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chuckeroo777 · 4 months ago

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Dungeon Meshi Volume 8 Part 1

Welcome back! Today, we are doing volume 8, where we finally venture into the post-anime! Spoilers beware!

Do not spoil people, or the mushroom overlord will get you.

Honestly, it's kinda a miracle that food poisoning only comes up once in the whole story.

Laios, stop that. She loves you, you idiot.

A precious image.

An important image. Also, I love how Falin is just chillin.

I don't doubt it. It's understated, but Laios is quite strong for a tall-man.

Lol, his senses have dimmed, not just cause he's a tall-man, but because he's a geezer.

Oh no. Laios is a gacha gamer.

You can't say he never warned you. Izutsumi's still gonna do it.

Is this a lore inconsistency? Kuro speaks broken common because his kobold physiology isn't suited to it. But kobold Izutsumi can talk just fine.

Makes sense. As animated rock, a good hit with a blunt weapon would do a lot, and they can't heal or reproduce like living creatures. Golems have the advantage of being more amorphous, so they can be repaired easily.

Yeah, no. This bit's kinda dumb. Neither dogs nor kobolds act like this, and she's just fine in the gargoyle rematch. Kui just couldn't think of a reason for her to be disadvantaged here.

What is that face Namari?

Okay, this is just straight up cheating. The two groups are not temporally aligned right now. Kabru should currently be down here.

Again, I have to ask why food poisoning hasn't come up more.

Don't mind me, just grabbing this for later.

Yeah, this is something I override in my headcanon. I put tall-men at roughly 80 year lifespan. Mainly cause it's way funnier to think of Chilchuck as ~45 than ~35. Also, please don't poke my girl right in the trauma.

The worldbuilding implied by this one panel is astounding. I like wyrm Falin.

I love how everyone respects Chilchuck (mostly), but the second a teammate is turned into a half-foot, he's carrying them around like a purse dog.

So majestic.

Alas, Laios never did get to arm wrestle Namari.

Senshi may have beaten the cannibal allegations, but Chilchuck may not be so lucky.

Oh hey! It only took 12 chapters, and the final half of the final episode, but she's finally wearing her default outfit!

Do the windows even open?

I find it really funny that the anime bothered including Asivia, since I doubt they're ever going to reference her again. Maybe in the bicorn chapter if they feel like fleshing it out a bit?

Forget the bath scene, this is the most blatant the manga ever is about Marcille x Falin.

Seriously, how else am I supposed to read this? Even if it isn't strictly romantic, these two are tight. Real tight.

By golly, it might just work! Just be ready to pen in like five more steps between 2 and 3.

And with that, we reach the end of the Anime! Seems like a good spot to end part 1 of this volume. See you in a bit!

#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi liveblog #manga spoilers #anime spoilers #Chapter 50 #Chapter 51 #Chapter 52

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 9 months ago

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tagged by: @thesingularityseries and @cassietrn thank you both!!

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Still Wednesday for me and chapter 52 of American Beasts has been kicking my ass, struggling with writing Kit coming to terms with her being in love. It's hard to write a deranged individual having an emotional epiphany. Anyways...here's the first bit of the chapter:

Hours of surgery, flayed flesh and sutures. Heart rate crashing, blood pressure falling. The bullet removed from tissue, dropped into the tray with a metallic clang. Tools dripping with blood. Iodine and alcohol perfuming the air. He was finally stable and she was still on her feet. A tube shoved into his chest, the air pumped out of the cavity for him by a machine. Kit couldn’t help but scoff at the irony of the situation, a man who had only ever spoken of how medicine and technology made mankind weaker, and here he was being kept alive by the very thing he spoke of hating. She was sure he would hold it against her for denying his words, but she didn’t much care, he could stay angry with her. She got what she wanted, denying him his need for sacrifice once more. He could bear it, just like she could bear the brunt of his rage. Some sacrifices were well worth making.

Kit stood by the side of Jacob’s medical bed, staring down at him, watching his chest rise and fall like she had done a dozen times before. The way she always had when they were in bed together. Her comfort. Her home. Her will was done. The bruises on his chest and around the lung he nearly lost acted as a reminder of her own wounds that still needed to be treated, but still she watched. The same concerned gaze of a mother with her newborn and that fear that if she turned away his breath would falter and he would be lost to her forever.

Morrison entered the room and her pale eyes lifted for just a moment before falling right back to the Herald. He stood there silently, unsure of how to break the bind she had placed upon herself to stand at the Herald’s side. Clearing his throat, he drew closer to the bed and rubbed at his stubble on his jaw. “Now that he’s stable, think I might be allowed to take a look at you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Didn’t sound that way when he made his way out to come get you.”

Sighing as she placed her hand on Jacob’s arm, her fingers traced small circles along his broken skin, over every rough patch of inflamed flesh and raised bump of scar tissue, ingraining it in her memory. She had come so very close to losing him, to being alone again…that was the scariest thought of all.

“It’s my obligation to look after you.” His eyes fell to his patient. “He wouldn’t be too happy knowing I didn’t take care of you. He’s not going anywhere, I promise, sister.”

She took a deep breath and stepped back towards the other bed, feeling as though she was dragging a ball and chain with her, breaking some sort of duty she had to uphold as Jacob’s watchful guardian. Taking a seat on the bed, she kept her eyes focused on the other redhead in the room, not making any movement to help the medic and his desire to fix her.

“You mind taking off the coat and sweater?”

Rolling her eyes, she stripped off her coat and laid it on the bed beside her, the inner lining of it stained with dried blood. Her sweater below was just as tainted with the remnants of her seeping wound and the sweat that poured from her, a hole ripped through the fibers allowing the white of her bandage to show through. Grunting and groaning as she rolled the sweater up her body, careful with her movements so as not to reopen her wound in her chest as she pulled it over her head.

Morrison stopped and stared at her as her sweater came off, her chest bruised in shades of indigo, dappled in blue and purple and green. His mouth sat agape as he brought his hand to his brow to rub at it absent-mindedly as she peeled back the thick bandage she had used to cover the wound. “I don’t know how the hell you keep managing to live,” he muttered in disbelief. “You got one hell of a guardian angel.”

Kit sighed, looking down at the loosely stitched hole in her chest, more poorly darned than a pair of old socks, the skin very clearly inflamed and angry around it. Gripping at the thin mattress of the medical bed, she mumbled her words out towards the floor, “You have no idea.”

His eyes lifted from her wound to gaze back into hers, into the cold and empty stare as he brought the tray of tools closer to himself. “You know, I listen to the Father’s sermons sometimes, the ones about you, he says that God sent you to us. That you were a sign of the end, but also of the beginning. Judgement and divine wrath and all that.”

She huffed out a laugh, “I don’t know how divine all my wrath has been to be quite honest.”

“Whatever the case may be, something is looking out for you, and they are working overtime. If the sinners can’t see that, well, maybe they don’t deserve to be saved.” He paused and looked at her as he snipped open the sutures she had sewn in earlier. “You know for the first time in a long time since I joined the family, I understand. I believe again. Joseph is our prophet, he hears the lord, Jacob is like the mighty sword of Michael, and John is well…he's John. But you, you just can't be stopped, you keep fighting. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’ve been shot, stabbed, starved…You just might be a sign from God that there is a plan for us after all.”

Her eyes fell, she’d never heard herself spoken of that way by a follower. She had always been looked upon with fear and intimidation. A presence that bent people to her will because they were more fearful of the repercussions that came if they didn’t. It was never hope or belief. It was the same way she had always viewed her father, not with trust or love, but with the tiptoeing of a child afraid of meeting his ire.

“You’re not used to folks talking about you that way, are you? You’re a little more used to being seen as dangerous, something to keep content.”

She flexed her shoulders, the crunch and pop of tired joints the soundtrack to just how worn out she had become. Having acted as a protector to both sides, an angel of destruction and violence – wrath – she was feeling the brunt of it in every twinge that shot through her as the medic’s rough hands started to press at her tender flesh. “Ever since hell seemed to rain down upon this county…being given people’s hope…blind faith…I just don’t see how I deserve it.”

Morrison’s brow lifted as he continued to survey her injuries and the rush job she had done patching it up. “Y’know, in my experience, It’s usually the people who don’t think they deserve it that carry the most weight, they’re the ones who can handle the struggle.”

Her brow lifted, something in that tone, in those words – it bordered on heresy. There was one person in all of Hope County who believed he could take on the world in order to save it, who believed it was his God given right to do so. He deserved to lead people into the Garden, to have them join his family, to bear the weight of sin…

“Be careful what you say,” her tone was chilly enough to send a visible shiver down the medic’s spine.

He took his hands off of her and backed up, wary of the Lion’s bite. “I’m only saying there’s a reason why the Father called upon you, sister. I mean nothing else.” His gaze shifted to his tools as his way out and then glanced back at her. “I’m gonna have to take a look at you proper to get that bullet out. Gonna need to put you under.”

“No.”

“What the hell d’you mean ‘no’?”

“I need to be awake for him.” She tilted her head in Jacob’s direction as he continued to lie in his unconscious state.

“Well I have to give you some sort of anesthetic, it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker if I don’t.”

The medic looked at her like she was a mad woman. As if the idea of her wanting to be aware was some unhinged or deranged notion. It didn’t much matter to her what he thought, she knew what she wanted. She wanted to be clear.

“No anesthetic,” she snarled. “Save it for someone who needs it.”

She couldn’t be numb, she refused to be any longer. She wanted to feel every burst of pain that exploded through her nerves like a bombshell. Every beat of her heart as it raced and the cold sweat soaked her skin. Every wave of nausea that battered her like the shore in a storm, wracked with shudders that would make her entire body recoil. Anything was better than that empty nothingness she lived with for years while pretending to be sane in a world so devoid of logic or sense that it seemed as though everyone had been driven mad, there were just layers to it. Any reminder that she was alive, and so was he.

“I don’t wanna kill ya.”

“You already said I had something looking out for me,” she challenged him, staring straight into Morrison’s eyes as she cocked her brow. Kit knew she would win.

His heavy sigh and slumped shoulders were enough to prove he had already rolled over to his whims. “Lay back.”

Rolling her legs up onto the bed, her muddy boots littering the bedding with streaks of thick dirt, Kit rested her head back and turned to look over at Jacob, the muscles at the back of her jaw tightening as she clenched it. Moving her hands to her belt, she unfastened it, pulling it from the loops, the soft jingling of metal filling the room. Folding it over, she brought it to her mouth and stuck it between her teeth to bite down on. It wouldn’t dull the pain, but it would help her through it, give her something to focus on.

Her frozen stare landed on the medic that stood beside her, and with a nod of her head, he was given the go ahead to start her surgery. Kit couldn’t help but bring her attention back to Jacob, her eyes glued to him, even as the scalpel slipped through her skin, making a larger incision in her chest. As the blade dragged through her flesh, her eyes fluttered shut, her teeth digging into the supple leather below. She could take it, she could handle the pain. She was strong.

The sharp stinging that built from the side of her breast bone flared across her chest like wildfire, and her back arched as she screamed around the leather belt in her mouth, her nails digging into the bed she laid upon. She bit down harder and tears stung at the corners of her eyes, making her blue eyes bloodshot.

“Sorry, ‘bout that.”

She shivered as her back lowered back against the thin mattress, her breath shallow.

“I’m not gonna dig around for the bullet, at this point I’ll do more damage than good trying to get it out o’ you. Body will heal around it.”

More scar tissue added to the ever growing list inside and outside of her. Sometimes it felt like that was all she was. Marred by it. Wounds healed and opened over and over again, thickened until they were numb and harder to tear. She had always hated the scars that she carried after Afghanistan. Five years of fighting and they were all she had to show for it. Yet in just a few short months in Montana she carried more evidence of being a soldier in the war for the lives and souls of Hope County’s residents than she thought possible. Bullet and arrow entry and exit wounds, the sin she was forced to bear, two sets of torn open knuckles, and the word she had asked to be branded with. His word – Sacrifice.

“Gonna seal up some of the torn muscles inside for you and then properly close the wound. It’s not gonna be pretty.”

It was the end of the world as they all knew it. What did she care? She wasn’t there to win the hearts and minds of people by being the pretty face to tempt or convince. She wasn’t John or Faith. She was the Lion. Scars were what made her who she was. Jacob had scars and it had never bothered her. Scars like this weren’t meant to be covered or hidden, they weren’t a source of shame. They were a sign of strength.

#wip wednesday #skelly writes #american beasts #chapter 52 #oc: kit cross

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