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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

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The Beguiling (Hades! Don Giorno x Persephone! Fem! Reader)

This concept has been on my mind for the longest time. This is loosely based off the lore of Hades and Persephone, set in a modern mafia AU, with Giorno as Hades and the reader as Persephone. 🥺💖🐞

TW: Kidnapping, yandere themes, manipulative behaviour, disordered relationship dynamics

Word count : 6.3k

“The truth of the matter I believe to be this. There is, as I stated at first, no absolute right or wrong in love, but everything depends upon the circumstances, to yield to a bad man in a bad way is wrong, but to yield to a worthy man in a right way is right.”

- Plato, Symposium

Being the Don of a mafia is a difficult task, being so far removed from everyone and everything else. Some would even say, its like being part of an entirely different realm…

Extremely beautiful but entirely unapproachable, Giorno didn’t appear in public very often, the burden of running the organization had brought many threats to his safety. Granted, he was able to thwart any plan to even remotely harm him, but one doesn’t have time for such annoyances when you wield as much power as he did. Taking over something so big at such a young age changes a person, and Giorno was no different, he was always seen as aloof and calculating, but there were other dimensions to his character that he was painfully aware of, but would not reveal to anyone else… yet.

“Don Giovanna, are you ready to go? The driver is ready for us,” his consigliere spoke in an even, respectful tone while addressing his don.

“Yes, we can leave, have you informed Fugo of the change in our plans?” Giorno’s voice was monotonous, soft and polite, but conveyed no emotion. The task at hand today was not a pleasant one… he hated having to deal with defectors and had avoided it up until this point. This case was different… the defector in question was your brother. You had always held a special place in his heart ever since he encountered you upon taking over Passione. You were always kind towards him, and all your conversations had brought about a sense of peace within himself. Nonetheless, he dismissed it as a simple juvenile crush, and continued with his mammoth task of remolding the diseased organization, excising the ‘tumors’ to allow for a healthier, better, stronger Passione to emerge. Sacrificing his youth, his personal life and precious friends in order to attain his dream, he was not going to let anyone destroy everything he had worked so hard to create.

As the years went on, there were many times that your path had unwittingly crossed with the young don’s which only intensified his feelings for you, but given the nature of his lifestyle, he tried to convince himself that loving you from afar would be good enough, but Giorno’s resolve- unshakeable in every other scenario- was quickly waning in this regard.

Meeting with your father was painful, his demeanor reminding Giorno of a shadowed figure from his past who had changed his life forever.

“He’ll have to be dealt with, you understand this, correct?”

“I’m aware of this, Don Giovanna. I… I’m willing to take any punishment you see fit… please keep my daughter out of this… I can stake my life on her innocence in all of this,” your father spoke emphatically, desperate to protect you, appealing to the don’s humanity. Giorno furrowed his eyebrows, surely your father knew he wouldn’t harm you in any way- was it normal for people to be this terrified of him? The sharp slam of a door and a greeting from a honeyed voice snapped Giorno from his thoughts.

“I’m home, I hope you’re hungry, I’m making octopus salad, squid ink risotto and I’ve got chocolate fondants for dessert… oh goodness! Don Giovanna- I’m sorry… I, um…” you stuttered embarrassingly as your gaze landed on the blonde’s handsome face and shifted to the ground immediately. Before Giorno could answer you to try and quell your discomfort, your father interjected, sending you away from the room. The young don was completely awestruck by your ethereal beauty, as if you had been crafted by the gods themselves, descended to create joy in an otherwise dull world. He made a silent promise to himself- he had to have you as his own.

“(Y/n), please give us a moment piccolina, I’ll come to you as soon as we have concluded our meeting,”

“Of course, please pardon my interruption,” with a small nod of your head, you took your leave, wanting to start making the dishes you had just rattled off. As you busied yourself with your preparations, your mind kept returning to Giorno, he was always calm and pleasant, but you hadn’t seen him with that kind of expression before. The fact that you hadn’t seen your brother in days didn’t bode well with today’s events… you hoped he was okay, but you experienced first-hand how aggressive he could be, something, you were told, he had shared with your mother. You didn’t have much of a relationship with her as her job had taken her away from the family a bit too much. You understood now that you were a young adult, but your emotions still vacillated between acceptance and resentment when you observed the families of your friends.

“You know… because of the difference in our ages, you’ve always told me that you cared for me as a father would care for a son, as a result, our relationship has always been cordial… its allowed us to speak frankly as we have always done in the past,”

“Yes, Don Giovanna… this is true.”

“Please, I’ve told you many times before, call me Giorno…”

“Alright… Giorno,”

“Good, good, see? That sounds better already. As I was saying before, if your affections for me run that deep… accept me as a son-in-law and allow me to marry (y/n) and you will never have to worry about her safety again. Nobody would ever think to harm her if they have to contend with me first,”

“What? Are you asking for permission to marry my daughter? I don’t think she has even considered something like that… you’ve barely spoken to each other…” your father was battling to make sense of Giorno’s request, if one could even call it a request.

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in… your son has singlehandedly created a colossal mess; we’d be in the middle of a turf war if it wasn’t for the quick thinking of my consigliere. That’s not to say other people wouldn’t want to exact their own personal brand of justice. I can guarantee you though, if she’s under my care, none of those things will ever reach her.” Just as the consigliere was about to speak, perhaps, an attempt to rationalize with the don, a sharp sideward glance from the latter had left all suggestions unspoken. The silence in the room was palpable… uncomfortable, until it was broken by Giorno.

“I’ve loved (y/n) for as long as I’ve known her, the best place for her would be with me, my strength is unparalleled… this is probably a lot to take in right now, I’ll allow you some time to come around to the idea, I’d hate to have to take her by force, but, if that’s what it will take…”

“Are you threatening me Don Giovanna?” asked your father with a restrained bite to his voice.

“Of course not, I’m merely making my intentions clear, my reach spans well beyond anything you could ever imagine… well, I’ve said all I need to in this instance. I’ll be back for her in three days, I trust you’ll be able comply with my suggestion. I’ll be taking my leave now.” With a flourish of his cerulean blue coat, Giorno and his consigliere left your home. Your father cursed his position, but there was little he could do about it. Finding you blissfully tinkering in the kitchen, his heart broke, knowing already that this was one of the last times he would be seeing you like this… or at all.

“You don’t agree with what I’m doing, do you, Lorenzo? You know I’m good at reading people, although you’re not even trying to mask your disdain,” asked Giorno, breaking the silence on the drive home.

“Well, if I’m allowed to speak freely, I don’t think you’re going about this in the right manner. She’s going to be terrified and resentful because you’re effectively abducting her, so in brief, I don’t agree with this at all,”

“Fair enough, and for the record, obviously I’m aware that she’s going to hate me… at first anyway, but she’ll come to understand eventually. Anyway, what’s done is done, in three days, I’ll be bringing home my goddess.” Giorno turned his attention to his phone and with that Lorenzo had backed off, knowing from years of serving Giorno that there was no talking to him when he resolved to do something.

“Father, you’re so quiet… did something happen?” you asked, part of you not wanting to know the answer to that question.

“It’s a mess, but don’t worry about that, I’ll handle it. There is something that I have to speak to you about though… it’s about Don Giovanna, he would like to see you in a few days, nothing serious, just be sure to keep your schedule open for the day,” your father explained, only divulging half the truth of your situation.

“He wants to see me? Do you know why? Have I done something wrong?” you were curious as to what Giorno could possible want with you.

“Of course not dolcezza, he just wants to have a chat with you, I think he’s just making sure that you’re alright… that’s part of why he was here today.

“Oh, alright, I’ll be available. Anyway, dinner’s ready, once you get washed up, we can eat,” you glanced up at your father to see his face contorted in grief. “What’s the matter? I know you don’t like talking about things that have to do with your occupation, but you’ve been like this ever since Don Giovanna left,”

Being too much for him to bear, he pulled you into a vicelike embrace, almost as if you would disappear if he let you go, which was not entirely false. “Aww, it’s okay dad, everything will be fine, come on, the food’s getting cold, you need to eat,” with that, you both ate in a comfortable silence as you always did, before you both retired for the evening.

While you tried to prepare yourself for your “meeting”, your soon to be captor was busy creating your sanctuary, or rather, overseeing the creation of your sanctuary- there was no reason why your surroundings couldn’t be as beautiful as you were, his aim after all was to get you to fall in love with him. Large, glittering mirrors with gilded frames adorned the walls of the hallways that lead to your room. Inside, was everything one could ever hope to have; an extensive closet filled with things that were made especially for you, various trinkets and baubles carefully selected for you, state of the art electronic devices, albeit with restrictions on the amount of things you could access… just for the time being though. If you were to start off as a bird in a cage, it should be a bejeweled cage worthy of a rarity like you.

As it got closer to the time you’d be seeing Giorno, your nerves started increasing exponentially, you knew that under normal circumstances, having to meet with someone like him without knowing what the subject matter would be was intimidating, but this feeling was something else altogether. As if something in your gut was telling you to cancel- to run- but you dismissed those feelings, and prepared yourself for the engagement.

“Buonasera cara, you look especially charming this evening…” he greeted you with a velvety voice that masked the true nature of him being there.

“Buonasera Don Giovanna, thank you for the compliment,”

“Shall we leave, (y/n)?”

“Um, okay… I just need to fetch my things and let my father know that I’m leaving…”

“Alright, perfect, actually, would you mind if I followed you? I’d like a quick word with him before we leave,” his expression was so charismatic, you felt guilty for not inviting him inside immediately.

“Of course, I’m sorry, please do come in.” you say as you stepped aside to make room for Giorno to enter. You lead him to the study and went to fetch your coat and purse to go, giving yourself a onceover in the mirror to make sure you were presentable and with that you kissed your father on the cheek and left.

The restaurant that you and Giorno went to was completely empty except for a single table set up for you both and the staff that were going to serve you, you found it odd, but dismissed it as one of the nuances of leading a mafia, privacy was of utmost importance. Ever the gentleman, the young don pulled out your chair for you and seated himself across from you.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me (y/n), I appreciate you taking the time to do so,”

“Of course, although I have to admit, I’m a little confused as to why I’m here,” you say with a nervous titter. The waiter brought a bottle of wine to the table, probably preapproved by Giorno already, and with a small nod, it is poured out into the awaiting glasses for the two of you.

“You will understand soon enough cara, come, lets toast to something… ah! To new beginnings…” he suggested with a sardonic smile.

“New beginnings? Okay… to new beginnings, salute!” with a confused smile and a delicate clink of your glasses you both took a sip of your wine. As the night went on, you were having a wonderful time, however, it seemed like your alcohol was getting to you faster than usual.

“Are you alright, cara, you look a bit out of sorts, come, I’ll take you home,”

“Thanks Don, I… I’m sorry I don’t know-” before completing the rest of your sentence, your consciousness faded and you fell into a strong pair of arms. Giorno sat you back down and made a quick call to his driver before picking you up again and placing you in the awaiting car to take you to your new home. As he gazed lovingly upon your face, he knew that the road is going to be a tedious one, but you would love him one day.

Your head pounded incessantly as you tried to open your eyes. The sensations on your skin were unfamiliar- soft, silken, so inviting, lulling you back into the deep slumber you were trying to break. Was this a dream? Your eyes finally opened to an unfamiliar room, you gathered the courage to sit up in bed, still unsure if you were in a dream or not and tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Looking around the room, feeling a sense of panic enveloping your very existence, you ran towards the large, ornately carved door to try and leave the room, but it was locked. The windows, it seemed, were crafted from reinforced glass as they would not break regardless of what was thrown at them. Left with only one option, you began to cry out for help, surely someone would be there, it was too well kept to be an abandoned building.

Listening to the commotion from outside the room were the guards and servants tasked with making sure your requests were fulfilled, but more importantly, they needed to ensure you were safe and didn’t escape. Giorno had a way with people, a charisma that both scared and enchanted those around him. Disobedience was not even a fleeting option for those who served him, partly out of fear, but mostly out of devotion to the young don. Giving each other a knowing glance, your guard decided to call his boss to come and subdue you before you had hurt yourself.

Your throat felt raw from the shouting and hyperventilating, your skin shimmered, veiled in a thin layer of sweat and your eyes shifted this way and that, trying to spot something you could exploit to leave the room while your captor was away. It dawned on you that as terrifying as it was to be in that place, it would be even worse if you had to face whoever was holding you there, choosing rather to contend with the fear of the unknown, than putting a face to your jailor. As if even thinking of something willed it into existence, your worst nightmare materialized as you heard the door being unlocked.

“Tesoro… please stop, you’re hurting yourself,” your eyes widened when you heard the velvety voice addressing you with such tenderness.

“Don… Giovanna? Where am I? What are you doing here? Please, I need to go home, I don’t know who brought me here…” you could barely articulate yourself with your shaky voice.

“I know that you’re extremely scared and confused… there’s so much I need to explain to you… but please, first, let me look at your hands, you are hurt, I can take care of that,” it was only after he spoke that you saw the bruises blooming on the delicate skin of your hands and arms. You still stayed rooted to where you were, but Giorno inched closer, materializing GE to heal your injuries. His heart stung when you silently grimaced at the pain of his ability rejoining the blood vessels that had broken, but he hated seeing your beautiful skin being marred like that.

“Don…”

“Please, call me Giorno…”

“Okay… Giorno… can we go now? I need to go home, if we stay any longer the people who put me here might come back or send others, I…”

“Tesoro… this is your home now… the person who brought you here was me… what is the last thing you remember from yesterday?” The young don circled around you and sat you down next to him at the foot of the bed.

“Why? Why did you bring me here? Are you insane? I can’t stay here, I… don’t understand what the hell is going on! I need to call my father,” seeing you start to get agitated again, Giorno pulled out his phone and motioned for you to take it.

“Here, call him, he has already agreed to this arrangement. You’re not safe my love, I’m sure you know about the recent transgressions courtesy of your cretin of a brother. People are angry and want revenge, and unfortunately you’re in the direct line of fire. So it was decided that you would come and live with me, you’ll find all your belongings here already, mixed with things that I believe you would like. I will give you anything your heart desires, lavish you with all the love and attention I can. All you need to do is stay here… near me… nobody can challenge me…”

You heard the words, but nothing was making sense to you. You decided to take up your captor’s offer to speak to your father, who confirmed his entire story. Feeling dejected, empty and completely alone, you sank to the floor as violent sobs wracked your body. Seeing you in this state filled Giorno with dread as he lifted you off the lushly carpeted floor, but he knew he would be able to get you to love him eventually. This was this the initial shock; he was willing to wait for you to acclimate to your surroundings.

Thus began your life of isolation… your routine, if you could even call it that, consisted of waking up in your palatial room, begrudgingly having breakfast with your green-eyed abductor and sulking around for the rest of the day. Giorno put a lot of effort into making sure that you were comfortable and tried to interact with you as much as his schedule would allow him to. Initially, all of his attempts to speak to you were ignored, you wondered if the awkward silence even bothered him at all, but he always had a peaceful expression on his face. If nothing else, he was very patient with you, and at times you tested his patience on purpose, goading him to anger, in those times though, he simply left you alone in your room, not allowing you to leave for a few days, instructing your handlers to confiscate your electronics, not even offering you a sliver of human contact… you needed to think about why you were in that position after all, so there could be no distractions whatsoever. Those isolation periods would thankfully not last long enough to tip you over the edge though, and like a ray of sunshine after a storm, he’d come to unlock your doors and add color back into your world. You always were more affectionate towards him after a few days on your own, which, you reasoned, was due to the lack of any interaction at all as opposed to having any genuine feelings towards him. Giorno wasn’t picky though, he accepted your gentle touches and embraces all the same, one day… soon… you would undertake those gestures solely on your desire to do so.

Surely enough, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you had warmed up to him, settling into an oddly satisfying domestic life with the don. The more of yourself you gave to him, the wider your world had gotten, until you eventually had free reign over the entire estate. You soon had come to realize that if you had just played your part, and listened to him, complied with his simple requests, his kindness towards you was limitless. Giorno had remained as attentive as ever, picking up on every little change on you from the subtle change in the color of your blush to the miniscule changes in the length of your hair after its trimmed, nothing escaped his well trained eye. He beamed when you started to wear the clothes and jewels he bought for you, seeing it as a sign that you were slowly starting to accept him. The truth of the situation was that you had, against your better judgement, fallen in love with this living deity.

“Giorno… the weather’s warming up quite beautifully, why don’t we train outdoors from now on instead of working out inside?” you suggested while you kneeled on the bed behind a seated Giorno as you undid his elaborate hairstyle and brushed out the product from his hair before he took a shower.

“Hmmm… alright bella, I suppose we could do that, I’m sure the fresh air would do us both some good,” as he got up, he bent down to place a chaste kiss on your forehead before heading into the shower. For a fleeting moment, you thought about your old life, you had earned back the liberty to speak to your family, well, your father, and some friends, but the fractured relationships weren’t the same. Pushing those negative feelings to the back of your mind, you waited for Giorno so that you could both go to sleep, but your heavy eyelids fell shut. His patience with you was never more evident than in these moments, never once overstepping your boundaries or initiating intimacy that would make you feel uncomfortable. Emerging to see your sleeping form, he pulled up the covers around you and climbed into the other side of the bed, facing you, he clutched your hands in his, allowing himself to close his eyes as well.

“We’ve managed to locate her… you aren’t going to like this though,”

“Just tell me where my daughter is, I’ll decide the rest,” your mother spoke bluntly to her partner.

“She’s living with some mafia boss; I think he’s her boyfriend or something. You never see her out on her own, she’s always with him. I’ve got people watching your husband’s house, she’s only been there once, with the cocky bastard in tow. The security at his place is insane, worst of all, we think he’s a stand user,”

“Stand user? Don’t make me laugh, that means nothing, we’re stand users too, every ability has a weakness that can be exploited,” your mother lit a cigarette and took a long drag, musing on what her first move should be. After a moment of contemplation, she had her sights set on her old marital home, deciding that your father would be able to provide the most complete description of what is going on. She portrayed a nonchalant exterior, but your mother was very worried for your safety. She had a powerful stand of her own, in fact all the members of your family were powerful stand users- except you. Your mother worked closely with a foreign organization dedicated to studying supernatural phenomena as such, most of her time was divided between her travels on behalf of the organization and work that she would need to do onsite at their headquarters in Washington. Over her lifetime, she’s found herself in many precarious positions, so she decided it would be safer if she stayed away from the family in an attempt to keep everyone safe… upon hindsight, that was a fatal miscalculation. To describe her mood after speaking to your father as livid, would be an understatement.

Not wasting a moment, your mother called her associate and made her way to the don’s villa, hell-bent on taking you back from his dark clutches.

“Bella, are you ready to go?” Giorno called to you as he pulled on his coat while you put on your last accessory. You never turned down an opportunity to go out, even though your outings became slightly more frequent, you were completely captivated by discovering the different facets to Giorno’s personality. As much as he was fervently observing you and curating an ideal world tailored to you, you were learning a lot about him and the circumstances that fashioned him in this manner.

“Yes tesoro, sorry for keeping you waiting… what is it?” you were met by a wide-eyed Giorno, and it hit you… Tesoro… the name trickled so effortlessly off your lips, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t really thinking…”

“Don’t apologize amore, as long as it’s you, I don’t mind…” he softly replied, as he stroked your cheek with the back of his forefinger. You heard a faint clatter accompanied by the ring of Giorno’s phone, informing him that there had been a security breach. The soft expression on his face was gone, as he gripped you with a protective arm.

Before you had time to ask him what was going on, you heard your name being called out by a voice you barely remembered, one you didn’t think you’d hear again.

“Mother?” your voice was a whisper. Your mother looked at you, disdain skewing her features before turning her attention to Giorno, whose grip continued to tighten around you.

“(y/n), I’ve come to take you away from here, it’s obvious leaving you in the care of your father was a mistake. And you, step away from her this instant, you will regret it if you don’t,”

You hadn’t noticed the swarm of black suits that had surrounded you all, ready to pounce at Giorno’s command. His intense gaze had not left your face while your mother spoke, searching for the slightest tell indicating you might have known about this, but you were just as perplexed as he was… the guilt of him doubting you twisting his features even further.

“It’s alright, stand down men… while you really have a nerve of breaking into my property, I feel that this can be solved amicably, I’d hate for (y/n) to have to contend with any discord between us,” he spoke with a calm, even voice but that didn’t match the fury brewing in his eyes.

“Amicable? You take my daughter away from her home and you still feel like this is something that can be talked out of? You really are a piece of work!”

“Better to be the overbearing lover than the neglectful mother…” Giorno’s tone was dripping with cynicism as he handed you to one of your awaiting guards.

“You sick bastard!” your mother cried out. As if being pushed back by a glowing force that you couldn’t quite discern, the young don was thrown backwards. You hated feeling so powerless. Giorno sat up and smiled mockingly, before launching into an attack of his own you assumed, as you saw a similar golden glow envelop his body, and the bodies of the security personnel backing him up.

“Please, stop it! All of you!” you wanted to run out between them but you were restrained by your guard. It didn’t take long for Giorno and his men to restrain your mother and her associate, taking care to leave them largely unharmed while you were still present. Giorno had made one fatal error though… blame it on overconfidence or his need to constantly check on you, he had turned away and left himself wide open for a last ditch attack from your mother as she broke free. At that very moment, your body moved itself before you could even think, and faster than you ever thought possible, pushing him out of the way with only a second to spare, as the attack hit the very spot he had stood on just a moment before, shattering the marble flooring on contact. The room was enveloped in silence, Giorno motioned for his guards to leave the room, as did your mother to her partner.

“(y/n) … tesoro mio… are you okay? You… you saved me…” he said as he kneeled next to your shaking, winged form, combing his hands through your hair as he tried to get a look at your face. You looked up to see Giorno with a wide eyed golden figure hovering over him, approaching you was your mother, with a luminescent humanoid woman matching her footsteps.

“Tesoro, it seems you’re a stand user after all,” mentioned Giorno, still gazing at you, this time with an expression you hadn’t seen from him before. Completely overwhelmed by the recent events, you sat for a moment, trying to regulate your breathing with the exercises Giorno practiced with you when your anxiety overwhelmed you.

“So these are what stands are… they look terrifying…” you say, finally managing to normalize your breathing and take command of your senses once again. “where is my stand then? I presume these two figures belong to you and mother.”

“Yours is different amore… are you able to walk? Come with me…” Giorno lead you to one of the mirrors so you could see how your stand manifested; you had large wings that had sprouted from your back, your eyes glowed colorlessly, and you had luminescent geometric patterns running down your face and body, akin to the patterns you would find on a circuit board. “You have what is known as a phenomenon stand, this means that it changes your body rather than manifesting a separate entity,”

“I see…”

“We can figure out the extent of your abilities another time, for now I need to see those injuries,”

“Excuse me? You’re not doing anything further with her, I’m still serious about taking back (y/n),” interjected your mother sarcastically.

“Are you trying to anger me on purpose? I loathe having to repeat myself. Do not mistake my unwillingness to kill you this very instant on anything other than respect for (y/n),”

“Likewise…”

“You’re both so selfish!” surprised to hear you raise your voice that much, both parties were stunned to silence.

“I’m a person with my own will, I have feelings, thoughts, desires, dreams… but neither of you bother to consider any of that… Giorno, you essentially abducted me, under the ruse of protecting me, I’m sure you would have found a way to keep me safe while I lived my own life, if it was that important to you, but you weren’t interested in that… if you had just approached me like a normal person, I’d still have fallen for you… well I guess now we’ll never know … And you… mother- I use that term liberally- abandoned me… abandoned us, I don’t care what the reasons were, you left me to grow up without a mother, and now you come here and ridicule me with this dramatic display of affection,” your voice began to crack but you wouldn’t let them see you cry, not so soon after finally finding your voice, so you left them there and went off to your special spot in the far corner of the estate. You knew that Giorno created that little piece of heaven for you strategically, as it was visible from his study, but it served as your safe place, and it was what you needed right now.

Giorno’s mind was clouded and he felt an uncomfortable suffocating sensation in his chest. Glancing at your mother it was apparent that your emotional outpouring had affected her as well.

“I think its best if you leave,”

“Wait, Giorno… perhaps this approach wasn’t the best way to do this, I underestimated you…”

“For the sake of curiosity, what do you propose?”

“That’s going to depend on how you answer my next question…”

“For someone with as few options as you have, you’re incredibly brazen,” shot back Giorno, clearly becoming tired of the conversation.

“I spoke to her father before coming here… he told me about my son… is… is he dead?” speaking earnestly this time, your mother steeling herself for what the young don would say to her. He observed her intently, debating whether it would be safe to divulge any information to her.

“That’s classified information,” he said, knowing full well that the idiot was alive somewhere, unable to be a threat to anyone again, unfortunately he couldn’t divulge this information to anyone. If she was smart enough she would be able to figure it out for herself, any more than that he could not offer.

“I understand… Fine, I’ll back off, (y/n) can stay here… but I need to speak to her, to explain everything, when she’s ready though…”

Giorno contemplated for a moment, feeling oddly moved by the change in your mother’s demeanor, he found himself agreeing with her, “Fine… I’ll allow it, but I can’t have you here, never again, if you need to see her, we’ll come to you… if that’s all, I need to check on (y/n)” Your mother took her leave, thoughts of the bizarre events of the day dominating her thoughts.

You listlessly played with the water in the fountain you sat beside, eyeing the way the sunshine made the droplets that fell from your fingertips look like gems. Hearing the scrunching sound of grass being stepped on, you knew that Giorno was approaching you. Unwilling to turn around to face him, you continued to look at the water.

“May I sit with you?” his voice was tender and didn’t match his imposing figure. Looking up his striking face, framed by golden waves, you nodded wordlessly.

“Talk to me cara…”

“What do you want me to say?”

“What’s on your mind…”

You paused, thinking carefully before starting to speak. “There’s so much on my mind… I… I just can’t understand you. You bring me here under the most dubious circumstances, but treat me like I’m the center of your world. I want to hate you for taking me away from my world, but I’ve never felt as loved by anyone in that world as much as I do here with you. How can you look at me with eyes so gentle now, when those same eyes were ready to kill not even two hours ago? How am I supposed to make up my mind about you when your every action contradicts the next?”

“It’s simple bella… I love you… you’re above the rules I set for everyone else… my one weakness is you, I’m sorry, I just don’t know how else to be, it’s either everything or nothing. Perhaps, forget about what you think and focus on how you feel… You know, we aren’t that different, the two of us… so many parents between us and barely enough traits among them to make up one good guardian, having to basically raise ourselves, so much pressure from such a young age, being scared of what lurks in the dark, experiencing so much physical pain, you just become immune to it. I have to admit, I was jealous of that brave assault by your mother, I don’t know if anyone would do the same for me… except you of course… you almost died to get me out of harm’s way… and just when I thought I couldn’t love you any more than I do…”

The gentle way he cupped your chin, as if you were made of crystal, and the swirl of emotion in his eyes, compelled you to act on your impulses, kissing him passionately, releasing some of the pent up emotions and frustrations that have been building up for the longest time. His free hand curled itself around your waist, while your hands tangled themselves in his hair. Resting your forehead on his, you hear him murmuring affirmations of his love for you.

“I love you too, Gio,” the words just rolled off your tongue as if you were always meant to say them. Giorno, seemingly moved by your placid declaration, buried his face in your hair, inhaling the floral scent of your shampoo that he loved so much. What you didn’t see was the sardonic smile blooming on his handsome face. He always was a master at deception… although, it couldn’t be classified as deception if most of what he said was true… could it? He didn’t want to play the sympathy card today, but it was the only way he could firmly cement your place with him for good. Pulling away for a moment, looking at the love-struck expression on your face as you softly move your hand from his hair to his chest, he could see that you were finally complete- entirely devoted to him… there was no room for guilt this time.

#giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #Hades!Giorno x Persephone! Reader #Hades x Persephone modern AU #yandere jjba prt 5 #yandere giogio #yandere giorno #giorno giovanna #giorno #yandere jjba x reader #kidnapping #manipulation

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lovely-van · 4 years

Text

beige - van mccann

You know you're beautiful But that ain't half the gold treasure in your soul that you got 'Cause I want it all With your fingers in my mouth, I fail to see your faults So please don't let me fall So please don't let me fall...

- Beige by Yoke Lore

word count: 12k+ (yes i know but i’m not sorry)

notes: oh my god okay i love this story so much. based on a request where you and van are friends that fall in love but both don’t think the other feels the same way. not based technically on the song beige by yoke lore but i really love the song and it’s very cute and the meaning behind it is fucking amazing (definitely look it up on genius.com). anyway i really hope you like it and lmk what you think! enjoy :))

• • •

You met Van when you were nine.

Of course, back then, he still went by Ryan.

He was kicking a football around in his front lawn, right across the street from your own house. You were on the sidewalk in front of your house, scribbling designs on the concrete with chalk when you noticed him.

You’d only moved in a few weeks earlier and hadn’t realized that you had a neighbor your own age. You giggled as he nearly tripped over the ball, trying to do some fancy trick. He huffed, trying to do the trick again and failing. “You’re not very good at that, y’know.”

His head shot up at the sound of your voice, looking around in confusion. His eyes locked on you and he shrugged. “I’m trying to learn!” he shouted from across the street.

You stood up, wiping some chalk dust from your overalls and skipped across the street. “Here, it’s not that hard. I’ll help you.” He watched, his young face concentrated, as you showed him how to bounce the ball back and forth on your knees.

After a few minutes of trying it himself, he did it successfully. A grin spread across his face, cheeks flushed and dimples showing. “Wow, thanks,” he said. “My name’s Ryan. What’s yours?”

That was how it all started.

You and Van soon became best friends. You spent everyday together, exploring your neighborhood, climbing trees, coming up with all kinds of games that stretched every part of your imagination. He attended a different school, public versus your private school that your mother insisted you go to. But you didn’t mind because as soon as he got home, he’d come running to your front door and knock on it, waiting there with the same cheesy grin every time.

You made other friends throughout the years, some girls from school and he had friends from his own class but you were always each other’s closest friends. In the summer, you’d grab sleeping bags and flashlights and lay under the stars in his backyard. You’d talk for hours about what you wanted to be when you were older, how you couldn’t wait until you were big enough to drive a car or have your own house.

•

You were eleven when you realized how special Van was.

It was a sunny afternoon on a Saturday and you and Van were climbing trees in his backyard. It was late autumn, so the air was crisp and all the leaves had fully changed colors, ready to shrivel up and float down to the grass below at any moment.

“Alright, just grab that branch right there,” he said, pointing to a tree branch a few inches above you. He was already much higher than you and guiding you to get to where he was. You dug your feet into the branch you were standing on to make sure it was sturdy, and you reached up, fingers just grasping the bark-

And then you were falling, falling and before you could even comprehend it, you hit the ground. You landed directly on your right leg and you screamed, the pain overwhelming you immediately.

Van flew down the tree, jumping the last few feet. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip as hard as you could to try and hold back the tears that were stinging your eyes.

“Okay, don’t worry I’m gonna go get someone. It’s gonna be okay,” he said quickly, rubbing your back and then sprinting toward his house.

Turns out you’d broken your leg in two places. You had to wear a cast for at least six weeks and you were extremely bummed that you couldn’t play the rest of your fall football season. You and Van were even on the same team, always carpooling to games together and messing around during tournaments.

The day after you got your cast, you heard a knock on your bedroom door. You were lying in bed reading a book, feeling sorry for yourself when you saw Van peep his head in. “Hi,” he said with a small smile.

“Oh, hi. What are you doing here? Don’t you have practice?” you asked as he sat down on the bed next to you.

He shrugged. “I quit.”

“You quit? Why?”

“I didn’t want to play without you.”

•

You were thirteen when you shared your first kiss.

You were both in your old treehouse, watching the sunset through the window.

“Van?” you repeated, pondering it. He nodded, leaning his head back on the wood, a dreamy smile on his face. “How come?”

“Ryan’s so boring. I wanna be like Van Morrison, a rockstar and all that. So, Van, which is short for Evan - it totally works.”

You nodded, your lips curling up into a smile. The sky was turning a purple-orange hazy color, your absolute favorite. You loved sunsets more than just about anything. If you were doing homework or watching TV or something, Van would toss rocks at your window, just like in the movies, to make sure you didn’t miss it. You’d always go outside and watch the sunset with him, usually from your backyard or even his roof if you were feeling brave enough.

“Yeah, I like it. Very cool.” It fit the aesthetic that Van had been shaping for himself recently. Since becoming an official teenager, Van had taken it upon himself to descend fully into his ‘angsty’ phase. Well, as angsty as someone with the happy go-lucky demeanor that he held could be.

He started wearing all black and jumpers with rips in them and buying only vinyls. He’d drag you to the local record store, sifting through them for hours and buying whatever he could with the money he’d earned from cutting lawns. You didn’t mind, though You loved the relaxed aura of the store, the faint noise of whatever Mr. Brown, the owner, was currently listening to in the background. You’d flip through records, listening to Van babble on about whatever new band he’d taken a liking to, fingers running over the worn cases. It was therapeutic, almost.

“D’you think it’s weird that neither of us has had our first kiss yet?” He asked, turning and looking at you, eyebrows furrowed.

You leaned forward, resting your crossed arms on your knees. “Um, I dunno. I hadn’t really thought about it. Do you think it’s weird?”

Van shrugged, carving something into the wood floor with the pocketknife his father had given him for his last birthday. “Well, Joey and Simon both had theirs last year. And Henry Williams has kissed like, three girls. I feel like we’re the only ones who haven’t done it.”

His gaze was trained on whatever design he was making, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You scanned over his face, the freckles dusting his cheeks, the scar in his eyebrow he’d gotten from a football match last year that was finally healing. He glanced up after a moment and locked eyes with you, waiting for your response.

“I mean, I guess,” you replied. “A few of my friends have had theirs too, but they all had boyfriends. I don’t like any boys at my school,” you said, shaking your head, cringing at the thought.

“Yeah, me either.”

“You don’t like any boys at your school?” you teased.

Van laughed, kicking your foot lightly with his. “C’mon, you know what I mean. I don’t really like any girls right now and I feel lame without kissing anyone.” You paused, waiting to see what he was getting at it. “Sooo,” he said dramatically, dropping his pocket knife on the wood floor and mirroring your position, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his forearms on them. “Why don’t we just kiss?”

You wrinkled your nose. “What? Gross.”

He rolled his eyes, scooting closer to you so your knees were touching. “C’mon, let’s just do it to get it over with. We’re best friends so it doesn’t really matter.” His lips were curled up at the ends, hair wild as usual and you actually debated it. He was your best friend after all, and you figured it would be better than kissing some random boy during a game of spin the bottle or something. You were going to be in year nine soon, for God’s sake.

“Okay, fine. But promise not to let things get weird between us after?” He nodded quickly, reaching his pinkie finger out.

“Promise,” he said, curling your finger around his.

“Alright, then. What do we do?”

He shifted so he was cross legged and you did the same, both of your bare knees pressed up against each other. The sun was just barely above the horizon, only visible to you in the reflection of his eyes. “Uh... I think we just do it,” he said, not sounding too convincing.

You swallowed as he wet his lips and leaned in, only a few inches away from you. You could see every detail of his face, every little scratch and imperfection of teenage skin. For the first time, you realized maybe he was kind of cute, like your mother always said. “It’s those little dimples he has,” she always said with a wide smile. This was coming from the woman who was convinced that you two would fall in love and get married someday. Yeah, right.

He stared back at you, blinking slowly and licked his lips again. You would’ve felt uncomfortable normally, if it had been anyone else this close to you but, well, it was Van.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, his breath fanning across your lips.

You took one last look at him and shut your eyes, your stomach doing jumps like you were about to board a roller coaster. He cleared his throat and you felt him shift and then his lips were on yours. He just kind of kept them there, neither of you moving, unsure of what to do. It felt weird and different and you were a little surprised at how soft his lips were. Did everyone’s feel like this? This is what people in movies feel like when they have their big first kiss, right as the music swells? It didn’t seem right.

After a few seconds, you both pulled away and opened your eyes, blinking the blurriness away. You looked at the sharpness of his nose and the curl of his eyelashes and realized he still looked like the same old Van to you.

“Huh,” he said after a moment, scooching back to his original spot against the wall of the treehouse. By now, his face was bathed in deep red shadows that were sure to turn to blue any moment once the stubborn sun descended past the tree line.

“Huh,” you repeated, bringing your fingers to your mouth, running them over your bottom lip. “That was...”

“Weird?” he finished.

You shrugged. “No, just like, kind of boring, I guess. I don’t really get the big deal.”

Van scratched the back of his neck, eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe we did it wrong?”

You laughed softly at first and then started laughed even harder, stuck in a fit of giggles. “What?” he asked with a grin, which just made you laugh harder. He started laughing with you, warm and loud, just like always. You howled with laughter, both nearly rolling around on the floor of the treehouse. You laughed for so long that by the time you were done, you forgot why you started in the first place.

•

Age fourteen came with the band.

You weren’t really sure how it started or why even, but suddenly Van was playing with one of his friend’s older brothers in their basement. He invited you to come along most times, rambling on about how excited he was about a new song they were learning or how good he was getting with guitar.

You’d taught him to play originally, lending him the few notes your dad had taught you when you were small. He was entranced immediately, making you guide his fingers to every note you knew on the guitar that he’d saved up for for a year. And then he ran with it, learning every variation of every chord possible and spending nearly every waking minute playing in the basement of the B&B - much to his parents dismay. They scolded him and told him it was driving customers away which is probably how he ended up jamming with Billy, slowly learning a few of The Strokes’ easier songs.

You loved tagging along to watch him play, even though all he and Billy did was strum on their guitars and sing in the basement that had really, really shitty acoustics. You knew Van was a good singer - he always had been, even though he was in the midst of puberty and was experiencing the dreaded voice cracks and hormones that came along with it. And he absolutely loved music. Listening to him sing was your favorite part of the day. You’d lean back on the couch, listening to the way his accent slipped away a little as he sang, stumbling over words and combining bits and pieces of various songs together. You knew music and you knew that he was good.

“You’ve got quite beautiful eyes, y’know,” Van said one night, hours after his voice had given out from singing the same song over and over again in Billy’s basement.

You elbowed Van in the ribs, nearly knocking him over. “Shut up, would ya? Brown eyes are ugly and you know it.”

You stared up at the sky, entranced by the constellations and bright stars that were out. You were both sitting cross-legged on the grass in a field a few minutes outside of your neighborhood, far enough that the lights from the houses couldn’t reach it.

“No, ‘m telling you, yours are all big and soft and… warm, like honey.” You turned to look at him slowly, at the crooked grin on his face. You rolled your eyes, turning your gaze back on the stars. You wondered how they all fit up there in that big sky. It didn’t even seem possible, like they could fall out of it at any second and come crashing down to Earth.

“Says the one with blue eyes. I’ve always wanted blue eyes,” you said with a dreamy sigh.

Van shook his head and laughed softly, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.

You looked at him, blinking, and joined in laughing with him. “What?” you asked in between giggles.

Van shrugged, only laughing harder, which made you laugh harder, too.

“I think… I think I’m just high,” Van said with a wide smile on his face. You nodded, tilting your head back and laughing again, the air visible from your mouth in the cold.

“Me too,” You said after a moment with a giggle. “Guess it worked?”

You and Van started smoking fairly regularly after that, usually leeching off of Billy or trading him with stolen cigarettes that your father rolled himself. You’d usually settle for Billy’s basement, passing around a joint or a bowl and listening as they played the songs that Van had slowly started writing, your brain fuzzy and soaking in every bit of it.

•

Age sixteen came with first loves.

“Mate, you know Abby Newman?” Billy asked one night, smacking Van on the chest lightly. He blinked, eyes half shut and red around the edges.

“Hm, she’s a year ‘bove me, I think, so year younger than you, yeah?”

Billy smirked, taking a long hit of the joint in his hands. “Heard that she fancies you.”

You snorted and Van shot you a dirty look, shoving you lightly. “Fuck off, would ya?” he said with a laugh, then turned back to Billy. “Abby Newman, huh?”

This is what kickstarted Van’s girl crazed phase. Through his delightful charm (or so he said), he managed to score a date with Abby. Within a few weeks, they were real-life boyfriend and girlfriend, holding hands at the diner you always went to, Abby finding a spot on Billy’s couch to listen to them practice, Van telling you about how they’d gone to second base - gross.

At first, you were a little annoyed with Abby, her extra fragrant floral perfume and thick eyeliner being just a bit much but you learned to like her. Just as you were starting to consider her one of your own close friends, she and Van broke up. He wrote a sad song about her of course, actually probably 20 songs, but within a few weeks, he had a new girl in his lyrics.

He never dated girls for longer than a month, if that, and you were never really sure why they broke up but it made for good song content, Van pouring his emotions out into his at first cheesy but then actually decent songs.

While Van was experiencing the whirlwind that was adolescent females, you were finding your own first love in Matt.

Matt was a year above you, seventeen and had this smile that dove you nuts. You’d go to his football games, cheering him on from the stands, Van usually by your side scribbling in his notebook or underneath the bleachers smoking a cigarette.

You adored Matt. He was just so cool, always working on this old car that he already knew how to drive even though he didn’t even have his license yet, and giving you mix CDs with sappy love songs that you’d fall asleep listening to every night.

Van wasn’t a huge fan of him but you figured he was just being his usual over protective self. You forced him to put on a smile and play nice, which he did for the most part.

Matt bought you popcorn and paid for your movie tickets, held your hand tightly during the scary parts, took you to the beach when it got a little warmer, gave you goodnight kisses at your door that left you dizzy.

You were sixteen and in love. Or you thought you were, at least.

“Van,” you whispered into the phone, hand covering your mouth as you walked down the street on shaky legs.

“Hey, what is it, love? You okay?” he answered quickly, voice thick from smoking or drinking. It was the night of your school’s formal and although he didn’t attend it, Van was probably winding down from the afterparty that one of your classmates had thrown - the party you should’ve just gone to after the dance.

Instead, you were walking down a road you didn’t even recognize, in the dress you’d been dreaming about wearing for months, tears streaming down your face.

“Yeah, I-” your voice cracked and you let out a sob. You crouched down in the street, head on your knees and cried, snot dripping from your nose.

“Love,” Van whispered, his heart breaking for you. “Where are you?”

You ended up in Van’s bed, curled up under his covers, wearing a pair of his joggers and your favorite sweatshirt that you always tried to steal from him. He placed a cup of tea down for you on his bedside table with just a bit of milk, exactly how you liked it, and sat on the edge of the bed. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked softly.

You wiped some tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and took a shaky breath. “Um... I guess.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, the familiar feeling of his calloused fingers against yours relaxing you a little. “So basically... Matt and I had been planning on, um, having sex for the first time tonight, after the dance. Cliche, I know,” you sniffled, glancing you at Van. You’d expected him to shake his head or at least give you a disappointed look but his soft expression hadn’t changed. “And well, his parents were gone for the weekend... so we went to his house after the dance. And we were, like kissing and stuff and I realized that I just wasn’t ready, y’know? Like I just didn’t wanna do it then. So I told him that and he got really mad, telling me that he’d been waiting for this for months and how could I just decide all of the sudden I didn’t want to?”

Van’s hand tightened around yours and you glanced up to see his jaw clenched. You took another shaky breath. “So... then I felt really bad and ended up just doing it.” Vans eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You dropped your chin to your chest, closing your eyes. “There’s more,” you whispered. “After we were done, he, um, broke up with me and basically said he was just waiting for this so he could finally dump me.” Van pulled his hand away from you and you glanced up to see him pacing around his room.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled to himself. “Oh my fucking God. What a piece of shit. Who the fuck does he think he is, doing that to you? To you of all people?” he voice cracked at the end of the sentence and he paused, running a hand down his face. “I’m gonna fucking murder him,” he said, reaching for his boots by the door.

“Van, stop. Please,” you whispered, pulling your knees tighter to your chest. He paused immediately and looked down at you, face softening slightly.

“But he can’t fucking do that. Do you know how messed up that is? I literally wanna go rip his fucking head off,” he hissed. You shook your head and when he saw your lip tremble, he dropped his boot and sat down on the bed next to you carefully. “Oh, Y/N,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you.

You bit your lip and leaned on his chest, a sob escaping your mouth when he pulled you close to him. You cried, full on, a waterfall of tears into his chest as he stroked your hair and rubbed your back gently, keeping you tucked into him. He shushed you softly, almost rocking you like a baby as you cried and cried on him.

After you had no tears left in you, you sniffled and cleared your throat. You were both lying down now, both of Vans arms around your waist and your head in his chest, arm across his stomach. “Uh, sorry about that,” you said with a soft laugh.

He stroked his thumb across your arm. “Don’t ever apologize for that, yeah? I’m here for you, always. If you need to cry on me, I’ll gladly wipe your tears away,” he murmured in your ear. “But I still wanna fuckin’ kill him.”

You chuckled, burying your head into his chest. “I know. But please don’t, I don’t want you going to jail on my behalf.”

“I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you,” he whispered. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. He smelled a little different than usual, his cologne and cigarette smoke mixed with alcohol and weed from the party. But it comforted you nonetheless, because it was Van. “I love you,” he said, dropping a kiss on your forehead.

“Love you too,” you replied softly, falling asleep as you thanked God for giving you Van as a best friend.

•

You were seventeen when you started to get jealous.

It was well known by you and your friends that Van was, well, a ladies man. He dated a lot of girls. He was always loyal to them of course, he’d never cheat, but his relationships were always short-lived and dramatic. He still paid more attention to you than any of his girlfriends, but one night when you texted him to come watch a movie, you were disappointed by his response.

To: vannn

heyyy come watch 500 days of summer w me plz i need a rom com and snuggles

To: my bestest friend

sorry love i got a date w sophie tonight her parents are gone for the weekend ;) tomorrow? xx

You looked at your phone for a moment, color rushing to your cheeks as you snapped it shut. It’s not like this was anything new - Van hadn’t done anything wrong, he was just spending time with his girlfriend. But it bothered you for some reason.

The next day, when Van did actually come over to watch a movie as promised, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes when he started talking about Sophie.

“Yeah, I dunno she’s nice and dead cute, honestly, but she is a little insane,” he said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

Your skin was probably green with envy when he mentioned something about her being good in bed. “Van, I don’t wanna hear that,” you replied, tossing a piece of popcorn at him.

He turned his head and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Aw, someone a little jealous that I’m spending time with another girl?” he teased, eating the popcorn that had landed in his lap.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “No.”

Van chuckled and leaned toward you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. “It’s okay, babe, you’ll always be my number one.”

•

You were eighteen when you realized you were in love with him.

It was your birthday and you were at a small pub watching him perform. You were leaning against the back wall, a beer in your hand as you watched. Van and Billy had found a bassist a while back and recently had even found a decent drummer. And they were good.

You smiled as he thrashed around on stage, nearly knocking his microphone over and putting on a hell of a good show for the small crowd of people. They’d grown a bit of a following over the years and you could tell something big was coming for them soon.

“I just wanna give a shout to someone very special to me.” You looked up at Van who was staring right back at you, a huge grin spread across his face as he spoke into the microphone at the finality of their last song. “This girl’s been there for me since the beginning, through all my shit. She’s the best friend I could ever ask for and I dunno what I did to deserve her. So happy birthday, Y/N. And thanks for everything.”

Color sprung to your cheeks as everyone turned and looked at you, clapping and shouting happy birthday wishes. One of Van’s guy friends who you’d gotten to know pretty well, elbowed you in the side and shot you a wide smile. “Didn’t know it was your birthday. How old are you, then?”

But you didn’t respond because you hadn’t even picked up on what he was saying. You were still staring at Van, watching as he started packing things up on stage.

Everything around you went quiet. You watched as he tilted his head back and laughed loudly at something Bob said and it sounded like goddamn angels singing to you.

Holy shit. I’m in love with him, you thought. I’m fucking in love with him. How did I not realize this earlier?

It was like everything else in the background faded to black and white but he was in color, his blue eyes shining brightly as he approached you, brown hair darkened with sweat. He said something to you and you had to blink a few times, bringing your focus back.

“Sorry, what?”

He laughed, shaking his head at you. “I asked if you wanted to get out of here, go for a drive, or somethin’. I gotta give you your birthday present,” he said with a mischievous smile.

So there you were in the passenger seat of his dad’s car, windows rolled down, arm hanging out and cutting through the wind as you drove over a bridge, music blaring, and fuck, you were in love with Van.

The lights from the city were bright and shining in the rear view mirror as the two of you sped away, leaving everything behind you. You stuck your head out of the window, feeling the wind on your face, a little buzzed from the beer you had been drinking earlier and a little high from the joint you’d smoked a few minutes prior and you threw your head back and whooped, unable to hold in your joy.

Van was looking over at you, one hand on the steering wheel and a wide smile on his face. “What?” he questioned you with a laugh.

You shook your head, unable to explain how you were feeling at that moment. You felt so full and warm and just downright fucking happy. Happier than you’d felt in a while. “I’m just… happy,” you said back, sticking your arm back out the window and letting your hair whip around in the wind.

Van laughed, rolling his own window down and screaming along to the music with you.

He pulled over eventually, onto a side road in the middle of nowhere but left the car running. He turned the music down a little and cleared his throat. You watched as he rubbed his hands down his jeans, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. “What’s up?” you asked, rolling the window up and tilting your head towards him. “Ooh, do I get my present now?”

A laugh escaped him as he nodded. “Yeah, guess so. Or I could make you wait even longer.”

You frowned, crossing your arms dramatically. “But Vaaan,” you whined, “it’s almost midnight. Then my birthday’s gonna be over.”

His eyes shone in the darkness of the car, the moonlight washing over his features gently. “Alright, alright, quit your whining. Give me a second.” Van slipped out of the car and went around to the trunk and came back with a small box wrapped in newspaper. He held it in his hands for a moment as he sat in the driver’s seat, the windows around you fogging up just a bit from your breath.

You waited patiently, heart beating a little faster. He licked his lips before he spoke, turning his head to look at you. “So I’ve been, uh… pretty bummed lately because you’re leaving soon. I was trying to think of a way to convince you to stay here with me and just become a roadie or something but I realized that there was no way I’d let you do that,” he said with a soft laugh. “You’re so fucking smart and I just… I know you’re gonna do big things at Oxford and after, too. It sucks that we’re gonna be apart but I’m hoping I can come visit.” He looked at you expectantly, eyes wide as if you were going to object to this.

You nodded quickly. “Of course, yeah.”

He smiled and looked out the window for a second, turning the present around in his hands. “Good, yeah. God, this is fucking awful,” he said after a moment, eyes going to his lap. “‘M gonna miss you so much. I mean… my best friend isn’t gonna be 10 steps from my front door anymore.” You bit your lip hard, blinking fast. You weren’t one to cry over just anything but you could feel tears stinging your eyes. And you weren’t ready to leave Van in a few days at all.

You’d applied to Oxford on a whim, fully expecting to end up at one of the smaller universities near your hometown that would be within driving distance so you could still live at home.

When you got your acceptance letter, you were shocked. Van hadn’t been surprised at all, saying he knew all along that you’d get in. It took you up until the last day possible to make the decision. Ultimately, you knew you’d hate yourself if you didn’t pick Oxford. And Van would probably resent you for life if you stayed living at home. Plus, he’d dropped out of school a while ago anyway and who knew what he’d be doing once Catfish got signed.

He laughed softly, clearing his throat. “But anyway, I’m so happy for ya. I’m not happy about us being three and a half hours away from each other... but I’ll live. And I guess I should finally give this to you, yeah?”

He handed the present over across the console, your fingers brushing as you took it from him. “I can see you wrapped it yourself,” you said with a chuckle, inspecting the newspaper.

Van rolled his eyes playfully. “Alright, shut up and open it.”

You tore the paper carefully, holding your breath as you pulled the paper back to reveal a small box. You lifted the top off and peered inside to see a CD case. You pulled it out and examined the front to see a handwritten tracklist - Van’s messy script, specifically, but there were no artists listed. “Oh, you made me a mix?” you asked softly, beaming at him.

He shook his head slightly. “Well, not exactly. Um, they’re all my songs.” You gasped, looking back at the tracks.

“That’s amazing,” you murmured.

“And uh, well, they’re all songs about you.” You paused, making sure you heard him correctly, and turned back to look at him. He was staring right back at you, bottom lip tugged between his teeth.

“Songs about me?” you whispered. “I didn’t know you wrote about me.”

He laughed softly, pointing at the top of the list of songs. “Of course I do. How could I not? They’re kind of… in chronological order too, like from when I first met you to now.” You pulled the CD case to your chest, leaning over and wrapping your free arm around Van’s neck.

“Oh my God, thank you,” you mumbled as he tucked his arm around your waist, his chin on top of your head.

“There’s more, y’know,” he said as you pulled away, pointing at the box. You lifted some tissue paper to reveal a thick stack of notebook paper that was folded together carefully in a square. When you pulled it out, something fell out of the paper.

“Shit,” you muttered as you lifted your legs off the seat, trying to find it. You switched a light on inside the car and spread your fingers across the fabric of the seat until you felt something cold. You grabbed it carefully, placing it in your palm and you gasped upon realization. “Van,” you whispered.

It was his father’s necklace, the one he’d worn ever since you were both small. He’d started wearing it when he was only about seven or eight, he told you. You’d never seen him without it.

You looked over at him and sure enough, the small chain that usually adorned his neck was gone. He licked his lips, eyes scanning your face. “I… I can’t take this from you,” you said, reaching for his hand to give the necklace back to him.

He held his hands up in defense and shook his head. “I want you to have it. So you don’t forget about me,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened. Forget about Van? That would be impossible. You’d spent your life watching him grow up, been there for each other through every heartbreak, every family problem, every low moment. You were in love with him, for God’s sake. How could you not be? He was the funniest, most thoughtful, kindest person you’d ever met. And he thought you’d forget about him?

“I could never forget about you,” you whispered, voice cracking. Your eyes started watering again and you looked at your lap, turning over the delicate gold chain in your hands.

“Let me put it on you.” You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you handed it to him carefully and turned to face your window. He leaned over the console and brushed your hair to the side, his hands against your neck eliciting goosebumps from your skin. He unclasped it and wrapped it around your neck slowly, his fingertips nearly leaving burn marks wherever they touched. He ran a hand down your hair, smoothing it carefully and hovering there for a moment before leaning back in his seat. “Looks better on you,” he said with a small smile.

The feeling in the pit of your stomach had not dissipated. You felt incredibly nervous but also still at ease and you were trying to figure out how that was even possible. But it was because you were alone in a car in the middle of nowhere with Van, your best friend of almost a decade who you were also utterly in love with, staring at him with only the soft hum of The Shins in the background. “Also, that’s um, a letter I wrote you,” he said softly, looking at the folded up paper in your hands. You started to unfold the paper until he interrupted you. “No, no, could you just wait to read it? Like, until you get to Oxford?”

You felt dizzy at this point, only moments away from having to press your forehead against the car window and catch your breath. What was in the letter?

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you whispered, tucking the note into the pocket of your jacket. “Van, I… thank you so much. You don’t know how much all of this means to me,” you said. He was pleased by your reaction, a small smile stuck on his lips as he stared at you.

“Of course. You deserve it,” Van responded softly. “Come ‘ere.”

You leaned forward again and wrapped both of your arms around his middle tightly, tucking your head into his chest. He slid both his arms around your neck, one going to the back of your head and holding you tightly. You sat there like that for a while, feeling how warm he was against you, breathing in his scent that never seemed to change, the cologne he’d stolen from his father when he was younger with the addition of cigarette smoke in the last couple of years. He felt so solid and safe and at that moment, you realized that leaving for Oxford was probably going to be the hardest thing you’d done so far in your life. Van stroked your hair gently, holding you so tight to him, not caring about the awkward position you were in over the center console or that The Shins CD was starting over for the third time.

You pulled away after a few minutes, forehead pressed to his. It was so dark you couldn’t see anything but the lightness of his eyes. I’m in love with you, you wanted to say. I’m so fucking in love with you it hurts. I want to wake up to you in my bed every morning and I want to dance around the kitchen with you in the middle of the night and I want to have babies with you and grow old together.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say any of these things. You were leaving in less than a week and then you’d be across the country from him. You didn’t want to risk losing him or fucking things up before you left. You’d just realized how you felt about him and you were pretty sure that he didn’t feel the same way about you but you’d rather just live not knowing for sure - it was less painful that way. You wanted to remember him exactly this way - warm and happy and just Van.

“I love you,” you whispered, “and I’m gonna miss you so fucking much. But you’ll always be my best friend, y’know?”

•

It was near the end of your first term when Van finally came to visit you.

It was a Friday afternoon and you had your nose in a book, studying for an exam you had coming up when your phone rang.

You flipped it open and grinned. “Van!” you yelled excitedly, slamming your book shut and jumping out of your desk chair.

He chuckled through the phone at your excitement. “Hi, love. I think I’m here but ‘m not quite sure where to go, honestly. Can ya come find me?”

There he was, a backpack slung over one shoulder, sunglasses on his face, wearing a huge smile. You sprinted toward him and nearly knocked him over with a hug, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“Hi,” you said when you pulled away, beaming.

“Hi,” he replied, giving you that infamous crooked grin.

“So this is my friend Hallie’s room and my other friend Olivia’s room is right there and, oh that’s Charlie’s at the end of the hall,” you said, speeding down the hallway, Van trailing behind you. He seemed to be in awe of everything, mouth hung open and staring at every room you passed. “And this is my room.” You shut the door behind you and leaned against the wall, watching as he inspected the small room. “Like it?” you asked nervously.

He turned and looked at you, a smile spread across his face. “This is amazing,” he said. “This whole place is so fuckin’ cool and all of your pictures in here and your records, wow,” he murmured, scanning over the hundreds of pictures you’d taped to your walls. Of course, he was in most of them. You beamed at him, plopping down on your bed as he looked out your window, admiring the view of the city outside.

“So did ya miss me?” he asked, sitting down next to you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“No, I’ve been just great without you,” you said with a laugh. “Yes, of course I missed you! It’s been, like…”

“Three months?” he finished for you.

You sighed, scanning over his face. It had been only three months but it felt like so much longer. He looked older to you, his hair a little longer and some stubble growing in. His eyes still had the same twinkle and you couldn’t help but lean forward and hug him again tightly.

“Three months too long,” you mumbled into his chest as he chuckled, hugging you back and rubbing his hand down your back.

“I know, darlin’. But what do you have planned for me this weekend? Gotta get the whole university experience, yeah?”

Naturally, you took him to a party later that night. It wasn’t overly huge or anything, just a casual thing that your friend Hallie’s older sister was throwing at her house a few blocks away from where you lived.

Van was thriving in the party atmosphere, of course. Girls were eyeing him up left and right, offering him drinks and touching his shoulder. He was eating it up, not used to so much attention. He was telling a group of people about the band and how they’d recently won a music competition and they were all close to drooling.

“Your boyfriend’s so cool,” someone next to you said. You turned and looked, seeing it was a girl who lived down the hall from you but whose name you could never remember. Van looked at you through the crowd of people, shooting you a wink as you shook your head and laughed at him.

“I know right?” you replied, not even bothering to correct her.

“I love college. I love it!” Van shouted to no one in particular a few hours later as the two of you stumbled down the street, his arm slung around your shoulder and yours around his waist.

You giggled, holding him tightly to make sure you didn’t trip over anything. “Van, be quiet,” you shushed as you guided him up the stairs and down the hall to your room. You rolled your eyes, laughing as he said ‘hello’ to a few people in your hall and pushed him into your room. He collapsed on your bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. “I’m serious. I love this place. I could never leave,” he said, eyes wide.

You sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, patting his chest. “I know. I love it, too.”

Soon you were curled up in your tiny bed, limbs tangled together and fighting over blankets like you were sixteen again. His arm was around you, thumb stroking over your shoulder. “So you got a boyfriend?” he asked teasingly.

“Ha no, no time for that yet. I’ve been so busy with school I can’t even think about finding a boyfriend,” you replied with a laugh. “What about you? How’s the girl situation?”

Van shrugged gently. “Eh, dunno. I’ve been seeing this girl Lily for a bit but I don’t really think it’ll go anywhere. She’s a bit full on.”

You’d become pretty good at hiding your jealousy, pushing it down inside of you and putting on a smile. You knew that his relationships never lasted and you really had no right to be jealous anyway but the thought of him doing anything with another girl made you sick to your stomach.

You chatted for a while, voices hushed and words getting more drawn out until you could tell he was asleep. You laid there, head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and listening to him breathe and you were just so fucking thankful that he was real and he was alive and here in your room.

As you laid pressed up against him, not ready to fall asleep just yet, you thought of the letter he’d written you before you left for school.

It took you until your third night at Oxford to read it, as you’d been so busy with unpacking and making new friends you didn’t have time.

You’d flipped the lamp on next to your bed and unfolded the paper carefully. You read it slowly, taking in every word, every metaphor, every long description and then read it again. He really did have a way with words. You cried, of course, because it was fucking beautiful. He wrote about what your friendship meant to him and how he was so thankful he’d gotten to watch you grow over the years into the person you were now. He mentioned little details about you that you’d never even noticed and wrote about some of the bigger things you’d experienced together and what it was like from his perspective.

The final paragraph is what really sent you over the edge.

And now, you’re going off to do such fucking wonderful things. I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to know you. Just the other day I was talking to Larry about you, and how I was going to miss you and everything and he said to me “Mate, she’s special. People like that don’t come around in life twice.” And he was right. I might end up traveling around the world with the band, visiting different countries and meeting thousands of people. But none of them will compare to you. To your heart, your kindness, your passion to change the world. So I guess, I just want to thank you for being you and thank God for putting you in my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.

You’re the best friend I ever could’ve asked for. I love you and I always will.

Love, Van xx

•

You were twenty when you met Ethan.

It was the beginning of your third year at Oxford and he was in your Calculus class. He introduced himself on the first day and whispered jokes to you about the lecturer throughout the whole class, making you burst out laughing at one point and get scolded by the girl sitting next to you.

He followed you out of the lecture hall, asking you to coffee right away. While you were drinking coffee, he asked you to come to a party with him later that night. At the party, he asked you to dinner the next night.

Within weeks you were inseparable. Ethan was witty and bright and kept you on your toes at all times. You studied together almost every night and it especially helped that he was a genius when it came to math.

“So you’re just using Green’s Theorem to set up a double integral to find the area of this region,” he’d say.

“I have to use whose what to find where?”

He’d roll his eyes and laugh, then explain the whole thing to you again.

You went to parties together and out to clubs sometimes, spending all night laughing and dancing together. You called your mother, giddy about your new romance and you could tell she was uncertain about Ethan. “Sweetie, are you sure about him? I mean he sounds nice and all, but… what about a certain someone back home?”

You’d never officially told your mother about your secret love for Van but of course she knew. Ever since you were little, she constantly told you that you and Van would be perfect together and would end up married with kids someday. And when she started to pick up on your real feelings for him, that maybe you did want to be more than friends, you could tell your mother really, really wanted something to finally happen between you and Van. “Mum,” you’d scolded her over the phone, “you need to drop that, okay? I like Ethan. He’s gonna be good for me.”

When first term was over, Ethan invited you to come to his family’s house for the holidays and spend Christmas with him. You declined politely, as you hadn’t seen your parents in ages and desperately wanted to go home for a bit, enjoy the cold weather from the comfort of your childhood home. In the last few weeks, Ethan had become a little full on, as well, so you were glad to get some space from him. And maybe there were other reasons, too.

As you rode the train home, looking out at the snow falling through the frozen window, you thought about Van.

You hadn’t seen him in months. Catfish had recently gotten signed and they were busy recording their first EP so you rarely saw him last summer before you had to return to Oxford. You talked on the phone occasionally, but you were both so busy that you had little time to call each other.

And fuck, did you miss him.

Your heart ached for him when you arrived home, his house looking the exact same. You pictured him running across the street to beg you to come play hide and seek in the woods nearby or to convince you to go swimming in the lake a few blocks away. When your parents took you out to dinner, all you could see was him. Him sitting at the booth you always used to share when you had late night munchies, him waiting for the bus down the road before school, him knocking over that stop sign when he was first learning to drive.

You thought about calling him but every time you clicked on his contact name, you couldn’t bring yourself to go through with it. What if things had changed between you? What if he was too busy with the band?

You’d been home for three days when you heard a noise at your window. You paused, trying to figure out if you imagined it and shrugged, turning back to the book you were reading. After a moment, you heard the noise again. You folded over the corner of the page you were on and set the book down on your bedside table. You shuffled over to your window and jumped when you heard the tap again, then pulled your shades back. Through the frost, you could make out the figure of a person on the ground below. You carefully slid the window open and stuck your head out, rubbing your arms from the cold.

“Hey!”

It was Van, throwing rocks at your window, a smile on his face, just like when you were young.

Your heart swelled. “You wanna let me in? It’s cold as fuck out here!”

Van rubbed his hands together and blew on them, trying to warm himself up as you set a cup of tea next to him on your nightstand. “Thanks, love,” he said with a warm smile.

“So how’ve you been? Can’t believe you guys finally have a record deal and everything. I mean you’ve been working for this for so long,” you said, pulling a blanket over both of you.

“Fuck, I know right? It’s been insane, just absolutely mad. I mean to hear my own songs actually recorded, not just on the shitty mic I have in my room? It’s fucking amazing,” Van replied, shaking his head in amazement.

He shot into stories about their manager and the stress over which songs would go on the B side and you could tell he fucking loved it. His eyes were shining so bright, hands waving around as he spoke, a wide smile never leaving his face. Van was absolutely in love - in love with music and his band, and you realized you were in love, too.

But not with music - you were in love with him still.

“You glad to be home? It’s not quite as exciting as Oxford, eh?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea.

You laughed softly, shrugging. “Maybe not as exciting but I like coming back here, especially since it’s almost Christmas. I love seeing mum and dad and it makes me… nostalgic you know. Reminds me of being little and running around with you,” you said, bumping his shoulder with yours.

He nodded in agreement, lips curling up in a smile. “Can you believe we’re twenty now? Christ, I feel so fucking old,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh, I know right. I feel like school is just flying by and I dunno, I have no fucking clue what I want to do when it’s over,” you replied, sighing.

“You’ll figure it out. You always do. You’re dead smart and so passionate about so many things that I can’t imagine you’ll have any trouble finding a job after you graduate,” Van said softly.

You looked over at him, biting your lip and wanting to cry a little. He always knew what to say. You’d been so stressed over the last year about your grades and about potentially going to medical school but you weren’t even sure if you wanted to, that Van saying this made you feel infinitely better.

“Thanks, Van. I’ve missed you so much, y’know.”

He wrapped an arm around you, bringing you close to him and dropping a kiss on your forehead. “I missed you, too, love. It’s been hard without you.”

You took a little satisfaction in knowing that he missed you as much as you missed him. You had your doubts of course, him being a big rock star now and you feared that maybe things had changed since you’d last seen him.

“I was worried you’d forget about me,” you said softly, looking up at him. He blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowed.

He shook his head and whispered, “I could never forget about you.” His flickered down to your neck and the gold chain you hadn’t taken off in years.

You bit your lip, unable to contain the smile on your face.

“You wanna go for a walk?” he asked after a moment.

So though it was freezing and flurries were coming down, you found yourself walking the same streets you’d biked around on when you were young.

You had your face buried in a scarf, hands shoved in your pockets because of course you’d forgotten your mittens, as you walked down the street with Van.

It was dark out now, so the sky was hazy and everything was quiet from the snow. You were shivering and looked over at Van to see if he was the same, but he looked fine, no scarf, no mittens, no hat and just a light jacket on. “Aren’t you cold?” you asked, teeth chattering.

He turned and looked at you with an eyebrow raised. “Not really. You?” You turned off the road you’d been walking on and wordlessly entered a park that you’d played at countless times. Visions of young Van sliding down the slide or swinging as high as he could flashed through your head.

You nodded quickly, pulling your hands out of your pockets to rub them together. Van led you to a bench and sat. “Here,” he said, reaching out for your hands. You sat next to him, pressed up against each other, and he took your hands in his much larger ones, rubbing some warmth into them. He brought your hands to his mouth, blowing hot air on them. Your heart started to race and you felt like a teenager again.

“Better?” he asked, pulling your hands away from his mouth but not letting go, resting them on his lap.

You nodded, lips curled up in a smile. The tip of his nose was a little red and he looked adorable.

“So your mum told me the other day that you’ve got a new boyfriend.” Oh, fuck. Since being home and especially being with Van, you’d kind of forgotten about Ethan.

“Oh, yeah, Ethan. We’ve been together for just a couple months,” you said with a small smile. Van nodded but didn’t return your smile, turning and looking across the park, snowflakes falling and nestling onto his hair. He looked older, circles visible under his eyes probably from long nights spent perfecting songs and early mornings at the recording studio. You were positive he’d grown since you last saw him - he’d seemed like a giant when you’d been walking together. “But I dunno, I don’t really know if he’s the one, y’know?”

When Van turned back to you, he looked nine years old again. Small and vulnerable and clueless about the world.

He looked down at his lap, at your intertwined fingers, and licked his lips before his eyes flicked back up to yours. “Y/N… Can I tell you something?”

Your breath hitched in your throat before you nodded slowly. Van cleared his throat and turned your hand over, running his thumb along all the lines. He scratched your palm gently, just like he knew you liked, before intertwining your fingers again. “Uh, wow, I have no idea where to even start. I’ve had this planned in my head for fucking years and now it’s real and I… I don’t even know what to say,” he muttered, eyes wide as they stared into yours.

“What do you mean?”

He laughed softly, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. He brought your hand up to his mouth again and kissed your knuckles gently.

“I’m in love with you.” Your ears were ringing and you blinked slowly, wanting to pinch yourself in the leg to make sure you weren’t dreaming. “I’m so fucking in love with you. And I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to say it because God, I’ve known it since I was fifteen and you fell asleep on my shoulder in Bobby’s basement one time but I was always too scared to tell you. Scared because I knew you didn’t feel the same way and I was worried you’d get weird around me which is fucking dumb because, well, you’re you and you’re the best person I know so it would’ve been fine,” he said with a soft laugh. “I wanted to tell you before you went off to Oxford, too, but I knew it was a bad idea because we were gonna be so far apart and I didn’t want it to ruin our friendship or anything, y’know? But now I hear that you have a boyfriend and I probably shouldn’t even be telling you because that’s kind of a shitty thing to do, but I dunno. I couldn’t keep it in anymore,” he finished, shrugging like he’d just said something completely minuscule to you.

He reached up and rubbed his thumb under your eye and you didn’t even realize you’d started crying.

Van was in love with you. He was in love with you and had been for years. All those years that you thought he didn’t feel the same, that he was just a really good friend. After you’d read his letter when you first started at Oxford, feeling a little crushed that he hadn’t confessed his love for you, you were positive that you’d never be more than friends.

Van, your best friend of eleven years, the boy who’d grown into a man in front of your very eyes, was in love with you too.

You couldn’t believe it.

“Oh my God,” you mumbled. “Oh my God. This is real?” He nodded, his face full of confusion.

You’d spent years dreaming of this. Lying on your bed at Oxford, staring at the ceiling, willing there to be some way the universe could work its magic and make Van love you back. Apparently, the universe listens.

“Van... I’m in love with you, too.” He sighed gently, eyes locked on yours. “I have been forever. And I didn’t wanna tell you either because I thought you didn’t feel the same way,” you said with a small laugh of disbelief. “Fuck, I can’t believe this is actually happening. I spent so much time wishing you’d feel the same way as me but I honestly thought you never would. And God, I wanted to tell you so bad but I was just so scared. You’re really in love with me?” you whispered, biting your lip.

He nodded, bringing his finger to your chin and tilting your face to look up at him. You could see every detail of his face in the soft lighting, the freckles that dusted across his nose, the ever so faint scar from that football match so long ago, the curl of his eyelashes. You thought of when you were thirteen and you had stared at him before having your first ever kiss, how much he looked like that young boy right now.

“Of course I’m in love with you. It’s always been you,” he whispered, his thumb stroking across your cheek. Your heart was beating so fast you were worried it would pop out of your chest.

You sighed softly, scanning over Van’s face, the snowflakes that had accumulated on his hair, the sparkle in his eyes, the redness of his cheeks. He was in love with you.

“Think we can try that whole kissing thing again?” he asked after a moment, with a small smile. “Might be better now than it was when we were kids.”

You laughed, nodding as he leaned forward and rested his forehead on yours. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you to make sure he was real and that this was actually happening.

“I love you,” Van whispered, his breath ghosting across your lips, the edges of his eyes crinkled because of how hard he was smiling.

And yeah, it was safe to say this kiss was better than the one you’d shared at age thirteen.

•

You were twenty four when you got married.

It was a nice autumn day, a slight chill in the air but the sun was still shining bright.

As you waited for your cue to walk down the aisle, your heart beating faster than you knew possible, you thought of the last time you’d seen Van. It was yesterday morning, when you woke up to him pressing soft kisses on your cheeks, your nose, your forehead.

“Van, what are you doing?” you’d groaned, not wanting to wake up.

He scattered a few more kisses down your face and then giggled - giggled - against your neck as he brought his fingers to your sides, tickling you gently. “Van!” you squealed, opening your eyes to see him hovering above you with that crooked grin.

“I needed to wake you up,” he said.

You looked up at him, blinking the blurriness away, at his messy hair and sleepy eyes. It had to have been early still, dawn lighting streaming in through your window onto his face. “Why?” you asked with another groan.

“Because I looove you and we have so much shit going on today and then we don’t get to be together tonight so I wanna enjoy the time we have this morning,” he replied softly.

You brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb across a dimple and pulled his mouth to yours. He smiled even wider into the kiss, morning breath and teeth clinking together and all.

You loved Van a little extra in the mornings. He was even more affectionate than usual, running his hands over every part of your body, wanting to be the little spoon, begging you to stay in bed for just a little longer.

He snuggled on top of you, arms around your waist and head nuzzled into your neck as you scratched his scalp gently. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” he mumbled.

You sighed softly, lips curling up in a smile. “I know. God, I’m so excited.”

He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead on yours. You couldn’t see anything but the lightness of his eyes. “Me too,” he whispered. “Been waiting for this for a long fuckin’ time.” He kissed you gently, then rested his head on your chest, your hands going back up to tangle through his hair.

“I love you.”

“I love you, so fucking much.”

As you rounded the corner, you took one last deep breath and looked up. Everyone was standing, staring at you with wide smiles and hands pressed to their hearts. The music was playing softly in the background, white twinkling lights everywhere, the flowers absolutely perfect. You were thankful your father was leading you, his arm tightly around yours because otherwise, you probably would have stopped dead in your tracks while walking down the aisle when you saw Van.

He was waiting at the altar, looking fucking amazing in his black suit, and he was crying. Tears were streaming down his face and his hand was covering his mouth as he shook his head in awe.

Your dad kissed your cheek and whispered that he loved you and took his seat next to your mum in the crowd.

When you reached Van, you grabbed his hands tightly, grinning at him as his eyes looked you up and down and then straight into your own eyes. His face was wet with tears and his lip was nearly bleeding from biting it so hard.

“Hi,” you whispered, tears stinging at your own eyes.

He laughed softly, shaking his head again in disbelief. “Hi. God, you look fucking beautiful.”

•

You were twenty seven when you had your first child.

You’d woken up in the middle of the night, eyes widening immediately as you shook Van awake. He had just gotten back from a short tour the night before, and he’d been absolutely exhausted. But he knew you were due soon and there was no way he was missing the birth of his first kid.

“Hm?” he mumbled, not waking up.

“Van,” you hissed, shaking his shoulder again. “It’s happening.”

He opened his eyes and blinked, looking up at you. You nodded quickly, trying hard not to freak out too much. “Oh my God,” he said, shooting up and stumbling out of bed to find the bag you’d packed a while ago. “Oh my God, fuck, oh my God.”

The whole drive to the hospital, Van checked in on you constantly, making sure you weren’t in too much pain, driving as fast as possible, squeezing your hand tight. He had a playlist on his phone for this very moment - because honestly, he had a playlist for everything - and he put it on, trying to keep you relaxed as it played softly in the background. “We’re gonna have a fucking baby,” he muttered, glancing over at you in the passenger seat and laughing softly. “Christ.” You laughed too and then started to cry of course, because your hormones were a fucking disaster. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, love. You can do this, yeah? Never been anything you can’t do.”

“She’s fucking beautiful,” Van whispered, tears running down his face as you laid in the hospital bed together later, both of you holding your new baby girl. You were exhausted and in a lot of pain, your face sticky with sweat but you didn’t care. You nodded, resting your head on Van’s shoulder as you started crying with him. “Looks just like you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re parents, Van,” you said after a moment. “Holy fuck, are we ready for this?”

Van snorted, shrugging gently. “Probably not but we’ll figure it out, yeah? We always figure it out.” You sighed happily, leaning up and pressing a kiss on his lips.

“God, I love you,” you whispered, dropping your head back to his shoulder. “Now, what are we gonna name her?”

•

You were thirty-three when you realized your mother had been right all along.

It was a cold, snowy day in the middle of December. You were cozy in bed, still half asleep, Van’s arm tight around you as you laid on his chest, blankets pulled up over you.

You were about to fall fully back asleep when you heard your door swing open. You heard some whispering and soft giggles and suddenly, you and Van were being attacked.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Van groaned loudly as you opened your eyes, seeing your two children jumping up and down on your bed. They giggled, launching themselves on top of you and hugging you. “Wake up, please!” they begged, Mary sitting on Van’s chest and Leo bouncing up and down on top of you.

You rubbed your eyes, laughing softly at them. “What are you two doing?” you groaned, pulling Leo down into a hug.

Leo laughed as he hugged you back, burying his face in your neck. “We wanna go play in the snow, please, please?” he begged in his small voice.

Van mumbled something incoherent as Mary poked his cheek. “Daddy, wake up,” she said with a giggle. You glanced over to see Van with his arms covering his face, clearly not ready to be awake.

“I don’t think Daddy is ready to wake up,” you said with a laugh, reaching up to press a kiss to Leo’s nose. Leo squirmed off of you and joined in the assault on Van, pulling his hands off his face and pressing his forehead to Van’s.

“Daddy, pleeease,” he whined, giggling. Van groaned loudly again, before opening his eyes and immediately wrapping his arms around Mary and Leo, pulling them both onto his chest.

“You’re killing me,” he mumbled, voice scratchy. “Daddy needs to sleep.”

You laughed, squeezing up tight to your family and resting your head on Van’s shoulder. “Daddy does need his sleep. Especially after last night,” you said with a smirk. Van chuckled as Mary started tugging on his hair and Leo wiggled to get out of his grip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Van started to tickle both of them, making them scream with laughter as they squirmed around your bed, limbs flying everywhere as they tried to escape him.

“Okay, okay, we’ll have breakfast and then we can go outside. You can go watch some TV while I get your Daddy up,” you said with a laugh as Mary and Leo jumped off the bed, racing into the living room.

Van chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you onto his chest. “They’re mad,” he said, shaking his head.

“They are, yeah,” you replied with a soft laugh. “But I love ‘em.”

“Love ‘em to pieces.” Van ran his hand down your arm slowly, before reaching his hand down to your jaw and tilting your face up to look at him. His eyes were sleepy still, his hair a mess. “And I love you, Mrs. McCann,” he whispered.

You smiled back up at him, feeling giddy as ever as he leaned down and kissed you slowly, smiling against your lips. You pulled away after a moment and stared into his eyes, wondering how the hell you got this lucky. “I love you more.”

Turns out your mother was right all along about the whole marrying Van and having babies with him.

You never would’ve imagined this at nine when you met him for the first time or at thirteen when you had your first kiss or even when you were eighteen and you realized you were in love with him. It seemed too good to be true.

But it was real. Van was real and you loved him more and more every day, still asking yourself how someone as perfect as him could exist. Van, who had become the best father in the world, crying to you at night sometimes because he loved his children so much and was worried about what the world would do to them. Van, who dedicated every album to you and had to call you every night while he was on tour because he couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice. Van, who made sure to send you flowers at work once a month, who you got to spend the rest of your life with, who left a note on your bedside table with a different reason why he loved you every single morning.

And God, did you love him too.

• • •

#vanfic #van mccann #catb fanfic #van mccann fanfic #catb fanfiction #my fic #van x reader #catb #fanfic #!!!!#i love this story omg #it's 2 am but it's fine

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jq37 · 5 years

Text

The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 11

The One With All the Lore (in which the Bad Kids do a Lot of Reading and we are Forcibly Reminded the Plot is Happening)

We are back in the Land of the Lomenelda where the Bad Kids and Co. are waking up (well, those who went to sleep anyway). Fig and Ayda wake from their sleepover that Fig decides to keep going into the day, confusing Ayda immensely in the process.

Kristen decides to look at the research she found in Calethriel Tower and on a 22 religion check, she gets a lot of info which I will do my best to summarize here:

The information is older than what she read in the pirate book. It’s probably from 850-900 years ago--around the time of the last great Sylvan War.

The text is by high elven clerics of the Moon Goddess Galakaya (Tracker’s goddess).

There used to another goddess worshiped in Sylvere--a goddess of night, mystery, and magic and the younger sister of Galakaya. This goddess was worshiped by all of the races in the forest (and it sounds like this is who all the oblique references in the earlier research was pointing to). Doubt and the unknown were parts of worship to her which Kristen is very into. Religious differences between the races about how to worship the mystery goddess was part of what sparked the war.

Some high elven clerics came in to help broker a truce which ended up leading to the invention of the “Sylverian Heresy”. Basically, the Moon clerics advised the Mystery clerics to “unmake” the name of their goddess because, “Hey, she’s a mystery goddess, right? So isn’t knowing anything about her a contradiction of her whole thing?” They think that sounds legit and proceed to do that but it seems that it wasn’t actually altruistic advice as much as a ploy by the high elven clerics to weaken the mystery goddess.

Fabian has been dancing all night and he is feeling exhausted but super good. This becomes even more of a family affair when none other than Hilariel Seacaster shows up! She joins the dance! Cathilda joins the dance! Fig plays her bass! Riz is skanking? It’s one of those classic D&D moments where the plot utterly grinds to a halt while everyone takes turns describing the ridiculous nonsense they’re doing and it’s fantastic. Once that calms down a bit, Fabian goes on a walk with his mom and Cathilda where Hilariel tells him that the grapes 1000% do not work, which honestly checks out.

Shifting to the Abernant sisters, Aelwen (this is the canon spelling and I’m gonna try to use it for these recaps but we’ll see how that goes) has just regained her pre-torture memories. To be specific, she seems to have backed them up between being broken out of jail in Solace and the torture starting. They have a little bit of a standoff, not sure whether one of them is going to attack the other. Once it becomes clear that blasting each other isn’t on the top of their respective to-do lists, they settle into a semi civilized conversation. Adaine wants Aelwen to read her thoughts so she’ll have the memories of what happened to her and the past day (at least from Adaine’s P.O.V.) and not go back to working with their parents. Aelwen seems resistant to the prospect and asks Adaine to just tell her what happened. While they’re talking, Adaine rolls an Insight check of 10 which doesn’t net her any information (we’ll come back to this).

Aelwen tells Adaine that their parents are not on the same side but refuses to elaborate, much to Adaine’s annoyance and frustration. They kind of dissolve into almost normal sibling bickering except that it’s about stuff like, “Oh come on, I only tried to kill you one time. Don’t be dramatic.” When questioned, Aelwen says that she only joined up with Goldenhoard for fun and she didn’t really think he’d win against her and her friends. The argument ends with Adaine casting Tasha’s Hideous Laughter which knocks Aelwen out in one shot because she’s still three or four levels of exhaustion deep.

Fig goes to Telemein to ask if he knows Planeshift (which she needs to get Gorthalax out of the ruby he’s trapped in). He does not and she doesn’t trust him to figure it out in a timely manner (or to even know what a timely manner is).

Kristen goes into the Van where Aelwen is to check on her (she’s fine, just trancing). Then, she helps out while Adaine tries to rifle through Aelwen’s brain for information on their Mom. Aelwen saves from the first Detect Thoughts but she’s sleeping so Adaine just tries again. Second time’s the charm. Her sleeping brain is a little hard to read but what Adaine sees is that when she failed her Insight check with a 10, what was happening was THE SHADOWCAT WAS STANDING BEHIND HER AND TALKING TO AELWEN. And I (roughly) quote, “Don’t keep looking at me. Look at your sister. Your mom is working for me. She has the crown and she’s taking it to Sylvere. Get away from Adaine so we can talk.” On an 18 Insight check, she can tell that Aelwen and Kalina have spoken before and seem familiar with each other.

Now that Adaine has seen Kalina through Aelwen’s memories, she decides to Scry on her. Oh, and she has a Nat 1 portent roll to give her. Eat your dice Brennan! The Scry goes really weird though. Instead of just showing one person, it cycles through a bunch of people, ending with Ragh, Tracker, Sandra-Lynn, that elf Ragh slept with, and Kristen. Then, it flashes to a creepy-ass forest where she sees a wood elf covered in festering wounds and claw marks. Vines are dripping with blood. The elf stands, grabs an old spear, and scratches into the ground, “Hello Adaine. Glad you could join me.” Then, it moves back to Kristen. Um, como se dice, CONCERNING.

Adaine gets a 27 to Detect Magic on Kristen and pings nothing that shouldn’t be there. Gorgug (who is also there btw) gets the pic and asks Ragh’s hookup if he can see the tabaxi and he can. The group gets together and they realize that everyone who can all of a sudden see the Shadowcat either had sex or exhanged blood with someone who initially could (ie: Garthy got it from Sandra-Lynn, as did Tracker when she blood healed her and Kristen got it afte she hooked up with Tracker in Leviathan). Shout out to everyone who called that. And I guess the Thistlespring STD talk at the top of the season was less of a wild detour than it seemed (I wonder if it would have transferred if said people specified that they used protection).

Fabian and Fig are very down to drink some blood so they can also see the picture but they are warned off with the idea that it very likely means Kalina can see through their eyes or something similar. After they all exchange their info, Riz theorizes that Kalina is not just a servant of the Nightmare King and rather the Mystery Goddess herself, powered down. Adaine starts a private message (w/ magic, not on their crystals) with the non-infected people.

Kristen recently learned the spell Hallow which can basically turn the Van into a permanent Moon Haven. She tells Tracker and on a 15 Persuasion check, Tracker seems to have warmed back up to her a bit and is down to help. Telemein offers his library which has zero useful books but lots of meditation guides and essential oils which Adaine and Kristen respectively grab.

Having learned her lesson, Kristen tells Tracker EVERYTHING she learned from the religious texts (and Tracker notices what she’s doing). She feels weird about something that bad having been done in the name of her goddess and also she’s sorry she gave Kristen a magic STD. She does the head bump thing that dogs and wolves do and says that just cause she was mad at her, it didn’t mean she didn’t love her. She goes to talk to Sandra-Lynn and it seems like they’ve patched things up.

The Bad Kids split up again to get some stuff done before they leave (which they want to do since they are dangerously close to the elves who are probably looking for them). Adaine and Gorgug (who was also given Aelwen’s spellbook to hold) work on fixing the Hangman. Riz wants to do some research/investigating. Kristen and Tracker work on the Hallow spell. Fig guards Aelwen. Fabian hangs out with his mom.

After spilling his guts about the past week to his mom, Fabian is given an uncharacteristically lucid and touching speech from Hilariel which basically boils down to: you’re your own person and being able to get through hardship is better than never facing hardship. She also drops the information that post-yesterday’s shenanigans (grabbing the sun and all that), Aguefort has lost a LOT of funding. They won’t be able to pay their hirelings. Also, she kinda sorta wants Cathilda back because she’s out of yogurt and cannot cook. Cathilda has a little sidebar heart-to-heart with Fabian where she gives him a choice on whether she stays or goes and he decides she should go home with Hilariel. Says Cathilda, “There’s only one Seacaster left to take care of and she’s out there in a kimono.”

Oh yeah. Hilariel showed up to the woods in a black kimono. As you do.

Cathilda asks Fabian which sword he’s going to fight with now since he has two and he chooses the elven one he got last episode over the Sword of the Seacasters.

Riz, with a crazy 28 Investigation check gets a bunch of information from the stolen research which I will summarize below:

Ragh, who is also there, reminds Riz that he saw Adaine’s mom talking to Jace post-prom and then saw the Shadowcat after on his way home.

Adaine’s mom was looking for a way to pin down the Shadowcat and also how to rename the goddess of mystery. She pulled 200-300 year old records on the execution of a wood elf named Landryn Leer in the elven secret service (called the Third Court).

Landryn was a cleric, ostensibly of Galakaya, but she was actually a cleric of the goddess of mystery and was killed for espionage. When she was supposed to be healing, she was also infecting people with some kind of virus--probably whatever magic STD that lets you see Kalina in the picture.

Mom Abernant was also researching Abyssal demonic texts while she was working for Falinel (which I think is connected to the next bullet but my notes are a little hectic here).

After the first fall of Kalvaxus, a group of infernal warlocks came to help the good guys by making a boundary around the forest of the Nightmare King so no one could get in or out. The devils helped because devils hate demons and demons were on the other side.

This isn’t new information but we’re reminded that the Crown of the Nightmare King can be used to anchor a being to the material plane.

Pok, Riz’s dad, also checked out the same information (about the fall of Kalvaxus and stuff) for himself and Kalina earlier.

(Riz wonders whether the Nightmare King and the Mystery goddess are opposed rather than allies).

Anyway, the only way to pass through the barrier the devils put up is by a high ranking devil allowing passage. Mom Abernant had notes about binding a devil into a gem (Ragh recognizes that bit because of his mom’s condition) and doing a ritual to put the devil in a freshly dead body. Riz realizes that this is what was happening with him and Fig and Gorthalax in the Hotel Cavalier.

This is actually from research that Kristen does but I’ll put it here because it’s related. Apparently, only a certain kind of dead body would give the Shadowcat the gem.

Meanwhile, Fig is watching Aelwen. She hexes Aelwen (giving her disadvantage of Strength checks), disguises herself as her (Aelwen’s) mom, and smokes cloves. Ragh’s hookup shows up, recognizes Fig because she’s still carrying her bass, and asks for the hot goss on her and Ayda. He says the elves told Ayda that she’s a rockstar and therefore probably promiscuous which made Ayda teleport away. That pisses Fig right off and she gets Gorgug to take over watching Aelwen while she goes after Ayda (with a parting, “CHOKE ON GRAPES BITCH,” to Fathethriel or whatever his name is).

Aelwen wakes up but Gorgug realizes after about a minute that he’s not talking to the real Aelwen, it’s a water elemental like the one she made in her S1 battle episode. A decoy. At about the same time, Fig goes to where she was told Ayda left through a door but the door isn’t there. Then, she’s made to roll a Wisdom saving throw. Dirty 20 passes and whatever spell was happening doesn’t land. She rolls initiative but, even with a 5 turned to a 17 (she took the Lucky feat) she can’t beat a 19. Another Wisdom saving throw and this one she fails with a 10. She’s frozen with a Hold Person spell. Someone invisible grabs Gorthalax’s gem from her pocket.

She breaks out of the Hold Persons spell and casts Bestow Curse on the person--clearly Aelwen--to give her wicked gas (which is a hilarious on its face but smart after a second of thought Axford Gambit--Invisible Aelwen w/ gas = trackable by scent). Aelwen (who has the gem and her spellbook because she was in the Van, invisible and snagged it from Gorgug) drops invisibility, tells Fig, “Sorry but goodbye for now,” rips a huge fart, then teleports out. Adaine isn’t mad at Fig and Gorgug. She says she should have been watching Aelwen. The group tracks down Fathethriel who tells them Aelwen bribed him with the promise of 10 gold (the promise, not the actual gold) to mess with Fig. Fabian and Riz backhand him. Fabian calls him mean which is somehow the worst thing he could have said. Fig is ready to straight up kill this dude with Booming Blade but ends up just doing non-lethal damage and knocking him unconscious. But even Telemein hates that dude so it’s probably fine.

The group discusses the hireling situation now that school is no longer paying their stipend. Sandra-Lynn and Tracker are both willing to keep on with them without being paid but the Bad Kids insist that they’ll still pay them from their own money. Riz thinks Aelwen might be the new sacrifice and Adaine is kinda like, “Sure. Of course. Why wouldn’t this be happening.”

Cathilda has a nice goodbye with everyone. Adaine gets cookies. Fig isn’t suspicious of her anymore. Fabian puts his eyepatch back on and calls her the best surrogate mother a boy could ask for (while standing like two feet away from his actual mom who, though hurt, is like, “Valid.”)

Once they’re back in Leviathan, Sandra-Lynn gives a speech that’s half pep-talk, half apology. Then she asks Ayda to use her Sending spell and Kristen can tell even without an Insight check that she’s gonna talk to Jawbone.

After terrifying Fabian with the idea that they might track down Chungledown-Bim, they decide to talk to Garthy instead--they being Fabian, Fig and Ragh. We’ll get back to them in a second. First, Adaine goes to the Library to read over her research. Nat 20 arcana check so here comes another info-dump:

The info she found was written by mystics and shamans of wood elves, centaurs, treents, and sprites (the forest races).

Before the name of the goddess was destroyed, there were clerics driven out as heretics because they were having dreams sent by the mystery goddess which were ignored by the clerics in Sylvere. She was trying to tell everyone not to do the whole un-naming thing because it would destroy her.

There were 4 miracles called the 4 transubstantiations followed by 1 bigger transubstantiation that happened before the unmaking of the goddess’s name.

The mystery goddess was not just a goddess of magic but specifically, a witch goddess.

Anyway, the transubstantiations were these:

Her spellbook was turned into a coin.

Her familiar was turned into a plague.

Her sanctum was turned into a curse.

Her focus (a broomstick) was turned into a tree.

Her name was turned into something unknown before it could be unmade (this was the major transubstantiation).

Riz is also doing some investigation and on a 23 check, the main piece of new info he gets is that in the original alliance of Kalvaxus and the Nightmare King, the NK gave Kal a coin for his hoard to seal their alliance. They realize that they got Kal’s hoard but they don’t know if they got the exact coins he owned or just an equivalent amount of money. Riz also sees notes from the government of Falinel saying that Mom Abernant was doing this research for them with the promise that they would release Aelwen and restore their family to some level of prestige. When the government went back on their promise, she started looking into other people that could help her, like Garthy (and the government eventually found out).

Speaking of Garthy, back to Fig, Fabian, and Ragh. They try to persuade Garthy to come with them to help but Garthy is staying put. They do have some news though. Mom Abernant actually isn’t Falinel bound. She’s on the way to a town close to Sylvere (which the group kinda already knew but now they have confirmation and more specifics). The town is called Arborly and Fig actually knows someone who has a mansion (called Hollyhill) there who, while she was on tour, said she could stay there any time. With teleportation, they should be able to get there before her. Fabian has Garthy check their coins for anything fishy (looking at the aforementioned transubstantiated coin) but nothing seems amiss.

As they leave, they suddenly hear a weird rumbling and then something leaps onto Fabian and starts giving him rubber burn. It’s the Hangman! Gorgug continued working on him in Leviathan and we learn that he took a level in Artificer and was able to fix him with a 22, some help from Adaine, and a little of the wax Fabian got last season. He’s back! And he wants to shit in Chungledown-Bim’s mouth!

The next day, Kristen finishes casting Hallow with Tracker. She taps into some of the mystery goddess energy which seems like a questionable thing to do so very on brand for her. Ayda wants to come with them but she has to look after the library. However, she plans to shrink down the entire library, book by book, so she can carry it around and continue adventuring with the Bad Kids. Until then, she teleports them all to Arborly and the gates of Hollyhill.

Detention

Fathetriel for Being an Ass

Even Telemien thinks he sucks. Choke on grapes bitch.

Honor Roll

Gorgug for Fixing the Hangman

I’m going to be less than entirely predictable here any instead of giving Adaine this spot for the objectively clutch move of scrying on the Shadowcat by forcing a Nat 1 on her save, I’m going to give it to Gorgug for taking a level of Artificer and fixing the Hangman. It’s just such a sweet move. All this insanity going on around them and he took the time to figure out how to fix his friend’s bike/dog. He didn’t have to do that but he did, and in such an understated way. Plus, it totally makes sense for him being the son of two tinkers. I wonder if he can build that cell tower for Zelda now. This also seems like a good move story-wise because I feel like having these extra skills ups Gorgug’s potential for shenanigans/helpfulness out of combat a lot.

Random Thoughts

What did I say? What did I say at the end of last recap? I KNEW we’d gone too long without a Shadowcat sighting. I KNEW we were about to get wrecked!

Made a couple of oblique references to this in the recap but I’ll say it outright now. The gang is all level 9 now!

There was a LOT of lore in this episode so, if I got anything wrong and you notice, please tell me and I’ll fix it when I get the chance.

Sad to see Ayda go but happy that the Hangman’s back! I hope The Bad Kids take a page from Jester’s book and Sending her all the time.

Good on Fabian/Lou for letting Cathilda go in a move that was right for the story but objectively worse for the inevitable coming battle.

“I couldn’t have one nice day with my sister.”/”No.” (“He’s all the bad guys,” Siobhan says in a resigned tone.)

Speaking of the Abernants, I think Arianwyn is how you spell Adaine’s mom’s name which I am going to try and get used to before she shows up again and I have to type it 47 times. Also, very funny that Ally/Kristen learned the name Adaine and was like, “She is the only valid Abernant. I refuse to learn any more names.” Anyway, this campaign needs less elves and more goblins. Riz. Pok. Sklonda. Things I can spell.

I question whether the Mystery goddess is actually going to be an antagonist. Both because it seems like she got majorly screwed over by a bunch of uptight high-elves who have been nothing but trouble so far (sans Adaine and Hilariel to a degree) so I’m inclined to be on the side they’re not on and also because this was clearly a plot point written with Kristen in mind. So I guess the question is, is this going to be a temptation for Kristen or a safe harbor?

Did the curse on the NK’s crown get properly dispelled by Adaine’s mom? Wondering because of the whole sanctum being turned into a curse thing. Though, I guess breaking the curse could be what turned it back into the sanctum.

Lol at all the people in the comments questioning whether Brennan ripped his lore from My Little Pony when all the Moon goddess, sister goddesses stuff was being explained.

Did Brennan say how Hilariel knew where Cathilda was? She doesn’t have magic, she’s some kind of Fighter. Does she have Cathilda Magic Lojacked?

“Yes, The Ball! Feel it! Yes, Ball, skank!”

Hilariel, like Jareth the Goblin King, can contact juggle, which checks out.

I’m very curious about what Brennan has planned for Aelwen because I think Adaine offering to willingly fail a save so she could read her mind was a very clutch, “I had a week to think about this and you better believe I thought about it,” move from Siobhan and I don’t know why Aelwen would be hesitant to take that opportunity (besides maybe thinking it was a trap?) except for the meta reason that a quick reality check would joss some important story beats. I could be wrong but that’s just the vibe I got. Also if any of y’all are inclined to write the alt version of this scene where Aelwen *does* do that, def tag me so I can read it.

The vibe that was going on when Adaine and Aelwen was talking was fascinating. I kinda loved it? Like, they were still fighting and Aelwen was still being a bitch and Adaine was still super annoyed but it felt almost blunted? Like they were shooting at each other but with Nerf guns instead of AK-47s for a change. My read on Aelwen is that she enjoys having a relationship with Adaine, even if it’s antagonistic. I think that Aelwen would much rather fighting with Adaine every day than for Adaine to not care about her at all. It’s like the horseshoe thing, you know? Love and hate are much closer to each other than they are to indifference. Better to have her care about you in the wrong direction than not at all. Anyway, this is so the vibe that I was expecting from them when they linked back up post-rescue. Wish we had gotten a little more before she escaped but I’m really liking this plot thread.

Also, curious about how truthful Aelwen was being when she said she only joined up with Kalvaxus for fun and was counting on Adaine and Co. to stop them. And, while we’re wondering about things, I’m curious about what Aelwen’s previous relationship with Kalina was. Like, besides creating a diversion to steal the crown, how do the events of this season hook up with the events of last season in a way that explains the relationship? Or is it not related? What is the timeline of events here?

And was Kalina actually there talking to her do you think or was it more of a projection type deal?

Sidenote: I think Brennan is taking liberties with what Detect Thoughts can do (in this and especially last episode) but I think it’s a very good creative choice and it makes things a lot more interesting.

Also, gotta say, the way the plot ended up turning out re: Aelwen’s Escape was just *chef’s kiss*. Like, you had Fig bring up the ruby, unprompted earlier in the episode--reestablishing it as a thing that exists. Then they gave the spellbook to Gorgug. Then, Fig was the one who took up guard duty and she happened to switch up with Gorgug, giving Aelwen and, by extension, Brennan a perfect series of events to get her out of there. Wild.

This episode explains how the Shadowcat/picture thing is spreading but not where Riz and Sandra-Lynn got it from initially. Like, I assume Sklonda got it from Pok. And it’s very plausible Riz got it from one of them somehow but when would they have shared blood? That’s not a normal family thing to do. Did his dad give him a kidney or soemthing? I’m probably overthinking this.

Emily, I’m begging you. Please keep bringing up those rock and roll babies until Brennan is forced to make it plot relevant.

Speaking of, I was getting so many Night Yorb vibes from that mystery goddess “don’t speak her name” conversation and if the Night Yorb becomes plot relevant I swear I’m gonna personally make Brennan eat his dice.

“I mention everything to Tracker from now on.” You know what that is? Growth

I loved Fig saying “I don’t know enough about you to know if we wanna kill you,” to the Shadowcat by directly looking at Riz and him being like, “UMMMMMMMM.”

Gilear, wildly, was not mentioned once in this episode and you think he would have been since his girlfriend showed up.

I wonder if Fandrangool has better stats than the Sword of the Seacasters. I also wonder if I’m spelling that correctly. Doubt it.

“My vices rule.”

One thing I didn’t recap but should have were the dreams in the first episode and I feel like I should go back and watch them because they feel like they could become relevant any time now but that sounds like a lot. I’ll try and watch them before next recap though so I can connect any obvious dots.

Is there anything more pure than Murph cracking up at Emily’s shenanigans.

I have a note in my notes that says “Fig/Virgin” but it’s like that one gif. “Why am I gasping? I already knew that.”

We originally thought the Shadowcat didn’t want people to be able to see her but now it’s seeming like the opposite is the case. It looks like this is a systematic way to *force* people to be able to see her. If that’s what’s going on then that’s a brilliant reversal from Brennan.

Aelwen, when she gets her memories back, says something like, “Since I’m in a hot tub and you found what you found, I’m assuming you’re not gonna kill me this second.” And one, funny that she can’t even directly reference the one compliment she ever gave Adaine while in her right mind but also, the implication seems to be (at least partially) that she thought, “Let me say something nice about Adaine on this charm to buy me some goodwill so she doesn’t immediately kill me once she restores me,” which is so calculated and I kinda love it.

I had a conversation with drinkingdeadpeopletea while the ep was going on that basically went like: Me: They better watching Aelwen so she doesn’t escape. Her: lol she’s def gonna.

“Does your mom smoke cloves?”

The goddess’s familiar being turned into a plague and the thing going on with Kalina and being able to see her being like an STD and Goldenhoard presenting as a dragonborn but being an actual dragon and Kalina being a tabaxi and cats being the most classic familiar for witches and the goddess being specifically a witch goddess all feel possibly related to me, but that could just be my brain playing the association game and connecting things that don’t necessarily connect.

The fact that other characters (read: Fathethirel) read Fig and Ayda’s relationship as possibly romantic (in an attempt to mess with her of course, but still) and Fig reacted so strongly (well strongly and in that specific way because I have no doubt she’d also beat a dude within an inch of their life for messing with, say Gorgug or Adaine) is something I’m going to star for later. [Edit: Brennan clarified on the Discord recently that Ayda (or at least this version of her. Phoenix reincarnation and all) is 17 so y’all are all good to go shipping-wise). As is Tracker, by the by, but I think we were all pretty sure Brennan was keeping that above board.]

Siobhan’s face when Fig says that she’s “straight edge except for hallucinogens.”

“I’m gonna buy you an orange.”

This episode, Adaine, with advantage, rolled a nat 20 (the other roll being 1). Brennan got one natural 1 (though it wasn’t rolled, it was a portent roll) and Gorgug also rolled one Nat 1 but it’s important that I note it was for giving the Hangman an ass to shit in Chungledown-Bim’s mouth.

#fantasy high #fantasy high live #dimension 20 #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

Note

Yi! I am the anon who requested 16 and 77. You could do angst but with a happy ending?

Hi Anon! I did it! Finally xD sorry you had to wait so long. I might have more time on my hands but that doesn’t mean I always spend it wisely, or that my brain wants to cooperate when I tell it to make a story.

Man, I really love this prompt. You picked a gooden. I won’t officially pair it with prompt 16 because I’ve already used that number (though I did add a kiss in it for you ;))

Warning for mentions of suicide (no one named, no details, just mentioned).

I hope you like it ^_^

I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #77, #78, #170 and #502

I also have 3 prompts waiting for: #20, #33 and an addition to #170 so if you send me a new one in be prepared to wait a while!

77. You just stood there and held me, then you started dancin’ slow. And as I pulled you tighter I swore I’d never let you go. (Point Blank)

Sam and Dean had been gone for almost two weeks now. Cas wasn’t worried, they checked in on a daily basis with updates and requests for lore and questions about how Jack was settling back in so he knew they were okay. They were hunting something with some kind of mind altering tendencies, whether a djinn, wraith, witch or something else was yet to be determined but it had killed six people. The victims had complained of nightmares a few days before their deaths. Suicides, all of them, and not clean. The thing was proving difficult to track down, it didn’t seem to have a preference of victims, man or woman, old or young. Different ethnicities and social circles, there didn’t seem to be anything that linked them. Cas could sense their frustration, but no, he wasn’t worried.

He did miss them however, especially Dean. Jack was good company; they played board games and Cas taught him some of the basics of fighting with a blade, just in case he was ever faced with an enemy while he couldn’t use his powers. They watched Netflix together, the brightly-coloured modern cartoons that Sam and Dean scoffed at and Jack asked him questions about angels and monsters and lore of all kinds, but there was always a certain level of separation to it, in the way he understood that there had to be between parents and their children and there were less jokes than when the Winchesters were around, less laughter. Cas wasn’t very good at jokes. His dry humour would sometimes get a snort or a small chuckle, but that was the extent of it. He didn’t have Dean’s ability to goof around and act the fool, nor did he have Sam’s quick tact in knowing where to poke to cause a laugh rather than offence. Jack wasn’t very good at jokes either though, so they rubbed along quite well together.

It was on the twelfth morning that Sam called for the second time that day and when Cas looked at the phone he knew something had gone wrong.

“What happened?” He demanded without preamble.

“Dean had a nightmare.” Sam’s voice was tight and worried, “A bad one.”

Cas frowned. “That’s not too unusual. Unless you think…”

“The thing got him. Yeah.”

“So you have… what? Less than two days until he becomes a suicide risk?”

“Yeah.”

Cas clenched his jaw, reached his free hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“You’re not far away, I can be there-”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “I don’t want Jack anywhere near this thing and you can’t leave him alone right now. You need to stay where you are. We’ll figure this out.”

“But-”

“I know,” Sam said, and he really did sound apologetic. “Trust me, I’d rather have you here too. But we have Jack to look after and I’m not actually sure you coming here would help Dean. I mentioned you before and he just kind of… froze up.”

“He did?” Cas frowned at the far wall, that didn’t make any sense.

“Yeah. And he got this look… I think his nightmare was about you, or had you in it or something. Of course, I don’t know because he won’t talk to me but… It might be best you stay away for now. I’ll keep you posted.”

Cas sighed, biting down on his instinct to run to the garage and grab a set of keys. With his failing grace there was no guarantee he’d be able to do something so complex as break a curse or purge a venom or completely undo a biological reaction#. There were certain intricacies involved and he wasn’t certain he had the strength. The brothers could still fix this on their own, they still had time.

“Alright.” He conceded. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours. But after that I’m coming to meet you. I can’t just sit here and wait for that call.” His voice wobbled a little at the end as his imagination ran wild. But it wasn’t just the thought of Dean taking his own life that terrified him… selfishly it was the idea that Cas needed to see him again, that he couldn’t let the last memory he had of Dean be one where he’d walked away.

“That’s fair.” Sam agreed, and Cas could picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he did when he was stressed and worried. “But it won’t be needed. We’ll fix this. We’ll kill the thing and it’ll be fine.”

“Get Dean to make a list of everyone he met or bumped into yesterday,” Cas said in lieu of something reassuring. He had complete faith in the brothers, knew that they were more than capable hunters, that Sam at least would do whatever it took to save Dean, but there was still a tiny kernel in his brain that whispered what if he can’t this time, and Cas knew that it wouldn’t go away until the danger had passed.

The rest of the phone call was tense and perfunctory, but once he hung up, not being able to hear Sam’s concern actually alleviated his own. The danger wasn’t immediate yet and he trusted them to find a solution fast.

Xxx

It took them until the next morning. Cas was sitting with Jack and they were talking over bowls of cereal with the kind of sugar content that always made Sam purse his lips. Jack hadn’t seemed overly concerned about Dean when Cas told him what had happened; apparently he had the same confidence in the Winchesters that Cas did, and his surety was comforting.

The phone rang and even though Cas was sure nothing was wrong, that this was just Sam’s daily update on the situation, his spoon went clattering back into the bowl, splattering milk everywhere as he jumped to answer it.

“Sam?” He said. His voice did not tremble.

“We got it.” Sam’s voice was pure relief. “Witch. We’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Cas sighed heavy and cleansing. The expression on his face must have told Jack everything he needed to know because he smiled, gave a thumbs up and went back to his cereal.

“I’m glad,” Cas said. “Dean’s alright?”

“Yeah, the curse has broken.” Sam hesitated then, and his voice dropped like Dean was close by and he didn’t want him to overhear. “But it was real tough on him. Sent him into some kind of waking nightmare. Screaming fit, something. So he might not want to celebrate or anything when we get back.”

Which was code for ‘don’t be offended if Dean locks himself in his room for the next three days.’

“Of course. It’ll just be good to have you home. See you soon, Sam.”

“Bye, Cas.”

Cas placed the phone down and smiled as Jack munched on his cereal.

“They’re heading back. They should be here by noon.”

“Cool,” Jack said around his spoon. “I’m glad Dean’s okay.”

“Me too,” Cas agreed.

“I mean… I wasn’t exactly worried,” Jack continued, a slight furrow in his brow. “Is that wrong? I don’t know if it’s because of my soul or if I just knew they’d make it back.”

“The Winchesters do have an excellent record for making it through these kinds of situations,” Cas said carefully. “It’s not wrong to expect them to always make it back. It’s easy to feel like the danger isn’t real when we have all faced so much worse than a rogue witch. But many experienced hunters get killed on routine cases. The danger is always real, sometimes it’s just a matter of luck.”

“Or a matter of having your lives written out by God,” Jack said, a slight quirk to his mouth that Cas couldn’t help but mirror.

“Yes. I suppose knowing that Chuck has a specific plan for them makes it easier,” he said. “Knowing Him, if Sam or Dean dies on an ordinary case He’ll just resurrect them until they can play out His story. Or at least, their own story. They’ve never been good at following rules.”

Xxx

It had just gone midday when the door of the bunker clanged loudly, indicating the return of the brothers. Cas hurried to the war room to meet them. It was silly perhaps but he wanted to see Dean for himself, to make sure that he was alright. Dean shuffled behind Sam, his head down. He looked pale and wan, like he often did after the kind of nightmare that drew Cas into his room to try and soothe away. Clearly, whatever the witch had done to him was going to take more than a gas station burrito and a drive in the impala to get over. Sam looked like he needed a hot shower and a long nap. He nodded to Cas as he passed, clapping him on the shoulder. When Dean caught sight of him though he stopped halfway through a step. He seemed to forget that he was walking and began to tip forwards. Concerned, Cas stepped in to catch him and found himself with Dean’s arms around his neck and Dean’s smell in his nose and Dean’s mouth on his and his whole existence narrowed to just Dean, Dean, Dean.

Thoroughly overwhelmed by the whole situation, Cas decided that his best course of action was not to move so he stood there stiffly until Dean pulled back, only to bury his face in Cas’ shoulder instead and, in a move more terrifying than the wrath of God, began to sob.

“I killed you.” Dean’s voice was tiny and broken, barely audible, even to his ears. “I killed you and you let me and I had to burn you all over again.”

Cas didn’t know what to say. What would be the point in telling Dean that it was just a bad dream brought on by a curse? That it wasn’t real? Dean knew that, just as Cas had known that the room full of Deans that Naomi had made him kill weren’t real. That didn’t make the guilt any easier to carry. So instead he said nothing, raising his arms to fold them around Dean’s back, pulling him closer.

“I felt it,” Dean muttered against his neck. “It was so real. I had to, I just knew that I had to. But I don’t know why, and it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what happens, I know that I can’t do that again. I don’t care if the world burns.”

“I love you.” Cas whispered back, because for the first time it needed to be said. It had existed in the in-between spaces of their lives, of course, their love. Cas knew that Dean felt it too, knew it probably before Dean himself had accepted it. But Cas had let it exist without acknowledgement. He didn’t need a declaration and Dean wasn’t ready to make one. The feeling was enough.

Dean didn’t say it back, but Cas felt it in the way he clung on tighter, his fingers digging into his shoulder blades even through his trenchcoat and shirt. So Cas said it again, and again, his words the song forever playing in his mind, a symphony of feeling. So he began to rock Dean along to the sound, soothing and slow, patient and endless, and it was almost dancing, he thought, tightening his own hold. And as he did so, he knew that be it forty more years or four more minutes, Castiel would be content if he got to spend them holding Dean.

#prompts #prompt #supernatural #Destiel fanfic #spn fanfic #suicide mention cw #writing #TibbinsWrites #fanfiction

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10moonymhrivertam · 5 years

Text

Okay, um, this is a little darker than expected. I have a hurt/comfort chapter planned?

This is a sequel to @mediocrity-at-best ‘s post @roseof-alltrades3

Includes cursing. Message for other warnings (not including them here for suspense reasons)

<hr>

“Virgil, it’s 4 AM.” Patton’s voice was thick with sleep. Virgil peeked over the top of his laptop to see him rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t gotta apologize...” Patton shuffled across the living room of the suite to the sink, grabbing a glass at random and filling it. “You okay, kiddo? Usually you’re in bed by two.”

Virgil smiled sheepishly as Patton chugged his water.. “I found a mythology blog for the school. Places people are convinced there are fairies or ghosts or demons.”

“Oh yeah?” Patton wandered over to the couch, laying down with his head just barely in Virgil’s personal space. Virgil allowed it, and Pat threw his arm over his eyes to shield them from the light of the computer, but turned his head so his ear was pointed up at Virgil.

“Yeah. Demon in the basement of the engineering building - that one’s probably fake; couple people absolutely convinced this guy in environmental science is a changeling - this list is hilarious, I guess they caught him eating acorns once; ghost in the theater: you know that one, she overdosed in the costume deck; stuff that might be the ghost of this guy that went missing with enough blood in his place to send him to the emergency room, but they never found him alive or dead; poltergeist down on Auburn Street in that one abandoned house. That one’s got some good stories.”

“Stories ‘bout Lisa are good,” Patton protest sleepily. Roman had already passed them a few stories of unexplained equipment movement in the theater. Virgil tried not to roll his eyes too badly.

“Yeah, but theater geeks are superstitious most of the time. There are some skeptics on here that have had encounters with the poltergeist.”

“What kind?”

“So there’s this one alum on here from, like, fifteen years ago,” Virgil began. “First story anyone can find. So twenty years ago someone did actually live in the house, and this sophomore always passed by the house between their apartment and the school, right? And one day in Spring semester, they realized the mail had been piling up, big time. So on their way back from school, they went and knocked - didn’t get an answer. But they didn’t know the guy well enough to be worried or anything, so they left. But they made a habit of knocking. And one day they told some friends about it, and they were like ‘well, if it’s empty, it’d be a great place for a party’, and he was like ‘but he looks like a get off my lawn type’ - on his post he said, “if Monster House had been out at the time I might even have thought of Nebbercracker, especially with what happened next”.”

“Well, what happened next?”

“His friends ignored him.”

“Of course.”

“So, they went to throw a party - made their way to the back door and broke in through there. All sorts of weird shit immediate started going down - basement door rattled, but none of them could get it open. Lights got wonky, TV turned itself on. Basically everything short of the house coming alive. They booked it out of there. But there are more stories, especially when it got clear the place was empty. People going there to smoke and getting mugs thrown across the room at them, people going to explore and not much happening to them unless they tried to find a way into the basement. People trying to throw parties - and the poltergeist really hates that one, it looks like. Hates it more the more people try it.”

Patton hummed a sleepy acknowledgement, and Virgil laughed and nudged him.

“Hey, if you fall asleep on me, I’ll just wake you up in half an hour when I get through these poltergeist stories. You go and sleep.”

“Mm...’kay. Please don’t stay up too late?”

“I won’t,” Virgil promised.

<hr>

Virgil burst from his room, leading with his camcorder. It was cheap, but better quality than a phone camera, and he had a tripod for it. Roman and Patton looked up from the breakfast table. They were still in their pajamas. Roman squawked and started to get up.

“And they’re going to help!”

“Help with what?” Roman half-snarled.

“My first investigative video for Parano-Virgil-ant.” Virgil kept the camera rolling, but mentally planned to cut it there, looking over the top of it instead of through the viewfinder.

“You’re going to investigate a cryptid instead of just compiling lore?” Roman crossed his arms.

“Mothman isn’t on the other side of campus.”

“Oh, are you still thinking about the poltergeist, Virge?”

“Yeah, Pat. I figure we stay quiet, we don’t touch too much...maybe we can communicate or something.”

“I thought poltergeists didn’t do communication.”

“Literally it differs between every ghost hunting show and horror movie. We’re gonna try it. And anyway, I’m just filming an intro. I won’t be able to do it ‘till Saturday night. You guys free then?”

“Yes.” Roman rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, stomping off to get dressed. Patton peered anxiously at him.

“What if it throws a mug at us or something?”

“Then we’ll leave, Pat, promise. I just wanna explore, really, see if it’s the kind of poltergeist that was a ghost or is just around to cause chaos.”

“...Alright. I’ll do it for you.” Patton smiled. Virgil smiled in return before disappearing back into his room.

<hr>

Virgil was leading with his camera again as they slipped carefully through an open section of chain-link fence. Once he’d wriggled through, he started the camera again, turning to watch Patton and Roman.

“Not yet.” The darkness of the night hid Roman’s blushing as he finished making his way through the fence.

“Relax, princey, I’m sure most of it’ll come out during editing.” Virgil swung the camera toward Patton. “How you feeling, Pops?”

“Bad,” Patton said, frowning over at the house.

“...You want to wait out here.”

“No. That’s worse. That’s how you die alone in horror movies. I’m coming.”

Virgil turned and led the way up to the back door. He reached inside for the hook he’d read about - the latch-proper had been busted during that first break-in fifteen years ago, and had been replaced with just a hook-and-eye type latch that could be reached through the broken window next to the door. After a moment of fumbling, Virgil had it, and the door creaked inward. Goosebumps erupted across Virgil’s arms, but he was grinning toothily. He stepped carefully inside the kitchen. He heard Patton and Roman follow, and he panned around the kitchen, wondering if he should narrate now, or voice over later. It’d probably make Patton and Roman more comfortable if he talked.

“The back door of 133 Auburn Street leads into a kitchen,” Virgil said lowly. “According to the forums, there’s some activity in here, but it’s fairly limited. Thrown mugs...flickering lights...” Virgil’s panning found a couple doors. One opened easily when he tested it. The pantry. The other...the other was stuck fast. “And the mysterious basement door.” Virgil backed up from it and looked to Patton and Roman again.

“We’ll attempt communication after we’ve done some wandering. You two wanna go ahead?”

“Lead the way, Ryan Bergara.”

“Like you’re such a Shane, ‘Lisa made the lights spin once’.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Pat?”

“I’d feel better if you’re in front.”

“Alright.” Virgil turned around again and stepped into the living room. The place seemed cold, and his goosebumps got worse, but he reminded himself firmly that he was probably just scaring himself and it was February in an abandoned house. As much as he did hope the forums weren’t all just liars and dupes, there were a lot of explanations for stuff besides ‘a ghost’.

“This is the living room,” he said for the camera’s benefit. “Recorded activity here includes the TV turning itself on, but only in reaction to parties. And a lot of the thrown mugs from the kitchen get thrown at people doing stupid stuff out here.” Virgil panned the room. The TV was old and clunky and might’ve been expensive at the time, but it might not have been. Virgil wasn’t good with that stuff. The TV stand and VHSs had taken some damage over the years. He panned past the front door and the foot of a staircase. “Watch your step, based on the forums there might be abandoned syringes.” Virgil grimaced. He desperately hoped that sound was not Patton whimpering. Virgil carefully stepped across the room and over to the staircase, eyeing it carefully and hoping none of these stairs were unsafe after twenty years without an occupant. He began to climb the stairs and heard Roman and Patton following behind him. The cold, watched feeling didn’t go away. At the top of the stairs, Virgil hesitated.

“Well, most of the people in the forums don’t get this far, except the explorers - the ones who aren’t trying to party or anything. Very little recorded activity up on this second floor, but we’re just going to tour and see what there is real quick.” Virgil moved into rooms, panned around them, and then backed out to go into other rooms, Roman and Patton lingering at doorways. Roman was rubbing Patton’s shoulder, and Virgil felt a little bad, but he’d given Patton two chances to back out. Once he had the upstairs recorded, Virgil descended again. He stood in the living room with Roman and Patton, and he looked to them.

“Thoughts?”

“...This would be an awful place to be all alone,” Patton whispered.

“We’re not going to leave you by yourself,” Roman promised.

“Not me. The poltergeist. He’s well-known enough that people don’t really...come here unless they’re ghost-hunting, right? That...that sounds so sad.” Tears welled in Patton’s eyes. Virgil was already prepared to avert the camera lens when there was a creak, too loud amidst their whispering. All three of them turned at once to the stairs, and Virgil fumbled for the light on the camera. Nothing. Not even an animal. A thrilling fear zinged up Virgil’s spine, and he turned the camera light off again, licking his lips. None of them dared to move for a moment.

“Alright,” Virgil whispered eventually. He took a step toward the kitchen. When nothing happened, he took a few more steps, and eventually stood in the middle of the kitchen. “...Okay, so, um - I know you don’t like when people do this...but I’m just -” Virgil set his camera down on the kitchen island. “Curiosity killed the cat, y’know.”

“Virgil? Virgil!” Roman hissed as he crossed to the basement door. He wrapped his hand around the knob. The lights came on and flickered. Virgil froze. There was another small, scared noise from Patton. The lights went out again.

“Virgil, let go!” Roman hissed. Virgil stubbornly tested the knob. Locked. Well. Not a problem. Virgil slipped his lock picking kit from his pocket and knelt.

“Gimme a light.”

“No!” Roman hissed.

“I’m not ready to give up yet,” Virgil insisted. He didn’t want to upset a poltergeist, but they’d only really been given the barest warning, anyway. Silence filled the kitchen, and then Roman cursed in a whisper-yell.

“If we die, I’m blaming you,” he snarled. Nonetheless, he stalked over with his phone and held the flashlight up. Patton was just behind him, holding onto his shoulders with a tight grip. Virgil couldn’t give that much attention, though, fiddling with the lock picks. He was almost surprised not to get a second warning. Then again, maybe the lights had just been something weird with the power. The place had been abandoned for twenty years, after all. Virgil felt carefully with his picks, waiting for that moment of give when he could unlock it. He smirked when he got what he wanted. He pulled back, which sent Roman and Patton scrambling out of his space. Then he turned it. He’d done it right. Something broke behind them. They all jumped and whipped around. Everything was still and silent. Nothing happened to the lights.

“Sounded like a glass,” Roman muttered. Virgil waved a shushing hand.

“Was that...was that our second warning?” He asked, shivering at his voice at full volume. Nothing. Not lights, not shattered glasses or turned taps. Virgil shivered. He didn’t know whether that meant ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Something more fear than thrill curled at the pit of his stomach, but he wasn’t going to be cowed now. Virgil moved to look at the hinge-side, glaring. It should open inward. Virgil put his weight behind his next attempt at the door, but it didn’t do anything. Roman let out a huffy sigh mostly through his nose. Virgil looked to him with a glare, and Roman rolled his eyes.

“You’re tiny, let me do it.”

Virgil glared at him for the comment, but stepped away to let Roman take a turn. Roman frowned after a few times.

“That feels weird. It doesn’t feel jammed, exactly.” Roman leaned in close. “I think it was at first - the paint and the wood and all - but...it’s not flush now, look. But it won’t give any more than that.”

“Really?” Virgil scooped up his camera to zoom in on what Roman was talking about. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t come across on film, but he had to try. Virgil pulled out his phone to shine its light through the crack. It was kind of chilling to see spots where the light was stopped sooner than expected.

“Is that - boarded up from the inside?” Virgil asked. The lights suddenly surged on again, staying steady for a moment before beginning to flicker, worse than before. This time they did not stop at Patton’s choked-back gasp.

“Did you do that?” Virgil accused. “Huh?”

“Don’t make him mad!” Patton pleaded with a thin voice, hanging onto Virgil’s arm.

“Well, who the hell else is going to board up the inside of a basement without getting stuck there themselves?” Virgil hissed. The lights didn’t stop, but the poltergeist didn’t up the game with smashed or thrown things, either. A stalemate.

“...Were there basement windows out there?” Roman asked.

“What?” Virgil snapped back.

“Windows. Or another door, or something, I don’t know.”

The way the lights flickered changed. Virgil couldn’t slap an adjective on it, not with fear grating on his nerves.

“I’m going to check.”

“Horror movies!” Patton cried, letting go of Virgil to go after Roman. And...well, Patton kind of had a point. Especially with the probability that he’d made the poltergeist mad. And the back door didn’t latch, so the poltergeist couldn’t shut them out. Virgil followed them, pointing the camera in Roman’s direction. Roman looked around the outside of the house and found basement windows, which almost all had rocks or boards jammed into place in such a way that they wouldn’t have opened from the inside. Virgil began to get an entirely different bad feeling. Feeling distant and a bit light-headed, he shoved passed Roman and moved one of the rocks himself. He pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around his hand and then slammed a fist into the window, sending glass shattering inward. Virgil kept punching until the frame was clear.

“Virgil, what are you doing?” Roman asked as he unwrapped his jacket from his hand and shook it out.

“I’m tiny,” he said softly, passing his jacket to Roman. “And I have a bad feeling.”

It wasn’t precisely easy going, but Virgil managed to squeeze himself through, hanging onto the sill until his feet hit a flat surface. He carefully let go and looked around.

“Here’s your camera,” Patton said. Virgil took it automatically and turned around to get his bearings, his skin crawling. If he was just being paranoid, he didn’t want to lose this footage. If he was right...well, he just hoped he wasn’t right. Virgil’s discomfort drove him to his phone and its flashlight rather than adjusted eyes and a night vision camera. Slowly, he panned both the flashlight and the camera. His stomach jerked with a threatening nausea when he saw a brown, streaked stain by the stairs. He followed it with his panning to a corner. He stilled at the sight that waited for him. When his flashlight landed on the corner, every bulb in the room turned on, and they all got brighter and brighter until they blew out, which only took about a moment. But it had not affected his phone. There was a flash, and darkness again. It did not take the skeleton from the beam of his flashlight.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

#writing #fanfic #recursive fic #oh jeez what have i done #sanders sides #tss #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #bg logan sanders #ghosts #if you are inspired and would like to finish this i would be super cool with that #i haven't round robin'ed anything in a while #but i do have a hurt/comfort follow-up planned #i can't say fluff cuz i have logan panicking and it will probably be a gut-punch to them to Realize #but after that there will be comfort #what? what do you mean there's a laoft reference i have no idea what you mean

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pizza-is-my-buziness · 6 years

Text

So this was originally supposed to be for the “alternate reality” space on my card but I got a prompt I really liked when I was halfway through writing this story so...free space time!

I’ve been listening to a lot of My Favorite Murder and spending a lot of my time on the unsolved mysteries pages in Reddit so...sorry? This is definitely true-crime inspired, but I tried to do like “true crime lite” but there are still mentions of murder whoops.

Also come talk to me about true crime? Thanks.

“I think it’s appropriate that we’re making a video about murder,” Jemma grumbles as she tries to avoid tripping over yet another twisted rooted, “seeing as we’re about to get murdered.”

“We aren’t about to get murdered,” Daisy amends, sounding remarkably unphased by the midnight hike that they’re taking through the woods. “And it’s not a video. It’s a documentary.”

Jemma lifts her hand to brush what she hopes is not a spiderweb out of her face, sending the beam of her flashlight flickering up toward the canopy of trees overhead. “What’s the difference?”

In front of her, Daisy shrugs. “A video just sounds so…amateur.”

Jemma doesn’t get the chance to point out that they are, in fact, amateurs before Mack is calling out to them from a few yards off to their left. “I think it’s over here.”

It’s not the sudden sound of his voice in the darkness that gets Jemma’s heart suddenly pounding in her chest. It’s not even the fact that she’s here, in the middle of these massive woods that stretch out beyond the college campus, with a few flashlights and a half moon overhead.

It’s the fact that they’re really doing this. That the reality of Daisy’s suggestion is suddenly settling in.

That there really is a cabin out there in the woods where a bunch of people got murdered and she’s about to be face-to-face with it in the dark for the sake of Daisy’s senior project.

Daisy is carrying a handheld camera in one hand and a flashlight in the other and Jemma can see half of Daisy’s face, illuminated by the glow of the flashlight. There’s a look of trepidation on her face but a hint of anticipation too.

Jemma can’t help but step closer to Daisy as they catch up with Mack and Fitz, the former who is carrying his own camera as Daisy’s official partner on the project. She’s having more than a few regrets at this particular moment, the first being that she couldn’t just admit honestly that she’s had a crush on Daisy for four years and that she really would prefer that their date take place in a coffee shop or in Daisy’s apartment and that she didn’t have to result to agreeing to help Daisy with her murder video in order to spend time with her.

But it’s a little late for all that, seeing as the cabin they’ve come looking for is looming in front of them, a shadowy figure in the faint glow of their flashlights.

Jemma figures that her closeness to Daisy can be blamed on the eeriness of the situation, which is the majority reason that she’s standing over her shoulder. “Why did you want to do this again?” She asks. “Couldn’t the top of your project been something a little more mundane?”

“I want to stand out,” Daisy says and Jemma realizes that they’re both whispering and that the woods themselves seem silent and still around this house. “This is pretty memorable.”

Fitz scoffs. “You could definitely say that.”

Jemma glances over at her friend and can see the same uncertainty and trepidation in his face that she’s sure she’s wearing on her own. She can’t even tease him for being out here, in the middle of the woods, when he’s clearly afraid because they’re both here for the same reason. Stupid, stupid crushes.

“I guess we have to go inside, huh.” It’s not so much a question as a statement, a comment muttered resignedly and flatly as Jemma traces the outline of the cabin against the glow of their flashlights.

The cabin isn’t exactly in the best of shape, having fallen into disrepair in the thirty years since the occupants were murdered and the land started to be bought up and parceled off. Most of it now belongs to the college, including this spot that has remained untouched despite continual talk about bulldozing the cabin in order to deter people from doing exactly what they’re doing right now. Jemma figures that the cabin is still standing because no drunk coeds ever actually make it this far into the woods to find the place, giving up long before they even get close.

The windows are broken or missing completely and vines and lichen spread across the rotting outsides like thin fingers. There’s a spot where the roof is dipping downward, one breeze away from falling in completely. Jemma doesn’t have much hope that the stairs themselves will survive long enough for one person to walk up them, let alone all four of them.

“Why don’t we come back during the day?” Jemma figures that she won’t even be annoyed if they turn around and head back to Daisy’s apartment.

“We will,” Daisy says and Mack nods his agreement. “But we wanted to check it out at night too.”

Jemma makes a face. “Please tell me this isn’t some sort of paranormal thing.”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “Ghosts? No. But, you know-”

“Memorable,” Fitz supplies for her.

Daisy nods. “Exactly.”

They’re all clustered together, none of them making the first move to try and get any closer to the cabin. Mack and Daisy are filming the poorly lit front of the cabin and Jemma is glad that she doesn’t believe in ghosts because that added superstition would undoubtedly make the whole experience unbearable. The woods seem eerily quiet and every inch of movement from Daisy or Mack or Fitz makes her flinch.

“There used to be other cabins here,” Daisy says and Jemma jumps, hoping that no one notices. She’s not sure if Daisy is telling them or is trying to record this for her video…documentary…whatever. “But no one said they heard anything that night.”

“Four people were murdered and no one heard anything,” Mack scoffs. “I find that kind of hard to believe.”

Fitz nods. “Especially since the primary suspect lived next door.”

Jemma looks at him, lifting her eyebrows. He shrugs, grimacing. “What? I did my research.”

Jemma only smirks. She’s sure that this research took place in Mack’s room with the laptop between them and Fitz’s brain short-circuiting. Something similar had happened between her and Daisy a few nights ago, when Jemma had been attempting to study for her final exams and Daisy had been messing around with her camera while outlining her plans for the documentary.

Unfortunately most facts about the place had gone in one ear and out of the other, replaced by more important observations like the smell of Daisy’s shampoo or the delicate tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

“Well.” Mack looks pointedly at Daisy. “After you.”

Daisy hesitates for a moment before squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, marching toward the crumbling, rotting, front steps.

“I don’t think that’s safe.” Jemma has to fight the urge to reach for Daisy’s hand to yank her backward.

“Definitely not safe,” Daisy mumbles before that doesn’t stop her from testing the first stair with her weight.

There’s a creak, unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night, but the stairs hold. Each one does, though Jemma can see Daisy walking on the front of her feet, trying not to put too much weight down.

The front door eases open, leaning drunkenly on one of the hinges when Daisy pushes against it. And then Daisy is inside, disappearing into the darkness of the cabin with only the flashlight to signal where she’s gone.

Jemma lets out of a breath, forcing herself to follow in Daisy’s footsteps, ignoring the creaks and groans of the stairs beneath her. It doesn’t seem much better when she makes it into what used to be the living room of the cabin, but it feels a little more stable than balancing her weight on the stairs.

Jemma slowly sweeps her flashlight against the corners and eaves of the cabin, noting all the spiders’ webs in the corners and the peeling, yellowed wallpaper. “They left the furniture?”

“People thought the place was haunted,” Daisy says, “so after the cops were done with their investigation, they left pretty much everything. No one was interested in packing the place up or cleaning it out, not even the guy who owned it. So it’s stayed pretty much like this for the past thirty years…I mean I guess aside from whatever people messed with when they came to check it out.”

Jemma crinkles her nose against the damp, earthy smell in the cabin, trying to ignore the shudder the passes through her body as she looks at the rotting couch and the leaning coffee table in front of it. “Awful.”

Daisy is in what Jemma assumes was once again the kitchen, talking about the murders, how a mother and three children were murdered one night and how one boy, the youngest, slept through the whole thing and somehow survived. Jemma knows the story, mostly because of Daisy but also because it’s part of the college’s lore, this murder that took place when the college was still small and trying to expand. Daisy and Mack are attempting to use their senior project to solve the mystery once and for all, though Jemma isn’t sure how, exactly, they plan to do that. Looking at this place, it’s pretty obvious that there’s nothing left but rotting furniture and the animals that are now calling this place home.

Mack and Fitz are checking out the living room as well, slowly taking video of the furniture and how it casts elongated shadows against the peeling, warped walls. Jemma steps around them, making her way down the narrow hallway toward the back bedrooms where the murders actually took place.

The master bedroom door is closed and Jemma stamps down the impulse that tells her to open it. It’s harder to ignore that little voice in her head when she sees the other door, ajar and enticing.

Jemma pushes the door the rest of the way open with the toe of her shoe, peering through the darkness at the trio of beds still lined up in the room. Two are nothing but frames, the third a mattress stripped of sheets and blankets. But there are still fading posters stuck to the wall, difficult to make out and curling, but still there, proof of the lives that were lived in this room, once.

It seems impossible to believe that someone walked through the door one night and-

Someone grabs onto her wrist and Jemma yelps, her shoulder knocking against the doorframe. She spins around to see Daisy there behind her, still holding tightly to her wrist. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“What is wrong with you?” Jemma pants but she doesn’t make the move to yank herself free.

“There’s a hole, on the floor.” Daisy points with her flashlight and Jemma can see the most of the floor in front of the door has fallen away. “You were going to fall.”

Jemma exhales. “I wasn’t going into the room.”

Daisy shrugs. “It looked like you were.”

Jemma is about to protest again, but she’s not sure that she believes the words herself. Her foot is precariously close to the edge of hole and she can still feel some small, reptilian part of her brain straining with curiosity.

“Thanks.” It seems like the safer thing to say, especially since Daisy’s fingers are still against her skin and she can smell her shampoo over the smell of the damp rot that pervades the house.

Daisy smiles at her and Jemma figures that she’s going to hell for thinking about things like Daisy’s smile when she’s standing outside the room where children were murdered.

“Ready to go? It’s too hard to see anything…we’re going to have to come back with better equipment if we want to get the night shots,” Daisy says.

“Oh, good, we get to come back,” Jemma mumbles, allowing herself to be lead back down the hallway and toward the door.

Mack and Fitz are already waiting outside and everyone seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief they’re out of the house and back on solid ground. “Okay, I don’t believe in ghosts,” Fitz says, “but that was creepy.”

Mack shakes his head. “How can you not believe in ghosts? Especially after being in there?”

They start bickering about the scientific possibility of ghosts and the afterlife as they lead the way through the woods, flashlights bouncing in front of them. Jemma walks beside Daisy, unable to keep from constantly looking over her shoulder as the house disappears behind them. There’s a weird prickling on the back of her neck that makes her not want to turn her back on the house.

“Well, that was exciting,” Daisy says, pulling Jemma’s attention reluctantly away from the house.

“Yes, the perfect way to spend a Saturday night,” Jemma says dryly.

Once again, Daisy is smiling at her. “Thanks for coming.”

Jemma makes a noncommittal noise but she’s pretty sure that she can’t hide the smile on her face.

~ ~ ~

A few days later, Daisy is sprawled across her bed, messing around on her computer while Jemma sits at Daisy’s messy desk, trying to take notes for one of her finals. “Want to see the footage from the other night?”

It’s the first time they’ve spoken in nearly an hour, lost in the comfortable silence of being immersed in their separate tasks.

Jemma looks up. “I thought it was too dark.” Still, she gets up, sitting next to Daisy when she scooches over to make room.

Daisy shrugs. “Some of it turned out okay. Mack is still going to get some better lights from the film department so we should be good to try again this weekend.”

Jemma makes a face before she can stop herself and Daisy smirks. “You really don’t like this true crime stuff, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Daisy looks at her, her face suddenly serious. “So why did you come?”

Jemma can feel the tips of her ears turning pink. “I guess I wanted to…help you.” It sounds better than admitting that she wanted to spend time with Daisy.

And a lot more rational, too, because Jemma figures that most people don’t hang out by going to murder sites.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Daisy says, not unkindly.

“I know but…” Jemma can feel the words coming out of her mouth anyway, unbidden. “It seemed like a good way to spend time together.”

At least Daisy doesn’t look at her like she’s gone crazy. “We spend time together.”

“I know.” Jemma can definitely feel the heat from the tips of her ears spreading down the back of her neck. “I just…I like being around you.”

Their knees are pressed together, the laptop forgotten on the bed. It takes almost no effort for their lips to brush together, tentative and testing, and Jemma isn’t sure which one of them pushes closer, deepening the kiss.

Daisy is breathless when she pulls away, already grinning. “I mean, I like being around you too,” she says. “I really think we should do that more often.”

“The kissing or the hanging out?” Jemma smirks, her lips tasting like Daisy.

“Both.” Daisy kisses her again, pulling Jemma close to her. “You could have just done this instead of going to the creepy murder house.”

“I didn’t know this was an option,” Jemma admits. “Though…I guess that means I don’t have to go back to the creepy murder house.”

Daisy lifts her eyebrows. “No, you’re going back. I need you to help hold the lights.”

Jemma’s protests are cut off by another kiss, and the another, and another…enough to make Jemma forget all about arguing with Daisy in the first place. It just doesn’t seem all that important, all of the sudden.

#skimmons #bioquake #college AU #skimmons bingo #I think true crime is just my calling guys I can't stop myself #also yes this is definitely inspired by a real case

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ssnakey-b · 6 years

Text

FF8 English-French Translarison, part 14: Romantic Cruise

Hey y’all! The translarison is back! I’m skipping ahead a bit since there aren’t really any differences. So, we are now on the bridge after Garden has transformed, where we find our first notable difference.

In the English text, Linoa just goes “Wow!” after the platform has raised. But in the French version, she has slightly more to day, going “No way, it’s impossible!”.

This one’s interesting for how close both versions are. As you probably noticed by now, the two versions generally use very different expressions. however, in this case, in the English version, this NPC says “Ahhh, my back’s killing me!” whereas the French one has him say “My back... it hurts so bad, it’s killing me!”. I’m pretty sure it’s a coincidence that they went for such similar phrases, so I find it pretty intriguing.

I wanted to bring up this NPC because he only talks like that in the English version. he doesn’t have any particular speech pattern in the French one. Gotta hand it to the English version, it does give an unnamed NPC more personality.

And speaking of the two versions being oddly similar this time around, here the French text has this character tell Squall to “go check it out”... in sense of checking something, not looking at something. This is really bizarre because it’s not really a saying in French, which would make it seem it’s an overly literal translation of English writing, but most of the localisation feels like it isn’t based off the English one, so I don’t know what’s going on here.

More oddities from the French version and more evidence of the translator only having the script to work off of. When Xu arrives and tells Squall to go back to the bridge, the French version has a text box that goes “This is the headmaster! Squall, return to the platform!” and the way it’s worded makes it sound like it’s an announcement made over the radio.

The translator was presumably confused as in the English language version, Xu says “It’s the headmaster! Get back to the bridge on the double!”. Regardless of the version the French one is based off, the original text was presumably ambiguous and so the translator didn’t realize it was a character talking to Squall directly.

A small one. In the English version, as the scene ends, Cid says “So much for my room. Where am I going to change now?”. Luckily, the French version spares us the mental image of a naked Cid and instead has him say “But where am I going to sleep, now?”.

By the way, I find this line weird regardless of the version. I was under the impression that this room was just his office, not his living quarters, so I would have thought he’d have somewhere else to sleep/change.

Here’s another small one, but one that says a lot more. in the English version, as Squall is pondering their situation, he thinks to himself “we’re in the middle of nowhere”, which is, you know, accurate. But the French version, while similar, take a much less literal approach. here, he says “we are all disorientated”.

See? There’s still the notion of being lost, which they physically are, but of course French Squall is thinking more about how dazed and confused everyone is after all that’s happened. I really like that.

There’s another very interesting change right after, as in the English version, he says “Man i’m bored...”. Again, the French version make it a bit more profound, having him wonder “Why am I being so sensitive?”, realizing he cares more about the place he lives in and people around him than he’d like to admit.

And that’s not all! As soon after, there’s a pretty big one. English Squall wonders who exactly the sorceress is and why she’d fire missiles at Garden, while also promising to himself to get even with Seifer next time he meets him.

French Squall kind of goes the opposite direction, being more forgiving towards Seifer and putting all the blame on Edea, as he goes “the priestess, it’s all her fault! Using missiles against us?! is Seifer going to escape her grasp?”.

And now, it’s finally time for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, Squall and Linoa’s date! Well, technically Squall is just showing her around, but let’s not kid ourselves, it’s a date.

The first real difference comes when Linoa asks him to make the tour a bit more fun. In the English version, she says “you know, like a normal tour?” but tin the French one, she explicitly says “Like a tourist route?”.

Squall retort is also different; English Squall thinks “What does she want from me?” whereas French Squall thinks “Me, a tour guide?!”. Again, I like the French version a bit better as it’s a bit more lighthearted. In fact Squall generally comes across as less grumpy than he does in the English version throughout this whole sequence.

Alright, let’s look at the different areas. First up, the infirmary, where... actually, you know what? I know this is what y’all really want to see so I’ll keep it for the end, nyeh heh heh!

So first up, the quad. these three girls are having a bit of a chat, and there a few differences worth noting. First, in the English text, the girl at the bottom tells her friend to tell her when she gets a BOYFRIEND (emphasis hers, not mine). In the French version, she goes further than that, telling her not to forget to invite her to her wedding. Jeez, going a bit fast, aren’t we?

And then, while in English, the dialogue ends with the girl at the top saying “ No problem! I promise! I promise!!!”, the French version gives it a surprisingly glum turn, having her ask “What if we stay single?”.

This gives an interesting twist to their body language after their dialogue ends, as I think they’re doing the SeeD salute, presumably as a way to show their bond. But because of the change in the French version, it makes it look like they’re covering their mouths as they’re gasping in fear.

And it’s not the only way the French version is bizarrely darker, as if you check them individually, Bottom Girl thinks “poor girl, she’ll end up a spinster. Granted, it’s not very nice in English either as she thinks “I bet I’ll get one before she does” but still, at least the English one believes her friend will eventually find someone.

There’s another small change with them, as the dark-skinned girl in the middle thinks “you guys are sooo great. I’ll definitely keep my promise” in English, but goes “wedding or no wedding, we’ll stay friends” in French.

Next up, the cafeteria. As I’ve alluded to at the very beginning of this playthrough, in the French version, the hot dogs have been replaced with pretzels. Interestingly, the French version also has Squall he thinks the pretzels are a myth as he’s never actually seen anybody eat any in Garden

This is in sharp contrast to the English version, where he says that some of the hot dogs are so popular, you’d be lucky to even see someone eat them, implying that they not only are they explicitly a thing, but there are multiple variants.

See, this is why I love this game. You can have all the flashy graphics and amazing technology you want, but I’ll always prefer a game so dedicated to world-building that it has canon hot dog / pretzel lore.

After Linoa chuckles at Squall’s seriousness and he retorts she’s the one who asked him to give her a tour, Linoa’s reply is quite different in tone. in the English version, she says “Oh, I’m sorry... You don’t have to get mad like that...”. In the French version, she seems more understanding, saying “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The chat between the three students pretty much goes the same, but there’s an interesting tidbit here where the student to the right gives one of his friends grief for siding with the “Templars” (a.k.a. the faculty), with that guy telling him he did too. In the English version, the other two appear to have stayed neutral and were just hiding or something, and call him out when he wonders why they wanted to capture Cid.

We head to the parking lot and for how short that scene is, it goes quite differently depending on the version.

In the English one, the discussion goes like this:

Squall: “Just a parking lot. Nothing special.

Rinoa: “... That’s it?”

Squall: “Yeah.”

Rinoa: *facepalm* “... Never mind. Let’s go.”

in the French one, it goes like this:

Squall: And here’s the parking lot...

Linoa: How fascinating.

Squall: You think so?

Linoa: *facepalm* “Forget it. Let’s go.”

I love how in both cases, it seems like an admission from the devs that they didn’t really do anything with this area. i do think I once again have a slight preference for the French version as I like Squall’s obliviousness.

Following that is the training centre. The text is mostly the same, but there’s an interesting variation in tone. Plus it’s a line I love in both versions so I really wanna bring it up.

After Squall asks Linoa if she’s up for some monster slayin’ (I love that he even suggests that in the first place and hey, in a weird way, it does go to show he is okay with spending some time with Linoa), English Rinoa says that she can see him do that on a first date, and ironically says “you’re so romantic...”.

The French version has her even more explicitly saying “You know, you have a funny way of behaving on a first date... how very romantic!”. So you could argue there was some ambiguity in the English version, but here she straight-up says they’re on a date.

You could argue she’s joking, but either way, Squall doesn’t object, and he’s not usually one to take stuff like that lightly. Just sayin’, I think they both take this more seriously than they let on.

And finally we get to the library, where Squall meets Ellone. In the English version, after asking Squall to try and remember her, she says she’d be heartbroken to know she was forgotten. in the French version, she’s more vague, saying “It’s rather vexing when someone forgets you, don’t you think?”.

Sorry to sound like a broken record but again, I much prefer the French version’s take on it. There’s something a lot more melancholy about it and most importantly, it ties deeply into the game’s major themes by mirroring Squall’s own refusal to build memories with other people or to be remembered by them.

The more subtle tone also makes it feel like she’s trying to spare his feelings by not making it sound like he’d be hurting her, even though she may not think any less.

Well, that wraps everything up, can’t think of anything else to do, so join me next time, where we take on- oh alright, you’ve been good, here’s how the scene in the infirmary goes.

The setup is the same. Kadowaki walks in and asks Squall if Linoa is his girlfriend. I do like how the English version has her go “Oh my!” at the beginning like she’s all excited about it. if you answer yes, Linoa says “Pardon? You’d better watch out, or I’ll end up believing it”.

if you insist (by picking the phrase “I’m expressing my desires”), the following exchange occurs:

Squall: It’ll soon be true, won’t it?

Linoa: But, I... er...

Squall: I’m kidding. What did you think?

Linoa: Huh? Your sense of humour goes a bit over my head.

If you pick “Of course not, I’m kidding”, Squall still plays around with it, going “Just a little joke... between lovers.”

Finally, if you say no, this happens:

Linoa: Couldn’t you say YES, just to make me happy?

Squall: Oh, alright. Yes.

Linoa: Huh? Forget it.

And there you have it. Man, hanging out together, going on dates, joking around, flirting... no wonder some people say the romance between these two comes out of nowhere.

But anyway, that’s it for today. Hope you liked it. It’s nice to have a more relaxed session without battles and constant danger, at least not the whole the way through, isn’t it? Hope you enjoyed it and I’ll see you next time, where we confront NORG and probably do more stuff.

As always, if you like the translarison, it would be awesome if you could show your support by reblogging it and if you have any observation or question, do not hesitate to send me an ask or just comment on this post. Later, everyone!

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bakagamieru · 7 years

Text

Rolling Stone Breakdown

I read part of the article earlier today before work and I could already tell BS was simmering even before I got home and found out about all the over the top het stuff. Knowing this ahead of time, I’m going to go ahead and take notes / rant back at the article as I read it.

BS 101: Intro to BS

paragraph 1: wow this person really wanted to be a bad fanfic writer, but they got stuck at Rolling Stone instead

I’m being petty with this, but just use “One Direction” fully if you’re going to go to the trouble of typing out “One D” instead of “1D”

“he became a canvas onto which many of fans pitched their hopes and dreams” because all fans of boybands (i.e. girls) dream about is romance and that’s the only reason they’re fans, ALSO media like Rolling Stone had nothing to do with Harry being a blank canvas for people to project their image of him onto (*sarcasm)

every mention of After, even a vague one, is -5000 points, every time it’s mentioned normally and not as the dangerous misrepresentation of abuse it is, is -5,000,000 points, every time someone crosses the line by a light-year and talks about it directly to Harry is -5,000,000,000 points, I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them

“a song cycle about women and relationships”, *cough*womanizer BS*cough, ALSO the first single Sign of the Times is clear social commentary with no real (read: not forced to fit that interpretation) hint of romance in sight, so...?

“more of a rock sound”, still pretending that 1D’s last 3 albums never existed

Harry wants his music to be “honest”, now where have we heard that before? Niall, Louis, Zayn with Liam probably soon to follow. It’s almost like they’ve been held forcibly quiet under a gag order...

I’m trying to figure out how I’m supposed to take the comment that Harry “runs every yellow light” and apply it to his persona, I’m stumped (also, you can’t run a yellow btw)

“the album no one has heard is burning a hole in his iPhone”, chill the fuck out with the italics, I know everyone else has talked about that, but you haven’t even mentioned the secrecy around his album in your article so you have no reason to randomly italicize things

Hiatus

“there was another One D member to vector questions into a charmingly evasive display of band camaraderie”, fuck you and your ever so sly implications that the boys’ closeness was manufactured and that the boys never answering anything interesting had to do with the band rather than interviewers incessantly asking the same vapid questions

“It was in a London studio in late 2014 that Styles first brought up the idea of One Direction taking a break”, as @paynoisbatman already pointed out, this timeline of the hiatus makes no sense with the timing of Zayn “quitting”, also it’s inconsistent with the way the boys denied the first round of hiatus articles in June 2015

just to be clear, they probably DID know about the hiatus ahead of time and they WERE lying when they denied the upcoming hiatus in June, and that also means that there’s no reason Zayn should have jumped the gun so close to the finish line (yay mixed metaphors!), I’m just pointing out the story is inconsistent, so all of these things can’t be true

“If you’re shortsighted, you can think, 'Let’s just keep touring,’ but we all thought too much of the group than to let that happen. You realize you’re exhausted and you don’t want to drain people’s belief in you.” <- This is pure 100% lovely, insightful, well spoken Harry

I’d also like to point out that them first discussing it in 2014 means that Harry’s comment about “we all thought too much of the group” applies to all 5

“I love the band, and would never rule out anything in the future. The band changed my life, gave me everything.” I’d like to point out that they always phrase these quotes to sound like past tense, like the band is broken up as of now, when in reality he’s saying that not only will they come back after the hiatus but that he’s in this band for life

“and not just have it be ‘Here’s a demo I wrote.’” you have that chance Harry! Release the finished version of Don’t Let Me Go Harry!

“Every decision I’ve made since I was 16 was made in a democracy.” I feel like someone misspelled “was a rebellion under Simon Cowell and Co’s dictatorship”

Pretentious Character Work or Work on Building Pretentious Character? Ah, got it: Pretentious Work on Building Pretentious Character

“As one of the most well-known 23-year-olds in the world, Styles himself is still largely unknown” not if you’ve actually paid attention over the last 6 years? I mean yes, always to some extent, but it’s not like this insightful, loving dork is a dark mystery

“He looks at my digital recorder like a barely invited guest.” learn to choose useful metaphors and stop being pretentious

dude, I know you did this on purpose, but you said that “Behind the effervescent stage persona, there is more lore than fact. He likes it that way.” and then put the quote about Prince’s artist draw being his mystery right after, making it seem like he that was his reason for wanting to be mysterious, then you quoted “It’s not about trying to make my career longer, like I’m trying to be this 'mysterious character,’ because I’m not.” which directly contradicts the connection you drew with your words, AKA you knew it was BS and made it seem connected anyway

“The pool cleaner looks perplexed, not quite sharing Styles’ existential joy.” there’s nothing existential about it, it’s just a smile, he’s just being nice to people he passes like a good human being, I’m sorry if you don’t know what that looks like

“It’s obvious that the band has a well-worn frat-house dynamic”, do you actually know what you’re talking about or are you going off of stereotypes? if you’re calling it a “frat” and were in a fraternity, your frat was probably stereotypical anyway

“Styles is, to all, ‘H.’” It’s a fricking nickname that his fricking boybandmates also use, not a commentary on his position as the benign and worshipped leader of the Jamaican band cult frat you apparently think formed

“Pomegranate-scented candles flicker around the room.” this I definitely believe, but did you recognize the pomegranate smell right away or specifically look at a candle to find out what it was?

“It was Styles’ first full immersion into the land of musos” I need that staring into the camera Office gif

Music Ideology

“Most of the stuff that hurts me about what’s going on at the moment is not politics, it’s fundamentals,” Styles says. “Equal rights. For everyone, all races, sexes, everything. …” this is a very interesting thing to randomly bring into a conversation without asking, unlike the rest of the article, this bit aligns with Harry’s rainbows in the pics, at SNL, and out and about with fans

“The song is written from a point of view as if a mother was giving birth to a child and there’s a complication.” No, uh-uh, I like the idea personally , but Harry has said ever since MITAM and maybe before that he likes people to be able to have their own interpretation, he said it in interviews about SOTT recently too, I’m not at all convinced Harry wanted to actually share the official story of what the song means, it flies in the face of his philosophy about song interpretation

“The lyrics are full of details and references – secrets whispered between friends, doomed declarations of love, empty swimming pools – sure to set fans scrambling for the facts behind the mystery.” the fact that you put this right after Ever Since New York is laughable, that is a solid contender for the vaguest lyrics that couldn’t possibly be accurately paired up with details of Harry’s life, but you want people to think it’s about Haylor, don’t you

“I’m happy I found this band and these musicians, where you can be vulnerable enough to put yourself out there.” this one is hard because I can see Harry being grateful for a good group of people to write with, but I also don’t believe the implications that he’s never been vulnerable in his writing before or that he couldn’t be vulnerable with his boyband, both are BS, I’m going to say it’s probably a real quote but with suggestive framing

“The album is a distinct departure from the dance pop that permeates the airwaves.” can people please stop pretending that music hasn’t sounded vaguely 70′s and 80′s-ish for the last 4-5 years?

“It’s different from what you’d expect,” Bhasker says. “It made me realize the Harry [in One D] was kind of the digitized Harry. Almost like a character. I don’t think people know a lot of the sides of him that are on this album.” such. utter. BS. Fans know Harry. the general public only doesn’t know him because MEDIA LIKE ROLLING STONE created that “digitized Harry” that’s “like a character”

“Asked if he spends pressure-filled evenings worried about proving credibility to an older crowd, Styles grows animated.” of course he does, sweet child of man that he is, he jumps at the chance to educate heathens like you about the wonderful world of being a decent human being rather than a sexist prick

1D and Zayn

“He’s not a heavy drinker, he says, maybe some tequila on ice or wine with friends after a show, but by the band’s last tour there wasn’t much time even for that.” Oh, ok, we’re still pretending that TMH wasn’t the craziest scheduled tour

“Styles and his phone have a bittersweet, mature relationship – they spend a lot of time apart. He doesn’t Google himself, and checks Twitter infrequently.” ah, but you forgot his lurking on Tumblr

“I mention a few of the verbal Molotov cocktails Zayn Malik has tossed at the band in recent interviews.” print interviews, all print interviews, because you put words in his mouth just like you're doing with Harry

“threading the needle of diplomacy” yeahhhh.... this is all BS, it’s made to sound neutral to make it seem like Harry is only being polite, whether Harry said these words or not, they’re not HIS words

More Pretentiousness

“Styles, born two months before Cobain exited Earth, doesn’t feel tied to any particular genre or era” funny since his 70′s image is being amped up to 11 for his solo debut

“In the car, he’ll just as easily crank up the country music of Keith Whitley as the esoteric blues-and-soul of Shuggie Otis” and now I know where the country bits of MITAM came from, I was wondering

“It’s like – that’s not how it works. I don’t even remember what the question was.” having “It’s quite small” flashbacks

“ ‘Could I get a selfie?’ Styles obliges, and leans over the counter. Click. We exit into the Laurel Canyon evening.” I’m sorry, I can’t stop laughing, but was the onomatopoeia really that necessary?

“River Phoenix,” the man announces, a little sadly. “You ever heard of him? If he hadn’t have passed, I would have said that was you. Talented guy.” sadness, River Phoenix really was such a talented young man, a very worthwhile person based on the roots of his problems too

The Obligatory Origin Story

They share a silent moment, before Styles walks to his car. He hands me the bag filled with English snacks. “This is for you,” he says. “This was my youth …” “Harry Edward Styles was born in Worcestershire, England” great transition dude, I’m sure that was completely organic

“But in fact, all was not perfection, scored to a cool, retro soundtrack.” but I thought it was!

“His eyes moisten a little, but unlike the young man who wept over an early bout with Internet criticism, a powerful moment in the early One Direction documentary A Year in the Making, Styles tonight knocks back the sentiment.” “look, he’s repressing his emotions, this is progress!” I wouldn’t make fun of this if he had phrased it as Harry being stronger or no longer caring about what other people think, but saying he “knock[ed] back the sentiment”?

“I’d gone because my mum told me I was good from singing in the car … but your mum tells you things to make you feel good, so you take it with a pinch of salt.” um... first of all, X-Factor flashbacks, second of all, Harry said that he’d always wanted to audition but had always been too young, so...

“and united the members of One D in a musical shotgun marriage” I’m keeping this imagery, it’s mine, no one can take it away from me now, no takebacksies

Ben Winston Earns His Tag On My Blog

“ ‘Family,’ answers Ben Winston.” who is not Harry’s family

look, I actually think Harry and Niall and maybe the others actually have a friendship with Ben, I can’t understand why, though, when he always participates in BS like this, I will never forgive him for the Livestream of Doom/FOUR Hangout

“There is more chance of me going to Mars next week than there is of Harry having some sort of addiction.” Why are we so focused on Harry not being a drug addict? He’s not, there aren’t even rumors he is, ok, don’t need to talk about it, moving on.

Styles had just moved out of his family home in Cheshire, an inconvenient three hours north of London. He found a home he liked near the Winstons in Hampstead Heath. wtf? revisionist history much? forgetting all 5 boys lived in the same complex right after moving to London much?

“ He became a friendly mentor to Styles, though the friendship was soon tested... Styles asked if he could briefly move in with Winston and his wife, Meredith. She agreed,” Winston says, “but only for two weeks.”... For the next 20 months, one of the most desired stars on the planet slept on a small mattress in an attic.” this is not Harry, Harry would not move in for 20 months after asking for 2 weeks, if he did he would make sure it was ok, if he made sure it was ok, you shouldn’t be talking about it and essentially badmouthing him to the press

also, can we talk about “one of the world’s most desired stars” because as we’ve all talked about before, Harry was 17/18 and being hypersexualized in the press and this is not ok

Winston continues the tales from the attic. “So we had this joke. Meri and I would like to see the girls that you would come back with to the house. That was always what we enjoyed, because we’d be in bed like an old couple. We’d have our spot cream on our faces and we’d be in our pajamas and the door would go off. The stairwell was right outside our door, so we’d wait to see if Harry was coming home alone or with people... He wasn’t always alone,” corrects Winston, “but it was exciting seeing the array of A-listers that would come up and sleep in the attic. het BS *yawn* *snore*

The subject today is relationships. While Styles says he still feels like a newcomer to all that, a handful of love affairs have deeply affected him. The images and stolen moments tumble extravagantly through the new songs: And promises are broken like a stitch is … I got splinters in my knuckles crawling 'cross the floor/Couldn’t take you home to mother in a skirt that short/But I think that’s what I like about it … I see you gave him my old T-shirt, more of what was once mine … That black notebook, you sense, is filled with this stuff. het BS *yawn* *snore*, I’m really going to need to hear these songs for myself, they better not have fucked with his material, the consolation about Zayn’s album was that at least the music and lyrics were unquestionably his

More Specific Het!Harry BS

The relationship is a subject he’s famously avoided discussing. “I gotta pee first. This might be a long one,” he says. He rises to head to the bathroom, then adds, “Actually, you can say, 'He went for a pee and never came back.' ” you think he was being funny, but he really really wasn’t, are you sure he came back? I don’t think he did, I think everything after the bathroom was utter BS

“When I see photos from that day,” he says, “I think: Relationships are hard, at any age. And adding in that you don’t really understand exactly how it works when you’re 18, trying to navigate all that stuff didn’t make it easier. I mean, you’re a little bit awkward to begin with. You’re on a date with someone you really like. It should be that simple, right? It was a learning experience for sure. But at the heart of it – I just wanted it to be a normal date.” ok, maybe not such BS since he’s as vague and general as you can get in the vast majority of this quote, so he’s saying that when he looks at pictures of himself with Taylor, he thinks how he wanted it to be a normal date with Louis, got it

yada yada yada, Harry being way nicer than he should have to be about his name being used by someone who abused his reputation for her own gain, par for the course

I like tipping a hat to the time together. You’re celebrating the fact it was powerful and made you feel something, rather than 'this didn’t work out, and that’s bad.’ huh, this seems like subtle shade to me since one of my biggest complaints is how nearly all her songs are negative, put the blame on the guy, and don’t have her taking any responsibility (even if they are fake relationships)

He notes a more recent relationship, possibly over now, but significant for the past few years. (Styles has often been spotted with Kendall Jenner, but he won’t confirm that’s who he’s talking about.) it was made abundantly clear that even if you believe the narrative, Harry and Kendall are not currently together, yeesh!

“She’s a huge part of the album,” says Styles. “Sometimes you want to tip the hat, and sometimes you just want to give them the whole cap … and hope they know it’s just for them.” mm, nope, still BS, alternatively a quote taken out of context and not about Kendall or even romance at all

Actual Solo Stuff

“Some of the stuff they’re doing in this movie is insane. And it was hard, man, physically really tough, but I love acting. I love playing someone else. I’d sleep really well at night, then get up and continue drowning.” ok, that was clever, good on you Harry

It was the perfect rite of passage for a musician looking to explode the past and launch a future. I thought we agreed that Harry has no issue with his past in a boyband? can you please remember what you already wrote in your own article

He didn’t feel stifled in One D, he says, as much as interrupted. you bet your ass he did, him and Zayn and Niall, interrupting clueless and/or asshole interviewers all day long (I’m sure Louis and Liam have/will do too, just haven’t had the chance yet)

There are songs from that period he loves, he says, like “Olivia” and “Stockholm Syndrome,” along with the earlier song “Happily.” #confirmed

“But I think it was tough to really delve in and find out who you are as a writer when you’re just kind of dipping your toe each time. We didn’t get the six months to see what kind of shit you can work with. To have time to live with a song, see what you love as a fan, chip at it, hone it and go for that” funny that, sounds like someone forced them into a breakneck schedule and then later made big noises about how their hiatus was because they were so overworked and acted like he had nothing to do with that

Ending

To wind down in Jamaica, Styles and Rowland, the guitarist, began a daily Netflix obsession with sugary romantic comedies. Houseworkers would sometimes leave at night and return the next morning to see Styles blearily removing himself from a long string of rom-coms. He declares himself an expert on Nicholas Sparks, whom he now calls “Nicky Spee.” sounds about right for the guy whose favorite movie is Love Actually

Like the time Styles ended up drunk and wet from the ocean, toasting everybody, wearing a dress he’d traded with someone’s girlfriend. yep, sounds about right

oops, fanfic writer made a full return for this paragraph all in present tense, written by someone else as if Harry’s a fictional character

“I think, as a parent, especially with the band stuff, it was such a roller coaster,” he says. “I feel like they were always thinking, 'OK, this ride could stop at any point and we’re going to have to be there when it does.’ this is the second time he’s brought up roller coasters in his solo interviews, it’s a good description for the thing he’s talking about, but I can’t help but think of Zayn’s old Twitter bio and Anne tweeting that bio not long after March 25th

He grabs his black notebook and turns back for a moment before disappearing down the hallway, into the future. I need the Office gif again

“How am I going to be mysterious,” he asks, only half-joking, “when I’ve been this honest with you?” *sarcasm

#one direction #1d #harry styles #solo harry #rolling stone #bakagamieru #speculation #more of an interpretation really #bearding #media #ben winston is an ass

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closedspeciesdrama · 7 years

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Re: The Wendigo argument, there's this instability trait which is prevalent on the internet these days. There are a lot of very unstable young men and women who try to give themselves meaning and worth by deeming themselves "gatekeepers" of either political correctness or cultural appropriation. Down to a man the ones I've seen in CS and in other communities are typically insecure to the point of near-mania and with any number of mental issues. Gatorbite and VCR are like poster boys. 1 of 2

- The best way to deal with this sort of nonsense isn’t to argue with them which is ultimately narcissistic supply and a means for them to try and show how morally “superior” they are to their victim, it’s simply best to flat out block them if needed or ignore them. Might seem harsh but I have personal issue with the way they use issues of gender and culture to bully every community they touch and to intimidate younger people with threats of dubbing them “bad people” or public defamation. 2 of 2

(1)Citing “Windigo Psychosis: the anatomy of an emic-etic confusion” an academic journal by a group of anthropologists: “When the windigo phenomenon is considered from the point of view of group sociodynamics rather than from that of individual psychodynamics, the crucial question is not what causes a person to become a cannibalistic maniac, but under what circumstances a Northern Algonkian is likely to be accused of having become a cannibalistic maniac(2)and thus run the risk of being executed as such. It is argued that those so executed were victims of triage homicide or witch hunts, events common in societies under stress.” Hell just that alone should be enough. Algonkians and other natives were straight up murdered over a mythological creature that was used against them. No one besides Algonkians are in any placeto make a CS/adopt design based on something with such a dark historical context.(3)Looking beyond Wikipedia could have easily told you this. Also, no anon, you fucking idiot, the wendigo was a thing before the term “wendigo psychosis” even existed as a culture-bound syndrome. AND IF YOU PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER… usually “culture-bound” syndromes are inherently racist and untrue.

Didn’t vcr-wolfe get called out for something too tho like if you’re gonna be the 1# sjw for everything wouldn’t it be ironic to get a call out for a shitty thing you’ve done

OH MY GOD. that post is LITERALLY a whole fucking year ago. once again vendetta anons pull shit from their ass. that character isnt even a freaking adopt, and vcr doesnt even have a species and has hardly sold maybe 3 adopts in the last 6 months? maybe if yall weren’t reaching so far into the past for some petty bs we could stay on topic for once lmao

Wait is there any proof of them being white?? I’ve I beleive I saw vcr wolfe say they’re native or smth before. But the thunderbird thing is so stupid lmao in the Wild West tm a lot of towns only had like white people because natives were driven out. I mean depending on the characters setting. Plus there’s majority of white people. Thunderbirds aren’t like a wendigo, you can say it’s name and talk about it and it wouldn’t attack just you so I don’t see a problem lmao

I think the issue here is you’re going to have people from a culture saying something is offensive, but someone else from the same culture saying that it’s not offensive and they’re glad you’re taking interest in their culture in the first place. See: Every East Asian mythology based CS out there, basically. Literally there is no right or wrong across the board, nobody “wins”, and that’s just how life is. Grey morality exists, just let people make content they enjoy ffs.

People act like VCR-WOLFE’s word is law or something. I can see being passionate about causes and all but they take the cake for extremism. People should be allowed to make a character any race to fit their preferences or just their likes, of course within being respectful. I think VCR gets some kind of high and mighty buzz by going after people, especially us evil whites.

multiple poc: hey this is offensive. yall: uhm idk that sounds fake :/. one poc: yeah it’s fake. yall, digging your claws in: YOU SEE? WE WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG! THIS ONE POC HAS VALIDATED OUR RACISM FOREVER! *pterodactyl screech*

Is vcr wolfe a serious account or is it just some random asshole that enjoys stirring up people by being the dictionary image for the social justice warrior stereotype that literally everyone hates. I have seen them be a little weiner before (cue them accusing me of misgendering them), I would take nothing they say seriously because honestly they are a joke.

Why does this Wendigo shit still come up? This is the same as the sombrero Mario crap that blew up on twitter. Quit speaking for other cultures that you don’t belong to. Native American people have expressed both support and distain for the issue. A wendigo is a monster, why is making a monster be a monster suddenly such a taboo? You can white knight the subject to death, you aren’t in the wrong but you’re certainly not in the right either. If you don’t support it then don’t.

context: the wendigo was used as a slur and label for natives/Algonquins who were mentally ill (aka called them canibals; hence “wendigo psychosis”) and was used to justify their genocide so making an adopt out of such a theme isn’t taken lightly as this has a historic context you can’t erase (source: I live in the algonquin northeast) (½)mythical creatures such as vampires and werewolves come from a ton of different cultures and generally they’ve been reinterpreted so often that it doesn’t retain its origin context. here’s another point- the Algonquin people still exist. despite the mythical creature being used against them they are more than in the right to use it how they see fit. it’s sorta like how the lgbt community took back the word “queer” while a straight person should definitely not call a gay person “a queer” (2/2)

Btw the wendigo isn’t a legend ! It’s a tale told up north and is taken very seriously. The reason people don’t want you to use it is because saying the name is suppose to make you a victim ( aa I forgot I’m sorry ) BUT I still beleive if you do your research u should be okay like just don’t make it a xD murderer monster cannibal

The thing with a wendigo character is not everyone is going to see/research the full story of them, because they’ve been big in media for awhile now. Until Dawn, Supernatural, even My Little Pony. And tbh, it’s something that while drifting away from the original intent, does bring traditional stories to the homes of others, who otherwise would never know the term, or know of the monsters. Mass media is keeping our culture alive, even as we kill it ourselves by not letting others near it.

this just in: vcr-wolfe solely dictates what can and cannot be used from cultures in character designs

VCR is mixed actually lol

VCR-wolfe is actually half mexican. So maybe don’t be fucking racist?

Can we stop the “ insulting = I’m right” thing it’s so stupid. If someone’s discussing something or DOESNT KNOW you don’t have to insult them. You look like a jerk js ( this is towards the anon in the wendigo post about wendigo-psychosis). The person was just basically saying ‘fun fact’ no need to call them a fucking idiot jeez

Mixed with what? I’ve seen this argument on another drama site. If they are mixed, they are white enough to pass as entirely white. Even then your word isn’t some divine rule on what is right & wrong. VCR constantly leans on the “I’m mentally ill” schtick, maybe they should focus on themselves for a bit & quit badgering people that want to enjoy another culture. Geez would bringing back segregation make you fuckers happy, let start DNA testing before you can draw or create a non white character.

The anon about wendigo pychosis got their panties in a twist lmao. If we can’t use anything with “” dark historical context" or “ only ____ are allowed to use this” then we all might as well sick to our own religions and make nothing but what we’re born into/practice. So if you’re native and you make a nun rabbit prepare for a ass chewing ! :( keep whining about everything you just sound like a broken record lmao you “” fucking idiot “”

Wait so if vcr-Wolfe isn’t native what say do they got in it then??? If they’re Mexican/white ??? Why don’t they step down and let real native/mixed natives speak for themselves and not have someone gatekeeping their beliefs Jesus lord I LOVE when none natives try to speak for my culture

Multi poc people: this is bad y'all: SEE ITS EVIL Multi poc: its alright do your research tho Y'all: WTF THATS BAD WHAT ABOUT OUR TOKEN FRRIENDS SAYING ITS OKAY AAAA Get your head out your ass dude there’s two sides to the shit just because people back your opinion doesn’t mean you can use your poc friends as a way to wave it around. You’re being just as bad to diss other peoples opinions FROM THE SAME GROUP lmao

i’m ndn, and personally my opinion on the entire thing is, don’t make wendigo characters for profit in general, especially if you’re not ndn. i don’t even like seeing my brothers, sisters, and two-spirited brethren do it. it’s one thing to make one for personal use, and as long as you’re not making them uwu edgy wendigo doggo that eats people uwu then.. honestly? who cares. but stop making wendigos when you know nothing about the culture, or that many tribes have different lore on it.

also the entire thing of wendigo psychosis being a thing: false. that was a term made up waaaaay after the fact. the thing is, there are multiple tribes that believe in wendigo, many have different names for it, and there’s even variations born differently like wechuge. but the fact of the matter is that most people don’t even read in or pay attention beyond the edgy cannibal shit to know that a wendigo is pretty much a skeleton made out of ice in most tribal cultures LMAO not a fucking dog

the entire purpose of people saying ‘hey if you don’t understand it, don’t make it’ is so that you don’t make a mockery of our legends, lore, culture, and history. not so you can’t have fun. it’s like me making a black character and making them stereotypical and completely shitting on it, and then doubling back with the ‘oh i made a black character so i understand black struggles’ shit like. it’s not cute when you do it to any race or culture so stop.

Why is it a crime to make Wendigo characters but when some family lines (before me, I don’t care) wouldn’t approve of the use of nordic mythos no one bats an eye at adopts that play off them, or for that matter, movies and shows that paint them in completely inaccurate ways. You can’t close the mythos of one culture & make it untouchable while saying some are fine to take from, that isn’t how it works.

VCR is mixed Mexican Navajo and saying a mixed person is basically white is just fucking ugly and racist as shit, holy shit

Nordic myth is white myth and white people are not in any danger of having their culture stamped out and then reinterpreted by their oppressors while they are punished for trying to access it, unlike, you know, Native American myth. Reverse racism isn’t real

‘nordic myth is white myth and–’ it’s still someone’s religion, so yeah actually it still stands, either all religions are sacred inherently and are off limits or none are and you can’t bitch and whine and moan and throw a social justice tantrum into that being untrue, people making shitty wendigo ocs isn’t stamping anyone’s religion out any more than marvel making a shitty version of loki is, they’re equally stupid but harmless

Except there is a huge fucking difference between open and closed religions? Nordic pagan worship is an open religion. Native folk religions are closed religions. Christianity is an open religion. The Amish are, by and large, a closed sect. Sincerely, an nordic heathen who knows full well what people can take from my belief system

“Werehyenas can’t be made into species and characters because they appropriate African culture uwu~” The hyena and werehyena have a very similar negative connotation in African folklore by you don’t see them getting so butt hurt over them being used. I get so sick and tired of people saying you can’t base a CS or Character off of a fictional monster. I guess I should toss out my Church Grim OC because that’s an insult to English and Scandinavian Folklore as it guards a place considered sacred

literally no one is saying dont ever do it theyre saying be respectful, follow the originating culture’s traditions, and dont slap a native myth on a white character because its disrespectful to the culture you supposedly like so much youre pulling from them. entitled much?

"my friend finds this thing offensive! your friend doesn't find this offensive? stop tokenising your friends, also YOUR friends are WRONG!" so native voices only count when they agree with you? maybe accept that an individual can't speak for an entire group, and that people from within the same culture can have very different ideas about what cultural appropriation even is.

Everyone yelling about wendigos when they're ignoring the fact Sincommonstitches literally made a design based off the imperial rising sun (you know- rape of Nanking?? Children and women slaughtered?) and day of the dead (mexican holiday already shit on for $$$) guardians, sold them for profit, and then bitched in a journal when they got called out how they shouldn't have to deal with this and they need their fiance to handle their pr now lmfao

Keeping all this in one post, anything new sent in will be added to this post. While it is on topic, it is far from species related.

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mmoxie · 8 years

Text

50 Character Questions For Karalonde

@memes4less asked me to do the whole darn ask meme for a character of mine that i like a lot, and it took some time, but

it happened, and i’m just, so incredibly sorry to mobile users if this somehow eats your dash

here’s a readmore tho

What is your OC’s favorite color? Yellow.

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? Curios and antiques from Elven history.

What kind of things is your OC allergic to? No allergies.

What kind of clothing does your OC wear? Very huge yellow cloak full of pockets is a must. Steel-toed boots, sweaters, comfortable all-weather pants. It takes a lot to get her into something elegant.

What is your OC’s first memory? Her mothers and mentors, the spooky old Ravens Grey, holding her hands and singing songs to her.

What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? Karalonde gets along very well with corvids. They tend to recognize her as another corvid, like a very big crow or raven. On the flip-side, dogs don't trust her, and she doesn't trust them.

What element would your OC be? Sodium.

What is your OC’s theme song?

The Heavy - No Place For A Hero

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhwDxNqWtxk

Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? Nah.

What deadly sin would best represent your OC? This one's a toss-up. I'm going to go with Pride though, because she's sure of herself to a tragic fault. Believing without question that she's making the right decision, because she's Karalonde, so of course she's right, has been her downfall more than once.

What are your OC’s hobbies? She used to play guitar. Hasn't picked it up again since she lost her eyes, but she could.

How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? She's patient until she's not. Dynamite with a really, really long fuse is still dynamite. When she's angry, she's Category Five Angry.

What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? She's a night elf, a trans woman, and a lesbian.

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? She's a total disaster about modern food. Absolutely spoiled by the world of greasy and salty and deep-fried. But she's got a soft spot for kimchi, which she grew up on, and likes her meat rare.

If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? A corvid of some kind. She's always had an affinity for them due to her upbringing. Whenever she encounters one in the wild, she has a way of approaching them that makes her seem to be a Very Large Raven, rather than a different creature altogether.

What does your OC smell like? Boot polish.

How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? Karalonde found and sold a great deal of her belongings from half an eternity ago in order to build a large savings. Large enough that she can coast on it for basically as long as she wants, as long as she lives simply- which she prefers. Most days, she takes a boat to the Broken Shore and participates in holding the line there, helping to keep the demons from advancing any closer to the mainland. Her dream job requires that the war be over. She wants to go back to being a public servant. Maybe the mayor of a small town, or some other low-caliber politician. She considers her current "job" a necessary service, but it places her uncomfortably close to the Illidari.

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? Karalonde fears failure to the point of outright "you didn't win" levels of denial. She also fears abandonment. She's absolutely awful at expressing herself, and this distances herself from would-be friends and romantic partners, and this is exacerbated by her vast ego, which insists that she can't be in the wrong for acting that way. She is, however, phenomenally physically strong, literally fireproof, and she can, on occasion, channel her inability to otherwise express herself into a passionate drive to protect the few people she can keep close to her- even if that means doing something as dangerous and oafish as picking a fight on their behalf.

What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? Karalonde likes things that sound like Spanish guitar. She also has a certain fondness for the powerful drums the Trolls use.

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? She's been traveling offworld for half an eternity, thanks to her career with the Illidari. If anything, she'd just be shocked to find out that the Earth isn't a smoldering husk. The next step after that would be to casually assimilate, never explaining her appearance or origins, pawning off her extremely valuable gold coins from Azeroth in exchange for fat stacks of cash. She'd miss out on a lot of our visual media due to her general eyelessness, but once she got the hang of things, she'd almost certainly end up a celebrity. Maybe even star in an action movie.

What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? Lack of decorum makes Karalonde very upset. She's got a strict sense of what's proper behavior, and she's not above delivering a hard slap to remind her close acquaintances to behave when she's around. She also has a stomach ulcer, and arthritis in her knees and hands. Her only pet peeves are all to do with communication- she hates when strangers interject with "their two coppers," and she'll often deny them outright if they ask to contribute. Likewise, she hates un-asked-for explanations, and will mock anyone providing one with "ah, look at the young scholar," or something to that effect.

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? Horrible. Just the worst. Not even a disruption in class, just the kid who seems to always have better things to do than be there. Abysmal attendance record. Shows up whenever she wants. Gets into fights in the cafeteria pretty often over basically nothing. Steals little things all the time. --Librarian's pet, though. If she's not in class, she can be found there, helping stock returns and organize the shelves, holding surprisingly mature and serious conversations with the librarian about her future.

What is a random fact about your OC? At least once in her life, Kara has- just like a dog- chased after and eaten a bee. With the consequences you'd expect.

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? Kara is a firm believer in "all the fake things, all the bullshit, all the wishy-washy myths and mysteries." Every cryptid is real, every mystery has its fantastical conclusion, every conspiracy is worth investigation. She insists that it's the fake things- "the things we invent, because we like the sound of them" that contribute a newfound value to the dirt and grass and trees. Every ritual, she believes, is a total fabrication- an invention that, by virtue of our commitment to it, achieves its function. The only "fake thing" she questions is the Holy Light, because she finds it uncomfortably godless. "Where in the hell is their deity," she's asked more than once, "how in blazes did they reckon on just -light?-" The truth of that is, she just finds it unimaginative- lacking the spark of imagination that comes with grander rituals and other "fake things." But a world rich with fake things is a world she wants to protect. She's invented a great many, herself, ascribing value to trinkets and places and even articles of clothing. She'd save the world just for the sake of the value she finds in an idea. Even a really silly idea. Especially a really silly idea.

What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? In a lot of ways, Kara is wish fulfillment. She's beautiful, she's strong, she's capable. But in other ways, she's constantly failing, She's a lapsed Illidari who broke the bond with her demon because the two of them fell in love, for goodness' sake. Talk about taboo on top of taboo. She's wrong about most everything, but she believes so hard and so sincerely- and again, that's wish fulfillment. I wish I could believe like Karalonde believes. She's only a fan character in the sense that she's not built out of My Original Lore, but really, there's only so much structure that Blizzard offers to characters, so they end up 1% Blizz, 99% Your Effort. She's always been kind of the same, ever since I made her, but she's changed in subtle ways- being more indulgent, telling more jokes, opening up little by little, learning to care about others again. Her journey's gradual, and she's got a long way to go.

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? It's hard to say. Kara makes herself into a mother figure accidentally, all the time. She ends up attached to someone and worries about them, and next thing she knows, she's rushing to protect them. But there are a few- a very select, very distinct few- who she sees the "makings of greatness" in. And yes, John Silver from Treasure Planet went into the pot, when I was making up Karalonde for the first time. She fixates on these people- often slow-witted but sincere, brave but prone to accidents, full of self-doubt but in possession of great ambition- and she dotes on them. She provides what she can for them, even if it's just providing encouragement. She wants them to succeed, because she's already lost the war, as far as she can tell- but they don't have to. They could win it. To contrast, boastful warriors who go on and on about their conquests and victories, she considers fodder to be fed to the Legion. Let them go and die, if that's what they want, because they don't have or make any fake things to enrich this world.

What kind of childhood did your character have? A very strange one. The Ravens Grey served as three different mother figures- One was tall and thin and very judgmental. One was hairy and squat and very slow to speak. The third was near-about the elven ideal, beautiful and youthful- but she had strange habits, drinking smoky concoctions and babbling prophecy. They each raised Karalonde in their own way, but also together, as a family. They taught her to be shrewd and clever, and never meaner than she had to be. To be tacit when it served her, and to make speeches when- and only when- they were called for. They molded her into an elf that could serve the woods, one of the finest politicians their village would ever see. None of them- not even the babbling prophet- expected that the woods would burn and Kara would find herself trapped in service to the Illidari. They were kind to her, but not coddling. They chose lessons over discipline. If she was going to scrape her knee, she was going to learn how to mend it. If she was going to throw a rock at the boy across the street, she was expected to explain why he deserved it, to their satisfaction. Otherwise, she'd get a lecture on when it's appropriate to throw rocks, and what rocks are the best kind to throw, and where you ought to throw a rock depending on how upset a person makes you. She grew up to be a woman who is very good at throwing rocks.

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? Her ears twitch when she's angry or overstimulated. When she's frustrated, she'll grab an old trinket out of her coat and polish it until it squeaks. She's not an alcoholic, but she's fonder of a cosmopolitan than the average elf.

If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? [KARALONDE - BORN IN TIME IMMEMORIAL - DIED IN BED, BENEATH A DOZEN GOBLINS] She always was too friendly with the waitresses in the Bay.

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? She considers marriage an "Eastern tradition," like worship of the Light, necromancy, and failing to maintain a functioning kingdom. That said, if she was proposed to, she might open up to the idea. Just for the sake of trying something new. As for kids, she's never had one. She was meant to have one- a child intended to be the next leader of her village- but it never came to fruition, due to the woods burning. As things stand, she may end up a godmother for one of her friends. She might like a child of her own, but she's not ready to settle down. Not even after all this time.

What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? She wasn't taken offworld by choice. She wanted to stay in the woods, hold the line, defend her village. She was dragged by the armpits through a portal, to go "fight them where they live." She's been bitter with Illidan and his ilk ever since, and it hurts her every day, to think back on what she was forced to leave behind. To contrast, her very favorite memory involves going to a quiet glade in Duskwood where the green dragons used to stay, and finally being able to touch the waters of a moonwell without them burning her skin. She was in the company of a young druid, who sang and kept her safe while she fretted and protested and doubted aloud until she finally found the courage to try. There was no greater relief than knowing that the mother moon recognized her again, even a little bit.

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? One thing? How big or small scale is this? Like... one article of clothing, or one concept? For the sake of a good answer, I'll choose concept and go with "a home." She hasn't had a place to call home since the woods burned, and she wants one very badly. So badly that she's willing to occupy old elven ruins that've been abandoned and start dressing them up again.

Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? She "doesn't kill things of the good dirt that walk on two legs." This has to be broken down, a bit- "things of the good dirt" means creatures of all kinds who are made out of flesh and blood as a result of living somewhere. By this metric, demons are not things of the good dirt, largely. Many of them are composed of dark magic from the nether in their entirety- or they've been killed and remade so many times that nothing remains of what they once were, when they came up from their "good dirt." Then there's the matter of two legs- if it moves on four, it tends to qualify as prey. She considers herself an old creature of the woods, and as such a creature, she eats what she damn well pleases. These aren't hard rules, however. She'd eat a human or an orc or any such creature if she had to, and feel no moral or ethical dilemma whatsoever- she considers them to be "made of the same meat I am." If it's not a matter of eating or driving back the Legion to protect her home, then she absolutely will not kill. Maim, bludgeon, assault, she'll beat the daylights out of someone who crosses her- but she won't kill them. She, like the Ravens before her, would rather teach a lesson.

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? Kara isn't the life of the party, but she's an active participant. She's belligerent and traditional in a lot of ways, but she likes to laugh and she likes to have a good time, and she's got the good sense not to make a bad situation out of a good one- unless she's really, terribly bothered by something, in which case she'll raise hell. She doesn't belong to any clubs or organizations anymore, but she's casually trying to form some- a township in some abandoned ruins, for example- and she hands out yellow cloaks to match hers, to any lapsed, failed, or rejected Illidari in need.

How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? She has a spectacular imagination, but it's limited by her perspective. Her ideas are fanciful and sometimes brilliant, but they have the same kind of old-fashioned charm that "old sci-fi" has compared to the sci-fi we're used to now. She doesn't worry, but she is prone to fantasizing- and she does do a great deal of living in memories, because she has an eternity of nostalgia to sift through.

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? She wants the war to end. She's tired of having to fight in it, she was never meant to. She doesn't have many compulsive needs, but she does like to fight more than the average elf. By a long shot. She's done sacrificing, though. She'll kick ass and take names all up and down the Legion front, but she's already given up her eyes, her home, her lover, her allegiances, her dignity, her glaives, her traditions, her family, her friends, her neighbors, and every last tree in the woods we now call Felwood. She's Fucking Tired Of Sacrifices And She's Going To Keep And Protect Everything Else That Exists Now, God Damn It.

What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? Bumps into walls. If it's not enchanted, she can't fucking see it. But she's too proud to use a cane or a dog, so she just struggles against the physical world because she needs to insist to herself that she's fine.

What would your character do with a million dollars? She already has a million dollars. She's chosen to live well within her means, do a job that satisfies her, and make meaningful personal connections.

What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? Fridge: Several stolen platters from New Years celebrations. Meat and cheese and vegetable dip trays from several different parties she wandered through. Also, a gallon of milk, a gallon of sweet tea, and a gallon of lemonade.

Bedroom floor: Gigantic heaps of treasure, stolen from everywhere. Rugs, quilts, piles of loose gold and silver trinkets, pottery and riches. It looks like the Cave of Wonders from Aladdin in there.

Nightstand: Flask of spring water from halfway up Hyjal. Gnomish audio recorder featuring a tape with instructions on how to read braille. Three other gnomish audio tapes are nearby, with instructions on how to use the Common alphabet, a recording of some very good guitar played by a pirate in the Bay, and a highly explicit tape, also bought in the Bay, which features very animated readings of a couple "steamy romance novels."

Garbage can: Empty soup cans, spent matches, various wrappers and shreds of wax paper.

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? You can count on somewhere expensive. Kara likes paying extra for something quiet and special and well-crafted, so fine dining suits her. Even if she eats with her hands. She was given a dress over Winter Veil, made of embersilk. It fits, and she likes to wear it out. Odds are, she'll go out with a friend- but if she had a choice, she'd get a celebrity on her arm. She'd love to stir up a controversy by being caught out at dinner with a world leader, like Tyrande or Sylvanas. Especially Sylvanas- she feels like they'd have a lot to talk about, in their long years.

What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? Pick fights. She's an extremely physical woman.

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? S h i t l o a d s. Where do you think? She's been fighting the Legion for goodness knows how long. Longer than most.

What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? "It's only a human. Wheel it off to a priest before it stinks, or eat it."

How does your character react/ accept criticism? ...It takes her a while. A long while. Usually something painful and humbling has to knock some sense into her before she'll accept a new idea.

If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? She fucking loves pineapple on pizza.

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? Poke at it, then put it away. She believes very strongly in the sorcery of the Trolls, and she's not going to test her luck.

Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? She can't draw. She also can't read, or see.

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? I feel like I already answered this one. The Ravens Grey were strange, confusing, but ultimately compassionate old witches whose methods carried both the danger and directness of the old trolls, and the dignity and decorum of the new elves. Kara, as an adult- having gone through so much- still tries to make herself like them. They were good to her. She appreciates how they raised her.

Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? Candy makes her sick. She'd never eat enough to get a rush, she'd vomit. Hates the taste. Even chocolate.

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? She'd embrace it with open arms. She's been waiting to die for a long time, and death simply hasn't come to her. She'd feel relief, in passing away. She'd get her affairs in order as best she could, distribute her wealth, talk to the people she wanted to talk to- Tyrande, Sylvanas, Boss Mida, Alexstrasza, Chromie, Shandris, and Varok Saurfang, in particular- and then call it quits. Take it easy, stay home and close to her loved ones, and just let herself finally die. An eternity is long enough to live. Let someone else handle the next one.

#memes4less #karalonde

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beatnikwerewolf · 7 years

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Chapter 1

Epigraph My mind has changed my body’s frame, but God I like it. -TV On the Radio Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness. -Allen Ginsberg I’ve played the Red River Valley. Sat in the kitchen and cried… We was friends, me and this old man. -Guy Clark Chapter 1 Joanie-17, Tommy-22, Maxie-Dead On this day people excused Joanie’s rudeness, her father had just died. She was rude every day, but today there were extenuating circumstances. No one she was rude to on that day knew that Maxie Lore wasn’t really her father. Or her grandfather. Or any sort of blood relation. He was her guardian, though not a legal one. He was her sire, but that implied the events that led up to Joanie ending up in his care had been intentional. They hadn’t been. Well, not entirely. This complicated relationship was probably one of the causes of Joanie’s persistent rudeness. The other cause was the fact that Joanie had been raised by wolves both literal and figurative. Figurative because Joanie had been raised by Maxie Lore and his foster son Tommy Amaryllis. They lived in a cabin in the woods and saw no reason to change their bachelor ways once they found a girl in their midst. Literal wolves because Maxie and Tommy were both werewolves, as was Joanie. The funeral director didn’t know the gory details of Joanie’s home life, but he did know people tended to fall into set categories when grieving. One group became incredibly polite and reserved. They held a strong belief that as long as they spoke softly and didn’t dicker over the casket price then their dearly departed would look upon them with a smile. Another group wanted to get the departed in the ground as quickly as possible. Belligerence and frequent trips to the hallway to hide tears ruled the day. Because of this the funeral director did not take it personally when a 17 year old girl missing a finger on her right hand and wearing a large men’s tweed blazer lit a hand rolled cigarette in his casket showroom. “Sorry miss, no smoking in here,” the funeral director said, his voice kind but implacable, trick of the trade. The girl nodded, she lifted her foot and stubbed out the cigarette on the sole of her shoe, gently so as to save it for later. She tucked it behind her ear. The shoes also looked like they belonged to a man. Clunky, leather, brogue boots. The funeral director was glad that she hadn’t argued. It marked the first time she hadn’t argued all afternoon. Joanie eyed a simple pine box stained grey to resemble barnwood. “This one,” She said. “How much?” “That one is one thousand dollars,” the funeral director said. “Though I’d be willing to come down on that,” He added hastily when he saw her face darken. He had the feeling if he pushed her too hard she’d just plant the old man in the woods. “How about nine hundred fifty and I’ll include a dirt dispenser and the deluxe program and guest book package?” “How about eight hundred and you keep your dirt dispenser and deluxe package,” Joanie said. “Very well. Eight twenty-five and we’ll call it jake.” The funeral director said. Joanie stuck her hand out and they shook. She nearly crushed his hand, but the funeral director didn’t think it was on purpose. She just didn’t know her own strength. She smiled. The funeral director was pleased. Among the groups of grievers there were those who felt better the more they spent on a funeral. Others felt better if they’d won. He’d finally found the group Joanie belonged to. With the funeral all planned, Joanie climbed into the silver 1987 Dodge pickup that had been Maxie’s and was now hers. She had to slam the door three times before it finally stayed closed. Maxie had told her it had been that way ever since the original door got torn off and had to be replaced. It was still light out, but she’d cut it a bit close. Full moon tonight. She had to be ready. *** Joanie-9, Tommy-14, Maxie-62 It was four o’clock. He figured he’d have enough time to buy some rolling papers and go harass the kid at the record store before he had to head back to his house. He hadn’t eaten since 9am two days before. When he was working he only ate hungry man meals they sold at Martin’s food center. He didn’t know what the kid ate, but he never missed an opportunity to rank Maxie out so he must not be starving. His mouth tasted like cigarettes. The knuckles on his left hand screamed. Too much scribbling and not a single decent page to show for it. He was hungover. Max stopped at the store for provisions. He bought the kid a Dr. Pepper in a glass bottle, he knew it was the kid’s favorite. After the food center he walked across the street to the record store. It was the only source of entertainment in the tiny town of Lorraine. It was empty. Which is why it was the only source of entertainment in Lorraine. The town could barely support the one they had. Roller rinks, revival movie theaters, video game stores, and billiard halls had all fallen in the face of the town’s apathy, indifference, and hereditary alcoholism. There were three bars though and every weekend the hills were alive with the sound of gunfire as the denizens hunted coyotes, deer, and mountain lions, paying little attention to seasons or endangered species lists. “You can’t smoke in here, Max.” The kid behind the counter said as he stacked CD’s on a wire shelf. The kid’s name was Blake. Not the type of kid you took home to mother from the looks of him. Dressed all in black, tattoos, stupid ring in his lip, but perhaps he was the type you should take home. A big teddy bear once you got past all the spikes. “Music and smokes go hand in hand, Blake,” Max said. “I know Belkin makes the rules. And it’s really darling of you to try and enforce them, but the fact remains that-” He cut himself off when he saw the kid’s hangdog expression. That Blake was able to pull off hangdog while wearing eyeliner was quite an accomplishment and Max decided to reward him for it. He put the cigarette out on an anonymous boy band CD, blackening the face of the dead-eyed youngest one. “Come on man!” Blake said. “Just saving someone from a life of mediocrity, kid.” Max said. “Old man’s prerogative.” Max turned to a milk crate full of vinyl. He rifled through it. “You know,” he said. “Maybe you should spend a little less money on that garbage and use it to buy more than two jazz albums. Blake sighed. He’s heard this lecture more than a few times. Their exchange was a well worn groove in his mind, he knew where to chime in even when he wasn’t paying attention. “No one buys jazz, Max.” “I do.” “No, you just come in, look at the same records, complain, and leave,” Blake said. “I already have these.” Max said. “We can put in an order for you. I can grab the catalogue.” “Takes the joy out of the find.” Max slid an LP from its sleeve and examined it. “B-side is scratched.” “Three bucks.” Blake already had his hand out for what came next. “Play it for me?” Blake took the record and soon “All The Things You Are” filled the store. Max smiled and Blake. Blake smiled back. “Gonna buy it Max?” Blake said. “Not today, Max said. “Can’t spare the scratch. But that Charlie Parker is one gone guy don’t you think?” “The gonest,” Blake agreed. Max had shut his eyes to better hear the warbling sax. Now, they shot open. “Say, what time ya got?” Max said. “‘Bout 5:30,” Blake said. “Fuck,” Max muttered. He grabbed his shopping bag, containing the essentials of life i.e. smokes, gin, and hungry man meals, off the floor. He ran out of Belkin’s Records without another word, save for a few low “fucks” as darted to his ancient pickup. He slammed the door three times before he got it to catch. The replacement door just didn’t quite fit. Max’s rusted out silver dodge with one mismatched blue door on the driver’s side burned rubber as he turned onto the tree lined highway. Max eyed the setting sun through the bug studded windshield. Too close, he thought. Way, way too close. He could already feel the change clawing at his guts. He drove down the winding forest road that led out of the town of Lorraine and meandered into the thickly forested outskirts. One side of the road followed the path of the Chusi river, and the other was populated by evergreens. In this area vision was always obscured either by fog in the spring and winter or smoke from distant forest fires in the summer and fall. Max tried to squint through the former. The river roiled and bucked, sending up sprays of icy grey. A sharp cramp wracked his arm and he swerved, nearly clipping a tree. He righted the pickup and continued toward his home deep in the woods. The speedometer edged from a relatively reasonable 70 to upwards of 90. It still wasn’t going to be fast enough. The change was happening now. The change was going to happen at 95 miles per hour down a dirt road if he didn’t pull over quickly. Maxie saw a small path barely wide enough to drive his truck onto. Once he was satisfied his truck couldn’t be seen from the road he locked the doors, rolled up the windows, and killed the ignition along with the headlights. He hadn’t engaged the locks to keep anyone out, they were to keep himself in when the change was complete. Maxie gripped the steering wheel of the Silver Bullet as he called his rig. His grip was so strong that his fingernails managed to leave small crescent holes in the rubber of the steering wheel. A shudder ripped through his body and with something akin to relief he stopped resisting. After letting go the change began immediately. His bones slid out of joint and began to meld into different configurations. Small popping noises accompanied the change. The sounds of bare feet walking through broken glass, when the glass breaks but bloody feet muffle the sharp crack and you’re left with a low painful pop. Max wished he’d remembered to leave the radio on so he wouldn’t have to listen to that terrible sound. Though with his luck he’d end up listening to Freebird for the duration so perhaps it was just as well. In any case his hands were now too malformed to work the ignition or the dial. His fingers curled back on themselves and the skin between his knuckles melted and fused together so he appeared to have five stumps on either hand, like a fleshy paw. The skin on his palms coarsened and blackened until it was the pad of a paw. His nose fused to his upper lip and elongated. His teeth grew into fangs. Color’s grew less saturate as his eyes turned from brown to yellow. His ears drifted to the top of his head and grew pointy. Once his nose had turned into a snout he could pick up the smell of diesel and the subtler scents of butted out cigarettes in the ashtray and the frozen meat from one of the hungry man meals he had purchased not an hour previous. The joints of his knees and elbows dissolved and solidified inverted. His chest pushed forward as his neck receded. He could no longer sit properly in the driver’s seat. He slumped over on his side, his paws dangled off the edge of the bench seat. He felt goosebumps cropping up over his entire body as he grew black fur with a silvery tint. The transformation wasn’t exactly painful, only resisting the change truly hurt. It was more a feeling of quesiness paired with the feeling of cracking his neck too far. The momentary panic. The flash that this time he had broken his own neck. This feeling but all over. All scored by the sinuous popping and cracking. It was dark and the change was complete. Maxie Lore was no more. In his place was a large black and silver wolf trapped in a piece of shit pickup truck. He paced in the cab of the rig. Crawling from the back seat to the front and back again. After he grew bored of that he nosed through his shopping bags. He ripped open a hungry man meal. He tore the cardboard into tiny pieces. His fangs punctured the cellophane. He gingerly licked the frozen salisbury steak. Disgusting. He devoured it. He then worked his way through the beef tips, meat loaf, “fried” chicken, and the Mexican Style Fiesta! Maxie licked some thawed beef gravy off his paw and settled down for a quick snooze. Something rattled a branch outside on the driver’s side. Maxie barked. A racoon bombed out of the tree and skittered away. Maxie lunged at it and smacked into the glass. He snarled. He stood with his paws on the door to get a better look at the fleeing racoon. One of his paws slipped. When he repositioned it, he placed his paw directly on the lock/unlock button. All the locks disengaged. Maxie’s ear twitched at the unexpected sound. Then the driver’s side door creaked open and he jumped out of the truck. The smell of fresh blood overpowered the scent of the racoon. He ran in the direction of the dank coppery smell. *** She sometimes went into the woods when her mommy was being sleepy and weird. The house smelled like nasty smoke and she didn’t like her mommy’s friends. They talked fast and laughed too loud the later it got. She wanted to go to bed but their music thumped and kept her awake. So she would wander into the woods that butted up against their little house with the rusty cars and broken trailers in the yard. There was a creek she liked to sit next to. She’d throw rocks into it. She had a friend, a little boy as hungry and angry as she was. He sometimes came with her to the creek, but he wasn’t around that night. His father sometimes came and worked on cars in her yard and brought him, but not today. Not when it was so cold. She had a little atlas that she’d stolen from the local drugstore. It had an american flag on the cover and pretty pictures amongst the maps. There was a picture of a waterfall that was her favorite. She’d sit by the creek and imagine the water gushing over rocks into a dip below was a sixty foot waterfall instead of a six inch one. She’d look at the maps, not really understanding what they meant, but loving them just the same. It was too dark to look at the maps tonight and her flashlight had run out of batteries. A nice lady who said she was her caseworker had given it to her. Now it was dead. Her mother had said they were going to the movies tonight to make it up to her after what happened, but her mother often said things she didn’t mean. Just because this happened often didn’t make it hurt any less. The creek was close enough to her house that she could still see the fender of an old car that she knew rested up on blocks. Once her mother had found her crawling under it and had smacked her. More scared than angry. Her mother told her it could have fallen on her and squashed her like roadkill. She always kept her distance after that. She didn’t want to see that car today. Not when disappointment made her chest ache and tears hovered near the surface. Not when her mother had told her she’d make it up to her, she’d make it up to her, please don’t tell anyone she’d make it up to her. Not when the burn on the back of her hand was still stinging red. She wandered deeper into the woods. She heard heavy breathing, coming out in great snuffing snorts. She walked toward the sound, her head cocked to the side to listen but staring at her feet. She always stared at her feet when she walked. She’d stepped on still burning cigarettes that people had tossed out into the yard from the porch more times than she cared to remember, so she always watched her feet. She came close to the sound. She looked up. In a tiny clearing was a deer. It laid on its side. A hot trail of blood thawed the snow leading to the deer. There were claw marks on its hindquarters. There was a bite on its neck. She approached the deer. It tossed its antlers at her but didn’t move. She crouched down and kept moving toward it. Hand outstretched. The whites of the deer’s eyes rolled into view as it watched her. She got within touching distance. She stroked its fur with the very tips of her fingers. Its muscles seized. She froze, scared it would jump up and trample her, but not so scared that she ran away. She petted the deer again. This time using her whole hand. She sat like that for several minutes. Then she heard a low growl behind her. She turned and saw yellow eyes. Then she saw black fur tinged silver. Then she saw nothing at all. *** Animals aren’t know for their long memories. They make associations but don’t form actual memories. They only know if they like water or hate the vacuum cleaner and if a certain scent means friend or foe. Humans are better at forming episodic memories. The ones that allow someone to remember the last time they heard a Jerry-Jeff Walker song or road on a four-wheeler with their dad. Tommy was never sure if having a human memory was a good thing or a bad thing. He’d had it both ways, so it left him uniquely qualified to judge, but he never could make up his mind. Tommy’s first memory was from when he was four years old. He was crawling around on the cracked yellow linoleum of the kitchen at his old house. His mom was browning hamburger for chili. Their old cowdog Cap ate from a gigantic pitted aluminum bowl in the back corner of the kitchen. He cracked gigantic kernels of stale meat scented food between his teeth. Tommy stumbled over and sat next to Cap. He played with Cap’s ears. Cap had been there to raise Tommy’s older sister so he was used to this type of good-natured abuse and endured it with a long-suffering resignation. But then, Tommy blew in Cap’s face. He’d done it a thousand times before. Cap had always blinked in consternation then returned to his doggy business. However, Tommy had never done it while Cap was eating. Tommy had the terrible knowledge that when a dog bites your eye you can see down its throat for one moment. Tommy shrieked. His mother clocked Cap in the side of the head with the still sizzling frying pan. Cap yelped and huddled in the corner. He unconsciously licked blood off his chops. His mother turned back to Tommy and screamed. His eyeball laid on his cheek, dangling by the optic nerve. She stuffed Tommy into the front seat of her car, not bothering with the car seat. Tommy held his eye up near the socket with a paper towel. When they got to the emergency room the doctor popped his eye back in like it was nothing. He said they were lucky the dog hadn’t bitten down. He gave Tommy an eyepatch and told him he was a pirate for six weeks. The family gave Cap to a guy Tommy’s dad had used to ride saddle-broncs with. None of them blamed Cap for what happened, not even Tommy eventually, but Tommy was so scared of the dog after that he couldn’t sleep. He kept dreaming about Cap sneaking into his room and eating both his eyes. So they got rid of Cap. Tommy was always scared of dogs after that. He had no problem believing they were descended from wolves. This fear turned out to be a good instinct, but did nothing to save him. When Tommy was ten, four years before Max bit Joanie, he also met Maxie Lore in the woods. Joanie found the family she never would have had. Tommy lost his. The morning Max brought Joan home, Tommy woke up in his cage in Maxie’s shed behind his shake shingle house. The scratches on his face weren’t as bad as they had been in years past. Tommy took this as a small victory. All his victories were small in those dark days. He glanced over and saw Max’s cage was empty. The old man had never made it home. He’d been running free during the change. Tommy’s stomach curdled. Tommy stretched his arm through the bars of the cage and grabbed the key to the fat padlock that held the cage closed. He popped the lock open and stepped out of the cage. For a few minutes he paced the shed, waiting for Maxie to come back, praying nothing terrible had happened. When Max didn’t return Tommy pulled on jeans over his basketball shorts and put on his duck boots. He’d left his shirt in the house, but his carhartt jacket laid on the floor. He pulled it on and stepped out into winter morning air. He blew vapor into the air and eyed the sunlight filtering through the trees. He thought it was eight or nine in the morning. He entered the house and stepped into the mint green bathroom to see to his scratches. The scratches were numerous but they weren’t deep. He dabbed them with a twisted tube of neosporin. No stitches or butterflies needed. They would be healed up in a week. He examined where a new scratch crossed a scar from three years previous. Maxie told him he was lucky he didn’t lose the eye. Tommy told him he didn’t know shit about losing eyes. Maxie also told him he’d eventually stop hurting himself during the change. He’d gone through a similar period in the early 50’s, but it got better. Usually cooking relaxed Tommy, but Max still wasn’t back and the sound of crackling bacon wasn’t taking any of the tension out of his shoulders. He made a deal with himself, if Max wasn’t back by the time he finished eating, he’d track him down. This deal lasted about thirty seconds. Tommy’s capacity for self-delusion was incredibly low and he was certain Maxie had fucked something up and he couldn’t waste any more time. He turned off the burner and pulled on his coat. The doorknob turned just as he was about to grab it. Tommy stepped back. Max opened the door. He had a little girl in his arms. She was unconscious, her head lolled on Max’s shoulder. She was covered in blood, there was a bite mark on her shoulder. Expletives and accusations flew through Tommy’s mind. They all sounded like cliches. Maxie dismissed cliche. When Tommy spoke he didn’t want to be dismissed. Max carried the little girl past Tommy into the living room and laid her gently on the couch. He brushed a piece of hair out of her mouth. Tommy watched from the kitchen. Maxie turned and looked at him. Tommy’s face curled into a mask of hatred. Max suspected that this face was how Tommy felt at all times and his generally neutral demeanor was the true mask. Today he had not bothered to put on his mask. Tommy spoke low and slow, as to ensure his pubescent voice didn’t crack and betray the gravity of the situation. It quavered a bit anyway. “God. Damn. You.” Tommy walked to the bathroom and got his first-aid kit. He’d foolishly thought he wouldn’t need it today. He knelt beside the girl. Her coat wasn’t thick enough for the cold outside. Her purple snow boots had holes in the soles. He moved her shoulder to get a better look at the bite mark. Something creaked and cracked, bones ground together. “You broke her collarbone.” Tommy said. Max wetted a dishrag under the faucet and handed it to Tommy. Tommy wiped blood off her face and neck, revealing rended flesh underneath. “These claw marks will scar.” Tommy examined her little hands. “I think she’ll lose this finger and…” He trailed off. He’d wiped more blood from her arms and saw little circular scars. Cigarette burns. Some old, some waxy and new. Tommy swabbed the girl’s wounds with hydrogen peroxide. He sucked air through his teeth with sympathetic pain as it fizzed. He was thankful she was unconscious so she wouldn’t feel the sting. “Take her to the hospital,” Tommy said. “Then call DHS.” Maxie knelt beside Tommy. He touched one of the girl’s scars. “Tell them you found her in the woods. She’d been attacked by an animal.” “The Oregon system is terrible,” Maxie said. “They’ll send her back to them.” “Not right away,” Tommy said. “She needs a hospital.” “When she changes it will heal,” Maxie said. “But it won’t heal right,” Tommy said, his voice going fierce. Maxie ignored the scars on Tommy’s face and his own fingers, crooked from years of breaks, “It never heals right,” Tommy said.

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