turnips-dont-grow-on-trees
Well, who said they did?
Fandom sideblog of archaeopter-ace, I'm going to try to keep this to one fandom at a time, though what that fandom is will almost certainly change. Currently up: Merlin!
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"Help, it's again"
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Lissa 'Catch-These-Hands' Russell deciding to change how she spells her name when she's a teenager, with full knowledge of its meaning. Because she Feels it in her Soul; no, she's Not being dramatic, Lyssa-with-a-Y is who she IS.
I know in the comics Jack’s sister Lissa spells her name with an i, but I can’t get over the fact that lyssa, meaning “violence,” was the ancient Greeks' word for rabies. Can you imagine?
Gregory Russoff: This is my eldest son, Jacob. I have high hopes for him, though he will one day inherit the family curse. And this is my daughter, Rabies. I have high hopes for her too
#lissa russell#lyssa russell#werewolf by night#also: she remembers being teased as pissy lissy and would like for that to never happen again.#She will MAKE it never happen again
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Go forth and write all the Jack-cocking-his-head-to-one-side-to-listen trope as you want, and let no one say otherwise!
Thinking about how characters with super-hearing cocking their heads to one side to ‘listen intently’ actually makes scientific sense, at least if they’re trying to determine where the sound is coming from (sound localization). Because the speed of sound is actually kind of slow, relatively speaking, sound waves travelling through the air will reach one ear before the other, and our brains interpret this difference to determine whether the sound came from our left or right.
Owls tend to have asymmetrical ears - that is to say, one ear higher than the other - in order to hear more precisely where their prey is; in addition to hearing on a left-right axis, they can also hear on an up-down axis to determine exactly where in space a mouse is. So Matt Murdock or Clark Kent or Dolores Madrigal or whoever else tipping their head to one side as they listen, thus elevating one ear above the other and introducing a new axis to hear by? Makes perfect sense.
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You guys I just realized that what I’ve always wanted out of werewolf fiction is a story where lycanthropy isn’t a purely human condition
Like this dude wakes up from his wolfbender and his room is full of all these fucking chickens from local farms that he initiated into his pack. They all start clucking and crowing at the moon and when it’s full they all transform into these tiny little weird bipedal wolves with wings.
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Last Line Tag Game
I was tagged by @bluemoonperegrine. Thanks!
Rules: Post the last sentence paragraph you have written and tag as many people as it has words in it you feel like!
But Jack didn't mind. It was mindless, repetitive work with no risk of him falling off something or getting whacked with a rope or drowning in canvas, and it didn't require him to hold up a conversation, his thoughts mostly still running in that wordless way they did when he was a wolf. Translating English would take more focus than he had to spare at the moment.
*
^ From a still-untitled WIP, 19-year-old Jack Russell runs away to join the circus (he has his reasons and they're actually decent ones), where he befriends not-yet-cursed Johnny Blaze. Shenanigans ensue, laced with angst and heavy foreshadowing.
(The working title of the doc I started writing this in is 'Dork Side of the Moon,' but in my head I think of it as either 'Circus AU' or 'The Jack and Johnny Show.' Proposed titles include '8 Nights Under the Big Top' and 'Entry of the Gladiators,' the latter of which I like because I enjoy making oblique references but I'm worried it will set readers up to expect cage fights, of which there are none)
No-pressure tagging: @violetemerald @yellowmagicalgirl @eddy-be-creating @dragoninatrenchcoat And anyone else who wants to jump on! (oh I should probably say it's me, archaeopter-ace, you might not recognize me here)
#tag game#my writing#wip snippet#i've not been on tumblr much recently i know#from october thru december it's just one thing after another irl#did y'all celebrate the anniversary of goncharov? i was looking forward to it coming back but i don't know if i missed it
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What Measure A Man?
Fandom: Werewolf By Night (MCU)
Gen
Word Count: 3.5k
Summary: Jack and Elsa fight a monster, find a lost child, and talk philosophy, not necessarily in that order.
Tw for off-screen child abduction, child in peril, canon-typical violence
(A/N: I hope I haven’t misstepped with my depiction of a cucuy. I am weak for wordplay and actor allusion, but if I’ve crossed a line let me know and I will make it a generic bogeyman instead.
(Also, I do love the film’s monster makeup and the decision to go with a trad wolfman design with an expressive face. I just wanted to have my cake and eat it too, so I wrote this doesn’t-contradict-canon-but-most-probably-wouldn’t-call-it-compliant fic.)
Elsa had been tracking the cucuy for almost a week, and she was getting close. It had been moving steadily south-southeast, and she expected it would likely be slowing down, now that it had found what was surely its ideal habitat – an old forest, whose canopy was so thick that even at high noon the understory was dim twilight, where shadows abounded. Just what a boogeyman needed.
She crept carefully along a deer trail, looking for any signs that the monster was in the immediate area. And because she was paying excruciatingly close attention to her surroundings, she noticed the wolf before it noticed her.
It was nosing through the brush perhaps fifteen metres downhill from her, its reddish coat blending in with the carpet of fallen leaves but the white on its paws and muzzle standing out in the dim light. Elsa took a steadying breath, prepared to stay still and observe from a distance, but she didn’t get the chance - a jay kicked up a fuss just over her head, and the wolf’s head snapped up to look in her direction.
“Elsa?!”
What. the. Fuck.
The wolf - Jack, it had to be Jack - bounded up the hill towards her. She had to stifle every instinct and trained reflex in order to keep her posture loose. Lucky for her, appearing unconcerned was a specialty
"Hi… Jack." Up close he was smaller than she would have expected, about the size of a large alsatian. Otherwise, there was nothing to distinguish him from the mounted specimens of timber wolves she’d seen in lowercase-h hunting lodges. There was nothing to suggest that he was a werewolf at all, or indeed Jack Russell, except she was fairly certain she would recognize those eyes anywhere.
"Elsa! What are you doing here?"
“I’m tracking a cucuy… ” There had to be a way to ask, right? Jack hadn’t said anything about why he was a wolf, but that didn’t mean it would be rude to ask.
Jack’s ears flattened against his skull. “A cucuy! Oh no no no, that is not good. A little girl has gone missing; I’m helping the search party looking for her. If a cucuy is involved, we have to hurry! Come on, this way!” He raced back to where she’d first spotted him.
Elsa hurried after him, scrambling to keep up with him and her tumbling thoughts, a jolt of adrenalin sending her heartbeat into overdrive. Internally, she was berating herself - if she’d been faster, better, she could have caught up to the cucuy before it found its next child to kidnap. But with Jack’s help, finding the creature responsible would surely go twice as fast.
Elsa’s chest felt tight. A knot formed, just beneath her ribs, that she knew could not be picked apart and untangled with logic. A proper Gordian knot, the only way to get rid of it was to cut it, and the only way to cut it was to find the girl and hope they weren’t too late.
That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Starting now, she wasn’t going to stop looking until the girl was found, and she had no idea how long that would be. Tracking a cucuy alone was one thing; then, hours of tracking could be downright monotonous if there weren’t many signs. It was practically routine, and she could take short breaks knowing the trail would still be there for her to pick up again if she didn’t wait too long.
Now, though, now there was a countdown clock she couldn’t see, and her mind started forecasting the future, unspooling potentialities, imagining still being in the forest, still searching, still feeling this damnable, sustained tension for the next two, three, four hours - the thought of which was its own form of anxiety, compounding her stress.
Stop. Focus. She took a deep breath, then another, and finally a helpful, rational thought was able to penetrate her spiraling thoughts. Cucuy don’t typically eat their victims right away. They try to adopt the children, and when that doesn’t work, they lose their tempers with disastrous consequences… but it takes time to get to that point. And by now the sun had come up; the bogeyman was likely drowsing the day away, with the little girl in thrall. Like many monsters, it was primarily active at night.
She caught up to Jack as he was circling the ground, seeking whatever trail he’d been tracking before. Suddenly, he darted forward, only to slow down after several strides. He then backtracked, snuffled at the ground audibly, then leaped forward on a slightly different heading, only to come to a halt once again.
"Jack, Jack, slow down! We have time, so long as we get there before nightfall. At this rate you’ll just tire yourself out before we even get there."
Panting slightly and looking as abashed as a wolf could, Jack bobbed his head. “Sí, sí, you’re right. I got a bit ahead of myself, didn’t I?”
“You got ahead of the trail, at any rate.” The pace Jack now set, nose to the ground, was more akin to a leisurely amble, and Elsa fell into step beside him. “Can I ask a question?”
“Of course! Anything.”
“Is this what you’re like when you transform without the influence of the bloodstone?”
“Well, no, but yes.”
Elsa rolled her eyes. “Thanks, that cleared everything up.”
Jack glanced up at her, then at the forest around them. “You remember, when I said there is a part of me that is not me? That part came out with the bloodstone, yes, but it is also the part that comes out on full moon nights. That is one kind of transformation; this is another.”
“So if your current transformation is not the ‘part of you that is not you,’ what is it then?”
“Eh? Also me. I’m still myself, still human.” He paused momentarily to scratch behind one ear. Using his foot.
“Think you might need to get your eyes checked, mate.”
“Well – Hang on.” He paused, scenting the ground closely. “Would you mind moving to my other side? The wind’s shifted, your smell is getting in the way.”
“No one’s ever insulted my smell so directly before,” she huffed, mock-offended, but she did comply. “You were going to try to tell me that you are in fact a human right now.”
“Because I am.” He glanced up at her again. Behind his wolfy grin, there was… something. He wasn’t just trying to take the piss out of her. But she didn’t know what he wanted her to say.
"You're literally a wolf. For god's sake you're walking on four legs and covered in fur!"
"So? Most humans have two legs, it is true. But some have one, or none. The number of legs we have does not make us human."
“Yes, fine,” she conceded the point. “Humans are intelligent, is that it? You’re saying it’s your mind that makes you human, that because you can talk and think, you’re human on the inside, where it counts?” She shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
“I wouldn’t say humans are intelligent–”
Elsa snorted, then jerked in surprise when Jack actually nipped her heel.
"I'm being serious! This is important. Being smart, that's not what makes someone human. If that were the case, then there would be a, how you say, a scale. People at the top, the ones with the highest IQ, they would be the most human. And people less smart would be less human. There are already people who think this way, and it is wrong! Ted was born human, raised human. He got three doctorates. Since he was changed, he's not quite so fast at problem-solving. He can't do the quantum what-you-call-it in his head anymore, the way he used to. But he's not less! He's just different. And he hasn't stopped being human just because of an accident."
"An accident!?"
"In a manner of speaking. It was not the intended outcome to become as he is."
Elsa mulled that over, ducking under a low-hanging branch. "What, then, decides whether someone is human? If it's not their body and it's not their intellect?"
"Well, why not let them decide? I think, if someone feels that they are human, that should be enough, yeah?"
Elsa sighed. She’d come here to hunt a monster, not get philosophical, but she supposed this was par for the course when Jack was involved. “Surely it can’t be that easy, but what do I know? Can’t say I’ve given it much thought before. Growing up, I was taught a very black-and-white definition of human and monster.”
Jack hummed. “But something changed your mind, no? You disagreed with Verussa even before we met.”
Elsa waved him off. “You give me too much credit, it wasn’t anything as noble as you make it sound. I just - Wait.” She halted and gestured for him to do the same, crouching down to get a closer look at what she’d spotted. “Look - cucuy tracks, and they’re fresh. We’re close.”
Jack was instantly alert, ears twitching and tail partially raised. He partially opened his mouth, scenting the air. "There’s fear-scent, faintly, both human and rabbit. It probably tried to offer her live prey, which she would have refused. I don’t smell any of her blood, so I don’t think the cucuy retaliated. But we are close, now, and we need a plan. You have more experience fighting monsters, how about you go after the cucuy, and I will get the child to safety?"
"And how are you going to do that, the way you are now? Which, you never actually - nevermind, no time now. How about you distract the cucuy while I get the child – what’s her name? Do you know?”
“Sylvie.”
“Then I’ll come back after I’ve gotten Sylvie to out of there, and cut its head off.” Then she added, more sharply than she intended, “Oh, sorry, unless it counts as human and I should spare it?” She could not say she was a fan of the uncertainty being around Jack brought to monster hunting.
Jack looked at her with eyes far too knowing. “I don’t like killing. But I do not have the luxury to pretend I don’t understand it.”
“Alright then. Glad we’re agreed.” Elsa broke eye contact first.
Moving silently, they crept forward. A broken-necked rabbit lay on the packed earth of a small clearing. There in the rocky hillside beyond was a tall, narrow crevasse, maybe four feet wide, and extending back at least ten feet. Elsa could just make out the small figure of a human child, tucked into the back of the cave. And leaning over her, the cucuy.
She and Jack exchanged one last look, then he charged, hurtling forward like an arrow, teeth bared in a snarl. He covered the distance in less than two seconds, giving the cucuy no time to react before his jaws clamped tightly around one of its legs. Jack heaved his body backward, pulling its spindly limbs tumbling from its shelter, before letting go and darting out of reach of its grasping hands. The cucuy screeched in anger, its deep eye sockets fixed on Jack; Elsa seized the opportunity to break cover and dash to the little girl’s side.
She was young, maybe six or seven, and dressed in Tweety Bird pyjamas. So far as Elsa could tell she was unharmed, though she was sound asleep despite the ruckus - likely still under the cucuy’s thrall. Elsa didn’t envy her the nightmares when she awoke, but at the moment it made her job easier. She slung the girl over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and booked it, sprinting away from the fight and not stopping until she’d put at least twenty metres between them.
Then she carefully laid the girl down, beneath the overhang of a fallen tree’s roots. No time to catch her breath, Elsa ran back to the fight in time to see Jack, bleeding from one ear, leap forward and slash open the monster’s forelimb with a quick snap of his teeth, before leaping back to resume circling it, growling. Elsa readied her machete and waited until the cucuy, pivoting to keep Jack in its sights, turned its back to her before she leaped forward and lopped its head off with one blow.
She let the blade fall to the ground, and finally, finally, stopped to catch her breath.
Jack trotted up to her, skirting the headless, many-limbed body on the ground. “Sylvie, is she okay?”
“She’s fine, the thrall should break soon now that the cucuy is dead.”
“Good, good, that’s good.”
As they fell into step once more, walking towards the sleeping girl, Elsa figured she would not get another opportunity. "So… can I ask why you’re ‘human’ on four legs today?"
"To help with the search party, of course. My nose is much better, this way. But," he added, flicking one ear at her, "I am thinking that you are wondering how, not why. Simply put, when I transform voluntarily, I keep my mind. I am all of myself, and not caught in-between."
"So you could turn back, now that we’ve found the girl? I have to say, it’s a little distracting, having a conversation with you like this."
He grinned toothily. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? But I think you will agree that changing back would be more distracting - I haven’t got any clothes with me.”
Elsa raised an unimpressed brow. "So what exactly was your a plan, if you found her? Naked man approaching a young girl in the woods - not a good look."
"I have a Lassie routine I can pull out. No, really!" He raised his tail from where it hung down at rest, pulled his head back so he looked less like he was stalking prey, and grinned a toothy doggy grin, his tongue lolling to one side. He shifted his gait so he trotted as he walked, practically bouncing. Elsa could not suppress a snort - werewolves should not be so goofy - and shortly thereafter Jack relaxed back into his natural wolfy posture. He shook his shoulders lightly like he was shaking off snow. "It is tiring to maintain for long time," he admitted. "Gives me a crick in my neck."
The girl, Sylvie, was just where Elsa had left her, asleep between the roots of a wide beech tree. Elsa tried shaking her awake, but Sylvie merely turned over in her sleep. She checked her over for injury, more methodically than before, and beside her Jack did the same with his own senses. It all reaffirmed what Elsa had already determined, that apart from nightmares, Sylvie would be just fine. Still, little kids were resilient. Could be she’d be able to put this bad dream behind her.
Jack wuffed softly. “You’ll have to carry her back. I’ll keep out of sight in case she wakes up.”
“Except I don’t know the way. C’mon, Lassie, you can take the lead.”
“Ay, I already regret saying anything about that.”
Elsa lifted the still-sleeping girl onto her back for the trek back towards human habitation. Hopefully the search party wasn’t too far, or the sleeping spell wore off soon, because while seven-year-old wasn’t heavy, she wasn’t exactly light either, and as he was, Jack was no help at all.
“So… How is Ted doing? Is he around?”
“No, he doesn’t like cold weather; he rarely comes this far north. I am actually on my way to visit him, in Florida."
"That’s nice. What brought you to Missouri?"
They’d talked for about a quarter mile about places they’d both seen on their travels, when Elsa felt a stirring at her back. Signalling to Jack that he should stop talking, she shifted her grip and lowered Sylvie to the ground.
The girl woke up slowly at first, then all at once. She shrieked, ear-piercingly loud and sudden enough that Elsa took a startled step backwards, holding her hands up placatingly.
"Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you, you’re safe."
"Wh-where am I?! Who are you?! I don’t, I don’t - !" she took great gulping breaths.
Elsa crouched down. "My name is Elsa. I found you in the woods. Your family is looking for you; I’m here to bring you home."
Sylvie latched onto her sleeve with a vice grip. "Why am I in the woods! Why!"
"It’s okay." Elsa soothed, squeezing her shoulder to ground her. "You’re awake, the nightmare is over. You’re safe. You’ll be home soon." Elsa didn’t particularly want to gaslight a seven-year-old with lies; a distraction, on the other hand, could be just the thing to shift her focus and get her moving forward. Physically and metaphorically. "Have you met my friend, Jack?"
He trotted over, head held high, and sat down next to Elsa, tail wagging.
"Oh!" Sylvie released her vice-grip on Elsa’s jacket to tentatively reach towards him. Jack obligingly lowered his head so she could rub between his fuzzy ears. "He’s so pretty!"
"You’re so right," Elsa agreed, to appease the child; Jack cocked his head and grinned at her. She sighed and stood up, brushing off dirt and leaves. "C’mon, your family is waiting for you. Let’s get you home." She held out her hand to Sylvie, and together they started walking, Jack trotting along beside, still in Lassie-mode.
"How did I get out here? Do you know? Do you know where my Daddy is? I miss him! I don’t like these woods!" Sylvie stopped abruptly and dug her heels in. "Get my dad!"
"The faster we walk, the faster you’ll get to your dad."
"I don’t want to walk! I hate these woods! I want you to call my Daddy!"
"I don’t have his number." Which was an oversight on their part, admittedly. She should have checked if Jack had gotten a contact number for the search party. "I can’t carry you the whole way, it’s too far. Literally the only way we’re getting out of these woods is if we all walk."
"Why can’t you carry me?"
"I just said. You’re too big."
"But I don’t want to walk."
Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose. Sylvie was scared, and scared kids had the same fear reflexes as anyone else: fight, flight, or fawn. Elsa should consider herself lucky that the girl’s first response wasn’t to bolt into the forest, but the impulse to curl up and lie still wasn’t helpful in this situation.
She tried another tactic. "You know, Jack is scared of the woods, too."
"What, really?" Sylvie looked skeptically at Jack, who gave her his best puppy eyes in response.
"Yep," Elsa said, biting back a grin. "Total scaredy-cat, this one. But it’s good for him to be outside, so I’m trying to get him used to the forest. Do you think you can help me? Can you show him how to be brave?"
Sylvie gave her proposal due consideration, then nodded, steely-eyed. "You don’t have to worry anymore, Jack. I’ll look out for you."
Task in hand, Sylvie had no more issues with walking. She kept up a constant stream of chatter, directed mostly towards Jack in order to reassure him. In the end, it did not take that long to cross paths with the search party. Within half an hour Elsa had returned Sylvie to the grateful arms of her father, Jack hanging back out of sight of the adults, who were all significantly less likely to be fooled by his dog routine.
Elsa extricated herself from their gratitude as quickly as she could, uninterested in tearful reunions. She bummed a map off one of the searchers and plotted the best course back to her car. As soon as the search party was out of sight, Jack fell into step beside her.
"It was good to see you again, Elsa."
"Mm. This was a lot more fun than last time." She chewed her lip, thinking carefully about whether she wanted to make the offer. "Listen," Elsa began. "I was actually on my way to Georgia, this hunt was just a detour. Word is there’s something draining the ley lines. If you’re headed to Florida, do you want to… travel together, for a bit?"
"I’d like that."
"Clothing is required. That’s non-negotiable."
"Of course."
The last vestiges of the knot in her chest loosened, and she took a deep breath of cool autumn air. Some company would be nice for this trip.
#werewolf by night#ch: jack russell#elsa bloodstone#marvel#mcu#wwbn fic#my writing#truthfully this has been 70% done since last november#finally got the push i needed to finish it!
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“Do you have a plan for when you die?” She asked, quietly as if she was apprehensive to break the silence stretched between them. “Like for a funeral or memorial, what would you want?”
He turned to face her as she continued to stare up at the stars scattered amongst the moonless sky. “It depends,” he shrugged. “Oh how I die— who I die as.”
“If you die as the wolf, what would you want me to do?”
“Why do you ask, querida?” He shifted so he was on his side, continuing to face her as her gaze raked the sky for answers. “Not planning on killing me are you?” A smile tugged at his lips as she snorted softly.
“Not yet anyways,” The smile faded from her face. “I’ve just been thinking, might have been doing that a bit too much,” She paused for a few moments. “My mother taught me to prepare for the future. Well, it was less her teaching me that and more her death which did. Our lives are dangerous, we need to know what to do if one of us dies, how we’d want to be looked after or buried or cremated or whatever.”
She turned to face him, their eyes meeting. “If I die as el lobo, make sure there is no body left behind for them to take. Burn it, destroy it, I do not care, as long as there is nothing left of it after.”
“If they take your body I will kill each and every one of them to get you back. Nothing will be left, of them or of you once I’m done.”
“Te quiero, querida, te quiero.”
“And if you die as yourself?”
“Bury me. Back home in México, my mami and papi are there. And afterwards, celebrate me, remember who I was as a man. Do not grieve for me, there is no time for that. Death is not something I am scared of, Santa Muerte will treat me well. And for you mi querida, how shall I mourn you?”
“Says the man who does not want to be grieved.”
“Ah, you have forgotten that there is a difference between grief and mourning.”
Humming gently she thought for a few moments. “Go all out for me, spend way too much money on a coffin and build me a mausoleum. Somewhere nice, I’ve always loved England. Make it big enough to throw parties in, all for me and my lonely spectre to haunt. Come back every year and leave a single rose on the doorstep along with a bottle of red wine— something expensive but I don’t care what —and turn me into a folk story.”
“For you I shall build a mausoleum by myself, brick by brick, stone by stone, and not finish working until it's complete. I will build you a castle that mourners will get lost in.”
“I’d kill for you.”
“You already have, mi querida.”
Smiling, she lent in, pressing her forehead against his. “I know, carissimo, I know.”
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youtube
babe wake up, werewolf by night in color trailer just dropped
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All I want is more Marvel monsters -
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As the resident Classic Monsters fan who also loves Marvel, I feel really bad about not saying how much I liked Werewolf By Night back on Halloween.
#werewolf by night#the wolfman#universal monsters#lon chaney jr#lcj such a cultural touchstone for werewolf lore#so many references in the wwbn comics (and anywhere else it's appropriate to make werewolf references)
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This morning I watched one of my dogs invite the other to play with a slow, deliberate swipe to the shoulder, and my second thought 'shoving shoulder to be friendly' is my new Jack headcanon, and then I remembered that Ted does shove Jack's shoulder, this is absolutely A Thing with Jack (and Ted as well), playful shoving to show affection!!!!
(my first thought was 'aww, you guys')
#werewolf by night#ch: jack russell#ted sallis#wbn meta#i don't remember doing a whole lot of shoving with my sibs growing up#but for lyssa and jack? hell yeah#little jack having to learn that he can't just full-body tackle his friends when he greets them#that's not how you invite someone to play fútbol#... or is it?#i wouldn't know
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a clarifying question: would that be Jack Russell Werewolf by Night, or Jake Gomez? (gonna leave aside the question of who's penciling Jack because the answer is 'whoever draws the most boopable snoot,' obviously)
Personal ranking of Boopable Snoots:
Cap Wolf (Steve)
WbN (Jake)
Man-Wolf
Cap-Wolf (Sam)
WbN (Jack)
Cap-Wolf propaganda! That's him on the right, Jack Russell on the left (not at his most boopable admittedly). Steve is so so boopable in this moment
#werewolf by night#captain america#marvel comics#If Jack does win this could there be a follow-up Which Version of Jack Boopable poll?
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Once again playing with what having a canine sense of smell means, because on the one hand it could mean being sensitive to strong smells unilaterally and preferring unscented soaps, etc.
Or, on the other hand, it could mean Jack has the most godawful taste in cologne. Teenage Jack going all in on Axe body spray, the muskier the better
Does having a heightened sense of smell mean that Jack takes the trash out more frequently than most people to keep his space smelling clean, or does being a werewolf with canine instincts mean he takes the trash out less frequently because he likes the smell of garbage?
(TIL that putrescine and cadavarine are frequently added to dog kibble to make it more appealing, and a serious consideration for dog food manufacturers is making sure their product doesn’t smell so terrible that pet owners won’t want it in their houses)
#werewolf by night#ch: jack russell#wwbn meta#xenobiology#I was watching my elderly dog lie in the sunny grass and fondly remembered her puppy years#when she enthusiastically and rigorously *had* to roll in specific patches of grass. Usually because they were stinky
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“Shake your grandmother! Turnips don’t grow on trees!”
— Mark Twain, How I Edited An Agricultural Paper (via quarticmoose)
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What am I saying, he hangs out with Ted, of course he’s not bothered overmuch by stink. Or at least, not by the same smells a human would be.
Some of you might be thinking ‘oh Jack is willing to put up with the discomfort of Ted’s smell for the sake of their close bond.’ Yeah sure maybe. But we don’t have any indication that Jack is bracing himself or internally holding his nose; he’s genuinely relaxed around a guy whose smell has literally caused people to throw up. I’m chalking this one as a point for ‘Jack has a canine’s sense of smell, and also a canine’s predilection for strong stinky odors
Does having a heightened sense of smell mean that Jack takes the trash out more frequently than most people to keep his space smelling clean, or does being a werewolf with canine instincts mean he takes the trash out less frequently because he likes the smell of garbage?
(TIL that putrescine and cadavarine are frequently added to dog kibble to make it more appealing, and a serious consideration for dog food manufacturers is making sure their product doesn’t smell so terrible that pet owners won’t want it in their houses)
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Does having a heightened sense of smell mean that Jack takes the trash out more frequently than most people to keep his space smelling clean, or does being a werewolf with canine instincts mean he takes the trash out less frequently because he likes the smell of garbage?
(TIL that putrescine and cadavarine are frequently added to dog kibble to make it more appealing, and a serious consideration for dog food manufacturers is making sure their product doesn’t smell so terrible that pet owners won’t want it in their houses)
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I watched Werewolf by Night and omg…
Okay so like, it feels like such a lovely little self contained story and I’d be afraid they’d mess it up if they ever added to it but I feel like it also definitely could’ve benefited from being longer and building up relationships and like…I need more context in some areas but that aside IT WAS REALLY COOL ESPECIALLY FOR MARVEL. The black and white!! The use of red! The monster movie vibes! The way it was almost giving 2005 Hellboy for a few moments there! The violence!!! The creepy screwed up reanimated corpse making jokes about himself! Jack and Elsa! The way it talks about the nature of monstrosity! Jack straight up being a dumb lovable puppy as well as a vicious werewolf! The monster hunter/monster dynamic! Monster brothers! TED!! Elsa just going around brutally Killing left and right! JACK RECOGNIZING ELSA AND THEM HAVING THAT MOMENT OF RECOGNITION AND HER TOUCHING HIS FACE! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
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