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cetaceans-pls · 6 months

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Not sure if this is an idea (or if it’s too late to submit ideas) but your Cool Bruce flirting with and flustering Jason for once was pretty fun! We’ve seen Bruce in King Tide be rescued by his hell hound of a boyfriend, what if the tables were reversed? (in any case love how you write our favourite middle aged struggling bat and his interpersonal relationships! Also adore how you write him and Damian together!)

never too late to ride the Cool Boy Bruce Wayne train!! this one's going to be a sequel to ram ventilation bc truly TRULY i'm so unwell over alpha!jason/beta!bruce :')

Jason remembers back in The Old Days, when life stretched long and sweet ahead of him and nights were filled with magic and butter yellow capes flapping by his knees in the wind, one singularly miserable experience of getting kidnapped by some shitheads who'd seen a kid wandering around a bookstore in too-nice shoes and gone a-ha!

Alfred couldn't have been much further than the other side of the store making polite conversation with the cashier, but he'd been picked up and spirited out back to an alley quicker than he could scream. He'd gone soft by that point, gotten used to living in the lap of luxury, and the instinct to bite and fight and spit and scream had come in too late, had kicked in when he'd been stuffed into the boot of a nondescript sedan.

He'd thrown up, he's pretty sure, weeping with a terror that he hadn't felt in a lifetime (about 8 months), sure that he was going to be killed and he was going to be missed and that's so so so much worse (who's going to take care of Alfred? And Bruce?) than when it was just him and it was just dying.

Afterwards, he'll find out that between abduction and recovery he was maybe missing for 25 minutes, though it had felt like a lifetime in that dark quiet little box (must've been an omen). Between the little tracker Jason has in all his shoes and half his socks and Bruce who'd been driving down to come meet them for lunch, the solution had come with the car screeching to a screaming halt, horns blasting and a lot of yelling. Jason couldn't tell what was going on, could just hear glass breaking and a fever pitch of screaming and his nose started running (even harder) because everyone's letting out every scent under the sun during whatever scuffle was going on in the front of the car.

He'd maybe thrown up a little more at that point, before the car boot had been wrenched open and there was Bruce, roiling in anger you usually couldn't scent on him even in the middle of a horrific fight, blood and glass embedded in his fist, shirt still foppishly unbuttoned that little bit too low down his chest.

"Hi Jason," he'd said, voice hoarse like he'd forgotten how talk for just a little bit, had forgotten how to be a human when he'd gone Crazy Mode, pulling out in front of the abductors' car before breaking the driver side window with keys clenched tight between fingers, foregoing any flashy moves to set his teeth on the man's throat and bite him unconscious.

Jason'll find all that out afterwards. In that moment, despite Bruce and his bloodied face and his bloodied hands and his bloody scent, Jason had wept then leapt into Bruce's arms, had felt so burnt up that someone had come that he'd forgotten to be a human too, crying and crying and pressing his face hard as he could against where Bruce's scent is rapidly going from hot bleached anger to barely-there warmth, the memory of warm bread you'd enjoyed just an hour before with a love of your life.

That's probably when he'd fallen, even if he hadn't known. Get you a man that'll punch a window out for you, that'll attempt to rip someone's throat out for you, that'll pick you up in amongst blood and wreckage and love you and love you and love you.

Here's hoping for a repeat performance, Jason thinks, shifting a little bit to try and get comfortable. It is, luckily, much less scary, because he's died before and everyone survived that incident, including himself.

By this point, the kidnappers could taunt him with a gun to his head and go boyo there're fates worse than death and all Jason would say is brother I'll give you a literal million dollars if you can name a single thing worse that I haven't already experienced.

So, no, the emotional stakes aren't as high today as they were way back then. It's just been a good long while since he was last properly abducted; he's just feeling nostalgic.

Besides, it's good for, like, enrichment purposes. Jason got picked up as easy prey because he's the no-name Alpha that netted the hottest commodity in the entirety of the Eastern seaboard, so the ties around his wrist aren't terribly professional both the kidnappers have already accidentally had their real names said out loud while manhandling him into the back of an SUV (though in all fairness the world is pretty full of Jeremies and Matthews). He could get up and go, but while nowadays he's opposed to trackers in his shoes he's still got them in half his socks, and today was a tracker-sock kind of day (they're the wooliest ones to hide the bug and it's been chilly, hey). He knows that once the time's come and the time's gone for his little plov dinner date with Bruce at the Turkmenistani restaurant over by 12th and Circuit, the hunting party's gonna come.

Bat's been getting some type of vicious again lately, after the situation with them little kiddies getting maimed working graveyard shifts with heavy machinery, and to be fair so had Jason, but the Red Hood's precision-designed to enact violence on evil-doers while Bruce... well. He built himself up for violence, sure, can mete it out really well when push comes to shove, but Bruce isn't made from violence, doesn't have that streak to him that, hysterically, most of his kids really really do. So Jason's taken it upon himself to act as a distraction for when B's gotten wound up too tight, and excuse to play-act violence so he can go back to what he's meant to be (some guy dressed as a tiny fuzzy mammal running around in the dark trying desperately to make sure kids and former-kids are okay).

Resting on this gentle thought, Jason briefly worms his way out of his ties to tug a sock that's running too low, before rebinding himself. He'd fuck around on his phone, but he's pretty sure a bright screen would be a giveaway even for abductors this low-level, so he unfocuses a little and instead delves into a oft-visited fantasy (him and Bruce cosplaying as average men in an average relationship warmly arguing over the cost of a bottle of good olive oil before going home to get nasty-disgusting on a 2nd-hand full-size mattress that has seen plenty of nasty-disgusting action).

He gets to a hot point where the olive oil's being used for undue purposes, scent starting to bloom a little, fresh cedar log on a smouldering fire, when the van he's in screeches to a halt and there is So Much Screaming.

Jason didn't really have time to brace for impact and will likely come out of it with a pretty bruised shoulder. Yeowch, he goes on the inside of his head, before once again slipping out of his restraints to take a look at what the hell's going on, how they could've gotten into a traffic accident going at a crawl in Gotham's snarling after-work congestion.

He sits up and leans forward just in time to see a bloody fist smash through the window while Jeremy screams at a pitch that's been unfamiliar since puberty hit. The glass doesn't shatter, but that makes it a little worse when the fist withdraws and most of a sheet of cracked window goes with it, violence ringed in glittering glass.

Matty the driver is also screaming like a choir boy, shrieks like a warbler on steroids when Jeremy gets hauled out of his seat and out through the window like he's been sucked into a Black Hole, spaghettified, when it's just Bruce in a downright demure turtleneck with most of a plate of glass hanging 'round by his elbow. Bruce isn't growling, doesn't have the throat for it, isn't raising his hackles, doesn't have the neck for it, doesn't even seem to be feeling very much at all while Jerry-boy screams and weeps and screams and weeps.

Bruce seems almost delicately unbothered as he picks Jeremy up like a ragdoll and bites down on his throat with teeth that should be too blunt for this, holding down just long enough for the man to pass out and go limp in his arms. Bruce spits out a mouth full of blood before setting the man down gently in the scattering of glass on the ground. Jason looks on and he knows he reeks at this point, knows he's salivating and he's growling and his hackles are up because he's built for it and he's hot for it, and takes a short moment to think that maybe he's underestimated, a little bit, Bruce's instinctive capacity for violence.

Bruce doesn't pay him any mind, because there's still a Threat here, still Matty in the driver's side, but this is in fact a non-issue because when Bruce starts reaching for Matthew, doesn't even bother to pull the door open because he doesn't need more than the space of a car window to deal a reckoning, well. Matty yells like his blood's curdling in his veins, and then he passes out, a complete cessation of terrified Alpha scent.

Then and only then does Bruce turn to look to the back, face looking almost serene but for another man's blood limning his mouth. "Hi, Jason," he says a little hoarsely, like he'd forgotten how to be a regular person for a little bit there. "I found you," he says a little messily, like he's re-finding what it means to be a lot human and his heart's crawling out his throat. "Are you hurt?"

Quite despite himself, Jason finds himself with tears burning his eyes out. "I'm good," he says, voice like sandpaper-on-sandpaper violence. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"Always," Bruce says with the hot-hearted grim confidence of a man who has bare-knuckle punched his way through car windows repeatedly to get to Jason and will keep on doing so for the rest of his natural life.

Jason can barely stifle a shudder. "Sorry I missed our date."

Bruce shrugs. "I got takeout in the car," he says mildly, tugging the backdoor open to help Jason out. The 'car' in question is one of Bruce's jaguars, an expensive black, with the bonnet crumpled wildly on account of having smashed into the front right side of the kidnapper's SUV. He sees Jason looking at the destruction, and just smiles like a madman. "Don't worry, I put it in the backseat."

"Baby," Jason says, shudders racing after each other up-down his back as he thinks distantly of defiled second-hand mattresses, "I think we got better plans for the backseat than that.

#whale writing #brujay #can u believe it #writing cool!bruce is actually a thing i can actually do and actually enjoy #writing these fuckin losers is a great act of self-care if i really think about it #whale replies #hope u enjoy this anon!

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thatsbelievable · 6 months

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#Conversations I Have Had With Edgar Allan Poe #Edgar Allan Poe #writer #writers #writing #author #authors #literature #books #poetry #poems #The Bells #Herman Melville #Moby Dick #whales #sailing #Oh Edgar

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calmparticles · 4 months

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?Want a break from the ads? If you tap now to watch a short video you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! Yes, really! If you tap now you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! So what are you waiting for? I'm still waiting.. Why aren't you tapping? Don't you want 30 minutes of ad free music? If you tap now and watch the short video you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! It's that easy! If you want to be free from the ads forever considerIf it doesn't work for you, then you're using it wrong. Make sure you're using EVERY single filter. If you are currently, then de-select them and make sure they're updated and re-enable them. IT WILL WORK. There's no "it won't work" when you do this. It's either a 1 or a 0. Either a yes or no. Either a "it will work" or an "I am not using the adblocker correctly".

#hi!!! not dead!!! i've just had the most creative block ever DKFBNDF/#here's some poppup whale/dolphin variations for anon! thank u sm vacc anon for the req and kind words - hope u doing good!!/#all of u asks have been so sweet. bless u! <3/#poppup #deltarune #myart #and a teeny tiny ambyu. 2 small for the tag. teeny/#i'm very rusty at art-ing rn - if anyone has any reqs i would love to draw some! i still got lot's 2 go thru too tho <3/#also i finally went back n edited all my image ids into the images themselves - i'll still reblog ids over @ calmparticles-id/#cause 4000 characters will never b enough 4 me DKFJBDF i cannot write short ids 2 save my life or u eyes/#anyways that's enough tags for now!/

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peachesofteal · 2 months

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Dad!John Price/female reader The Ocean anthology - previous

You haven’t been inside a bar this crowded since you graduated from university.

You settle in the corner, avoiding nearly everyone’s eyes, hands cupped around a chipped glass full to the brim with beer.

You weren’t expecting an island on the brink of a full winter assault to be so… lively.

The room is a party. A party full of people who know one another well enough to call them by first name. There can’t be more than one hundred people living in this town year-round, and you think they might all be inside this dimly light pub, crowded around the waxed cedar bar, laughing and smiling with like they’ve not seen each other in eons. Like they’re long lost, disjointed members of the same family.

Well, all most all of them.

You don’t see the Ranger. The Caribbean blue eyes, brusque moustache and beard, low brim black beanie, all are missing.

Somehow, it doesn’t surprise you.

He didn’t seem the socializing type.

Still…

You hadn’t expected such a… clipped welcome.

And you surely hadn’t expected your ferry buddy, the spunky six-year-old girl who talked to you for most of the ride, to be his daughter.

Somehow, that made his cold, distant nature even worse.

Here’s a man capable of warmth; his smile said, when he scooped his daughter into his arms. Here’s someone you can trust. Someone who is friendly, genuine.

Just not towards you. He was stiff, uncomfortable, and even though the drive to town was fairly short, he barely spoke to you, answering your questions with the shortest syllables possible.

He was every bit the Ranger you had heard so little about. Every bit the man turned myth.

And handsome. Rugged.

Older.

Your new friend in the backseat was better company than the man you’d be working with for better part of a year, the Ranger who you’re afraid you can’t do it without. Can’t navigate the island or the tides without him, can’t do half the work you needed to do without a partner. The thing his role is supposed to be, when needed.

Worse was, the provided housing is a duplex, and he’s on the other side, a fact he gritted through his teeth this afternoon when he dropped you off, gesturing to the right side of the house with a callous wave. His front door was as green as the forest.

The other was black.

Your boss did warn you.

She was tactful, cautious. The island itself carries a reputation; one some may be intimated by, but not you.

Who are you to fear stewards of the land? They are more akin to you than others, after all.

John though, she lamented with a mournful expression, John was different.

“John is less than pleased about this placement but assures me it won’t be an issue.”

“Less than pleased?”

“He’s… protective, but he’ll warm up to you in time, I’m sure. A few days, and he’ll be showing you the ropes. Don’t worry.”

You keep your nose in your beer. When you’re finished, the next one comes immediately, without prompting, and the bartender swoops low, voice heavy in your ear.

“On the house.” He winks, and the woman to your left slides closer, curiosity wet on her lips between her drink and the question you know is coming.

“You’re the scientist?”

“No, the marine biologist. Cetologist, to be specific.” You cut to the quick and she stares at you, rightfully so. You have the good grace to grimace. “Er, sorry. I’m uh… not great with people.”

“That’s alright. Neither are we, really.” She lifts her drink with a cheers, gesturing to the room, and knocks it back. “So, what’s a cetologist?”

“I study whales.” She nods knowingly.

“Ah. You’re here for the pod.”

“Well, I’m interested in the humpbacks too, but yes. I’m mostly here to study the residents.” You were only here to study the pod, but you never said no to a whale, no matter notoriety, or size. You might be getting paid to study the residents, but you were going to soak up every second you could on this island. It’s wilderness was protected and almost pristine, an untamed landscape of mountain and sea too great of a call for you to resist.

The woman stares at you, intrigued, thin veil of amusement dancing in her eyes. “We’re happy to have you. You respect us, we’ll respect you.” The bartender pauses, shining a glass with a hole pocked rag, and glares at her. “Most of us will. Can’t say how John’ll take to ya.”

“Oh, I work on my own mostly.” You lie, giving her a fake smile that feels awful, and she humphs.

“Well, it was nice to meet you…” she flounders, and you provide your name, letting it settle in the air, others turning to give you a questioning look, like they’ve been waiting for it too, and she grins, repeating it with a handshake. “Skip the shortcuts through the forest at night.” She adds over her shoulder, hopping off the stool and wading into the crowd without another word, leaving you confused.

Skip the… skip the what?

“Ignore her.” The bartender hastily reassures you, but the emotion doesn’t touch his eyes, lingering gazes in the room enough to have you swallowing the rest of your beer in haste and beelining out the door.

The walk to your rental is short, up the street and take a left, then another, until you reach the only house at the top of the hill, a duplex with a sweeping, wide planked front porch.

The top step creaks beneath your weight. An ember glows in the dark.

“Jesus chr-“ Your heart slams against your ribs, pulse thundering between your ears.

He’s silent. The cigar illuminates his face, a flicker of brilliant blue, crystal clear and piercing, pinned onto you like a laser.

“It’s late.” It’s the admonishment of a father, and indignant rage flourishes down your spine.

“I’m an adult, thanks.” He’s unmoved by your spite. Settled like the cedars that grow at the heart of this place, tall enough to blot out the sun, wide enough to build houses, boats.

He pulls. The orange cinder burns red, honeyed smoke and mahogany sweetening the air.

The smoking is attractive. It's intriguing, dangerous, and draws you closer, other foot coming to rest on the top step, tempting fate.

"You shouldn't be out around here late."

"The entire town is down at the bar." You shoot back, still rising in anger, rattling with it. You’re a grown woman, who is this guy to tell you what you can and can’t do?

His jaw flexes, mouth tightening into a straight line, invisible string pulling him taut before he speaks again.

"They live here, know their way around. It's not always safe." The protest builds, words coming quick, rapid-fire, but before you can speak, you lose your voice to a chorus of howls.

Wolves.

#peaches writes #john price #john price x reader #this is mostly just vibes #and whales

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naffeclipse · 6 months

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What would the photographer and Eclipse's dynamic be like if they WERE a humpback whale? 👀

A humpback whale siren and an orca siren do not mix—natural enemies and very antagonizing towards each other.

You've stolen food from the lone orca siren simply because you could. He snarled but you had your pod with you—you were safe from his gnashing teeth.

He returns the favor during the off chances you break off from your pod for but a moment of peace and quiet and a little snacking, but then he's there and your food is gone and you're furious. He's already flipping away before your pod rushes to your side, worried for safety. He only seems to target you out of all the other sirens in your pod. It's a bit of an obsession, but you survive his jabs as well as he endures your strikes.

It goes back and forth, always. One of you is pissing off the other in some form or another. It would be fun if you weren't deadly opponents, not that you have the teeth or claws he possesses, but your large size keeps you relatively safe.

Until it's the very reason you're in danger.

It's nothing short of a freak accident. The storm, the wave, and the ice align just right, and you are too close to the surface when you know to take cover instead of taking a breath.

The power of the angry, storming waters sweeps you onto frozen solid land. You're breached. You do your best to drag yourself but your tail is heavy and your arms are built for swimming, not this. This... this is bad.

You're stuck for hours, then a day, then a night. In your wavering vision, you think you catch two glowing orbs in the distance, floating above the water you so desperately long to reach but can't. You wishto sing a mourning song. You don't have the energy.

Then you hear him. The orca siren. You groan and peer out, sprawled out on your stomach and trying to rest on your arms while your tail lies useless on the ice. He's out there, out of reach, but he's calling your name. You can't bear the thought of him taunting you as you struggle to keep your eyes open. While he makes a few stinging observations of your current situation, you heave a breath and simply wait for him to grow bored with tormenting you and leave you to your fate. That's all that can be done now...

He disappears. You're stung that he left that quickly. You thought your antagonizing was something special—a joke you can't get yourself to waste a breath chuckling at.

He must see the signs as well as you.

But distantly, you hear cracking. Ice. It splinters somewhere close beside you, muffled by layers and layers of frozen floor and dark water far below. It's a dream, you decide. A hopeful delusion. The shattering ice grows louder and then there are hands and they grab you and you feel safe. With great strength, the hands haul your sorry carcass down into blissful darkness where the water touches your skin and tail. You know that voice. It surrounds you, engulfs you. Arms hold you close, and even tighter when you slip away into unconsciousness.

And you thought you two were enemies.

#sorry went ham all over this because the thought of a humpback while siren y/n is mwah #apex polarity #orca!eclipse #humpback whale!reader #naff writing

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bizarrelittlemew · 5 months

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favorite quotes from this interview with writer Jes Tom (wrote S2E7 with Natalie Torres)

#we've been writing about coconut oil all this time when whale blubber was right there aksjdhjsk #“they keep running out of it because people keep using it as lube” i would love to hear stede bitch about this like with the oranges #also “these characters are gay. they're openly gay. they're being really gay. all the time. in public” new fav quote #ofmd #ofmd s2 #interview #jes tom #our flag means death

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shikai-the-storyteller · 3 months

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I've been thinking a lot about Leonarda's not-death ever since it happened back in April.

("What death?" you might ask, to which I say: "EXACTLY!")

Back in mid-April, Vegetta and Leonarda were mining together in a one-block wide tunnel. A mob (a Petriman) got between the two of them, and Vegetta told Leonarda to step back while he took care of it. At this point, they'd spent enough time together that he trusted Leo to listen to him.

Instead, she was killed by the same sweeping edge bug that killed her siblings.

Vegetta's reaction here is what's really interesting to me. Unlike most other parents on the Island, there are no shouts or tears – only a very brief "Hmm" and then silence. He very quietly takes stock of the situation, saying "Vegetta, no" and wondering aloud why Leo didn't defend herself. In chat, Foolish says "It was a bug, right? LAG" to which Vegetta slowly responds "Yes, lag. Bug." (Despite this, Foolish still asks "WHAT HAPPENED" in chat, though Vegetta doesn't reply).

Instead, he creates a slightly wider space in the tunnel where Leo's body is. He continues quietly taking stock of the situation, wondering why Leo didn't defend herself (which is what necessitated his intervention). She'd been lagging a lot that day, and he figures that must be the cause, and eventually when Leo re-appears out of thin air in the middle of the cave and collects her stuff, she confirms that the lag got to her and that's why she didn't fight the mob.

Now here's where things get interesting:

Vegetta checks the tab list. Online, it's just him, Leonarda, Roier, and Foolish. He quietly tells Leonarda "The body has already disappeared, and without a body, there is no crime. Nothing is happening. Did you die?" Leo shakes her head, and Vegetta shakes his head too, and in the kind voice he uses sometimes with Leo, he says: "I believe you have not died. Where is the body? It isn't anywhere, no mija. If it was a mistake, it was a mistake."

Leo says: "I saw Diosito (God) pa, and I was scared. God, what am I doing here?" and Vegetta laughs, telling her it's alright. Leo says "No pasa nada (don't worry / nothing happened)" and Vegetta says: "And the people who are watching us have not seen it either." To Foolish and Roier, he messages: "Secreto."

And the funniest thing about this is it worked.

Not a single person spoke about it. I saw this entire event go down live and I didn't see a WHISPER of what transpired among fans. I can't even remember if the QSMP official accounts talked about it (they sure didn't mention it in Vegetta's recap of the day). We could discuss this in meta terms of course– Leo was having known lag issues that day, Vegetta's beloved by the admins so of course they're willing to turn a blind eye rather than slap a "?" over Leonarda's life on the Eggstatistics, but meta talk isn't what I'm interested in here.

I'm interested in q!Vegetta, the weird "god-adjacent" aura he's got, and the way the universe bends to his will.

Before he took a break from the server, Rubius seemed to be a caretaker for the Eggs who died (for example, he was present when Maxo, Quackity, and Mariana & Slime said their final goodbyes to Trumpet, Tilin, and JuanaFlippa). Because of his role as an "angel" and some of his dialogue during the early days of the server, it's not a stretch to say he probably came to collect any Egg who lost a life. I can imagine he did the same when he saw Leonarda die – that is, until Vegetta said "And the people who are watching us have not seen it either." Realistically, we know Vegetta was saying this to Chat (and possibly the admins as well), but again, we're looking at this from an "in-universe" perspective.

I wonder if Vegetta was aware of Rubius' role, and this was his way of telling Rubius "No. I won't allow that to happen." We know Rubius has a soft-spot for Vegetta (and we also know that Rubius was cast out of heaven several months later) so it makes me wonder if these two instances are connected.

Either way, this isn't the first time the laws of the QSMP universe have bent for Vegetta, and I certainly don't think it'll be the last.

Rubius or no, Leo didn't die that day.

Vegetta made sure of it.

#i talk #QSMP talk #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #I FOUND IT #I wrote this post TWO MONTHS AGO #MAYBE LONGER!!!#I had clips and links prepared but I have no idea where those went #I'm not gonna bother saving this as a draft and risk losing it again #I have nearly 70000 drafts on my main blog but by some miracle this got saved in my art blogs' drafts instead #than the stars #Anyways. Leo was killed by a whale a few days later because Foolish was in the bathroom lmao #''powerful god-adjacent man who bends the laws of the universe'' vs. ''man whose entire life is a series of sitcom episodes''#I still really want to write out that ''QSMP genre'' thought I had ages ago. It's still relevant and always will be relevant #but anyways #I wrote this months ago on very little sleep but DANG. It's a banger.#I miss writing analysis stuff I wish I was in a headspace where I could do this more like I used to #QSMP analysis

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history-source-he-affect · 15 days

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#sims 2 #pierce the veil #colby brock #plus size fashion #obey me mammon #whale #lance reddick #nicki minaj #remix #tartaglia #novel writing #amy adams

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muirmarie · 4 months

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spock coming back to life in st iii immediately triggers his pon farr bc everything is out-of-whack, and whomst would he possibly be considered bonded to besides the person he literally entrusted his katra to?? they're on vulcan for three months before they head back to earth and start searching for those whales.

st iv is a perfect movie and cannot be improved upon at all but it COULD be funnier if spock and mccoy had banged for like a week right after they shoved spock's katra back in his body, neither of them were fully in their right minds, and then they simply didn't talk about it again. mccoy isn't even sure if spock remembers??? that's part of what he's trying to figure out when they're talking together in st iv??? spock do you remember our seven days in heaven?????

meanwhile spock has spent the entire movie fully unaware of mccoys mental gymnastics, and reasonably assumes they're now together.

the end of the movie, right after the trial, spock turns around and kisses mccoy in front of god, starfleet command, and everyone. mccoy goes a shade of red spock genuinely did not know humans could go. it is.....charming.

#star trek #star trek tos #leonard mccoy #spock #the one with the whales #st iv #st:tos #spones #writing ref

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appendingfic · 9 months

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Read someone suggest Moby Dick is cosmic horror and it FRAMED it that way I think, that Moby Dick is an unknowable force of nature or God or some Niskayuna demiurge. But it’s wild that Ishmael frames Moby Dick in the same manner Lovecraft might unknowable entities from the stars, but nothing about Moby Dick is ineffable.

It’s a whale. It’s a whale who doesn’t want to die and has gotten very good at not getting killed. Nothing it really does is out of character for a large mammal who is fighting back against predators.

The horror in Moby Dick is not the whale. It’s the monomania of men who adhere some cosmic significance to events that fall outside their willingness to understand. Men who refuse to accept “chance” and “nature” as explanations for their circumstances.

So it is cosmic horror in a way, and perhaps a really interesting aspect of it, because it is about the “descent into madness” that is usually just a framing device.

#moby dick #whale weekly #horror writing

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cawcawmutterficker · 1 year

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inej is such a fascinating character because in any other crow's pov she's so austere and cool. very practical and to the point and she delivers the facts, let them be good or unfavourable, ruthlessly. you can see clearly why she would be a perfect partner to kaz, why people are intimidated by her despite her small stature. and when you're in her pov, she's constantly worrying about someone, keeping her hope and humaneness alive, trying to carve out some semblance of humanity from kaz, empathising with nina and jesper and just so full of care and thoughtfulness toward her companions. like kaz, she doesn't really trust anyone, but contrary to kaz, she wants to. she wants to trust and wants to believe and that is why she is such a powerful beacon of hope in the midst of the barrel filth. she serves as a reminder to kaz that you can choose differently. horrible things can happen to you but you don't have to become the monster to overcome your trauma

#this ran longer than i intended #oh whale #this is my little journal and i write here any shit i please #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #six of crows #soc

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cetaceans-pls · 21 days

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Hit Me With Your Best Short

happy birthday to @setsailslash, who got me into this (bat) hole and every day helps me dig it deeper. hope u got SO much good food to eat babe c:

jaybru, age regression, established relationship

-🚸-

Jason's pretty used to all types of things, but this one's a doozy. Villain-of-the-week this week's a frazzled-looking woman who keeps flipping between, uhm, Welsh, and shouting about de-throning Circe while she shoots lightning out her hands. Luckily, Gotham's Hot Swamp Summer is in full swing this mid-spring, and between the rocketing temperatures and humidity so full-bodied you're almost under water, the streets are real quiet as she shouts and zaps and, on 3 occasions, summons tigers.

Phew. Jason sends off a quick message to animal control (the genetic diversity introduced by emotionally-unstable magicians bringing endangered species into existence has, somehow, been a boon) and lets off a few potshots. He's trying to corner her into the deadzone between 14th and Bassett, that funny little intersection where magic and mobile data goes to die. Z says it's some strange trick with leylines, coherent magic waves interacting destructively to dampen power, and they'd only found the spot because there's a Mozambican seafood restaurant there that is maybe a little godly, and in her pursuit of a personal record in grilled prawn consumption Z had gotten her nice blouse all prawn'd up and could not prawn down them with just a spell.

Anyways. It's not the time to think about prawns, even if Jason always wants to think about prawns. He's herding sorcerer-lady closer and closer to Cantinho do Aziz, and he knows that once she's on the sidewalk then her power's going to sputter and die out, and he just needs to keep his distance, keep his cool, keep his-

Ah, shit. She's gotten another tiger in (good!), and she's called it right behind him (bad!). He doesn't have much in the way of Options for Escape, with Stripey roaring at him and lady yelling at him, but she's half a step away from losing power and Jason's a quick runner.

"Ah, shit," he says, dropping his gun then dropping his head before bum-rushing the Boss Babe. This is a good plan! Body-tackle her into the no-go zone then knock her out, preferably before he gets zapped and before he gets mauled!

Well. One outta two ain't bad.

-🚸-

When Jason comes to, he's on the cot in the medical bay, and his head is spinning and the floor looks awfully far far away. "Fuck me," he says, and then "Fuck me?" he says again, because that isn't his voice.

"Language, Master Jason," Alfred says, manifesting from the other side of the divider, holding a tray of tea and fried rice in his hands.

"Am I dying?" Jason asks very intently in his terribly high-pitched voice. He Loves fried rice but one of Alfred's very very few weaknesses is an inability to love and be loved by woks, so the only time they get stir-fry is when someone's not doing so hot.

"No," Alfred says, getting him set up. "And as such, this is not my best work. I just presumed you could do with some comfort, given..."

Jason sighs, and flexes his (tiny tiny) hand. "Yeah, given. How old am I, and do we knows how long I'm gonna stay like this? And did we catch the woman that did this?"

Alfred hands over a spoon after he's helped Jason sit up. "Twelve years old, I would say." Not fifteen, he doesn't say, so at least that's one less thing to worry about. "And we have apprehended the sorceress; she's still unconscious, so no help there. And unfortunately, given your condition and the ongoing situation in the 4th circle of hell, it'll be a while yet before we get a magician to come and check on you."

Jason groans. "There goes date night then, unless I'm gonna recover in 2 days." He tucks into his fried rice, and it's hot and a little greasy and kinda spicy and it's not Alfred's best work but it's nevertheless mighty mighty fine. "B handling this okay?"

Alfred inclines his head. "Once we got you home and checked that you were not injured beyond a, ah, temporal displacement, he left to finish clean-up of a little drug bust along Millionaire's Mile. He's handling this better than I've expected, in all honesty."

Jason chugs down his sweet milk tea, licks his lips. "When'd he go and get himself good at responding to stress?" he says, a little glad and a little irritated that Bruce isn't actually right by his side, hunched over looking like his guts are trying to eat him from the inside out.

"When indeed," Alfred says with great sufferance, face calm and eyes definitely not rolling. "He's been wearing a hole into the ground by the computer to avoid hovering. Do go and ease his mind when you can, Master Jason."

Jason rolls his ankles, his shoulders, his neck. Everything well, everything unbroken. He rubs at his chest, through the linen pyjamas that MUST be Damian's because what other child wears linen pyjamas, and notes the marked absence of an autopsy scar.

At least he isn't 15, though it sure is April. It's a miracle that Bruce hasn't run off to space, or come in here to shout at him. "No time like the present, huh."

Even if right now the definitions of both 'time' and 'present' are a little, uh. Uhm.

-🚸-

As expected, Bruce is by the computer, on a call with Superman and Wonder Woman, likely discussing the last apocalypse they averted in preparation for the next one coming in. Superman sees him first, obvious in his smile widening, sees him clear and dear even through the privacy blur Bruce has on, though the darkness of the cave and the limited quality of even the Bat WebCamera.

(Of course Superman isn't limited to regular human senses, of course of course, but Jason has this, hah, sense that Clark has some typa supernatural eye just on him, just for him, because he's the one that Died and Clark's very human in that he grieves and that he's not maybe too good at grieving, and Clark's very not because some nights when Jason's riding awful close to an edge he'll Feel that he's being watched, like a loving Sauron's got his eye on him in a way that goes beyond X-rays and electromagnetism.

It's almost off-putting, but Jason thinks if he can peer through the fifth-dimension unto a child that died then un-died but keeps doing things that could get themselves killed, he'd be all ogling all the time, so it's hard to keep a grudge.)

Superman's face is gently dissolving around the force of Clark's dimples, and Jason grins with his gappy teeth and says "Hi Uncle Clark!"

"Jason," Diana is smiling now too. "My, how you've grown."

It's silly, and she's laughing at her joke and she's laughing at herself, and Jason can't help but laugh too. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." He pauses, clears his throat, because his voice had cracked a little bit and 2/3rds of the Trinity are looking at him so warmly they could melt diamonds, but it's the last third that he's worried about. "I just got up, and I gotta talk to B. Is it okay if I steal him for the night?"

"Of course," Diana says magnanimously. "We will, after all, be seeing you for breakfast."

"Will we now," Bruce says flatly.

"No force on Earth's gonna keep me away from taking young Robin for a joyride 'cross the Eastern Seaboard, B," Clark says, grinning hugely. "If you're interested, that is."

Oh, man. What a flashback to times before. Jason knows he's a cute kid at the moment, mussed hair and big eyed and bare-toed, but he still feels like him, and it's been a while since he as himself had any type of one-on-one time with his (former?) idols. He feels a little wrong-footed, a little like saying 'I'm actually still an adult' and 'where were you when I was young and fresh out the grave', and the spitefulness comes sudden and comes ugly.

Something must show on his face, this soft round one whose muscles he's forgotten, because Clark's dimples smoothen out and it's Superman again, and the eye of Sauron that's on him turns a little cool even if it doesn't turn away. "Plenty of time to discuss this in the morning, so we won't keep you. Speak soon."

Diana frowns a little, before she nods. "Yes, we shall speak soon," she says like it's a blood oath, and then they're both gone, and now it's just Bruce in his BatChair and it's Jason in this body that just barely comes to Bruce's shoulder while he's sat down.

Bruce still hasn't looked at him.

"At least I'm not 15," Jason says at long last.

"That does not make it better," Bruce says, tight-jawed and facing his darkened screen.

"Can't make it worse." Sick of being ignored, sicker still of being yea tall when he used to have the barest height advantage, Jason clambers up on the chair, straddles Bruce's lap and grabs him by the chin as tightly as this child's hand can get. "You look at me when I'm talking to you," he says, voice still too too high to be menacing.

Bruce looks at him, then pointedly looks away. "Did Alfred tell you? I went back out, finished up my work, even after you got brought in like this."

Jason frowns. "Yeah, he did. We both thought that was mighty adult of you, doing the right thing."

"Was it? The right thing?"

Ahhh, there we go. The slightest sliver of eye contact, because say what you will about his obstinacy but once you've earned it, Bruce is so so good at following instruction. Jason snorts, and slides his hand down so it rests gentle gentle on Bruce's neck. "Yeah. I was fine, even if I'm like this, and needs must. Man's got a mission after all, right."

Bruce closes his eyes, and doesn't open them again like they're too too heavy. "You don't think there's something deeply wrong with a person who can look on the unconscious body of their, their, lover son-not-son and make themselves get up and leave? That I made myself decide that the mission is more important? That there's any singular thing would be more important than you?"

Jason usually gets real fed up real quick with Bruce's angst, on account of only one them having been the one beaten to death then exploded then resurrected into a thing of trauma and rage, but... Well. It's April. And dying Sucked Bigly but the whole time through he got to hold on to the truly unshakeable confidence that none of it had been his fault, a 15-year-old dumbass who had wanted so dearly to love so's he would feel all right to be loved in return.

Bruce doesn't get that unbearable clarity of being; the joker did the killing, but Bruce and Jason both know that Bruce has some portion of Jason's blood on his hands. And Jason can say don't mind it and just love me right right now and he gets to mean it because, y'know, it's his own damn blood, but Bruce doesn't have that right. Doesn't get to wash it off, doesn't want to wash it off, and it's his strong point (nobody this damn good at keeping tally of their sins) it's the thing that will kill him (nobody got this much hard hard earned guilt 'round their neck).

Jason presses his thumbnail against Bruce's jugular, and the reach of his fingers looks nonsensical next to the bulk of Bruce's neck, but still the man's breath stutters in response to this thing they've carefully carefully built between them. "First off, babe, I've never once said there wasn't something wrong with you. There's so much that's deeply, intractably wrong with you. You are not regular, you are not normal. None of us expect you to behave the way a regular well-adjusted person should be."

Bruce just grunts, lashes still lowered, demure and gray around the edges, stuffed up with regret and an inability to ease up.

"Secondly, I wasn't bleeding out with a bomb ticking down when you left. I was fine and healthy and whole, in warm jammies in a comfortable bed, and you rightly figured that you could leave me in Alfie's hands while you went and got shit done. When you gotta run for me, you do. Sometimes you don't make it," Jason says, tugging Bruce's hand and resting it on his chest, where a massive scar doesn't rest, "but you're always at least trying. Got plenty for you to beat yourself up over, don't need to be making shit up to add extra."

Bruce finally does look at him, full-on heavy-browed eye-contact. "Glad that you think I'm finally acting like a somewhat reasonable adult." His grip tightens over Jason's shirt. "I don't feel terribly reasonable at the moment. I look at you like this and there's a countdown in my head."

Jason grins, and it's not cute because this isn't a cute conversation. "Well, at worst you got 3 years to figure out how to get better, Bruce." He leans in closer, nuzzles their cheeks together. "I take it you're not a fan of me in this form."

Bruce carefully, tenderly nuzzles back. It's probably not unlike those Cute Animal videos, a panther kowtowing to a bossy tabby cat. "I like the one that came back the best," Bruce says in a quiet murmur. "The you that got to grow up and stayed good and kind despite all of the universe's efforts to the contrary." He chuffs a laugh. "Can't say it didn't feel good to be pursued by the Jason of the present, either. Unfortunately for you, seems like I like my men built solid enough to kill me."

Jason play-snarls, pretends to try and choke Bruce out. "You're such an asshole. Go back to being tormented 'bout how you've failed me, go on. At least you're cute and you're quiet when you're brooding."

Bruce nods along sagely. "Plenty of time yet in the rest of this month for me to put a good brood in. And one more thing, Jason. One more, ah, show of feelings felt."

Jason blinks, a little lost. "The hell are you on about?"

"If this doesn't work, we will not talk about it," Bruce says sternly, before ducking down to kiss Jason very lightly, very sweetly on the lips.

Oh, man, thinks Jason. This exact scenario has played in almost this exact same body, hey. Wait, what did Bruce mean, about feelings-

The combined mass and sudden force of Jason's rapid return to form is enough to destroy the axle of even the BatChair, and they go tumbling down. Damian's pyjamas are tattered beyond repair, torn even further when Jason reaches 'round to cushion Bruce's head before they hit rock(!) bottom(!), and he's Hulked out of his clothes with Bruce in an awkward embrace while a broken chair stabs him in the ass, and all he can see is Bruce's stupid smug face, all he can feel is a rough calloused hand on his autopsy scar, and all he can think of is true love's kiss ass bastard-

God. You can't say they're normal, but you sure can say that when push comes to shove, they sure as shit don't miss.

A/N: ah shit it was supposed to be a little spicy-horny but then it got real depressing but nevertheless kuro hope u enjoyed this!! i think a lot about how conceptually dying isnt worse than being the cause of death!!

#whale writing #jaybru #happy birthday kuro!!#squeaks in just uhhhh after the stroke of midnight #wrote this in one sitting but i did give it a quick lookover #i think i will expand on this more when i prep it for ao3!!#im fr sooooo obsessed w the concept 'who has it worse between the victim and the survivor' and who else does it like brujay!!

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