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Gascola gang, rise up
DO YOU LIKE HURT/COMFORT? DO YOU LIKE WEREWOLVES? DO YOU LIKE WOMEN WHO ARE PROBABLY GOING TO PEG THEM AT THE NEXT GIVEN OPPORTUNITY?
WELL, I FINALLY GOT OFF MY ASS AND FINISHED THIS THING. IT'S CHAPTER 1 OF A TWOSHOT (originally a oneshot but my brain doesn't understand the concept of shutting up) AND IT'S UP ON AO3 FOR YOUR PERUSAL. (Shoutout to @jaromirs-deposit for keeping me motivated!)
Re: the Gascoigne werewoof thing, because my thoughts are plenty
Can you imagine the changing soundscape of it all
First the groaning and grunting in pain that gradually turns into yowling and screaming
Then the human vocalizations turn louder, deeper, gravelly, becoming beastly roars and howls, the thrashing of a changing mass
And then there's a hum
And the beast gradually grows quieter
And then comes the rustling, purring, chuffs & maybe a tail thump
And eventually a steady silence, accompanied only by the calm breathing of the two
OF COURSE I'VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT, MY BEAUTIFUL FRIEND. CHRIST, THE THINGS THIS WOULD DO TO HIS VOICE... MWAH.
(...said Posi, trying to beat the voice kink allegations and failing miserably.)
Like. Imagine Viola lying next to him and hearing all that, the rising cacophony of pain interweaving with the tune of the music box. She knows that she cannot make this easier for him, aches for him as the normally beautiful voice she loves is twisted with pain and monstrosity tainting his blood, but she still tries. She tucks him as close as she can and buries her face in the top of his head and presses gentle soothing kisses into his hair and whispers comfort and reassurance or just hums along to the music box.
The harsh panting, the whimpers, the broken pleas for her to go because he doesn't want her to get hurt but also he just doesn't want her to see him like this. He's the hunter. He's the husband and father. He's supposed to be the strong one, the unbreakable one, the one who keeps the wolf at bay instead of letting it tear him open and bare its teeth through his skin.
His spine cracks and distorts, muscles ripping and rippling under his skin, growing and flexing and rearranging and all he can do is bury his face in Viola's collarbone in case his screaming wakes the girls sleeping peacefully upstairs. They shouldn't have to see him like this. They must never have to see him like this.
The pale fabric of the wrappings around his eyes (photosensitivity is a side effect of the affliction, settling in a few days before the full moon and lingering for a day or two after) soaks with helpless, agonised tears as not even the pain of a failed hunt, of beastly teeth sinking into his flesh can rival feeling his whole body rebel against him. He wants so desperately for Viola to go, to get herself upstairs and safe, for her not to have to see him be changed so horrifically, but a tiny, helpless thing inside him urges him to hold on to her for dear life because she's the only source of comfort within reach and he fears that he would either die or lose himself without her.
And begging doesn't help. He knows, rationally, that there is no bartering with the tainted blood reacting to the Red Moon's beckoning light, but even so his sobs and whimpers are puctuated with the occasional plea - to her, to the Moon, to whatever gods watch over this broken world - for something which he cannot even put a name to.
Viola threads her fingers into his hair, feels it change texture to thick, coarse fur, and murmurs that he's so strong, so brave, that she loves him so much and that it will all he over soon. She tries to lean down and kiss the tears away but he only ducks his head into her and gives another cry, hoarse and rending, as another series of cracks ripples through his body.
It takes a long time for the pain to recede.
To Gascoigne, it feels like a long, long time until it finally abandons his twitching, ravaged body.
Gradually, however, his screams begin to die down to whimpers, low and animalistic, and then to harsh, heavy breaths through a mouth overcrowded with teeth.
The bedsheets are stained with blood. It's his blood, he knows - he has smelled it enough times to be able to tell. There's not a lot of it, just from some torn skin which will knit itself together before the night is over, but the smell still makes him a little heady, a little hungry, a little eager to rise from the bed and leap into the crimson night, hunting the beasts plaguing Yharnam as if he wasn't one bad day away from joining their ranks.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he smells Viola - soap, linen, lily of the valley - and remembers where his place is.
Viola, meanwhile, presses a light kiss to the crooked bridge of his nose (earning a light chuff as he nudges her gently, nuzzling against her cheek) and murmurs that there, it's over now, and that maybe they should get a bigger bed, and that she loves him so much.
Gascoigne wishes that his vocal chords would let him say it back.
Instead, he swallows down his teeth, his claws, his hunger for the wild joy of the hunt. Instead, he gives a low hum - as close to a purr as a canine-adjacent beast can go - and his tail gives a light thump against the mattress. Safe. Content. Warm.
Viola chuckles slightly at the sound, gives him another kiss, runs her fingers through his silvery grey fur.
"You remembered that I prefer dogs over cats," she jokes, and all he can do is give a soft hoarse sound - so alien from his usual laughter which she so loves the sound of - and wonder what in the world he did to deserve her in his life.
His instincts tell him to go. To hunt. To kill. But his body is tired from its ordeal and his heart at peace next to the one he loves, so Gascoigne closes his eyes hidden beneath the wrappings, shuffles as close as his massive, unwieldly bulk allows, and tentatively - carefully, so carefully - wraps his large, claw-tipped arms around his wife.
Viola doesn't stop him. Viola doesn't flinch away.
She merely snuggles into the warm, hairy wall of his chest with a contented hum, cheek pressed over his heart and the heavy bellows of his lungs, and continues to hum along to the music box.
By the time the melody is over, both of them are asleep.
EDIT: NO WAIT LISTEN. HE HAS TO GO THROUGH ALL THIS LATER WHEN HE CHANGES BACK. SO ALL THIS, IN REVERSE. But the pain is laced with relief and his sobs are tinged with joy because every time there's a lingering fear at the back of his mind that he won't be able to change back, that the Moon and the sweet, treacherous blood have claimed him for good. Every time it hurts just like the first. Every time, he sobs out prayers and thanks to the gods that he is able to wake up as himself again.
Every time, as soon as his vocal chords let him speak again (his voice is low and gravelly and broken like an old instrument left out of tune) he sobs out "thank you, thank you, thank you" and presses kisses and broken apologies to Viola's cheeks, her neck which he no longer wants to bite open, her breast which harbours the heart which keeps him tethered to who he is.
"I love you," are the first steady words he is able to utter, at the break of dawn after the nightmare has passed. "Viola, gods, I love you."
And then he gets to take off the wrapping and squint at her face in the early morning light and finds her smiling at him.
And, although his facial muscles ache just like the rest of him, Gascoigne smiles back.
In a couple more hours, maybe he'll be in the shape to laugh.
I've read your most recent post on Gascoigne (as recent as it gets, 21st of January) but DAMN WE NEED MORE OF THAT WEREWOOF GASCOIGNE STUFF 🗣‼️ IT'S GOOD SHIT 🗣‼️ (I am fully encouraging your idea to write one)
GREETINGS, FELLOW INDIVIDUAL OF CULTURE. Let it be known they I've fallen into Animal Crossing hell recently but as soon as I crawl out I will come back to my valiant efforts to save that mangy dilf from his canon fate.
In the meanwhile, since you were so kind to shoot me an ask about it here's a snippet of what I've got so far:
The transformation is never easy on him, she knows - having one's entire body twisted and distorted and rearranged in a way it wasn't meant to exist in cannot be a pleasant sensation. Tonight, however, is different. Tonight, the night is dark and starless, a home for monsters rather than those who would pursue them.
The Blood Moon.
The hour of slaughter.
Not here, though. She grits her teeth with determination as her fingers sink into the shaggy silver hair at the nape of her husband's neck. Not on her watch.
Gascoigne has been out of sorts for the past couple of days, restless and snappy even despite his best intentions as the curse writhed under his skin. Impatient and eager like a chained hound, it hungered - still hungers - to sink his claws and teeth into something wet and crimson.
He gives another whimper, low and pained, the coarse fabric of the wrappings around his eyes rubbing against her collarbone as he nuzzles into her chest, her warmth, as if it could spare him the upcoming pain.
Fuck letting him out of the house, I think she should lie down next to him while he wolfs out and know that he wouldn't hurt her while doing so.
"Wow I wonder why Posi has been so deranged about Gascola lately."
(Quotes from the Bloodborne wiki, Joan Tierney/@filmnoirsbian, and "Start Here" by Caitlyn Siehl. No idea where the lady and the werewolf are from but god i love these illustrations so much so if you point me towards a source I'll gladly add it here.)
As much as I love the idea of Gascoigne falling first and awkwardly yet sincerely trying to court the daughter of his mentor/hunting partner/close friend and then equally awkwardly yet sincerely asking said mentor/hunting partner/close friend for his blessing...
I think it'd be funnier if Viola took one look at this 7ft-something, gun-and-axe-toting, at the time distinguishingly salt-and-pepper, ruggedly handsome, fantasy-irish priest with a voice like mulled wine on a cold winter’s night, enough muscle to split a beast's head open and hands rough from wielding the axe and yet so gentle and careful as he lifts the mug to his lips and tells her tales of his homeland and tending to his little flock before he changed his calling to protect the folk of Yharnam from the scourge of beasts, standing tall and imposing like a shield protecting the common folk against the darkness, and oh, oh, he also likes music! And he's got THE loveliest eyes hiding underneath the brim of his hat which makes him look oh so mysterious-
Henryk heaves a deep sigh, puts down his teacup, and goes "Yes, Gascoigne, if you so dearly wish to marry my daughter, you have my blessing. Now, Viola my dear, if you would be so kind and remove the barrel of my pistol from my temple-"
Well, one of my new year's resolutions is to draw more. I wonder what my first art of 2025 will be! Probably something to do with Bloodborne since it has my braincell in a vice. A cool illustration, perhaps? A Hunter design?
Nah, it's a dumbass, low-effort comic about me overthinking a joke.
Anyway I'm not saying that pegging could've saved their family, but what I'm saying is that they could've at least tried.
(Disregard the fact that I forgot to draw his beard - let's say that Viola made him shave to de-feralise him a bit.)
My phone is on 4% and liable to dying on me at any second but just so we're crystal clear:
The addiction metaphor in Gasc's hunger for hunting and the way it pulls him in deeper and deeper so thst he begins to love himself and eventually plunges into beasthood? It's seen, it's noticed, it's understood, it's appreciated.
however, with all that being said, the idea of him being able to come back from it, retain some degree of control over the werewoof form (if I figure out a lore friendly way to make it reversible or tinker with the werewolf AU) as a metaphor for coming back from something horrible and irreversible and also being loved for what he is even if his experiences have changed hi- okay who am I kidding I just love domestic eldritch horror and get a kick out of him doing regular dad things in werewoof form and also Viola getting to snuggle with him when he's Big(ger) and also his monster form looks Cool.
Like. I can (and will) enjoy both sides of the record, y'know?
HAPPIER SOFTER AU ESTABLISHED
Yes, this will become a fic at some point
