, their relationship bears these marks of hidden desire on Victor's part from the start. The image at the end of the first episode when Proteus is born shows Victor trembling, teary-eyed, looking at the body, a torn and stitched back together, but human body, of a naked man. He's afraid, but not necessarily of the man, but of finally getting what he wanted, it's a fear resulting from excitement. Then the man is touching his face tenderly and Victor, still trembling, cannot stop himself from a little smile. Their faces are softly illuminated by the orange light of the gas lamp, creating an intimate atmosphere of a warm bedroom. Victor practically gasps hearing his own name smoken by Proteus. I doubt all of it was intentional in the way I read it, but it doesn't change the fact that the final scene can be easily interpreted this way.

Then the original Creature, with the violence surrounding his return, presents him as highly masculine, smart, powerful, a direct opposite to the delicate, clueless Proteus Victor could easily form into whatever he wanted. The Creature throughout the entire series is perceived as ugly by some and easily tolerated by others, making his ugliness purely subjective, since, despite his small deformities he remains strangely alluring with his gothic qualities (black long hair, black lips, white skin, yellow eyes, proportional features) of a dark brooding gentleman. With blood on his face he becomes vampire-like (vampires always a symbol of hidden desires and 'depraved' sexuality, the Creature and Victor becoming a mirror image of Vanessa and vampire Mina, both Creature's and Mina's monstrosity an indirect result of Victor's and Vanessa's desire towards having a same-sex companion). The Creature touches Victor's face, a callback to Proteus doing it, but the Creature is not gentle, he smears blood all over Victor's face (blood in vampire narratives was always a symbol for other bodily fluids, that's why it seems so sexy, it also gained another meaning in the 80s, due to the HIV epidemic, which no filmmaker can shake off if they tried, I could discuss it more with The Lost Boys, but no time for that right now).

The dynamic between Victor and the Creature is a reversal of Victor's budding relationship with Proteus, experience winning over innocence. Victor is under another man's rule, and it terrifies him, because it would force him into a position of having to admit his attraction, whereas as the one in control he could have still easily deny it. The Creature, with all his attributes, symbolizes carnal love, he's all 'body', where Proteus was virginal, pious love (to an extent). In one of the scenes where we see Proteus he looks up into the skylight at Victor's apartment and appears angelic, as if in a halo of white light.

It's revealed Victor never had a woman, and the series wants the viewer to believe it's because of his awkwardness and passion for science that consumed him, but his dedication to creating himself male companions instead of searching for a living female one is exactly what makes him seem more queer coded.

It's clear that the lack of paternal figure results in Victor quickly becoming close with older men he encounters (Sir Malcolm, Van Helsing), but it also puts him into a position where he's constantly surrounded by men, with whom he feels more at ease, and is intimidated by women. The rivalry between him and Ethan is that of siblings, until the moment when Ethan teaches him how to shoot a gun. It might be a stretch (it is a bit of a stretch, I admit), but a gun often, especially in horror, alongside a knife, represents manhood and masculine power. Victor allows Ethan to touch him and encourages him to show off with the gun, which is a scene all too familiar from many other movies where the role of Victor is reserved for a woman and the interaction is flirtatious (can't pull examples out of thin air, but if you saw over 1400 movies like me you know I'm not lying). All this adds to the general image of Victor.

The Creature and Victor, when they are on a walk, have a very revealing conversation in which the Creature points out how quick Victor was to grow attached to his more perfect man, and Victor doesn't deny it, he admits that he did in fact feel affection towards Proteus, although the meaning of it as the scorned past partner expressing jealousy over the love he didn't get while someone else did is largely subtext. When the Creature says that he's lonely, Victor answers 'I cannot love you' (paraphrase, because I can't find the exact quote right now) and the Creature, disillusioned, mocks him, 'I do not want what you cannot give' suggesting that Victor, by making himself a meek obedient man, is selfish, cruel, manipulating, and a coward, therefore could not have loved Proteus truly. Then again, Victor cannot bring himself to love his original Creature, because he's not the ideal man he envisioned and by then the Creature being too aware of his flaws of character. The Creature/Caliban/John Clare knows that Victor is 'monstrous', not just because he's someone who desecrates dead bodies, plays God and abandons his creation, but because of his queer desire. It's important that in the case of Penny Dreadful 'monstrosity' signifies many different things, literal (being a vampire werewolf, witch, and so on), metaphorical (bad deeds, like letting your son die a horrible death, cheating, killing etc.) and wholy subjective, merely condemned by ignorant society (Sembene's blackness, Brona's sex work, Lily's want to be equal or greater than men, Vanessa's want for sexual freedom, the Creature's ugliness, Angelique being transgender and other cases), so it's NOT that much of a stretch this time.

We also have the whole problem with Lily. Victor is so attached to Lily (who takes up both Elizabeth's and creature's bride parts in the novel) because he believes that only by possessing a good woman he'll be redeemed for his 'sinful' desires, but he's foolish to think that. This belief reduces a woman to a semi-maternal, semi-virginal angelic ideal with no sexual urges or agency, like virgin Mary. Lily is a true replacement for Victor's mother, and his imagined redemption. As long as she's similar to Proteus, in that she's not sexual, and pure like an angel. Yet Lily is not a woman in that sense. She is another of Victor's creatures, so she partially also takes over the role of the original Creature from the novel, a male. She's not an ideal of a Victorian obedient wife, she has power, or tries to have it, but power in the context of patriarchal society is masculine by nature. The moment she drops her pretenses of a weak delicate wife-like girl Victor does not want her like this. He doesn't want a woman that is sexually liberated, because he doesn't like women in this way, and yet, by being similar to the first Creature (from Victor's perspective, from hers John Clare is similar to Victor-a man, I could delve into Brona's sexuality, but later, this thing is already way longer than I intended) she's 'the man' he wanted.

There is also Henry. Henry Jekyll takes the role of his namesake in the novel, Henry Clerval, Victor's closest friend, and a character most often cited to have homoerotic tension with Victor. It's true that some of the eroticism might be accidental, stemming from the prevalence of homosocial interactions in 'Frankenstein' which in turn is a result of misogynistic nature of 19th century Genevian society and in-novel universe reflecting it, but like I mentioned before, it still feeds into the queer reading of the text and translates beautifully into Jekyll and Victor being both extremely misogynistic towards Lily and their mutual homoerotic tension. In the scenes where Henry purposes his plan to Victor he practically seductively purrs it into his ear, Lily becomes merely a female buffer that allows for that interaction, a female presence which is an excuse for male closeness (here I have a couple of examples actually: Dead Ringers, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Scream (in a roundabout way, through murder) and a couple others, but that deserves its own article). I won't even mention more references to the novel, because that's a lot already.

Penny Dreadful, although I believe largely unintentionally, expands on what is already there through the changes it introduces in relation to the novel's plot. I have nothing else smart to say, I just think it's worth considering.

*I use the word 'queer', because that's the umbrella term we use in academic writing for years now and even our lgbt+ group at university is called 'queer', so don't come at me with stupid takes

[roseofbaron]

Just finished volume one of the FFIV novel and here are some things, mostly centered around Rosa and Baron in general, that caught my attention:

Rosa wanting Kain’s blessing on her wedding dress!

Biggs thinking about Cecil after the attack on Mysidia: “I would die for you, but not for the king.”

Biggs eavesdropping on the throne room and Rosa startling him (also they knew each other well through Cecil)

Rosa visited Mysidia many times during her studies of white magic.

Biggs and Rosa being very clever and quickly figuring out the meaning behind Cecil and Kain’s quest to Mist.

“I’m going to find him!” She said. “It’s too dangerous. Allow me to go in your stead.” She shook her head: “If a soldier leaves his post it’ll draw more suspicion.” “But—!” “Did you forget? White magic isn’t the only thing I’ve practiced.” Biggs opened his mouth but produced no sound. He did recall that Rosa was the best archer in all of Baron.

“You forget one more thing.” Biggs shook his head, not understanding what else she meant. “I’m stubborn. As stubborn as you are.”

Hi, yes, Tellah is a delightful man, fighting desperately against the hatred swelling up within his heart. Everyone, including Cid, calls him “grandpa.”

Also still crying over Anna’s death. Her and Edward were married as the attack on Damcyan was happening.

When Rydia is trying to cast fire on the ice wall blocking Mt. Hobs, she notes that she’s never seen any of her companions smile. Rosa, Edward, Cecil... they’ve been somber the entire time they’ve known Rydia and rightfully so.

Upon first meeting Golbez in Fabul, Rosa immediately recognizes the similarities between Golbez and Cecil (not their faces but the darkness consuming them both). Golbez, unlike Cecil however, was pure darkness; his presence actually scaring Cecil as Rosa notes when she places her hand on his back and finds him shaking.

Golbez reached out his hand to cast a spell, knocking the men to the ground. When Rosa is pleading with Kain, Cecil reaches out to her and she notes how much it reminds her of the gesture Golbez just performed.

Biggs is actually the one who stumbles upon the corpse of the King of Baron in the basement. He’s the one who places him on the old throne in the room as a respectful act since it would be near impossible to give him a proper burial without being spotted and looking suspicious. In a way, the King of Baron being placed there was possibly a mocking gesture, though Biggs turns it into his tomb of sorts.

Biggs also visited the dead king everyday to report the miseries of Baron. Did I mention I love Biggs? ;-;

While Kain was being manipulated by Golbez, Rosa was terrified of him yet still did not blame him for his actions.

“Will you... stab me?” “I don’t want to. You’re being manipulated by Golbez.” She smiled. Yes, she smiled. “I know it. You have no fault here.”

Rosa threatens to end her life if Kain hurts Cecil and cuts her own palm to prove it, staining her dagger with blood. There’s symbolism here it seems on the loss of purity and innocence.

Also, after being taken by Golbez, he and Kain returned to Baron and Rosa was being held captive with Cecil’s room acting as her prison.

Baigan is a snake. Metaphorically of course, but I am now realizing the symbolism in his monstrous form as well. 

The novel is interesting because we see a different side to Baigan than is presented in the games and instead we are introduced to him through his motivations rather than through Cecil’s lens. He does refer to his monstrous form as a gift of power. He’s an egotistical snake... 

Also, at one point earlier, Kain has a conversation with Golbez in the throne room and Golbez is the one sitting on the throne with Baigan and the “king” on either side of him. Though Golbez calls Kain his right arm, it is clear he does not truly think of Kain as such.

When Yang is taken by Golbez, he tells Kain to give him the orders of leading Baron’s troops against Cecil. Kain, in what seems to be an act of rebellion, gives Yang the master key to Baron and tells him to hold it in his right fist and never let go. When Cecil gets the key from Yang he says “It seems we have an ally inside Baron” not realizing it was Kain (who later is the absolute worst to Cecil).

Palom and Porom’s sacrifice still makes me emotional to this day. They have a telepathic conversation (explained by their twin connection) as they are fading into unconsciousness. Palom says goodbye to Cecil in his mind, referring to him as his big brother. ;-;

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 30

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

BEAVER HOLLOW

Bolting back to camp, Eddie and I powered through the roads like there was no tomorrow as we rode towards Beaver Hollow with the speed of a cheetah, completely forgettin’ about the stagecoach or the loot that was supposed to be in it.

At the moment, the thoughts in my head were rushin’ even faster than I was forcing my horse to go, and with every agonizing second that passed, the more my heart pounded in my chest.

Who knew what the hell Atticus was planning? If he and Cornwall stationed that many guards to protect a single stagecoach -- a trap that was meant to just capture me and Eddie alone -- I didn’t even wanna think about what he had in mind for the rest of the gang.

There was no doubt Atticus knew where our camp was -- all thanks to Micah -- and I just hoped we would be able to get to Dutch before anything else happened.

Our time may have been comin’ to an end...but I sure as hell refused to go down without a fight.

“...Arthur!” Eddie suddenly exclaimed in an alarmed tone, his voice shaking as he pointed to the sky. “...L-Look...!”

Bringin’ my attention to the top of the tree line, I felt the color drain from my face when I realized there was a monstrous cloud of smoke coming straight from our camp, its ghostly texture tinted with an orange glow as bright red sparks danced wildly around it.

There was no way in hell a simple campfire coulda produced that much smoke, and considerin’ the fact that I wasn’t at Dutch’s side to protect him right now, I could’ve only assumed that the gang had been attacked.

This was the perfect opportunity, after all. Our gang’s leader had been left alone with the very same rat who drove us into this hellhole in the first place, and without me or Hosea to keep the camp safe, Dutch was nothin’ more than a target to shoot.

I just hoped they weren’t all dead already. Our gang was vulnerable enough as is, and to be ambushed by someone like Atticus Rose...well, it didn���t leave much chance for survival.

We was at the end of our rope, here. We had done our worst, and tried our best, but now...it was finally time to face reality.

It was time for me to be a goddamned man, and protect the people I loved.

Skiddin’ to a stop, my horse’s hooves dug deep into the dirt below as I quickly hopped off and hurried back into camp, not wasting a single second while Eddie followed me from behind.

All around me, I could see fresh corpses littering the ground with their jaws hangin’ open as smoke rose from the barrels of their guns, and numerous flies began gathering on their flesh.

The stench of gunpowder and death filled my nose and caused me to grimace, my face twistin’ in disgust as I investigated the gruesome scene.

So far, I didn’t see anyone I knew buried in the pile of bodies -- and most of the casualties appeared to be from Atticus’ side -- but the situation still looked more than dire in the camp. In fact, it was downright nightmarish.

There were flames still ragin’ from what appeared to have been a hellish fight, many of the tents and wagons had been destroyed, a handful of our mounts had been slaughtered, and it looked like Dutch’s donation box had been smashed to pieces.

...Jesus Christ. What happened here?

Slowin’ down our pace a bit, Eddie and I cautiously ventured deeper into the ruined camp as the two of us gazed around in pure horror, unable to believe that this was the same place we left behind just an hour ago.

Most of our belongings had been broken beyond repair, and considering how we already had lawmen searchin’ for us in the rest of the states, I didn’t know where on Earth Dutch was planning to run to after this.

It was a big country, sure...but its people hadn’t forgotten us nearly as much as we hoped they would. Our faces were plastered on every building from here to Blackwater, and now that Atticus was teamed up with Cornwall, I doubted we’d have a very easy time escapin’ from Roanoke Ridge.

If we managed to escape at all.

“...Oh!” A brash voice suddenly blurted out sarcastically, grabbin’ my attention. “The hero returns!”

Snappin’ my head to the side, I turned towards the sound and squinted in the fire’s brazen light, only to see the rat himself.

“Micah!” I barked, clenching my fists. “What the hell happened here?”

The crooked man scoffed. “I thought you knew. After all, it was your friend Mr. Kingsley who caused this.”

I glowered at Micah, my voice lowering to an enraged whisper. “That man ain’t no friend of mine, and neither are you.”

“Calm yourself, woman,” he retorted. “Ain’t no point in denyin’ the truth. We all know what’s really going on, and so does Dutch.”

I shook my head in confusion, my words damn near colliding with each other due to how fast I was speaking. “What’re you talkin’ about--? Y’know what, forget it. Where is Dutch?”

A third person joined in, interrupting our conversation.

“Over here, Arthur.”

Gazin’ behind Micah’s shoulder, I spotted a furious Dutch sauntering in our direction as he walked past all the lifeless bodies surrounding our blazing camp, his eyes devoid of any compassion or empathy, and his brows furrowed in anger.

Contrary to the shocked state I expected to find him in, Dutch only appeared to be consumed by rage alone, and I could almost hear his teeth grindin’ in his mouth with how tightly he was clenching his jaw.

There wasn’t a hint of sorrow, or remorse, or grief in his expression. Instead, all I saw was a burning desire for revenge, and I had a bad feelin’ he was about to take it out on us. I just hoped I’d be able to talk some sense into him.

“Dutch!” I called out, rushin’ over to the man.

He simply glared at me in response.

“Arthur,” he said lowly, “where...have you been?”

I glanced back at Eddie, makin’ sure the boy was behind me.

“We was robbin’ that stagecoach,” I replied. “Just like you wanted us to.”

Dutch let out a frustrated breath. “Well, I hope it was worth it. That crazy bastard Rodrick ambushed the camp while you was away. Killed poor Kieran in the process, too. Strauss is also dead, accordin’ to him. As for everyone else...” he looked around the mini battlefield, “...they’re alive, but Mary-Beth, Swanson, Uncle, and Pearson are all missing. Vanished in the middle o’ the fight.”

I fell silent at the news, suddenly realizin’ how much smaller our gang was.

“Oh, Christ...” I cursed, “were they captured?”

“I don’t think so,” Dutch denied. “I think they ran off. Used the chaos as an opening to desert us. Goddamn cowards!”

Micah jumped back into the conversation, crossin’ his arms in an accusatory manner. “I’m just surprised you didn’t take off with them, Morgan. Y’know, considerin’ who you’ve got in your company.”

I sighed in annoyance, scowling at the sly man.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Dutch answered in his place, throwin’ his hands up out of anger. “Someone had to tell Rodrick where our camp was, Arthur! Someone had to let him know when you’d be chasin’ after that stagecoach, so you could run away while they attacked the rest of us!”

A dreadful realization thought hit me.

“Wait...” I said quietly, “...you think I’m the rat?”

The older man shook his head, steadily bringin’ his attention to the boy behind me. “No. Not you.”

Glancing back and forth between Dutch and Eddie, my eyes widened in fear once I understood what he was saying, and I immediately held a protective arm in front of the boy, warnin’ the others to stay back just as Eddie went for his holster.

“Now, hold on, Dutch,” I insisted, blocking his way. “Eddie ain’t the rat! He’s--”

But Dutch wouldn’t hear it.

“Step aside, son!” He demanded, his tone nearly feral at this point. “I know how you feel about him, but we’ve been fallin’ apart ever since I allowed that boy inside our gang. He’s usin’ you! He’s usin’ all of us! Can’t you see that?! We need to think about survival here. It’s time for him to go!”

I stayed in place and guarded Eddie like a brick wall, absolutely refusin’ to move.

“Just listen to me, goddammit!” I exclaimed, desperately tryin’ to get through Dutch’s thick skull. “The stagecoach was a trap! There weren’t no money inside. Atticus set us up. He knew we would try to rob it, and that’s why he gave Cornwall the extra security. They wanted to capture us, Dutch! Both of us! Eddie ain’t the rat, and you know it. I know it!”

Dutch remained unswayed. “Then who is?”

I gestured to Micah. “Why don’t you ask the man who’s been in your ear ever since Hosea died?”

The older man gazed at his friend and gave him a puzzled look, dismissing the idea.

“Micah,” Dutch questioned, clearly not buyin’ it. “Really. He has been loyal to me this whole time, Arthur. He is one o’ the few people left in this gang who still has faith! Him, Javier, and Bill are the only ones who have yet to turn their backs on me!”

“Loyal?” I fired back, ignoring his statement. “Eddie and I interrogated one of the guards, Dutch! He told us himself that Micah has been helpin’ them out! That rat is the reason we’re in this nightmare of a situation!”

Micah rolled his eyes at the accusation and strolled next to Dutch, almost laughin’ at how much more of an advantage he had over me.

“Really, cowpoke...?” He countered. “A guard told you I was the rat? That’s the best you can come up with? Alright, then, big guy. Where is this guard, hmm? ...Dead?”

I was silent in response, leadin’ Micah to let out a victorious chuckle.

“Yeah. Thought so.”

Stepping in between me and Micah, Dutch dragged a hand down his face before sending a glare in Eddie’s direction, his expression stiff with both a sense of betrayal and retribution.

The manner in which he carried himself frightened me, if I was bein’ honest. Dutch no longer acted like the same guardian so many of us had grown to love, and instead, stormed around like a mad tyrant who wasn’t gettin’ his way.

I knew something about him changed the minute we lost Hosea back at Shady Belle -- and I doubted we’d ever find a way to get the old Dutch back -- but the little boy in me still couldn’t believe that this was the same man I once saw as a father.

He was just so different. So deranged. So deluded. Not at all like the man I grew up with.

I mean, Dutch still hated law and order as much as he did twenty years ago, but the difference today was, he had become the very thing he claimed to fight against.

He preached about livin’ in a free society, yet caged us behind invisible bars called “faith” and “loyalty.” He damned corrupt businessmen like Leviticus for robbing people, yet reveled in the money he pried from a dead man’s hands.

He called me son...yet treated me like a complete stranger.

And the worst part was: I didn’t even think he realized it.

Refusin’ to back down, Dutch got right in my face and pulled out his gun, holdin’ the weapon at his side before giving me one last order.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he apologized flatly, his voice gradually rising with insanity, “but if we wanna survive, we gotta do what’s necessary. If we have to steal, then we’ll steal. If we have to run, then we’ll run. If we have to kill, then we’ll kill. We will do...whatever it, goddamn, takes. And right now, it requires taking Mister Ryan’s life!”

Dutch aimed the revolver straight at my head and cocked it, his hand shaking with rage. “So for the last time...step aside, son!”

I held my ground and stayed in place, subtly reachin’ for my pistol as I desperately tried to recognize the man standing in front of me.

“...You’ll have to kill me, first.” I stated, admittedly heartbroken that Dutch would pull a gun on me.

“Don’t make me do this, Arthur...” he warned darkly, his finger dangerously close to the trigger.

But before he could do anything else, John threw himself into this pit of chaos and intervened, aimin’ his own rifle at Dutch while Abigail and Jack stayed behind.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Dutch?” Marston scolded angrily, rushin’ to my side. “Do you even see what you’re doing?”

The outlaw whipped out his second revolver and pointed it at John, holdin’ both of us at gunpoint as Micah came to Dutch’s defense.

“I am doing what must be done, John!” Dutch yelled, his eyes wide with fury. “Now stay outta this! This is about Mister Ryan, and Mister Ryan alone!”

Marston shook his head. “No! This is about you losin’ your goddamned mind! Eddie saved my son’s life, Dutch. Arthur’s, too. I ain’t gonna let you murder him in cold blood. No matter how close we are!”

To my surprise, the other man seemed truly shocked at the response and tightened his grip on his guns, damn-near erupting with how outraged he was.

“How you two fooled me over all these years...” Dutch whispered, his voice rumbling like magma in a volcano. “I raised you as sons! Goddamn...SNAKES!”

The sound of someone cocking a shotgun reached my ears and I peeked outta the corner of my eye, only to see Miss Grimshaw joining me while Javier and Bill stood with Dutch.

“Put those guns down, Dutch!” Susan warned, her temperament resembling that of a mother bear protectin’ her cubs.

There was a newfound tension growing in the camp, and part of me dreaded to see what would finally ignite the flame.

“What is wrong with you all?” Williamson blamed, appearing genuinely disappointed in us. “I thought better of you! Our gang needs to stick together if we wanna survive. This ain’t how we do things here. This ain’t brotherly!”

Sadie aimed her rifle at them, her behavior relentless as always. “Good thing I ain’t your goddamn brother, then! No one’ll ever replace my Jake, but I sure as shit ain’t lettin’ you take my closest friends from me!”

Javier admonished us. “Come on...what’s happened to you people? I stuck with this gang because it felt like a family. But now, you’ve all become just like the O’Driscolls. Hell, worse. You’re traitors!”

“Bill, Javier,” I said, “think for yourselves! Take a look around you!”

Steppin’ out of hiding, Eddie walked up to my side and unholstered his weapons, glaring at Micah with a level of hatred I didn’t know he contained.

“After everything I’ve done for this gang...” he berated, his tone unusually dark. “I should’ve killed you the moment I laid eyes on you!”

“They’re lying, Dutch,” Micah insisted, practically hissing in his ear. “Lying!”

“Shut your goddamned mouth, Micah!” I snapped, turnin’ to the man who used to be my father. “All them years, Dutch...for this snake...?!”

“It’s done, Arthur!” He growled, failing to see reason. “No more! Lay down your guns...and let me do...what must be done!”

Without any warning, a stray bullet suddenly fired at us outta nowhere and hit Miss Grimshaw directly in the stomach, causin’ her to collapse on the spot while the rest of us whirled around in panic.

“Oh, sunshine!” Rodrick bellowed from inside the woods. “Miss me?”

“Goddammit!” Dutch cursed. “He’s back!”

Completely forgettin’ about the previous conflict, the entire gang immediately ducked for cover as a storm of bullets commenced within the small camp, decorating everything with holes and burns as splinters went flyin’ all over the place.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, throwin’ myself behind a wagon. Even with all the gunfire surrounding me, I could still hear Susan screaming in agony.

“Eddie!” I called out, frantically searching for him. “Are you alive?!”

To my dismay, there was no response.

I felt my heart stop.

“EDDIE!” I repeated even louder, almost feelin’ sick with worry. “Answer me, goddammit! Are you there?!”

A frail voice replied to me from a distance.

“...A-Arthur...!”

Following the lonely voice, I looked at the other side of the camp and spotted Eddie sittin’ behind a large boulder, causing a huge wave of relief to wash over me.

That was, until I noticed his left leg had been shot.

The boy groaned in pain, clutching his bloody knee. “I...I can’t move, Arthur!”

“...Aw, crap...” I muttered. “Keep shooting, Eddie! I’m comin’ to get you!”

Drawing their fire away from me, the pianist took out his fair share of Rodrick’s men as I bolted across the camp, holdin’ onto my gun as if it were a goddamned baby.

I had no idea how the hell we was gonna get outta this, or where the hell Rodrick came from, but now that I knew for a fact where Dutch stood -- or rather, who he stood with -- I was gonna do whatever it took to keep Eddie alive.

I might’ve lost the gang, and I might’ve lost my family, but I was gonna destroy the entire goddamned world before it took Eddie from me.

Leapin’ behind a fallen horse, I used the animal as a shield and crawled through the blood-stained mud, grabbing onto clumps of hardened grass as I dragged myself through the dirt.

“I see him!” One of Rodrick’s men alerted. “He’s right there--argh!”

Shouting in pain, the man abruptly fell silent and toppled to the ground as a bullet carved its way through him, leadin’ me to jolt my head towards the source of the shot.

John reloaded his rifle from behind a tree and gave me the “all clear” sign, urgin’ me to keep going.

“I’ll keep ‘em off you, Arthur! Just get that boy outta here!”

“But what about you?” I asked. “Where’s Abigail and Jack?”

“They already escaped!” He answered. “She took Jack and rode off the minute the ambush started! I’m gon’ find them later! You just worry about yourself right now! Now go!”

Giving him a firm nod, I picked up the pace and ran like hell to the other side of the camp as Marston continued firing at Rodrick’s gang, just barely holdin’ out considering he had nothing more than a tree to protect him. Our enemies seemed to have forgotten about me, and Eddie was still shooting them from his own position, but even with their help, I could still barely see where on Earth I was going.

A thick layer of gun smoke clouded my vision everywhere I looked. And with the amount of fire that was spreadin’ all over the camp, it felt like I was walkin’ through a sea of orange fog...and the only thing I could hear was screaming.

I didn’t see Dutch, or Bill, or Javier, or Micah anywhere. Half of me assumed they had just been shot and were now lyin’ on the ground with their enemies, but the smarter half knew they had run away like the bunch o’ cowards they were.

But none of that mattered to me right now. All I cared about at the moment was findin’ Eddie, and getting that kid somewhere safe. I had been through more than enough bullshit for one day, and I certainly didn’t plan on losing the one man I loved.

I just didn’t know where we would go.

Finally reaching the boulder Eddie was using for cover, I gunned down all the enemies that were surrounding him and helped the boy up, wrappin’ his arm around my shoulder as we made our way to the mounts.

The pianist’s skin had lightened into a sickly pale color by now, and even though he had me to support him, the man still looked like he was about to crash at any minute, which that only made me panic more.

“Hold on, darling,” I encouraged, liftin’ him onto the back of my horse. “We’re almost outta this. I’m gonna get you someplace safe. Just hold on!”

Climbing onto the saddle once Eddie was in place, I barely sat down all the way before snappin’ the reins like a madman, urging my horse to run for her life as a series of bullets showered the ground behind us.

I felt like a goddamned monster for not goin’ back to get John, but if I was being perfectly honest, I didn’t know if such a thing were even possible at this point. The camp had been completely overrun by Rodrick and Cornwall’s men, and judgin’ by the lack of any horses at the hitching posts, I guessed the other gang members had also fled the horrific scene.

I didn’t have a clue where Tilly, Charles, Karen, or Sadie had run off to, and I definitely didn’t give a damn about Micah’s safety, but as far as I was concerned...our home was nothin’ but a pile of ash now.

Everything we built, everything we worked for, everything we sacrificed -- it all meant nothing now because of that rat. Jenny, Davey, Mac, Sean, Hosea, Lenny, Strauss, Susan...all of them died just for a pathetic, little snake like Micah to come along and piss on it all.

We was nothing more than a bunch of scattered cockroaches now. The Pinkertons were most-likely gonna kill us off one-by-one within a matter of days, and that was only if Atticus didn’t get to us first.

Everything was going to shit. My entire family, the only life I’d ever known...it had all suddenly been destroyed right in front of me, and the one man who could’ve prevented it from happening didn’t. Dutch didn’t.

Instead, he simply stood by and watched his throne burn, and allowed a usurper to light the flame...even when he had Hosea to see it comin’ from a mile away.

He had finally descended into a pit of utter madness, and taken leave of every single principle he ever lived his life by.

He may have survived the attack...but the Dutch I knew died a long time ago.

Even with Dutch goin’ insane however, I supposed everything wasn’t lost. Against all odds, I still managed to escape the camp with Eddie by my side. We were both alive, and -- even if I didn’t know where on Earth we were gonna go -- we still had a chance to get things back on track.

Eddie was a fighter, and so was I. We were gonna make it through this, just like I promised him, and...God willing, finally pursue the freedom we had sacrificed so much to achieve. We had come too far to fail now.

Our future was waitin’ for us somewhere out there...and I knew I’d be damned if we didn’t find it.