#I think they’d be a colossal squid | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justarandomsapphic · 1 year

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My Story of Being in a Cult

(TW for religious trauma and emotional abuse, also I need to preface this by saying that my parents did not encourage the church’s abuse- they did what they could and now my whole family is out of it. My parents are wonderful, loving people and they have supported me through recovery)

When I was little, I was always asking questions. I always wanted to know why things worked certain ways, why this did that, why are some things slimy and others rough, “Why does that bird on the road look so limp and squishy?” I’d wonder as my parents would rush to pull me away from the dead bird before I could poke it. I’m not just saying that as a funny joke to start this essay, that happened many times with many dead animals. There’s a picture of me when I was little, holding a fish head with the most overjoyed face. Besides dead things, I also loved learning about live organisms. I’d watch all sorts of nature documentaries. There was this one about the colossal squid. “Aren’t giant squids and colossal squids the same thing?” My friends would ask, confused. “No!” I’d exclaim, “Colossal squid have hooks on their tentacles, giant squid have razor sharp teeth on theirs. Plus, colossal squid are a lot heavier and bigger.” Then I’d proceed to rant about the wonders of the colossal squid and how fascinating it was to me whilst sitting on the grass on the school field in the sweltering heat. Yeah, I was that kid. Don’t even get me started on my cryptid phase. That was an obsession that holds on to this day, like those wristbands they make you wear at the boardwalk. I also loved dinosaurs and other odd prehistoric creatures, like Titanoboa, the largest snake in existence. I could probably write a whole essay on those guys. It’s clear to see that even when I was very small, researching and discovering new things was a big part of my life and culture. However, my life is a puzzle, and it isn’t a simple 500 piece one. The thousands of other hidden bits are about to come into the picture.

To start, my fascination with all things science was limited. It was only of the things that I was permitted to know. You see, I was kinda in a cult. Now, I’m sure many of your minds went straight to Jonestown or Heaven’s Gate. Don’t worry, we didn’t move to South America or talk about UFOs coming to save us from this mortal realm. I think when people think of cults, they think of the worst of the worst, the most extreme cases. Believe me when I tell you, most of the cults that exist in the world would appear normal to an outsider. Even the worst ones seemed innocent at first to the world. I still hesitate to call my old elementary school/church (it was a school on the weekdays and a church on Sundays) a cult. However, after running it through the B.I.T.E. model, I couldn’t ignore that my past community was at the very least, a bit culty. The B.I.T.E. model is designed to determine whether or not something is a cult. B is for behavior control, I is for information control, T is for thought control, and E is for emotion control. My school passed this test with flying colours. I remember how my curiosity somewhat halted in elementary school. I found many things fascinating and I’d investigate them, but my school had poisoned my mind with negative thoughts about evolution and other aspects of science. “It’s just not Christian,” they’d say. “Why would anyone even think that we came from apes!” Being a young, impressionable child, I agreed. I wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of God, right? If I’d even think for a second that God might not exist, I’d feel incredible shame. My parents always encouraged my curious nature, and would listen to my rants about science. My school wasn’t as welcoming though. I remember our science books had Bible verses on every well worn out page. Curiosity and asking questions was looked down upon. Which, as you’ve no doubt discovered, is something I love to do. I thrive on it. The constant emotional pain that questions would cause me just wasn’t worth it though. So, like a plant with no water or sun, I withered.

I remember hearing at Monday chapel (every Monday we’d gather in the church and have the principal do a sermon) one of my teachers talking about teens who stray from God. They said it would start with just wondering if God was real, but it would slowly turn into full on disbelief. As we rose out of the chairs to go back to our classrooms, my little brain was spiraling out of control. What if I turned into one of those kids? What would happen to me if I did? I would think about all that quite a bit. However, my mind would also wander to my friends outside the community. They were wonderful people. I remembered a teacher telling me that “You can’t be friends with someone who’s not Christian. You just will never be able to get along.” When I protested, and brought up friends of mine who didn’t believe in God, she said, “Well, you could try to convert them. Otherwise they’re gonna go to hell, and you don’t want them to go to hell, right?” I was in third grade and I already had the burden of saving people’s souls weighing me down, pushing me into place so I could be more obedient to the church’s rules. Teachers gaslit me, asking if that really happened, you’re just overreacting, stop being so sensitive. I would be shamed for moving around too much, so I stopped. By 4th grade I was at rock bottom, a manipulated shell doing what the church wanted of me. My parents tried to take me to a different school, but each time I’d cry and beg them not to. This community was all I’d known. In my mind, staying was safer. However, this was a K-5th school, after 5th grade, I’d go to a different school. Most of my friends were going to a very strict private school in my area. My parents did not want to take me there, and decided that public school would be a better choice. I was okay with that. I knew a girl who would be at this middle school, so I wouldn’t be alone. My classmates, on the other hand, were horrified. The sheer thought of going to ‘one of those schools’ seemed abhorrent to them. I remember a girl asking me if I was going so I could spread God’s word. “I’ve heard that they put you in detention for praying!” Another classmate whispered to me. Obviously, my new school was nothing like those rumours. I absolutely loved it there. However, I was not aware that what happened at my elementary school was not normal, and I would discover that the hard way.

I’ll start with the smaller things. I remember sitting at our table underneath a huge tree, asking my friends what their favourite thing on the playground was when they were little. “Oh I usually just read,” one of my friends stated. “Oh nice, at my school we weren’t allowed to read during recess,” I brought up, casually. Immediately heads turned towards me and a chorus of “WHAT” echoed throughout our group. I was confused, why was that weird? These differences got bigger and bigger as time went on. I think the most significant one was when our teacher talked about national coming out day. It was in my Leadership class and my teacher was talking about the discrimination LGBTQ+ people face on a daily basis. I was appalled. At my old school, gay was a bad word and now our teacher was talking about this stuff so openly. One thing he said however, started to erode my homophobia. “If someone could control being gay, why would they? If you could choose, you wouldn’t be something that puts you at such a risk of being discriminated against or even killed.” After that I started to do some self evaluation, and I eventually started to support the LGBTQ+ community. Little did I know that in 8th grade, I would realise that I was gay. As you can see, middle school was full of unlearning behavior that had been drilled into me from a young age. However, this was just the beginning.

7th and 8th grade were when realisations started to kick in. I started to understand how horrible my childhood was. I had repressed it because as a little kid, you don’t know how to process mental abuse, you just take it and push it in the back of your mind. You mature faster, you repress the behaviors your abusers don’t like, and you learn that pleasing people is the only way to get out of conflict. In the end, you do anything but acknowledge the pain. This epiphany had me finally letting myself question religion, and soon, I stopped believing in God. Before then, I had always felt ashamed for doubting Christianity, afraid that I was upsetting God. Every time I’d feel this churning nervousness in my stomach, this pain in my chest, as if my body was doing everything I could to save myself from damnation. So, I’d push the questions in my head away. But after actually looking at what my mind was telling me instead of pushing it to the back of my head like a sweater that you keep on trying to stuff into your drawer, I started to wonder what I was so scared of. Believing in humanity rather than a God was so freeing. After leaving Christianity, I started to get back into science. That year, we had our evolution unit and I loved every moment of it. The little kid who ranted about colossal squids crawled out of the corner of my mind that I had pushed her back into for so long. Even heavy shame could not make my curious mind disappear. I felt like I had finally made it through the worst parts, and I was moving on.

However, there are lingering effects, such as self blame for what happened. So I try to tell myself that it wasn’t my fault, it was the adults who should have known better that were at fault. They took away a huge chunk of my childhood that I can’t really get back. I don’t do carefree things, I don’t do stuff on impulse. I wish I did. I really wish I did. It may sound nice to have a more mature state of mind when it comes to certain things, but I’m supposed to be a normal teenager. I’m supposed to make dumb mistakes. I want that so much. However, it’s not all gone, a part of my younger self still lives in me. She’s the one that flinches if you raise your voice, that immediately will try to please you to calm down, the one that freezes up. But she’s also the one that giggles, the one that asks a million questions at once, the one that hugs you so tight you can barely breathe. She’s still here, holding the good and bad things, so holding harsh feelings towards myself for not doing anything only hurts me more, and honestly, I think I’ve been through enough. So, I’ve worked on eroding the self hate, and shifting my perspective on life. Even though these realisations were painful, things have been so much better now. I think the best way to describe it would be to quote Dawn Smith, a cult survivor when she had said: “But I can tell you that even the hardest day of freedom was better than the best day in a cult.” They made me feel like I could be nothing without them. But now I know that’s not true. I hope there is a day where I do something big, something important, and my old community can see how far I’ve come without them.

#religious trauma #ex christian #lesbian #lgbtq #my writing #trauma

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thedarkbluelake · 4 years

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The Clone Sister’s Story Part 10:

Part 10: Poor

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Approaching the door, Cecil Felt Cell standing close

Cecil looked down at her, seeing her shaking out of fear. Before he could say anything, Mella stood in front of the door

“You can’t come in.” Mella stated “If any of their fans saw, they’d come charging demanding entry...” “Granted, Callie did pay me a visit and no fans showed up...” Cecil replied “But thats fine, Cell seems to scared to enter. “S-Sorry..” She said quietly. Cecil placed a hand on her head as she hid more behind him.

Dee knelt down “Camera shy Cell?” He asked “Thats okay, I’m sure Callie and Marie will be more then happy to come out to meet you instead. “What part of “Fans come charging” didn’t you get, Dee?” Mella said annoyed “Lighten up, besides the fans didn’t come when Callie and Marie let their friends in.” “Um, yeah. Because everyone knows their friends, so of course they won’t. Especially when one of Callie’s friends is a colossal squid.. These 3 are complete strangers from the poor part of this city supprised those clothes are clean I’ll be honest” Mella replied.

Mercury looked at Mella “Said the hag with the poor attitude.” Mella turned to face Mercury “What was that!?!? “ “What would you know about us?!?! Cell and I were left to die in some damn prison and nearly died if he didn’t come save us” She pointed to Cecil. “Where the hell were you and mister big heart, huh?!?! Sitting on your asses in a warm place, nothing to worry about. They only reason you both even came here is cause that moron Callie can’t keep her mouth shut!! You don’t get to say about being poor with that cheap ass attitude!!!”

Cecil got between Mella and Mercury. “I know what you wanna do, but don’t...” Before Cell also got infront of Cecil and Mercury. “M-Maybe we should get the song l-latter...She doesn’t want us h-here” Cell commented “Now, Now. Theres no need for that.” Dee stepped in “/Mella go get Callie and Marie, I think the walk will help calm you down.” Mella glared at Mercury. “Control your brat next time, or next time she won’t get off so lucky” She turned and began to walk away. “Alright....” Cecil said then turning to face Mercury, kneeling down

“Fucking bitch....” Mercury said “Thats enough.” “But-” Cecil interupted “I understand you were defending me, but you need to keep that part of yourself under control... “ Cecil placed his hands on her shoulders. “Do you understand?” Mercury teared up slightly “S-sorry” She cried into Cecil catching him off guard.

Dee sighed before walking up to them “Sorry about that, Mella can be a little to upfront.” He knelt down next to Mercury “Hey its okay, please don’t cry.” “Give her some space, okay man.” Cecil said to Dee. “Might be better to go with Mella so I can get Mercury calmed down.” Dee took a moment, before nodding. Getting up and walking towards the door Mella went though.

Cell walked up “Is she okay?” she asked. “Yeah, she just needs to calm down.” Cecil replied slowly reaching up, hugging Mercury as she cried into his shirt soon Cell walked up joining in on the hug.

TO BE CONTINUED

#Cecil #Cell #Mercury #Young #Dee #Mella #the clone sisters #the clone sisters story #Splatoon #Splat2n #Splatoon 2 #My characters #Official Characters

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

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Eight Ways to a Sunny Day

Part Two of OctoBucky and Seahorse-mer Tony. Read Part One Here

Tony stretched luxuriously. He finally had his mate with him. Their home was as safe and secure as they could make it -- there were advantages to having a mate as strong as Bucky. For an octo-mer, he was deficient, having only seven lower arms, and one upper, but for a seahorse, he was amazing.

Bucky could lift incredible loads with his multiple limbs. He could squeeze into tiny gaps --Tony didn’t really like watching that, it was sort of gross, really, but useful -- to get the finest foods. He was fast, so fast. Tony could barely keep track of his unusual mate as Bucky tore around on the ocean floor, gathering materials and collecting food and soft kelps for their bed.

For a creature that was supposed to be solitary, Bucky had mostly adapted to mated life. He was occasionally shy and if he wasn’t thinking about it, he’d shade himself to blend in with the background, giving Tony terrible panic attacks when he would think his mate had left him. And he still hadn't quite adjusted himself to the sheer amount of food a mer-seahorse could eat. Particularly a pregnant one.

“I’m hungry,” Tony mumbled. Not unusual. Tony’s species were grazers, constantly moving (when not pregnant) and eating a bite or two as they went. On a good day, Tony could eat up to forty tiny little meals.

But he was also all entangled with his mate.

When Bucky slept alone, he usually squashed himself into the smallest crevice he could find where he’d fit, and pull a rock in after him. It kept him safe from predators and let him rest. Tony, on the other hand, as a mer-seahorse, slept upright with his tail wrapped firmly around a strand of coral or plankton and tried really hard to look like part of the scenery.

They’d adapted, inside the mate-shelter; Tony slept upright, his tail latched firmly on one of the mate-shelter’s pillars. Bucky slept entangled around Tony, arms wrapped around his mate’s torso and tail, letting him rest his head on Tony’s shoulder. It kept Tony protected and allowed them to be in contact the whole night.

Tony slowly started unlooping Bucky’s arms from around him. Sometimes Bucky would just mutter and curl up against the nearest rock, turning the same brownish shade as the ocean floor. Sometimes he woke up as soon as Tony started shifting.

Tony got himself untangled, patted Bucky’s hair, and let his mate sleep, while Tony went to investigate the idea of breakfast.

Bucky had done something; a human thing, he’d called it. Weaving. Sort of the same thing that the herds did, to make their mate-dwelling, piles of stones to protect the young. Bucky had made tiny little dwellings from sea reeds that he used to keep the krills and shrimp and tiny fish that made up Tony’s diet alive, but contained, until Tony was ready to eat. Baskets were what Bucky called these things. Magic, more like. Tony could see how they worked, and once he’d been shown, he could even manage to make a few crude containers. They were nothing compared to what Bucky made, but the idea… the idea could change everything.

Tony lifted the lid and peered into one of the basket, stomach gurgling. The babies were already up, poking and prodding at him. Annoying little things. Tony loved them already, but sand and tides, he’d be glad to be done with this pregnancy. There were a handful of clams in one basket. Tony stuffed two in his mouth, sighing with satisfaction.

One of Bucky’s arms slid around Tony’s waist. Another fastened onto his shoulder, suckers taking little nibbles. “Morning,” Bucky said, curling up sleepily against Tony’s back. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Tony said.

“You’re always hungry,” Bucky said. Another limb slid around Tony’s throat, the tip caressing his jaw. “It astonishes me that you still fit in the shelter.”

Tony slapped at the arm. “Be nice to me. These are your babies that are making me fat and has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m eating.”

“Mmmm, yes, they are,” Bucky said. He rubbed his hand over the swollen roundness of Tony’s pouch. The babies inside kicked at each other again for a few moments, each one trying to reach their parent through the plating of Tony’s pouch. “They certainly feel like it.”

“All over enthusiastic acrobatics,” Tony groused. He picked up the empty basket. “There aren’t any clams left.”

Bucky prodded inside the basket with another limb (sometimes Tony felt like his mate had a hundred arms, he kept doing stuff with them) and sighed. “You could save me one, before you eat us out of bed and basket.”

(more below the cut, or read on A03)

“I have not eaten the bedding material except once,” Tony protested. That was mostly an accident. He didn’t really like greens, but he’d gotten a bit of a craving and half the plankton was gone before he’d really realized what he was doing.

“Still did it,” Bucky crowed. He swam around in a little loop and ended up sticking to the ceiling, limbs twining around the rocks and holding himself in place. “Can I get a kiss before I go hunting on an empty stomach?”

“Not if you’re going to continue mocking me,” Tony complained. That was totally a lie. Bucky’s kisses were incredible and Tony never wanted to go without them.

Bucky stayed upside down, wrapped an extra limb around Tony’s back and pulled him in. He licked along Tony’s top lip before moving in, tasting and exploring the contours of Tony’s mouth. Bucky threaded his hand through Tony’s hair, pulling his head at an angle, taking greater licks at Tony’s teeth and his soft palate, sucking on his tongue, sliding along Tony’s tongue until Tony was dizzy with it and tried to wrap his tail around something to stay upright. Bucky’s arms enclosed him, until they were drifting in the deep ocean currents, swaying and rocking slowly as Bucky kept one limb stuck to the upper rocks, his entire weight and Tony’s combined held by one fragile-seeming arm.

“Right,” Bucky said, breaking off the kiss with a suddenness that made Tony whine in dismay. “The sooner I hunt, the sooner I’ll be back, the sooner we can both have some breakfast.” He kissed Tony again, quick and warm, grabbed two of the baskets. He made to leave, then darted back, tasting Tony’s lip. “This time, for real.”

And he was gone.

The mate-shelter seemed very empty without him.

The water was good. Clear and a little warm. The currents were bringing in warmer water from the south. Bucky looped the baskets over his shoulder and went hunting. Small succulent clams and other bivalves from the ocean’s floor made quick work.

A crab, fat and irritable, made up Bucky’s breakfast. A few whacks with one long arm, smacking the creature upside a rock, and it didn’t care anymore. He put the shell into the other basket; Tony sometimes liked to make beads and there was a good deal of raw material there.

A small colony of seasnails went into the basket as well. Tony ate more than anything his size should possibly want. Bucky smiled, fond. His mate was demanding, but well worth it. And while demanding, Tony was also easily pleased, heavy with the praise, and generally happy with Bucky’s efforts.

A glissade of cooler water moved over Bucky’s skin and he pressed himself close to the rock, shifting colors, wondering what the change meant.

Bucky squinted into the depths, listening with every bit of concentration. The slow, slush-slush of respiration was his first clue. The bigger the creature, the slower it breathed, the slower its heart beat. An immense amount of water was passing over the creature, whatever it was. The push of water as it moved… it was huge. A whale, maybe?

A slithering drag, and then one of the baskets was ripped off Bucky’s arm, the lash of fibers stinging and leaving bruises on his back.

What in th’ depths was it?

When the feeding tentacle came for the second basket, Bucky shucked it quickly. He could always make more baskets!

The feeding tentacle’s club end was almost the size of Bucky’s torso. Just above the club, the creature wore a white and red striped bracelet, a solid mass of substance.

Ten Rings.

Like the hydra, Ten Rings, the colossal mer-squid was a legend. Bucky had hoped never to see another legend again. Dealing with the hydra, Bucky had escaped the situation short two limbs, and that had put him at a decided disadvantage.

Ten Rings was a ship-killer. Twice the size of a man-going vessel, the huge creature used its enormously strong limbs to pull fishing vessels before the surface. It cracked them like Bucky might smash a crab, eating the men that fell from the wreckage. Ten Rings took his name from the round items it had found aboard the ships, using the pieces of man-tools to adorn its limbs and claim its prizes long after they were nothing more than wreckage on the seafloor.

Bucky crept backward, arms feeling the way. Seeking a crevasse, a narrow gap between the stones. Something. Anything.

Ten Rings was slow, comparatively, but a squid didn’t have to swim fast to catch him. Ten Rings was also huge; Bucky could swim as fast as he wanted, but it would do him no good. Those feeding tentacles would slice through the water like whips, wrapping around him without Ten Rings even moving.

Bucky found a medium-sized rock, something about the same size as his head. He wrapped two arms around it, flung it as hard as he could, and then took off, swimming as fast as he could, in the opposite direction. Hopefully Ten Rings would be distracted, chase the rock, and leave Bucky alone.

He had to hurry, had to get away. Tony needed him. The babies needed him. Bucky kept an eye out while he swam and finally spotted a lovely, perfect gap between two large boulders. He could squeeze in there and wait for everything to be over.

Bucky squished to the crack, felt the press of stone against his chest, the roughness on his fingers.

Ten Rings wasn’t distracted long. The huge squid fluttered through the water, an unnatural disaster that happened to have a heartbeat.

Bucky hated predators. He’d lost everything to the hydra; he wasn’t about to let Ten Rings take what he’d rebuilt.

But what could he do? Ten Rings was huge, it would take an army of octo-mers and more to bring Ten Rings down.

Finally, Ten Rings moved on.

Bucky waited longer, until he was sure the squid was long gone, and not just waiting for a careless octo-mer to show himself.

He cursed the loss of the baskets and the snails; Tony would be hungry and Bucky had nothing for him. There was nothing. Ten Rings had come through for food, and there was nothing left. Bucky cursed. He would swim home, check on Tony. Apologize. And hunt later, when Ten Rings had cleared the area. There was no way to tell how far the squid had gone.

On the way back, Bucky talked himself around; he might not have breakfast, but he had outwitted Ten Rings, and that was a feat to be proud.

The water seemed darker, somehow, as Bucky made his way back to the mate-shelter.

He climbed the side of the reef, arms finding holds and pulling himself up.

Bucky’s smugness washed away like shapes in the sand.

The reason Ten Rings had gone away without turning every rock and reef looking for a mere octo-mer was because the beast had gone after a much tastier morsel.

A pregnant mer-seahorse, close to his spawning, was more vulnerable prey. No need to chase him across the ocean floor. Tony… wasn’t going anywhere.

Tony’s lower back was killing him.

It didn’t seem to matter how much he stretched. He even wrapped his tail low around one of the pillars and reached as high as he could, trying to relieve the pressure on his spine.

Still hurt. Ached, really.

Pulsed. A deep, throbbing sort of pain.

“Oh, scales and shells!” Tony swore. He pressed his hands to the bulge of his pouch. He was going into labor.

Alone.

Because, really, that just seemed his luck.

Tony really could have gone for some breakfast before this; the handful of clams barely sated his hunger. He peeked into the two remaining baskets, just in case something had decided to crawl in on its own. Nope.

He thought about going out, seeing if he could flush out a bit of shrimp or something from the nearby kelp beds. Although one might have thought Bucky would already have stripped them before venturing out further into the ocean to hunt.

Couldn’t hurt, though, could it?

It wasn’t that far, even though Tony was pretty slow. He flexed, pushing himself toward the door. The sway and stretch of his pouch almost dissuaded him from the attempt, but then his stomach growled again. He could do this. After all, he’d built almost half a mate-shelter by himself before Bucky showed up. What was a little swim, just over to the kelps?

He grabbed the basket.

Delicately, Tony swam -- well, floundered, really, but since no one was looking, it didn’t count -- over to the kelp beds.

Oh, krill! The tiny creatures were tasty, even if they were tiny. A handful would barely slake Tony’s hunger, but there were millions of them in a swarm, and they were swarming today. Tony was on his sixth or seventh (or ninth, or tenth, it didn’t count, Bucky wasn’t there to mock him) handful when it suddenly occurred to him to wonder why the krill were swarming south to north. It wasn’t time for them to return to cooler waters.

Only the mouthful that Tony had prevented him from shrieking out a distress cry when the shadow passed over him.

Too bulbous and graceless to be a whale.

Tony lashed his tail around a piece of help and tucked himself inside the greenery, pulling it around him. He pushed his face against it, then peeked around the corner. It wasn’t until the mantle passed directly in front of him that Tony knew what he was looking at.

A squid.

And not just any squid, but a massive creature. Nearly the size of two human fishing trawlers placed end to end, with feeding tentacles that stretched another two times as long. Ideal for plumbing the depths and snaring enough food to keep something that large functional. The tentacles trailed along behind it as the squid explored.

The ocean was often a deep and silent place, but now nothing moved.

Except the babies in Tony’s pouch that didn’t know enough to keep still.

That had no idea what was outside that safe and warm place for them.

Tony pressed his hand against the opening to his pouch.

He spared a moment’s thought for his mate, that Bucky would come and find him. But what in the depths was Bucky supposed to do against a creature this size? There was nothing that could be done except hope that the squid passed him by. That it was sated and lazy and returning home, rather than hunting.

Tony closed his eyes, curling into the plankton reed. A soft touch against his belly forced his eyes open again in shock. A pair of reddish, tentacled arms waved at him from the slit in his pouch.

“Oh, oh, no, baby, no,” Tony said, soft as he could, prodding the arms back into his pouch. Like playing with an eel inside the coral, every time Tony got one questing arm pushed back into place, another two or three would come out. His body was ridding itself of these babies, whether he wished to or not.

“Chum, chum, chum,” Tony swore. What was he supposed to do now? The babies infantile flailing would attract attention. His only hope was to finish his labors and then swim away, drawing the beast’s gaze, get them away from his babies. He couldn’t move very fast; could he possibly lure it far enough away?

And what would happen to his children? Would Bucky think to look for them, or would he be too distraught at the loss of his mate to search?

Tony bit his lip.

One of the babies made its way out, and once it broke free of his pouch, there was no going back. A little girl, her arms clinging around Tony’s wrist like a wiggly little bracelet. She had hair as red as her arms and eyes of grey.

Tony stared down at his daughter. She gnawed at his finger in frustration. Hungry and not even knowing what food was yet. Tony should have been prepared for her.

His gaze dropped to the basket. Of course, Bucky would find the basket, he would know his own craftsmanship.

There were krill in the basket. Tony pressed one into his daughter’s hands and tucked her into the basket. She attacked the little creature, shoving sustenance in her mouth with both hands and an arm while she was at it. Greedy little thing. Tony couldn’t quite help cooing over her. She was adorable.

“Ow!” Tony bit down on his hand, trying to stifle the pained moans as his pouch opened again. He reached, barely caught the spawn trying to escape and swim away, chasing the krills that still lingered in the undersea forest.

Tony blinked. Another girl, but this one had a mer-seahorse tail, with black, curly hair that stuck straight up from her head. She twisted her tail around Tony’s fingers and he absently gave her a few krills, watching her eat, messy and graceless. He’d taken in already fertilized eggs, Bucky’s former mate’s eggs that Bucky had given his seed to. How were any of them anything but octo-mers? Could Bucky have failed to inseminate all the eggs before giving them to Tony to tend?

He pulled the baby closer, holding her against his chest. “All right, little one. Into the basket. Stay with your sister.”

The next two came out together, as alike as two pearls in an oyster. Thick, dark hair, greenish arms, twin octo-mer boys. Tony didn’t have time to cuddle them; the squid was turning around. He pushed them both into the basket. Was that all? Four was a respectable spawning.

Nope. Tony winced, arching his back, trying not to scream.

A fifth baby clawed his way out; this one with reddish arms and a scowl to match his father’s. Tony kissed the baby and placed it in the basket. “Almost done, almost done, everything is --”

Everything was not fine.

Giant. Eyeball.

The size of Tony’s freaking body.

The feeding tentacle was weaving through the kelp forest.

Tony swam. Straight up. As far from the basket as he could get. As fast as he could go.

It wasn’t going to be fast enough.

Bucky hefted one of the cornerstones from the mate-shelter and dropped it on the trailing end of Ten Ring’s feeding tentacle. He smashed the club end onto the ocean floor, pinning the tentacle down.

Ten Rings let out a bellow, vibrating through the water and sending what small fish still remained in the area scattering in a panic.

“Come on, ugly, this way,” Bucky yelled, waving his arms enticingly and trying hard to look utterly delicious.

As soon as Ten Rings turned, Bucky was gone. Scrambling madly across the ocean floor, throwing up as much dirt and rock as he could manage. Making his path easy to follow.

He slid, throwing a cloud of dirt up, then darted to one side.

Just in time. Ten Rings blasted water from its mantle, slamming in front of Bucky before he could think. He grabbed hold of Ten Ring’s skin with his suckered grips, scuttling over the creature and kept on going, forcing Ten Rings into a tight maneuver. Squids were fast; utilizing the same water-siphoning technique that Bucky’s people were famous for. But in tight quarters, Ten Rings was at the disadvantage, unable to change direction nearly as easily.

Bucky skimmed over Ten Rings’ arms, squeezing himself through loops as they attempted to close over him. One sucker bit down on his shoulder, the sharp dentata tearing at his skin. Crimson blood stained the water. Bucky scurried down to the ocean floor, blending and settling into stillness, letting Ten Rings lash at the water, trying to stir him up.

When Ten Rings was looking right at him, Bucky let himself be seen. He shifted, going from I’m-an-inedible-rock to tasty-octopus. Ten Rings’ eye widened then narrowed dangerously. Bucky fled. He squirted a huge cloud of ink, but it hardly deterred the larger predator. Tentacles slashed through the cloud, seeking him out.

Bucky slammed into a boulder, blended to match it, and then scurried around behind it. He let go, the instant the feeding tentacle grabbed it, let Ten Rings draw it back to its beak. Fled further, waving his arms.

Ten Rings flung the rock; its aim was nearly as good as Bucky’s. Bucky slithered to one side and the boulder came down almost where he’d been. Bucky eyed the reef behind him; the drop off there wasn’t as deep as some places, but the bottom was fathoms down. “Come on, come on,” Bucky urged Ten Rings.

As the colossal squid streaked at him, Bucky blended into the boulder again. Ten Rings smashed into the rock, its great mantle pushing and pummeling. Even through the rock, Bucky groaned in pain. The impact was bruising. Not just for Bucky; dark ichor flooded the water as the boulder’s edges ripped at Ten Rings’s supple flesh.

Bucky squeezed as the tentacles wrapped around the rock, sliding between the tentacle and the ring around it from which Ten Rings took its name. With a quick tug, Bucky yanked the ring free.

Now he’d done it!

Ten Rings roared again, infuriated. Those rings were its legacy, its pride. Symbols of its triumph.

Bucky fled again, settling into a depression in the sand, covering the ring with his body, then blended. Just a bit of sea floor here, no need to look any further.

Slithered an arm out and grabbed a twist of seagrasses. It wasn’t going to be his best braiding job ever; he couldn’t even see what he was doing, but he had seven arms, and he could braid quick. Another twist of grass. Kept an eye on Ten Rings, who was scrambling through the boulders and rocks, trying to shake him loose.

He looped the crude rope over the ring, bound it. Skimmed across the ocean floor to another boulder. An outcropping on that one suited his needs. Bucky put his shoulder to the stone and shoved it across the ocean floor toward the reef’s drop-off.

“Faster,” he urged himself. “You can do this.”

Got the stone over to the edge. Tied the ring to the stone.

“Hey, ugly!”

Ten Rings cavitated a bit as it turned. Good. The more disoriented the beast already was, the better.

It saw its ring. Flexed its arms and sent itself into a spin, driving toward him, full speed.

Bucky went over the side. A moment later, Ten Rings slammed into the boulder, arms and tentacles scrambling for its ring. The stone shuttled forward in the dirt, pushed by the force of Ten Rings’ impact.

Bucky watched in satisfaction as the boulder went over the side and into the depths, Ten Rings clinging to it, trying in vain to rip the ring free.

Tony wasn’t ashamed to admit there was a very large part of him that wanted to just lay down on the ocean floor and wait for death. His mate was gone. Their mate-shelter was destroyed. He had six babies (six? That was at least two more than most spawnings, and was a ridiculous number of babies to look after) in a basket strapped to his chest.

He was tired.

He was still hungry.

He was terrified.

The squid had chased after Bucky, but Tony wasn’t certain that it wouldn’t come back. After all, something that big had to eat an awful lot.

But Tony did have six babies.

And he owed it to his mate, and to them, to try.

The basket kept his babies contained, and that was good. It also wasn’t too much different from being pregnant. He was still ungainly and middle-heavy and awkward, but at least he was mostly used to it.

Just get to Rhodey, he thought. Once he was there, some sort of plan… some…

Tony tucked his face against the basket, trying not to wail his grief and anguish.

A shifting in the sands was all the warning Tony had before great arms reached for him.

“Hey gorgeous.”

Bucky.

Yep. That was it. Tony was dead. He clutched one hand over his heart, staggered backward. If the basket hadn’t been hooked over his shoulders, he might have dropped it.

“Woah, woah.” Bucky’s arms went ‘round his waist, behind his neck, under his hips, keeping him upright. “I got you. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got… all of you. Wow.” One arm opened the top of the basket and Bucky drew out one of their children.

The mer-seahorse filly was awkward, bumbling from side to side as she scooted toward her parent, arms stretched out.

“Well, I’ll be hooked,” Bucky said. “Look at her, baby.”

Tony couldn’t help a smile at that. “We did make some very pretty babies.”

“Come on, we need to get to shelter before Ten Rings comes after us again,” Bucky said. Tony shuddered delicately. So, the giant squid had a name? Ug. Somehow that was even worse. Bad enough to be eaten by a predator, but it was worse to devour something that could think… and knowing that it could.

Tony patted Bucky, as if reassuring himself that Bucky was all right. Which he was, give or take a new battlescar or two. “Where are we going?”

“My friend, Steve. His cave is this way; he’ll let us impose for a while,” Bucky said.

An altogether agreeable plan; unlike Rhodey’s mate, Pepper, Steve wouldn’t be overly territorial. Mer-crustaceans were more sociable than their crusty exterior might have indicated. Not to mention, Steve had powerful arms and a hide of solid armor. They’d be in less danger, with such a protector.

Bucky gave his daughter a quick nuzzle and put her back in the basket. “Here, let me carry them, you’ve been doing it long enough.”

“I hate to agree with you, but yes,” Tony said. “And you have more arms to carry with anyway. Which will come in handy, as you’ll need six of them, looking after our brood.”

“Six for them, one for you, which still leaves me one to wave for Steve when we need help.”

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #tisfan #mermaid AU #octobucky #mer-seahorse tony #mpreg #predators #eight arms to hold you #domestic fluff #tending to your mate #ten rings #ten rings is a giant squid

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salvagedmoose · 7 years

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Prompt Drabble #01

I’ve decided to start playing around with some dialogue prompts, and I stumbled across one that fit Squidward to a T. [link] Dedicated to @shirohibiki for helping me develop the confidence to share my writing on tumblr for the first time. There’s absolutely room for improvement, but hey, I need to learn to let go.

Pre-relationship squidbob, rated E10+ for Squidward’s general outlook on life. Includes references to “Hello Bikini Bottom,” an episode that everyone should absolutely watch at least once.

It wasn’t the first and it most likely wouldn’t be the last time Squidward had an existential breakdown regarding his merit as an artist. There was something notable about this particular occurrence, though.

Namely, his two obnoxious neighbors were there.

Now, this wouldn’t have been so odd had he been displaying his talents publicly, but Squidward had simply been practicing his clarinet in the privacy of his art room when when the sponge and star barged in on him.

...Alright, even that wasn’t that odd considering their usual behavior.

But when Spongebob revealed the reason for their intrusion, it plucked right at Squidward’s last nerve.

“Patrick thought you might need some help with your dying animal!”

Squidward had already not been in the best of moods. He’d finally been able to line up a a new exhibition of his work, but, like all things in his life, it had been a colossal failure. Even calling it a flop would have been generous. The reactions from what few people he could convince to come had ranged from apathetic to openly hostile.

Having someone come into his own house and criticize his attempts at creative self-soothing was the last thing he needed right now. Thus, his response to his neighbors’ concern was to break down into sobs.

Spongebob immediately put a comforting hand on Squidward’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s gonna be alright. You’re safe here, you can let out your grief. Losing a pet can be one of the hardest-”

“There’s no dying animal, you barnacle-head!” Squidward’s outburst was immediately followed by more sulking. “The only thing I’m grieving is my future as an artist.”

“Oh, that’s it?” Patrick seemed satisfied with the answer. “Never mind then. Come on, Spongebob.”

Spongebob turned and firmly grasped Patrick’s shoulders, looking him fiercely in the eye. “No, Patrick. Our friend is suffering, and it’s our duty to help him through this tough time.” He turned back to Squidward and smiled gently. “Now why don’t you tell your old buddy Sponge what’s got your tentacles in a twist?”

Squidward scowled bitterly. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe ask the people who walked out on my exhibition!”

Spongebob gasped. “That was this Saturday!? Oh, if I’d known I would have rescheduled Gary’s shots!”

Squidward had actually told Spongebob the wrong date on purpose in order to make sure he didn’t come and screw anything up, but that didn’t seem like information he needed to share now. “It doesn’t matter now! Everyone hates my visual art, and even my music isn’t appreciated!”

“That is not true,” Spongebob stated firmly. “I appreciate your creativity and artistic flair every day of my life, and I’m sure there are plenty of other people who do, too!”

“Yeah,” Patrick added, “they must just live on the other side of the ocean or something!”

Squidward grimaced. “Well I wish they’d show up sometime before I die of old age!” Squidward pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes in an attempt to hold back more tears. “I don’t want to fail just because other people have terrible taste.”

“And you won’t!” Spongebob spoke with every ounce of conviction in his porous body. “We just need to find a way to broaden your appeal until those other people show up. Then you’ll have more fans than ever! Now let’s think; what isn’t marketable about you right now...”

Patrick’s hand shot up immediately. “Oh, I know! Is it his frigid, pretentious demeanor?”

“Hey!” Squidward barked.

“Hm, maybe. It’s a place to start, if nothing else!” Spongebob pointed at Patrick. “Pat, go put on a pot of coffee. This could turn into a long night.”

“Aye aye, Spongebob!” Patrick saluted and ran out of the room.

Squidward turned his offended features to Spongebob. “I never said you could use my kitchen!”

“Don’t worry about it, Squidward, Patrick’s got everything under control.”

A muffled explosion could be heard from the ground floor.

Spongebob tenderly took Squidward’s hands in his. “All you need to focus on is your creative growth. Now, let’s start with Patrick’s idea.”

Squidward defensively pulled back his tentacles. “I am not frigid and pretentious!”

“I know that,” Spongebob placated, “but other people might not! Maybe you could work on that by trying to be a little more... open and vulnerable.”

“Are you saying this isn’t vulnerable!?” Squidward stood, walked over to a covered object, and removed the drop sheet to reveal a sculpture of a large-nosed, tentacled figure writhing, attempting to free itself from a mass of stone.

“Alright, maybe vulnerability isn’t what you need to work on right now.” Spongebob paused to take an appraising look at Squidward. “I know! If your problem is being too frigid, we just need to make you seem warmer! Show people the cuddly, inviting side of Squidward!”

Squidward leveled Spongebob with an existentially exhausted glare. “Art is suffering.”

A stiff pause passed between the two.

“...Okay. But that’s not all art has to be! It can be a celebration of beauty and joy!” Spongebob picked up Squidward’s clarinet which had fallen to the floor during his dramatics. “Here. You take this-” Spongebob handed the instrument to Squidward, “-and I’ll take this-” Spongebob materialized his ukulele from an unseen source, “-and we can play around until we find your happy sound!”

Squidward looked down to his clarinet and sighed. “I’m not sure I even have a happy sound anymore.”

Spongebob waved the idea away. “Nonsense! I’ve heard your happy sound before and I’ll help you find it again if it takes all night! Now just come in when you’re ready.”

Spongebob began to strum a bouncy, cheerful series of chords.

Squidward watched as Spongebob’s eyes fell shut, his entire face relaxed and serene. Even while he felt a certain amount of resentment for the fact that Spongebob had broken into his home, insulted his music, and then decided that he knew more about artistic appeal than Squidward did, he couldn’t help but feel his muscles begin to relax from their tense state.

As much as Sqiudward hated to admit it, Spongebob had more than a little musical skill. And he really did somehow succeed in projecting his contentment into his music. Heck, this wasn’t even the first time he’d been invited to play alongside Spongebob. Nowhere near it, in fact. While Mr. Krabs’s attempt at making a buck off their efforts had ultimately been a bust, it had given him plenty of opportunities to see Spongebob look every bit as comfortable with his music as Squidward felt on his best days. He could still remember how surprisingly good he felt after their big number near the end of that fiasco.

Spongebob’s eyes popped open long enough to shoot an encouraging wink in Squidward’s direction.

...Hmph. Being around Spongebob really was bad for his heart.

Now that his chest no longer felt like it was being crushed by all-encompassing dread, Squidward was able to take a breath, bring his clarinet to his mouth, and start a simple melody.

Spongebob looked up to Squidward and smiled. “See, there’s my happy Squid!”

A squeak came from Squidward’s clarinet as he internally bristled at being called Spongebob’s anything. Aside from that, though, he was able to maintain enough breath control to gradually become more playful with his contribution to the jam session.

Spongebob’s smile only grew. “Now this is the Squidward the world really needs to see. You sound good, you look good, and most importantly of all, you feel good. I’m so happy to be able to share this with you.”

Squidward was glad his mouth was otherwise occupied, because he had no idea how to respond to that kind of statement. Of course there was an instinct to deny that Spongebob had done anything to help him, but the proof was right there, vibrating through the water around them. He really did play better when he felt better and, well, he was feeling better now than he was before.

Eventually the pair came to a mutual close, and Squidward brought his eyes to an easy gaze in Spongebob’s direction. There it was again. That good feeling.

“That was... nice.”

“It really was.”

They shared a companionable silence, until Squidward flinched at the feeling of a hand on his own. He’d been so occupied by Spongebob’s encouraging smile that he hadn’t noticed the sponge discreetly extending his arm to initiate physical contact.

Squidward’s hand clenched on his clarinet, but Spongebob’s was steady.

“If you ever need this again, let me know, okay? I’m always here for you.”

Knowing Spongebob’s track record, Squidward didn’t doubt that.

“Um...Thanks.”

Spongebob gently ran his thumb over the side of Squidwad’s tentacle. “You’re a special person and you have so much to give the world.”

Suddenly Squidward was remembering the way their hands had drifted towards one another after that big number so long ago. They’d been interrupted before any contact could be made, but if they hadn’t... what would have happened?

Squidward felt his and Spongebob’s joined hands slip from the clarinet to a comfortably hanging point between them.

What was happening now?

Their hands moved softly against each other, finding a way to accommodate their differing appendages while still maintaining firm, solid contact.

Squidward felt like he should say something.

“Uh... Hey, Spongebob.”

“Yeah, Squidward?”

“...I-”

Squidward’s attempted statement was cut off by sirens, followed by Patrick calmly opening the door to the room he and Spongebob were currently occupying.

Patrick brought his hands together and spoke in a level tone. “Mistakes may have been made.”

Squidward’s hand immediately jolted out of Spongebob’s. “What did you do to my kitchen!?”

“Nothing you need to stop holding hands about! I-”

“I was not holding anyone’s hand,” Squidward lied. “Now explain yourself!”

That very moment, a pair of firefighters entered the room, one holding the charred remains of a moderately sized hunk of metal.

“Excuse me,” the one holding the charred lump began delicately, “but are you the owner of a Primo Cappucino Assoluto E5000?”

Squidward gasped and ran over to examine the object. “Serafina! What happened to you!?”

The one holding the lump lowered his head while his partner took her hat off and held it respectfully over her heart. “She’s frothing milk in heaven now.”

And so Squidward ended up exactly where he began, sobbing dramatically while Spongbob and Patrick looked on, until he gathered enough fire in his belly to whip around to face the guilty party.

“You! Get out of my house, now!”

Patrick quivered with fear. “U-uh, okay,” he stuttered, and then promptly threw himself out the window.

Spongebob approached Squidward and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s okay! We can go pick up coffee ourselves; a change of scenery might help get those creative juices flowing.”

Squidward scowled at Spongebob. “The only thing I need flowing is the water out the door from you leaving!”

Spongebob pulled his hand away. “Alright, Squidward, I understand. You need to have some time to yourself to process your loss. Don’t be afraid to reach out to me, though, I really mean it.”

“OUT!”

“See ya later, Squiddy!” Spongebob waved and daintily slid out of the room between the two firefighters.

Once Squidward had had a chance to salvage what he could from his wrecked kitchen area, he flopped on his couch. He was exhausted in every manner imaginable. He tried very hard to focus on the parts of his ground floor that wouldn’t need massive renovation, and it was then that he noticed a small envelope slipped under his front door.

Squidward picked it up and noticed it was unmarked. Well, his day couldn’t get much worse, so he might as well open it.

It wasn’t difficult for Squidward to recognize the scrawled handwriting on sight.

Dear Squidward,

You’re not a failure.

Love, your number one fan

An amateurish yellow rectangle-and-stick figure was drawn at the bottom of the page, presumably in lieu of a signature.

Squidward sighed for the umpteenth time that evening. That ridiculous goofball really didn’t know how to leave him to wallow in his own self pity.

...But that didn’t mean Squidward might not take him up on his offer of another casual jam session. Maybe. Someday.

#squidbob #subtle pre relationship stuff oh boy #spongebob squarepants #fic by s moose

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calliecat93 · 7 years

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Aardwolf leads the Bros right to Zach, and neither one are happy with that they see. I kind of question why they didn’t immediately conclude that Zach was responsible since they knew he was around, but we can argue that they were preoccupied with taking care of Slurpy. But that’s beside the point. The Bros go to make Zach let Mama Aardvark go, though I did notice that as Martin started the confrontation, Chris’ attention was actually on Mama Aardvark. He just looks so disgusted by that he’s seeing happen.

Really lets talk about Zach’s gimmick. He uses robotics to brainwash animals or sue them as power sources for his robots. There’s a LOT of reasons why this is wrong. It’s inhumane, it’s blatant animal abuse, he more or less poaches animals to use for his plans, all of which are illegal. Zach probably isn’t in jail because either he doesn't get reported or, more likely, he has money and attorneys who can get him out of anything. With how entitled and spoiled he is, I am positive that he got handed everything he wanted as a child and never learned consequences. To him, animals are playthings and once they’re broken or stripped form him, he throws a tantrum but then moves onto the next thing. I mean imagine if the Bros didn’t find out about this and Zach used Mama Aardvark to dig him whatever. Eventually she’d die of exhaustion form constant use and be discarded like a piece of garbage. Now this being a kids show, they’d never go that dark, but still just think about how much worst Zach’s actions are as a whole...

Here, Zach completely disregards the Bros arguments before deciding that he’s sick of it. SO he has Mama Aardvark bombard them with dirt until they fall into the hole. One too steep for them to climb out of and with no DNA, they an’t use the suits. So Zach goes to continue his pool construction as the Bros are left in the dust. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen the Bros in danger, I mean just last episode they were nearly crushed to death/killed by a Colossal Squid, but this time we have an actual human endangering both our heroes and the animals. An animal does what it does to survive, a point that the Bros have always made, but a human doing this? That makes them an actual bad guy and a threat to the Bros. It gives the show a bit more of an edge due to having villains for the Bros to go up against, and I love it for that.

#wild kratts #wk liveblog

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flauntpage · 7 years

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Blue Jays Mailbag: Osuna, Travis' Health, and Trading for a Mets Outfielder

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports Canada.

Andrew Stoeten answers your questions in our Blue Jays Mailbag, which runs weekly at VICE Sports. You can send him questions at [email protected], and follow him on Twitter.

The Blue Jays are through a strange and frustrating road trip, which ended up being uplifting thanks to a Sunday win and an appearance from their closer.

The club continues to float around the .500 mark, and have had a devil of a time crossing it, but in the two-team wild-card era, that means they are firmly still in the playoff picture, and fans are thinking long and hard about trading for upgrades—as we'll see below in this week's Blue Jays mailbag!

So let's crack it open and feast on the goo inside!

If you have a Blue Jays question you'd like me to tackle for next week, be sure to send it to [email protected]. As always, I have not read any of Griff's answers.

Should the people that bagged on Osuna for taking time due to mental illness be shot into the sun *or* ocean? Sean

This seems to be as good a place to start as any, because yeah, it ought to be at least one of those places, right? But… hmmmm… since those people were such fucking squids, maybe they'd be a little too happy to be sent to the bottom of the sea. So… yeah… sun it is!

Seriously, though, I was fortunate in that I was away for the weekend and so only managed to have one eye on this stuff as it was happening. I hardly even know what to say about it now, except that it was great to see Osuna back out on the mound Sunday, as well as his teammates' reaction to it. And if seeing that helps underline, for all the fans who sometimes have trouble realizing, that players are actual human beings, that's another positive we can take from it—to go along with the fact that Osuna being brave enough to have this be so public will only help to destigmatize such issues.

Osuna told reporters this past weekend that he's been dealing with anxiety. Photo by Dan Hamilton-USA TODAY Sports

It, perhaps, can also serve as a reminder to a not-dissimilar subset of fans that nothing good can come out of blinding, venom-spouting frustration, especially about a sport which is so naturally awash in frustrating moments. And also, you dopes, that when a manager says an unused player "wasn't feeling well tonight, that's all you need to know," it isn't necessarily a thinly-veiled attempt at covering for some colossal fuckup or an affront to your right to know absolutely everything about an ugly loss that so badly and thoroughly loosened your bowels.

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Why is Jason Grilli still on the team? Ryan

Because of Drew Storen.

Or… OK… Grilli isn't exactly still here because of Storen, but consider the case of last year's would-be setup man. "Two's Scorin'" had an awful time on the mound for the Blue Jays, lost the confidence of the fans and his manager, then worked his way back to looking OK-ish (from May 20 to June 24 he pitched to a 1.35 ERA, allowing just 12 hits, walking 4 and striking out 12, in 13.1 innings), wobbled a bit again, and then was flipped for Joaquin Benoit—a reliever who'd struggled in his own right in Seattle, but who ended up being crucial for the Jays in the second half.

Grilli, sadly, has been worse in 2017 than Storen ever was for the Blue Jays, but the velocity is still there, and he's shown for a long time that he can get the job done. Teams aren't going to pay a lot for that, but the Jays aren't crazy to think that they can make him viable again, or that there might be another team willing to flip a similar player to them for the chance to try it themselves.

The veteran Grilli has gotten torched this season. Photo by Dan Hamilton-USA TODAY Sports

Yes, there will come a time, if things don't improve, where they'll need to part ways with him, but right now, what's the upside? Grilli has only pitched four times in the three weeks since getting blasted by the Yankees earlier this month, so the opportunity for someone else to provide significantly more value in that role just really isn't there. Upgrading their fifth-best right-handed reliever simply wouldn't do much for this team beyond making Grilli haters feel satisfied with themselves. And given what Grilli has been in his career, what he did for the Jays last season, what they like about him as a veteran in the clubhouse, and what he (theoretically) could still be—either as a trade asset or as an asset on the mound in his own right—I completely understand why the club is having more patience here than some fans maybe would like.

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Granderson could probably be had for a relatively low price. Think he's a viable option for LF? I realize he wouldn't be first choice. @renusm

I'm not sure Granderson would be the Jays' first choice on his own team, to be honest.

Late in the winter of 2016, the club appeared to have worked out a trade that would have sent Michael Saunders to the Angels, a few presumably not-so-great prospects to the Reds, and Jay Bruce from Cincinnati to Toronto. I wrote a piece at the time that I titled "Jay Bruce Is Bad, But That Might Not Stop The Jays From Trading For Him," which has led a few readers to assume over the last year that I have some kind of massive problem with Bruce. I definitely did cheer when the deal fell apart, but I also wrote this:

If it's just Saunders, and if it's somehow cash neutral, I can buy believing in Bruce's ceiling over Saunders' (despite Saunders' 3 WAR advantage in 2014, his last healthy-ish season), given the big uptick in durability and his (theoretical) potential as a 2017 asset [ Bruce had a 2017 option, Saunders was due to be a free agent]. I could even buy paying a premium to make that switch, I suppose. But not a big one. And certainly not one where the organization ends up committing dollars that could have gone to literally anything else that could have helped this club out.

It turns out the Jays' thinking was similar to my own, with one crucial exception: they liked Jay Bruce. And rightly so, it turns out.

We later learned that the Reds were going to pay $8 million of Bruce's $12.5 million salary, making the deal close to cash-neutral (Saunders made $2.9 million in 2016) and presumably low in terms of the prospects given up. A year ago the front office looked extremely fortunate that the deal had fallen apart—Bruce was OK enough, but Saunders was on his way to making the AL All-Star team. Over the last 365 days, though, it's become clear that Mark Shapiro and Ross Atkins were likely onto something: Saunders has been essentially the worst position player in baseball (his -1.2 WAR is dead last among the 242 players with at least 350 plate appearances over that span and he was just released by the Phillies), while Bruce has been more than fine, putting up two wins, a 111 wRC+, and blasting 37 home runs.

Twenty of those home runs for Bruce have come this year, as he's put up a 131 wRC+ to go along with his best walk rate since 2012, and his lowest strikeout rate since 2009. His defence has been much better than the way it was trending a year ago, too. Though the samples are too small to be too meaningful, the +4 DRS and +1.7 UZR he's sitting on as an outfielder (he loses defensive value in the overall because of a handful of bad games at first base) are both pretty impressive. And they're better marks than Granderson has been capable of in recent years.

I haven't looked at Bruce's defence much this year, if at all, so I'm not going to act like these numbers are the be-all, end-all and he's suddenly good out there, but it seems like he's not going to kill you in the field and has been an asset with the bat. Bruce has been streaky, with noticeable drop-offs in his production in the second half of every year since 2013, but with the success this year, plus the previous interest (he was linked to the Jays several times early on this past offseason), and the cost, I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one the Jays are interested in.

But Granderson does make some sense, too. He's likely to be better at getting on base (once Bruce regresses a bit), offers at least a little bit of speed that Bruce doesn't, a little bit of power in his own right, and could maybe hit at the top of the Jays' lineup if they did acquire him.

Both are a cut above what the Jays will roll out there, even once Ezequiel Carrera returns to full health, and both should come at a relatively low price tag, given that they're not great, and are free agents at the end of the season. So… sure...

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What's your thoughts on Travis, injury prone time to move on, bad luck, wait it out or something else Paul

Time to move on?? Holy shit, man.

Look, to be honest, my credibility on the idea of whether or not a player deserves the "injury prone" tag went down with the good ship Brandon Morrow several years ago, but I'm of the mind that fans think they know and can see and understand a whole lot more about this stuff than they really do. A.J. Burnett was a guy who was always injured… until starting in 2008, at age 31, he reeled off seven straight seasons of 30 or more starts, y'know? And Dustin McGowan could never stay healthy, and yet he's thrown 107 innings out of the Marlins' bullpen over the last two years, and has done a damn fine job of it.

Travis has been limited to 213 games over the last three seasons and was recently transferred to the 60-day DL. Photo by Kim Klement-USA TODAY Sports

I guess what it comes down to, for me, is that there's a difference between "that guy is always hurt" and "that guy is always going to be hurt," and I certainly don't think Travis is in the latter category yet.

Like, we're basically only talking about two injuries when it comes to Devon's young Blue Jays career: a shoulder injury caused by the fact that his bones didn't fuse properly as he was growing up, and the ongoing trouble with his knee, which seems to have not quite healed right. They've played out like multiple injuries—Travis tried to play through pain and keep himself on the field as best he could—but are they? Really?

And if his medical history with the Jays really comes down to just two injuries, serious as they have been, I'm not sure it's fair to think that he's always going to be hurt, or to act like there's something especially wrong with him, physically, that means he's more likely than anyone else to pick up any other kind of injury.

The Jays could use a rental second baseman to finish out this season with, and it would be silly of me to say that all this must have only been bad luck and he should be entirely fine going forward, but as far as I'm concerned there is not a lot of reason to be afraid of him having trouble staying healthy beyond that. Which means I probably just cursed him. Fuck!

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Hi Stoeten

Ideally, the Blue Jays could use a huge talent upgrade at multiple spots to lift themselves out of the pack of teams within a couple games of a playoff spot. But with relatively few teams that are actively selling and a front office looking to balance the present and future, it is likely the team will have to find particular areas to focus on at the trade deadline.

If you were the front office, how would you rank the following areas of need?

-Second Baseman who can hit and is at least adept defensively -Left Fielder who can field and is at least adept offensively -Late inning left-handed RP -Back-up Catcher -Starting pitcher with a proven track record of winning games which bring the team to .500 (or maybe just additional rotation depth)

Or would you just throw out the idea of ranking needs and sell everything!?

Thanks Josh

Well, I certainly wouldn't sell everything. I also don't see much need for another starter at the big league level—though depth pieces could always help. Backup catcher seems fine, too—though I'd be terrified to see more of Luke Maile as a starter, should anything happen to Russell Martin again—so I guess it's just the other three things the Jays should be most concerned about.

The thing is, the Jays aren't exactly dying for any of these positions to be upgraded, either. The right-handers in their bullpen have handled lefties well, their left field situation won't be too bad once Ezequiel Carrera comes back (which is a crazy thing to think, but he's had a nice year so far!), and second base is... ugly, but they've at least got some adept defenders to use there.

Are one of these Mets a future Blue Jay? Photo by Noah K. Murray-USA TODAY Sports

I guess by the way I've characterized it there, second base would have to rank at the top, followed by left field, then the bullpen lefty. But why rank? I've never seen the point in these sorts of exercises, to be honest. There are places to upgrade, there are pieces to upgrade with, and the deals that make the most sense will make the most sense. I don't think teams benefit from being rigid about which sorts of moves have to be made more than others (unless the problem is especially obvious, like the 2015 Jays needing a starting pitcher), because there are just so many moving parts and so many ways to go about adding value.

Which is to say: it seems to me like the easiest way to add value to these Jays would be to find a legit second baseman for the rest of the season, but it's entirely possible their best way to make the team better (while preserving future assets as best they can) may not run through second base. And I also think that thinking about it too much this way just leads to nonsense like we saw after the Tulowitzki trade in 2015, where some fans lost their minds about shortstop not being as important a spot to upgrade as the rotation was, as though there couldn't be another trade still coming, or the club was too focused on the wrong priorities. They're focused on every place they can make the club better.

Blue Jays Mailbag: Osuna, Travis' Health, and Trading for a Mets Outfielder published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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