mothmxnprophet-blog

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trenchcoattentacles:

fujojoshit:

obviously not???? the jersey devil is notoriously anti social/unstable and mothman is too gentle to associate with their kind?? like? mothman resides solely in virginia and only appeared to warn people of an impending bridge collapse bcuz he is thoughtful and caring. while the jersey devil is incredibly violent, goes around freaking the shit out of anyone who comes near the leeds forest.. goddamn you guys, THINK.. they would never work together…..

mothmxnprophet

Do you think the mothman and the jersey devil have ever kissed?

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The cryptid rumbled deeply, obviously displeased by the topic of the conversation at hand. When he signed in response, the motions of his hands were quick, jerky and aggressive--

‘ I care little for the gods of this realm or any other. The cosmos is full of those who make claims to its throne. And not one is any more valid than another. ‘

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456748349323938454:

Everybody Wants To Rule The World (1912 Cover) | Bioshock Infinite OST

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Blood means nothing                       my family is who I deem it to be.

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skadario:

Abandoned furnace

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gregador:

Infinity

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decayingcat:

Abandoned coal mine (unit O)

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swinginforbreakfast:

“Jeepers Creepers” by The Puppini Sisters.

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daughterofwasps:

There was a long silence between her and the giant-like creature; the only sound was the distant buzzing from her wings. For a while, she gawked at the chain of daisies and wildflowers he held out for her to see. ‘For me?’ she questioned in her mind.

Hope thought back to the news reports, the tears from the mother begging for help, and Iron Man recruiting Falcon and her to help him catch the legendary “monster”. For what? All they know is that it’s probably better in their hands than with the men in suits or SHIELD’s plans.

❝   ——-   Witnesses say that they saw a large creature with ten-foot wings and glowing red eyes, moments before paramedics arrived at the abandoned nuclear power plant. 5-year-old Ellie was declared dead on the spot. .❞

She looked up. He matches the description perfectly, but her gut says to trust him.

❝ Since the sighting in 1967, he became obsessed with legends and folklore- especially the  Mothman. Always taking pictures, traveling across the entire nation, but in the end he ended up as another one of its victims. […] Please…no one will believe me…the police laughed at my face…but he murdered my son and I know it!  ❞ 

A few ants started slowly gathering around her - quietly encouraging her.

❝ Really Stark? ❞ ❝Oh. You’ve got to be kidding me…❞ ❝ Yes! Now, come on! Let’s go catch him before the government gets to him, or worse, S.H.I.E.L.D.!! ❞

She grew back to her regular size, and gently smiled as she opened her hands to take the floral wreath.

❝  Thank you, they’re beautiful. ❞

He waited and watched, quietly, as she grew back to her full size. This realm was full of marvels, and miracles, and she was one of them. In such a short span of time, these humans-- mere children of primates, themselves-- had achieved such great things.

Terrible things, too, but to think of that would be overkill. He was all too aware of their capacities for creation and destruction. Why creatures so fragile and short-lived would dedicate their lives to the pursuit of pain and suffering was beyond him, but there were some things about the cosmos that even he did not know.

Mothman took a few steps forward, eyes downcast to avoid stepping on any ants-- they had arrived with her, and if they were friends of hers, they were friends of his. With a gentle hooting sound, he carefully deposited the crown in her grasp. Red eyes flickered over her curiously-- he was not unfamiliar with suits, having kept relatively up to date on the ways of the world through tattered newspapers and radio broadcasts, but he had never seen one quite like this.

She had wings, just like he did-- and yet not at all like his own. Crystalline, geometric structures that looked far too delicate to permit flight. The cryptid reached out slowly, carefully, running a scaled finger along the edge of one of the wings-- and then he quickly withdrew his hand, as if the structure would break upon the slightest touch.

He wrung his hands slightly, nervous energy making his furred body shake, and then he lifted his hands, fingers twisting as he signed to her.

‘ Flowers are good for the heart. Beautiful, but fleeting. Reminders that all things worth having are worth protecting... for so long as they will survive in this realm. ‘

Mothman shook his head with a huff of dismay. He was getting lost in thought-- and for all he knew, she did not understand sign.

‘ Are you from SHIELD? You do not bear the sigil of the eagle. Nor of the eight-headed HYDRA. Others have come before... I did not like them. ‘

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neverpeeinadrysuit:

And I guess I’ve got this too

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malkayclark:

be-harmless:

beautiful

The larval and moth stages of the jewel caterpillar (Acraga coa)

wat. 

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trenchcoattentacles:

mothmxnprophet vestalsuccubus christopher-danger

The tentacled creature perked up from where they lay, tendrils lazily feeling through the air at the scent of the stranger. They slowly slid back into the ditch they had dug and tucked their legs beneath their body. Nothing interesting here, just a giant mass of wiggly tentacles.

Strange, but fascinating. Perhaps even the opportunity to make a new friend. Friends were in such short supply, these days; it seemed that those who sought him out did so merely to find him, to hurt him, to gain bragging rights that they had bested Mothman and lived to tell the tale.

Tales that no one would believe, of course, but there it was.

Mothman crept closer, the toes of his avian feet splayed outward to minimize the sound of his footsteps. When close enough, he leaned down, one bony finger extended to gently prod the writhing mass of tentacles.

+3? who are these?

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brxssy:

——- And then she realized he was signing.

Carefully, she paid attention to his hands, catching their motions in time to render out his full statement. Slowly, like a wave, she de-charged, exhaling softly. Whatever sort of strange, cryptic prank this was, it was working, because Emily was thoroughly spooked.

But when she brought her Bambi eyes back up to those wide, red eyes, she got a hard feeling in her gut. This was no prank. And that was no human. She shouldn’t be surprised; not with what she had. Phenomenons were everywhere. Blinking, she gave another hard exhale. Danger?

With delicate hands risen, she began to sign back:

Who do you see? Why am I in danger? Please, explain to me.

Should she be talking to this creature? Shouldn’t she be running? No— Something told her that this dark figure meant no harm; negative harm. It was to be trusted. Hands resting, she waited a response.

The answer was as plain as it was confusing.

‘ Men. Men who will hurt you. Cold minds and colder souls. They will twist you-- break you-- Mold you into that which you are not. All the world will be your enemy, prince with a thousand enemies, and when they catch you, they will kill you... But first, they must catch you. ‘

He shook his head. This was not a conversation that he wanted to have here, out in the open, where electronic eyes could always be watching. Public places, even in the sleepiest of small towns, filled Mothman with a sensation of utter dread. His curled proboscis twitched uncertainly, a dead giveaway of his fear.

Nevertheless, the cryptid maintained his composure as he leaned down, closer to her level. Crimson eyes, a multitude of a thousand compound lenses, bathed her face in red light. A long arm with gnarled fingers extended, reaching down to gently scoop the fallen bag of groceries from the ground and replace it in her grasp.

‘ There is much talk you must hear. But not here. Not in this place. It is not safe. If you want to live, you must follow me. They are coming, and they will be here... soon. ‘

And with that said, Mothman turned upon his heel, leaving the structure of the sidewalk for the untameable chaos of the leaves and branches of the nearby treeline. Here was home-- or as close to home as he could find here. All that could be seen of him now was the pattern of his wings, two false eyes and a striped grin that, in their own way, beckoned her to follow.

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activitesparanormales:

The Mothman Prophecies, a tribute to John Keel, 2014

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musingsforrp:

                                                    I'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʜᴇʀᴏ

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