chainsxwsmile
Why Trust a Shark, Right?
◣Indie roleplay blog for Bruce from Finding Nemo ◣Selective & Private (Mutuals-only) ◣ Multiple Verses Available ◣Mun/Muse 20+ ◣High-activity ◣Literate artist with 10+ years RP experience ◣READ RULES BEFORE INTERACTING! ◣Follows back with Chainsxwsmile-Personal ◣Tag: chainsxwsmile ◣
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// Sorry, again for not being active here! I’m hoping to get my fanfiction finished before I start on tumblr again! I’m trying to publish at least one chapter every week. Hopefully, I’ll get it done before the end of May at the latest.
Thank you for everyone being so patient!
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(requested piece from over on insta)
the boys soon-to-realize that "going vego", is functionally, not exactly their best idea for a fish-free alternative...
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“I’m not gonna hurt ya!”
A reply to @macrolago ‘s adorable story with baby Perry the bilby meeting Bruce the Cetus (as a pup)! Highly recommend giving this wonderful artist a follow! ❤️🦈
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Bruce's jaw clenched in self-restraint and his mouth drew tightly into a thin line. Already regrets of offering his services flooded his head... but he gave his word, didn't he? After a very very long sigh, Bruce chose his words carefully.
"As your designated protector, I'd assume one of my duties would be to warn you of potential dangers before they occur," the Troll answered as his voice lowered to something of rumbling growl, and he was completely unable to hide the frustrated wrinkle on his snout. "Regardless of my ability to aptly deal with them."
Trolls and self-restraint were seldom two words found together in the same sentence. At least, according to most rumors and reputations. But lest Bruce prove himself to be anything but a walking stereotype, restraint was a necessity. Dignity, be damned. So he trudged on ahead, avoiding eye contact with Kitty but keeping with her pace.
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Bruce's body went rigid, bracing for any immediate attack as the crowd closed around them. "Look, mate, we're not lookin' for any sorta trouble 'ere," he said, lowering his head but bearing his teeth in his reply.
"And no trouble will you find," the scarred leader replied, looking over Bruce with a dissecting stare. "So long as you adhere to our policies of operation, of course." Despite most of the trolls in the crowd appearing rather dull, the leader spoke with remarkable eloquence... which further concerned Bruce. All evidence pointed to the leader not being so easily thwarted.
If Mambo had hoped to stay hidden, it hadn’t worked out. The sudden appearance of the small feline transformed the troll leader’s bored expression into a maliciously interested one. “We’ve not expected much with pillaging an orchard, but perhaps you might help us out in exchange for your safe leave,” the leader said, a cruel grin spreading across his toothy maw. “Being a troll yourself, I’m sure you’re aware of the practice of toll, are you not?”
Bruce’s black mane bristled, and he felt his hide bump into the chest of another troll stationed immediately behind him. The trolls had surrounded them, from all sides. Not giving Bruce a moment to reply, the leader continued. “In exchange for that scrap of meat on your shoulder, we’ll let you leave here unharmed and unscathed. It’s a remarkably generous deal. That little thing could barely fill one troll’s belly, much less a score of us.”
Mambo tightly clutched Bruce’s back mane in his small purple hands as the troll started off, one hand holding his makeshift hat/apple sack closed from the opening against the side of his large companion’s neck. Their start was halted before it had begun by a group of trolls facing them. Mambo wasted no time in burying his face against Bruce’s neck mane in terror, his ears flattening against the side of his head in the manner they always did when the cat/fennec creature was frightened.
Cowering behind the friend twice his size against others of his species equally as large with some being larger was Mambo’s only instinct in such a situation-never mind one troll, this was a cluster of them! It wasn’t until after one of them spoke that Mambo began lifting one pointed triangular ear up to catch what the troll had said in the hopes of hearing anything that would indicate they were friends as opposed to foes.
The troll’s words indicated neither.
Mambo gingerly lifted his head up from Bruce’s back to slowly peak over the top of the troll’s head at the opposing trolls in front of them. He gently tugged at his friend’s mane.
'Say, big guy? I’m not so good at the small talk with monstrous scary looking guys stuff. Want to ask em what they want with us? Or better yet, run for our lives before I become an appetizer?’
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// who the fuck is calling my boy evil?!
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// Sorry I’ve been MIA over here. The recent trailer for Monsters at Work dropped and my previous Monsters University hyperfixation has taken me by storm. I also remade my MU OC and her lore over on my personal @chainsxwsmile-personal. Hoping to get some drafts done this weekend!
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hard to say no to that speck @chainsxwsmile
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"I've 'eard, but only bits and pieces from Dory. Marlin... doesn't tend to get into that part very often," the shark explained. Who could blame the clownfish? The very notion of a giant squid made the shark grimace openly. "Blimey-- wouldn't wanna get into a tussle with that sort'a beastie," Bruce said with a deep frown. Only sperm whales were known to take down such giant creatures: and even then, the toothed whales wore a plethora of scars from each battle. And not every battle necessarily ended in the sperm whale's favor.
"Ye don't 'ave to worry 'bout the structural integrity of this beaut," the great white said with a flashed grin. "She's been standin' for plenty 'f years. What 'asn't fallen apart yet doesn't seem to be goin' anywhere." Which was fairly true. Any soft materials like wood or fabric had long degraded since the metal hull had first sunken beneath the waves. Thinner metal sheets with less support sported sizable holes and wounds, obvious to their flimsy and decrepit nature. But any load-bearing walls held firm and fast, with the current barely eliciting a gentle groan of the ship's body.
"Just follow right b'hind me. I've been visitin' this place for years, and nothin' beyond the occasional new barnacle is anythin' new." The great white glided into the ship's shadow and beneath the deck. The entire ship had landed belly-up and the deck offered a safe, open area illuminated by the surrounding waters.
"Would ye wanna rest first, or get started on that net?"
A fin lightly touched Bruce's in a, hopefully, comforting gesture, “You’re very kind. I appreciate that about you.”
And especially so because he’d certainly known of sharks who very much weren’t, but Bailey felt he knew better than to mention that. Least of all today. And thus he left the simple sentiment and accompanying gesture as was, to ideally soothe Bruce’s worry, even if just marginally.
Turning his gaze and attention back forward, he slowed to a stop, staring at the massive sunken ship ahead in the near distance.
“Whoa.”
Not that he wasn’t familiar with boats, in a general sense. But, usually, the ones he had encountered before were much smaller. Usually only carrying a few people, perhaps a group of tourists, or a fishing crew on a suitably larger boat.
And of the fewer ships on the enormous side, like this, that he had seen in his life, they had pretty much all still been afloat and operational. He had to admit, they were kinda spooky when they were all broken down and dilapidated on the floor of the ocean.
“It’s not often you run into one of these like this, huh?” Then again, he didn’t know Bruce’s life as well as his own, so he added, “Or I don’t. Just the one time, really.”
And then that thought, in itself, inspired another tangent.
“You know, we were all heading over here from California. It was a freighter, carrying all these huge shipping containers that were everywhere. A giant squid lives there, apparently, which was terrifying.” Catching himself rambling, he shook off the tangent, dismissively concluding, “It was a whole thing. I’m sure you heard. And this is obviously different.”
Bailey tapped his fins together, nervous, looking over at his entangled tail again, then back ahead. “So, now, we just, uh, swim on over and get to it?” he guessed. “Okay. Good, because it definitely looks totally fine down there and not dark and creepy, and potentially dangerous, at all.” He tittered.
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How long had it been since he had scaled the treacherous mountain range to escape the land of shadows? The days merged within Mordor, with no sun in sight to denote the passing of time; ashy clouds and volcanic smoke all but blotted out the sun and the entirety of the sky. But it had been well over a few days, at least, before Bruce saw blue sky for the first time when crossing the Brown Lands.
All his life, he had never known the sky as such a color. Never felt the warmth of the sun on his back. For better or worse, Olog-hai had been bred to resist the sun’s typical effects on Troll-folk. Yet instead of recoiling from the blinding light — once his eyes adjusted, at least— Bruce only felt the warmth.
Warmth, and profound sadness. An ache. Like an empty pit in his chest. As if yearning for a home he hadn’t yet found. Was there such a word?
The Olog hadn’t the desire to count the days away from such a wretched place as Mordor. Even as blue swept across the entirety of the sky, and the roar of Mount Doom ebbed into silence. Even as Bruce trekked beneath his first forest, and felt the elder trees dwarf him and make him feel remarkably small for the first time in his life.
Even between Bruce’s rationing of his commander’s pillaged pantry food and the few times he could scavenge successfully — all the while, mindful to seek out animal carcasses instead of hunting, lest he leave a trail — he was finally starting to run short on food. He hadn’t yet the gall to approach a village; yet with each mile between Bruce and Mordor, he gained deeper confidence that no Orc pack trailed behind him.
With little less than said rations and the clothes on his back, Bruce possessed little items — much less coin— to pay for food. Yet, he resigned himself to the prospect of labor in exchange for any necessary goods. Certainly, it couldn’t be worse than battling for his life in the fighting pits.
Taking a deep breath, Bruce stepped out on a dirt road and followed it West, waiting for another person to come along; if not a job, then perhaps a stranger could offer directions or give Bruce some answers about his current location.
@nightshade-stories
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“I never told you this, but I’m terribly afraid of seals.” - from Mumble!!
Desensitized-- by now, at least-- of the penguin clamoring atop his back, Bruce didn't take his eyes off the sizable pinniped-like shape in the water. "If it makes ye feel any better, I've had some nasty run-ins with elephant seals with I was younger. Can't say I'm too keen to meet up again with one, either."
Now at twenty-feet any sea lion or seal in their right minds would immediately flee upon seeing a great white Bruce's size. But vagrant leopard seals weren't unheard of in the eastern Australian waters...
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// Sorry I haven’t been very active. I do plan to tackle drafts sometime this week!
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"Inside, you feel like someone else
When will you ever find yourself?"
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Age progression of my hobbit OC, Azalea (the fauntling in The Riddle of the Troll: Part 2) Still figuring out her family name.
1) Fauntling— Little Azalea, captivated by the tales and stories from Bilbo ‘Mad Baggins’, fancies herself an adventurer. Her wealthy family heads the textile business in the Shire, but her mother carved the toy sword in some hopes of calming the urge for adventures, which is still most unusual for a hobbit. Baby’s breath and daisies dot her full locks of hair.
2– Young Adult (beginning of LOTR)— A few years older than Frodo Baggins, Azalea spends most of her days with her family business, having stepped up the mantle as overseer in the fabric productions (while also specializing in highly intricate embroidery). When not involved in the daily work, she has managed to catch more than a few eyes from suitors. Vibrant sunflowers are pinned to each bun atop her head.
3. Older Adult (During Scouring of the Shire)— Few good things last forever, and Saruman’s invading armies end all things good. Before Frodo and the band return, Azalea runs hidden messages in her embroidery to other halflings hiding or imprisoned by Saruman’s forces. A hellebore is in her hair— a flower resistant to the bitter cold.
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Weekly Update (03-04-2024): Threads in drafts (as of 12:40am EST):
@macrolago (5x)
@houseflyy
Once again, if I have not answered your thread or you’re not listed here, I might have missed it! Feel free to IM if you want to continue!
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// No art or writing today in respect for the March 2nd strike for Palestine!
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Shark!Finding Nemo (where the fish are sharks and sharks are fish!), this time ft. Bruce, this time as a Queensland Grouper which reach over eight feet long! These guys prey on just about anything that fits in their mouths, including sharks!
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