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consumedkings-archive · 4 years

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ancient names, pt. ix

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt ix: heartlines

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.3k (yes I am a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance.

Notes: I have nothing to say for myself, except: thank you thank you thank you! Everyone's comments really just got me through the real brunt of this chapter and it's a long one, oh boy. I cannot reiterate enough how much the hopeless romantic in me desperately wants them to just live happily ever after, and also how MUCH it really means to me to see your guys' feedback, but alas alack, here we are; I, with my long-winded author's notes saying the same thing every time, but I am just as grateful each time it happens.

As always, I have the best, sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful and wonderful proof-reader but most importantly friend who helped me block out this chapter because I was really, really struggling with it. @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife, she is Elliot's number one stan and also an incredible writer so please go check out her stuff!!

On a brief tangent, I have some beautiful artwork made the artist @raviollies on tumblr, which you can find here! I definitely did cry a little tiny bit over it.

It’s your fucking fault.

Elliot’s words, venomous little baby snakes spitting their venom, crawled around the bone arena of his skull. John could not stop replaying them in his head, even though he desperately wanted to; the idea that the rookie deputy might now well and truly hate him—really hate him, more than she maybe ever had before—was an unsettling one. He liked to think that it was because he was worried what Joseph would think if they no longer had her cooperation, her good behavior, but—

But there was something else that dug at him. There was something else squirming in the cavity of his chest, sinking its nails right into him, but he couldn’t pick it out, couldn’t pull it apart.

(Or maybe he didn’t want to; maybe the idea of identifying what this strange and unknowable beast inside of him was kept him from trying too hard, a good enough reason to throw up his hands and say, sorry, I just can’t.)

He pushed the door to the church open, stepping back inside to the cool, dim quiet. Jacob had pulled a map out and spread it over the table, the radio set aside; Joseph sat in a front-row pew, one leg crossed over his knee and his expression mild.

“Did you get the opportunity to chat?” he asked, without looking at John, as though he just knew that it was him and not someone else coming in. “She seemed…” Joseph’s head tilted, just a little. “... Unseated.”

John hesitated, and then began walking down the aisle. “Yes,” he replied. “Although, I don’t know if chat is the proper word for it, considering that she all but put her teeth in my neck.”

“I thought you liked that kind of thing?” Jacob supplied without a hint of a humorous inflection in his voice, and John shot him a dirty look.

“Bleeding out to death? Not particularly.”

Joseph nodded, the gesture gentle, ignoring the bickering. “It does appear as though our deputy is not a damsel in distress, but rather a damsel under duress.” He turned to look at the youngest Seed brother when he reached the front of the church. “But it is nice to see the foundation you’ve put down, John. You’re taking my advice, and it isn’t going unnoticed.”

He felt something pleasant and warm bloom in his chest, billowing up into his head until it almost completely gassed out the venomous little vipers Elliot had planted in his mind. “I did have an idea about that,” he added, feeling more emboldened by Joseph’s praise as he walked past the table. “About endearing the deputy to us.”

“Oh? Well, I’m all ears.”

John’s gaze flickered across the space between his two brothers. Jacob had said nothing; he was bent over the map, dog tags glinting in the single beam of light that hit them from the window, one veiny hand clenched into a fist as it held the map in place.

“Maybe,” John continued, “our dear brother could try to stop antagonizing her.”

“Why?” the red-headed deadpanned, not looking up from the map. The fact that Jacob didn’t even deign to make eye-contact with him was enough to make irritation prickle in his chest, raise his proverbial hackles.

“Why?” John reiterated. “Perhaps because each time you open your mouth, you incriminate yourself as a villain—and us too, by proxy.”

“You can drop the attorney lingo,” Jacob said dryly, finally lifting his head to look at John—and John wished that he hadn’t, because the half-lidded, arrogant gaze of his eldest brother only served to stoke the fires of anger inside of him.

“It’s just my vocabulary, Jacob, and you missed the entire point, by the way, so in the interest of making sure we’re all on the same page—”

“—not an idiot, little brother, so you don’t need to—”

“I think John is right,” Joseph interrupted, effectively silencing the argument that was brewing. “He’s done exactly as I asked of him. Think of a stray dog, Jacob; you don’t beat it into submission. You feed it, nurture it, gain its trust, and then it becomes a lifelong companion.” The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “A loyal companion.”

“This is an age-old philosophical debate.” Jacob’s brows furrowed together; a deep-set frown sat on his face. “A classic: is it better to be feared than to be loved? I think that we’re going to disagree fundamentally on this one.”

“Well,” Joseph replied mildly, “aren’t we lucky that there’s only one of us in charge of how our deputy is treated, then?”

John’s breath flickered out of his chest in a single blink at Joseph’s words. Casual and ever-so-patient, as though Jacob’s jaw weren’t setting in preparation to argue, as though it didn’t strike John right in his gut to hear Joseph say, there’s only one of us in charge of how our deputy is treated, as though it didn’t twist the knife right between his ribs to hear Joseph refer to Elliot as their deputy, over and over again.

A stamp. A brand. Joseph claimed, like he always did, the things that he thought rightfully belonged to him.

“Someone’s lucky,” Jacob said at last, a final and reluctant acquiescence.

Joseph’s small smile did not disappear. In fact, it seemed only to root itself more firmly on his face, as though he were pleased at Jacob’s unease. Joseph’s gaze flickered back to John, settling on him and then beckoning him forward.

He did as Joseph bid, coming and sitting beside his older brother and clearing his throat. He wanted to stop thinking about the way that Joseph had said our deputy, like he had any claim on Elliot—and that shouldn’t have bothered John, but it did, wriggled its way through the spaces between his ribs and squeezed, nice and tight.

“She was upset,” Joseph said, when John had settled next to him; it was not a question, but a statement, an assertion of what Joseph knew to be true. Their eldest brother scoffed from his spot at the table, bent back over the map, tracing and re-tracing the topography lines. John shifted in his seat a little.

“I think Jacob might have ruined any chance at a merciful conversion when he mentioned that her friends would deserve it if they didn’t make it out.” John’s voice was hard when he shot the red-head a stinging look, but unsatisfyingly, Jacob did not lift his head this time. John felt the strain of his brows furrowing at the center of his head, and then Joseph’s hand was on the side of his face, fingers spreading against his hair, primed and comfortable to grip.

“Grief,” Joseph said, his voice low and soothing, “is a part of change. Like shedding a skin.”

“It’s not—she was furious with me,” John replied, grimacing. “She just kept saying she hated me, and us. Joseph, I think—it would be beneficial to let me do things my way—”

“Our deputy is killing the person she used to be, John.” Joseph’s gaze was steady, piercing, a venomous yellow. His other hand came to the right side of John’s face, cradling him. “Strangling her old self, with her own hands. People like us, we’re lucky; we’ve always known who we were meant to be.” He leaned against the wooden backing of the pew again. “You’ve guided her here. Give her a while to grieve that girl from before. Patience is a virtue.”

John’s throat felt tight. He thought the Elliot in the bar those years ago—flushing and soft, breathless when he leaned into her—and the Elliot threatening to choke a man to death in front of him if he didn’t beg for his life, and the Elliot who played baseball with a shovel and a man’s head, and the Elliot that smoked a cigarette down to nothing while she cranked Welcome To The Jungle up on a van stolen from a group of crazy Swedish cultists.

He was not convinced she had not already killed the girl she used to be.

“You have got to have faith.” Joseph’s voice broke him out of his reverie. When John looked over to his brother, Joseph was absently dragging his thumb along his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the Eden’s Gate emblem glowing above them in the afternoon light. “Remember what I said; you have to love them. I know you can do this for me.”

His throat felt tight. This would be easier, he thought, if he could have just done everything this way. Wrath, he thought, would look perfect on her. But that wasn’t right; wrath already fit her. There was no skin to be shed. It was already on.

“John.”

He dragged his gaze from the white collar of Joseph’s shirt to his brother’s gaze, meeting it.

“Tell me you can do this,” Joseph said, his voice lower now, softer. It was not his counseling voice; this was Joseph asking him, his brother, not the man who led the masses. Asking, demanding, but waiting patiently for it to be given, never taking before it was time.

He was no longer thinking about Elliot at her fiercest, but rather the way she had softened for him, on occasion. Pressed against him for warmth, lashes wet with tears, unwilling to let go of his arm.

“I can,” John replied, “for you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot didn’t know for how long she slept. When she woke, the sun was still in the sky, the air felt sticky and wet with late-summer humidity, and while she slept sweat had gathered at the nape of her neck and in the hollows and dips of her body. For a second, panic filled her—she couldn’t remember where she was, or how she got there, confusion twisting and knotting its way through her.

And then she remembered. She was in Joseph’s compound, in a bunkhouse that served as a home to Eden’s Gate members, dressed in Eden’s Gate clothes sans her boots and underclothes. Elliot wiped the sweat from her forehead and pulled her hair out of the ponytail. Standing proved dizzying, and she felt the dehydration twisting around in her stomach like a scorpion; stinging, and unkind.

“Fuck,” she said, pressing the heel of her palm to her eye. The gesture reminded her that she had done it just recently; just before she screamed at John, just before she told him that she hated him. Oh, yes. That.

Grief still squirmed around inside of her, but it had been abated, for now, and she thought that she almost—

“No.” Elliot’s voice was firm, but still wobbled on its legs, when she spoke to herself. “I don’t feel bad about what I said.”

“Good to know.” It was John’s voice from the doorway, bringing with him a hot breeze that should have felt good being that they were on an island, but it just added to the humidity. Elliot’s stomach twisted violently at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t anger that populated her mind, now, but embarrassment: that she’d let him get under her skin, that she’d let him see her without her veneer, that he’d been there and endured it and now he stood here again, undeterred, as though John Seed were someone with a moral high ground that allowed him to endure verbal attacks and return as though nothing had happened.

I hate you. Elliot willed the words to her mouth, tried to muster the venom, but she couldn’t. She fixed her eyes instead on the knot of a wooden floor panel, trying to ignore the sight of John moving in the corner of her eyes, closing the space between them. He did this, always—invaded her space, overwhelmed her, until saying things like I hate you became harder.

He smelled like sweat, and day-old cologne, and heat and dust and outside, and when he put his hand on her arm she opened her mouth to say something—anything, any of the venom that might come to her in the heat-addled and perspiring confusion—but he put a cold water bottle, slick with condensation, in her hand.

Her eyes went to find the bloodstain on his shirt when she realized that he wasn’t wearing that shirt anymore. He was in a white shirt, the same kind that Joseph wore.

“Drink,” he said. “I promise it isn’t poisoned.”

Elliot turned the cap of the bottle. It cracked, promising that the seal was freshly broken, and she brought it to her mouth and took one heavy swig before she pulled it away. Her nerve-endings immediately screamed in relief at the water in her mouth, but her stomach lurched—she knew she’d need to pace herself, or she’d be puking it up in a few minutes.

“Did you sleep?” John asked when she didn’t say anything. Elliot sucked her teeth.

“I don’t think we should play at being friends,” she said, her voice wicked with a dry, crackling, wildfire-in-the-making heat. John’s gaze was steady, though, once again unfettered by her words and remaining in her space. She was more aware of it than ever, now: as though resting, and having basic necessities like shower and drinking water also made her all the more aware of John’s presence, the heat radiating off of his body and the way he was watching her—

(like he couldn’t get enough of her)

—like he wanted to make sure that nothing she did escaped him.

“We’re not playing at being friends, deputy,” John drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking back on his heels a bit as he looked at her. “Whether you like it or not, you and I are on the same side.”

“For now,” Elliot bit out.

“For now,” he acquiesced, as gracious as ever.

Her eyes narrowed. John was not the kind of person who forgave and forgot the sorts of things that she’d said to him. Elliot felt the suspicion rising up in her throat. She kept waiting for the punchline; for John to say something stupid like, and when this is over you’ll be begging for me to absolve your sins, or something equally driven by ego and his desire to have Joseph’s approval.

“So,” John began again, arms unfolding elegantly to be held out in a gesture of harmlessness, “did you sleep?”

Elliot took another swallow of her water bottle, stepping around John. Her body instantly braced itself—as though she expected him to try and stop her—but he didn’t; merely turned with her, a planet trapped in her orbit.

“Briefly.” She kept her voice short and clipped as she headed towards the door. “Are your friends back?”

“Jacob’s ready whenever you are.”

Her face scrunched up at the mention of the eldest Seed brother. She was now unsure which of them was the most unpleasant to be around; they all found their own special ways to get under her skin. John, perhaps, was the worst; Joseph and Jacob, she could handle their particular brand of crazy, but John—he was harder for her to read, because all of the time spent with him had started to cloud her brain.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she demanded, turning suddenly to find that he’d crossed the bunkhouse again, as though to follow her outside. Because she hadn’t quite gone out, yet, he now stood nearly nose to nose with her, even with her back pressed against the door of the bunkhouse.

John’s gaze swept over her. “Does it bother you?”

The plastic of the water bottle crunched in her hand. Her jaw set, painfully tight, holding back her gut reaction—to tell him that yes, it did bother her—and instead swallowed thickly. It would be just like John, to go out of his way to be nice to her because he thought it would unsettle her. But then, wasn’t John all about bending and cracking someone to his will, no gentleness required?

A headache splintered behind her eyes, throbbing painfully. She was spending too much time trying to parse John Seed out, and that was her first mistake.

“I’m just surprised you know how,” Elliot snipped, watching the way her words ticked the corner of his mouth upward in that easy, boyish smile.

“I can be nice,” John offered, “if someone isn’t spitting venom at me nonstop, calling me pathetic.”

“Fucking pathetic,” she pointed out, ignoring the way John’s eyes flickered down to her mouth and then back up to meet her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that—”

“—no need to apologize after the fact, deputy—”

“—because I know how sensitive you are,” Elliot finished, wiping the smile off of John’s face, “and since we’re on the same side, I suppose I can’t afford to have you down and out.”

John’s eyes narrowed. His hand found the doorknob, and he was very close, so close all of a sudden that for a brief moment Elliot’s brain short-circuited and all she could think about was how unjust it was that a man so deserving of her venom could make cologne smell so good.

And then he said, “No, I suppose you can’t,” and opened the door behind her, the heat of the afternoon sun sunk into her skin, sticky and hot. “I work best when my partner isn’t trying to fight me the entire time.”

She turned and stepped out of the bunkhouse, clutching the water bottle in her fist and putting as much distance between herself and John as she said, “And I work the best if you stay the fuck out of my way, John.”

No more, she thought, decisively, no more of that.

Images of Eden’s Gate members scattered in her periphery; they were eager to look, but not eager to be seen, so that when she turned her head to find them they were already disappearing behind a corner or into a building. The heat was no more bearable if she was moving, either, the sun high in the sky and threatening to burn any exposed skin.

John fell into step beside her, his hand landing on the doorknob to the church before she could open it, holding it closed while she stopped on the landing.

“Jacob likes when he gets under your skin,” he said to her, the words sounding a little different than before. “He might say whatever he can to rile you up, and make you look unreliable to Joseph.”

Elliot hesitated. She didn’t know why John was giving her this information; not only because she already knew that—because of course Jacob enjoyed pushing her—but she didn’t understand why John was trying to be helpful. It was always going to be the Seed brothers against her, wasn’t it?

She thought of the way they had been bickering, the two brothers, while she tried to gather herself after her call with Jerome. She wished she’d been paying attention so that she could know what it was they had been arguing about.

John waited expectantly. He said, “You want to get Joey out of there, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Her brows furrowed. “What kind of—”

“And I want Faith out of there, with as little risk as possible,” he plunged on, keeping the door in place, “so we can’t get outvoted in there. Joseph does take you seriously, though who can imagine why—”

“If you’re trying to convince me we’re actually partners,” Elliot deadpanned, “you’re doing a shit job of it.”

“All I’m saying,” John continued irritably, “is that if we present a unified front in there, we have a better chance of us both getting what we want.”

Elliot didn’t want to admit that he was right. The last thing she ever wanted to do was tell John Seed that he was right about something. But if she had to weigh her options, she’d rather tell John he was right than do whatever the fuck it was that Jacob and Joseph wanted her to do. One Seed brother she could handle.

So, she relented, “Fine.”

John stuck out his free hand to her, grinning. “Shake on it, partner?”

Elliot groaned and swatted his hand away. “Don’t push it, buck,” she replied, pushing the door open—and this time, John let her, trailing in after her. Jacob and Joseph were in their spots at the front of the chapel, waiting ever-so-patiently. She reminded herself of what John had confirmed; that Jacob liked to see her on the brink of a meltdown, that he was a pusher.

It did not escape her that John had not offered any insight into Joseph.

“Have a nice nap?” Jacob asked as she came up to the table with the map.

“Funny, John asked me the same thing.” Elliot kept her voice even and took a drink of her water before she started tying her hair back into a ponytail. “So, where are they? Where are Joey and Faith?”

“South of here, the faithful say,” Joseph said before Jacob could speak again. “At Sacred Skies Lake. Just past Angel’s Peak. It sounds like they don’t go by any name, and just call themselves a family.”

“And do the faithful say what they’ve been doing?” she asked tartly. She had an idea of where they had made their home; probably at the abandoned youth camp, though as far as she last remembered that had been occupied by Joseph’s own.

Well, probably not for very long. There was no way Joseph’s little rednecks could hold up to the precision that these crazies had.

“Living,” Jacob replied, his gaze hard and his jaw set. “They’re not doing anything. They’re just—there. Like they’re waiting for something.”

Elliot’s stomach plummeted at Jacob’s words. There was no way he could have known, surely; she hadn’t told John, and she hadn’t said anything to them in the car, about the way Ase had cradled her face, and called her mor, and had said, I know that you will always come back to us.

Fuck. There’s no fucking way.

But there was. If Ase didn’t have absolute confidence that Elliot would seek them out, why would she have let them go? Why would they have been mostly unscathed? They were playing with their food—a sick, drawn-out catch-and-release.

The brothers had started speaking again. The aqua curve of Sacred Skies on the map burned into her retinas the longer she stared at it without blinking.

“Waiting for me,” Elliot mustered up after a moment, her mouth feeling very dry. “They’re waiting for me.”

Three pairs of eyes fixed on her, all with the same uncanny precision. There was no time for it to bother her; her stomach was already rolling with nausea.

And then Jacob barked out, “Explain,” and she thought she might punch him in the face if he didn’t shut up. Elliot took in a deep breath, mustering all of the composure she could manage, and focused herself on the map.

“When John and I got—when we had our run-in with the family,” she began, “we were separated, and—they drugged me, with something. But their leader, Ase, she was there for a little while—”

“What?” John demanded. So much for presenting a unified front, she thought ruefully. She shot him a look, willing him to be quiet, to just let her gather her thoughts; blissfully, he did.

“She kept calling me something in Swedish,” Elliot explained, “and she kept saying all of this weird stuff, like—like that she saw my color, that she saw me, and then…”

The Seeds all stared at her, waiting expectantly. Even Jacob remained silent.

“And then she said something like… Like that she was going to let me go, but only because she knew I was always going to come back to her.”

A moment of silence stretched in front of her, endless and dizzying, where no one in the room said anything and all Elliot could think about were all the things that Ase had said.

And then, as though these words had almost no impact on him, Jacob said, “Well, at least we have proper bait.”

“Absolutely not,” John cut in immediately, angrily. “You’re not putting Elliot out there to try and lure them here—”

“—they want her, I don’t see why we wouldn’t—”

“Brothers,” Joseph interrupted, his voice effectively bringing both John and Jacob to heel. Like before, he stood directly across from Elliot; her gaze was fixed on him now, tumbling Ase’s words around in her head while the Seeds argued about whether or not she was shark bait or not. “What do you think, deputy?”

The words were gentle. Elliot knew what they were; certainly, Joseph knew how long it had been since someone had asked her opinion, rather than her having to fight tooth and nail for someone even to consider it.

“I think—we could get Ase to come out of the youth camp, which is probably where they’re holed up,” she said after a moment, willing the charm of Joseph’s attentiveness away. Her gaze slid to John for a moment. “If we used me as bait.”

“Are you serious?” John demanded. He took her arm in his hand, pulling her from the table and hissing, “When I said present a unified front—”

“If we’re partners, you have to trust me,” Elliot insisted tersely. His expression hardened. A part of her hoped that he regretted suggesting they be anything remotely close to on the same team, and a part of her was glad that he had, or he wouldn’t look like the words you’re right were sitting right on his tongue.

Finally, at last, he said, “Fine.”

Elliot turned back to Jacob and Joseph, with the brunette’s hand still on her arm, and asked, “Are you any good with a sniper rifle?”

“The best.” Jacob’s voice was clipped, insistent. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“So if I can get Ase out to meet me,” she continued, “can you not shoot me?”

His eyes narrowed, but there was a tiny, tiny smile pulling at his lips. “Scout’s honor.”

John exhaled a sharp, short breath. “This is ridiculous—”

But before he could plunge onward, Joseph held up his hand to stop him. He turned his gaze to her, now, studying her for a few long heartbeats before he said, “Do you think they won’t kill Faith if we kill their leader?”

Elliot shrugged his hand off of her arm and walked back to the table, setting her water bottle on the table and crossing her arms over her chest. “I think like any snake,” she replied, “the body won’t function if you cut the head off.”

“At any rate,” Jacob interjected, “push comes to shove and you can get in without a firefight to get Faith out of there.”

“And Joey,” Elliot replied firmly, and stifled down the absolute fury when Jacob shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

“We’ll start making the preparations immediately.” Joseph sounded pleased. It took everything in her power not to say something just spite that, to remember that even though she didn’t want to be, she supposed that she was on their side, too.

Jacob gathered up the map from the table and immediately set off after Joseph, who had stepped down from the small stage and gone to the side door. Elliot picked up her water bottle and took one more heavy drink to finish it off before she turned and looked at John.

His brows knitted together at the center of his forehead. He looked troubled. It was not an expression that she was used to seeing on John Seed’s face; it might have been endearing, if she didn’t know that he was troubled by her, and not in the fun way.

“Spit it out, then,” Elliot prompted. John heaved a loud, impatient sigh.

“This is a stupid idea,” John said abruptly, angrily. It was a change of pace from the cocky asshole he normally liked to be. “There’s no way that they know they aren’t waiting for you to show up so they can skin and gut you, and—”

She waited, patiently, for him to get the words out. Whatever they were, they stuck in his throat.

“—and what use would you be then?” he finished, his lip curling up in clear distaste. Ah, there he is, Elliot thought absently. Almost thought I’d lost you, John.

“Don’t worry,” she said lightly. When she had capped her water bottle again, she headed to the back of the church. It feels good, she thought, pushing on the door, to have a plan again. “I’ll far outlive my use to you, Seed.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The plan was simple.

Elliot was going to walk herself—unarmed, much to her personal chagrin—out to the Sacred Skies Youth Camp, once they dropped her off. Jacob would already be in a position where he could get a good look at what was going on, and when he got a clear shot at Ase, he was going to take it.

And they were banking on the woman coming out to get Elliot herself, based on what Elliot had told them. John was not convinced, but he had been overruled; it was no longer his choice, and instead of going in and being on the same team as Elliot, he had found himself on the opposite of the playing board from all three of them—his brothers and the deputy.

Not ideal.

But now, as John parked the truck at the bottom of the hill leading up to the youth camp, all he could feel was dread knotting his stomach. The plan was supposed to be simple, but John remained unconvinced that it would be executed as easily as everyone seemed to think it would.

Elliot seemed in perfect spirits; she’d eaten a handful of granola bars, finished off two other water bottles, and her coughing had become less frequent. Not once had he seen her reach for a cigarette, either. It was like the second she had an actionable plan, she no longer stressed: there was nothing for her to worry about, beyond getting the job done.

John met her gaze through the rearview mirror. “You’re sure?” he prompted, and ignored the way Joseph’s head gently cocked to the side. Elliot flashed him a smile.

“Just focus on making sure Jacob doesn’t shoot me in the head,” she replied, “okay? And I’ll focus on getting Joey and Faith out of there.”

Joseph said, lightly, “That’s all we could ever hope for, deputy,” and when he did Elliot shot John a look through the mirror, a look that said, can you fucking believe this guy? And for one, brief second it felt like they shared a joke only between the two of them.

Then she pushed the back door of the truck open and kicked her legs out, landing on the dirt road with a soft thump. The blonde closed the truck door and then came up to John’s window, which had been rolled down, and said, “You’re sure you don’t want to give me a weapon?”

It would blow the whole fucking thing if they caught her with a gun or a knife, Jacob had said; if by some strange happenstance he didn’t snipe the shit out of the crazy fucking Swedish woman, and Elliot wound up getting dragged into the belly of the beast, having a weapon on her would out her immediately. They would know that she hadn’t come willingly, but that she had come with the intent to harm.

At least in the instance that they somehow avoided Jacob, she could lie her way out of it. Maybe.

“I have absolute faith,” John said, mimicking Joseph’s veneer of confidence, “that you can make a weapon out of just about anything if you need to.” She patted the side of the truck and took one centering breath, but before she could set off up the hill John said, “Elliot—”

The blonde turned back around to look at him, life and vigor back in her face and one brow arched loftily at him.

Be careful, he thought to say, the words sticking in his throat. That’s what he should have been saying, if they were actually partners—even fake partners, even tenuous partners, partners-by-proxy because John insisted for the sake of feeling like he had some control over the situation and Elliot because there was no one better that she had the chance to pick. Not exactly setting the bar very high, were they?

“Any day now, John.” Elliot’s voice snapped his attention back to reality. She was waiting expectantly, but there wasn’t impatience in her voice; she was content, at last, to have motion. He cleared his throat.

“Don’t start going yet,” he said, instead of the things he thought would matter, like, don’t forget to breathe. “Give Joseph and I a chance to get up to where Jacob is.”

She gave him a two-finger salute, wisps of hair fluttering into her face from a late-afternoon breeze. “Yes, boss.”

John threw the truck into reverse, pulling back and then into a u-turn to head off down the road. The car was silent for a moment, blissfully, with the golden-hour light drenching the two of them in a warm glow. If he didn’t know what was going on just out of reach, he might have felt like he was transplanted into a different time and place entirely.

“You don’t need to worry about her, John,” Joseph said lightly.

“I’m not,” John replied, pulling the truck off of the road. Dry brush crunched and snapped beneath the weight of the tires. “She’s perfectly capable of handling herself with three granola bars in her system and healthy bout pneumonia.”

“You sound frustrated.”

“I just think that maybe we could have picked someone that’s not—” John inhaled. He parked the truck deep into a grove; to the right of them, a small trail would lead up to where Jacob waited with his perfect vantage point to see Ase come out and collect Elliot. “—Sick,” he finished, after a moment, “and not such a wildcard. You know she tried to kill one of the guards when I had her at the ranch? She was going to choke him to death, right then and there. For—touching her, or something.”

Joseph looked unaffected as he stepped out of the truck. “I’m unsurprised, if that’s what you’re looking for.” And he paused, looking thoughtful for a moment, before he said, "Touching her, you said?"

John ignored the question. “Well, then maybe that should speak to the level of reliability Elliot displays.”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of a positively-reinforced bond.” As Joseph spoke, John fell into step beside him, climbing up the slope. Behind them, he heard the distant sound of voices; the members of Eden’s Gate that weren’t holed up would be waiting for Jacob’s signal to swarm, if things looked grim. “Didn’t she say she hated you, and us? And yet today, here she is. In a good mood, no longer frothing at the mouth, rabid and dangerous.”

“She’s still dangerous,” John started, but Joseph stopped him by pressing his hands to his shoulders.

“You’ve done exactly as I asked,” he said, a mirror of the words he’d said before. “Remember? You haven’t beaten your stray into submission. This—” Joseph gestured with his hand in the general direction of where they had dropped Elliot off. “—is all only possible because of the work that you have put in, John. And when we bring Faith home, and return to our followers, that is what they’ll remember. Not the person the deputy used to be.”

John’s felt something hot and painful twist in his chest, prickling pain squirming up his spinal cord. He should have been pleased to hear Joseph refer to Elliot as something that belonged to them and instead was giving him some ownership—but he realized too late that it wasn’t what he had been wanting from his brother. This wasn’t what he wanted from Elliot.

He swallowed and said, thickly, “Yes, Joseph.”

“Good boy.” Joseph held him in a tight hug, the pressure of the gesture relieving some of the stress in his shoulders like muscle memory pulling it right out of him, and then he pulled back. “Now, let’s go and get our sister back, yes?”

His brother stepped up the last stretch of the slope, and he followed obediently behind. Jacob was perched carefully, eyeing the scope and muttering to himself; as John crouched beside him, and Joseph on the other side, the redhead breathed out a little swear.

“Stupid piece of shit,” he sighed. “Remind me to get these upgraded next chance we get.”

“What’s wrong?” John asked, already on edge.

“Nothing’s wrong—the gun’s perfectly functional, it’s just not as stealthy as a rifle should be,” Jacob explained. “It’s got a red dot sight on it.”

John’s eyes narrowed, his teeth clenching. “So they’ll see it the second you get it on that woman.”

“They might,” Jacob protested, “I’ll just have to be fast.”

“Where’s your rifle?”

“It’s back at the center,” his brother snapped. “I didn't have the opportunity to grab it before I went on a wild hunt for you across the Montana countryside. Anything else I can help you with today, little brother?”

“There’s no time for arguing,” Joseph interjected, sounding almost tired now. “Quiet, now.”

From their vantage point, they had a clear view of Elliot. The blonde was yelling something to garner attention, to lure people out, and there was some movement through the trees that blocked off the camp up the road. He could see her start to walk farther up, and then stop, hesitating.

“Someone’s coming,” Jacob said, peering carefully through the scope.

Tentative bodies drifted down the road, breaking the treeline: though John could not see Ase’s strange, lithe form anywhere among them, he could hear what he thought was certainly her voice, saying something to Elliot, who had her hands up carefully to show that she was weapon-free as best she could.

The movement that he thought might be the Swedish woman stopped just before the treeline. Come on, John thought, taking in a breath, come on, you fucking bitch, come out here.

It was someone else that stepped forward from the protection of the tree line. It was Ase’s man, the tall, broad-shouldered ginger, though he too looked unarmed. John tried not to think about how easily he had nearly disposed of them with only his hands, last time.

The man made it to Elliot, gesturing for her to come forward, to close the last foot of distance between them herself; she did as he bid, straying to her right, feigning innocence. John knew what she was doing: leaving room for Jacob to make a shot.

“That’s not her,” John hissed.

“Yes, I’m not fucking blind.” Jacob’s voice was sharp but steady. “She’s leaning for me. Who is he?”

“Her—right-hand man, or something. I don’t think you should take...”

John’s voice trailed off. The man had stopped Elliot, snagging her wrist—which looked tiny in his hand—and said something to her that did not look pleasant.

“I think I should,” Jacob muttered, shifting the rifle.

“Jacob—” John began, sensing the way his eldest brother’s muscles tensed, ready.

Elliot was saying something to him. She paused, just briefly, and John saw her head tilt down; she saw it, first, and then the ginger looked down at his chest just as Jacob was lining up his shot.

The incriminating red dot gave it away. The man’s head shot up and locked on them instantly, and before Jacob could pull the trigger, he’d twisted Elliot around and pulled her right against his chest, his hand gripping the pillar of her throat.

John’s stomach plummeted. He heard, as though in a last-ditch effort, Elliot shout his name: and he didn’t know if it was because she wanted help or if she wanted someone to take the shot anyway. He didn’t know if either of those options was more comforting than the other.

The man had shifted her so that the red dot now lay directly over her chest, pinning her, and Jacob did not pull away from the scope. Even from this distance, John could see the wicked grin splitting across his expression.

“Do not fucking shoot,” John hissed, “Jacob—do not fucking shoot—”

For sure, now, he heard her voice. "John," she said, desperately, his name choked in her throat by the grip of the Swedish man bruising her skin.

“There’s a good chance it would hit him and kill him,” Jacob insisted, his finger hovering over the trigger. “They’re goading us. This is the perfect opportunity to—”

“You fuck,” John seethed. “Joseph, tell him not to shoot!”

Joseph was silent, his jaw set lightly and his gaze fixed on the scene before them; Elliot, struggling to breathe, while the man began to make his way back to the treeline with her body shielding him. For the first time since Elliot had become a problem of theirs, John saw his older brother take time to consider whether or not he really needed her alive or not.

“Killing a right-hand man would be—”

“The plan was to let her get taken in,” John snapped. “Not to fucking shoot through her to get to some nobody!”

“That was before they knew we tried to trick them,” Jacob insisted. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, little brother—”

“Leave it.” Joseph’s voice was final, and sharp. It seemed his brother was bringing an end to fights like this more and more often. “They won’t kill her, or the others. They want her for something. If you shoot through her, we’ll lose our one person on the inside.”

Jacob looked, for one split second, like he might willfully disobey Joseph’s final ruling on the matter. The hard lines of the eldest Seed’s face sharpened, steeling, before he finally flipped the safety on the rifle and straightened up.

A swift, hot breeze drifted through, picking up dust along the dirt road, and right as the shade of the treeline began, the man stopped. John could see Elliot squirming against his grip, her fingers grasping at his wrist and hands, scratching as she gasped for air: but he was immovable, and his attention wasn’t on her, anyway.

It was on them—where he thought they might be. He lifted his hand, thumb up, and two fingers out in the shape of a gun, pointed it at them, and mimicked a single gunshot.

Jacob was seething, the emotion rolling off of him in waves. “The fucking gall—”

But John wasn’t listening anymore. He felt like he was going to throw up. This was exactly what he’d been worried about happening—and here it was, laid out before him, a feast spoiled rotten by reality. He couldn’t get the sound of the way she’d called for him, desperately, like he was the last safeguard she had left.

And yet again, he had failed her. Her, and Faith, and sure, while he was at it, he could stick Joey Hudson’s name on the list; and didn't that mean he'd failed Joseph, too?

John came to a stand. “I have to go in,” he said, assertively, drawing both sets of eyes from his brothers now. “They know, now, and—they think Elliot is a big threat, so if there’s a chance she’ll put up a fight they’ll drug the fuck out of her. I should go in, and Jacob can watch my back, because—”

Because I don’t trust anyone else to get this done the way it needs to be. The thought auto-completed itself in his brain, but the words didn’t come, and it didn’t look like Jacob nor Joseph expected it out of him.

“John,” Joseph said, “are you sure you want to do that?”

“Faith is our sister,” John replied, “and didn’t you say that’s who I was? Ever-giving?”

The man hesitated, just for a second; the sound of chatter below, and Elliot’s furious voice rising as she presumably was given more room to breathe, echoed in the air.

“Yes,” Joseph said at last, relenting. “We did.”

John nodded, turning and making his way down the slope. He kept thinking of the way Elliot had said his name, because it wasn’t the first time she had done that; in the van, too, his had been the first she’d said.

And he couldn’t stop thinking of Ase’s man, either, and the way he’d wielded her with ease, the way he’d grinned when he’d spotted them, the way his hand gripped Elliot’s throat like he’d choke her to death right there if he’d gotten the chance.

No, John thought furiously as the truck came into sight, that won’t do at all.

#far cry 5 #john seed #john seed x deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #fc5 #john seed x ofc #fic: ancient names #my writing #me: KISS KISS KISS #also me: elliot will strangle john with her bare hands if he's not careful #this is true love and no one can tell me otherwise

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tlbodine · 5 years

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1970s: Exploitation Horror

The 1970s were a strange period in history, and that oddness shows through in the horror of the time. The decade is a grab-bag of content, featuring the rise of some of the best-known tropes and landmark films of the genre, but also some really baffling, awful movies.

We decided to launch our journey through the decade by getting one of its most unnerving trends checked off the list early: the exploitation film.

The death knell of the Hays Production Code and the moral gatekeeping by the 1960s left a period of cinematic anarchy. The MPAA would take a bit to solidify our modern rating system and lay out the rules for film content, so for a while the only real limitation on movie content was what a movie theater would play. These decisions came on a case-by-case basis, and so-called “grindhouse” theaters capitalized on it by offering the kind of shocking, low-brow, vulgar or otherwise unpalatable content other theaters wouldn’t touch.

Thus, “exploitation” films were all about exploiting the tumultuous times in cinema.

One popular genre to crop up in this setting was the rape-revenge movie. The basic formula: a woman is raped, left for dead, and returns to wreak bloody vengeance on her attacker(s). The plot provides an excuse to show both graphic sex and violence, which is like a 2-for-1 exploitation buffet and also incidentally the theme of this week’s film series.

Analysis below the cut!

First up: I Spit On Your Grave

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This 1974 film, written and directed by Meir Zarchi, is probably the best-known and possibly best-made of the rape-revenge movies of the era. It’s also incredibly hard to watch.

The story is straightforward. Jennifer, a female author, moves to a remote summer home to work on her novel. There she attracts the attention of a group of men, including one mentally challenged delivery boy named Matthew. Matthew’s friends are assholes, and they goad him about the “crush” he has on this fancy city woman, and decide it would be entertaining for him to lose his virginity to her. So they, uh, harass her, physically assault her, and take turns raping her before leaving Matthew to kill her (he doesn’t, and lies to his friends about it, leaving her beaten but alive and thus able to exact revenge).

There are several things about this movie that are noteworthy:

It portrays the rape in the least-sexy, least-romanticized way imaginable. It is not titillating or exciting in any way. The rape sequence lasts for 30 minutes of film time, and they are excruciating to watch. There is no soundtrack, so you have only the flat silence punctuated by screams, grunts, and scant dialogue. The camera is often stationary, focused on the scene as an objective viewer rather than spending a lot of time cutting and zooming -- putting the audience in the role of helpless witness.

The character of Matthew is interesting and, honestly, sympathetic. It’s pretty clear that he has the intellect of a child, and he has no real idea of what’s really going on. He’s goaded and pressured into participating, and he’s reluctant and tries several times to stop and escape. In a way, he’s a victim almost as much as Jennifer.

The second half of the film is pure revenge fantasy. Jennifer is transformed. She is suddenly cool, calculating, physically capable, and able to deliver cutting one-liners. The villains, never the sharpest tools in the shed, transform into unbelievably stupid caricatures capable only of thinking with their dicks. Jennifer systematically seduces and murders them in increasingly violent ways.

It’s probable that the film’s events are meant to be taken at face value, but I think a more interesting read on the story is that the second half -- the revenge portion -- is literally a fantasy. After the attack, we see Jennifer spend some time recovering physically, then piecing together the torn pages of her manuscript before sitting down to write. Perhaps, then, the revenge is happening on the page rather than in reality. Perhaps she has put together the pieces of her life and rewritten her narrative such that she can take control of her sexuality and work through her anger and grief and pain.

Maybe it’s just the writer in me, but I think that’s a cool interpretation and one that makes a lot of sense in context.

Either way: I Spit On Your Grave is an uncomfortable but well-made film that’s worth talking about. There’s a lot of controversy surrounding it even to this day (and it was a box office disaster, grindhouse or no), but I think on the balance it’s ultimately a feminist film, or at least a sympathetic one.

Note: There was a remake and multiple sequels released in the 2010s. I haven’t seen any of them, but my understanding is they’re more over-the-top violent and sensationalized, and I can’t help but suspect that cheapens the brutal elegance of the original. If you’ve seen them, feel free to weigh in!

The second film of the night was The Last House on the Left.

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Wes Craven’s directorial debut, The Last House on the Left (1972) tells the story of two teenage girls who run afoul of a gang of psychotic thugs who kidnap, torture, rape, and eventually murder them. The thugs then end up coincidentally at the house of one victim’s parents, who exact their revenge after discovering their daughter’s body dumped in the woods nearby and put two and two together.

All I can say is: What the fuck did I just watch.

I’d never seen this movie, although I was familiar with it by reputation. It’s famous, and I heard good things about its 2009 remake. What nobody thought to warn me about is the goddamn soundtrack.

I can respect the artistic technique of pairing graphic violence with tonally inconsistent music as a way to create dissonance and cause audience discomfort. But that’s not the effect this had. This had the effect of causing me to burst out into laughter at the absolute absurdity. There is synth keyboard. There is banjo. Snare drum. A fucking kazoo. And it’s relentless, showing up to hammer you over the head and also drown out everything else that’s happening in the movie.

Like, at one point, I seriously considered muting the damn movie so I could at least try to concentrate on the story because the music is so distracting and undercuts the tension at every possible moment.

Music aside (and boy do I wish the music had been an aside), the film just...wasn’t great. The violence is comparably tame and lacks the visceral discomfort of I Spit On Your Grave. The villainous gang members are pretty much flat characters who seem like a bad parody of Sopranos extras. Even the parental revenge is bizarrely absurd, with the father opting to booby-trap the house in a Home Alone-esque fashion despite literally owning a shotgun and literally using the shotgun to threaten the bad guys. At least in the remake a guy’s head gets exploded in a microwave! No such fun here.

Oh. And do we need to talk about the two bumbling police officers who end up running around town in a long-running slapstick gag? At one point their squad car runs out of gas because one of them is too stupid to fill up the tank, so they have to waddle around on foot and hitch a ride on the roof of a car loaded up with chickens. For. Some reason.

Honestly, this movie was a disaster, and I’m honestly amazed that Wes Craven managed to make more movies afterward (and I’m glad he did, because they are much better than this). Sweet lord.

I give you permission to skip this one. As far as I’m concerned it’s irredeemable.

As a note, the movie is apparently a (very) loose adaptation/inspired by Ingmar Bergman’s The Virgin Spring, which was itself adapted from a 13th century Swedish ballad. Go figure. I don’t think I’ve seen it (although I may have watched a part of it in a college film class, because it does seem familiar) but I feel pretty confident that it’s a better movie so...watch that instead, probably.

Or, if you can stomach it, check out one of the other many...many...rape/revenge stories from the 1970s and beyond: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rape_and_revenge_film

#rape #tw: rape #horror movies #horror movies by the decade #horror through the decades #i spit on your grave #last house on the left

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happymetalgirl · 4 years

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May 2020

Umbra Vitae - Shadow of Life

Converge frontman Jacob Bannon is so impressively artistically prolific, sometimes to his own detriment, that I am hardly surprised by the arrival of and results of Shadow of Life, a more death metal-oriented project that still has Converge’s DNA all over it. Still teeming with wild hardcore energy, Shadow of Life is really not all too different in approach from any of Converge’s most direct work, Bannon pulling from a different elemental this time. The project’s brevity works in its favor, but despite being so short, it feels quickly exhausted of its creativity. Converge is made great largely by the dynamic of the band’s direct metalcore aggression and the variety of curveballs they throw in, but Umbra Vitae reduces that to the raw aggression that sure hits hard, but becomes easy to predict after not too long.

6/10

Havok - V

So it’s not as good as Conformicide, but Havok still deliver the goods on their unfortunately unimaginatively named fifth LP. The band’s Megadeth-esque brand of politicallly charged thrash shredding certainly comes at a particularly apt time and the riffs they deliver indeed sound inspired and the performances ripe with frustrating at the various systems that got us to this seminal moment in history. David Sanchez’ piercing, throat-grating screams are as fierce and fiery as ever and impressive in how quickly he’s able to rattle some of his lines off, and the rest of the band remain tight and cohesive across the album’s eleven experience-crafted thrash tunes. Compositionally I feel like there aren’t as many individual high points within songs that made so many tracks on Conformicide such ferocious bangers, but the band certainly still show themselves to be a good few leagues above average when it comes to writing potent thrash. Where I wish the album went harder was the lyrics. Granted this came out right at the beginning of May, before the killing of George Floyd, and was probably recorded and written before if not early on in the pandemic, but it still feels like it could have gone for more than just the usual targets. I appreciate the band’s tackling of the crisis of credibility of modern media on “Post-Truth Era”, their explicit condemnation of the United States’ unhinged military bullying overseas on “Merchants of Death”, and their acknowledgement of the bias/lies of retelling of history by the powerful and how the lies get bigger over time, but I wish the band were this precise and cutting most of the time on this album because so much of its lyricism is super vague, sometimes in a kind of non-comittal way. The song “Fear Campaign” points out the various ingredients in a fascistic rise to authoritarianism happening right now, but it never moves beyond the usual thrash tropes of distrust of government and corporate media. Meanwhile songs like “Don’t Do It” speak just a bit too generally of social despair to pack much of a lyrical punch, while the lyrics to the track “Phantom Force”, whole not particularly offensive, just repetitive paranoid gibberish. It’s not directly related to the music, but it doesn’t help that the band, who have built their identity so heavily on musical political commentary have been rather quiet in the wake of George Floyd’s death and the sharp heightening of the volatility of the political climate. You could argue it shouldn’t impact their music, but it does suggest that they’re intentionally trying to maintain a level of ambiguity in their railing against the system that will allow anyone to read their own ideology into certain crevices, an approach to artistic sociopolitical critique that isn’t really right for this time. Despite that criticism, I still quite enjoy this album for its continuation of the hypercharged thrash the band has been doing so well.

8/10

Green Carnation - Leaves of Yesteryear

Joining the ranks of recently reawakened bands, Green Carnation returns from their fourteen-year slumber with a five-track slab of their trusty slightly gothic/doomy prog and for the most part it goes pretty well. The band’s performances are solid and it sounds like they never even left. The album likes to sway between melancholic (but not entirely hopeless) forms of gothic sorrow and slower classic heavy metal forms of inspiring melody much like Khemmis, Spirit Adrift, or even Pallbearer. I’d say the opening title track is the example most rife with sweet guitar melody that hits this spot well, and while the rest of the album isn’t a drastic drop in quality, the band definitely hit with their best shot first, and overall make a pretty worthwhile comeback.

6/10

Vader - Solitude in Madness

The Polish death metal icons are on their twelfth album now and at this point for them it’s just a matter of proving to themselves that they’re worthy of their status as aforementioned icons of the genre. At this point their solid and consistent discography speaks for itself and justifies the band’s similarly consistent approach. While never being one for overly lengthy projects, Vader’s twelfth is one of their shortest projects to date, not even breaking the half-hour mark, but making great use of its brief runtime nonetheless with vibrant, pummeling performances and just enough compositional dynamic to bring out the quality in everyone’s performances. Sure it’s kind of predictably direct, but that has been Vader’s MO for decades and it continues to deliver ripe, juicy organic death metal, so I’m fine with them not changing their style up with how well they can consistently conjure a half hour or so of sufficiently exciting and potent death metal. What they decline in stylistic evolution they continue to make up for in raw, experienced, and expressive performances, and Solitude in Madness is just another example of it.

7/10

Chaos over Cosmos - II

Dazzling with proggy guitar technicality again on this quick response to last year’s EP, Chaos over Cosmos take another diversion on the vocal front, with the vocals on this album being both much less present and more predominantly unclean. The third track “One Hundred” is probably the standout cut of the four tracks here, layering on the synths and the whispered passages between space-traversing guitar leads. I still think the band could work on making the production a little more crisp and the compositions maybe a little more frequently injected with flair, but I definitely think they’re on the right foot going forward.

6/10

Witchcraft - Black Metal

Going the route of Thou on Inconsolable, Swedish doom occultists Witchcraft bust out an entirely acoustic album quite fit in its ultra depressing tone for these ultra depressing (or enraging) times. Taking such a minimalist approach does pose a bit of a gamble for any band used to a more bulky instrumental arsenal on the make-up-less appeal of the performances at the core of their ethos. Thou absolutely nailed it, and I’d say that Witchcraft are pretty successful here as well, for just how committed to potent acoustic depression Black Metal is. It’s a bit heavy handed at some moments, but for the most part it’s a well-measured half hour of candid sorrow at a rather fitting time for it.

7/10

Tortuga - Deities

I feel like at this point, I’ll give any band points for playing stoner doom and only half sounding like a Black Sabbath rip-off, and Tortuga definitely earn those points. This album actually released on the first day of the new year, but I didn’t hear about it until now, and I figure it’s worth propping up. Deities is the Polish outfit’s sophomore full-length after their eponymous debut in 2017 (which I also missed of course), and it is definitely a breath of fresh air for the genre it represents. Relying not on monotonous Iommi-imitation to carry otherwise thin compositions, Tortuga follow their own uniquely ambient approach to the genre that focuses more on building a dense atmosphere and mood with the thick, hazy guitars and rumbling bass lines than on numbed, bong-worshipping psychedelia. We get a few of the other staple elements of the genre: wild effects-pedal psychedelia, lyrics about mythical Lovecraftian monsters, and audio samples of old-timey Christian fundamentalist preachers fear-mingering about drugs; but none of it sounds contrived or unoriginal. Deities sounds like if Dopethrone-era Electric Wizard had a little more atmospheric dynamic and less on-the-nose Sabbath worship. Granted the vocals on Deities aren’t as fuzzed the fuck out and the bulk of the album is not dedicated to pissed-off, drugged-out, gargantuan heaviness, but it sure is a solid album in the path it walks for itself.

8/10

...and Oceans - Cosmic World Mother

Despite checking all the productional and stylistic boxes for a modern death metal record, Cosmic World Mother offers not very much in the way of anything compositionally or aesthetically unique or exciting. It feels almost like it’s just embodiment of the Emperor/Behemoth-inspired wing of the genre as a hive mind just on autopilot. The band crank out a few brief highlight motifs here and there, the occasional epic pairing of synthetic strings and tremolo-picked guitars, but most of the album is (while competent, no doubt) pretty one-note and predictable in a way that really only becons repeated listens to make sure you’re really sure you’re not missing anything from the homogeneous blend of songs together you remember from your last attempt to stay attentive through it.

6/10

ACxDC - Satan Is King

After a long road to their debut album back in 2014, grindcore stalwarts ACxDC finally follow up with a worthy sophomore effort this year, during which time Full of Hell have happily risen to the occasion on at least two stellar modern grindcore full-length (as loaded of a term as that is for grindcore) releases. But the L.A. quartet is back and quite fired up in the midst of the sociopolitical turmoil that we’ve all been submerged in. While more traditional in its instrumentation, not as laced with industrial noise elements as Full of Hell’s music tends to be, ACxDC captures a similarly powerviolence-adjacent thrashing intensity and the band do not take their foot off the gas at all throughout the 23-minute affair. The guitars blare with a shout all their own and chug with the kind of mechanically smashing crunch found in modern death metal, the drums and the bass lines are never over-the-top in terms of speed or technicality with the band opting more often for synchronized hardcore punches than grinding through blast beats, which probably puts this album deeper into powerviolence territory than I initially let on. And Sergio Amalfitano’s vocals shift from intense death howls and growls to fast-paced blackened hardcore shrieking with respectable fruidity, probably not as erratically as Dylan from Full of Hell, but certainly quite capably. I’ve been turning to a lot of intensely aggressive and violent metal in these infuriating times, particularly grindcore, and Satan Is King has been a solid addition to that alongside the new WVRM and Caustic Wound albums.

8/10

Old Man Gloom - Seminar VIII: Light of Meaning

The prequel to the band’s previously released full-length this year (Seminar IX: Darkness of Being) finds them in an even more esoteric vein than what they were in back in March. Oscillating between Sumac-esque sludge (which Aaron Turner’s vocals make those parts of the album featuring them all the more uncannily similar to) with subtle experimental flair and more modern-Mastodon/Isis-esque sludgy post-metal to full-on noise music experimentation, the band’s “eighth” “seminar” at the very least makes for a dynamic and interesting listen. Some of the band’s exhibitions in certain styles don’t really do much convincing for their branching off into those directions; some of the noise passages feel kind of like waiting at a traffic meter for a more invigorating portion of the album to kick in, as do some of the less-imaginative sludgy sections. But for what the collective do with their array of experiences, influences, and artistic instincts they come through with more hits than misses, I’d say. The longest track on the album, “Final Defeat” is impressively cohesive in its amalgamation of so many sonic elements. though the subsequent and similarly lengthy “Calling You Home” is an example of the other side of that coin, dragging and uneventful. It’s worth at least a cursory listen for its eccentricity alone, it may vibe with you even more than me, if not, at least it’s an interesting meeting of various creative minds in the post-metal sphere.

7/10

Xibalba - Años en Infierno

Offering an especially weighty slab of sludgy/doomy death metal with some tasteful streaks of hardcore and sludge metal mixed in to the dense swirl, Xibalba bring slow-churning, bulky death metal to the conversation of the various injustices and catastrophes of this year, and the band’s hardcore energy and knack for pummeling rhythms in that vein are exactly the kind of pissed off that such an album as Años en Infierno needs. And that hardcore compositional approach and/or mindset means that Años en Infierno is no homogeneously sluggish record; Xibalba pick up the tempo for rapid-fire hits of deathly hardcore punches and slow down to wind up for devastating finishing blows all with magnificent smoothness. Whether trudging through thick, filthy riff sludge like a massive beast stomping its way through a knee-deep muddy battlefield on slow burners like “La Injusticia” and the doom-laden “El Abismo, Pt. 1” or like that same muscular hulk sprinting on dry land on songs like “Santa Muerte” and “En la Oscuridad”, Xibalba are an organic, brutish force in all the ways I like my death metal and hardcore to be, at the same time.

8/10

Behemoth - A Forest

Named after the cover of The Cure’s “A Forest”, Behemoth’s EP-sized mark on 2020 is ultimately a mild one. Intended clearly to show a more eccentric side of the band with the theatrically tortured guest vocals from Niklas Kvarforth of Shining, the band’s cover of the titular track is really not all that wild for a band who came up from raw shitty black metal roots and traversed their way through blackened death metal to the biblical glory of The Satanist; the band have already shown their vast capacity for branching out from and expanding death metal and black metal, and this cover of The Cure happens to be just a more clumsy, rather than illuminating, display of that ambition. It’s not a terrible cover or a poor representation of Behemoth’s ambition, but I don’t think it’s quite the grand statement the band is making it out to be. The same can be said of the redundant inclusion of the live cut of the cover song. As for the other two tracks on here, “Shadows ov Ea Cast upon Golgotha” (which kind of drags and meanders with no real direction) and the more fast-paced “Evoe” (which is at least a lot more fastinstrumentally vibrant), both are solid enough cuts that sound very well like they could have come from the I Loved You at Your Darkest sessions, though not surprisingly notably below par for that course, much less the high bar of The Satanist, which ultimately makes this kind of a benign addiction to Behemoth’s catalogue.

6/10

Helfró - Helfró

This actually came out in April, but I’m late as it is so what the hell, hailing from the small, but mythic black metal scene of Iceland, Reykyavík’s Helfró make quite the standout statement with their self-titled debut record here. At a modest thirty-seven minutes, Helfró is a stinging and searing, but also impressively aggressively balanced display of black metal and blackened death venom. The guitar riffs are sharp and cutting when they need to be and also quite full-bodied while able to keep up with the high-flying tempo set by the double-bass-blast-beat drumming to capture the delirious hysteria of . The band takes their attack from the icy piercing of mountaintop blizzards of speed and distorted dissonance to fiery rumbles of hellishly low guitars and demonic bellows of damnation, and all with such control and gracefullness; I am all for it! This is a hell of a debut record and I will certainly be looking for more from Helfró to come.

8/10

Asking Alexandria - Like a House on Fire

After being completely put off by the band’s self-titled album a couple years ago, I have not returned to Asking Alexandria at all since then, until now with Like a House on Fire. Honestly, I was kind of expecting some sort of response from the band after such a light and messy album to prove to people like me that they can excel with heavy music still, and I mean the only way to go was up after the catastrophe that was the band’s self-titled album, right? Well I was wrong in the kind of response the band came through with; doubling down instead on their departure from metalcore, Asking Alexandria go all in on pop rock and arena rock in a way that I suppose constitutes a mild improvement, but not a justification for their doubling down. The band bit off way more than they could stylistically chew as they clumsily try to chameleon their way into several styles of pop rock. The class consciousness anthem “They Don’t Want What We Want (And They Don’t Care)” and the alternative metal power ballad “In My Blood” offer a brief glimmer of hope for some vital, conscious arena rock for the album, but the shitty motifs and writing decisions don’t take long to follow. With its gratingly annoying vocal riff, “Down to Hell” sounds like a rejected 2000’s Shinedown song (or a 2010’s Shinedown song). “I Don’t Need You” is a glam rock ballad brough to the 21st century with a knock-off-Halsey feature before “Take Some Time” comes through with more annoying vocal wooing. If not outright awful, Like a House on Fire is most often just aggravatingly wash-rinse-repeat boring and banking on current pop rock trends that Asking Alexandria don’t even have a great handle on. Danny Warsnop’s clean vocals and uncomfortable attempts at coming across sultry are especially hard to listen to, as are the completely out of place and unmeshed EDM elements that pop in and out of various tracks. I wasn’t the biggest fan of Bring Me the Horizon’s last album’s blatant pop campaigning, but holy shit at least they were competent and showed they could handle the variety of styles they implemented. Asking Alexandria are clearly trying a similar angle here but they’re not capable of mimicking Shinedown and Imagine Dragons better than either of those bands, and that’s saying something.

2/10

Revenge - Strike.Smother.Dehumanize

Coming up among all the great new grindcore I’ve been finding these past few months, Revenge bring a distinct blackened edge to the brutish force of grindcore and powerviolence. While a pretty effectively churning grind of manic drumming, chaotic bass lines, and jagged guitar galloping, Strike.Smother.Dehumanize is one of the more homogeneous grindcore records I’ve heard this year, spiced up mostly by the artificially low-rumbling toilet bowl growls (that do lose their novelty before the album’s finish) and the consistent individual flair brought by each members’ performances. But compositionally, the band doesn’t really abide by much more than the usual grindcore mantra of constant intensity, but at that it sure is successful.

7/10

Bleed from Within - Fracture

The fifth album from Glasgow’s Bleed from Within brings such a pedestrian and unambitious of a forty-two-minute offering of melodic metalcore as seemingly possible. It’s just like the definition of a baseline, C-grade performance with passable performances of predictable resortings to of metalcore’s most trodden out tropes; like I saw the opening track’s title, “The End of All We Know”, and I knew exactly how that chorus was gonna go before I even heard it. For its few sick breakdowns like those on “Pathfinder” and “Utopia”, there’s just so much more filler generic metalcore (and some completely unsatisfying breakdowns too) to get through. I’ll give Ali Richardson credit for coming through with some impressive double-bass syncopation that sometimes breaks from the metalcore mold to give the music som brief flashes of being more than ignorable metalcore, and I’ll acknowledge the considerable gusto of Scott Kennedy’s vocal performance across the album as its most consistent positive feature, but it’s not enough to make me eager to return to Fracture as a whole or even throw any tracks into my workout playlist.

5/10

Okkultokrati - La Ilden Lyse

In their prolific first decade or so of action, Okkultokrati have done a decent job injecting grimy hardcore crust punk and a head-turning variety of other styles into the kvlt black metal of their Oslo hometown. After nearly four years of crafting since their most aesthetically ambitious effort to date, Raspberry Dawn, La Ilden Lyse is a bit of a regressive and stylistically reductive letdown after its lush and fascinating predecessor. The production of the black metal elements is much cleaner now, but the trade-off isn’t worth it, especially given that the fuzzier production of the previous albums kind of partially contributed to the unique aesthetic the band cultivated. I don’t know what the point was of going more traditional/typical this time around, but the band certainly aren’t making a stronger case for themselves by blending in MORE with their contemporaries. I hope this is just a one-off and the band get back to making more interesting black metal again soon.

5/10

Alestorm - Curse of the Crystal Coconut

I said in my review of Alestorm’s previous album that I am continuously amazed at how the pirate metal masters are able to keep finding material in their super specific vein, especially with how fresh 2017’s No Grave But the Sea sounded while returning to the more “traditional” sound that characterized the band’s debut album. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Curse of the Crystal Coconut finds the band playing around with their sound a bit in a similar way to what they did on Sunset on the Golden Age, and I would say this year’s effort to grow their sound went a good bit better than it did on that aforementioned preceding album. The band are as irreverent in their wacky sea shanty storytelling as ever (and I wouldn’t have it any other way), though they bring a few “futuristic” (for pirates’ times) elements to the table here, which a folk metal purist could certainly argue are blasphemously out of place on a record about pirate life, but if you’re a purist like that I doubt you’re listening to a sixth Alestorm LP to begin with. I actually think the band did well to make these new elements a part constructive to the overall campy aesthetic of their sound. Opening the canon hatches is “Treasure Chest Party Quest” with a hedonistic schlock rock mission statement that sounds like if Kansas were a bunch of Viner douchebags, but moving into the melodic shanty “Fannybaws” right out of the gate reaffirms the band’s folk metal chops. But it’s the introduction of hip hop elements on “Tortuga” that shows Alestorm is here to sail pirate metal to the farthest corners of the seven seas as they can; the band’s foray into trap territory under the influence of this lighthearted and loveable ambition with Captain Yarrface on this track is honestly impressive. And the band’s experimentation doesn’t end there, with “Zombies Ate My Pirate Ship” also featuring the unexpectedly beautiful vocal feature from Patty Gurdy. All these modern music elements made me ponder the possibility of a modern, internet-pirate-themed Alestorm record; perhaps someday... Beyond just the introduction of electronic elements, the thrashy folk bangers like “Chomp Chomp” and “Pirate’s Scorn” are welcome shots of liquor to jolt the album into pirate eager mode while melodic folk metalcore bangers like he nonsensically gorgeous “Zombies Are My Pirate Ship” are surprisingly invigorating. The quick metaphoric jab at the band’s imitators (or detractors) on “Shit Boat (No Fans)” is a good bit of fighting pirate spirit breaking the fourth wall creatively. There’s also the ridiculously overly epic sequel to the fast-chanting nonsense track, “Wooden Leg”, from Sunset on the Golden Age, whose conclusion is so beautifully stupid *chef’s kiss*. Honestly, I needed this album so badly this year, and I’m glad Alestorm came through with such a fun expansion pack of pirate metal tunes.

8/10

Sorcerer - Lamenting of the Innocent

I don’t know what happened. I loved this album the first time I heard it, but my enjoyment with every subsequent listen since then has been significantly diminished. Perhaps I was just appreciative of the dose of classic heavy metal with tasteful modern production updates to liven up my repertoire of new albums to listen to. As grand, nostalgic, and even 2000’s-Maiden-esque as Sorcerer’s sixth album is, I can’t help but feel at least somewhat distracted by how heavily derivative it is of the NWOBHM, even as it takes some cues from Candlemass and Dream Theater to elevate its grandiosity through proggy, epic doom metal. Now all those influences do combine into a generally effective and exciting aesthetic, and I do think the core sound the band have tapped into is potent and worth chasing, as evidenced by songs like “Institoris” and “Dance with the Devil”, but that sound at its best doesn’t show up in full enough on this album. Lamenting of the Innocent is hampered so heavily by its length and the proportion of that length that is comprised of filler balladry like “Deliverance” or the just slightly too dragged out “Where Spirits Die” and unnecessary repetition that draws out even the better parts of the album like the title track. For all this nit-picking, I feel like I should at least emphasize that I do still quite like this album for its solid performances, especially Anders Engberg’s tactful operatic vocals and the distinctly NWOBHM-style duel-guitar soloing from Kristian Niemann and Peter Hallgren. I do hope that Sorcerer do continue to distill their sound down to its best elements because I could see them being a shining beacon for the continued reverence for the era of heavy metal they so heavily emulate.

7/10

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

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1. What kinds of genres of music do you listen to? I listen to a variety of music.

2. Are there any types of music that you don’t listen to at all? House music, trance music, dubstep...

3. Do you own any band tees? Yes, I have a few.

4. Name some of your favorite male solo artists. Charlie Puth, Post Malone, Ed Sheeran, Drake, Shawn Mendes, John Mayer, Stevie Wonder, Usher, etc.

5. Name some of your favorite female solo artists. Stevie Nicks, Ariana Grande, Billie Eilish, Demi Lovato, Halsey, Nicki Minaj, Cardi B, Megan thee Stallion, Lana Del Rey, Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Rihanna, etc.

6. Name some of your favorite boy-bands. Jonas Brothers, NSYNC, BSB, New Kids on the Block, 5 Seconds of Summer.

7. Name some of your favorite all-girl bands. Hmm. Only girl groups are coming to mind, but that’s different than a band. The only one that comes to mind at the moment is Aly & Aj.

8. Name some of your favorite bands/groups in general. Linkin Park, RHCP, Coldplay, Foo Fighters, 3 Doors Down, Maroon 5, Destiny’s Child, Paramore, Fleetwood Mac, Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco...

9. Do you sing in the shower? Yeah. I have a shower playlist on my Spotify I listen to.

10. Do you sing along with the radio in the car? Well, my family plays their Spotify in their cars, but yeah I often sing along if I like the song playing.

11. Do you listen to music while you are cooking, filling out surveys, or cleaning the house? I listen to it when I’m cleaning, getting ready, taking a shower, in the car, or just chillin’.

12. What’s the name of the song that you’re listening to right now, if any? What’s the name of the band/singer? I’m not listening to music at the moment.

13. What kinds of music do your parents listen to? Do you think that their music taste differs greatly? Whose music taste is better, in your opinion? My dad listens to a lot of classic rock, rock, and country, but he likes some top 40 type stuff. My mom listens to a variety of music like I do. Since I like a variety, I enjoy a lot of the same music as my both parents. Probably more so my mom, though.

14. Do you ever listen to music without any words? Not often, but sometimes. Like some classical music. It has been awhile, though.

15. Are there any famous musicians that you’ve met? Are there any that you would like to meet? I met Drake Bell a couple times. I wish I could have met Chester Bennington. :(

16. What was the first concert you’ve been to, if any? How about the last/most recent? Which, out of all of the concerts you’ve attended, was the best? My first concert was a Christian alternative band with my first boyfriend. My last concert was Green Day with my best friend at the time. Green Day, Jonas Brothers, Drake Bell, and the Jingle Ball concerts (had several artists/bands perform) I went to were all awesome.

17. Do you have a favorite movie soundtrack? What is it? Sweeney Todd.

18. Would you want to be a band groupie? Why or why not? No.

19. What is a band/singer you would like to see but haven’t gotten a chance to yet? There’s several. I’m really sad I never got to see Linkin Park.

20. Do you care more about the beat of the music you listen to, or the lyrics? Both. I mean, there’s songs that I just like or are catchy and the lyrics don’t matter as much, but I love songs with relatable lyrics that just speak to me.

21. Does anyone in one of your favorite bands play an unusual instrument? I mean, they might in addition to the one they play in the band, but *shrug*

22. What are some of the songs that you listen to the most frequently? There’s a lot. I just hit shuffle on my main Spotify playlist, which consists of a variety of genres and arists/bands. That’s the playlist I listen to all the time.

23. Could you make a playlist of songs that describes your life? What kinds of playlists do you have made? I wouldn’t have the motivation or energy to attempt that. It would take a lot of time and thinking.

24. Do you remember listening to music on CDs and cassettes, not just on the internet? Yes.

25. What kind of music device do you use in order to listen to music? (iPod, MP3 Player, etc. I listen to Spotify on my phone.

26. Is there anyone in your family who is a musician? No.

27. Would you ever consider a career in music? No. I don’t have any musical talent. I played some piano when I was younger, but I wasn’t great. I really wish I took it more seriously, though, and kept up with it.

28. What is a song that would describe your current mood? Who is it by? lol Jason Mraz’s song, “Sleep All Day” just popped into my head because of the title. It’s almost 7AM, so I probably will sleep all day.

29. Are there any musicians of the past that you really admire? Absolutely.

30. Do you listen to Top 40 type music? Yeah.

31. What musical instrument would you like to learn how to play? Have you ever played an instrument before/taken lessons? What was it? Like I said, I played some piano when I was younger and I wish I took it more seriously and kept up with it.

32. Do you enjoy watching musicals on DVD or sitting through them as plays? Which method do you prefer, and which is your favorite? I haven’t seen a lot of musicals, but there’s a few I’ve seen and liked. Seeing them live is awesome, but I like watching them at home whenever I want as well. Sweeney Todd is one of my favorites. Side note, Disney+ just added Hamilton and I’ve been thinking about watching it. I remember when it was super popular, so now that it’s available to watch I’d like to check it out.

33. What was the worst concert you’ve ever attended before, and what made it the worst? I’ve never been to a bad concert.

34. Have you ever crowd-surfed during a show or been a part of a mosh pit? No.

35. Have you ever gotten into an altercation with a drunken concert fan before? What happened? No.

36. Have you ever dated someone who was a musician? Joseph plays the guitar and can sing.

37. What are some of your favorite music videos to watch? Before a week ago when MTV did a Flashback Friday thing and played music videos from the 90s and early 2000s, it had been a long time since I’ve watched any music videos. They’re not a big thing anymore, I feel like. I mean, I know they’re still being made, but it’s not like back in the day when we had TRL and MTV actually played music videos. I remember getting excited back then to watch them.

38. Have you ever made a lyric video on YouTube? No.

39. Have you ever recorded a cover song and posted it? What kind of feedback did you receive? Noooo. I can’t sing, why would I embarrass myself like that?

40. Is there an album cover design that you really admire? There’s been a lot of cool album covers.

41. What are some of the most overplayed songs right now, in your opinion? I haven’t listened to the radio in like 3 years, so I don’t know.

42. Do you watch music awards shows on television? Yes.

43. Have you ever competed in any sort of singing contest before? No. I can’t sing. I mean, I sing at home along to my favorite songs, but I don’t sing well lol.

44. Have you ever tried to start your own band before? No. I told you, I have no musical talent.

45. What’s the name of a band/singer that you recently have discovered? I discovered this song called, “Dream Girl”, by Ir-Sais. I heard the song on TikTok. I’ve found a few songs that way, but that’s the most recent one.

46. What are some annoying/weird/funny songs that have gotten stuck in your head? >> Barbara Ann gets stuck in my head all the time, but that’s okay because it’s fun and I love it. <<< Haha, now it’s in mine. I like it, too, so it’s fine. Anyway, yeah there’s been a lot of songs like that that get stuck in my head. I’m failing to think of another example at the moment, though. I’m too tired.

47. Are there any songs that actually make you cry? What are they, and who are they by? Yes, there’s a few. One is the acoustic version of Everlong by Foo Fighters.

48. Do you listen to any music in another language? Some in Spanish. There were also a few I liked in Swedish.

[a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

#personal #text #survey #surveys #music

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craniumculverin · 6 years

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Ripper!AU Characters

A while back the ever talented @donc-desole drew some great art of their Bloodborne Ripper!AU, and I fell in love with it instantly. I’ve been slowly working out a story and background for this AU since then. These character summaries were one of the first things I started writing and have added to and kept up to date as the story develops. Most of these folks are tertiary and some may not even have a role in the story by the time I’m done, but I wanted to figure out how most of the NPCs fit into this universe.

Also, if you’re a fan Des’ OCs as well you’ll notice a certain doctor’s name. ;)

Alfred - An up-and-comer that’s relatively new to Yharnam. Gentleman, academic theologian, fleeting soldier, amateur pugilist, literal lady killer. He’s currently working on his dissertation to complete his theology doctorate after an extensive, years-long mentorship that equated an education up to that point. It’s slow going given his preoccupation with stalking about in the dead of night, but he persists; for his own fervid pursuit, as well as to follow-through on the wishes of his late mentor and benefactor. The reproachful scholars at Byrgenwerth University are particularly interested in his enigmatic past - a topic he’s all too happy to leave be. He’s taken strongly to one of Yharnam’s aristocracy, much to her vexation. And fear of mutilation.

Annalise Cainhurst - A life-long resident of New Pthumeria and one of its few remaining that can truly claim to be of noble blood. She holds an unknown amount of power in Yharnam’s activities, and may have been involved in the politics of the recent civil war. In fact very few seem to know what it she does, though everyone seems to know not to mess with the sole heiress of the Cainhurst nobles - other than Alfred that is. When not pulling strings, she’s taken to writing articles in the local paper under a pseudonym, and is quite popular with cult naysayers. The higher echelons of the local Church of Healing cult apparently despise her; maybe something to do with her pastime? Or perhaps her evident immortality?

Percival Hewlett- A doctor that practices in Yharnam, and likely Alfred’s only real, albeit begrudging friend. A rather eccentric and introverted man that was a respectable medical practitioner long before his move to the city. Stories of Byrgenwerth University’s ventures into the medical frontier proved tantalizing enough that he left his established practice in London, thus leaving behind his own share of secrets. Like most of Yharnam’s foreign doctors he’s had to take up a position in the local cult - however, like most of said doctors, he sees it simply as a means of gaining access to the Church's resources. Alfred trusts him fully, and in turn Percy has taken to minding his more self-destructive habits - or perhaps more accurately, taken an interest in studying him.

Siegward - Alfred’s beloved canine companion. An English mastiff pampered to the utmost degree and treated better than Alfred treats himself at times. Despite multiple outings every day he still carries more bulk than any other dog in Yharnam. While under his mentor’s tutelage, Alfred saved him from an irate nobleman whose prized bitch was bred with the wrong male, Sig being a part of that litter. Since then he’s been the closest companion Alfred’s ever had, thus his rather extreme protectiveness of the animal. Red meat is often a part of this dog’s diet, despite his master’s lack of visits to any local butchers…

Iosefka - A New Pthumerian doctor who was one of very few allowed by the Church to travel beyond the country's borders before they were opened to the outside world. During her time spent abroad she happened to meet Percy Hewlett - he was one of but a handful in England that took her completely seriously as a medical practitioner, not only because she's a woman but also her "unconventional" practices. His acceptance and their shared research interests quickly forged a friendship that has lasted since. It's Iosefka's clinic and row house that Percy rents, and her good word that continues to ease tensions between he and other Church members. The two meet from time to time for tea and a chat, usually about their studies or more annoying compatriots.

Djura - The man every dog-loving Yharnamite knows - or hates, in Alfred’s case. The seemingly homeless, one-eyed native veteran earns his keep around town as both a dog walker and sitter, whether it’s requested or not. Many of the pooches he looks after never quite make it back to living with their owners, yet oddly most don’t seem to have a problem with that; the man takes care of every dog he “shelters” as if it were his own flesh and blood. He’s taken up residence in one of the larger empty buildings of Old Yharnam, same as where he keeps his multitude of kennels. An overall helpful and well-known old coot, he seems to be more knowledgeable than he lets on, in a number of areas.

Eileen, aka the Crow - Nothing much is known about the woman other than this: she acts only at night, kills those that deserve it, and has never once been caught. A vigilante of sorts, she’s taken it upon herself to erase those that aid the ever growing crime-rate in Yharnam. Thus far only murderers, abusers, kidnappers, and similar ilk have been targeted, so many Yharnamites are content to let her go about her business. Alfred, on the other hand, has had to be very careful during his night time escapades. Annalise has also had to deal with the Crow’s snooping - or at least her cousin has…

The Crow of Cainhurst - A mysterious man that Alfred has never seen unmasked, he's apparently a “distant relative” or “cousin” of Annalise. He comes and goes silently from her manor seemingly as he sees fit, though nearly always converses with her before leaving. As it is, he likely carries out his mistress’s more unsavory dealings and orders. He has no quarrels with sharing his disgust and mistrust of Alfred’s attempted courtship of Annalise, earning him Alfred’s utter disdain. Neither ever dare to raise a finger against the other however, as the noblewoman all but demanded they play nice. The only association he has to the other Crow in Yharnam is a bitter and historied rivalry.

Gascoigne - A retired clergyman and soldier that assists at the Healing Church chapel near his family’s home. Many believe him to be in some official capacity since he’s so often seen there, but really he’s the groundskeeper more than anything. He left the clergy long ago - originally in New Pthumeria as a missionary, he joined the civil war effort and eventually found himself in the same regiment as Henryk. He was forced into retirement due to injuries from some sort of "beast," leaving him scarred and with sensitive vision. He’d met his wife while still a clergyman, marrying only after he’d returned from the front. His two daughters are adopted, and he’s as fiercely protective of them as any true father would be. He and Alfred are far from friendly, mostly due to Gascoigne’s seemingly unfounded suspicions of the man.

Viola - Gascoigne’s wife and mother to their adopted daughters. She met her husband while working as a nurse during the civil war, and tended to him when gravely injured. One of few women in Yharnam that Alfred both personally knows and holds in high regards - and so receives his particular brand of chivalry. She’s a gentle woman, kind to all but just as firm in what she deems needed and appropriate. She’s become fond of Alfred with how kindly he treats her youngest, despite his peculiarities and her husband’s distrust. He seems in need of a motherly figure in his life, and so long as he continues to be a gentleman toward her and her girls, she’s more than willing to be just that; regardless of her husband’s overbearing wariness.

Eleanor & Madeline - Gascoigne and Viola’s adopted daughters. Their biological parents were victims of the civil war, and were known by both Gascoigne and Viola before their demise. Eleanor, the eldest, was old enough to remember some of what happened, while Madeline was just a babe at the time. Ellie is more reserved when it comes to interactions and letting people near. Maddie, on the other hand, can find a friend in even the most peculiar of people - Alfred, for instance. She is an avid artist-in-the-making, drawing with her chalks on the family’s front walk as her father tends to chores, while her older sister enjoys receiving piano and singing lessons from their mother. They are both very fond of dogs, for whatever reason.

Henryk - A veteran soldier and altogether mysterious older man. He is close friends with Gascoigne from his time looking out for the younger man during the war, and considers Viola and the girls his family just as much as they do him. He can occasionally be seen having a drink in a certain tavern outside of Yharnam. Other than that the man is an enigma - he comes and goes often, sometimes gone for weeks at a time. What he does with the bulk of his time in his later years is known by very few, and he seems content to leave it as such. Alfred finds him rather unsettling, more than he’s willing to admit.

Constable Valtr - A Swedish constable from a village deep in the forest that flanks Yharnam, Alfred’s only met him off the clock with drink in hand. He’s a jovial sort with an adamant personality and unwavering resolve when it comes to disbursing justice - or so his comrades have said; frankly Alfred is just fine with never having to find out firsthand. Some of the men at the tavern he frequents defer to him regularly or let him speak for them altogether, making it obvious he’s a leader of sorts among them, beyond his position as a man of the law. Even old Henryk treats him with a good deal of respect.

The Madaras Twins & Yamamura - Three men that are almost always with the Constable at their favored tavern. The young Twins run a butcher shop, but don’t seem much more than local thugs, brutish and loud in their revelry. Yamamura on the other hand is very reserved, the times he speaks always in his native tongue though Alfred is certain he knows English. On the rare occasion he wishes to speak to someone Valtr translates for him. Alfred’s familiar with the three from his occasional visits to the tavern - he even had a good-natured, drunken bout of fisticuffs with the Twins, much to Valtr and the tavern’s bettors’ delight.

Arianna - A New Pthumerian prostitute typically seen along the streets of Old Yharnam. Very personable and flirtatious, regardless of whether she’s currently working the alleys or "taking time off.” She holds herself with a surprising amount of poise for a common tart - perhaps that’s part of why she’s one of the more sought after courtesans the capitol has to offer. Though they’ve hardly interacted she holds a place in Alfred’s past, not that he would ever willingly admit it. Despite or perhaps because of that, she’s long been in Alfred’s sights for a very different sort of late-night soiree…

Gilbert - A quiet, very sickly gentleman, drawn from his homeland by Yharnam’s reputation as a place of medical advancements. He had hoped for a cure to his terminal illness, but instead found himself "aiding" the Church’s brightest minds as their guinea pig. He crossed paths with Alfred early on in the latter’s time in the city, becoming a cultural lifeline for the man. Since settling in, Alfred’s more than repaid the kindness by Gilbert’s estimate - he referred him to a certain clinic, run by one Dr. Hewlett. His existence has become far more bearable since leaving the Church doctors' clutches, and is simply glad to know whatever time he has left will be peaceful.

Sister Adella - An English nun that’s part of a convent far outside Yharnam. She rarely ventures into the city, and has little reason to given its proclivity to the resident cult. She originally joined an abbey in England associated with an orphanage, before being relocated to her current convent. She and Alfred have shared history, though neither really considers the other more than an acquaintance. Soft spoken and nervous, though on occasion can become quite impassioned.

A Hunter - Before truly moving to Yharnam Alfred spent a good deal of time touring his new homeland of New Pthumeria, during which he crossed paths with a certain individual on a number of occasions. They only ever told him they were "a sort of hunter working under contract," never giving their name and rarely uncovering their face. Despite the odd sense of discretion, they and Alfred got along swimmingly. After the first few meetings the two began spending time or continuing their travels together before parting ways once more. They're one of only a handful of people whom Alfred has allowed to pet Siegward - a good indicator of how highly he thinks of them. As of yet they don't appear to have shown up to Yharnam since he settled there.

#bloodborne #bb #ripper!au #alfred bloodborne #executioner alfred #alfred the executioner #queen annalise #percival hewlett #they're p much the main three really #donc-desole ocs #original content

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inknerd · 5 years

Text

May Wrap-Up 2019

I’ve had so much to do this month; reading wasn’t really my first priority^^ Still, the last week I took the time to catch up to reading, and I read a lot of books I’ve wanted to read for awhile, and I feel like I’ve read a variety of books from ya to poetry to nonfiction, so that’s fun!

POETER TÄNDER BARA LAMPOR by EMILY DICKINSON (translation by ANN-MARIE VINDE) ★★★☆☆

| 130 pages | 3 weeks to read | Published 2017

So this is a collection of some of Dickinson’s poetry, who I haven’t read anything of so this was fairly exciting! It had both the English version and the Swedish translation together with notes from the translator, and so it took me awhile to read... + The more I read the more I liked it? I’m very happy the Swedish translation was available, because sometimes I just didn’t get what Dickinson was writing until I read it in Swedish and then reread the English one again. - With that said, I don’t think I will read any more of Dickinson soon. It was good but not really my kind of poetry.

DISORDER IN COURT: GREAT FRACTURED MOMENTS IN COURTROOM HISTORY by CHARLES M. SEVILLA ★★☆☆☆ | 256 pages | 1 day to read | Published 1992

You might have seen the funny tumblr post about this one. I did, was intruiged but waited to buy it until my friend told me she planned to study law. I saw the opportunity, bought it, read it, and then gifted it to my friend. + So some of these stories were hilarious, and it just shows how silly humans are even in serious situations like being in court for a crime. - Unfortunately, I didn’t find it as funny as I thought I would? Some things flew over my head because lawyer lingo/a bit more complicated English, sometimes it took some time before I got the joke and then it’s not as funny, y’know? Also, some of the jokes were quite dated.

A VERY LARGE EXPANSE OF SEA by TAHEREH MAFI ★★★★★ | 310 pages | 1 day to read | Published 2018

So I was excited for this one, and then people seemed to have mixed opinions on it (not disliking it, just not loving it as much as they’d expected to) so I waited until it came to my local library and then finally started reading it. And I LOVED IT! + PEAK ROMANCE! The main relationship is so cute and heart-wrenching, I wasn’t annoyed at Shirin’s family which is usually the case for me with more contemporary/romance-styled novels. This book had an important story to tell and it succeded in my opinion. - Idk, can’t come up with something totally obvious but I’d hoped for a more closed ending rather than the more open one I got.

CHILDREN OF BLOOD AND BONE by TOMI ADEYEMI ★★★☆☆ | 544 pages | +2 weeks to read | Published 2018

So I finally read this book! I’ve been sort of struggling with if I should give this three or four stars but in the end... *sweat drop emoji* I feel like I might have hyped this up a bit too much in my head. But in the end it was an enjoyable read and the reason it took my a while to read it was because I was busy, not necessarily that I found it boring. + i loved the worldbuilding, the magic system was interesting and it was explained in a way that didn’t feel forced. - The romance was...not overly good and the ending was...meh. And while the worldbuilding and so on made the story more spectacular the general plot was nothing special.

AVENGERS: DESTINY ARRIVES by LIZA PALMER ★★★☆☆ | 304 pages | 1 day to read | Published 2019

So this is basically Avengers: Infinity War in bookform, and I ordered because I wanted to read it before Endgame came out. Sadly! It showed up on the day of the premiere and I just skimmed through it the first time. Now I read it more carefully and, yeah, it was basically what I expected. + So most of it was just like in the movie, but the artistic take Palmer did on the characters thoughts and emotions during the battle was very interesting to read! And the illustrations were very nice too! - I can’t confirm this without checking the movie (and I don’t have the time) but some small things I remember being slightly different. Just small things, but considering it’s a book of a movie I feel justified in being somewhat picky.

CAPTAIN MARVEL: HIGHER, FURTHER, FASTER by LIZA PALMER ★★★★☆ | 246 pages | 1 day to read | Published 2019

Bought this at the same time as Destiny Arrives, because the cover just looked so pretty and the premise looked cool! + This was a surprisingly refreshing read. Some of the things Palmer came up with herself in Infinity War really resonated with me, and here she has the chance to come up with things on her own without being restrained by a movie (this book happens way before the movie Captain Marvel). It felt like this book had some important things to say. - I wished this book stretched longer, if so only to touch more on the story of Carol becoming Captain Marvel - but at the same time I was fine with how the book ended.

THE PRINCESS SAVES HERSELF IN THIS ONE by AMANDA LOVELACE ★★★★☆ | 156 pages | 1 day to read | Published 2016

This was a reread for me! I’ve worked with poetry together with my students this past month and I was motivated to read this again after seeing that the third collection in this series came out not too long ago. I reread this mainly because I wanted to see if my feelings on it had changed, and was pleased to see that they hadn’t! It’s still an interesting read.

I plan to reread the second one as well before I buy the third one!

THE TRAVELLING CAT CHRONICLES by HIRO ARIKAWA ★★★★☆ | 256 pages | 5 days to read | Published 2012

+ This is one of those books were you know what will happen, yet it still carries enough emotional impact that you cry when it ends. Reading from a cat’s perspective was very interesting and overall, this was such a nice read!

KVINNOR I KAMP: 150 ÅRS KAMP FÖR FRIHET, JÄMLIKHET OCH SYSTERSKAP by MARTA BREEN & JENNY JORDAHL ★★★★☆ | 119 pages | 1 day to read | Published 2018

This is a graphic novel depicting some of the history of the women’s rights movement. + The art was nice and they choose to include not only stories from Sweden and the west but also other parts of the world, which was great.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ★★★☆☆ | 175 pages | 1 day to read | Published 2011/1598

My reading of Shakespeare’s plays continue! I remember watching the movie from ‘93 with Emma Thompson and Kenneth Branagh in class and really liking it! So when it came to choose the next play this is one I really wanted to read. + Beatrice and Benedick is so funny and charming, this made me want to rewatch the movie! - Outside of Beatrice and Benedick it was a pretty classic, background Shakespearian story going on, that was interesting but not as much as forementioned.

CRAZY RICH ASIANS by KEVIN KWAN ★★★☆☆ | 467 pages | 1 day to read | Published 2013

Finally read this! I wanted to see the movie since I’d heard so many good things about it, but it turned out netflix didn’t have it... I might watch it some other time, though! + I really flew through this. The descriptions of the luxury all around the characters was so much fun to read and the story had so many colourful characters to cling to. I might continue on with this series! - Despite getting through this very quickly, there were definitely parts full of information that I wasn’t interested in reading. I also expected this to be way funnier than it was. For some reason I was under the impression this was a sort of romance-comedy but while some things were funny (or, absurd?) it didn’t really meet my expectations. Some things about the romance parts didn’t click with me, either.

THE POET X by ELIZABETH ACEVEDO ★★★★☆ | 361 pages | 1 day to read | Published 2018

+ I liked that it was written in verse and I liked the story in itself... I don’t know what more to say.

TIGER LILY by JODI LYNN ANDERSON ★★☆☆☆ | 292 pages | 2 days to read | Published 2012

I’d heard shifting opinions on this one, but decided the premise sounded too interesting to not give a chance. I liked this book well enough, by the end, but it was far from a new favourite. + and - The reasons I liked it was also the reasons I disliked it. I liked some characterisations or aspects of them, and disliked some of them. I found the mix between Neverland and the real world somewhat confusing and wished the author would’ve either sticked more the original story or less, if that makes any sense. As far as Peter Pan-retellings go, I think this was interesting, still.

VIPER by BEX HOGAN ★★☆☆☆ | 400 pages | 2 days to read | Published 2019

This was is a brand new ya fantasy trilogy that I probably won’t continue reading... + While the first half of the book was pretty boring and predictable the second half was way better. I liked the main character the best in the middle of the book, same with the romance. - As mentioned, the start of the book was pretty lackluster. The main character seemed pretty meek considering the circumstances, the romance was bleh and the plot unoriginal. This book had several things that I’ve seen before over and over again and it didn’t work too hard on making them seem different than normal. Overall this story lacked any real depth.

#books #julia reads #reading wrap-up #reading wrap-up: may 2019 #book recommendations #book recs #book reviews #ya #booklr #my post

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theonyxpath · 6 years

Link

Last week, I had a great interview with the guys from the Everybody Loves Pudding podcast, and since their questions started with the early days with White Wolf and being a Magic card artist and led right through the CCP years to V5 and its several controversies, I thought this week that I’d go over a couple of questions folks have been throwing at us that relate to the whole ownership and licensing thing. And the difference between those two kinds of business deals.

(As soon as the Pudding guys are ready to post the interview, I’ll share the links with all of you. Mmmm, I sure do like pudding, Cotton).

I recently saw online somebody asking how CCP being bought was going to affect us and White Wolf and the WW game lines.

So, first, if you missed the news: CCP, the company that used to own White Wolf and who tried to create a World of Darkness MMO, but who ultimately sold WW to Paradox, who then recreated White Wolf as a company and created Vampire 5th Edition, were themselves bought by a bigger computer game company out of Korea or China.

Wow, that was still pretty convoluted, wasn’t it? Let’s try bullet points:

The original White Wolf, after years of creating great games lines, merges with/is bought by CCP, an Icelandic MMO company.

CCP licenses the rights to create tabletop RPGs for WoD, Chronicles of Darkness, and Exalted, to my new company, Onyx Path. The license means we don’t own those lines, we “just” make TTRPG books for them. They sell all the rights to Scion, the Trinity game lines, and the Scarred Lands to Onyx Path, as well, so we do own them and can call all the shots for them.

After years of trying to create a WoD MMO, and failing, CCP sells everything they have left that is White Wolf to Paradox Interactive, a Swedish computer game company. CCP at this point has no further ownership or connection to anything once created by White Wolf.

Paradox spins off a company named White Wolf that they intend to use to build the World of Darkness into the most recognized and coolest horror Intellectual Property in the world. They intend to do this by matching the right creators with the right projects via licensing.

This White Wolf continues with Onyx Path‘s license to create tabletop RPGs, but decides to create the newest edition of the WoD game lines, starting with Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition, themselves and let other licensees, like Onyx Path, publish V5 books as well.

CCP is bought by a bigger computer game company and because they sold everything White Wolf years ago, they have no connection to and their be bought has no effect on anything White Wolf related today. Or on Onyx Path in any way. Although, we do all wish them luck and a great future!

This corporate stuff does get complicated, don’t it?

Dragon-Blooded art by Melissa Uran

You might wonder why I can wish the crew at CCP good luck after all the upset that happened during the WoD MMO years – many of us still have flashbacks to the endless “stand-up” team meetings, and the sit-down management meetings weren’t much better – but without them licensing the WW game lines to us, Onyx Path would have had a very, very, tough time starting as a TTRPG publisher.

That gave us the boost of awareness and continuity with the old WW community that allowed us to build Onyx up and experiment on game-lines and business options that has enabled us to keep growing. So, yeah, I am grateful for that. And honestly, even with these great WW licenses, there are still many struggles that we’ve surmounted.

Contrary to some belief, and something that some other companies are learning, having a well-known and much loved TTRPG gameline is not a license to print money. Although good online gaming representation helps a lot, these days!

I used those bullet points to answer a few of the other questions, too, like “Why isn’t White Wolf doing more books themselves?” and “Did Onyx Path lose the White Wolf license? I see all these other companies involved!”.

A fair bit of the confusion, once you get past the corporate buy-outs and license definitions is just that White Wolf now isn’t functioning like we did in the first White Wolf. Which is really good, because back then, we were just making stuff up as we went along!

M20 Gods and Monsters art by Michael Gaydos

Now, for some quick notes from our Monday Meeting today.

First, Eddy Webb let us in on his iThrive retreat and “think tank” that he attended at the end of last week. Eddy shared a lot of notes on how to professionals and academics are viewing TTRPGs as learning, teaching, and therapeutic tools. Like I said at the meeting, it is really fascinating to hear analysis and data that confirms a lot of the ways we’ve seen kids and teenagers use games to help themselves.

Good stuff, and perhaps I can convince Eddy to put together a more in-depth blog sometime in the future, or even devote an episode of the Onyx Pathcast to the topic.

My notes from the meeting tell me that this Friday’s Pathcast is slated to be an phantasmagorical interview with the Master of Mage: The Ascension, Satyr Phil Brucato himself. With M20 Gods and Monsters and M20 Book of the Fallen handed off into the production process, this is a great time to delve deep into what Satyr Phil was thinking and went through to create those projects.

Last week’s Pathcast was an amazing deep-dive into the creation of Beckett’s Jyhad Diary, and many other things Vampire as well, with the Terrifically Terrifying Trio adding both insight and insanity to the exploration. They have stated quite clearly that it was their best look into a specific book EVAH, so it’s well worth a listen on PodBean or on your favorite podcast venue: https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

Impish Ian Watson, our Community Manager, talked a bit about the LA By Night streaming V5 Chronicle from Geek & Sundry, and how at one time in the chat there were something like close to 10,000 folks chatting. Yes, that is a very good thing, even if you don’t follow “actual play” streaming. That’s a lot of potential players excited about WoD, many for the first time. Plus, I hear they did a fantastic job evoking the World of Darkness and V5.

VtR2 Guide to the Night art by Mirko Falloni

Finally, thanks to all of you who have been taking advantage of this week’s huge sale at DriveThruRPG.com, it has been a stunning success, and runs until Thursday morning here in the US. In case you have somehow missed it. Then, as soon as it stops, DTRPG is running the same deal, but for Vampire: The Requiem, Werewolf: The Forsaken, and Mage: The Awakening PDFs, all part of the Chronicles of Darkness. More info below.

So many things are happening all over, and yet, ultimately, we are so thrilled to be creating the projects that provide the impetus for so much of all that. It’s what we do, we make worlds, in fact:

Many Worlds, One Path!

BLURBS!

KICKSTARTER:

The Dystopia Rising: Evolution Kickstarter funded in less than a day, and two sections of the Threat Guide companion PDF Stretch Goal have been added, which is a first-person guide with mechanics to the various threats facing survivors in the DR:E world, and we have opened up a Community Content site for the game! Now we’re staggering towards a fiery Jumpstart!

Dystopia Rising: Evolution is powered by Onyx Path’s Storypath system, and includes all the rules you need to play as a survivor in the post-apocalypse, including rules for creating characters for up to 24 different Strains, variations on humanity that survived the Fall. It also has details on the powers of faith and psionics, along with advice on running action-adventure stories, webs of personal intrigue, or procedural investigations. And, finally, dozens of antagonists, including a variety of zombies and raiders to use in your series.

Throughout this Kickstarter campaign, we will be posting complete previews of the Dystopia Rising: Evolution manuscript as backer-only updates. With one week to go, you can back now and get the text to find out what are the excitement is about!

ELECTRONIC GAMING:

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is now live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is both rolling and rocking!

Here are the links for the Apple and Android versions:

http://theappstore.site/app/1296692067/onyx-dice

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.onyxpathpublishing.onyxdice&hl=en

Three different screenshots, above.

ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE:

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue you bought it from. Reviews really, really help us with getting folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these fiction books:

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Endless Ages Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Rites of Renown: When Will You Rage II (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Ascension: Truth Beyond Paradox (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: The God-Machine Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Curse of the Blue Nile (Kindle, Nook)

Beast: The Primordial: The Primordial Feast Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Masquerade: Of Predators and Prey: The Hunters Hunted II Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: The Poison Tree (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Songs of the Sun and Moon: Tales of the Changing Breeds (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: The Strix Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Forsaken: The Idigam Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Awakening: The Fallen World Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Beast Within Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: W20 Cookbook (Kindle, Nook)

Exalted: Tales from the Age of Sorrows (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Tales of the Dark Eras (Kindle, Nook)

Promethean: The Created: The Firestorm Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Demon: The Descent: Demon: Interface (Kindle, Nook)

Scarred Lands: Death in the Walled Warren (Kindle, Nook)

V20 Dark Ages: Cainite Conspiracies (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Strangeness in the Proportion (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: Silent Knife (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Dawn of Heresies (Kindle, Nook)

OUR SALES PARTNERS:

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the Screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there!

https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

Here’s the link to the press release we put out about how Onyx Path is now selling through Indie Press Revolution: http://theonyxpath.com/press-release-onyx-path-limited-editions-now-available-through-indie-press-revolution/

And you can now order Pugmire: the book, the screen, and the dice! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=296

DRIVETHRURPG.COM:

Ending this Thursday, DTRPG together with White Wolf and Onyx Path are having a one week massive 75% off sale on all Vampire: The Masquerade, Werewolf: The Apocalypse, and Mage: The Ascension PDFs!

AND, starting this Thursday morning, we are having a one week only 75% off sale on all Vampire: The Requiem, Werewolf: The Forsaken, and Mage: The Awakening PDFs!

This Wednesday we expand our blank journal offerings on our RedBubble site with Vampire: The Requiem blank journals!

CONVENTIONS!

From Fast Eddy Webb, we have these:

Eddy will be speaking at Broadleaf Writers Conference (September 22-23) in Decatur, GA. He’ll be there to talk about writing for interactive fiction, and hanging out with other writers who have far more illustrious careers. http://broadleafwriters.com/3rd-annual-broadleaf-writers-conference/3rd-annual-broadleaf-writers-conference-speakers/

Eddy will also be a featured guest at Save Against Fear (October 12-14) in Harrisburg, PA. He’ll be running some Pugmire games, be available for autographs, and will sometimes accept free drinks. http://www.thebodhanagroup.org/about-the-convention

Monica Valentinelli will be a professional guest at Great Falls Gaming Convention in Montana the first week of October. http://gfgr.org/guests-of-honor/

Dixie Cochran will be at High Level Games Con in Atlantic City October 12-14, running a Women in Game Design panel, Eddy’s RPG Developer Bootcamp, and possibly making a surprise appearance at another event!

And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM FAST EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

C20 Novel (Jackie Cassada) (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 The Technocracy Reloaded (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Tales of Excellent Cats (Monarchies of Mau)

Scion Companion: Mysteries of the World (Scion 2nd Edition)

City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Witch-Queen of the Shadowed Citadel (Cavaliers of Mars)

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Scion Ready Made Characters (Scion 2nd Edition)

Scion Jumpstart (Scion 2nd Edition)

Redlines

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Second Draft

Tales of Good Dogs – Pugmire Fiction Anthology (Pugmire)

Oak, Ash, and Thorn: Changeling: The Lost 2nd Companion (Changeling: The Lost 2nd)

CofD Dark Eras 2 (Chronicles of Darkness)

V5 Chicago By Night (Vampire: The Masquerade)

Development

Hunter: the Vigil 2e core (Hunter: the Vigil 2nd Edition)

Fetch Quest (Pugmire)

CofD Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Dystopia Rising: Evolution (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

Night Horrors: Shunned by the Moon (Werewolf: The Forsaken 2nd Edition)

Adventures for Curious Cats (Monarchies of Mau)

M20 Book of the Fallen (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Spilled Blood (Vampire: The Requiem 2nd Edition)

In Media Res (Trinity Continuum: Core)

Aeon Aexpansion (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

C20 Players’ Guide (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Wr20 Book of Oblivion (Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition)

Manuscript Approval:

Signs of Sorcery (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Editing:

Dog and Cat Ready Made Characters (Monarchies of Mau) (With Eddy)

Changeling: The Lost 2nd Jumpstart (Changeling: The Lost 2nd)

Post-Editing Development:

Scion: Hero (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum Core Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

Trinity Continuum: Aeon Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

Ex Novel 2 (Aaron Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Exalted 3rd Novel by Matt Forbeck (Exalted 3rd Edition)

They Came From Beneath the Sea! Rulebook (TCFBtS!)

Indexing:

Changeling: The Lost 2e

ART DIRECTION FROM MIRTHFUL MIKE:

In Art Direction

Dystopia Rising: Evolution – KS is going.

M20: Gods and Monsters – AD’d and Contracted.

Geist 2e

The Realm

Trinity Continuum (Aeon and Core) – AD’d and Contracted.

Ex3 Monthly Stuff

Ex3 Dragon Blooded – Finals coming in.

Chicago By Night – KS art sketches and finals coming in.

Pugmire Roll of Good Dogs and Cats

Marketing Stuff

In Layout

Trinity Core

Trinity Aeon

Proofing

Scion Hero – Putting in Neal’s changes, updating font

PTC: Night Horrors: The Tormented – Corrections over to KT.

Scion Origin – Doing Neall’s errata changes, and swapping out the font.

VtR: Guide to the Night

Lost 2e Screen – At WW for approval

Fetch Quest – Package design done

At Press

Monarchies of Mau – Printing. Dice and buttons printing.

Cavaliers of Mars – At Studio2.

Wraith 20th – Prepping the interior Deluxe files, cover design sent to printer.

Monarchies of Mau Screen – At Studio2.

Cavaliers of Mars Screen – At Studio2.

Wraith 20 Screen – Printing.

Scion Dice – At fulfillment shipper.

Cav Talent cards – PoD proof coming.

Requiem Journals – On Sale at RedBubble on Weds!

TODAY’S REASON TO CELEBRATE: In 1859 Joshua A. Norton declares himself “Norton I, Emperor of the United States.” I mean, if you like WoD or CofD, They Came From Beneath the Sea!, Scion, or the Trinity Continuum…this guy was just the tip of the odd history iceberg that we draw on for all those settings.

#Onyx Path Publishing

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realityisnoplacetolive · 7 years

Text

Lost In Translation | Phandom Big Bang

Author: realityisnoplacetolive

Artist: @themessafterthemarty (the art is awesome omg)

Beta: @always-okay-katie (thank you so much for all your help!!)

Word count: 11k

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Summary: In a world in which everyone is born with their soulmate’s first words to them tattooed somewhere on their body, it would seem that loneliness is finally cured. But Phil Lester has a problem. His tattoo is in a language he can’t speak.

A/N: Additional thanks to @awesomesockes, for being Danish and therefore occasionally helpful in the endeavor :p And to Gina, for giving me really awesome advice about pacing, which i was too stubborn to actually implement, but I appreciated nonetheless <3 (you tried)

His situation wasn’t exactly common, but it wasn’t unheard of either. Phil’s mum often tried to assure him of this - he wasn’t the first person on Earth to have a language barrier between him and his soulmate. But that was easy for her to say, when she was born with the words ‘Have you got a partner for the assignment yet?’ tattooed in neat script across her collarbone. Phil’s father had asked her this question at the start of year five, and despite the response she’d given him of ‘Sorry, Charlie’s just asked me’, the two had been fast friends ever since. Those five words covered his dad’s left calf, and he often teased his wife about how her first words to him were rejection.

But Phil Lester would’ve given anything for something as simple and direct as that. The twenty-two year old sighed at the foreign phrase printed across his right forearm for what felt like the millionth time.

“Yeah, well, beats mine anyway,” his older brother had assured him. Phil had to giggle, remembering the ‘Would you like to order drinks?’ tattoo on Martyn’s bicep.

As teens, a group of his brothers’ friends had started a sort of competition for who could find their soulmate fastest. Of course, it didn’t really work that way. The first meeting was something predetermined before birth; trying to rush fate was pointless. And while they believed that on some level, impatient young people were notorious for trying to manipulate their situations to make it happen a bit sooner.

Martyn’s friend, Jack, for example, had been born with the tattoo ‘Try not to move - it might be broken’. He’d taken it as an open invitation to try all kinds of extreme sports, from BMX biking to water skiing. By the age of seventeen, Jack had already broken eleven bones with no luck on the soulmate front. In the end, he’d had to trip over a rolled up floor mat and sprain his knee while walking into Asda before finally meeting Emma.

Not one to be outdone, poor Martyn had taken nearly every penny he’d earned from his summer job at a bowling alley and spent it trying out various restaurants and sneaking into bars. He’d get his hopes up with each new server, only to have them dashed again every time the waitress remained unphased by his drink order. Eventually, he’d made peace with it. He’d meet her when he’d meet her, and that was that.

But with a line like ‘Er det dine briller?’ inked into his skin, it seemed foolish for Phil not to prepare a little.

The phrase was in Danish: are these your glasses? Translating it had been the easy part - his parents had done that for him with the help of a Danish-English dictionary they’d purchased about a week after he was born (after first spending a few afternoons in the library determining the tattoo wasn’t German or Dutch or Swedish). What to do with that information next, however, was a little less obvious.

When Phil was little, having such a mark was almost a relief. Much like a child taking their first steps or graduating school, meeting one’s soulmate for the first time was considered such an important milestone in someone’s life that it wasn’t uncommon for parents to hover over their children’s first interactions with strangers, hoping to hear those magic words. But with Phil’s odds of simply bumping into his soulmate on the playground at next to nil, much of the pressure involved in making new friends was off. In a way, it was nice.

For his thirteenth birthday, Phil’s parents had bought him a ‘Teach Yourself Danish’ book series, complete with audio tapes to practice with. But after a few weeks of struggling to wrap his mouth around the foreign words, Phil’s enthusiasm dwindled and the series took up residence in the corner of his book shelf where it collected dust for years to come.

Phil was nineteen before things changed. He and one of his best friends, Amber, were spending the day at a funfair. She was eating candyfloss off a stick, while he was a very pale shade of green and trying his best to keep his lunch down after the Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Want a bite?” Amber said, offering the sugary pink substance to him. He grimaced and looked away. “Might help.”

“Doubt it.” He moved toward an empty bench a few feet away and sat down with a little groan, closing his eyes. Amber plopped down next to him, and they rested for a few minutes.

Phil had met Amber on the first day of sixth form. She was one of the very few girls Phil knew who didn’t place much stock in the soulmate system. Amber had a bit of a rebellious streak, and never shut up about how dumb she considered it that some unknown force in the universe was supposed to decide who she should spend her life with.

“When I do meet him, I bet I won’t even like him,” she often complained. “I feel sorry for the bloke, honestly.”

She’d gone out with several different guys throughout their school career, which had earned her a certain reputation with many of the other students in their year. She rarely ever did anything with these boys, she’d confided in Phil once, but she found everyone else’s assumptions about her fascinating. Plus, there was something so liberating about spending the evening sitting on the sofa, “wasting her time” - as her grandmother often chided - by getting to know someone who’d only leave her in the end.

“But that’s exactly the point,” Amber would argue back. “There’s no pressure this way - no promise of a future. Just right now.”

Honestly, Phil wished he could have such a flippant attitude about the whole matter. Amber was on a whole new level.

“You’re not gonna eat that?” a male voice interrupted Phil’s thoughts.

Phil’s eyes snapped open again, and he noticed a young man approaching them. Amber sat frozen with one arm reached out, just getting ready to drop the last bit of her candyfloss into the bin next to the bench. Phil’s heart leapt and he shot his friend a look of amazement.

“Why?” Amber replied to the stranger, a mixture of nervousness and excitement in her voice. “You starting a half-eaten candyfloss collection?”

“Holy fucking shit on a stick!” the stranger exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with the same excitement. “That’s my tattoo!”

Grinning, Amber lifted the leg of her jeans just enough to show the ‘You’re not gonna eat that?’ tattooed on her ankle. “And you?”

The stranger, with an even bigger smile, held out his forearm. “Half-eaten candyfloss collection! Who even says that?” He laughed. “I was worried I’d never find you! My name’s Matt by the way.”

As Phil walked along the rest of the day, listening to Amber and Matt chat excitedly several paces ahead, he began to understand the meaning of the term “third wheel”. He also resolved to sign up for Danish lessons as soon as he got home.

It was another three years before Phil finally got his chance to visit Denmark. Amber and Matt - now recently engaged and sharing a flat - had booked him tickets to Copenhagen as a part belated birthday, part ‘sorry that we found true love and ran off together while you’re over there all alone’ present. But he wasn’t about to be one to turn down a free trip, even one born out of pity.

Phil greatly increased his language studies in preparation. He’d found an internet proxy that allowed him to stream the Danish national television channels, and was thoroughly enjoying Danish X Factor. It turned out horrible talent show auditions were universal.

“So are you like, fluent now?” Martyn asked him that evening when he came to visit, the night before Phil set off. He stood in the doorway to Phil’s room with his arms crossed, leaning against the frame, as he observed his younger brother. Phil was sprawled out in his bed with his laptop, watching Huset på Christianshavn - a sitcom from the late 70s featuring an odd bunch of Danes living in an apartment complex who did an appalling amount of drinking and not much else.

“Uh, no. Not quite there yet,” Phil answered without looking up. That was an understatement - his eyes were currently glued to the rapidly moving subtitles, which gave him his only hope of comprehension.

“Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” his brother said. He moved from the doorway and sat down on Phil’s desk chair. “Cornelia says hi by the way - she wanted to come along and send you off properly, but she’s got some huge chemistry exam tomorrow morning. Says her professor is a nightmare.”

Even just mentioning Cornelia’s name, Martyn’s face seemed to light up. Phil had noticed this with most of his friends who’d found their soulmates and a familiar pang of bitterness hit him. He swallowed it down before he spoke.

“It’s alright,” Phil said dismissively. “It’s not like I’m gone a year. Just six days.”

“Who knows,” Martyn grinned, “you might just be so smitten after you meet them that you decide to stay.”

The words struck a nerve. “You know, I wish everyone would stop putting all this pressure on me,” Phil snapped. “There’s no guarantee that I’m meeting anyone on this trip - there never is.”

“Hey man, it was just a joke…” Martyn tried.

“No, it’s not! It’s the one person that the universe has decided is compatible with my soul and I have to fly to bloody Denmark to even have a shot at meeting them!”

“That’s not true, you-”

But Phil cut him off. “All my friends are getting engaged or moving in together or just out having their own adventures because at least they know they have an equal chance of meeting their soulmate wherever they might end up, but here I am, preparing myself for my one chance to meet someone I won’t even be able to communicate with!”

He paused for a breath. It was as if a dam had been opened - now that all his worries were flooding out, he felt powerless to stop them. He went on, “And if this fails, then what? Wait to save up enough and try again? Move there? What if I don’t even like this stupid country?”

“They all speak English there,” his brother reminded. “They learn it from like, year one. They’ll probably be better than you.”

“But will they think English?” Phil asked, something akin to desperation in his voice. “Will they feel English? When we lay in bed and tell each other our deepest secrets, will their words come out effortlessly in English, or will it constantly be work for them to translate their every thought to a language not their own because I’m a piece of shit who was literally born with an assignment printed on his arm but put off studying for twenty-two years?!”

Hot tears were sliding down Phil’s face now. He slammed the laptop closed and pushed it aside before sitting up on the bed and pulling his knees up to his chest.

Martyn rose from the desk and moved over to sit next to Phil on the edge of the bed. He offered his shoulder, and his brother, grateful for the comfort, lay his head against it. “You are way overthinking this, mate,” Martyn said softly.

“I know…” Phil breathed back. And deep down, he did know. “It’s just…” He cut himself off with a sigh.

“Just what?” his brother prompted.

“Just… what if it all goes horribly wrong? You know, like Great Uncle Ronnie….”

Martyn rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Phil, your soulmate speaks Danish and you don’t. That man was born with the tattoo ‘Time of death: 7:46’ on his chest. Your situation is not even close to that level of depressing.”

“But what about-” Phil began.

“Enough,” Martyn cut in. “You have six days of free travel in a beautiful foreign country. For once in your life, let’s just forget about this whole soulmate business and focus on that. Can you manage that?”

Slowly, Phil nodded his head.

“Good.” Martyn ruffled his brother’s hair with his hand before turning to the empty suitcase lying on the floor. “Now let’s get you packed. And bring an umbrella - I just checked the weather and it looks like six solid days of rain.”

Phil let out a sigh. “Fantastic.”

Keeping his word to Martyn ended up not being nearly as difficult as Phil had imagined. There was plenty to do and see in Copenhagen besides soulmate searching. In four days’ time, Phil had already seen The Little Mermaid statue (which was significantly smaller than he’d imagined), visited two castles, explored Tivoli Gardens, gone for a canal tour, a bus tour, and a bike tour, and posed for his mandatory selfie in front of the capital guards.

But even with all the activities to occupy his time, he’d be lying if he said choosing to wear his glasses rather than contact lenses that week was just a coincidence, or that the few instances where he’d left those glasses sitting on restaurant tables or park benches had been complete accidents.

It turned out, most Danes kept to themselves. He was rarely spoken to by anyone, though one man did give a small cough and incline his head in the glasses’ direction. Phil had acknowledged him with a nod and gave a slight smile before retrieving them. Non-verbal interactions seemed to be Denmark’s speciality.

But finally, after several of these such attempts, a stranger fell for his bait. Phil had taken off his glasses and set them on the cafe table where he’d been sipping a latte. He’d walked halfway to the door, and was just about to complete his routine of acting as though he’d suddenly realized they were missing and backtracking to the table, when he heard a phrase that sent a chill down his spine.

“Excuse me, are those your glasses?”

Phil spun around excitedly at the words, but his eyes met those of a woman in her mid-fifties. She wasn’t exactly his type, but then again, platonic soulmates, though rare, were still a possibility…

“Mine b-briller?” he stuttered back, the words sounding all thick and wrong in his hopeless accent.

The woman looked puzzled. “Nå! Er du dansker?” she asked.

“…What?” Phil replied.

“I guess not.” The corners of her mouth turned up a bit into a smile. “I asked if you were Danish,” she explained, a slight accent to her voice. “I think you left your glasses on the table.”

“Oh, right, thanks,” he mumbled. Phil picked them up and stuffed them into his bag. He didn’t even need them at the moment - he was wearing his contacts anyway.

The woman was already moving to join the queue at the counter, and Phil considered just letting it go. But no, he’d come all this way; he had to be sure.

He hurried back over to her. “Sorry, excuse me?” he said quickly. She turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, I just have to ask something. When you asked me about the glasses the first time, were you speaking Danish or English?” He’d been so startled by her question before that he hadn’t even noticed.

She frowned. “English, wasn’t it? I saw the book you were holding, so I just assumed. Something wrong?”

Phil could’ve kicked himself. Of course. When carrying a book titled “Tourist in Copenhagen”, he wouldn’t look exceptionally Danish.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I guess I just got my hopes up for a second.” Feeling he owed her an explanation, Phil gave a small sigh and pushed his right jacket sleeve up to reveal his tattoo.

The woman squinted to make out the words, and then her expression instantly changed to one of understanding. “Nåh. I’m afraid I’m taken.” With a kind smile that crinkled up the corners of her eyes, she tugged down the top hem of her shirt just enough to expose the writing on her collarbone: Mine underbukser har fået hjemve. Then she held up her left hand and wiggled the fingers. The sunlight glinted off her wedding ring.

If she hadn’t been so sweet, Phil thought he might have died of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, really. I’ll go now.” He spun around quickly toward the door.

“It’s alright!” she laughed after him. “And count your blessings - at least your tattoo doesn’t declare to all the world that your soulmate’s first words to you were that he had a wedgie.”

Even with his cheeks burning as they were, Phil had to giggle as he ducked out of the cafe and back to the walking street.

Despite his horrible luck on the soulmate front, Phil had managed to enjoy his time in Denmark for the most part.

Martyn had been wrong about the weather after all. Or, mostly right - it had been storming all morning, but the clouds above had parted in the last twenty minutes and the sun was shining brightly enough now that Phil stopped walking to shrug off his jacket and locate his sunglasses.

He’d just managed to free them from his bag when he felt some kind of strap hit the back of his knees, tripping him up. Three large, eager dogs had suddenly appeared on his right, accompanied by a woman on his left who was simultaneously riding a bike and struggling with one arm to hold on to three leather leashes, which were wrapping around the back of Phil’s legs. Two of the dogs crossed in front of Phil, twisting the leashes even further around his ankles and pulling both himself and the cyclist off balance. The bike toppled over, while Phil fell backwards, smacking the back of his head on the landing. Suddenly all five of them were lying on the pavement in a pile of tangled limbs and barking animals.

“Undskyld! Undskyld!” the woman apologized profusely, then proceeded to babble on. Context, plus the limited Danish he could comprehend, told him she was explaining something about how her dogs had gotten away from her, how she was terribly sorry about that, and then asking whether or not he was alright. Not wanting to cause a fuss, Phil simply nodded as they disentangled.

A headache was already building from the jolt. He slowly made his way up to standing and started brushing off his pant legs, which now had damp spots on the back where they’d touched the ground. His possessions were scattered over the street, and the woman, still rambling on in Danish, was hurriedly trying to help him gather everything again.

“Er det dine briller?”

But it hadn’t been the woman asking the question. A new voice had joined the mix. The words startled Phil and his heart leapt in his chest. He spun around to see another guy, late teens or early twenties, stooping down and holding out Phil’s sunglasses.

Are these your glasses? The words seemed to be sung in angel chorus. This was his moment. Phil Lester had had twenty-two years to come up with an answer to that question. He’d rehearsed in front of the mirror, night after night, what fluent Danish response he might say back. He had taught himself affirmative replies, negative replies, replies that were somewhere in the middle - hell, he’d even learned a pick up line or two.

Yet despite all that, when presented with the question that had been inked into his skin since the day he was born, Phil became a blubbering mess. “Ja!” he pointed to the glasses excitedly and then to himself. “Du er min!”

The stranger raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side curiously. “Snakker du til brillerne? Eller til mig?”

“…What?” Phil questioned. The stranger deposited the glasses into Phil’s open hand, looking amused. “Jeg snakker kun lidt dansk,” Phil admitted, using one of the first phrases he’d ever learned of this language: I don’t speak much Danish.

“Clearly,” the man snorted under his breath.

“Oh! Engelsk?” Phil squeaked hopefully. “You speak English?”

The man was grinning now. “I should hope so,” he replied. “Twelve years in the English public school system should have taught me that much.”

Phil’s world was spinning now. He brought a hand up to his head, which was throbbing. “Wait, does that mean… you’re not Danish?”

“God no,” the man snorted out a laugh. “I’m from Wokingham.”

“But you spoke…?” Phil trailed off, looking confused.

The stranger nodded, having grasped Phil’s not quite finished question. “My dad lives here, so I’ve been picking up the language. Plus there’s some online Danish program I do when I can be arsed to remember it.”

“Oh, me too I guess…” Phil mumbled. “Er, not the dad part. Just I’ve been trying to learn, I mean.” The cyclist had managed to gather the dogs and bike together again and was starting to limp away. He’d offer to help her, if he wasn’t also slowly dying himself.

“Cool,” the stranger remarked. His look changed to one of concern, as Phil had gone quite pale. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, just… my head…” Phil slurred, bringing his hand up to prod at the rapidly swelling lump. “I-I should sit down.” He glanced around desperately for a chair.

“Oh. Um…” After a second of hesitation, the man took Phil’s arm and guided him back into the cafe, and then into a booth. He disappeared and then reappeared a minute later with a bottle of water, which he offered awkwardly.

Phil gave him a small smile of gratitude and took the bottle before letting out a tiny groan. “This wasn’t how I planned this day to go.”

The man smiled kindly at him. “That’s life, isn’t it?” He extended his right hand. “I’m Dan, by the way. Dan Howell.”

“Phil,” Phil replied, shaking it. Clumsily, he reached into his pocket, mumbling, “I can pay you back for the water…”

“Oh, no.” Dan waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not everyday something like… this happens.” The words seemed to trip him up at the end.

Phil changed the subject. “You said your dad lives in Denmark?”

“Yeah, he works for an international shipping company,” Dan explained, perking right up. “I live with my mum though, back in England. But I usually come visit a few weeks every summer and every other Christmas.”

“I see…” Phil nodded, then regretted that as the throbbing in his head increased. “But you’re fluent in Danish?”

“Oh no, not even close,” Dan snorted. “I don’t even think most Danes are fluent. Have you heard this language? You might as well just cram a large vegetable down your epiglottis - that seems to be what it would take to choke out half their vowel sounds.”

Phil was starting to feel a little foolish now. He brought the water to his lips, but pulled it away again before taking a sip. “I… I’m sorry. I’m just having a little trouble taking all of this in. I think I hit my head when I fell. But you’re saying you’re not Danish? Not at all? Not even like, half?”

“I mean, if you go back a few generations on my dad’s side, there was a bit of scandal that may or may not have involved the Crown Prince, but nothing was ever confirmed….”

Phil nodded, slower this time. Again, he tried to take a drink of water, but the questions were bursting inside of him to get out. He set the still full bottle back down on the table. “Right, sorry, still trying to get this straight. You’re telling me that the last twenty-two years of my life have been a lie? That all along you were just some English bloke I could have met at home?”

Dan seemed to take offense at this. “Hey, I’m not just some Engli-”

Phil cut him off. “I-I planned my life around this! I picked a course at uni that I could transfer internationally! I learned Denmark’s history! I studied this bloody language - do you know how hard is it to find Danish courses in England?!”

“Actually, I do,” Dan replied stiffly, “but what has any of that got to do with-”

But Phil pressed on. “All the nights I spent lying awake, worried I wouldn’t be able to communicate with my… my soulmate -” He spat out the last word in disgust, “And… And now…”

At the mention of that word, Dan’s gaze shifted away; suddenly he appeared very interested in the salt and pepper shakers.

Phil stopped abruptly, feeling ashamed. He could understand Dan’s response. Personally, Phil had known he was bisexual since he was fifteen, so the fact that the universe had paired him with another male didn’t come as a complete shock to him. But he had no way of knowing yet where Dan stood on the matter. Regardless, he definitely wasn’t making the best first impression.

“I’m sorry. I’m not normally like this.” Phil gestured an open hand vaguely around his head. “I - I hit my head,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah, you mentioned. Like three times now.” Most of the stiffness had gone from Dan’s tone. He watched as Phil rested his elbows on the table and brought his hands up to cover his face. This seemed to soften him even further. “Uh, how bad is it? Do you need to call someone?”

“No, no… It’s fine,” Phil muttered into his hands. “Just hurts.” He lowered his hands again and looked back up. “But… you did ask it, right? I mean…” For the second time that day, Phil held out his bare forearm to a stranger, revealing those four troublesome words: Er det dine briller. “These were your first words to me?”

Dan shifted in his seat. “Er… Well, yeah, but…”

Phil felt himself deflate at the response. “But you have a different tattoo,” he finished. Of course he did - how could Phil have been so stupid? “I’m so sorry, I should have known better. God, this day has been awful. I’m so sor-”

“Ja, du er min,” Dan whispered.

“Sorry?”

A little more confidently now, Dan spoke again, “Ja, du er min. That’s what you said back.”

“Wait.” Phil frowned, recalling the incident. “Didn’t I say det er min? As in, they - the sunglasses - are mine?”

“Nope.” Dan grinned and shook his head. “You definitely said du er min. As in, you are mine.”

“Aw damn it,” Phil muttered, “I’m always messing up the pronouns in this language.”

Dan snorted in amusement.

“Can… Can I see your tattoo then?” Phil asked tentatively.

Dan’s eyes darted down to his own lap. “Oh. Uh… Maybe another time.”

Phil looked hurt. “If this is because of what I said before, I really am sorry. I never should have implied you weren’t who I thought you’d be. I was just so shocked and-”

“No, it’s not that,” Dan said quickly. “I just… don’t really feel comfortable showing you right now.”

Phil drew in a long, deep breath before biting his lower lip. This didn’t make any sense - nothing about this meeting had gone even remotely like he had pictured. His throat was tightening and he had to blink a few times to keep his tears in check. Crying in front of the man would really put the icing on the cake, wouldn’t it?

“You… You don’t want to show me your mark?” Phil questioned. He was fighting to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, but it slipped through anyway.

“Er, not right now, no,” Dan confirmed. Though he looked apologetic.

“But you’re sure we’re soulmates?” Phil pressed on. “Like, sure sure?”

“Du er min,” Dan said with a nod.

“Then, I just don’t understand.” He was thoroughly exasperated now. “Why can’t I see it? I mean, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but we just met, so-��

“Exactly! We just met. Which is why I’m not particularly comfortable showing you such a private thing.”

“But then how will I-”

“It’s on my bum, alright?!” Dan exclaimed in frustration.

Phil blinked at him. “Sorry, what?”

“On my arse, in huge fucking block letters, I have a tattoo that says ‘Ja du er min’,” Dan clarified. “I can assure you, you are the first person to ever greet me with those exact words.”

At that point, Phil realized his mouth had been hanging open and quickly shut it. Virtually all soulmate tattoos were on perfectly innocuous parts of the body: arms, wrists, ankles, collarbones, feet. He’d heard once of a German teenager who’d come out claiming his mark was on his penis and that was why he’d been harassing half the girls at his school with dick pics. The story had been on the news and everything. But the mark had turned out to be fake - his real soulmate tattoo was at the base of his neck, covered by his long hair, and simply said ‘Nein’.

With wide eyes, Phil leaned in closer and whispered “…For real?”

His soulmate nodded miserably. He seemed thoroughly embarrassed.

“But… But that’s so cool!” Phil grinned.

Now it was Dan’s turn to blink back. “How is being tramp-stamped from birth in any way cool? Do you know what they call tattoos like that in Denmark?” he demanded.

Phil shook his head.

“Røvgevir. Ass antlers.”

But as Phil dissolved into giggles, Dan gave up trying to act annoyed. “Alright, it’s a little funny,” he admitted. “But realize that anytime I wanted to see my soulmate’s first words to me, I had to take down my pants and read them backwards in a mirror.”

“And it really says those exact words?” Phil giggled on.

“It really does. ‘Yes, you are mine’,” Dan recited back the translated version. He was snickering too now.

“God, you must have thought I’d be a serial killer!”

“Or perhaps a raging drunk,” Dan put in. “Speaking of…” His gaze traveled down to his backpack, then over to to the door. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

After exiting the cafe, the two found a grocery store and stopped in to get some sandwiches and paper cups and plates to take with them. The rain had managed to stay away and, for the first day since Phil had arrived, the sun was actually shining. But even if they had walked directly into a hurricane, the day couldn’t have seemed anything but gorgeous to him.

Together, they crossed a few streets, and several minutes later arrived at the large square garden that surrounded Rosenborg Castle. Around them, there were people walking their dogs, riding bikes, or just relaxing in the rare bit of sunshine. Dan guided him over to a spot on the grass near a statue of Hans Christian Andersen and surprised Phil a bit by pulling a blanket from his backpack and spreading it out on the slightly damp grass.

But if the blanket had been unexpected, it only got stranger as Dan proceeded to pull an unopened bottle of champagne out of the bag. Phil looked at him curiously.

Dan shrugged at the reaction. “I always like to be prepared.” Noting Phil’s look of incredulousness, he laughed and explained, “Nah, I bought it when you went looking for the paper plates. It’s funny not getting asked for ID here - there’s no drinking age in Denmark, you know?”

Phil picked up the bottle and scanned the Danish label. “Looks fancy.”

“My dad told me this brand is the best.” Dan popped the cork off, seeming a little surprised as the fizz rushed out. Phil handed him two of the little paper cups and Dan poured them each one.

“Cheers,” Dan said. “Or I guess we should say skål.”

“Skål,” Phil repeated, tapping his paper cup to Dan’s. He took a sip of the liquid, but immediately had to fight to keep from scrunching up his face at the taste. Not wanting to offend his soulmate any more than he’d already done, he hummed, “Mmmm…”.

Dan, who had also sipped his, now frowned and peered into the cup. “Huh. Tastes like ass.”

“Yeah…” Phil agreed with a giggle. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…”

“Should’ve known Dad was taking the piss.” Dan scooted over to the edge of the blanket and poured his cupful out into the grass. “So much for that.”

“Still, it was a nice thought,” Phil said. “I should have thought to do something cool for you…”

Dan glanced down and his cheeks reddened again. “Oh no, it’s no big deal,” he mumbled quickly. He looked back up. “And you said you’d been learning Danish, didn’t you? That’s a huge something.”

Phil gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, that was a great use of my time, wasn’t it?” With a sigh, he lay back on the blanket and brought his hands up over his face again. “This day has been so humiliating,” he moaned. “Why does this soulmate business have to be so complicated?”

Dan laughed and joined Phil in stretching out on the blanket. “Tell me about it.”

Phil made it about thirty minutes into their picnic before an acute increase in pain and dizziness upon sitting up caused him to vomit his half-sandwich and ass-champagne over the side of the blanket. Mortified, he tried to stand up and move away, but his world was spinning so much that he would have toppled right over if not for Dan grabbing his arm to steady him.

“Whoa, hey, hold on,” Dan commanded as Phil tried to pull away from his grip. “You need to sit back down.”

“I-I need to g-go,” Phil slurred, not entirely sure where he was trying to get to. Besides away, that is. Preferably some place dark and quiet and far removed from other humans. His head was pounding.

“I know, we’re going, just hold on,” Dan assured, though he sounded nervous. Once he was convinced Phil could stand on his own, Dan ducked away to gather everything back into his bag. Phil let his eyes close as he swayed in place, just focusing on remaining upright.

Things were a blur from that point on, due mainly to the persistent ringing in Phil’s ears. Dan moved him to a park bench and then started asking him all kinds of questions. But Dan’s voice was hard to make out - almost like Phil was underwater - so Phil couldn’t give many answers. The questioning finally stopped when a concerned-looking Dan took out his phone and stepped a few paces away to make a call.

About ten minutes later, Dan was ushering Phil into a taxi. Phil had a vague sense that he really shouldn’t be getting into a cab with a man he’d just met an hour or two before, soulmate or not, but he was feeling too out of it to protest. Next thing Phil knew, he was being led into a reception area of a bright waiting room and nudged toward a chair.

“…This a hospital?” Phil mumbled as he sank into his seat. The change in location had made him feel a bit more coherent.

Dan scratched the top of his head, looking awkward. “Yeah… I think you need to get your head checked.”

“Rude.”

“What?” Dan frowned at first, but then his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh no, not like that! I just meant because of the…” He trailed off as he noticed Phil was smirking at him. “Oh. Got your sense of humor back, I see.”

Phil giggled a bit. Gingerly, he lifted his hand up to feel the lump on the back of his skull and winced. It had definitely gotten bigger.

“I should go sign you in,” Dan decided, glancing to the front desk. “Have you got an ID on you?”

Nodding slowly, Phil reached into his pocket and pulled a card from his wallet. “I hope they speak English here,” he mumbled, passing the card to Dan.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Dan dismissed him with a shrug. “Pretty much everyone here does.” Once again, Phil felt dumb for having spent so many years worrying about the potential language barrier.

Dan examined the card. “So it’s Lester, is it?” he mused. Phil gave a small grunt of confirmation. “Philip Michael Lester… I like it.” Nodding to himself, Dan turned and took the card up to the reception desk.

The waiting room was surprisingly quiet for a hospital, which Phil greatly appreciated. If only it wasn’t so damn bright. He let his eyes close to block the light out. He must have started drifting off because a few moments later he felt someone gently nudging him back awake. Phil opened his eyes to see Dan had returned and was poking his shoulder, holding a clipboard in the other hand.

“You really shouldn’t sleep with a head injury,” Dan said as he sat down in the chair beside Phil. “This happened to my cousin once and I remember my aunt had to keep waking her up.”

Phil gave a tired grunt in response, his gaze falling to the clipboard which Dan had balanced on his lap.

“Normally they’d just have you scan your ID and then all your info is in the system already, but it won’t work because you’re not from Denmark so we’ve got these forms instead,” Dan rambled in explanation. Phil really couldn’t have cared less how the Danish healthcare system worked at the moment, but he nodded anyway. Leaning forward in his seat, Phil rested his elbows on his knees, allowing him to support his forehead in his hands.

“Do you live with your parents?” Dan’s voice asked.

“Just right now,” Phil mumbled back into his hands. “I’m planning on moving out soon… just don’t have things quite…” he trailed off feeling slightly embarrassed.

Embarrassment was really the emotion of the day for Phil. In the past twelve hours, he had accused a random Danish lady of being his soulmate, then gotten knocked down by a pack of dogs and helped to his feet by a man who turned out to be his actual soulmate, spluttered at him in a foreign language only to discover he spoke English all along, offended the man, and finally made up with him only long enough to puke all over his picnic.

“It’s okay, I live with my family too, whenever I’m home from uni,” Dan said, cutting his thoughts off. “Do you know your mum’s phone number?”

“Er… seven, one…” He closed his eyes tighter and rubbed at them. “Or…Or maybe it ends in seven one?” Normally he knew the number, but his head felt fuzzy and he was tired - so tired.

“That’s alright. What’s her name?”

“Mum…” Phil answered sleepily. His eyes were closed, so he missed Dan’s eyeroll. The tiredness won out and Phil drifted back off again until Dan’s voice startled him back to reality. “Wha..?” Phil mumbled.

“I asked if you’re on any medications,” Dan repeated his question.

Phil frowned. Soulmates or not, surely that wasn’t appropriate to ask someone you’d just met. “No? Are you?”

“Huh?” Dan replied. “Why?”

“Well why did you ask me?” Phil tried to demand. But it came out more like a whine.

Dan giggled a little, tilting the clipboard Phil’s direction as he did so. “Because it’s line twelve on this form.”

“Oh.”

After having filled out as much as he could, Dan returned the forms to the desk and Phil’s name was soon called by a nurse. Dan helped him to his feet and followed him to the doorway, but the nurse stopped him there.

“Sorry, only family is allowed in the exam room,” she said gently.

“Oh okay, I’ll wait here,” Dan said, turning.

“No!” Phil protested, more forcefully than he’d intended. Both Dan and the nurse froze. “I just mean, can’t he stay?” Phil pleaded. “We’re… we’re soulmates.”

Dan looked uncomfortable. “It’s okay,” he assured, glancing down to his feet. “I can just wait.”

“Please?” Phil begged. He wasn’t scared of hospitals exactly, but they always made him nervous, especially now when he wasn’t thinking totally clearly. Plus, having finally met Dan, he had no desire to let the man out of his sight so soon.

The nurse cast him a sympathetic smile before giving a quick nod and leading both of them back to the room.

The exam was fairly straight forward. First Phil had recounted the story of how he’d injured himself after being tripped by a cycling dog-walker (which the doctor declared with a chuckle to be the most Danish accident he’d ever heard). Then he’d been given both a physical and neurological exam, the latter requiring Phil to repeat certain words and solve a few very simple puzzles. In the end, he was diagnosed with a mild to moderate concussion.

“For the next 24 to 48 hours, it’s important that someone monitors you,” the doctor went on to explain to his increasingly drowsy patient. “Since it doesn’t seem to be too serious, it’s not necessary that you stay here overnight, so long as you have a family member or friend who can check you regularly to ensure your condition doesn’t worsen.” He glanced over to Dan. “The two of you are traveling together?”

“Er, well, not exactly…” Dan began sheepishly. “We sorta met today.”

“…But we’re soulmates,” Phil added groggily. Dan’s cheeks reddened.

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Congratulations are in order then. This is a big day for the two of you - a shame it had to end in meeting me,” he chuckled. Turning back to Phil, he asked, “Do you have someone who can stay with you to monitor your condition? Otherwise I’ll have to admit you.”

“Uhh…” Though Phil’s head was feeling better than it had two hours ago, he still felt like he was in a fog. He recognized all the words being spoken to him but it was as if they were devoid of any meaning. “I… what?” he asked. He glanced over to Dan and gave him a confused look.

“He’s asking if you have friends in Copenhagen that you’re staying with,” Dan clarified. “Or if you need to sleep here.”

Phil latched onto the second part of that question and frowned. “No, I don’t wanna sleep here.”

“I understand,” the doctor said kindly, “but someone needs to look after you for the next day or two.”

Whether it was from the concussion affecting his emotions or the realization that he might have to spend the night alone in a foreign hospital, Phil suddenly felt like crying. He bit his lower lip to keep it from quivering.

“I can stay with him,” Dan piped up, then turned to address Phil. “I mean, if you’re okay with that of course.”

Quickly brushing the tear that was threatening to roll down his cheek away with his hand, Phil cast him a grateful smile.

Satisfied that his patient would be monitored, the doctor went on to explain to Dan exactly how to do the neurological checks and what to do if Phil’s condition changed. Phil used this opportunity to let his heavy eyelids drop, not exactly sleeping but not really listening either.

After a few more minutes, he heard the door click shut as the doctor left and was nudged back to alertness.

“Alright, time to go,” Dan said gently. He helped Phil to his feet and guided him through the door. “I’ll need to call my dad when we get outside to let him know I’ll be staying with a friend tonight.”

Phil looked confused as they entered the hallway. “I thought… I thought you were staying with me?”

Dan rolled his eyes and gave a half-laugh. “It’s you, Phil. You’re the friend.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Phil smiled sleepily. Dan was good company, he decided.

“Phil? Phil, time to wake up.” Someone was gently shaking Phil’s shoulder.

“No…” Phil groaned back without opening his eyes. He tried to tug the duvet up higher around his neck, but the someone was sitting on it. “Tired.”

“This will only take a few minutes,” the voice continued on. Under his breath, he added, “Just like the last five times…”

Eventually, Phil managed to pry his eyes open. He was in a small room lying on a double bed, engulfed in a very white duvet. Next to him sat a man who looked exceedingly familiar, but whom Phil couldn’t quite place. His confusion turned to panic and he sat up quickly. At the sudden movement, his head rushed and then started pounding.

“Whoa careful there…” the man warned. He reached out a hand toward Phil’s shoulder, but Phil scooted himself back against the headboard.

“Who are you?” Phil demanded.

“That was actually my first question for you,” replied the other with a smirk. He held up a small notepad and waved it in Phil’s direction. That also was definitely familiar. “Go on then, who am I? You know this one - at least you did an hour ago.”

Phil’s face screwed up in concentration. It was on the tip of his tongue. “Er….”

“I’ll give you a hint. Starts with D.”

“D?” Phil’s face screwed up in thought. “D… Don? Dave? Dan!” It was all flooding back now. “You’re Dan. I met you today. We had a picnic and you made me drink champagne that tasted like ass.”

“Ooh you’re getting better at this,” Dan remarked. He jotted something down on the notepad. “Took you three more hints last time. And you are?”

“I’m Phil.”

“Good.” Dan made another note. “Know where we are?”

Phil looked around. There was a desk in the corner of the room containing a phone, a mini electric kettle, tiny coffee cups barely large enough to hold two gulps of liquid each, and a stack of what looked to be tourist information brochures in mainly red and white colors. “A hotel,” he deduced. “In Copenhagen. Because I’m on holiday.”

“Excellent,” Dan confirmed. “And that goose egg you’re currently sporting on your skull which necessitates this hourly game of twenty questions is because…?”

Phil screwed up his face in thought. “I think… I fell?”

Dan snorted. “Technically, yes, you fell. Multiple choice bonus question: a group of what species animal tripped you? A, pigeons, B, dogs, or C, squirrels?”

Phil grinned. “Did you know that a group of squirrels is called a scurry?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times now.” Dan smiled and shook his head slowly as he made another note on the pad. “Funny how that detail sticks when I can’t for the life of me get you to remember the current prime minister…”

“…And a group of ferrets is called a business,” Phil added helpfully.

“Yes, yes, moving on…” Dan answered without looking up from his paper. “What’s the square root of sixteen?”

“Uh… eight?”

“Amazing,” Dan remarked, making a note on the sheet. “No matter what your level of coherency is, you consistently believe that to be eight.”

Phil frowned. “It’s not?”

Dan gave an exasperated sigh, indicating they’d gone over this a few times already. “It’s four, Phil. Four squared is sixteen. Ergo, the square root of sixteen is four.”

Phil gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah… I haven’t had maths for a few years…”

“I’m starting to gather that much,” Dan muttered. He ran his pen down the list one last time. “Alright, you passed. You’re cleared to sleep.”

Phil’s smile faded. “Oh.” He was feeling a lot more alert than he had in awhile and wasn’t quite ready to return to unconsciousness. He glanced around for a clock. “What time is it?”

“Around midnight,” Dan answered. He stood from the bed and transferred over to the desk chair, settling right down into it. “We got back to the hotel at half six and you’ve been out since then. Except for our little interrogations every hour.”

“What have you been doing in between?”

Dan gestured to the small TV on the wall. The sound was muted, so Phil hadn’t even noticed it was on until now. The camera was panning out to show a group of islanders participating in some kind of physical challenge involving paddling a raft full of coconuts.

“What show is that?” Phil asked.

“The Danish version of Survivor, I think. That or it’s a really weird porno - with this country you can never quite tell. I’ve seen four dicks so far. They don’t even blur them out.”

Phil giggled at this. “I saw a bunch of Danish films to help me practice before I came here. I understand.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “You really went all in, didn’t you?”

“I guess I was just nervous,” Phil said with a shrug. “I wanted to be sure I could relate to you, you know?”

“But isn’t the whole point of a soulmate that you don’t have to worry about that? That you have a promise from the day you’re born that someone out there is going to be perfect for you?” There was something odd about the way Dan said it - an almost bitter undertone.

“Well, yeah, in theory,” Phil defended. “But can you honestly say you never worried about getting along with your soulmate?”

“Didn’t really have to,” Dan mumbled under his breath.

Phil was about to ask what he meant by that when his soulmate brought his hand up to his mouth to cover a massive yawn. “Haven’t you slept at all?” Phil asked.

Dan shook his head. “Not yet. I was going to see if maybe they have a rollaway mattress I can borrow.”

“Oh.” Phil felt a little twinge of guilt. He glanced to his side. “You can take the bed if you want. I’ve slept a lot already…” But even as he suggested this, he felt his own eyelids drooping. Stupid head injuries.

Dan gave a half-laugh and waved Phil off with his hand. “There is no way I’m kicking the guy who’s so concussed that he was unsure of his own name a few hours ago out of the only bed in the room. I’m fine here.”

“Or…” Phil glanced over to the space next to him. “We could just share?”

Dan looked skeptical. “Oh. I don’t know…”

“I mean, unless that’s weird for you,” Phil backpedaled. “I just thought, you know…”

“No, it’s not that,” Dan said quickly. “Just, I don’t want it to seem like, I don’t know, like… I’m taking advantage?” His intonation went up at the end of his sentence, making the words sound more like a question than a statement. “You know, moving too fast?”

Phil thought this was a bit of an odd thing to worry about, given that the universe had already quite literally granted them its stamp of approval. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for newly discovered soulmates to actually sleep together on the eve of their first meeting (though each generation denied to their parents that this was the case). But he just shrugged. “You’ve already seen me fall on my head, throw up my lunch, and forget my own name. I don’t know how much more intimate we can get.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Dan admitted. He flicked off the TV and stood to his feet. “Alright, budge up.”

Dan and Phil got up late the next morning, exhausted from the hourly coherency checks. Or, at least they started out hourly. By three am, Phil had declared himself (in a rather whiny voice) to be “completely healed” and Dan hadn’t been awake enough to argue, so they’d finally silenced the alarms for good and eventually woken to sunlight streaming in through the curtained window. Thankfully, the extra rest seemed to have done Phil a lot of good - his head felt much clearer.

“What exactly is this?” Phil questioned, indicating the very dark, dense bread his soulmate was currently spreading - no, spackling - with butter. The two were seated in the small dining area of the hotel, eating their complimentary breakfast.

“It’s called rugbrød,” Dan explained. He added a piece of cheese on top before passing it over to Phil. “It’s like pumpernickel on steroids.”

Phil took a small bite and chewed it slowly. He’d never been much of a fan of cheese, and this grainy brick-like bread wasn’t helping.

Dan smirked at him, before taking a bite out of his own piece. “Kinda gotta get used to the texture,” he explained with his mouth full, “but between this stuff and potatoes, that’s like 90% of the Danish diet right there.”

“I’m starting to think I might not be cut out for the Danish lifestyle,” Phil said. He wrinkled his nose up and carefully set the bread back on his plate. “First the bicycling dog walkers… now this.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dan reassured. “Even my dad can’t stand rugbrød and he’s lived here seven years.” He passed Phil one of the plain white bread rolls they’d grabbed as back up.

Phil took the roll gratefully. “It’s funny, really.” He started spreading it with butter. “All my life, I just assumed that I’d end up living in Denmark. It’s weird suddenly feeling like… I dunno, like, I have a choice, I guess.”

Dan nodded thoughtfully. “Like you’re in control for once.”

“Exactly.” He added a piece of ham to his roll and took a bite. “It’s a weird feeling.” Privately, Phil wasn’t sure whether or not he liked this feeling. There was something comforting in the idea that the universe - God or whatever was up there - was looking out for him. That he was part of some greater plan.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Dan said quietly, “You know… sometimes I wonder if this whole soulmate mark business isn’t more trouble than it’s worth.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asked, looking puzzled. “If we didn’t have our marks, how could we ever be sure we’re with the right person?”

“But even with them we can’t be sure sometimes,” Dan countered. “Like my parents for instance. Both of them have ‘Hello’.”

Phil winced in sympathy. Greeting word marks were among the most common soulmate tattoos for sure - he’d had three classmates with ‘Hi’ in primary school alone.

“Nearly everyone they met was a potential candidate,” Dan went on. “They’d known each other four years before they finally decided they might be soulmates and went ahead and got married. Never really could be completely sure.” He paused and then added in a subdued tone, “I kind of think it was the uncertainty that made them split up in the end.”

Phil didn’t really know what to say to that, so he settled for making a small humming noise in his throat. Dan was looking as though he regretted adding that last part. It was understandable; due to most folk’s fervent belief in destiny, divorce was rare. The soulmate bond was something that was meant to be unbreakable.

Quietly, Dan began gathering their used plates and cups together. “It goes the other way too,” he went on after a moment. “One of my uncles… well, he and his wife were definitely soulmates. I can’t remember quite what their tattoos were but it was something completely random, to the point where there was no question they were meant to be. But after a few months, she started being really awful to him - verbally, mostly, but then sometimes she’d hit him too. And my uncle wouldn’t leave her. He said they were meant to be together and nothing should ever separate what fate had joined.” Dan paused and shook his head slowly.

Phil was floored. “But how could that happen? If they were really supposed to be soulmates, how could she treat him that way?”

There was distinct bitterness in Dan’s reply. “Yeah, well the Howell family has never had much luck with the soulmate business.”

Together, they rose from the table and started walking their dishes over to the cart in the corner. “I’m sorry,” Phil said softly. “About your family.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dan said with a shrug. “It’s not really anyone’s fault.” He inhaled deeply before adding on the exhale, so low that Phil just barely made it out, “And that’s the worst part.”

Phil’s flight back to England would be at seven that evening, so after their meal, the two made their way back to the hotel room to prepare to check out. Though they’d been chatting easily earlier in the day, Dan had stayed fairly quiet since their conversation at breakfast. He sat on the floor next to Phil, seemingly lost in thought as the other stuffed his final dirty socks into his mess of a suitcase.

“What are you thinking about?” Phil asked finally, in what he hoped was a casual voice.

“Nothing really,” Dan replied, without looking up. “Just… well it’s weird, isn’t it? To think we just met yesterday and now you’ll be leaving again.”

“Yeah, but we’ll see each other again,” Phil promised. “Once you’re back home, it’s only about a four hour train ride from my house in England to yours. And there’s always Skype.”

“I guess.” Dan sighed lightly. He noticed the corner of a t-shirt sticking out from under the bed, pulled it out, and tossed the shirt over to Phil.

Phil caught it with a grin. “Thanks.”

Dan hummed in acknowledgement, then let his gaze move back straight ahead of him. Phil started zipping the now overstuffed suitcase closed.

“I swear this all fit when I left home,” Phil grunted as he struggled.

“That’s how it always is, isn’t it?” Dan mused. He seemed to be mustering up the courage to say something. “Er… Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh…” Dan began again. “Before you leave…”

Phil paused and looked over. Dan was tugging at his shirt sleeves absently now. “I meant to say it before,” Dan went on. “But I just didn’t know the right time and then you were hurt and all wonky so I didn’t want to do it then…”

“What is it?” Phil asked. His heart was beating faster now.

“I just…” He took a deep breath, which seemed to strengthen his resolve. “It’s about my tattoo,” he blurted. “It’s…” Another breath. “It’s not like it’s…” He started again, then paused. Two breaths this time. “I didn’t exactly… “ He trailed off.

But he couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Finally, Phil spoke instead, his voice low. “It’s alright. I know.”

Dan looked surprised. “What?”

“I know, Dan,” Phil repeated softly. Abandoning the suitcase and crawling across the floor to Dan’s side, he let out a half-laugh of irony. “God knows I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, but I’ve known.” Now it was his turn for a breath. “We’re not really soulmates.”

In a flat voice Dan asked, “When’d you figure it out?”

“I’ve had doubts the whole time,” Phil said. “You won’t show me the mark, you look uncomfortable every time I say the word…” He smiled sadly. “I just couldn’t figure out why you’d lie about something like this.”

“But I didn’t lie…” Dan started.

Phil rolled his eyes. “Dan, c’mon. In that cafe, I flat out asked you if we were soulmates.”

“No,” Dan said quickly, “You asked I had a different tattoo. Which I don’t.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not. Look, I’m sorry - I wasn’t honest. I don’t have your mark.” At Phil’s frown, Dan’s words started tumbling out even faster, as though he was scared if he didn’t let them all out at once, Phil would cut in. “But I didn’t lie - not exactly! I was watching you, because… well, because I thought you were cute and I knew I could never have anyone like you for real, and I know that makes me sound like a stalker but I swear I’m not!”

He paused for a breath before diving right in again. “Then you tripped. So I came over because I just wanted to see if you were alright, and your sunglasses were just laying there so I picked them up, but your sleeve was rolled up and your tattoo was right there. And I read it and it just fit so perfectly - like it was meant for that exact moment! And so I asked it - er det dine briller? And your eyes just lit up, and for once in my life I felt like destiny was on my side.”

“But you don’t have my mark,” Phil countered. “We don’t match. You’re meant for someone else.”

“I’m not! I’ll prove it!” Before Phil had time to register what was happening, Dan had stood up and whipped off his own t-shirt. Next came the socks. But as Dan started unbuckling his belt, Phil regained his wits.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Phil exclaimed, throwing Dan’s shirt back at him. “Put your clothes back on!”

Dan made no attempt to catch the shirt and it fell to the floor next to him. “But don’t you see?” he asked desperately, fingers still fumbling with the buckle. “I’m nobody’s! I have no mark! Nothing! No one!”

Tears were starting to run from Dan’s red eyes down his cheeks now. His words came out thick with emotion. “The universe - God, or whoever is up there - looked at me and decided there was no one compatible with my soul. My parents thought I’d die young - maybe that would have been better than growing up knowing from the start that no one would ever love me like that!”

Phil sat frozen in shock. When a baby was born unmarked, it was always a sobering occurrence. Usually, it meant that the child would die before ever speaking their first words. One of his cousins had been unmarked and died a mere six hours after birth. But to live to be Dan’s age without a tattoo at all was unheard of.

Phil’s attention was drawn to a long, jagged scar on Dan’s otherwise unmarked torso. It started just below his ribs and stretched several inches to the top of his belly button. Dan seemed to sense Phil’s gaze. “A doctor told my parents once he had a theory it might be on the inside,” Dan said in a whisper, running his fingers over the scar. “I was seven years old when I decided I had to find it.”

Phil felt faint. “You… You did that to yourself?”

Dan nodded. “Used the pocket knife Dad got me for my birthday that year. Mum had a fit when she walked into the bathroom and found me in the middle of my little surgery.” In a lower voice, he added, “It was one of the last fights they had before they split.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Phil stammered.

Dan laughed humorlessly. “No one ever does.” His tears had stopped just as abruptly as they’d started and he wiped them away roughly with the back of his hand.

It was a long moment before Phil spoke again, and the words came out cold. “You still lied to me.”

“And I’m not trying to get your sympathy - I swear,” Dan assured. “Just… trying to give you a reason.”

Phil let out a long exhale. Finally, he stood and moved back to the suitcase to finish zipping it. “I think I’m going to go now. I’ll get a cab to the airport. It was nice meeting you, Dan. I just… I need to think.”

“I know,” Dan whispered. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.”

With that, Phil turned and starting walking to the door, wheeling his luggage behind him. But upon reaching the doorway, he stopped and spun around again.

“One question,” Phil demanded. “Your mark - why’d you say it was on your bum?”

Dan looked sheepish. “I panicked,” he answered simply.

Phil waited a second for an explanation, but none came.

“Alright then,” Phil said finally, the faintest hint of a smirk visible on his features. “I’ll see you around, Dan.”

And then, Phil really did leave.

It was a chilly morning in November. Dan paced the platform of the train station anxiously. The butterflies in his stomach had given up fluttering the moment the train had arrived and taken to dive-bombing his insides instead. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in each arriving passenger as they stepped off.

It had taken Phil five days after he’d flown back to England before he’d even replied to a message, and another three after that before he’d agreed to a phone call. He’d said he needed time to think over everything, and Dan had thought that more than fair.

Now, four months and countless Skype calls later, the two were finally meeting up again. Dan spotted his friend in the crowd.

“Phil!” he cried. Dan waved an arm in the other man’s direction. Phil turned his head at the sound and broke into a grin. He pulled his backpack on and rushed over before throwing his arms around Dan and pulling him in tightly for a hug.

“Whoa,” Dan giggled, caught off guard. “What happened to ‘We’ll take it slow this time’?”

Phil shrugged. “Slow is a relative term. We’ve already slept together.”

“Platonically!” Dan argued, releasing himself. “And that was when you were convinced that fate had already given us its stamp of approval.”

“I mean, didn’t it though?” Phil asked seriously. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot the last four months. Your first words to me are tattooed on my skin. Isn’t that how this whole game works?”

“Yes but I cheated,” Dan pointed out. “I read your arm.”

Phil shrugged. “Who’s to say you weren’t destined to cheat?”

At this, Dan rolled his eyes. “Sure Phil, that’s totally how this works.”

Epilogue:

*Seven years later*

“Dan? You almost done in there? I need to shower!” Phil’s voice called from outside the bathroom door.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Dan called back to his boyfriend. Reluctantly, he began pulling up his trousers, covering the still healing script of the freshly aquired tattoo that he’d been admiring in the full length mirror. He giggled at the recollection of himself and Phil, stumbling drunk into the parlor last week, declaring they’d had the most brilliant idea ever.

His ass now agreed. “Ja, Phil,” he giggled, “du er min.”

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