WARNING: this is an 18+ only independent, semi-selective, multimuse blog for Monster ft Kenzo Tenma, Wolfgang Grimmer, Johan Liebert, Nina Fortner, etc. There will be mature themes such as abuse, mentions of SA and graphic violence (all tagged with tw). Especially with the use of Johan and Wolfgang.
Futaba let out a snort. “Hey, in a few years you might laugh about it, unless you end up in prison after all.” She could not help but comment the last bit as well. Considering his prior situation, it sure brought up the question, how often he had ended up in such situations, which should have brought him straight to court (or lose his life). She still could not quite explain, how a single man managed to overwhelm a small group like this.
She was almost blushing at first, when he guessed that a possible guy lived here, but it was ruined by his next words. The option of another woman being here, which was right, as it was her mother, who was even more invested in beauty products and the like than her, but considering his phrasing, there was the small assumption, that she possibly had a female partner and that touched quite a sensitive nerve by her. “I’m not…” She bit her lip, adverting her gaze. Why would he even feel the need to say this, which normal guy does that? Or was he out to mock her? Which was the main reason, she hated this assumption. She finally loved her body, but it lead to plenty of misconceptions, and considering how she pursued a future as a mother & wife, she dreaded the fact, that a lot would not consider her at all, not meeting their tastes or believing she swung a different way. Overall those experiences did not help her to really appreciate the change in the world yet, becoming more open & welcoming.
“…” His next words, and she sure thought very stereotypical at times, made her already wonder if he might be gay, or was it bi? Just because, he appreciated their flowery shampoos. “Wouldn’t you prefer one of those 3 in 1 or so shampoos?” For men, of course, which all smelled the same in her opinion.
Apparently the prison joke, made her kind of smile again, even chuckle. “Well, I actually considered once to become a prison guard, but that would have meant spending almost half my life in a prison as well.” No, she wanted to appreciate her freedom a bit more, and not in gray cells and rooms. “I’ll put some fresh clothing out for you. I’ll prepare some food.” With that, she left him alone, so he could finally enjoy some more privacy. Outside the bathroom door, she actually placed an military uniform (one of the few, her father had left here), she had nothing else. It was one of the green ones, with an american patch on its sleeve. She run her hand over the fabric, forever appreciating the camolook. Not something a pure stranger really deserved to wear, but considering his stature, it would almost perfectly fit him. If he ruined it, she would always wash it later. Meanwhile, with his incident ruining her chance to go grocery shopping, she cooked something rather simple. Spätzle. Ideally, she had planned to make steak or anything that included a big piece of meat. She felt a little bit embarrassed over the display, doubting it would really show her cooking skills, which were not so often appreciated, considering the country she lived in. She was hopeful, considering his origins, that he might appreciate her work, or he would be her harshest critique.
“Not every man considers that
a luxury,” he says idly looking at the shelves once more. Just as before, her
ideas of what his supposed preferences were lie heavily in the traditional
sense; briefly he wondered if she too thought of herself that way. There would
have to be a disconnect, back muscles and general large proportionated shape
considered. Wolfgang believes she’d make an excellent prison guard in either
assigned position, possibly even the warden, although she may not be old
enough. For the best, it works out in his favor. Had she been affiliated with
prison in any sense, he doesn’t doubt being arrested and carded off right away,
forced to do god knows what. “Thank you,” he mutters as she leaves. Even as the water for the shower warms the room at her departure he mulls over the possibilities surrounding an uneventful run in with an officer who was a little more daring, a little more rough leaning into their role and not aware of corruption.
Wolfgang admits to himself, never out loud but a quiet acknowledgement he’s fucked up. His abilities are likely enhanced during a spout of anxiousness, but his mind regresses during and after. Not intelligent flicker passes through, believing if one did he’d be aware and hopes Steiner isn’t cultivating a sinister presence beyond that of flailing maniac. He smells a light strawberry, mango scent when the soap dispenses over his fingers, carding them roughly through his hair to get the last of the clumpy red stains from his hair. 3-in-1 shampoo… really. His head spins when the steam from the shower fills the bathroom even more now, allowing for the tiniest of indulgent memories of his old self shine through. Not that he was particularly attentive to his ex-wife, but having a mission and a purpose seemed so secure compared to him latching onto this woman. He slides the curtains and dries himself off, daring to exit the temporary oasis, only to be met with a uniform so on par with her personality. He can’t help himself, comfortably tucked into the heavy fabric; a clean body, clean uniform both only in appearance and something Wolfgang doesn’t have the mental facilities to explore - he just knows they aren’t hers.
“Smells good,” He says, popping his head from behind the wall into the kitchen. It hurts because he can’t escape how strangely domestic he feels, but summons enough tact to push that feeling down. Her skills, by the looks of it, extend quite far to the point where he almost apologizes for insinuating she were less conventional. “My favorite dish,” his words come smoother than he intends, a subtle quip in his meaning floats around. Wolfgang glides by her with a sly hand on her back, gentle nudging to reach the dish. He picks up the plate, mild mannered in his decision not to sit, and takes a huge bite. The food taste extremely home made, not terrible at least and since it’s the first thing he’s eaten in the two days he spent stranded and desperate? Since it’s quite possibly the nicest thing one could do for a killer? He simply moans once the contents in his mouth has been swallowed. “You’ve got a lot of hospitality for a woman who looks like she could bite my head off. Unless you do this with all your criminals, Officer.”
well, I tried feeding my Spiderverse brainrot through Twitter. it was going good for a couple days til I tried to comment and get in the mix and find some fellow brainrotters and i got an aneurysm. idk how people survive on twit, i’m weak. i’m tumblr only from now on.
This one actually. It’s weird considering I was in a fandom for about five years but bounced around different muses depending on my muse and how much I was involved. It’s been about three years on this account, and though I haven’t been completely active I still come back to look around when I’m not here. The reason I started a Monster blog of all things was to improve my writing so eventually there will be a point where I’m a permanent infrequent flyer but until then happy RPing!
“…” Honestly, Vivian wanted to retort back with, ‘My mom would like to say otherwise’, but instead, she remains uncomfortably silent, because that seemed to stray into ‘too much information’ territory and by simply doing so, she didn’t want Nina to think she was fishing for compliments. “…Are you trying to imply I’m more vampire than human?” came her eventual deadpan murmur. Why, as true as it was that she harbours a natural disdain for the sun, Vivian couldn’t help but wonder if her aversion to sunlight made her seem less human than the average neurotypical person. “Still, now that you mention it, the female protagonists in vampire media do tend to lean more on the paler side. Like, maybe not all happen to be lily white, but when you think about it, they do coincidentally share a fairer complexion.”
Of course, it could be that she just doesn’t watch enough vampire-centric TV shoes to recognize iconic black female characters serving as love interests, but regardless, Nina might have a point. Either way, she’ll soon jolt upwards once her knee was patted, before mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ and graciously accepting the onigiri-esque snack Nina prepared. Thankfully, though, it was a brief, momentary touch, meaning she didn’t have the time to truly enjoy it, yet still, it doesn’t fail to startle her.
“Gee, thanks… then again, I definitely won’t be winning any Olympic gold medals for swimming anytime soon, so you’re not wrong there,” Vivian grumbles before finally chancing a tentative bite into the rice. As soon as she finishes chewing and swallowing the morsel, though, a sigh is quick to issue past her lips. “Can’t we simply… I dunno, hunt for seashells or build a sandcastle together? ‘Cause in the event you slap a floatie on me, people will probably think I’m the younger girl you’re babysitting instead of your actual co-worker.”
“I’m not trying to imply anything, just that a bit of the outdoors might give you some strength. You don’t want to be completely defenseless.” She knows of the consequences all too well, heavily involved in martial arts since her adoption, both coincidentally and out of necessity. Nina wipes her hands on the hem of her shorts, rummaging through her beach bag minutely.
“A sandcastle does sound challenging… and the Sun isn’t near burning holes in the umbrella.” She doesn’t find any of the toy shovels, humming once remembering the whole point of her trip to the beach was simply eat and swim. However, there were cups - far too many to justify two people - they could get creative with.
Vivian, upon closer inspection, is very cute when she chomps away. She doesn’t understand how someone like her could be holed up and content, but sympathizes with the need to worm away every now and again. Had she not been there to accompany Nina, chances of staying employed at the library were slim to none; having no other friends to lean on. She wondered if the girl would ever get along with her adoptive parents for a split second before vanishing the thought altogether. There would be no way to find out, she thinks somberly. It doesn’t spur an onslaught of tears like the first few weeks of their absence, but she’s a bit quieter, perhaps softer in her reply. “What’s wrong with having an older sister? You’d be glad to have someone like me doing… sibling duties.”
