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sentientcave · 2 months

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The Good Ol' Rugby Game

It's the middle of the so called "work week" and you know what that means:

IT'S WIP WEDNESDAY

I was thinking about Rugby AUs because have you seen the thighs on those lads? But I don't know anything about Rugby tbh this is just vibes and thots. Something somethin elaborate rituals. But it's also fun. Pardon my errors I wrote most of this on discord today

Reader is a trans man - No name but he's referred to as Ripper by Simon and Johnny because they think he's like a little terrier/ankle biter on the pitch (It's a pitch for rugby, right?). And he is.

Contains: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of rugby, takeout food, Johnny and Simon, bros being bros, you know how it is

You've won.

It takes a minute for the cheering to register, for you to realize that the whistle's been blown and the game is finished, and by the time you do realize, you're in the air, brawny arms hooked around your middle, flying until you hit the ground hard, Johnny on top of you. "Fuckin' beautiful!" He shouts, his voice hoarse. And then an even heavier weight drops down on the two of you, squeezing all your air out.

"Brilliant, lads," Simon growls, knocking his forehead against yours. "Fuckin' perfect play."

"Riley, you're going to break me if you don't get your fat arse up," you grouse. "You too, Tav. Fuckin' muppets."

"Aw, love you too, Ripper," Johnny lands a wet, sweaty kiss on the side of your head before he shoulders Simon off the two of you and pounces on the giant, kissing him on the mouth with zeal.

You get up with a groan, your whole body one big fucking bruise. "Shoulda picked football," you complain to no one in particular. "I'm going to feel this forever."

Johnny swats at you blindly as you limp off, somehow managing to connect, his hand a guided missile that's only capable of targeting asses.

It’s just an amateur league— You know that, everyone on both sides of the pitch know, but it feels like your neighbourhood never got the memo. As the seasons gone on, more and more people have been showing up, wearing green and white, and when you go out to the pub after games, you never have to buy your own pints. It’s almost like being a girl again, except now you feel at home in your own skin, and the only person that tries to grab your arse is Johnny.

You know it’s Johnny and Simon that everyone’s there for, and you don’t care— You’re proud of your huge friends. They joined the league a little after you did, newly retired from the military, both of them with too much energy and muscle and training to not play some kind of sport. And they rope you into training with them. Runs with Simon so early in the morning it’s still practically dark, running drills on free afternoons in the park, tagging along to the gym and watching Johnny lift insane amounts of weight. It’s more fun than you think you’ve ever had.

You’re definitely a third wheel, but they’re good about it, obviously together but obviously wanting you around, careful to include you.

And it feels good to be one of the boys.

You grab your bag from under the bench and head off the pitch, eager to go home and shower the grass stains and flecks of someone else’s blood off of you, maybe curl up with a pint of dark beer and a pint of chocolate ice cream. Everyone’s likely going out for drinks, but you’ve been jostled around plenty for the day, head still ringing a bit from an elbow you took to the side of the head during a scrum.

“Hey, Ripper,” Johnny yells after you. He has lungs, even after a game of shouting himself hoarse. “Ye comin’ to tha pub?”

“Nah, not tonight,” you shout back. “Can’t be arsed. Goin’ home to order a Chinese.”

He’s about halfway deflating, and perks back up at the mention of greasy take out. “Order for Si ‘n’ me too, aye? We’ll be round in an hour.”

“Alright!” you call back, because that’s easier than shouting across a crowd that you were really looking forward to cozying up in front of the tv and— Oh, right. “Bring beer!” That saves you a stop on your way home.

You get home and scramble to clean up a bit-- Johnny doesn't mind a bit of mess, but Simon will stare at clutter like it personally offends him (because it does), or worse, just start tidying up. He always tells you you're not as bad as Johnny, but it's not much of a consolation. Half the mess is your roommate's anyway, who is at her girlfriend's for the weekend, again. It likely won't be long till she moves out, and you'll have to leave your cozy little spot. But at least you now have large friends to help you move.

That done, you order takeaway and pop into the shower, tossing your sweaty uniform into your hamper, and you're just getting dressed again when someone knocks at your door. You nearly forget to tuck your packer into the pocket you've sewn into all your boxers, remembering only as you almost reach the door. If anyone on God's green earth will notice that you suddenly don't have anything in your pants where you usually do, its Johnny.

"Takin' ages," he complains when you finally do answer the door. Behind him, Simon is paying for the takeout, making the delivery man look so nervous it would be funny if you didn't feel bad.

"Didn't have pants on yet. And Si, you don't have to--" He shoves the paper bag at you, cutting you off. Okay. Fair enough.

Johnny kicks his boots off haphazardly at the door. Simon takes his off neatly and sets both pairs neatly to the side.

Johnny's already in the kitchen, stowing beers in the fridge, then banging cupboards open and shut looking for plates. You'd think he'd remember by now, but he never does.

"You guys didn't have to skip the pub, you know," you say, unpacking the bag of takeout on the coffee table. "Everyone'll want to congratulate you."

"S'no fun without our little Ripper," Johnny says, tossing you one of the few beers you did have in the fridge, grinning. "Wouldn't even bother with the league without you."

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, laughing. "You guys are good. Best we've got."

#WIP WEDNESDAY BAYBEE #I'm gonna learn about Rugby I promise #I just haven't yet #In this part they're mostly not playing rugby anyway #Johnny and Simon find a scrappy little dude and are like “Oh we're keeping him forever”#Johnny would also absolutely notice if Ripper forgot his packer tbh #“Hey Ripper where's ur cock?” Just like 👀🤔#cave writing

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verfound · 7 months

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MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 7: Cats & Bats (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Day 7: Cats & Bats

“…twinkle, twinkle, little bat,” Luka sang despondently, staring at the same water spot on the ceiling that he’d been staring at for a few hours now. His fingers moved almost listlessly over his guitar, picking out the rudimentary tune he’d learned so many years ago now. It had probably been the very first song he’d actually learned, back when he was still in diapers and his ma had first placed a guitar in his grubby hands. It was so deeply ingrained in his bones by this point. He should be able to play it in his sleep.

…he hadn’t actually touched his guitar in a while, though. Years. Not since Mendeleiev had fished him out of the ocean after his dad’s plane had gone down.

He’d never actually thought he’d get to play with the old man. Jagged had never owned him in life, and Luka had always tried to avoid the livelier circles in death. It was easier that way, not mingling with the living. Keeping your connections to that world sparse. Getting to reap Jagged Stone – posing as his guitarist and playing with him on what would become his last plane ride – had been…surreal. Definitely unexpected. A gift he still wasn’t sure he was grateful for, even all these years later.

It had also been the last straw – or string, if you would.

Luka had replaced the strings the saltwater had warped, stuck Claire II in the corner of his room, and hadn’t touched her since.

“How I wonder what you’re at,” he sighed, his fingers stilling on the strings again. It had been too long. The willingness to play – the need – was there, but his fingers were so damn stiff. He’d been at it for a few hours now, ever since he’d come home from…well. His job, technically. Because he’d dropped Pip off and gone straight to his reap, and that song that had been teasing at his mind since he’d seen Marinette at that café still hadn’t left him alone.

…it had been teasing him a lot longer than that, if he was honest. He was just…usually better at ignoring it. He was usually better at ignoring a lot of things these days.

“Luka Couffaine’s just a big ol’ softie…”

Maybe Marinette was right. Maybe he was going soft.

It had just been too much today, though, so after a quick shower he had sat down with a notebook and tried to scribble down some notes. They had been a jumbled, confused mess, though. Nothing had sounded right, and thinking that was because paper sounded like nothing at all he had gone to retrieve his guitar. It had been so out of tune, though, and then he’d felt too rusty to produce anything coherent, so he’d just…dropped back on his couch, staring at the ceiling as he ran through basic drills. Rudimentary songs.

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat, how I wonder what you’re at…

“Oh, Luuuukaaaaa!”

He jumped, nearly dropping his guitar at the sudden pounding on his door. He glared as the annoying voice called again, still dragging his name out. Fucking Théo.

In some ways, the guy made him think of his old best friend. In all the ways that grated on him with not enough of the ways that mattered.

“What the hell do you want?” he groused, rubbing at his eyes as he opened the door. Théo grinned at him from the other side. It took Luka a moment to realize he was holding a black cat to his chest: it blended in to his sweater almost completely, save for the white patch on its belly. “And what the hell are you doing with that?”

“What?” Théo asked, frowning. “You’re a dog walker. Can’t I be a cat walker?”

“…that’s not a thing,” Luka said, his eyebrows lifting above where he was pinching at his sinuses. “That sounds so dumb, Théo. Who the hell would want a cat walker?”

“You have your side hustles,” Théo scoffed, slapping a yellow post-it against his chest. Luka’s eyebrow rose as he glanced down at it. “Let me have mine. Ladies love cats, I’ll have you know.”

“They love cats,” Luka said, looking at the post-it. Early morning reap tomorrow – scheduled before breakfast. Well, at least that cleared up the rest of his day. “They don’t love you.”

“You wound me, Couffaine,” Théo sniffed. “And here I am, doing you a favor, making sure you don’t miss your – oi!”

Luka slammed the door in his face, cutting him off. He turned around and leaned against the door, staring at the post-it. The address was close to Fred and Marinette’s. Maybe he could swing by after. Catch them on the way to breakfast. Walk with he…them.

“It’s bad manners, Luka!” Théo snapped. Luka rolled his eyes and thumped his fist against the door.

“Fuck off, Barbot!”

#miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #theo barbot #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #ml fic #lbsc october minifics 2023 #ver fic #to feel alive again #dlm lukanette au #dead like me au #day 7: cats and bats #I made theo a cat walker just for the adrien jab #I'm not sorry 😂#I'm kicking around ideas about Luka and his guitar for this au

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dragonkick-bootshine · 7 months

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welcome to my blog what has posts on it.

hiyo I’m Slugs! I’m so super normal about fictional characters. brain is currently on 24/7 House MD lockdown but I have a dizzying array of things I never shut up about. also I’m a big ol kinky transsexual faggot furry

I don’t really wanna have a dni or a byf or what have you. so suffice it to say, don’t follow me if you’re under 18 and I block rude and hateful people. other than that whatever man ✌️

spam liking/reblogging is fucking cool and makes me smile. comments on my art make my day. go wild upon this blog of mine

sideblogs: @hegory-grousing - House MD brainrot zone tags: #slugs glams - my ffxiv glams #slugs art - I drawing things sometimes #fave - posts that I want to print out and eat #fifal fafafy - ffxiv poasts my ffxiv characters. say hi if you see me in the wild :3 #funk engine - Lalafell, my main character and excellent little guy (any pronouns) #resplendent fulgor - Au Ra, lizard twink (he) #meline oro - Hrothgar, orange boy cat himbo (he/she) #ancient frenemy - Viera, NPC alt based on [endwalker spoilers lol] (he) #cid purrlond - like Cid Garlond but. catboy. meow

#slugs art #slugs posts

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timomaraus · 6 months

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November 1, 2023

CNN Astrophysicist explains why dinosaurs died when crocodiles survived (Editor's Note: Turns out the dinopioids were far more life-threatening than the crocoshits.)

Washington Post Democrats quickly seek to make Speaker Johnson a boogeyman (Editor's Note: That's not a big leap.)

Washington Post Trump grouses that his indictments took years. Here's why that is. (Editor's Note: Trump is unhappy it took so long to indict him? Imagine how the rest of us feel!)

NY Times How to Fall Back Without Missing a Beat (Editor's Note: Good grief. As they say at Nike, "Just Do It!")

NY Times X Says It Is Worth $19 Billion, Down From $44 Billion Last Year (Editor's Note: Really showing the ol' Midas Touch there, eh Elon?)

NY Times Joseph J. Kohn, Who Broke New Ground in Calculus, Dies at 91 (Editor's Note: When you look at the sum of his life's accomplishments, he was a guy who really made a differential.)

CNN DoorDash is testing warnings about bad service if you don't tip your driver (Editor's Note: Threatening customers in order to get tips. That sounds like a winning long-term strategy.)

CNN Brooke Shields says she had a seizure and woke up to Bradley Cooper holding her hand (Editor's Note: Is that best described as a seizure, or a fantasy?)

CNN Energy company pulls the plug on two major offshore wind projects on East Coast (Editor's Note: A spokesperson said it was "a gusty--I mean gutsy--decision.")

NY Times It Might Be Time to Consider Timisoara (Editor's Note: Sad to see such an egregious typo in the newspaper of record. Clearly that is supposed to be "Timiso'mara.")

Washington Post Trump Jr. testifies, deflects responsibility in N.Y. business fraud case (Editor's Note: What, you were thinking anyone named Trump would have a sense of personal accountability? That's a genetic impossibility.)

Washington Post What's on your pay stub? (Editor's Note: As my father used to say, "not quite enough.")

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filthbear · 4 years

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[[MORE]]

used anti frizz stuff in my hair and woke up with literally more frizz than ever

got two hours of sleep between shifting uncomfortably on my huge dysphoria-makers, having a brrakdown at 4am bc there’s nothing i can do abt them

tried to build the shelves i bought myself after fighting exhaustion only for it to crumble in my hands because dowels shouldnt be holding shelves

these are all things that are not my fault but they do tempt me to order a whole pizza and eat it in bed

#just a big ol shaq a roni #grousing under cut to do w dysphoria and petty things but i am grump

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cynicallyscorned · 3 years

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quick duck tales verse headcanons infodump lesgoooo

born and raised in grouse hill.

same ol’ same ol’ parental trauma. julius died and bernadette is a terrible mother

at around 12 years old his mom disowns him & he runs away from home. thus begins his adventures on his own. is somewhere between 13 & 15 years old in this au!

up and coming reputation! he likes to throw a wrench in the evil doctor eggman’s plans because it’s funny and he likes the attention he gets from people for it. some people say he’s a cool vigilante, others say he’s a reckless good for nothing punk

street smart. resorts to stealing to get by.

sleeps in his biplane, the tornado

big self esteem issues & survivors guilt trauma (:

he’s after a magical artifact that has the potential to bring julius back.

friends?? who needs friends. friends just slow him down. he doesn’t need anyone.

and then he meets the duck family. HAHAHA oh boy

probably intentionally tries to gets on scrooge’s nerves because 1.) thinks its funny and 2.) haha that’ll teach you not to adopt me KNIFE

he probably knows scrooge is the richest person in the world. he’s both eyes emoji at that and also very stressed out by it because HAHA cynic’s used to living off of snatched wallets and barely scraping by

can and will teach the triplets + webby to swear and flip ppl off. im so sorry.

thinks louie is hilarious. probably will get into lots of trouble with him

likes to prank launch pad

donald are you okay buddy. do you need a snickers. *gives donald a snickers because cynic WILL commit to the joke*

big darkwing fan. not that he’ll tell anyone. negaduck dont interact

intimidated by beakly. suddenly the most well behaved hedgehog on the planet when she’s in the room

is ALSO intimidated by webby but he’s not scared stiff with her. unfortunately probably thinks she’s kinda annoying :/ sorry webby

goldie is cool. he likes goldie

i still need to learn more about gyro but i feel like cynic would show up at his lab and be like “i’m bored can you test an invention out on me” (cynic no)

.......he does not like gladstone

more to be added later possibly, but thats what i got for now!

#🚫 — i've been on my own for long enough. ❪ dt v. ❫

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

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1x21: Salvation

And with this recap, we’ve wrapped season 1.

Now:

Nope, Dad’s not there

Then:

Meg Masters is giving the confession of a lifetime. She then reveals herself to be a demon. The priest runs and tries to barricade himself in... his bunker of knives? Meg catches up to him and demands to know where the Winchesters are. He doesn’t know where they are. She slices his throat open.

RIP Pastor Jim.

Meanwhile, John Winchester is showing off his best crafting skills. He fills his sons in on the demon he’s been chasing. It’s been burning houses --just like he did their house back in the day. Furthermore: They all have babies that are exactly 6 months old, just like Sam. Sam blames himself for his mother's death (RIP ME).

Anyway, John notes there were signs before a house burned and he’s found them again in Salvation, Iowa.

Once in Salvation, John pulls over in a dramatic fashion to announce that Pastor Jim is dead. Signs of a demon were in his place. He doesn’t know if it was THE demon.

They’ve got work to do in finding all the 6 month old babies in town. He orders his sons to get to work.

The family Winchester and their Carhartt uniforms con their way into looking at sensitive medical records. Well, Dean relies on his ridiculous good looks to get his way. Sam wins the research battle by getting a flash into the future --and another mother in pink white. He catches a road in the vision and heads to the house.

He sees the house in his vision, and the mother walking her baby. He runs up to them and introduces himself as a neighbor. Monica and Rosie. Monica reveals that Rosie is exactly 6 months old. Sam tells her to take care and stares creepily from afar as she greets her husband.

He gets another nightmarish vision.

It segues into a shadowy figure approaching Rosie in her crib. Monica approaches only to get smushed to the ceiling and her belly sliced open. Season one and they’re already recycling storylines, amirite?

Sam tries telling his brother and dad about the vision.

John jumps down Dean’s throat about not telling him about what Sam’s been going through. AND I’m sharpening my knives right now. Dean stands up for himself, and I couldn’t be more proud. John tells him he’s right --and that little look and swallow of Dean’s? KILL ME.

Sam gets a call from Meg. She wants to talk to John. Sam tries to lie, but she knows he’s right there so Sam passes the phone over. She reveals she’s got his friend Caleb all tied up. Without much preamble, she slices his throat too.

John tells Meg that he’s going to kill her. (tbh, I can’t believe she made it a whole 8 years longer than him really.) Meg tells John that until he gives up the Colt, she’s going to kill everyone he knows.

He agrees to bring her the Colt.

After the phone call they speculate briefly about the true nature of Meg - demon? Or simply possessed by one? Oh, Season One. They make a plan. John’s going to head to Lincoln with a fake Colt and Sam and Dean are going to stay behind and kill themselves a demon with a magical gun. Nobody’s happy about it. “I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school. I want Dean to have a home. I want Mary alive,” John despairs to Sam. Excuse me while I pick up my TV and dash it violently against a wall! Because SAMESIES.

Behind the railroad trestle of after-Endverse fame, they hold an exchange of weapons.

John gets a fake Colt. Dean gets THE Colt. We are reminded that there are only FOUR bullets left and no bullets will EVER BE MADE AGAIN (until it’s convenient for the plot.) “You finish what I started,” John orders, and I hiss as I remember the finale yet again.

John arrives early to Lincoln in his ridiculously overcompensating muscle truck. He creeps into the factory’s bones, prowling along the pipes and preparing for his rendezvous. Meg arrives, oblivious to John skulking above her on the roof, where he’s blessing a water cistern on the top of the building.

Outside Monica’s house, Dean and Sam brainstorm ways to save the day. They wish their dad was there. (Single man tear, I guess!) Sam gets emotional about facing the big bad demon AT LAST. He thanks Dean for always having his back, and Dean repays him with a stern lecture about not delivering farewell speeches.

Meg greets John and even though I’m always like WHO IS THIS BLONDE CHICK WHERE’S MY MEG -- she’s looking fierce.

She demands the Colt from John. Oh, and if he decides to shoot her with it instead, John’s going to have to contend with another rando demon after she dies. Demon Number Two saunters in like a CW show Young Business Executive and takes the gun with a smirk. With little dialogue and no preamble, he shoots Meg in the gut. While she grouses about the bullet, Demon Number Two pronounces the gun to be fake! Ruh roh, John. He scuttles into the back network of utility hallways he scouted out earlier, and then releases the floodwater of holy water he’d prepared.

“Holy water, John? Real cute,” Meg says, as John scampers back outside, where he discovers that the demons slashed the tires on his truck. He swears, and heads BACK into the factory maze, while I yell at him to drive on his flats and destroy his truck! Doesn’t he know there are demons after him?

Back on the hunt, Dean and Sam fret over their father’s fate, but there’s no time for that. DEMON OMENS ARRIVE. Lights flicker, the radio buzzes, and the wind picks up. SO DRAMATIC. The Winchesters break into Monica’s house. Almost immediately, they get attacked by the dad with a baseball bat. He shouts at his wife to grab the baby from the nursery. This is going well! Sam races upstairs and faces ol’ Yellow Eyes just as he’s midway through the act of raising Monica to the ceiling. Sam takes a shot and Yellow Eyes immediately poofs out like a magician. Dean grabs the baby just in the nick of time.

The second floor of the house explodes in flame just as they escape. Briefly, they see the demon standing in the flaming room and Dean has to hold Sam back from plunging inside after him. SAM PLZ.

Meanwhile, John gets magically pinned to a wall by Demon Number Two.

Back at the motel, Dean calls John’s cell and gets his voicemail. He frets that John’s in trouble. I use this moment to cattily comment on how John never answers Dean’s calls anyway, so how could Dean even assume that? Sam doesn’t care. He wishes that Dean had let him run in after the demon!

Dean tells Sam that hunting Yellow Eyes isn’t worth getting himself killed, and Dean’s going to fight like hell to keep Sam safe. Mom and Jess are dead and throwing Sam’s life away to avenge them won’t bring them back. Sam takes this reliably well.

Dean won’t back down. “Three of us. That’s all we have,” he says with a tremor in his voice. “That’s all I have.” He confesses how on-the-edge he feels. How nearly alone, with only Sam and John in his life.

Sam and Dean call John again, and the phone rings and rings. Meg picks up, and promises that Sam and Dean will never see John Winchester again.

Quotaphobia:

Dad, I called you from Lawrence, alright? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean...getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery

You make every shot count

Don't say ‘just in case something happens to you.’ I don't wanna hear that freaking speech, man

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #meg masters #spn 1x21 #salvation

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makeste · 5 years

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“I came here to find what it is that I lack.”

hey everyone, so can we talk about this?

this is the first time that Katsuki has talked about his own personal shortcomings to such an extent. he’s flirted with acknowledging them out loud before, at the provisional course, and we know he’s been working on improving himself, because we saw the change during the joint training arc. but this is the first time he has actually come right out and admitted that there is something he knows he’s missing, and that his goal now is to find it.

so there are two parts of this that I want to break down and discuss. let’s start with this:

“I’ve learned that just because I’m strong in a fight, that doesn’t mean I’m strong as a person.”

JBox translated this as “I’ve learned that pure strength isn’t enough to become strong.” I’m curious as to how Viz will word it. but it’s Mangastream’s translation that really piqued my interest. “that doesn’t mean I’m strong as a person.” correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this is the first time Katsuki has ever talked about himself as a person at all. up to this point he’s seemed to have zero interest in any kind of self-reflection. and even now, he’s still bringing it up in a context of strength. he needs to be “strong” as a person because that will help him become stronger as a hero. but regardless of how he frames it, or whether or not he’s only seeking it because it pertains to his goal of surpassing the number one, this is still huge IMO for him to bring up strength of character and acknowledge that it’s still something that’s eluding him.

and it’s not like this hasn’t been brought to his attention before. for all of his strengths, his personality is the one thing that’s been consistently singled out by virtually everyone he’s ever met as a glaring fault. and yet he doesn’t seem to have ever given this real thought until recently. possibly because he didn’t think it actually mattered in the big picture. or maybe it’s because until recently, he was able to shrug off those accusations because he knew that deep down he was good where it really counted. like, yeah, he might swear a lot and he might not get along with people and maybe his temper gets the better of him at times. but he was able to brush that off because he knows deep down that he’s a hero. and not just any hero, but the person who’s going to become the best hero. and so he had faith in his own integrity, and didn’t let other people’s perceptions bother him, because who the hell cares what anyone else thinks.

but note that I did say “until recently.” because in the last six months or so story-wise, a lot has changed. things which have sent little parachutes of self-doubt sailing over Katsuki’s formerly impenetrable walls of indifference. he was singled out as a target by villains. yeah, they were wrong about him, but it still says something that they thought he was a good prospect. and not just them, but everyone. the press gathered together less than 48 hours after a child was kidnapped, and felt comfortable speculating about whether or not said child was unhinged and destined to follow the villain path. yeah, Aizawa shot them down, but Katsuki still got a behind-the-scenes documentary feature look at how some of the actions he’d never before given a second thought to were actually affecting the world’s judgment of his moral character.

and then All Might lost his power at Kamino. something which Katsuki felt was his fault. and then, directly on the heels of that, there was the shock of realizing that the childhood friend he’d maligned and tormented for years had ended up being All Might’s chosen successor. and there are so many ways that Katsuki could have responded to that realization. being jealous of Deku. being derisive of All Might’s choice. but instead, his reaction to learning Deku had it right was to immediately follow it up with: so I’m wrong. and just, wow, though. and then, of course, this was all compounded even more when he failed the provisional license exam. so now we have the villains, the general public, and the heroes -- or at least, the people in charge of deciding who gets to be a hero -- all hitting him up with various different versions of you are flawed, you are deficient.

anyway, thankfully at this point he did something he’s never done before and actually reached out to someone, even if it was in the most shounen way ever (“should I just talk to my rival like a normal person? nah I’ll challenge him to a fight”). and he and Deku had a heart to heart via their fists, and then All Might gave him a hug and some good mentor advice. so the worst of that line of thinking was curbed before it could become more damaging. and he seems to have rebounded since and is back to his old confident ways.

buuuuuut. we have seen him paying more attention to other people’s remarks than he seemed to before. maybe this was something he always did, but just pretended like he didn’t. hard to say. but there’s no denying the way that Horikoshi made it a Thing during the Band AU arc, when we saw those upperclassman grousing about how “class 1-A is the one causing all the trouble” and then Katsuki listening in, stony-faced. and then he got really pissed off and ranted about it afterward.

so yeah. and then more recently, during the joint training arc, we also had that incident where Monoma -- on camera, with Katsuki watching, and we know for a fact there was sound because U.A. based their teaching model on The Hunger Games, and also the kids were able to hear Shinsou’s voice-changing shenanigans earlier -- was all “SO HOW ABOUT THAT TIME THAT BAKUGOU CAUSED THE DOWNFALL OF THE SYMBOL OF PEACE, EH.” which marked the first time we confirmed that Katsuki isn’t the only one who’s made that connection. mind you, I don’t think Monoma actually meant it; he was just trying to rile Deku up into talking so he could pull the ol’ Jedi mind trick. but still, the fact that he had that remark ready to go means that it must have crossed his mind before. and at this point I think it’s pretty safe to say he’s not the only one. it’s an obvious enough conclusion to draw, and society was a hot mess for a while following Kamino, and it was the kind of thing where I’m sure that a lot of people, shaken up in the aftermath of this disaster and struggling to process it, would be looking to assign blame.

so now Katsuki, who formerly did not give a shit and was very proud and upfront about his lack of shit-giving, has been more or less forced to confront the fact that like it or not, his behavior -- and other people’s perceptions of it -- maybe matters a little more than he thought. and it seems like maybe he’s become a bit more sensitive to that lately. a little more aware.

I think it must be frustrating for him in some ways, because he knows that he’s good and that his intentions are good, but he has difficulty conveying that. and the other thing is that he’s not the type of boy to ever have people actually say to him, “hey, you’re a nice guy.” (Kirishima, I think, is the only one that might have actually said that sentence to him -- I feel like he has? -- and honestly there’s a reason why Katsuki trusts him so much, and things like this are no small part of it.) “amazing”, sure. he gets that all the time. and “strong”, which is the adjective he himself uses the most when talking about things he admires. but never good. and he might not ever show any signs of needing that type of reinforcement, but (a) sometimes we don’t know that we need something, especially if it’s something we’ve never had before, and (b) even if Katsuki was in any way adept at identifying his emotional needs (he’s not), the odds of him ever mustering up the will to actually ask are slim to say the least.

but no child wants to be bad. Katsuki’s one and only desire since he was very little has been to become a great hero. and heroes are inherently good. this boy, for all his surliness and stubbornness and toeing-the-line, works hard. he listens to his teachers. he studies. he fights fairly, and shows honor in other ways (like fessing up immediately to being the first one to throw a punch). he shows kindness and gratitude and concern in his own prickly ways as well. his goodness isn’t the kind that comes up to you and slaps you in the face, but it still manages to shine through like sunlight through a cloudy filter. he is a good person. and I think that sometimes, during his more intense moments of self-doubt, he may have wondered if maybe he’s not. but he is.

and having said all of that, one of the things I would like to see at some point in the future is for someone to actually tell him that. for him to get that validation. because I think that’s something he’s seeking, even if he’s not aware of it. even now he still has the media censoring his interviews, as if they’re worried he’ll somehow corrupt the viewers with his attitude. even though the whole reason he’s being interviewed is because he proved himself through his actions. somehow it’s still not enough. so I just think it’s something that would mean a lot to him to hear. “you are strong, but also you’re a good person.” so yeah. All Might, maybe -- get on that.

moving on now to the second part of this essay!

“I came here to find what it is that I lack.”

you know what I find interesting about this? at first glance, one might assume that he’d already solved this mystery. doy, the kid that only ever thought about winning and victory has to learn how to help others. we got that already; All Might broke it down for us nice and clear back in chapter 120. we’re good.

and the thing is, it really seems like we are good, doesn’t it? Katsuki passed his remedial exam with flying colors. he and Todo saved a bunch of would be purse-snatching victims, and he even saved their wallets (that makes it sound like he got them to save 15% or more by switching to Geico lol but NO, IN THIS CASE IT WAS LITERAL). and let’s not forget that dominant performance during the joint training arc, in which he both allowed himself to be rescued, and breezily rescued others with no qualm. by all measures, it would appear that he has embraced this new way of heroing, and seems to be taking to it as naturally as he takes to everything else.

so then the question arises: if he already figured out that IT’S THE RESCUING, STUPID, then why is he still talking about “what he lacks” as though there is still something he’s missing? and not just missing, but as-yet-unidentified to boot. he doesn’t actually know what it is. he’s trying to figure it out.

so I have a few guesses, but since this essay is already running long, I’m just going to jump right to my main one: what he’s talking about is the difference between this:

and this

in a very similar way to how Katsuki himself proved there was such a big difference between this

and this

“the difference between those who are aiming for the top, and everyone else.” so yeah. and if this applies to the “winning” part of the hero equation, then it also stands to reason it should apply to the “rescue” part as well, right?

so what would that mean? basically, as far as I can tell, it’s the difference between your everyday rescuing, and between Deku’s style of rescuing. no, I’m not talking about the bone-breaking. I’m talking about, “my legs just started moving. why? I dunno!” or, as All Might puts it, “their bodies simply moved before they could think.”

what Deku has is not just the will to rescue. it’s the instinct to rescue. in the same way that Kacchan uses his quirk intuitively to reach ever greater heights, what Deku does intuitively is to save and protect others. he is unrivaled in this. his instinct to rescue surpasses even All Might’s. and this is what makes him great.

what Katsuki is doing right now is rescuing on the balanced, sensible, government-approved level of things. which is fine! admirable, even. but compared to what Deku has, it’s the same as Monoma’s will to win pitted against Katsuki’s own utterly indomitable will, which is completely illogical and excessive in exactly the right type of way, and is what drives him to the levels of excellence that he’s achieved. Deku’s will to rescue is like that. it’s on a whole different level.

and I think one of the biggest things I can say in praise of Katsuki is that he is not yet satisfied with where he is in terms of his moral strength. he understands that there’s a level he has yet to unlock and achieve. something that he isn’t yet grasping. and I’m pretty sure this is what it is. and if that’s the case, then he’s in luck, because I think it’s safe to say there will be plenty of opportunities in the near future to hone his own rescue instincts. Deku didn’t really start to approach Kacchan’s own levels of WIN NO MATTER WHAT until his battle with Muscular, and the key thing that made the difference there was the stakes. needless to say, in this latest arc, we have stakes aplenty.

and all it takes is one moment. for there to be something to be on the line which Kacchan realizes in a moment of clarity that he can’t lose. something to trigger his own instant of my body just moved on its own. and then from there? who even knows. but it’ll be a sight to see.

so that is my [checks notes] 2600-word essay about Kacchan’s 75-word speech in chapter 247. to sum up, what I want for my son in this arc is for things to finally click for him to get that moment of Hero Autopilot, and also for other people to get with the program and acknowledge what a good kid he is, goddammit. even if he gets embarrassed. or embarrasses them immediately afterward by demonstrating exactly how good of a kid he is by blowing up the nearest inanimate object and launching into colorful tirades about someone’s mother. Bakugou is basically like a poorly wrapped Christmas gift. ugly on the outside, doesn’t quite look right when stacked next to the other gifts, but once you rip that sucker open TAH DAH, IT’S THAT BRAND NEW THING YOU WANTED! and it kicks all the other gifts’ asses. what more could you want in a character lol.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha 247 #bakugou katsuki #bnha meta #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #bakugou meta

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abduct-me-helen · 4 years

Text

Class 108's Apocalypse Field Trip | Chapter 1.

The world ended on a Tuesday. Quite suddenly, halfway through class. After the sky split open and green light bathed the earth, things changed. Some lived.

Some didn’t.

Class 108 stayed together, for the most part. They took up a base in the school, and boarded up the windows and doors.

Sydney was the one who first learned they didn’t need to eat. Other revelations of that sort followed. Sleep was not needed, nor was water. Air seemed to be, though, as they learned after Cal passed out from holding their breath.

The first one to die was Cú.

They don’t talk about Cú.

Of course, some things are unavoidable in the end. Logically, Sydney knew it was only a matter of time before something managed to slip under the cracks and they’d all get killed; god knows they’d narrowly scraped by enough times to be considered cosmically lucky. Tabitha had been spreading rumors, as was her nature, about the school itself being sentient, trapping them inside with false promises of safety.

On the worse days, Sydney believed it.

Sydney stepped into the classroom slowly, craning her head to where Tabitha and Rosie were explaining their theories. She didn’t know which theories, but she’d heard most of them by now.

“G’morning.” She said.

It was night.

No, she thought, the sky is dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s night.

Rosie gestures towards a desk, and she avoids the chair toppled over at her feet as she sits down on top of it. She takes not of who else had decided to attend this “session” of theirs today. There are 12 students left out of the thirty who had originally made up the class. Ten of them had disappeared after running away from the school in shock after the eye in the sky had first opened. They hadn’t been in homeroom during the “blink,” which is what they’d taken to call the eye opening, and hadn’t seen any teachers since that day.

She remembered it vividly.

Ms. Bruis had tensed, eyes wide in shock, before telling them to calm down and stay indoors. She immediately went outside the room to check on everyone else.

That was the last time they’d seen Ms. Bruis, but not the last time they’d seen her face.

Besides the initial chaos, there wasn’t anything attacking the school. It was just shouting and screaming and running. Sydney had stayed in the classroom, clumsily trying to close the blinds on the window.

People just, left. And they didn’t come back.

The first venture was when they lost Cú. She doesn’t like to talk about him, never mind think about him. Nonetheless, her mind often drifts towards his death.

It was about four hours after the chaos. People had been nearly sucked out of the building, teachers included. The only ones that remained were the thirty students of 108.

Sydney didn’t know why they were the only ones to remain. She still doesn’t now.

The students decided to have a short party go out and scout. Sydney, Katie, Cú, Tabitha and Rosie. Four survived, one did not.

Rosie was always the thinker of the group, and as such she took the front. Katie was chosen for her seemingly nonchalant disposition to going, and Tabitha for her mind, which was always going too fast and often arriving at far-out conclusions. Despite this, she was a quick-witted person and had been selected for her dexterity and speed. Cú was selected for his physicality. He was a teddy bear, but a strong teddy bear.

It didn’t save him in the end.

And Sydney, well, she was cautious. She wonders if she could’ve saved Cú if she’d been just a little bit wearier.

They wandered a few blocks before hearing the sound of skin and bone splitting. Tabitha immediately ran toward the sound, as was her nature. The rest, Rosie at the lead, followed, hiding behind a corner.

Katie didn’t make a face, but even she was visibly pale.

When the sound came again, louder, and a creature made of wet flesh and twisted muscle stepped out of the alleyway, she became practically white.

Sydney retched. She’s not ashamed to admit it, you would’ve too. Anyone would’ve retched if they saw that sight.

It got worse.

“Hello?! Someone! Help me, please!”

It was Ms. Bruis-no, it looked like Ms. Bruis.

Cú ran. He dodged the creature, running to Ms. Bruis and starting to try to pick her up off the ground, before he noticed she was rooted to the cement. His eyes widened as blood ran down her face

She smirked.

Sydney will always remember the flash of teeth before she plunged her hand-no, her claw-into his stomach. He made a choked sound before the creature bounded back over and ripped his jaw clean off.

They ran. They ran. They ran.

And then they came back to the classroom, and they wept.

There were more expeditions after that. They lost seven more after that, but in those ventures, they collected knowledge. This knowledge went on Rosie’s list, though it also doubled as a rulebook.

THE LIST

1. Some creatures can make copies of people you know in order to trick you. They don’t bleed, so your best shot at not meeting eyeball daddy up close is to yeet the fuck outta there//bold of you to assume I don’t want to meet eyeball daddy uwu//

2. Don’t trust meat. Ever. Meat comes alive. WE ARE VEGANS IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2018(?)

3. Don’t answer the door, even if you’re armed. No, Eric, we do not count your big muscles™ as a weapon.

4. If you MUST answer the door, don’t. You have been stopped.

5. A short section on the happenings of the places(?) known to us as “nightmares.”

Nightmares trap humans in these crazy places. We’ve only seen two, but they are extremely dangerous, and both encounters ended in casualties. They trap your mind and make you experience terrible things, and like the rest of the world (to our knowledge at least) don’t follow normal time or space rules. Basically, if you want to avoid a ,’ , |,’_’, you should not screw with that shit.

6. Always check with someone else before eating or drinking. Sometimes, your mind will play tricks on you and you won’t notice that you’re eating something…not good. Honor cal for their sacrifice regarding this matter (sorry cal)

7. Always shut the blinds. Eyeball daddy is watching you//YOU DID NOT NEED TO SAY THAT TABITHA

8. Don’t leave the building without consulting all of class 108.

9. Don’t read books that others haven’t read first, especially if it says it’s from the library of Jurgen LeitnerSTUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING JURGEN LEITENER GOD DAMN FOOL BOOK COLLECTING DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIO//yes, Riko, we get it, but good point. Be Jared, 19.

10. Don’t invite anyone in.

“What are we on today?” Sydney asked.

“Tabitha’s on about the categories again.” Cal said.

“I really think it could work!” she said loudly. “Look, there’s consistencies in every single encounter we’ve had. Think about it. Remember what happened at the theater?”

Katie grimaced silently. “How could we forget?”

Tabitha ignored her. “The webs. Spiders and the rest of those insects are different categories. The wriggly silver worms are more like, bugs and wriggly things and judging from the infestation we had they all work together.”

“Like a hive?” Cal asked.

Tabitha nodded. “Exactly like that. Spiders are different though; you saw how many were crawling about during the amphitheater incident. And that whole thing was about control. All those people who were laughing…they, they were there. They didn’t want to do it! They didn’t want to laugh, you saw their eyes. They were being controlled. And when,” she paused, gritting her teeth, “and when Marcy died she was being controlled too. Puppeted.”

That’s two. Then we come to the next one, guns and murder and war and shit like that. Simple enough. But I think it has to be humans killing humans, because the thing that killed, killed Cú wasn’t like that. It was, it was different. I don’t know. I’ll get back to that.

“Then we have the cover up, or the anonymous things. Things like those little creatures that hide in your plates that you can’t notice are there until someone tells you. That’s why I’m confused, because I think the weird fleshy creature we faced was aligned with that but also with those meat things that broke Rosie’s leg. I don’t know how to explain it, but, ah. Sorry. I think they’re the same category.”

“I’ll humor you; can a thing be two categories?” Katie questioned her dully.

“I think so. Maybe it’s like colors? Really angry colors. They’re all separate, but the same because they’re all made of the same stuff. And they all blur together sometimes?”

“Yeah,” Katie snorted, “we’re being killed by really angry colors.”

Tabitha flushed. “Hey! It was just an analogy.”

Rosie seemed to be considering what Tabitha had said, before she looked up. “I believe you.”

“Y-you do?” Tabitha blinked, taken back.

Rosie nodded. “It makes sense. Really angry colors.”

“Really angry colors.”

A few hours-well, time was weird, but Sydney supposed it was hours-later, the class was doing yoga. Well, not “yoga” per se. They were beating each other on the head with torn up yoga mats.

“Hey!” Riko shouted as Tabitha tripped over her mat while chasing Cal. “Watch it! This is where I sleep!”

Tabitha stuck her tongue out and Katie snorted, not looking up from her book. Sydney wondered how she did that; Katie always seemed to have an astounding amount of situational awareness at all times.

“Real mature.” Katie groused.

Tabitha grinned, and Rosie smiled softly.

“I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU MEET EYEBALL DADDY!” she shouted to Cal, who’s eyes widened in mock fear.

“Oh no! The horror! OwO!” They said dramatically.

“Did they just say “OwO”?” Sydney asked in a deadpan. Rosie nodded solemnly.

“You ever wonder…” Sydney trailed off, the muffled shouting of their peers drowned out into the background.

“Wonder what?” Rosie tilted her head in question.

“What happened to Mr. Sims.”

“He’s probably…not with us anymore.”

“Yeah. Still, could you imagine? He was a bloody cryptid. He’d probably take all this with no sweat.”

“Maybe he’d give us concerts too.”

“Good ole Jonny D’Ville.”

Rosie snickered.

“You know how he always drew eyes everywhere? During tests?”

“Oh god, don’t mention that to Tabitha, I don’t need her going on about another conspiracy.”

Sydney grinned to herself and Rosie groaned.

“Well, I was thinking, maybe it was an omen.”

“An omen?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been spiritual really, but the worlds gone to shit so who knows what’s real. Maybe the Mayans were just a few days off.”

“Ah, the apocalypse calendar.”

“Indeed.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

A noise rang out from the entrance to the school, loud and imposing. Sydney’s heart started to thump wildly in terror.

They all shot up, and Katie got her switchblade out from her pocket. She was lucky enough to have it on her at the blink, and it was their best weapon.

Cypress shot inside the classroom silently, eyes wide, red curls bouncing. He clicked the door shut quietly, pale. “The others sent me. They’re hiding in place. I think we should just stay put.”

Rosie nodded, gesturing him to come over. She placed a finger over her lips in order to get them to stay silent, then nodded to Katie. Katie had always been gifted with really good hearing, and it had saved their assess more than enough times for Rosie to know that letting her try to hear who was at the door was the best safe bet for situation and the time being.

Katie closed her eyes, but after a quarter of a minute shook her head.

That’s when they heard it.

“Hello!”

Sydney brought a hand to her mouth to clamp down a scream.

It was Cypress.

Eyes wide, she glanced over to Cypress, her Cypress, who’s expression was now glazed over. Was his skin always that waxy? Why was his hair so smooth? It looked like that of a dolls, curls made of softly bent plastic.

Katie saw the flicker of light before she saw the blade, and she lunged.

Her switchblade pierced his skin-no, his stuffing, with a sound akin to ripping a toy. It didn’t seem to stop this not-Cypress.

Oh god, Sydney thought, today is the day I die.

There was a sound like static now in the air, and the faint smell of burning. Sydney began to feel sick, almost lightheaded.

The door swung open, and Sydney whipped her head around to see Cypress, who was trailed by…Mr. Sims?

#tma #the magnus archives #teacher!jon #teacher jonathan sims #tma fanfic #eyepocolypse #tma spoilers #tma au #season 5 #tma season 5 #gen z vs the apocolypse

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monster-bait · 4 years

Text

Monster Match — Baptiste the Rougarou x F Human, SFW

Monster Match for @kwat01

You could see them, just ahead, at long last.

Normally, the sounds of squawks and chirps accompanied your work, leading the way as you followed with your camera, but not this assignment.

Not the cajun flamingos.

The colorful birds were nearly silent, making only the odd low grunt, none of the ebullient chatter you’ve come to expect in your years working for the nature magazine. The spoonbills were foraging in the brackish shallows of the swamp; white heads bobbing and weaving, searching out food in the murky water as the fan boat drifted.

It was a perfect evening–the air was thick and balmy, as you’d determined it always was, here in Terrebonne Parish, and the bayou was perfectly still. Overhead, the sky was awash with color as the sun slowly set, leaving a rosy, crimson flush to add to the backdrop of your photos, matching the brilliant plumage of your elusive subjects. An ancient live oak, draped in spanish moss, dipped her long branches into the water, and the only movement was that of the birds.

As you waited, the perfect shot presented itself: one of the birds reared up, flapping its wings, and two of its fellows followed suit in a brilliant display of color that you captured with a rapid series of clicks.

When you turned back with a beaming smile, Baptiste was watching you with one of his own.

He’d told you about bayou magic, and damned if he wasn’t right.

You’d arrived in Louisiana more than a week earlier, with little more than a duffel and your camera gear, used to traveling light and in a hurry. Your accent set you apart, as it did almost everywhere, but you discovered the only people making the same tired “shrimp on the barbie” and dingo jokes were tourists announcing how excited they were to be in Nawlins, walking around with beads around their necks and blinking souvenir cups from the Bourbon Street bars. Everyone else was too busy living their lives to pay you any mind.

The drive from New Orleans to Terrebonne Parish took less than an hour in your rented car, always an adventure in different countries, although finding a guide turned out to be slightly more challenging. The contact that had been set up through the magazine had bailed sometime during your transpacific flight, and the message from your office had been to “feel out the locals.”

Wildlife photography was easy peasy over here in the colonies, when compared to the hassles and dangers you’d encountered in parts of Africa and South America, but the few offices you’d dropped into seemed reluctant to take you on.

Roseate spoonbills, diamondback terrapins, and the ubiquitous alligators were your main focus for this trip, and you’d be back later in the season, to capture the critically endangered red wolf…but you had let it slip that you were very interested in another wolf you’d heard about; one that made the wild hogs cower and the gators keep to their swamps.

The stories had come to you during your initial research on the area, via online message boards: nested threads buried deep within innocuous conversations about the local fauna. A creature with claws like steak knives and teeth to match, one that prowled the bayou beneath the light of the full moon each month, leaving a trail of slaughtered hogs in its wake. The people on the message board seemed grateful for the beast, for the hogs were dangerous and a nuisance, and you were intrigued, having never heard of anything like the creature, nor the name they called it.

Rougarou

You had typed the unfamiliar word into your search bar enthusiastically, eager to find something potentially more interesting to search out and photograph…but the results yielded you nothing but legends; a cryptip, a monster creature of myth, a story taken from France to Nova Scotia and passed down from the Acadians as they resettled in the bayou. That doesn’t make any sense! You couldn’t believe that it was all a hoax, not when people seemed so sincere about the wolf-like creature. Maybe it’s just a red wolf, maybe some giant hybrid…

You’d mentioned your interest in finding this rougarou to the genial woman who ran the first tour operation you’d visited…had watched the smile freeze on her face and her eyes harden. It had hardly been a surprise when she announced just a few moments later that all of her guides were booked and she couldn’t help you. It had been a mistake you’d only made once, but evidently some sort of old-fashioned phone tree had been activated, for none of the local travel and tour outfits seemed particularly interested in giving you the time of day after that.

Except for Baptiste.

A fifth generation Acadiana cajun, as he proudly proclaimed, you’d found Baptiste in a small luncheonette in Houma, as you groused on the phone to your editor back in Melbourne. Or rather, you thought ruefully, he had found you.

‘I don’t know what to do, Ray! I’m telling you, there’s something bigger here than turtles. It’s a wolf as big as a man! How has no one heard of it, I don’t understand! But none of these people will talk to me. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to find the spoonbills as this point.”

“Excusez-moi, miss…I couldn’ help overhear that you’re in need of a guide? There’s no one in Terrebonne Parish tha’ knows the bayou half so well as me. Baptiste Thibodaux, for your service.”

He was tall and broad, with an unhurried way of moving, and the blazing afternoon sun had winked on his dark brown hair where he’d followed you to the sidewalk, bowing with a flourish of his hand. He had a languid smile and lovely hazel eyes, bright in his smooth, latte-colored face. You conceded that it was amazing luck for every other guide in the area to be refusing your call, leaving you stranded with this handsome stranger who professed to know the parish like the back of his hand.

You were immediately taken with him.

Over the course of the next several days you’d shot terrapins sunning on rocks, gators blinking thoughtfully from brackish shallows, and some slithering snakes you hadn’t even planned for, all in tucked away little corners and forgotten waterways. The spoonbills were a bit more elusive, at least, for what you were looking for. “Anyone can see one or two pecking for garbage in a drainage ditch on the side of the road,” you explained. “I want to see the flock.”

The time spent together was interesting and companionable, and you found yourself enjoying the time away from home far more than you had on any other assignment. You learned about life on the bayou and Cajun traditions, that his grandfather had been the one to teach him all of the hidden nooks and crannies when he was a boy.

“Save up your toys, boy. We’re gone fishin’,” he imitated as you laughed. “Ol’ Alexandre knew it all.”

Each day you pressed him for information about the mysterious rougarou, and each day he danced around your questions with a smile.

“Can’t say I’m friends with any wolfman out there in the swamps,” he’d chuckled the second day he’d taken you out, after you eagerly told him about the things you’d read and the creature you sought. “Sure you’re not thinkin’ of some red wolves?” You’d flapped your arms in frustration, and he’d laughed again. “There’s magic in the bayou, chèr…just gotta know where to find it.”

Everywhere you went, you questioned the locals, grilling busboys and mail clerks alike. As you’d experienced with the tour outfits, the townsfolk met your questions with uneasy evasiveness. If they’d laughed at you, had flat out called you crazy, you might have let it go. As it was, their shifty eyes and changed subjects let you know that you were on to something, and the whole town was in on the coverup.

“Why you interested in some ol’ wive’s tale anyway?” Baptiste asked with that slow smile, the sixth day he’d taken you out on his fan boat. “Come see, chèr.”

He smelled like pipe tobacco and worn leather, with a splash of bay rum, and the intoxicating trio made your stomach twist and bunch when you leaned in close to follow his outstretched finger.

He had been courtly and charming every day, and you’d lying to yourself if you pretended you weren’t wildly attracted to him. You’d made mention that afternoon at the small restaurant where you’d met for a late lunch before heading out for the evening that he would need to invoice his time so that you could forward it on to your Melbourne office, and he’d scoffed at your words with a wave of his hand.

“Saints alive, you’d best save the ink writin’ up that invoice. Showing a beautiful woman around my home is a pleasure, not a job, chèr.”

As you followed the sightline his long finger pointed out, your breath caught in your throat. There, snuffling at the base of a tree, was a red wolf. Few in numbers, rare to be spotted, and not seen in Terrebonne Parish in decades, but somehow Baptiste had known just where to go.

The wolf froze, spotting you bobbing in the water, but you continued to click as its hackles raised. Baptiste was silent beside you as gleaming fangs were bared.

A sudden breeze from the gulf lifted your hair, carrying your scent to the wolf on the rocks and the creatures beyond, further alerting them to your presence, when without warning, the red wolf lowered its head, whimpering. The sudden change in its demeanor caused you to whip around, expecting an even more dangerous predator slinking up behind you, but there was nothing there.

Nothing but Baptiste’s eyes, glowing like flames in the growing darkness.

Your breath had caught for the second time that evening.

Raising your camera once more, you took advantage of the solitary wolf, until it backed slowly into the brush, melting into the shadows.

“That was incredible,” you’d exclaimed that night, still bouncing giddily on the tips of your toes. It normally took weeks setting up a shot like that, yet you’d glided up to the bank easy as you please, taking the shots you needed. “Thank you so much, I can’t believe you knew just where to find him!”

You’d stood on the stoop of your rented room, gazing up at his wide, white smile, feeling a frisson of heat move through you. You should invite him in…the heady smell of leather and bay rum caught your nose once more as you stepped closer. He had a scar, you saw, cutting through his eyebrow from his hairline, running in an uneven line across his cheek to disappear into his dark hair once more, just above his ear. Baptiste grinned down, taking your in his own with a delicate touch. The feeling of his thumb running down your palm nearly turned you inside out, but before you could act of your desire to invite him in, your hand was raised to his mouth, his lips lightly gliding over your knuckles and released.

“Tomorrow we’ll be findin’ your spoonbills, chèr…then you’ll kick your feet up, Acadiana style.”

It wasn’t until later that you’d pondered on the unnatural luminescent glow of his eyes in the darkness.

Breakfast was at the little diner up the block the next morning, and when the waitress who’d been giving you the stink-eye all week ducked her head as you entered, you weren’t at all surprised. When the same waitress stopped by your table to refill the hot water for your tea, you’d raised an eyebrow.

“Have you talked with Adeline Boucher yet?” the woman hissed. “She’s the one who can tell you what you want to know.”

“I remember I was seventeen, “ the old woman sighed wistfully.

The Fair Oaks retirement community was where you finally tracked down Adeline Boucher, a silvery-hair octogenarian with a bevy of tales to tell. It had taken the better part of an hour to get her back on track with your line of questioning, but what she revealed had been exactly what you’d been trying to unearth since your plane had touched down.

Teeth and claws, long and sharp and lethal; a painful looking change beneath the bright, white moon, leaving a wolfish creature in the place of her sweetheart, on a night more than sixty years earlier.

“Alex was so handsome. Always a perfect gentleman, you know. We would have gotten married, if my parents hadn’t sent me away. Didn’t want me raisin’ any babies with the curse. I had a good life, and it’s too late for complaints…but Alexandre Thibodaux was my first love.”

The spoonbills continued to graze through the shallows, dozens of pink streaked wings and bobbing white heads, beneath the crimson-streaked sky.

It was perfect.

“We should head back, chèr,” he murmured, once you’d lowered the camera for the final time. “You don’t want to be missin’ your first fais do-do, do you now?”

The boat bobbed in the water, and you nodded. He was right—you did not want to miss your first fais do-do. “What if I stay?” He was close, close enough to feel the heat of his body and smell that intoxicating smell, but he still wasn’t nearly close enough. “What if I stay through the end of next week?”

His smile was a bit sadder, but he maintained eye contact as your hands drifted to his shoulders. “Well…I’m afraid I’ll be a bit indisposed form most of next week.”

You nodded, already having checked the date of the full moon. You’d been searching for what had been there all along, and now that you’d found it…it didn’t matter at all.

“I’ll be back then. To shoot the wolves, it’s already scheduled.” When he reminded you that you’d already captured one of the elusive wolves on film, you shrugged. “There are other wolves I’d like to get to know better.”

His lips were warm against yours, a hand at your waist and another in your hair, as you chased the giddy sense of anticipation that had cloaked your entire visit to Terrebonne Parish. You would be back, you’d be unable to stay away.

As your mouth moved against his, the spoonbills took wing. The silent air was rent by a hundred flapping wings, brilliant color taking to the sky, and you were unable to hold in your laughter, leaning against Baptiste’s warm side.

Bayou magic.

Monster Matches available on ko-fi!

#Exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #rougarou #terato #monsterbait writes #monster match #monster matchmaker

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fumpkins · 5 years

Text

What is a super blood wolf moon?

This post has actually been upgraded, since you still appreciate the moons.

Blue moons, strawberry moons, supermoons. For some factor your news aggregation algorithm of option believes you actually actually actually need to know everything about these moons. “Catch This Weekend’s AMAZING SUPERMOON,” one heading (or, like, 500 of them) will reveal. “The Supermoon Isn’t Actually A Big Deal And You’re All Ruining Astronomy,” another will grouse.

The current example is the super blood wolf moon eclipse, which seems like the name of an emo tune I would have carried out a contemporary dance regimen to in 9th grade, however is, in reality, a huge occasion set to take place on January20 As we’ll discuss below, there is absolutely nothing really magical or hardcore or otherwise unique about this moon, and it will not look like a bloody wolf head in the sky or anything wild like that. We get these super- duper-lunar occasions by smashing together all the qualifiers we have actually traditionally utilized to monitor moons throughout the year, and in the age of the web we can go a little overboard.

Consider this your go-to resource for all moon-gazing news. Here’s what you require to understand about the most recent lunar occasion.

Routine Ol’ Moon

Appearance, it’s fine if you do not understand. There are most likely loads of folks who walk pretending they completely understand why that thing in the sky appears to grow and smaller sized at routine periods who completely do not

The moon orbits Earth, and it’s tidally locked– that implies it constantly reveals us the exact same face, rather of twirling around like our world does. That’s why you can constantly see the male on the moon (or the moon bunny, depending upon your cultural choices) even as it spins around us. However while the moon is huge and brilliant in the sky when it’s complete, that’s just since it’s showing light from the sun. However the moon is constantly moving, so it’s getting struck with sunshine at various angles. It’s unnoticeable to us throughout the “new moon,” since our satellite is parked best in between us and the sun; the so-called dark side of the moon is illuminated like a Vegas, however the side we can see is in shadow. A moon takes place when the earth is right in between the sun and the moon, so sunshine strikes the part we can see. And all the other stages are simply the shift from among those extremes to the other.

Super Moon

The moon isn’t constantly precisely the exact same range from Earth, since its orbit isn’t completely circular. We call the closest point perigee, and the most remote point is apogee. 2018’s closest perigee and most remote apogee both took place in January, and the distinction had to do with 30,000 miles.

The factor you appreciate this middling modification in range is that it turns a moonsuper When a moon takes place near perigee, it’s going to look a smidge larger. Perhaps. If you’re fortunate. Truthfully, the distinction is not that extensive, however if you remain in a position to picture the supermoon beside something that reveals the small boost in scale, it can look quite cool. January’s super blood wolf moon eclipse is super since the date lines up with the closest the moon will get to us throughout January, however the moon will not in fact be at its closest for the year up until February’s supermoon, which you can anticipate lots of excessive excitement over.

Micro Moon

See above; it’s the reverse of the super one. Size isn’t whatever.

Blood Moon

Objectively the most metal moon, these just take place throughout overall lunar eclipses (which can take place a couple of times a year in any provided area). When the moon slips through our shadow, we provide it a reddish tint. The moon can likewise look orange whenever it’s increasing or setting, or if it hangs low in the horizon all night– the light bouncing off of it needs to take a trip through thicker environment there, which spreads more blue light away. However you’ll most likely just see that deep, ominous red throughout an eclipse.

A great deal of headings about moons are simply ridiculous (you do not require to be especially thrilled about a blue moon, it simply appears like a routine ol’ moon), however you must absolutely present of bed to take a look at a blood moon if one is going to show up in your area. However anybody who stuffs both “blood” and “eclipse” into their name for a moon is simply attempting to win the seo video game; a blood moon is simply a lunar eclipse that’s going through a stage and attempting to get all their buddies to call them by a cool label they comprised. Ryan F. Mandelbaum at Gizmodo makes the case that we must actually simply stop tossing the expression “blood moon” around and call them lunar eclipses, which is difficult however reasonable, since they’re lunar eclipses and not proof of bloody fights in between the sky gods.

Blue Moon

In March of 2018, we had our 2nd “blue moon” of the year, to much recognition. And while that’s not always unique in an oh-gosh-get-out-and-look-at-it kinda method, it’s definitely unique: a blue moon is a label for when 2 moons fall in the exact same calendar month, and we had not formerly had 2 in one year considering that1999 We will not have it take place once again up until2037 Astronomer David Chapman described for EarthSky that this is simply a peculiarity of our calendar; when we stopped doing things based upon the moon and began attempting to follow the sun and the seasons, we stopped having one dependable moon each month. The moon cycle is 29.53 days long usually, so on most months we still wind up with a single brand-new moon and a single complete one. However every when in a while, things sync up so that one month takes a moon from another. In 2018 (and in 1999, and once again in 2037) both January and March stacked moons on the very first and last nights of the month, leaving February in the dark.

Getting 2 blue moons a year is unusual, however we have private blue moons every couple of years. Likewise, enjoyable reality: not in fact blue. A moon can undoubtedly handle a moody blue shade, however this just takes place when particles of simply the best size distribute through the sky– and it has absolutely nothing to do with the moon’s status as “blue.” Huge clouds of ash from volcanic eruptions or fires can do the technique, however it does not take place typically, and the stars would definitely need to line up for 2 such unusual circumstances to take place simultaneously.

Paschal Moon

You might have heard that the super unique 2nd blue moon of 2018 was likewise a Paschal moon. This is real! That simply implies it was the very first moon of spring, which is typically utilized to identify the date of Easter Sunday. All of this is simply calendar rubbish and we decline to enter into it even more.

Snow Moons, Worm Moons, Strawberry Moons …

Often you’ll see a heading that assures a moon with a lot of qualifiers it makes your head spin. A superblueblood worm moon, mayhaps? Or a super blood wolf moon? Great deals of sites will inform you that “wolf moon” is the conventional name of the very first moon of the year in “Native American” cultures, which is sort of a odd thing to declare considered that there are 573 signed up Tribal Nations in the U.S. alone today, not to point out traditionally. The concept that starving, howling wolves were such a universal consistent in January that all of The United States and Canada with its diverse cultures, locations, and languages spontaneously created the exact same label is– well, it’s dumb. It’s a dumb concept.

Lots of cultures have conventional names for the moon in a provided month or season, so there’s rather a list to draw from if you’re attempting to actually plump up a story on a slightly-bigger-than-average view of the moon. However these are all based upon human calendars and activities and folklore; you will not go outdoors and see a pink moon in April, though I want it were so.

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New post published on: https://livescience.tech/2018/12/29/what-is-a-super-blood-wolf-moon/

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cullxtheherd · 3 years

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“You’re lucky I came by when I did, or else you’d be dead.” For Jacob Seed and whoever else. (Attacked sentence starters)

𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘫𝘩𝘥𝘫𝘧𝘩𝘧𝘨 𝘩𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘕𝘒 𝘺𝘖𝘜 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬!! 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘯𝘥𝘥!!! 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘺𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘧𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵? 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘬𝘴𝘥𝘹𝘫𝘧𝘬𝘥𝘫𝘧- 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘺!

@joannabethharvelle [x] listen idk why this song but its on and it kinda works bye

Jacob Seed isn’t generally a man of many miscalculations. He is meticulous. He is informed. He has planned. But? All of the planning in the world couldn’t circumnavigate surprise nor mistake and certainly not an unmarked trap in the middle-of-the-fuckin’-woods, either. Imprisoned in the heat of the day he is absolutely baking under the sun and despite the breeze he sweats in dripping, fat rivulets.

Trying to move is gut wrenching and although he is steeled- ready to do what he has to, he needs a moment to run everything through the ol’ thunker. In all honesty? He needs time to get a handle on the way his stomach is roiling against the heavy brunt of intense pain, but? He isn’t a fan of weakness. Least of all injury.

It had been a mediocre, hum-drum, to-schedule kind of day thus far and, feeling wistful, he wants for his clipboard: straight lines, orderly lists- anything but this? Entrapment.

Ginger speckled, lily white skin blazes under the unadulterated afternoon sun and he can already feel the blisters begin to rise on the back of his shoulders- knows he’ll be sporting a nice fever to boot for the next few days if he makes it out of here. Life in the valley of the mountains was much more amenable than this.

A radio which he had originally considered part-nuisance-part-hinderance for this particular excursion sits, abandoned, on the seat of his truck. “Fucking brilliant hunting trip,” One of his favored vehicles of annoyance for the local “po-po” so casually left behind, “Fuck!”

The insects around him churn, their nervous singsong nothing but an annoyance at a time like this. How dare they have the nerve to be so normal? So free? Their audacity is enough for him to regain a paltry ounce of himself and, misplaced as it may be, he focuses on the familiar tang of anger.

Fingers dig in to parched dirt, ripping into half-trodden grass and he takes a deep breath, reaching for the bear trap that has snared his right leg. Pressing down with as much strength as he can muster in this moment, injured and grunting as he is, isn’t enough to compress the springs and the whisper of relief he is granted is sharply taken away when the trap snaps shut again.

Teeth boring a line into the backs of his lips he does his best to swallow a scream of pain. He fails. With his lower lip split and the basin of his mouth blossoming with blood he lets out a muffled, defeated whimper and he needs several minutes before he can try again.

His men had scouted the area some weeks ago and a part of him curses them for missing this trap- how many others were there? He curses the sky and the land and the sun for even having the nerve to shine so brightly on his cheeks. Needing distraction from the pain he does his best to take in his surroundings and curse it too. Nothing is safe from his scornful eye.

Somewhere nearby he can make out the sound of a deer- maybe two, rooting around and chuffing as they forage. “Get fucked,” He releases lowly. Behind, off to his right just beyond his line of vision a pair of grouse kick up the dust, startled by something, “Eat ass!” Feeling more and more steady with each expletive and turn of phrase he continues, damning everything he hears and readying himself to strive for freedom once again.

Somewhere, off to his left and also in the land of the unseen he hears the grasses rustle. Footsteps. Fast. Someone is coming. Gripping the sides of the trap his teeth bear down, jaw vibrating with the effort not to scream as he turns, dragging the short chain.

This certainly isn’t someone he’d hoped to encounter in this situation. For the time being he is content to silently size her up- trying to process the next course of action, as he is sure she is as well. “Take a picture, Deputy,” Shifting and trying to alleviate the pain he can feel bones grind much more prominently than before, “It’ll last longer.”

Without a word she raises her bow, notching an arrow and lets loose. It screams just over his shoulder and his left ear rings, hearing muted. The sudden yowl of a cougar shakes him and the trap jangles, chain taut against its anchoring stake as she fires again. Jacob can hear the massive feline fall just shy of his position and he releases a breath he hadn’t consciously held.

Silently he raises his line of vision and he is glad to see her lowering her weapon before locking eyes. Teeth a grinding mess he is unable to maintain any kind of calm or cool expression and he is certain that his pain and tribulation so far this afternoon is plainly worn on his face. For a few beats it becomes a waiting game- who will speak first?

By whatever grace or miracle she decides to take the lead and, not that he would ever admit it, but? He is grateful for it, chin bowing into his chest so he can grimace more freely.

“You’re lucky I came by when I did, or else you’d be dead.”

Despite his extreme predicament his chest hums, amused by her ability to cut to the chase- even now. “You caught me,” Fingers dredge the dirt to maintain any kind of connection to reality and he spits out a mouthful of blood before continuing, “Weakness o’clock.”

Jacob isn’t sure when the dizziness set in but a part of him knows it’s been here all along and he blinks sloppily before trying to raise his line of sight again. He is unsuccessful, “Tick tock, girlie.” Jacob gives up, chin at rest against his chest. Suddenly aware of the accumulating blood in the tall grasses he produces a bitter, two note laugh, “Big decisions to make.”

#aksjkjdds hi wow enjoy this?? skjxfd

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sethrine-writes · 5 years

Text

Devil-sitter May Cry, Ch. 2

Pairing: Dante x F!Reader, Vergil x F!Reader (Undecided)

Words: 2853

Warning: Lots of Fluff, Some serious tones

Story Summary: Low on cash and desperate for a job, you reply to a flyer for a babysitting position. Little did you know that the opportunity to watch over two special boys would bring your life so much mayhem and adventure…and, perhaps, a chance at a family of your own.

A/N: We get to meet the boys!! Also, thank you guys so much for the absolutely wonderful response to the first chapter! I’m so happy you guys are enjoying it, so far, and I can’t wait to see where the future chapters will lead us!

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Chapter 2 - Specs of the Job

The inside of Devil May Cry wasn't really anything to gawk over, but it did hold a particular charm to it.

Above all else, it looked and felt like a well-used establishment with clearly patched wooden floors and worn but sturdy furnishings just in the main area. Only a few spaces on the walls were decorated with relics and some questionably large weaponry, perhaps niche items pertaining to the business, but they looked nice, clean and well-maintained like everything else.

Just to the right was a staircase leading up to the second floor, the wall there curiously decorated with kid drawings and stickers, and you were suddenly struck with the realization that the building wasn't just a place of business - it was also a home.

Dante led you to the farthest end of the room where a cluttered desk resided, piled with messy stacks of papers and other small odds and ends. He rounded the desk, taking a seat heavily in the armchair present and sighing rather loudly. You stood on the opposite end, waiting for only a moment as Dante made himself comfortable.

"So, I take it Lady already put you through the ropes, like questions and background checks," he began as he leaned against the heavy wooden desktop, "but I have a feeling she wasn't very clear on exactly what this particular babysitting job would entail."

"I'm prepared to accommodate in whatever way I need to," you replied eagerly, though the husky chuckle Dante gave at your words felt more mocking than amused.

"Do you know what we do here at Devil May Cry?"

The question, though not entirely unwarranted, caught you off-guard, enough that you faltered in giving an answer straight away.

"I've...heard things," you admitted. "You hunt demons, right?"

"That's our specialty," Dante said, "though we've been known to help out with some otherworldly beings, as well. To put it simply, what we do is dangerous work, and it puts a target on our backs. Unfortunately, that includes the business, as a whole, as well as that of our sons."

The conversation had taken on a very serious tone you hadn't been expecting. If you were honest, it was beginning to make you a little nervous in wondering what he was trying to get at.

"I feel like there's a big reason you're telling me all this."

Dante's smile only quirked up one side of his face before disappearing altogether, his crystal blue gaze narrowed and serious.

"There's no way to sugarcoat this, so I won't. Demons have attacked this place, before, and there's always the potential for it to happen again. I need to know that you'll take care of the boys above all else, should the hypothetical shit hit the fan."

You stared back at Dante, flabbergasted as you blinked several times in shock. It wasn't something you had really thought about, but you were now much more aware of the possibility of a demon attack during your potential employment as a sitter. Of course there would be some sort of danger involved, given that the owners were literal demon hunters - why wouldn't there be?

Now that you understood the implications, however, was the job still even worth it?

There were definitely much safer jobs out there, but nothing good was coming out of the many applications you'd filled out. Dante was guaranteeing you one month, however, and he was still giving you an out, if you thought it would be too much to handle.

The implications of what you were getting yourself into were just barely beginning to come to light, and though you had an odd feeling there was more to what was being implied, your mind had already been made up.

Had it been any other job, the payment simply wouldn't have been enough to even entertain the thought of sticking around. You were far too underqualified to take on literal demons, should any have decided to stop by and fuck up your entire day. You barely knew how to handle a gun, for crying out loud!

Knowing that you would be defending children from potential harm, however…

"I wouldn't dream of doing anything less," you answered honestly. "You're hiring me for a reason, to watch over your children and keep them safe, and I take that very seriously. I may not be well versed in fighting demons or using a weapon, but their safety matters most, and I'd do anything I could to keep them out of harm's way."

Dante's gaze was scrutinizing for several long seconds before he relaxed into that easy grin of his, a pleased smile you were coming to really like on the rugged man.

His eyes suddenly flicked to something behind you, a hint of amusement lighting his features.

"You get all that, Verg?"

Turning to follow his gaze, you gasped and nearly jumped at finding someone standing right behind you.

He was tall and handsome, with slicked back hair and a piercing, icy-blue gaze that had you frozen in place. Most surprising was his uncanny resemblance to Dante, almost a mirror likeness, and yet in your few seconds of being within the man's presence, it was clear that he was nothing like Dante at all.

"Every word," the man standing before you uttered, and in that moment, you were distinctly aware that he held perhaps the most menacing presence you had ever encountered.

"This is my brother, Vergil," Dante supplied helpfully from behind, giving your name out to his twin in introduction.

"I-It's nice to meet you," you stuttered out quickly, thrusting your arm forward and holding out your hand. It wasn't the same greeting you gave Dante, but it was what you believed to be the most appropriate for the moment.

Vergil barely gave the motion a glance, not even so much as entertaining the idea of reaching forward. You quickly pulled back your hand, smiling almost awkwardly before fixing your gaze on anything else you could, such as the broken down jukebox you had somehow missed when entering the building.

And you thought you had been nervous before!

"That friend of yours needs to learn when her ideas are welcomed and when they aren't wanted," Vergil spoke, words edged with disdain, and you were aware enough to realize that he wasn't speaking to or about you.

As subtly as possibly, you took a step to the side so as not to be between the conversing brothers.

"Give her a break," Dante eased, "Lady's just looking out for us and the boys."

"More like meddling in our business," Vergil groused, arms crossing over his chest and eyes narrowing at his brother. Dante looked nonplussed at the action, a testament to how often he dealt with such a domineering sibling.

"Relax, she's just trying to help us out. Besides, you know she's thorough. She wouldn't send just anyone our way."

Dante stood then and moved from behind the desk, coming up beside you and placing his hand on your shoulder as he looked to Vergil.

"We've got one month with our new help, just to test the waters. Let's give 'em both the benefit of the doubt, eh?"

Vergil looked between Dante and you, his eyes piercing in a way that had you wanting to look away all over again. You held your ground, however, staring back as confidently as you were able, but almost sure you looked two seconds from backing out of the whole thing. You weren't scared, per say, just extremely intimidated.

After a moment, Vergil's eyes closed, and the barest hint of what you believed was a smile made itself present.

"One month, then," he agreed, ensuring he caught your eye, "if she can last that long."

Vergil looked to Dante one last time, communicating something you didn't understand, then turned away and moved toward the base of the stairs.

You promptly let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, nearly laughing out of nervousness and feeling silly because of it. A firm squeeze at your shoulder had you glancing back up at Dante, who seemed well aware of why you felt such a mess.

"He's not as scary as he seems," he said, voice carefully low, though you had a feeling Vergil could still hear it as easily as you could. "Big ol' softy, that one. Just, you know, under all that cynicism and smoldering-"

"Dante," Vergil spoke as a warning, and Dante was quick to separate from you with a mischievous sort of smirk, attention moving to the top of the staircase.

"Boys, come on downstairs for a minute!"

Silence followed Dante's shout for all of a few seconds until tiny, hurried footsteps broke the quiet. Two heads of shockingly white hair appeared from around the corner not but a moment later as the tykes rushed their way down the stairs. You lost sight of one of them from behind Vergil's visage, but the other you recognized immediately as the little boy you had met earlier, Nero.

He paused just beside his uncle, his eyes focusing warily on you a moment before he rushed toward Dante and immediately hid behind his leg. Dante's hand was just as quickly in his son's hair, giving the short mop a comforting ruffle.

"It's alright, Nero. You're not in trouble," he assured, which must have made Nero marginally more confident, because he was peeking at you from around Dante's leg, trying to be sneaky in his observation.

"You've already sort of met," Dante continued, "but this is my boy, Nero."

"Hello there, Nero," you greeted with an easy grin, "I'm happy to see you again."

Nero kept pretty close to Dante, but made the effort to face you fully while still holding steady to his father's leg.

"Hullo," he said, voice low and unassuming. All you could think of was wanting to wrap him up in your arms and hold him close.

"He likes to play bashful," Dante mock whispered aloud, even holding his hand up as if to hide his mouth from Nero's gaze, "but give him some time to warm up. He's a rambunctious thing with lots of energy. Just keep him fed, give him a chance to run around, and he shouldn't be too much of a handful."

"Good to know," you mused, smiling at Nero as he shyly stared up at you.

Your attention was suddenly pulled over to Vergil, who was now approaching with a little one beside him. One of his hands was occupied with the much smaller one of another little boy with longer hair and the sweetest little smile adorning his pale face. You could definitely see the resemblance between him and Nero; the family likeness was a strong one, it seemed.

"This is my son, Vitale," Vergil informed you, his tone more authoritative as he spoke, "though you may call him V. He possesses a delicate immune system as well as weak lungs and requires a clean environment to thrive in."

"Which means he gets sick easy - and watch out for dust bunnies," Dante supplied helpfully, earning a half-heated glare from his twin.

"I've been diligent in maintaining his fluctuating health needs. I expect nothing less from your care."

"Yeah, I mean, of course! I'll keep that in mind," you replied with a nervous nod of your head, looking down to have a better look at V.

Right off the bat, he seemed like a little sweetheart, his smile melting your heart within seconds and those bright, vivid green eyes filled with curious wonder making you want to coddle and coo over him.

As soon as he noticed your stare, he gave a happy little wave of his hand, and you were absolutely done for.

"Hello there," you greeted gently, giving a little wave of your own as you gave him your name.

"Hello," he answered with a smile. "I like your necklace. It's very pretty."

Your hand immediately came up to touch the pendant resting against your skin, momentarily caught off guard at having it brought to attention. It was a small purple gemstone surrounded by tiny, intricately carved golden loops and swirls, an antique-inspired gift of sorts given to you many years ago. It had become an extension of your very being, so much so that you never went a day without wearing it.

"Oh, thank you! Would you like to have a closer look at it? If it's alright with your dad, that is."

V's eyes lit up at the possibility, wide as saucers as they moved to plead up at Vergil in hopeful anticipation. Whatever he saw in his father's gaze must have been confirming enough, because he was pulling away from Vergil's hold with ease and eagerly shuffling over to you.

The clasp was easy enough to undo, and once you had reconnected the delicate chain to ensure the pendant didn't slide off, you knelt down to V's level and held out your hand to him. He seemed to understand and copied the motion, watching carefully as you placed the jewelry within his palm.

"Be very careful," you gently urged, "that necklace is very important to me. Kinda like how you are important to your dad. It's a very special gift."

You looked over at Nero then, who had moved to the other side of Dante's legs, trying to peek over at what you were showing V.

"You can come have a look, too, if you like," you encouraged, though the invitation seemed moot with how hesitant the boy had been with you this far.

V took the initiative by moving over to Nero, instead, gentle as could be as he took the other boy's hand and showed him how to maneuver it. He then carefully passed your necklace over to his cousin's palm, who was nothing short of astonished as he admired the colored gemstone.

"Look, Nero, it has stars in it," V proclaimed in amazement, pushing Nero's hand up towards his own face. It took a bit of searching, but you could see the exact moment Nero noticed the tiny speckles that twinkled within the gemstone.

"Like a space galaxy," he murmured in wonder. Then, in a surprising turn of events you didn't see coming, Nero turned to you and gave you the biggest, toothiest grin.

"Does it have a moon in there?" he asked excitedly.

"It's too small, I think," V replied critically as he continued to peer into the purple gemstone, his thin little fingers pressing lightly against Nero's cupped hands to keep them steady.

Above them, Dante looked rather proud at Nero finally coming out of his shell. It was a rather quick transition, you had to admit, but he didn't seem all that surprised. You wondered, briefly, if Nero's bashfulness was actually just a wary approach to strangers.

"Alright, alright," Dante said with a clap of his hands, "why don't you boys give the necklace back and go wash up for dinner? We're making spaghetti tonight, remember?"

Both boys gasped in unison, smiling at each other excitedly. Much to your surprise, Nero came to you and held out his cupped hands, offering up your jewelry without any hesitation of being close to you. You picked up the delicate chain and thanked him for returning it to you, earning yet another grin before he turned back to V and grabbed the boy's hand.

You watched while replacing the pendant around your neck as both boys rushed back up the stairs. Nero was much quicker to reach the top, but he patiently waited for V to meet him and even chattered about something or other while V took a brief moment to catch his breath.

The whole interaction had solidified your want to be their babysitter. You were so terribly endeared already, your heart practically soaring within your chest from the short meeting.

"Is there anything else I need to know about his health?" you asked suddenly, turning to Vergil with more confidence than you'd had the whole time being within his presence. "Any medications or necessary procedures during the day that are important to go through?"

Vergil was almost genuinely surprised at your questions, perhaps even pleased you had even bothered to ask.

"He has an inhaler, should he become short of breath, as well as several exercises he goes through twice a day."

"Alright. Oh, are there any restrictions, as far as food goes? Any other allergies I need to know about for either one of them? And is there a set routine you follow - though I guess that depends on when exactly you need me to babysit, doesn't it? Oh, and what about-!"

"Whoa, take it easy, there, eager-beaver," Dante cut in, and you at least had the sense to feel a bit embarrassed for jumping the gun so quickly.

"Sorry, I'm just...nervously excited. I want to make sure I'm prepared to take care of them."

"We'll get to all the nitty gritty details, don't you worry," Dante assured, "but before all of that...how soon can you start?"

Apparently, 'first thing yesterday' was an appropriate, and rather amusing, answer.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc Dante #dmc Vergil #dmc Nero #dmc V #dmc au #kid nero #kid v #babysitter au #reader #reader-insert #female reader

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scurvgirl · 4 years

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The Nature of Monsters, Part 1

Alright, it’s actually NOT finished, but nearly so and I want to start posting anyways. So here is Part 1 of The Nature of Monsters, an ode to everything I love about Caserole. Melarue belongs to @justanartsysideblog <3

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Kass is tired of mercenary work. Sure, it pays and it’s the reason for the roof over her daughter’s head and food in their bellies. But Kass is really tired of it.

If she were a human man, she’d be lauded as a hero by now for the monsters she’s slain, the bandits she’s driven off, the aid she has given. Alas, Kass is neither a man nor human, and is therefore just a mercenary. A tired mercenary who would really like to retire to a nice home in the countryside raising goats or something. Not that she knows how to raise goats, but she’s sure she could figure it out.

In the meantime, she’s a mercenary and monster hunter, taking jobs where she can to earn something of a decent living. At present, she’s got a job to do. In a town two day’s travel from her and Ashokara’s home, the son of the captain of the local guard has gone missing. Everyone suspects the Cave Monster (really, these people have no creativity) to be responsible. That suspicion combined with the captain not wanting to risk any of his men facing a monster, she’s been called in to find the man. The cave in question is half a day’s ride from the town and almost entirely uphill until the land plateaus into a cliff-side. Nestled into a heap of rock is the cave, the opening nicely angled away from the spray of the sea.

Kass hitches her horse to a nearby tree and begins the trek into the cave. It’s well past midday and she wants to get this wrapped up quickly so she can get home to her daughter. She adjusts her coat and holsters her axe while making sure her short sword is properly sheathed under her coat. She grabs a torch and makes her way into the cave, ducking under an initial low cropping of rock.

The cave is not a gargantuan thing. It’s rather modest comparatively. It’s not like the cyclops cave - now that cave had been GIGANTIC. This cave is smaller, but still large enough to not feel claustrophobic. There are at least two feet between the ceiling and Kass’s head and as a very tall woman, it’s nice. The buildings in the town down below had terribly short ceilings and her back had been starting to hurt from all the leaning.

She lights a torch and continues to sojourn into the cave. It winds for a bit before coming to what looks a little like a vestibule. A vestibule full of statues.

“Huh,” she says, slowing her stride to take in the space. There have to be at least three dozen statues scattered throughout the space. Perhaps this is an artistic cave monster, she thinks, stranger things have happened. Upon closer inspection, Kass finds that all of the statues have horrified expressions. Eyes wide and mouths often ajar as if spying something horrible. Well, that’s different. But she guesses that like many artists, this cave monster is going through a phase. A ‘horrified statue’ phase. She’d like to say it’s the weirdest thing she’s seen, but it’s not. She once saw a man get swallowed by a giant worm then fight his way out by playing a lute. It’s hard to be phased by horrified statues after watching a worm explode.

The statues are all so...detailed. She can see the movement of their clothes and the small details in buckles and on beads in hair and earrings. Aside from the expressions, the statues are quite lovely and exquisitely made, diverse in heights, build, and facial features.

Kass walks slowly through the vestibule, examining the statues but also the room itself. “Vestibule” may be a bit of an exaggeration, it is a cave after all. Still, with the long swaths of fabric strewn from the ceiling down to the curving walls, and the large decorative urns lining the room, with the worn running rug - it sure feels like a vestibule. There are even tall candelabras! Their metal forms glint in the torchlight. She is tempted to light the candelabras but monsters frequently have a thing about their candelabras, she thinks it’s a dramatic exit thing or being embarrassed in the light thing. Maybe it’s both things! Whatever the things are, she respects them enough to not light the candelabras.

She goes back to looking at the statues. There is something about them that is so lifelike, so...horrifying but beautiful. This monster is a real artist, she thinks with frustration. Damn. It’s hard to do her job when the monster is all artsy or personable. Thing is, nearly all of them are artsy or personable. The more she does this job the more she sees monsters are just people with different circumstances, most of the time ostracized because of “normal people” fear.

She really has to get out of this line of work.

Kass turns and a particular statue catches her eye. She walks towards it and a chill runs down her back. This statue is of a shorter, lanky man with stringy hair with an upturned crooked nose that she suspects he got from a bar fight two weeks ago. Her eyes scan over the form, finding a small detail in the hilt of the sword he had been in the process of brandishing - the mark of the town’s guard. Shit. This matches the description of the guard captain’s son; the problem is, he’s a statue instead of a breathing person.

Ooooh, this is NOT good. Not an artsy monster but a monster who can somehow statue-fy people. And here she thought it was just a run of the mill cave monster! No! This is a monster with freaky statue-fying powers!

Kass lets out a groan as she pulls out a book on the various monster’s she’s encountered and other mercs have encountered that she has met. Making statues out of people is a pretty rare talent, she’s only heard of a couple of creatures that can manage that.

She flips through the book, nibbling on her lower lip. There’s a bird that can do it, a big ol’ snake called a basilisk that can do it, and an unnamed person who always seems to evade the mercenaries that survive their attacks. Rumor has it that to gaze upon this creature is to be turned to stone. Kass hopes for the bird. She feels like she can deal with a bird faster than the other options, especially the mystery monster that is apparently smart enough to elude hunters.

Kass tucks the book away and reaches up to pat at the braids in her hair. Never know when a monster is going to explode and it’s easier to pick out blood and whatever out of braids rather than the fro she likes to keep. If any of these statues get smashed, though, she doubts she would be able to easily clean dust out of her hair, braids or no.

“Alright, monster, let’s get this show going, I got a kid at home who needs her mom,” she mutters. She pulls out her face mask that she uses for sleeping and takes a deep breath. She doesn’t like having to rely on her other senses, but she can do it. Really, if she wasn’t big and grey and behorned, she would be enshrined as a hero. But she is all of those things, so she’s just a reputable mercenary.

Her hands reach down to assure herself that she has her weapons - a short sword, a dagger, a hand-axe and a lasso on her other hip that is good for many things.

She keeps her torch lit and walks to a wall where she had seen an opening. She can make out the faintest shapes through the mask with the torch so close. The hallway she enters is narrow and winding and it eventually leads to an antechamber containing three doors. Oh fun, she loves playing “What’s Behind Door Number Whatever!” Her favorite thing, just behind exploding worms.

“I’m getting too old for this,” she grouses, pulling the first door open. Darkness greets her and after a moment, she steps carefully through, leaning her torch forward. She treds slowly through the room, stumbling against what feels like a raised platform...no, a bath! She can hear the trickle of water and feels the curve of the bath, the stone worn to smoothness. Her hand crests over the edge of the bath, steadying her as she makes her way back to the entrance. She pauses when her fingers find something that is dry yet delicate. Long and thin that feels vaguely familiar. Taking a chance, she lifts her mask to look down at what she found, blinking in surprise when she sees it’s a shed snakeskin. It is small and while it would suggest the snake, the serpent the other mercenaries had spoken of was gigantic. This is small, no larger than a long garden snake.

Frowning, Kass lets go of the skin and slides her mask back into place. She’s been in a good number of monster dens, and this one...it just feels different. The vestibule, the doors, the bath, replete with grooming instruments and oils - it’s less of a lair and more of a home.

She leaves the bath and heads out to the second door. Her ear twitches, straining to hear anything. There is nothing, but the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention and she knows the creature that lives here is watching her.

She opens the door to find another hallway. Before she sets down the hallway, she opens the third door to only find a broom closet. Cautiously, Kass steps down the hallway, feeling the cave slope downward. It’s a short hallway that leads into an open room to the right, and another door to the left. Exploring the room to the right reveals it is a kitchen-like area, complete with tables for meal-prep and eating as well as dishes.

It makes even less sense for the serpent to live here - the bath and kitchen point to a humanoid creature. And a humanoid creature would also rule out the bird, unless this is a harpy-like monster. Harpies don’t live in caves, though, their claustrophobia forbids it.

Finally, she stands at the door. She gets a feeling and knows that if she goes forward, there is no going back. These moments are always difficult. The intense knowledge that the choice about to made is completely irrevocable and likely completely life altering. Thing is, she doesn’t know how this choice will change her life. Would it be bad? Would it be good?

A long time ago, Kass learned that there is only forward if true change is to be achieved.

She opens the door.

A hissing breeze slips through the door and promptly snuffs out Kass’s torch. Knowing that the breeze must have been magical in origin to suffocate the torch, she drops it, and unsheaths her shortsword instead.

“I suppose the boy’s family sent you,” a dark voice says, not surprised, but resigned. Several thoughts race through her head. Not the snake, not the bird, but the humanoid. The creature that has somehow evaded and slain hunters.

“They did.” No need to deny her purpose here. There is no way to deny who or what she is - a well-armed monster hunting mercenary sent here to dispatch a monster. This monster.

Something moves and she hears what sounds like a bed creaking. She thinks this must be the bedchamber.

“Did they tell you what a disgusting person he was?”

“Why would they do that? They wanted me to find him.”

“And you did.” Their voice grows closer and she drops into a ready stance, following them with her ears. They don’t sound like they are going to attack, but she knows better.

“He gazed upon you and turned to stone, the family will be very upset to have him back as a statue.”

“It is an improvement, I can assure you,” they reply dryly.

“Is that so?”

“The man they sent you to find is a rapist, I plucked the knowledge from his mind as I turned him to stone. He assaulted five people, and I would have been his sixth.”

Kass frowns. She knew the man wasn’t well-liked, her stay in the town had confirmed as much. Her canvassing the town had not brought up any allegations of rape. Bar-fights and insubordination within the guard, yes, but not anything related to sexual assault. She isn’t surprised, though, with his father as the captain and his own lofty position as a guard in the town, he could have easily covered up anything that came up against him. He was in a position of power, and Kass knew that those in power rarely were so honorable to not abuse their station.

Still, they could be lying.

“Tell me what happened?” She asks softly.

They pause long enough that Kass grows worried, but when they speak, it is farther from her. “I was sleeping when I heard the man knocking about in the entry. Most leave upon seeing the display, they run to tell their families of the monster in the cave that has horrified statues. But not this one. He stumbled his way through to my bedchamber, not unlike you have, though I believe he was thoroughly intoxicated. I heard him fumble with his clothing before I decided enough was enough. I turned to him and turned him to stone. In this process, I can discern pieces of my victim’s life - and I saw that he was a horrid person. The world is better off without him.”

“How did you get him to the vestibule?”

“I carried him. I’m quite strong.”

She has no doubt they are, as well as smart enough to tell her a story she will sympathize with. She wonders if their mind-reading ability is restricted to only during this petrification. If not, they could have seen how her daughter was conceived and spun this tale to entice her to letting them go.

Kass is not an accomplished liar but she is no fool.

“I want the truth,” she says quietly.

They scoff, “No one wants the truth, they want convenient lies that allow them to continue their lives without changing. That is why you will not believe me.” They sound almost disappointed.

“I did not say I do not believe you. It is entirely possible he was as vile as you say. What I have trouble believing is that you acted out of self-defense. A strong, clever person such as you? No, I am willing to bet you played with him.”

They pause, “You believe me.”

“Partially, but...yes.”

She does not hear them move but when they speak again, she hears that they are in front of her, “It has been so long since someone believed me.” They sound disbelieved. It’s not surprising, monstrous folk are so often written off and assumed liars. Kass has seen enough to not discount anyone, particularly the monster folks.

“I did toy with him,” they admit.

Kass nods and thinks for a second. She doesn’t blame them for their actions and quite frankly, this job has felt skeevy from the beginning. The guard captain had kept his hand on his wife the entire time he spoke to Kass and the rest of the guard would either sneer at her or not even try to bring their gazes up from her breasts. She regretted not wearing her full armor, it had been a hot summer day, though, and the layers had been so unappealing. The barkeep had said the man would start up a fight at least twice a week, and none of the girls would speak to Kass. Yes, she believes them.

“He earned it,” she sighs, reaching up to scratch her horn again. What a shitty job. She should have refused it the moment she started thinking the little shit was...well a little shit. This monstrous person is just trying to live, and judging by the rumors she’s encountered, they’ve been moving far and wide for a while.

“Look, there is a town full of people who are determined to see your head on a pike. I can buy you some time to get out of her, tell them you’re dead, you disintegrated into...ash or something. I suspect they’ll eventually want to come up here to investigate, so you’ll need to leave.”

“You’re letting me go?” They ask, shocked.

“Yes. There is a town to the north of here called Eastbrook. It’s a five day ride from here. There’s a tavern by the name of Hush, tell the barkeep Kass sent you. Code word is Seeker. They’ll help you, they’re good people.” She turns from where she assumes they are and fiddles with her pack, pulling out her journal. She shoves the mask up over an eye and sets to write out the instructions only to realize it is still pitch dark.

“You wouldn’t mind lighting the candelabras would you?” Before she finishes the sentence, light blooms in the chamber. She thanks them then writes out an abbreviated version of the instructions.

“Why are you doing this?” They ask softly.

“Because more often than not, the true monsters are the ones you never suspect. You are trying to live your life and this man comes into your home and tries to assault you? Yet, you are the one who is held up as a monster. It’s not right. I’m not a hero, I’m too much of a monster myself to be one, but...I do what is right. Helping you escape the mob that is surely to come is right.” She tears the journal page out, shifts the mask into position and holds the paper out.

“I don’t know where you are - oh,” her voice trails off as their fingers meet hers as they take the paper from her. They remain out of sight and their touch is so brief it’s almost as if it didn’t happen, but her skin tingles from where their fingers brushed against hers.

“Your kindness and mercy will not be forgotten. I will repay this one day.” Their voice is thick with gracious promise. It makes Kass smile.

“It’s okay if you don’t, but thank you. I...need to get going, start this distraction for you.” She fumbles with the mask, sliding it into place.

“I will light your path back,” they say. They keep that promise, the candelabras lighting as she walks by them all the way out to the mouth of the cave where her horse is tethered. She takes off the mask and mounts the horse, mind turning over what happened in there. She truly intended to bring back the brat, but she agrees with the creature - he was a true monster. Which brings her to question why she had so readily accepted their account of things. They were rumored to be clever and it could have easily been a ruse.

Perhaps she really is tired enough, disenchanted enough to believe a monster over the people who send her out to kill these so-called monsters. Sullivan over at the tavern is going to kill her for sending another to him. But he owes her, he was after all the first one she helped. She invested some of her coin into helping him set up the tavern so he could live his life without having to be so isolated. Like wolves, and people Kass supposes, werewolves like to be around other people. It just so happens once a month they really shouldn’t.

These thoughts bounce around in Kass’s head for the entire journey back to the town to deliver the news - both the boy and the monster are dead. No, there isn’t a body, both were turned to dust. She urges the guard captain to simply hold a funeral and move on. They dock her pay, only giving her half of what they promised.

They sneer and spit slurs at her as they hand over the money. She wishes she could say she’s surprised, but she’s not. She’s all too familiar with this. It’s why she still has to work these jobs - whether she completes them or not, her pay is routinely docked for “not completing the job to specifications.” Whatever, she just wants to go home.

She pockets the money, hops on her horse and begins the journey home. It’s late enough in the day that she doesn’t get far. She could’ve stayed in the town’s inn, but she doesn’t want to spend more time around those people. It didn’t escape her that the vast majority of the people she spied were humans. No, she’d rather make camp under a nice big tree on the way home.

It’s a nice, sturdy tree she finds. She props her tent against it and settles in for the night after making a fire. The horse is tethered and she is a light enough sleeper she’ll wake should anyone or anything get too close.

Morning arrives with light spilling lazily across the horizon, gradually pushing out the night. Kass wakes almost as slowly. Only when she repeatedly reminds herself that she needs to book it today if she is to return home by nightfall does she fully rouse. She emerges from the tent and stretches, her back protesting slightly. She is really getting too worn for all of this.

When she looks back down at the long dead embers of the fire, she blinks. That bag was not there when she went to sleep. It’s a leather coin purse and a note rests atop it. She bends down and breaks the seal on the note - a deep green wax emblem of a snake’s head. Only two words mark the page in an elegant script.

Thank you.

She quirks an eyebrow before she tucks the note away and opens the purse.

Kass lets out a low whistle at the contents, her eyes going wide. Thank her indeed. There must be at least a hundred gold pieces! Enough for her to buy another magic lesson for Ash. Enough to not have to choose between eating three meals a day and getting Ash properly trained for at least two weeks.

Nigh overcome, Kass bites her lip and closes her eyes.

Thank you.

2 Years Later

It doesn’t take long for Ash to be labeled as a monster. Her magic isn’t the pretty kind that is easily justified away as “well, she can always heal people.” No, Ash’s magic is explosive just like she is. But it is warm like her too, passionate and strong. It’s beautiful magic, but Kass should have known that it was only a matter of time before Ash was seen as too dangerous.

Kass is returning from another job when she sees a plume of smoke rising from the town she’s called home for the last several years. Her heart leaps into her throat in a sudden grip of fear and she urges her horse into an earnest run into town. They fly through the town, narrowly missing passerby, but she can’t bring herself to be overly upset - the fire is at her home.

She rounds the corner and her body grows cold at the terror coursing through her body.Her house and several houses next to it are ablaze in a brilliant show of fire composed of orange and blue flames. Ash. Kass practically leaps off of the horse, not caring as she shoves through the crowd.

“Ash? ASH!” She calls.

“She set this fire! She can burn!” Old woman Adelaide sneers, stepping in front of Kass.

“Move, or I move you,” Kass growls. The woman protests but she steps out of the way as Kass rushes into the still burning building. She runs through a break in the flames and to the back of the house where Ash spends most of her time.

There! Just over the top of the flames Kass can see the tips of Ash’s horns.

“Ashokara!” Kass calls, coughing as smoke begins to cloy at her lungs. Ash looks up, face streaked with soot and tears.

“Mama! They were going to hurt me!” The girl sobs. Confused, Kass steps around the flames into the sunroom proper to find two charred but familiar corpses. They’re of two neighbor boys, their faces distorted in screams, their skin covered in deep burns.

Kass’s heart breaks - for her daughter. It’s out of self-defense, it always is. Mindful of the blue flames licking up the walls, Kass steps inside and picks up her daughter. She’s had a growth spurt, but Kass manages to sling Ash over her shoulder.

“We have to go!” Kass turns on her heel and rushes out of the building. The fire brigade only now just arriving to combat the flames. A furious mob has already gathered, though, brandishing whatever weapons they could find while shouting at Kass and her daughter.

“She did this!” They shout as Kass sets to maneuver the crowd, Ash still slung over her shoulders. The girl is still sobbing, clinging to Kass for dear life.

“She’s a monster!” They berate, shoving Kass, causing her to stumble despite her immense height and strength.

“Monster of fire!” They accuse.

“She murdered my boy!” One of the mothers scream and for a brief moment, Kass sympathizes with the woman. She couldn’t fathom losing Ash...and for that, she gathers what little strength she has left for the day and rushes through the crowd to the horse.

Kass puts Ash on the horse, mounts it herself, and they flee that night with only the money in her satchel from the last couple of jobs she’s done. All of her savings, all of their belongings - gone. But they’re alive, and that is enough. It has to be.

The next several months are a blur of moving from town to town, doing any odd job she can do to keep them fed and staying at inns. She wants to save up enough to buy another horse for Ash, the poor beast they have now can really only handle one of them at a time. Saving money is hard though, when the jobs don’t pay much and the other costs keep mounting. Kass has to buy new boots since her old ones finally give up the ghost. Ash needs clothes to keep her warm during the winter. Kass gets sick and while she knew she could withstand it, Ash panics and rushes into the local apothecary and buys an expensive tonic. It puts Kass on her feet at least.

Kass would love to be able to put roots down in another town, but there is now a bounty on Ash’s head, and Kass’s too since she aided in Ash’s escape. It makes life more than a little hard and very tricky. She could go to Sullivan’s, but she’s seen in that area enough that the monster hunters would surely check there.

The seventh month on the run, however, Kass is seriously considering going to Sullivan’s to end this madness. She is worn thin, literally. She’s lost weight, giving most of her food to Ash to keep her as healthy as possible. Exhaustion weighs heavily on her bones from working nearly non-stop. She doesn’t know how much more she can manage this.

The sickness is back again, as well. It started out as a cough, but now it’s spread into full body chills and aches. She’s feverish, and while she breathes deeply, it’s as if she cannot pull enough air into her lungs. Her chest aches and her head is beginning to feel fuzzy at the edges. Movement has become more belabored, but she must work, they must keep going. Survive first, details later.

They have moved into one of the bigger cities in the region. The winter is colder, but there are more jobs to be found in a bigger city. They have been here for the last two weeks, staying in the cheapest hovel of an inn she could find. She found work as a guard at a warehouse that pays well and the owner doesn’t ask many questions.

She is coming off an uneventful night shift, stumbling back to the disgusting inn, when a coughing spell takes her. Her lungs burn as more and more air is forced out of her, head spinning at the force of it. She hacks and hacks and stumbles right into a lovely, upper class person.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezes, her vision blurring. All she can make out is long, loose hair, and a lovely dark green coat. They catch her as she falls, though, making a noise of surprise. She wheezes and coughs, and blood splatters against that coat.

“Where are you staying?” They ask, their voice dark and familiar…

“Rat...hostel, Ash?” It’s all she can get out before the world spins into black.

#my writing #kassaran #melarue #caserole #ashokara #the nature of monsters #this will be posted to ao3 as well

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

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15x10: The Heroes’ Journey

Then:

Heroes

Now:

Monster Fight Club! RAWR. In one corner we have wolf-man and in the other, we have wraith-woman. I felt like I was watching a Sci-fi channel show or another show on the CW with this opening scene. I have to give it up to the music and cinema of the sequence though. It’s quite lovely, even as the wolf-man gets stabbed to (near) death.

Meanwhile, in tiny Lebanon, Kansas, Dean’s picking up essentials (plus pie magazines) at his local Kwik Trip.

I have many things to say about this. First, who knew Lebanon had such tall buildings in it? And I’ve read many a comment about Bobo getting his name on something, and while YES, that’s technically true, this Kwik Trip (a real regional chain of gas stations/convenience stores in Wisconsin) is also named after the comedian behind The Manitowoc Minute, Charlie Berens. The Open sign missing the ‘n’ is a reference to it as well. Bless Jerry Wanek and his love for his home state. Anyway, Dean’s credit card is declined, his fight or flight instinct kicks in when faced with the store attendant's psoriasis, he gets a toothache, AND he gets a parking ticket.

Sam Fucking I Don’t Need Hotpads Winchester royally messes up dinner by burning the food, dropping the pasta all over the food, and breaking all the plates.

The weirdness continues once Dean gets home. Sam trips when running to greet him and he’s getting a cold.

Dean gets a call from Garth who needs some help. On the road, they discuss their Very Bad Day. Dean thinks they’re cursed. Sam’s too busy sneezing to contribute. I’m surprised Dean didn’t make him sit in the backseat. (Did Dean seem sarcastically unhappy about Cas seeking out angel help? #missinghusbandhour). Then the ultimate travesty happens: Baby breaks down.

They have to walk the last ten miles to Garth’s. When they make it, he welcomes them with open arms (Sam declines the hug but Dean gets one and a compliment -- “You smell so good.”)

Garth was previously feeding his twin baby boys, and he takes them to meet his children. He has a daughter, Gertie, and twin boys, Sam (named after Sam) and...Castiel. Dean is confused and disappointed. I love how there’s no explanation as to why Dean didn’t get a namesake. Natasha wrote a thing though.

Garth then takes them to see why he called. Bess’s cousin is unconscious on Gertie’s bed. He has wraith cuts all over his body.

Dean, the candy eating monster that he is, nabs some candy beans from Gertie’s dresser and Garth notices his pained reaction to eating them. Dean makes note of how nice Garth’s home and life are. (SOFT) Sam sneezes again and Bess tells him she has something to help.

Beth hands Sam her family concoction for helping the common cold. Sam downs it in one go --and instantly has regrets. It’s mostly cayenne pepper. Wherps. Sidenote: Gertie’s little wolf stuffy. All the hearts!

Poor Sam really goes through something --and it is a sight to see. Little Sam and Little Cas are sympathy crying with him and he tries to reassure them that “Big Sam’s okay.” He’s really not.

Garth asks about Dean’s teeth and Dean confesses they’ve hurt since the previous day.

Garth takes Dean to his basement dentist office. It seems he finished getting his dental degree and is now a dentist for other werewolves. “Fang maintenance is a B.” He assesses Dean’s mouth and finds 17 cavities!

He rolls out the nitrous oxide and gets to work. We get to stay with Dean though, AND GOOD FUCKING CHUCK ON A CRACKER.

I can’t explain what I witnessed with my own two eyes. I really, really can’t. @neven-ebrez had a great thread on Twitter that I fully love.

In any event, Dean tap dances to Cole Porter’s Let’s Misbehave. Garth starts showing him the ropes, but then he takes over on his own and starts dancing with a light stick LAMP. He blows a kiss at the lamp and ascends a stairway to heaven the top of the map table and finishes his dance. They dedicated almost 2 minutes to this scene. I --I just. can’t. Also, Dean going for the lamp is timed to line up with the “lovebirds” lyric? I’m so very tired.

Anyway, Dean comes to with a mouth full of gauze, and presumably no cavities.

Everyone reconvenes in the Fitzgerald’s living room. Garth wants to know what’s happening. Sam tells him that they’re kind of on the outs with God. Garth realizes that they’ve been the heroes of Chuck’s stories, and wonders, “what’s that make me? A supporting character? A special guest star?” Garth's happy being the guest star. Being the hero is the worst. Their lives are going to suck until the end. Also, little vanilla couple Garth and Bess apparently love 50 Shades. Lol. Garth points out that the hero never sweats the small stuff because that stuff ruins the story. They’re normal now. (Dean suggests cursed, which, like, lol bud, normal people's lives just suck.)

Bess’s cousin calls for her and they all rush to his side. He doesn’t want to talk to hunters. Sam turns on the ol’ puppy dog eyes and….it does nothing. In fact, Brad can hardly believe that that shtick works at all. Ooof. Bummer, Sammy. Bess digs into the wraith wound to get some answers. And ugh. That was squishy grossness. Brad starts talking about the monster fights though. He tells them where to find the place.

The Winchesters bid Garth farewell. Garth is VERY WORRIED about them. “The old Sam and Dean” could handle a whole warehouse of monsters but the Supernormally Normal boys don’t stand a chance. Dean’s resolute. Fighting monsters, righting wrongs? That’s just who they are. Dean implores Garth to stay home with his wife and kids, and the Winchesters head off.

They arrive at midday outside the arena. Dean polishes off his SEVENTH grilled cheese sandwich and they gather weaponry to storm the place. Sam’s concerned that Garth’s theory that the Winchesters are normal is correct, and they need to take precautions. They gather extra ammo, dead man’s blood, and Dean pulls out his beloved precious weapon.

Upon entering, Sam immediately trips noisily over a bucket and Dean’s grilled cheese extravaganza decides to throw a party right back into his mouth. Dean races for a bathroom, leaving Sam to peruse the room holding the main fight cage.

While Dean is throwing up in the toilet, I desperately try to pretend this isn’t happening. I’m FINE with entrails but upchuck is a hard no, apparently. The bathroom stall opens and one of the monsters from the cold open’s fight night stands there, training Dean’s grenade launcher on him.

Sam and Dean end up locked in the cage-match cage (not to be confused with the CAGE cage). The monster, Cutty, owns the fight club. “Man? Monster? They’re at their best, their most pure, in the heat of competition.” Pardon me while I fake cough “Purgatory” for twenty-five minutes.

Cutty introduces them to their new friend, Maul, a huge monster who grimaces gloomily and flexes his muscles. He wants the Winchesters to fight Maul (together) in the cage match that evening.

Dean tries to tell a story to get out of the situation and I HAVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER. He draws on their legends - the mighty creatures they’ve taken down - and questions whether any MERE monster should even think about trying to attack them. Nobody’s buying what he’s selling.

A short commercial for the upcoming cage match plays. It’s….

AMAZING

All the monsters are gathered around, ready to watch the two mighty cage matches. KILLER WRAITH versus JAMAICA DJINN and MIGHTY MAUL versus THE WINCHESTERS!!!

It’s battle royale time, motherfuckers. When the first fight begins, Dean and Sam are locked up in cells just outside of the ring. “Just how I wanted to die,” Dean grouses. “With a freakin’ audience.” We shall not speak of the 200+ times we have witnessed Dean die on this show.

Dean pulls a nail from the ceiling and proceeds to try to pick the lock. He…fails. Miserably. Sam gives it a try on his lock and neither of them can pick it.

“Could we ever actually pick locks?” Sam asks, frustrated. I’m with others in guessing that both their natural and learned skills have been hugely demoted through Chuck’s interference and this downturn won’t last. But this is a great way to make them doubt themselves. This is the black moment in the hero’s journey - at least for this episode. They’ve never doubted themselves more! Dean delivers a stirring speech anyway. “We’re the best in the world. I say we go out there. We kick some ass.”

Cutty returns to fetch the Winchesters. “Shirts off,” he demands on the way. EYEBALLS EMOJI. But Sam and Dean are gone, the cage doors wide open! The episode rewinds, this time with another point of view. Who’s that lanky man in the floppy-eared hat walking through the crowd? It’s everyone’s favorite werewolf hero, that’s who. Garth frees them by just…BUSTING off the lock.

Outside, Sam and Dean are ready to flee. But Garth has other plans. He whips out a detonator and we get a quick clip show of Garth planting C4 around the club. The club is DECIMATED by fire. Maul survives, however, and strides out of the burning building. Garth goes up against him, but Maul knocks him out. Sam and Dean stand and face Maul, despite their low, low expectations of themselves. Like real damn heroes!

What follows is a HIGHLY comical fight. Sam and Dean do their absolute, precious best, but fortunately the fight seems to be operating on some modified Looney Toons rules.

Garth saves them with a machete through Maul’s head. “You got Garthed!”

Back at Garth’s home, Dean and Sam cradle the babies. “This Cas keeps looking at me weird,” Dean notes. “So kinda like the real Cas,” Sam says. OH SAM. OH SHOW. How we are blessed!

They head out, Dean clutching a bag of grilled cheese sandwiches from Bess. Sam and Dean thank Garth for saving them and call him a hero. Excuse me while I CRY FOR FIVE MINUTES this is so soft. “I guess I learned from the best,” Garth returns. Garth gives them a tip - a place in Alaska where you can go when your luck’s run bad. “There’s always a catch,” Garth warns.

They hug!

“You don’t smell so bad yourself,” Dean notes when he hugs Garth. “It’s Hai Karate,” Garth says. Guys. I love them.

Werewolves of London plays us out. Garth and Bess dance together through the window as the Winchesters get into the Impala. It’s. So. Precious. And. Warm.

“I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be,” Dean muses. Sam admits that Dean’s good at the Macarena. Ah, yes. My generation!

Dean and Sam reflect on their situation. Their lives are far from normal, so being “normal” is dangerous by its very nature. They need as many advantages as possible, so it’s time for a road trip to Alaska!

The music mounts dramatically! Triumphantly! It’s time to ride into the sunset!

Baby sputters out. “Son of a bitch!” Dean shouts as the screen fades to black.

Natasha: I can tell you IMMEDIATELY and WITHOUT RESERVATION that this episode is going to be on my short list of comfort rewatches for all eternity. <3

Werewolves of Quotedom:

Seriously?

Still a hugger, huh?

You smell so good!

You’re very strong

Fang maintenance is a B

Mommy, the giant’s crying!

I wanna be the guest star. Being the hero sucks.

You need a colonoscopy STAT

Just because God yanked the magic horseshoe out of our ass, doesn’t mean we’re gonna give up

I’m a growing boy!

I think you might be lactose intolerant now

You keep all your friends in a cage?

You know them. You don’t like them. The WINCHESTERS

You are SO STRONG

C4, a hunter’s best friend

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn 15x10 #the heroes journey #dean winchester #sam winchester #garth #supernatural season 15

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nientedal · 5 years

Text

So gills!bird!whale!Megamind is now fully entrenched in my headcanon. not sure how that happened but okay. I mean, he always had a crop and a gizzard and he always sounded kinda birdlike--that’s always been a thing--but now I’m just leaning right the fuck into it and going full dork on him.

Which begs the question...if Megamind sounds like a blend of bird/whale/dolphin, what does Wayne sound like? I’m going to start brainstorming below the cut about Wayne’s biology, a little, starting with sound, moving on towards Just How Visibly Alien Can He Be, then a little on why I like the idea of Wayne as extremely alien, and then a little on why I read his character the way I do...

Metro Man feels at the bottom of this long rambly thing!

So the thing about Wayne’s flight system--part respiratory system, part flight functions--is he has sort of spongy inhalant intakes above his clavicles and eight exhalant vents on his back. This means Wayne’s torso is basically riddled with holes and hollow spaces. I have no idea what the fuck his interior looks like and I don’t intend to find out; we aren’t cutting that shit open, no thank you.

but dal, you cut megamind open YES BUT THAT WAS FOR PLOT REASONS.

Re: intakes above clavicles--you may remember this is also where Megamind has his water intakes! This is because I’m a one-trick pony the supraclavicular fossa is the only place I can think of that could conceivably have space for an orifice without (A) completely fucking up your musculature or (B) Looking Really Weird. I’m not worried about Wayne’s back looking weird with all the vents; he’s already covered in big ol’ muscles; by my standards, this is already fucky.

Anyway! Because Wayne is Very Hollow, I have decided he can make a fairly wide variety of noises, most of which are Deep but only some of which are Loud. The vast majority sound like various wind instruments, heavy machinery, or some kind of air-based sound effect. For example, he makes a kind of low-frequency threat or warning noise that sounds like a deep sort of ruffed grouse drumming, or potentially like what we think a real tyrannosaurus rex may have sounded like. It’s not terribly loud (wear headphones). If you aren’t listening for it, you’re likely to miss it, although you might feel it in your bones if you’re standing close enough.

He can also purr! But he mostly doesn’t, because it’s a noise like mellowed-out air brakes, like a potted idling school bus.

His version of a wordless snarky noise is something along the lines of either an alligator roaring or that KRRUKAAKKAKKKOKKOKKOKKOKK tractor-trailers occasionally make on long downhill slopes (but quieter, obvs). I dunno what it is, I looked around and was frustrated in my attempts to locate it. Some kind of particular downshift? Some kind of particular brake? I searched “coaster brakes” and “jake brakes” but all I got was repair videos. :(

Anyway, most of this is a lot quieter than the actual heavy machinery is in real life. Wayne can also produce various infrasounds, at frequencies too low for humans to hear. But not, incidentally, too low for Megamind to hear (or Roxanne, after she’s lived at the Lair for a while and the salts in her perilymph get fucked up). And not too low for humans to pick up on! Some movie soundtracks use infrasound to make audiences anxious in theaters--it’s a sort of rumble that our brains apparently recognize as dangerous, even though we can’t recognize it as sound?

But in terms of alarm calls or, like, “fight me!” type displays...well, it takes a lot to scare Wayne, because he is the biggest and strongest kid on the block and he is Very Aware Of This Fact (as an adult), but he can make a sort of multiple-toned howling roar that possibly qualifies as a sort of sonic attack, just because most ears on Earth aren’t equipped to handle it. It sounds more or less like a train whistle on a steam engine. Like this one! Or the one immediately after it! Just a really fucking godawful howling sound. Steam whistle. Big big steam whistle. Or the Tyrannosaurus rex in Jurassic Park.

Anatomically, outside of his various noises...let’s talk about what the fuck is going on with Wayne’s face, huh? Seriously, what’s up with that jaw?

So, part of it is he has olfactory stoma in his submaxillary triangle, because my Wayne has supersenses out the wazoo and I just can’t bring myself to NOT base supersenses in SOME kind of biology--this is science fiction! let’s have some weird biology! come on!--BUT ALSO

MEET MY VERY GOOD FRIEND THE MORAY EEL:

when you step on a reef and get bit by some teeth THAAATS A MORAYYY

There’s a reason Megamind has a moray in his reef pool, and the reason is I love them. I think they are the coolest. And one of the things I love about them is they have a set of little jaws inside their regular jaws! I just think they’re neat.

A while back, Set wrote an AMAZING fic titled Teeth, in which Wayne is an eldritch horror obligate carnivore (?) and a hunter, and I learned about pharyngeal jaws around the time I read this fic, so of course I was immediately like OH MY GOD YES, he DEFINITELY HAS THESE IN MY HEAD. I don’t care that he also has hands and doesn’t need extra teeth! I am here for Wayne being a super-duper unsettling predatory creature! who has learned to tone himself down in order to Not Be Scary, but who is an absolute goddamn horror show when he wants to be.

(My Wayne does not suffer from the drive to Eat Other Sentient Lifeforms that he does in Teeth, because that would deserve its own subplot and development and I frankly just don’t have room for it in Cold Fusion, but he is definitely mostly a carnivore. Mostly a predator.)

A N D S P E A K I N G O F H O R R O R

Here’s a link to some body horror I haven’t decided whether I’m incorporating or not. It’s the reaper autopsy scene from Blade 2--basically, weirdass new undead things have faces that can open up via a split on the chin that runs most of the way down the neck. Jaw structure is missing, but the overall shape of the face remains the same. How would that be for a threat display? Just in terms of oh fuck oh no our city’s hero is actually a goddamn alien, what the fuck. Lands on the ground with a THUD just screaming like a freight train with his whole entire face opened up and howling, possibly some Bright Warning Colors in there, possibly iridescent gold or like........green or something? I dunno, I’m just spitballing at this point.

Anyway! Even if I can’t pull it off in Cold Fusion, if there’s a sequel to Swansong? Oh. Oh, yes.

(Believe me, if I could get away with going full-on 1987 Predator mandibles, I absolutely would do it; unfortunately, that’s stretching the alien biology thing a little far, even for me. Weird proportions notwithstanding, Wayne looks more or less human throughout the movie and I don’t want to stray too far from that.) (EDITED TO ADD, i figured it out!!! his cheekbones are false mandibles that retract!!!)

Swansong!Wayne mentions wearing heavy concealer under his eyes and I’m thinking it’s not unreasonable to assume he does a full face most every morning; he spends a lot of time in front of cameras. What better way to hide a facial seam and pretend to be human than with heavy, easily-explainable makeup? And later, with a full beard? And as for when he’s a kid...I dunno, maybe all this only developed during puberty.

Oooh, how’s that for an awful experience? You’re a teenager, you’ve had a sore throat for like a month but as far as you know you aren’t sick, and then you yawn really big while you’re brushing your teeth one morning and SUDDENLY MORE TEETH OH CRIPES--

I’m just saying: THE CHIN COULD BE ANYTHING. And the reaper in Blade 2 definitely has a bit of a pharyngeal jaw situation going on with its “tongue,” so hey, why not both?

Like I said, I don’t know if I’ll be going this route. But man. That would be totally sick.

(Maybe this was the beginning of Wayne’s wake-up call as an adolescent. His parents never hid that he was adopted; he’s always known that. But he didn’t know about the alien thing until Suddenly Teeth. And suddenly that angry blue kid seems a lot more--not human--relatable? Relatable. Maybe more human than Wayne is, even; bird calls are one thing, but extra teeth? Not just extra teeth, a whole set of extra jaws in the back of his throat; that’s--that’s literally science-fiction horror movie stuff. They literally made a science-fiction horror movie with that. It was called Alien. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.)

(And if I DO go the mandibular split route--friends, it starts with Suddenly Teeth and it just gets progressively worse.)

Why am I so into the idea of Wayne as Secretly Nightmarish? I can’t say for sure, but.......Wayne doing his best to Fake Normal for so many years and finally just snapping and going no, you know what, fuck you and you and you in particular, this is me and yes, actually, I AM an eldritch horror and now you’re going to see it, because I’m done wearing a mask to make YOU comfortable is a story that resonates with me, right now. I think I like that idea so much because I’m in a place where I really identify with that story? Possibly a little bit more than I can even identify with Megamind’s thing--I couldn’t fake normal well enough to fool everyone all of the time and I got bullied for it quite a bit as a kid, but I did learn to fake normal well enough to fool a lot of people a lot of the time.

Well. I say ‘learned.’ Mostly it was ‘trained,’ by having my physical movements and facial expressions or lack thereof corrected nonstop by my parents. I thought that’s how it was supposed to go. A lot of it I did learn on my own, through observation and trial and error, because that’s what I was Supposed To Do, but damn, SO MUCH of it was “learn whatever face you need to show them in order to not be told How Wrong You Are, and then show them that face automatically.” I got pretty good at it. Never good enough, as I am still constantly reminded, ahaha, but. Pretty good.

But faking it so goddamn always gave me horrible anxiety and I don’t know how to ever fully relax and I hate it I hate it I hate it, there’s this awful underlying current of if you move wrong speak wrong laugh wrong then they’ll KNOW and then it’s OVER just CONSTANTLY, even around friends who do know me, and like--ugh. It’s. Bad. It’s not good. And yeah, actually, there are days and weeks when I’m like hey, you know what, going into a hole in the ground and never speaking to anyone. ever. again. sounds a hell of a lot better than continuing to fake it like this, because I don’t know how to stop and I don’t know how to say no and I don’t know who I am anymore under all these layers of Fake Normal and I cannot do this same silly charade one second longer. So I’m going to hermit up and figure out how to shed all these layers, and boy when I come out it is NOT going to be as a beautiful fucking butterfly, I’ll tell you that for free.

Oh, but he’s a singing goofball! He’s just selfish and out of touch! He’s not having a nervous breakdown, or anything!

are

you

sure?

FRIENDS, THAT IS THE FACE OF A MAN WHO IS PANICKING SO HARD HE FORGETS HE CAN FUCKING FLY.

He snaps back to “normal” pretty quickly, hides it well enough behind his Haha Goofball Bad Music Face, but--

Like--

Come on. The “Hey,” he says when he turns around, right before Megamind and Roxanne scream? That’s the same “Hey” he says when he turns around after doing his little dance routine on Metro Man Day. A little less polished, but the tone is the same. But yeah, it’s totally not an act, ahahahaha.

Here he is as he says “I’m alive,” and doesn’t he just look OVERJOYED:

I’m sure he wants to be a music-playing, happy-go-lucky goofball. I’m 100% sure he does. I’m also 100% sure he’s Freaking The Fuck Out in this scene that gets played for laughs before it gets a little Too Real (like the Black Mamba wedgie-pull, later). I’m...I’m just saying. This scene, and also to some extent the look on his face in the beginning when he says “I often ask myself, who would I be without you?” Right before the random citizen shouts I love you, Metro Man! point to there being a little more to Wayne than meets the eye, at least from some angles.

(Speaking of which, his laugh as he pulls the water into the sky after him is not forced At All.)

So, yeah. That’s where I’m at, currently, with this character. Little bit of background on why I interpret him the way I do. I dunno, it’s just....people have depth, you know? Anyway.

screenshots are from here, btw.

TL;DR: Dal’s Metro Man is a man in the middle of a nervous breakdown masquerading as (or brought on by) a midlife crisis, and...I identify with that a lot more than I used to, these days.

#megamind #dal is a fanfic #metro man #long post #alien biology #what are your thoughts #any thoughts?#anyone?#even if wayne is not a creeping horror #the whole I Can't Do This Anymore take on his character is one that resonates EXTREMELY strongly with me

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