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@chainsxwsmile
Indie selective / multiverse roleplay sideblog for Bruce (Finding Nemo) written by Margo
The lovable guy with the chainsaw smile is Bruce. This toothy giant may seem like a mighty terror... but looks can be deceiving
◣Please read rules before interacting ◣Multiple verses available! ◣Follows back via @chainsxwsmile-personal
Mobile rules + available verses under cut:
THE AIR WAS POIGNANT, as if recovering from the storm itself. They'd caught the Scarlet Forest in transition; a dewy mist which hung in the air was slowly filing out, and in the distance, Nata swears he hears the sounds of birds chirping.
From above, stray raindrops dripped down between the leaves. A particularly fat one struck the top of his head, prompting Nata to draw his eyes towards the canopy where rays of sunlight were filtering through the foggy curtain. It was beautiful.
At the very least, he could marvel at the scenery from his perch atop Bruce's back. He kept his hands pressed to Bruce's skin, letting the weird, velcro-like feeling keep him steady. Occasionally his thumbs brushed against it, absentmindedly registering the strange texture.
He doesn't even notice the crimson water beginning to pool from a converging stream until Bruce points it out. Nata almost feels tempted to climb down and investigate once more; the red water was as intriguing as it was strange to him, but thankfully, this isn't the first time he's stumbled upon it.
"I don't actually know for sure. Erik said there could be a number of reasons." It was hard to recount every last one, as Erik had a penchant for rambling. But Nata does recall Erik mentioning small organisms called plankton, or possibly sap from the surrounding trees having a hand in it.
At least, any of those sounded better than another potential theory, which suggested that the color was leeched from the loose florets of a wandering Lala Barina . . .
"So long as it's not blood." Perhaps Bruce needn't worry: only a few types of blood triggered a feeding frenzy-- fish and marine mammals being the two most common examples. It certainly also helped that he wasn't swimming in the strange scarlet pools. If it was blood.
The Cetus gave a rumbling hmm in puzzlement. "The coasts of my home would occasionally 'ave these things called red tides. Beautiful color but quite a tragic thing. Deadly algae blooms that suck oxygen outta the water, killin' every livin' creature within it for miles on end. I 'eard swimmin' in it won't really kill humans, but it does make 'em very sick."
Bruce's sight caught a glimpse of the color rising from the ground and into the canopy. Curiously, the Cetus tilted his head.
"Reckon this is algae of some sort?" Bruce asked, pointing with his head towards fine, thinly spun tendrils climbing the trees like vines. Hesitant to touch them, lest they sting like the anemones of his home, Bruce only stared inquisitively at the red, fibrous threads.
You got stuck in your hometown / It's so dramatic how you run from better days / I won't let you bring me down / It isn't my fault that you ran from better days / Are you happy now?
Now it's not too late / To change everything you wanna change / I hope one day you'll say / You don't wanna run from better days
— Better Days, by Yellowcard
It’s been a hard year but I can feel myself slipping out of the smoke: to my immense joy, my parents are thrilled about my success with online art and commissions, I’m opening up more to friends and coworkers, and I’m working through my past with my therapist. Even though the future still seems uncertain, I’m still looking forward ❤️
// Unfortunately, my stalker is back. Inbox is closed for now
The winter air carried a crisp chill with a sharper bite that the more kindly autumn breeze. If Bruce had counted his steps between there and his long, arduous escape from the shadow land, he wondered if he'd sooner run out of numbers before running out of energy. The lands bloomed with far more forests than Mordor-- all of them now leafless in dormancy, save for the sparse stand of evergreens dotting the landscape. His breath billowed out before him as the Olog lumbered forward on all fours, quieter and steadier than a two-legged gait.
The dried meats that Bruce had swiped from his captain's quarters had all but lasted him a few weeks. He could imagine Gunag's fury at not only the Olog's desertion but the lowly pit-fighting Troll pillaging his precious pantry would most certainly salt the wound. Good. The captain deserved far worse a fate than mere inconveniences, but Bruce was left to choose between vengeance or freedom.
He chose the latter.
However, the leather pouches adorning his belt weighed less with each day. He was running low on food and supplies, and heading closer into Elf territory. Not that Bruce had ever met an Elf. If he was honest with himself, Bruce wasn't even sure that he'd recognize an Elf if he did meet one.
The Olog rose his head into the air, and chuffed audibly. Each inhale stung the inside of his nostrils. With such a frigid air, Bruce was shocked if he'd ever catch scent of anything-- wait!
There was something on the breeze. Not an Orc. Not quite a Man. Something drew nearer. Self-preservation be damned, the Olog couldn't help but feel a bit curious about just who traveled the forest nearby.
@multipleoccupancy, for Bilbo
The journey back from Erebor brought a mix of feelings with it, while he was pleased that his friends had returned home and he had all the more friends after the battle, the ache of losing Thorin, Fili and Kili would linger for some time to come. The way back offered him some comfort in returning to walking, one foot in front of the other. Gandalf had temporarily left his side to tend to matters Bilbo assumed most urgent and the Hobbit thought that walking alone was not so bad after all he had been through but the lonely thoughts after the loss of his friends did make it feel just that bit colder somehow.
Passing under trees and enjoying the dappled shade they provided from the afternoon sun, Bilbo was watching the way some of the leaves moved in the breeze when he heard something that must have been very big, chuff. He'd been foolish to not pay more attention to his surroundings and froze on the spot, moving only his eyes to begin with in an attempt to spot what company he had stumbled into. Off just to his left he spotted something large on all fours, they'd seen each other, surely and Bilbo debated with himself what to do, panic said to put on the ring, tiredness told him to wait.
For a good long moment all he did was stare at the other under the trees. He looked like a troll but that wasn't possible in the daylight, was it? Or maybe it was, he was no expert. Bilbo's heart raced and yet he had spoken to trolls before, they were not reasonable from his experience but this one, troll or not, did not seem to be in a hurry to cook him yet.
"Good afternoon," Bilbo offered out after a moment of uncertainty, a nervousness causing him to swallow and his fingers to open and close against his palms while he resisted the urge to put on the ring and waited to see if the large being amongst the trees would respond.
The astonishingly polite greeting nearly jarred the massive Olog, and Bruce visibly straightened with mild shock. Logistically, manners weren't typically a high priority amongst Mordorian Orcs, much less those within a regiment camp. Bruce had only ever known one individual to have greeted him kindly; and --for all Bruce knew-- that Easterling scholar, Maliku, his first friend, had been killed. Gunag had made sure to boast as such.
Mordor wasn't a place for manners.
But he wasn't in Mordor, anymore.
Maliku's many nightly lessons flit through Bruce's mind like whispers on the wind: words of wisdom for traveling through the lands to the west. Though, they had planned to escape together...
'Avoid sudden movements, greet the other party with a soft smile, demonstrate that you are not a threat and certainly not some mindless beast.'
So, as stock-still has he could must, Bruce let a grin spread across his lips: a smile of which was unfortunately several inches too wide and several points too sharp. He hadn't exactly many opportunities to practice. And what Bruce meant to be a soft, gentle, disarming greeting rumbled forth with a low, growling, booming voice.
"Hello."
The winter air carried a crisp chill with a sharper bite that the more kindly autumn breeze. If Bruce had counted his steps between there and his long, arduous escape from the shadow land, he wondered if he'd sooner run out of numbers before running out of energy. The lands bloomed with far more forests than Mordor-- all of them now leafless in dormancy, save for the sparse stand of evergreens dotting the landscape. His breath billowed out before him as the Olog lumbered forward on all fours, quieter and steadier than a two-legged gait.
The dried meats that Bruce had swiped from his captain's quarters had all but lasted him a few weeks. He could imagine Gunag's fury at not only the Olog's desertion but the lowly pit-fighting Troll pillaging his precious pantry would most certainly salt the wound. Good. The captain deserved far worse a fate than mere inconveniences, but Bruce was left to choose between vengeance or freedom.
He chose the latter.
However, the leather pouches adorning his belt weighed less with each day. He was running low on food and supplies, and heading closer into Elf territory. Not that Bruce had ever met an Elf. If he was honest with himself, Bruce wasn't even sure that he'd recognize an Elf if he did meet one.
The Olog rose his head into the air, and chuffed audibly. Each inhale stung the inside of his nostrils. With such a frigid air, Bruce was shocked if he'd ever catch scent of anything-- wait!
There was something on the breeze. Not an Orc. Not quite a Man. Something drew nearer. Self-preservation be damned, the Olog couldn't help but feel a bit curious about just who traveled the forest nearby.
@multipleoccupancy, for Bilbo
Thinking about Olog!Bruce again today. How Trolls weren’t so much created as they were taken from a living creature and ‘corrupted’. How Sauron created Olog-hai to be, quite literally in some translations ‘Battle-‘ or ‘War-trolls’. That Bruce’s kind, feral or otherwise, was created for the sole purpose of inflicting harm and waging war.
How does one even live with that knowledge? Even if one abandons their ‘creator’, the intent remains.
How often does Bruce stare at his clawed hands and wonder if they’d be just as capable carrying out good and gentle deeds as they would be brandishing a weapon on the battlefield? If he was recaptured, how many innocent souls would have to suffer at his own claws?
How does one remedy their existence when their sole purpose is destruction?
I haven’t done Finding Nemo humanizations in awhile! Some slight changes to Bruce’s humanization but not much!
// I kid you not, the most pivotal method to get me out of a writing block was unironically reading.
I finally started getting into Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer and Out There Screaming, a horror anthology edited by Jordan Peele. I’m about halfway through each book and writing has never come easier.
As if sensing what Bruce was thinking and also interpreting his body language correctly, Elrond used the opportunity to place a calming hand on one of the offered claws. "It's not you they reject. They reject all life, until they are cleansed and ready to accept the light again." Until Dol Guldur would fall, and this would take a gathering of the White Council which was currently not possible. But since he was on his way to see Thranduil, it served as a reminder that this needed to be discussed again.
"Yes, don't worry." Bruce really mustn't have a lot of experience with Elves so far, or else he'd know that they were all very nimble and light on their feet. They were even able to walk on snow without sinking in. They were practically made to be thrown around.
Elrond stepped between those large claws. They looked very intimidating and he had no doubt that they could crush even boulders. It did cause his heart to beat faster, to put himself at the mercy of someone who could destroy him, but they had to trust each other to find their way out. "Can you hold me around my waist? And then just throw me upwards. I'll grab a branch on my way up."
Not him. All life. Bruce would have been lying if he said that didn’t make him feel a bit better, if only somewhat more concerned about the trees around him— more so than accidentally thumping his head on a low-hanging branch.
Once Elrond stepped into the Troll’s palm, Bruce followed his advice and carefully wrapped a large, clawed hand around Elrond’s midsection. Only once he’d applied a gentle but firm grasp did Bruce rise from his seated position on the forest floor. Anyone unused to being manhandled by such a creature might have experienced a drop in the pit of their stomach as the ground fell away. Fifteen feet seldom made Bruce the largest Troll, but it was no height to sneeze at.
Glancing between the canopy above them both and the Elf in his grasp, Bruce found his mouth pursed into a thin, worried line. “Ah, ‘lright— ready when you are—” was all he could say. If left to Bruce’s indecisiveness at the moment, the Elf would’ve never reached above the canopy.
The possibility of accidentally killing the only company he had in months weighed heavily on his mind.
Mambo laid back, putting his hands behind his head. He gazed at the sky, as if thinking about Bruce’s question. Mambo shrugged.
“Eh, I’ve been here and there, but nothing crazy or wild like other kingdoms or lands-now that would be some adventure. Just the same old boring villages full of commonfolk with nothing remotely interesting goin’ on in there lives and same puny orchards surrounding the kingdom. And I even see enough of it from our crystal ball at hom-” Mambo stopped himself mid sentence before he could give away too much about the scales and their control of the kingdom. “On our map at the tower. Ponies here, maids there, bakers, butchers, cottages, everywhere I’ve been. Boooringggg. Need a bit of excitement in my life, ya know?”
“But given the boss and Munk’s way is the highway, doesn’t look like I’ll be gettin’ that anytime soon.”
The Troll quieted for a moment in thought. “I reckon a vacation’s outta the question?” Bruce inquired. “Not even a trip to the coast?”
If he’d been as small as he had been in his youth, Bruce would have returned to the coastal ports. The markets bustled with travelers and merchants from all lands, transporting and selling their wares from their distant homes. While it was nothing like traveling to said lands, the place held in its air the bated breath of adventure. A stepping off point into the greater unknown.
But who would take a Troll on their ship? Much less now that he’d grown in size.
Given that the curly haired teen wasn't from any part in Indiana or even The States for that matter. The fact remained that it didn't really come as any surprise that he wasn't being searched for; some friends those pen pals were, right? His twin came as no real surprise or offence, after all he was the one to worry about her. What with his habit of wandering anyway.
Though being studied by and studying The Cetus meant that he'd at least survived his own stupidity and foolishness. Near his ears the cassette was still playing, yet thankfully just as his fingers considering hitting the 'stop' button Melvin heard the subtle click as the player turned itself off. Whew, so no unneeded movements then.
Remaining where he stood, ivy green eyes went a touch wide as The Cetus stepped forward and a portion of the teen held his breath. One couldn't blame him after all! Yet another part was wanting to see where this was headed.
"Melvin," he simply replied, realizing the gesture was one of something that resembled goodwill. His left hand was raised in his own greeting, yet paused. "Uhh…would you take offence if I don't shake your claw…? Those look a bit sharp…"
@chainsxwsmile
Beady blue eyes flicked down to his own meat hook talons before settling back on the human — Melvin. The Cetus could feel the itching anxiety in his throat settle and smooth into the rising swell of curiosity. After all, he hadn’t many opportunities to see such a dangerous creature like a human up close— certainly not when they were hellbent on angling or hunting him.
Despite watching them from afar, he’d almost forgotten how almost peaceful they could look— when they so desired peace. Melvin’s movements were slow and calculated, something that a seasoned predator like Bruce picked up on instantly. But not out of the human’s own predatory urges but rather in a placating manner. Which was warranted, perhaps. Bruce had been rather jumpy.
Self-awareness also flooded in tow, and Bruce lowered his claws with the same carefulness. Melvin had been nothing short of kind to the Cetus’ guardedness. “Aye, s’alright,” he answered. The hostility that had once dripped in his voice melted with an audible softness. “Sorry ‘bout givin’ ye quite a scare, mate.”
“I am here!”
Blade and spectral bow sung as Talion gave into pure instinct, his own and the wraith’s, carving a path through the fields of his foes - heedless of death or injury. Bruce’s call alerted him, and he followed the path of his gaze, narrowly avoid a blow that would have cleaved his ear.
“What is it?”
“Assassin!” Bruce shouted amidst the clamor of battle. The best he could do was gesture towards the main tower of the fort wherein the target— the Overlord? an advisor? — lay unaware of the assailant climbing the outer walls and creeping near.
With as much speed as he could muster, Bruce fell to all fours and dashed feverishly towards the direction of the main chamber. Hopefully, the Gravewalker had quicker speed than him.
MULTIPLEOCCUPANCY
Multi-Fandom-Multi-Muse including the following LOTR muses
Bilbo || Elrond || Théoden || Thranduil || Gandalf
Very lore relaxed, no pressure multi para RP across fandoms.
OC and Crossover friendly.
My LOTR muses are not available for shipping.
Please read the rules before interacting and double check the muse list and interaction advice on the pinned post before interacting with the blog. Mun is 30+ in GMT time zone. Long time LOTR nerd, 15+ years of RP experience.
"Reckon we can at least get to know this place a bit more," Bruce suggested, letting his long tail drag behind him as he gestured with his head to the depths of the Scarlet Forest surrounding them. "Even if we're not findin' out 'bout that beastie, we're figurin' out its home. I'd wager that's just 'bout half the battle."
You couldn't outmaneuver a pod of Orcas in the open ocean. You raced to the familiar shallows with rocks, and waves, and sandbars.
"Not to mention it ain't 'lways the big monsters ye've gotta keep ye're eyes peeled for. Back home, we've got li'l box jellies no bigger than a sand-dollar that'll stop ye're heart the minute it stings ye!" Perhaps the last part was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. "Figured we might as well learn 'bout this place t'gether."
IT SOUNDED LIKE WHAT HE HAD DONE WITH ASTRUM UNIT. Initially that was how he had gotten lost and met Bruce in the first place, but its not like Nata actually felt any regrets for that day—at this point, the great cetus had proven himself harmless to the expedition, both his strange conformation and ability to speak piquing the curiosities of the wyverian researchers that had come along on this journey.
When it came to opportunities to learn, Nata took what he could get. Even if they couldn't find any further evidence surrounding the White Wraith, it was at least a chance for him to get away from camp and get fresh air. Thusly, the youth's eyes seem to brighten slightly, wide with appeal.
"Okay."
Whereas Nata had initially hesitated at Bruce's kind gesture when the cetus attempted to console him, he does not hesitate to rise to his feet and mentally prepare to heave himself up onto the other's back.
Unlike the swampy murk and the surging rivers that had flooded paths just days before, the air over the Scarlet Forest had become cool, clean and clear. Dappled sunlight invited them beyond the confines of the Base Camp, a sparkling jungle awaiting.
At Nata’s accord, the Cetus lowered his chest and belly to the wet ground, lifting his forearm as a makeshift step for the boy to ascend onto his back. The texture of Bruce’s skin —smooth one direction and a fine-grained sandpaper with the other— functioned more as a Velcro than the presumed slippery skin of a fish or even porpoise.
Only once the boy settled did the Cetus move forward, at a steady lumbering pace that allowed Nata to take in his surroundings safely perched atop the sea beast’s back.
The air hung thick and heavy as it always did, the moisture leaving the tops of leaves glossy with mist. Smaller critters rustled under the evergreen foliage. Ever since Bruce’s arrival to the tropical ecosystem, he’d have to keep a watchful eye on the roots sprawling the forest floor lest he trip upon the slick, woody growths.
“Reckon it’s normal for water to be that color? I’ve only ever seen water blue or green,” Bruce asked, filling the air as they traveled. The color of the gathering pools of scarlet water had first startled Bruce— thinking of it first as blood. “Wonder what gives it that color.”
@chainsxwsmile [🎪]
Perhaps Bruce, after Starling had been around long enough, would learn to identify when she was approaching by the tak tak tak of claws hitting the floor as she walked. A sound which was very evident now as Starling, after registering his observation, tilted her head and then swiveled her head around, turning a few circles in place. This circling quickly quickly repeated in the opposite direction as she looked over herself. After a moment she came to a stop, facing the shark again, and looked up at him with a grin.
"I guess I do kinda look like a chicken, huh?" She laughed.
Much the same as her human self, Starling wasn't easy to offend, which, in this instance, proved beneficial to her first impression of Bruce. Just the fact that he was friendly was enough for her to like him already. The was no trace of annoyance on avian features. Only a bright smile and raised crest.
"I'm Starling!" She chirped, extending a wing out in friendly greeting.
The breath Bruce didn’t realize he’d been holding exhaled in a sigh of relief, with a deep chuckle in tow. He’d made terrible first impressions before, but had attributed those to simply being a massive great white shark. Not being rude.
“Bruce,” he answered, reaching out a clawed hand of his own. Unsure whether or not Starling’s wing operated more as a sensitive hand than simple feathers, Bruce minded the sharp points of his talons and carefully reined in his own strength at the handshake.
“Are you new ‘ere s’well? Ye’ve got any idea how ye managed to get ‘ere?” For all of Bruce’s blessings in remembering the first starting sound of his name — a hard B — he couldn’t remember much of anything else.
