( semi-open ) WHITE WHALE HOLY GRAIL

[wheft]

WHO: ishmael and YOU 🫵🫵🫵
WHAT: june catchall + memshares. lots of moby dick references if you widen your eyes a lot.
WHERE: nevada
WHEN: june
WARNINGS: graphic depictions of gore, violence and repeated deaths; emotional and psychological manipulation, gaslighting, aquatic horror, suicidal ideation, tba. see her opt-out for more info.



source | plotting
hmu if you want a starter/specific memory!

Comments

the storm calls.

[wheft]

a. [ man, fuck this.

migraines? she's used to them even before coming to this world, albeit in a different life and in a different profession. worm monsters? usually a piece of cake. but with the lack of a certain manager to guide them on where to strike and how to strike on top of reviving them from constant deaths, ishmael feel her sanity quickly slipping through her fingers as she hears familiar voices in the dusty mirage that accompanies the worm.

and then suddenly, a distant wailing of a whale breaks through the cacophony.

just like that, she transforms in the blink of an eye -- a giant moth made of pure flame flapping its fiery wings in the already hot and humid air, adding more to the scorching climate by launching fireballs from her legs in a berserker state, not caring on who she hit. if she strikes the worm? great! but there's a large chance she'll target you with a barrage of fireballs so... watch out. ]

b. [ luckily, her mini-kaiju form does not last for long. she turns back to her usual flesh-and-blood self, but that does not mean that she's out of the storm just yet. the whales... they call for her. ]

Need to... put a stop to the Whales--

[ nah, it's her who needs to be fuckin' stopped. thankfully she's greatly weakened from her corrosion state just now so it'd be easy to knock her out from going any further, but that does not mean she won't go down without a fight. she has a mace and shield on her, and she knows how to use it. ]

a???

[bemist]

[ Man, fuck this.

Gebura is just trying to do her job, her job which consists of keeping people from running stupidly into sandstorms, which is not really a job she's had to do before (usually, it was Chesed asking her tiredly to please not run into fighting the Abnormalities herself, or doing a fierce Reception these days). But she sees the exact moment Ishmael's form shifts, and she curses under her breath, bringing Mimicry in front of her.

And.

Well.

Swinging it like a baseball bat to hit one of those fireballs--Ishmael can probably dodge it, or maybe it'll just fly off harmlessly (we hope) to the side. ]

Seriously?

[wheft]

[ yes, seriously.

ishmael can't think for herself right now though; the ardor blossom moth that gebura presumably has never fought before lets out a a growl before flapping its wings once more and sends more fireballs at the former color. she may be limited in attacks, but -- well, the moth is a bitch to fight in mirror dungeons for a reason (they pack a hell of a fire punch). ]

a—

[rikugan]

[ if he hadn't seen her transform right in front of him, gojo would have happily squashed a giant flaming moth in the middle of the desert, no questions asked. (it has been a whole lot of nothing since the last kaiju fight, so he has been itching for a fight.) unfortunately, the giant flaming moth in question is not an enemy and someone better subdue her before she somehow ends up in an elusive sandworm's stomach.

looking around, he waits for somebody else to miraculously come to the rescue, but a) they're alone right now and b) she's suddenly hurling fireballs at him. the last time something tried to incinerate him alive, it didn't end so well for them.

it's a shame that he can't squash this bug.

flames spread and lap around him as the fireballs make impact against infinity. but before they even have a chance to dissipate, gojo has already warped above the moth as he proceeds to slam his leg down on its back with a swift downward kick.

he doesn't know how to revert her back to her normal state, so why not just incapacitate her first? ]

You failed to mention that you can transform the last time we talked. I would have brought a net with me if I had known.

[wheft]

[ in the midst of her mind being overtaken by the abnormality, she manages to recognize gojo. what, that guy who never takes her seriously? the guy who keeps messing with her in every chance he gets?

of course he wants to fight her, too. she's already incensed as hell to see his mug, but the fact that he's using the same technique from last time to keep himself from getting burn is pissing her off more than it should. but a hefty kick from above broke her train of thought as she's hurtled down to the ground like a mosquito getting smacked. ow.

still, she has to get back at him. a simple kick isn't enough to take her down completely, you know. so she recovers, charging up another fireball in her feelers that's larger than the ones she generated so far before zooming towards him to burn him up close at breakneck speed. let's see him evade this!!! ]

b SORRY FOR THE DELAY

[newphew]

[ so he's out here in the storm -- ill-advised, but he'd gone out chasing other outsiders. he hears voices calling out to him, but he does his best to ignore them, squinting against the storm, even as his hands are shaking ]

[ he spots ishmael trying to chase something, deeper into the storm. he's with it enough to discern that she's probably hearing things, seeing things too. either way, even though he hasn't met her, he knows she's an outside. he can't leave her out like this. she'll die ]

They're not real! [ what even is a whale. he has no idea ] It's not safe here! Come on, we're heading back!

[ surely this will work ]

[wheft]

[ tbh it's for the best that he never sees a whale ever

but this ishmael is nothing if not stubborn, and she's not about to listen to some kid she barely even knows lmao, even more so with the figurative siren's cry luring her in. she pushes him aside, dragging her feet through the sand and clenching her teeth as she presses onwards. ]

city of dreams.

[wheft]

[ the foggy Lake is pitch dark, save for a few bolts of lightning from the tempests above lighting the way. the boat you currently find yourself in is small and cramped, but it gets the job done as it sails you forth in this mad, relentless search for that one thing ishmael and many other sailors have been hoping to find.

or at least, that's what ishmael was led to think by that woman.

the boat rocks helplessly against the waves as the wind slowly picks up speed as a storm begins to brew, as though it's preparing to defend the sea from your pursuit. at the far end of the boat is ishmael herself, her wild mane of orange hair standing out like a lantern in the dark backdrop of the sea, muttering madly to herself. ]

I remember... [ her eyes are wide as plates as she scans the bleak horizon. ] I remember the way the fog split open. I remember the obsidian sea and the endless tempest.

But the rest of it... All I remember is that the Captain was excitedly delivering a speech at witnessing the legends come to life, and that we were all busy preparing for the Whale hunt.

[ another peal of thunder cracks through the sky. ]

... So, what awaits us ahead is a real adventure. [ she turns to you with a mad expression, except... it's like she wasn't truly looking at you. she's looking past your soul, the soul that does not have the Whale that she seeks. ] We'll be sailing blindly into the night.

[ hope you aren't seasick. ]

[shiroize]

[ saber isn't seasick. with the combination of their riding skill and their experience in the sea, the violent rocking of the boat is something that is as close to them as the rocking of a babe in its mom's arms.

but their expression is hardly anything like the one that ishmael is wearing right now. it's calm and composed, a front to hide the underlying anxiety that stirs in their heart with every clap of thunder and violent shake of the boat. they know this weather well, as if it were etched in their mind with fire.

it's an omen of disaster. ]

And this Whale...what is the purpose of this hunt?

[wheft]

[ it is an omen, a premonition for what's to come. ishmael turns to saber, slightly raising a brow like "bro were u not there when i was losing my shit the entire time?"

but that doesn't matter. she can drill into their mind again, until they understand where she's coming from. ]

The Whale of all Evils... Our Captain sent our crew to hunt this Whale down so that we can finally absolve this world of suffering. That's what she told us.

[ the thunder roars on, but her voice is dark and crystal-clear - perhaps like the rare nights when the Lake isn't brewing up a storm. ]

But she led us all to damnation in the end. I was the only one who survived the attack. And now -- [ another crack of thunder exposes the grim look on her face ] She is going to pay for what she did.

[ the waves here surge higher and higher, but ishmael's form is unwavering as she weathers the storm, not caring that the freezing cold waters crash at them just now. ]

[cranekin]

(Things hadn't gone well for him the last time he was out at sea so he can't say he's particularly excited to be out here again. Still, he welcomes as he makes his way down the deck, following after the flaming beacon that is Ishmael up ahead.

When he arrives, he's almost taken aback by the wild look in her eye. He'd always associated Ishmael as something more like an anchor-- steady and reliable at all times. Never, he thinks, has he seen her so excited in such a way and he wonders what he's stumbled onto here.

He listens and tries to infer what might be going on and how he should act in this situation. She remembers a captain? So is there not one now? Or are they somewhere else? And what's this about a whale hunt? His own memory flashes back to the giant whale beast they fought at the beginning of the year. There's no time to dwell, though. There is a task at hand,)

Full sails ahead, right? Lead the way.

(He can follow along, he thinks.)

[wheft]

[ at least this white-haired swabbie isn't complaining. that's good. the last thing ishmael wants is any detractors of what she was about to do in this suicidal mission.

the journey across the wuthering waves (hehe) is bumpy beyond belief, not helped by a series of strange-looking pillars that seem to reach the sky and touch the stormy clouds with just one scrape. ishmael squints into the darkness, trying to surmise what tf those are -- until a peal of thunder illuminated their way, her eyes widening as her heart goes into overdrive, so much so that tsurumaru is bound to feel it thumping within his own chest as well. ]

I see... So that's what it looked like. Even a small part of it is...

[ she lets out an laugh, short and unhinged. ]

Hold on tight to the boat! Now!!

rest and recovery.

[wheft]

[ whew, what a shithole of a week. but ishmael is made of some tougher stuff what with all the worse things she'd gone through back in the city, so she's able to be upon on her feet in no time after spending a couple of days to recuperate in bed.

that being said, she's not in the mood to go out in such a sweltering hot day in vegas like this. so she's staying put at the hotel lobby, minding her own business, until one thing led to another and she's letting anyone with itchy, talented fingers to fiddle with her hair and -- ]

Hey.

[ she's snapping you out of your thoughts with one simple word and a flat look on her face. her hair's braided in different ways, with so much more still left over. she looks like some used doll in this state. ]

Are you just going to stand there and stare? At least make yourself busy while you're here.

[ either by yapping with her or doing her hair - the hot nevada sky is the limit. ]

[elfsufficient]

[ what a shithole of a week, indeed. There's one thing that helps Fern relieve some stress when she's upset, though unfortunately, the usual subject of such antics is not present...

It almost seems comical, then, that Fern should come across Miss Ishmael with her hair in... a state as she grumpily crosses through the lobby. Why are there so many different braids going on... it's a bit horrendous, and Fern makes no secret of it as she glances her over. ]

...Very well.

[ Gesturing at one of the plush seats in the lobby. ]

Please, take a seat. We need to fix this. How did your hair even end up in this state, Miss Ishmael..?

[wheft]

[ oh great, just what she needed -- a teen judging her for her life choices. nevertheless, ishmael's just glad to meet a familiar face and she plops down on one of the available seats, watching fern hover over her. ]

I ran out of haircare products, I guess. That's no excuse, I know. Marcille's going to have a conniption, I bet.

[ it's usually her job to fuss over her hair, and all. her elf bestie is just busy rn. ]

You know how to braid, Fern?

closed memshares.

[wheft]

[ hello... please pick a prompt and i will cook us up a meal:

AHAB a memory of her time with ahab, the infamous captain who's on the hunt for the whale. from the first time of her being recruited, a day in the life on the pequod, the gaslighting, to overcoming the whale. cws include emotional/psychological manipulation, gaslighting, gore, deaths, suicidal ideation
QUEEQUEG a memory of her time with her best friend queequeg. from a day in the life of the pequod, being rescued from the depths of the whale, hanging onto her coffin at sea, to watching her pass away once more. cws include explicit self-harm, suicidal ideation, death
MIDDLE a memory of being completely eviscerated by a Syndicate known as the Middle Finger. you can't die here, but you really, really wish you could. cws include gore, violence, repeated deaths
STORM a memory of her time with heathcliff, a guy on the bus that she has a very... strenuous relationship with, oftentimes having to do with killing each other because sometimes the one person who knows you the best also fucking hates your ass🧍‍♂️ cws include repeated deaths, violence ]

[frostfist]

[ i'm here for my memshare, whatever that is ]

🌇 (cw depictions of violence, death)

[wheft]

[ it reeks of blood and death.

that's the first thing anyone would notice upon finding their bearings in this certain memory, before the realization that they're in some kind of fleshy, veiny chamber hits them, and it does not take one long to realize that they're inside of some animal thanks to a distant, thundering beating of the heart.

ishmael has been fighting nonstop, her harpoon clashing against the mutated weapon belonging to a certain ship captain with stormy gray hair. blood and various viscera clung onto her person like glue, but they don't seem to slow her down as she recklessly charges forth, letting herself be stabbed repeatedly by ahab, crying out in agony every time as she loses yet another limb, another bucketful of blood -- only for a clockheaded figured to turn back the time and make her whole once more. lather, rinse, repeat.

she can't collapse now. not when ahab spins the narrative around and make it look like "THE FAULT LIES WITH YOU, ISHMAEL!" - from pip's despair, to stubb's eventual submission to the captain, to queequeg. being told that it was her fault that queequeg will inevitably die by the pale membrane that's slowly covering her is ishmael's breaking point, and while she was able to finally get a good hit on ahab and made the woman collapse onto her knees in defeat, it seems that ishmael is about to join her dear friend in the pale, too.

this is fine, she supposes. she knows her own blind obsession will be her downfall one day, and now it has finally arrived. there's just... nowhere else to go from here. not anymore. ]

[plagiarists]

[ reaches for ahab or queequeg, whichever u want to write more atm!! ]

she gets the moby dick ending...... ⚰️

[wheft]

[ the nevada sun continues to be unrelenting as they make their retreat from the worm across the desert. but the outsiders' suffering continues as their implants continue to glitch and spiral out of control, and it's only these women's sheer luck that they were spared from the worse side effects like going blind.

and it's also hsy's good luck that she's dreaming of the stormy seas this time. but hey, at least it's no longer scorching hot, right?

it's hard to make out who owns this memory at first, amidst the but it is hard to make out on whose memory is this at first, what with all the lightning and thunder and the violent churning of the waters in the way. luckily, aside from the helpful commentary from present-day ishmael, it is pretty easy to spot something orange in the raging storm, like a lantern in the night that refuses to go out.

though this time, this ishmael has shorter hair than usual. not to mention in even greater distress than usual, as she hangs onto the rope that's wrapped around a coffin for dear life, watching a nearby ship sink into the sea. she cries and flails, calling for help in the most pathetic voice one could hear from her.

but of course, nobody came. and the memory cuts out like a video clip, and sooyoung can spot an ishmael from outside her van, staring into the setting sun with an unreadable look on her face. look who's got time daydreaming at a time like this. ]

[transmit]

( also here to put my hands on whatever you feel like writing for them most!! )

[hitokiller]

( reaches gently for ahab. )

wildcard.

[wheft]

[ y'all know what to do here ]

midnight chats 🪱

[nutkick]

[ he still had the worst headache, the type that made him wish he could pull out his chainsaws and shove the spinning blades into his skull so he could free himself from that pain. but, no, he can no longer escape the discomfort with cheap tricks anymore; he had to suffer until the gods of headaches will have mercy and free him. or, maybe he deserves all this agony for what happened during this week ...

ugh. he didn't want to think about it. that's why he's here, clinging to the first familiar face he can spot in this late hour and joining her without an invite; the lady who made him eat all the hot sauce in one breath and then ended up puking it out. god, that was horrible. however, it's something he kinda asked for after taunting her for being too soft. well played.

he squints at her choice of drink as if he had the audacity to judge anyone when he's walking around with his messy curls and wrinkled clothes. ]

Aren't you too young to drink the tipsy juice?

[ it's not like they discussed age, hobbies, or anything too deep. based on her physical appearance alone, she comes off as his age. ]

sighs... that morning after + date

[wheft]

[ last night sure was... eventful. tl;dr ishmael was taking care of a poor blinded and handcuffed wriothesley in their bedroom until someone has finally arrived with the keys, and once the cuffs are off, wriothesley wasted no time in pouncing her in bed like a wild animal and -- well. you probably know the rest. maybe wrio didn't really pounce her, but to ishmael he may as well did with how desperate his ministrations were -- though it could easily be chalked up to his glee of being able to be move around again. or maybe he's just that pent-up and horny the entire time? who knows. she certainly wasn't complaining, and instead she was begging and crying for release when he was constantly edging her the entire time.

that's what she got for wanting him to be slightly mean to her, she supposes. but it's all worth it to wake up to his sleeping face the next morning, with his big arms around her and their legs tangled together. this isn't the first time they shared a bed, but it is her first time seeing him in this peaceful state, and it's taking all of her strength not to kiss him awake. she will instead lift a hand up to gently thumb at that visible scar under his eye, watching him sleep for a little bit more before finally pulling herself off him carefully to sit up in bed and rub the sleep from her eyes. her ponytail is a complete fucking mess from last night (because there ain't no way she's letting him fuck her with her damn hair getting everywhere), and she pulls the hairtie out of her mane before stretching her limbs out like a cat and getting to her feet.

finding her panties is one thing, but she can't see her clothes from last night for some reason. she's too lazy to make a thorough search though, so hopefully wriothesley doesn't mind if she picks up the black shirt he was wearing last night and puts it on. predictably it's a little too big on her that it barely covers her marked thighs, the collar too large to cover up the multitude of hickeys that bloomed across her shoulders and neck, and she Will bitch to him about that later -- but for now, she pads over to the desk where they keep the complimentary tea and coffee, and sets the electric kettle to boil.

soon, the room is filled with a pleasant aroma of coffee. and if that's not enough to wake wriothesley, the nevada sunlight shafting through the curtains and hitting his body definitely will. ]