#<- going to need a tag for this specifically

[carriesthewind]

WOW.

Okay, after a night's sleep, I have decided that yeah, there is value in responding to this absolutely steaming pile of ignorant, self-centered, self-important, anti-intellectual, b.s.

It looks like a number of people in the notes were swayed, at least to some degree, by this garbage, so I think it is worth trying to show why it is nonsense.

(Also it's possible I'm still spoiling for a fight after being denied an evidentiary hearing on Friday.)

I'm not reblogging the post because folks don't need a self-aggrandizing tantrum on their dash, but I do think it is worth taking a look for yourself, in order to practice your analytical skills. Some questions to consider as you read:

(1) What is OP saying in her original post? What claims is she making?

(2) How, if at all, does the poster respond to claims OP made? What claims is the poster saying that OP made? Do these match what OP actually said? If not, (a) what techniques does the poster use to transform what OP said into the claims the poster is claiming OP made? (b) What rhetorical purpose does it serve for the poster to warp OP's claims?

(3) What affirmative claims is the poster making? What evidence or arguments do they provide to support their claims? Do they explore any of the specifics or real world implications of their claims? If not, what real world implications of their claims can you think of?

(3) What other rhetorical techniques does the poster use to bolster their argument? Do these techniques actually enhance and support the substance of their argument?

(4) Relatedly, how does the poster play into the biases of their assumed audience (tumblr users with generally progressive policies). What claims do they make to play into those biases? What evidence or argument, if any, do they make to support those claims? Are these claims by the poster reasonably related to the claims made by OP?

Now, let's explore their response in detail!

(Also obviously don't harass the poster, and I would recommend not directly engaging with them at all. Harassment is vile and makes you far worse than them. And earnest engagement is unlikely to be productive - the OP tried to engage with them politely (and even offered to help) in the notes of poster's original post. In response, the poster (1) implied that OP is an obsessive rude busybody. (2) Told OP to "Shhhhh. Chill." (in response to (paraphrased), 'hey, the advice someone else gave you is probably a waste of time and effort'). (3) And finally, after condescendingly telling OP, "Breathe. Practice radical acceptance. Know that I am here on the other side of the internet, flagrantly wasting my effort and thinking of you every second of that time," proceeded to prove that they were, in fact, "thinking of [OP] every second of that time" by searching OP's blog to find this post by OP and dumping this Arrested-Development-level demand to be taken seriously in the reblogs.)

(All of which is to say: hi, poster who was "being vagueposted about." I assume you are reading this, because you demonstrably don't have the good sense to block and move on. I'm not going to block you in advance, because I think you have the right to make your own terrible decisions, and I suspect any response you make is going to be *very* funny. See you in the notes!)

So, let's go through the poster's response, paragraph by paragraph.

They begin by doubling down on the stance that, "any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor." This, they say, is their defense of that stance. Let's see how it goes - but first, I think it's worth remembering, OP's original post is literally a single sentence long.

OP's claim, paraphrased, that the claim that "any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor" is incorrect and anti-intellectual. If we read the OP's tags, she clarifies that enthusiasm is valuable, but different from expertise.

The poster starts their defense with a long...explanation that the structure of their claim was a reference to the Arthur C Clarke's third "law" (read: sci-fi fiction adage).

*deep breath*

Ok. I'm a big a fan of wordplay as the next person. And I know from personal experience that it can be really frustrating to do some fun wordplay to make a point, and then get misinterpreted here on tumblr.com.

But. The wordplay has to make a point for it to be relevant to your defense. OP's claim wasn't "this poster did a bad job with the linguistic structure of this sentence and is not familiar with classic sci-fi." How does the "rhetorical structure" of the poster's claim support the substance of their claim???

It doesn't, is the answer. The poster explicitly asks this question later down, but then they never actually answer it. Instead, the rhetorical effect of this whole digression is just to throw out surface level references to things (Arthur C Clarke! "AI"!) that might make the poster sound more thoughtful and knowledgeable. It also creates distance from OP's actual point - as the post continues, the poster has to remind us what they're talking about. This gives the poster more control over the narrative, over what claims are under discussion.

Which leads to the poster's next paragraph: the unanswered question of why the poster structured their claim to resemble a sci-fi author's famous quote, and a baseless attack on OP.

And I think it is worth really lingering on this attack on OP. The poster claims, OP perhaps is "misreading or misinterpreting" the poster's point. But what on earth is the poster talking about? OP literally just quoted the poster's exact words and then said that they think this is anti-intellectual. What "misreading or misinterpreting" is being done?

No. Instead, this attack rhetorically sets up the poster's next couple paragraphs: not actually defending their claim as OP originally quoted, but reinterpreting their own words, providing their own special unique meaning that they will then proceed to use for the rest of the post. They are redrawing the rhetorical bounds of the conversation. Rather than defending their stance, they are redefining their stance so that it matches the defense they now want to make.

(Which is still bad. It's a bad defense and it makes me very angry.)

The poster proceeds to define "academic rigor" in a way that just means, "enthusiasm." Notice how no part of their definition includes things like critical thinking skills, building up a knowledge base, testing ideas, receiving criticism (wow I wonder why), or any expertise or action to build up and test that expertise. It's just what a person "cares very much about," how much "curiosity" they have; some inherent quality someone who "NEEDS to know." (Also hit the bell for another surface level reference - this time to Herodotus - to make the poster sound more knowledgeable.) If you actually read the poster's definition, it is entirely "idk vibes i guess."

Now, having defined "academic rigor" as enthusiasm, they successfully declare that enthusiasm is a necessary precondition of enthusiasm.

And then, we get the best paragraph of this entire tantrum of a post: "Any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor. It's like a fractal -- the closer you look, the more complicated it gets." No only is this another attempted surface level reference, this time to fractals, but just. What is this supposed to mean. At a glance, it seems like it kind of follows from the last paragraph - maybe, the more an enthusiast looks at something, the more there is to know? But the closer you look at this sentence, the more nonsensical it gets. What does things getting more complicated the more you look at them have to do with academic rigor (either a real definition or the poster's enthusiasm-based definition)? More importantly, what does it have to do with proving the point - that enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor? (You might as well say, "the further you fall down the rabbit hole, the deeper you realize it goes," except then more people would realize you are expressing straight conspiracist reasoning oops.)

Now, several paragraphs in and having firmly taken control of the rhetorical boundaries of the argument, the poster finally decides to provide some context to the original statement (and needlessly insult OP for trying to be helpful again).

The poster correctly quotes relevant parts of the discussion (although mischaracterizes their own responses as "polite" instead of "incredibly condescending and rude"). However, the poster then immediately characterizes OP's response as "muddied." Because words have objective meanings, however, we do not need to accept this characterization. OP expressed her argument very clearly. Rather, it is the the poster who claimed that OP was making an argument that she was not, which we can paraphrase as, 'passion and capacity for learning are limited to formal education at academic institutions.' It would be convenient for the poster if OP was making this argument, because it could be easy to argue against. But since OP clearly stated that she does not believe this clearly incorrect thing that the poster made up in her head, the poster claims that her response was "muddied."

The poster emphasizes this false claim in the next few paragraphs. They say, "to me she seems to be arguing that one MUST (?) receive formal training at an academic institution ("academic training" "trained expertise") in order to achieve that level of rigor." But OP simply doesn't say that. You can look at the reply the poster quoted, it doesn't say what the poster says it does.

Now, this is speculation on my part, but I think the poster really believes that OP is saying 'passion and capacity for learning are limited to formal education at academic institutions.' I think they believe this because its how they feel when they hear the (correct) statement that enthusiasm does not equal expertise. The poster repeatedly says that they think that enthusiasm for learning is the same as expertise. They throw a tantrum after receiving the slightest, politest, disagreement. They think someone giving them advice that hey, maybe its a good idea to get a basic foundation of knowledge before cold-emailing experts is a busybody who is obsessed with lecturing them. The poster simply, demonstrably, doesn't believe expertise is real, and refuses to admit that someone else might know more or better than them. If they "care very much about getting it right," how dare you say they aren't as good as anyone with "academic training," fuck you very much you elitist jerk.

This sense is emphasized by their next paragraph. First, they shift the rhetoric framework of the conversation again. The actual claim the poster says they are defending is that "any sufficiently Deep Enthusiasm is indistinguishable from Academic Rigor" (emphasis added). Now, they are claiming that OP means that no one outside of an academic context "has the capacity to learn what rigor means in their field." These are very different claims, but the poster shits between them seamlessly.

Second, they just completely misunderstand what academic rigor is. I'm sorry, you can read every book and article and (*sigh* dear god) TED talk in the world, that doesn't make you an expert, and that's not academic rigor. A large part of academic rigor is in how you critically engage with what you read. Otherwise you just end up, at best, with a bunch of shallow facts that you can "whip out at dinner parties to impress [your] acquaintances" or sprinkle as references in arguments on tumblr to make you sound smarter.

But no, the poster confirms in the next paragraph, you don't need critical thinking or training or people who will tell you that you are wrong. All you need is the information. And if you disagree, you are arguing in favor of "the ivory tower." (Take a drink.)

In the next two paragraphs, the poster pays lip service to the idea that sure, it's easier to learn in academia. But even then, they imply that somehow that's the easy route, that good learning environments create weak men, that people who are self-taught are the ones who are actually building up the critical thinking skills because someone doesn't just "tell them the answer."

Then, before the readers have a chance to absorb, wait, did you really just say that academia is really just having someone either tell you the answer or where to look for the answer and therefore unsuitable for "sincerely love to learn," (because you are, in fact, anti-intellectual), the poster then throws in a bunch of shallow buzz phrases about how higher education isn't available to a lot of people.

And I say these are just shallow buzz phrases for two reasons. First, the poster never actually engages with this lack of access. It's just sprinkled in, like the references to Arthur C Clarke and Herodotus. (For example, no, actually, "any sufficiently MOTIVATED person" can't actually access all this information that is online. You need a stable internet connection, devices to allow you to make use of that connection, to speak or read the language those materials are published in, enough time and sleep and food and goddam shelter.)

Second, this doesn't actually have anything to do with the actual claim that the poster is supposedly defending. Remember that? Remember the position the poster is arguing for? "Any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor." How does, "some people can't go to college" support that claim, specifically?

It doesn't, which is why the poster's next paragraph instead claims that OP is arguing that "those people do not have the ability to hold themselves to a rigorous standard of learning."

Which just.

Fuck you?

Because yeah, that would be a shitty opinion to hold! And you are the only person raising it! You are explicitly making the claim - fuck, perpetrating the anti-intellectual worldview - that anyone who suggests "caring about something does not inherently equal subject matter expertise" is an elitist who thinks that everyone else, ordinary people, real Americans, are stupid.

I'm gong to be honest, this is the part of the poster's claims that made me mad enough to respond.The notes include people agreeing that academics and "experts" are actually pretty elitist, aren't they, and they deserve to be "taken down a few pegs," that suggesting that you need a baseline level of knowledge or vocabulary before you can engage deeply with a subject is "gatekeeping."

The U.S.'s institutions are crumbling as they are dismantled by people that are making these exact same arguments. There is no meaningful difference in the reasoning of the poster's argument here, and the argument that "alternative medicine" hacks who never completed their medical training have sufficient credentials to run goverment agencies, and that if you bring up their lack of credentials, well, that just proves what an elitist you are.

The "worldview" the poster does not accept - is telling you not to accept - is the idea that expertise exists at all.

And because that is an incorrect and harmful worldview, the poster has to use a bunch of rhetorical tricks to hide what they are doing. And then to sell it, they throw in a bunch of words to stir up the audience's preconceptions and biases. OP's claim (again, that enthusiasm and academic rigor are not equivalent) is "racist and imperialist." Why? Don't worry about it. Something something college is expensive and inaccessible to a lot of people. All you need to remember is that these ivory-tower academics are The Bad Thing.

*deep breath*

Anyway, knowing we need a laugh to bring the mood back up, the poster then says someone on reddit criticizing your argument is an "informal version[] of the peer-review process." Besides betraying a deep ignorance of the nature of peer-review (I guess even knowing how academic processes work is also elitist?), I think this means that the poster has to be cool with my post here, right? Because I'm just doing peer review? (Because also, just to be clear: "the academic structure of the peer review is a formalized process of the very human impulse to gleefully tell other humans when they’ve stuck their foot in their mouth." No. This is just. No.)

Next, more misstating OP's original claim. The poster says, "An institution of formal learning is not a prerequisite to pursue and absorb information," which OP already agreed with in the comments of the poster's original post.

In support of this claim that no one is arguing with, the poster than makes up a "guy at the model airplane shop who seems to know absolutely everything that has ever been known about WWII planes," and asks, "why don’t we acknowledge him as a legitimate expert?" The poster implies that this is because this guy is autistic and OP is a bigot.

But the real answer is simpler:

Unless you are referring to something you chose not to link for some reason, he's made up. He's a made up guy in your brain. And OP never said anything about him, so it's really weird for you to criticize OP for not sufficiently praising him as an expert. Fanfic isn't reality.

To the extent we are talking about real phenomenons - who do you mean by "we" and what do you mean by "acknowledge him as a legitimate expert"? There are lots of people with legitimate expertise, and in my experience, they often are recognized as such. And I don't know where you live, but outside of revenge-fantasies of conservative pundits and the people who are mislead by them, most academic experts aren't exactly exhausted and prestige and praise.

'Knowing a lot about a subject' is not the same as academic rigor. This isn't a criticism or insult to people who know a lot of things, despite your weird, self-centered hang-ups. Let me be clear here, actually: I am not an academic. I am a lawyer. I know a lot about the law in the areas I practice in. I do not practice the law "with academic rigor" because that's not really meaningful. I also like to constantly learn more about the law, including in many areas I don't practice in. I am not an expert in those areas. Just as an academic who studies the law and legal practice would not necessarily be good at actually practicing the law, my enthusiasm does not mean I have academic expertise (and my academic training is rather rusty, this many years out). This is normal? My ego is not threatened by acknowledging different kinds of expertise and knowledge exist?

And perhaps most to the point - "seems to know absolutely everything that has ever been known about WWII planes." "Seems to." An important part of academia - part of what makes it rigorous, if you will - is that you actually have to prove your expertise to other experts. They are then "recognized" as experts because there is a process the public can usually trust that they don't just "seem to" know what they are talking about. If you are talking to an amateur enthusiast - how do you know you they actually have the expertise they claim to have? Because I know of some guys who are really enthusiastic about the, claim to be experts, and have a lot of strong opinions about how they have reclaimed their Sovereign Identity by not capitalizing the letters in their name.

I agree with the poster's final paragraph. I love learning. But I can't see this as anything other than a manipulative postscript, a rhetorical trick of ending on a point of agreement and mutual enthusiasm. By a person - and I can't emphasize this enough - who refused assistance in learning and threw an enormous tantrum because someone suggested hey, maybe its a good idea to get a basic foundation of knowledge before cold-emailing experts.

[checkeredflagggs]

+1s

Pairing: logan sargeant x reader

summary: When a member of Logan’s team gets married in Vegas, he invites the new wife and her bff to travel with him as his Williams guests. He didn’t know being a +1 would also see him in love

a/n:this took so much longer than I thought it would…oops 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n2: made up some names for Williams workers — sorry if you’re actually real

a/n3: this is set in 2023 and I switched Austin and Vegas in the racing calendar

a/n4: sorry this was later than I said — the heat was brutal

Masterlist

Private Messages, Logan and Jon

Private Messages, Logan and Jon (2 hours later)

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n (4 hours later)

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

f1gossip

user1: Vegas just literally became my favorite track

↳user2: where else are we gonna get content like this??

↳user1: right???

user3: bets on who it is?

↳user4: level mode extreme because most of them were partying together…

↳user5: ok time to put on my crazy hat and deep dive — I need to know which driver was crazy enough to get Vegas married

↳user4: ok but no one said it was a driver? Like they specifically said f1 employee which makes me think it wasn’t a driver

↳user5: ohhhh good point good point

↳user3: ok but i need it to be a driver???

user6: I think it’s gonna be a redbull employee

↳user7: reasoning?

↳user6: they have nothing to worry about

↳user7: I can see it

↳user8: i think it’s gonna be a Ferrari employee

↳user9: plot twist it’s both

↳user10: that would be fucking hilarious

user11: other gossip pages are apparently reporting that Logan was spotted leaving the party early

↳user12: DID LOGAN GET MARRIED?!?

↳user13: I can’t believe wtf is a kilometer is married…

↳user14: tbh not the driver I would have bet on but I can see it

↳user13: same

Bluesky

user15: 😂😂😂😂

user16: the tweet format to live in infamy

oscarpiastri: really?

↳logansargeant: shouldn’t have been so funny if you didn’t want us to copy you

↳oscarpiastri: 😒😑

user17: oh my god we really thought that Logan got married

↳logansargeant: really appreciate the faith

↳user17: of course!

↳logansargeant: 😑😑

alex_albon: I had faith in you!

↳logansargeant: thank you Alex

↳lilymhe: he didn’t — he was texting me his theories and you were near the top of the list

↳logansargeant: 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻

↳user18: oh my god this is the best ever

Private Messages, Logan/Jon/Wendy and y/n

wendy_travel

liked by travel_with_yn, jon_pr, logansargeant, and 827,193 others

tagged: jon_pr

wendy_travel: honeymoon in Mexico 

view all comments

user19: married?!? Girl what

↳user20: oh my god your the girl!

↳user21: what girl?? 

↳user20: the f1gossip page girl! There was a rumor someone in f1 got married in Vegas last week and this is the wife! 

↳user21: oh my god that’s so cute!

jon_pr: paradise with you

↳wendy_travel: always when I’m with you

↳travel_with_yn: cheesy

travel_with_yn

liked by logansargeant, user, user, and 3,824,293 others

tagged: channel, summer_fridays, google

travel_with_yn: traveling in style with my trusted companions! The best to travel with, the best to look good, and the best to find my way!

view all comments

user22: oh my god you always look so good!

↳travel_with_yn: thanks in large part to my summer fridays berry lip gloss!

logansargeant: glad you could come

↳travel_with_yn: thanks for asking!

↳logansargeant: now that you’ve met some of the grid — do we still have the same vibes?

↳travel_with_yn: You? No. The rest? Mostly

oscarpiastri: it was nice to meet you two

↳travel_with_yn: you too!

↳oscarpiastri: now if you could give me my hat back?

↳travel_with_yn: sorry I need it more

↳logansargeant: trash it — I’ll give you a better one liked by travel_with_yn, oscarpiastri

alex_albon: always nice to meet new fans!

↳travel_with_yn: I don’t know if I’d go that far yet…

↳alex_albon: but you were in my garage all weekend?

↳travel_with_yn: cause I was flirting with Lily?

↳lilymhe: loml 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

user23: best Williams guest!

↳user24: it was so fun seeing you on the big screen!

↳travel_with_yn: they definitely got my good side!

↳user25: impossible for you to have a bad one!

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

f1gossip

user26: they look so happy most of the time though…

user27: if you go on YouTube, there’s actual footage of that argument…it’s bad

↳user28: oh my god really?

↳user27: it really is. It goes on for like 20/30 minutes

↳user28: yikes…

user29: girl dump his ass

user30: this is why Vegas weddings never work out

↳user31: really?

↳user32: well spontaneous weddings

user33: i wanna know what rumors are swirling around to get to the gossip page

↳user34: right??? Cause like what’s happening that we can’t see?

Private Messages, Logan and Jon

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

williamsracing

liked by travel_with_yn, logansargeant, and 1,829,293 others

tagged: travel_with_yn

williamsracing: Brazil here we come! And thanks for all the traveling tips y/n!

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user35: and looking good doing it!

user36: I love Brazil

travel_with_yn: you guys certainly know how to treat a girl right, of course I’ll offer some tips

↳williamsracing: anything for one of our favorite guests

↳user37: ok what do I need to do to get this treatment?

↳user38: idk but I’m laughing that it isn’t the wife of one of their pr people that’s getting the red carpet treatment

↳user37: omg I didn’t even notice. I wonder what Wendy is thinking about it…

↳user39: shes probably too busy fighting with her husband to notice

alex_albon: you guys never post me like this

↳travel_with_yn: skill issue

↳alex_albon: I didn’t sign up to be bullied!

↳logansargeant: it’s a service she offers for free

user50: you guys thought we wouldn’t notice! But we did!  

↳user51: ummmm notice what?

↳user50: that Jon and Wendy (the Vegas couple) spent a lot of the weekend arguing with each other

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 682,384 others

f1gossip: Logan on a date? The American driver was seen at a local Austin Japanese restaurant — with an empty but occupied seat next to him

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user52: that was supposed to be me!

↳user53: or me…

user54: ok are we thinking date date or friend date?

↳user55: I desperately want it to be a date date because I need relationship Logan…

↳user56: on the other hand I need it to be a friend date so I still have a chance!

user57: ok but conspiracy theory time — I think its gonna be y/n!

↳user58: the travel influencer that’s been at the Williams garage lately?

↳user57: ok hear me out first — we know they’ve been spending a lot of time together recently because of Jon and Wendy (Vegas couple who’s their besties)

↳user57: and I’d imagine they’re getting the front row seat to the implosion of their marriage — and having been there, done that — you get close to people also going through it

↳user57: and if you go back through the pictures and videos of Austin and Brazil — they spend a lot of time together in the background

↳user58: …ok you got me

↳user57: just you wait and see

user59: wtf is a kilometer looks so good here!

↳user60: that’s what I was thinking!!

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

williamsracing

liked by travel_with_yn, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 1,213,274 others

tagged: logansargeant

williamsracing: Logan points here in Austin!! We repeat — Logan points!

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user61: this is everything I’ve ever wanted

↳user62: OUR AMERICAN DID IT!

oscarpiastri: congratulations man

↳logansargeant: thanks!

user63: LOGAN POINTS LOGAN POINTS!!

alex_albon: show ‘em how it’s done!

↳logansargeant: you know it!

user64: caw caw mofos!!! 🦅🦅

travel_with_yn: it was a genuine pleasure to watch you race today

↳logansargeant: you must be my lucky charm!

↳user57: interesting interesting 📝

user65: WOOHOO!!

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

logansargeant

liked by travel_with_yn, oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 772,923 others

tagged: williamsracing, alex_albon

logansargeant: as the season comes to a close, I just want to thank everyone at williamsracing for the amazing chance to drive for you. It was a rocky start but we’ll definitely come back stronger next year! With hopefully less excitement at Vegas 😂

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alex_albon: it was a great time having you as a teammate this year!

↳logansargeant: it was definitely great being teammates!

user66: I’ve only had this American for a season but if something happened to him etc etc

oscarpiastri: first year done, more to come!

↳logansargeant: can’t wait for them!

user67: ok are we all skipping over the last picture or???

↳user68: no no we are not! Logan Sargeant come explain yourself!

↳user57: if I may??

↳user69: you may not!

↳user57: it’s definitely y/n!

travel_with_yn: it was certainly a pleasure traveling with you these last few weeks!

↳logansargeant: excellent

Private Messages, Logan/Wendy/Jon and y/n

travel_with_yn

liked by wendy_travel, logansargeant, user, and 829,439 others

travel_with_yn: no traveling necessary when I’m with you

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user70: a soft launch?!?

↳user71: not on my bingo card for the year..

↳user70: but I love it!

user57: I’m telling you guys!

↳user72: alright there grandma…

logansargeant: 🩵

↳user73: oh my god!!

logansargeant has posted 3 stories

[back with benny][ Vegas here we come][forever with you yn_sargeant]

user74 replied BENNY!!

user75 replied Benny Benny Benny!!

user76 replied what are you and Benny doing together?!?

travel_with_yn replied oh you look so handsome…

↳logansargeant oh I’m blushing ☺️

oscarpiastri replied are you really going to do it?

↳logansargeant yes

↳oscarpiastri crazy man but good luck

alex_albon replied you’re getting married and you didn’t even invite me???

↳logansargeant 😂sorry but it is a bit of a spur of the moment decision — we’ll have an actual ceremony soon

↳alex_albon good! I’d like to see you and yn again

↳logansargeant …she says she’s excited to see Lily again

↳alex_albon 🙄🙄

user77 replied MARRIAGE?!?

jon_pr replied are you sure?

↳logansargeant I’ve never been more sure in my life

↳jon_pr well at least it’s not a drunk one

↳logansargeant 😂

user78 replied Alexa play that should be me

yn_sargeant replied oh my lovely husband — here’s to forever

↳logansargeant thankfully 😊😊

georgerussell63 replied congratulations 🎉

↳logansargeant thanks man! Be on the look out for an invitation — we’ll be having a real ceremony soonish

wendy_travel replied treat her well

↳logansargeant I will

user57 replied I KNEW IT!!

Taglist

@daniskywalkersolo @thenerdysimp @quinquinquincy @lecfosimaxbull @gr3yhues @armystay89 @simplylovelysworld @mimisweetz @angelluv16 @hamiltonforwdc @alexxavicry @suns3treading @ymrereads @monzipan @stuffyownswrld @kuolonsyoja @ky14-1 @devilacot @justheretoreadthxxs @minrayven @albonoracers @hc-dutch @somerandomf1fan @purplephantomwolf @shadowreader07 @spilled-coffee-cup @galaxygurlll l @anamiad00msday @freyathehuntress @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @ihaveitprinteddout @deena-beena-weena @lilyofthevalley-09 @nightrose-18 @kodeelyn @star73807-blog @avengers-assemble123456 @howling-wolf97 @boke-hinata-boke @hannahmotors10 @mountainshuman @daisydaze111 @evie-119 @shadowreader07 @r0nnsblog @1800-love-me @edgyficuselastica @everydayimagineer

[obsessive-daydreamer]

You're a real one, honestly.

Thank you tanya

Alright, I want to tag everyone in the server. But I don't know everyone's tumblr tags, so that's not happening. Here's a few:

@roterstern Literally one of my best mates. We talk literally all the time, you make beautiful art and have made art specifically for me, which I ogle every day. I know we became friends because I wrote filthy Lore/Hugh smut for you, and it's the most important fic to me for that reason. I get excited every time the little online symbol pops up on discord, and I 100% overshare constantly with you. And you accept it every single time. I cherish our conversations, and every discussion that we have means the world to me, whether you think it was silly or not.

@tanyayoung-322 (who tagged me) ^ as I said at the very top. You're very lovely and are one of the people I met at the beginning. Somehow one of the most tolerant people (of me) that I know. Even though I'm a nasty British bitch

@hawkstar5 literally the number 1 supporter of the discord server, love you for that. Actually, was the first person i got to know on tumblr. We met through smutty roleplay. Another person I've met through smut - fancy that.

@xm0-m0x For being British and really funny. You also draw some banging art, which I realised today I forget to respond to half the time, but I can guarantee I do stare at it for ages. Heart emoji, heart emoji, boobies emoji.

@dawnkiller08 This one is a little out of the blue but I'm pretty sure we met on TikTok. I sometimes tag you in ask games because in my head you're a treasured mutual. (Hope the tagging doesn't annoy you 😭) You also drew Lore with cat ears (had to double check this because it was so long ago. Your account was very long and my hand hurts from scrolling right to the bottom, but I can confirm. The post is indeed there).

@drfuckerm-d ngl mate i really like you. And slag. I love the little video things you do with the sound overlays too. I've actually watched some of them on repeat bc im kind of addicted to your art style.

@dataentryspecialist BRO I ALMOST FORGOT YOU. If I remember correctly, you were the first person I ever dmed on tumblr? Or maybe it was the second...not sure. But I wanted to bookbind Electric Excavations and you gave me the big thumbs up and so far only one (of probably something ridiculous like 15) books has been bounf. 1.3 million words is INSANE. I currently have the second part stashed in a pillow waiting for when I return to bookbinding and can bind it. I'm making it my goal for 2027. Maybe 2028.

(Also means I need to redownload Electric Excavations and my computer is really going to hate me but ohh wellllll...)

I'm also tagging other people I'm friends with on the server but forgot the tumblr handles for ily <33

favirote moots?

(People you tag have to reblog and say their favorite moots)

Okay wait

@ibrokeurheartbcuzubrokemine @foliverfalls @allyeilishh @addisonraesbaby @emiliesblohsh @bilsslut @noodleswashere @bilsbabyy @bitchesbrokenpromises @billsdollie

[artshokad2]

The unthinkable happened right when i was going to join in wip Wednesday unprompted @twodiamondhoes tagged me in it

I was going to do something a little more recent but the day snuck up on me so have a really old snippet from a fic i may or may not finish that i wrote in a haze of finals stress while listening to “Sleeping in the Kitchen” by Madilyn Mei on loop

Jimmy Solidarity my beloved

Its a little out of my usual style because music possesses me in a way thats a little concerning sometimes but i had fun with it!

Tagging @gladumfdoodles who i know always has a snippet locked and loaded, @raffi-cat who should share their writing more in my humble opinion, @sincerely-nines because my favorite moot you should write fanfic… if you want…

and my friend ani whose tumblr @ is not working rn so im just going to send this to them but they should share their writing on tumblr!!! Its so fun!!

(No pressure to anyone, tis supposed to be for fun :D)

[sink-drainage]

Inspired by recent events, and recent hate I've received from other transmascs who refuse to acknowledge transandrophobia, I must say this.

If you are transmasc, and you don't think you have any lived experiences about being oppressed on the basis of being transmasc, that's great, I'm so happy for you. But you need to sit down and listen to the transmascs who DO have those experiences. Your experiences don't invalidate ours.

Like I'll take you at your word that you are more privileged now, that's awesome, good for you. Now go find something else to do with your time that's not about bullying the people in your own fucking community who want to talk about our lived experiences and our oppression.

Call congresspeople who have to vote on incoming legislation that will affect the trans people in your community. Volunteer at a food bank. There is so much good you can do. Why are you wasting your time stalking the transandrophobia tags to bully other trans men? Your trans brothers need help, and your reaction is to bait them and mock them? How do you sleep at night?

One more thing: this goes out specifically to the trans guy with the "hall of shame" in his bio where he lists a bunch of trans men who speak about transandrophobia. Your self flagellation is not impressive. It's pitiful. Get well soon.

[lumiileth]

let you break my heart again: part iii

part 1 part 2

pairing: Shanks x Marine!Reader, Garp’s Daughter!Reader, Familial!Luffy x Reader,

tags: Bittersweet, Angst, Requited Unrequited Love, Angst, Non-Sexual Tension, No Use of Y/N,

Manga spoiler warnings

word count: 8.200

summary: She was an anchor, foolishly reaching for the tide, but Shanks was the sea—vast, restless, and never meant to be caught.

or: She realized that Shanks and Luffy were the same - both too wild and free-spirited to be held back, they were always going to chase their dreams, while she just had to accept being left behind.

“So your dad is Garp?!” Shanks gawked, eyes wide at the aftermath from the chaos erupted before them, specifically, a brawl between Vice Admiral Garp and their captain, Gol D. Roger.

It wasn’t much of a fight. Fists flew, grunts echoed, and it ended rather abruptly when a small, furious voice rang louder than either of the two legends.

“ I don’t wanna go back yet !!”

There she stood, barely reaching anyone’s shoulder, arms crossed, cheeks puffed with defiance. Garp turned to his daughter, visibly flustered. He was caught off guard by his only daughter’s request. 

The Roger Pirates watched, utterly entertained, as the Marine Hero, the same man feared across the seas, crumbled at the hands of one little girl. His face twisted with frustration, muttering half-baked scoldings, while his eyes shimmered suspiciously.

And when Roger let out a booming laugh, the rest of the crew followed suit.

“ Oi, Garp! Looks like you’ve met your match !” Roger cackled.

“Yeah,” she muttered, propping her chin on her palm, elbow balanced on the edge of the ship’s rail. Her voice was calm, too calm, given what had just come out of her mouth.

Across from her, Buggy let out a shriek so loud it startled nearby seagulls into flight.

“SO IT’S TRUE?!” he howled, his body exploding apart in every direction like fireworks in a panic. His head spun midair, hovering with wild eyes and twitching lips. “No wonder you’re scary, Garp? The Garp that’s always on Captain’s tail?”

She blinked at him, unimpressed. “I guess so,” she said, brushing a stray hair behind her ear with a casual flick.

Buggy’s floating head nearly dropped from the sky.

“C-Crazy, you’re crazy!” he stammered, “That man’s a monster! A living legend! You’re saying that guy is your dad?! So what are you doing on this ship?!”

She leaned back against the rail, gazing out toward the endless stretch of sea. “Hm… Out of all the ships I saw, the red sails looked the most exciting!” 

Her gaze lifted to the sails above, bright red and billowing against the wind, a shimmering glint of admiration.

“It looked way cooler than the other ships.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “I didn’t even realize it belonged to the infamous Gol D. Roger. I just thought it looked like it could take me somewhere I hadn’t been before, super flashy!”

Buggy’s head bobbed midair, the wonder in her voice catching him off guard.

“R-Right, right!” he said, recovering fast and puffing out his chest, well, where his chest would’ve been. “Our captain’s the flashiest of them all! You’ve got good taste!”

“So, why aren’t you going back?” Shanks asked, inching a little closer to her on the deck, curiosity tugging at his features. Up close, he was reminded again just how tall she was, Garp’s blood ran strong, apparently.

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon. “It’s fun being pirates.” Her lips curled into a small, teasing smirk. “Why? Want me gone that badly?”

“Yes!”

 “No!”

The two answers clashed in the air instantly.

She didn’t even need to look up, she already knew who said what. Her sharp glare zeroed in on Buggy, whose face had already contorted into an exaggerated grimace.

“But you’re basically a Marine! ” Buggy protests, flailing dramatically as he frantically turns to Shanks. “What if she rats us out?!”

“Oh, shut up, you’re just scared” she snapped, eyes narrowing.

Rayleigh’s voice cut through the tension, calm but pointed. “Did you know your father made it his life’s mission to capture our captain?”

He stepped into the conversation like he’d been listening the whole time, because he probably had. Rayleigh looked at her with just a small amount of curiosity, after he had checked in with his careless Captain who had just fought her father. 

“How do we know you’re not feeding him information behind our backs?” he added, expression unreadable.

“Come on , Rayleigh,” another crew member, Taro, she recalled, interjected with a huff. “If that were true, Garp would’ve been breathing down our necks a long time ago.” He ruffled the girl’s hair. 

“Exactly!” she threw up her hands. “As if I’d let him get information that easily. No way in hell I’d give him the satisfaction.”

Once things settled, the conversation drifted naturally back to the trio, to their familiar corner on the deck of the Oro Jackson. The wind had calmed, but the curiosity between them hadn’t. It wasn’t quite an interrogation, but she could feel the way their eyes lingered on her, wanting to ask more questions. 

Especially now, knowing who her father was, someone even Captain Roger spoke of with an odd mix of exasperation and respect.

“Why don't you wanna be a Marine?” Buggy asked, tilting his head with a finger pressed to his chin. “You’d probably get a high rank right off the bat! You’d be rich!”

She gave him a flat look, the kind only someone used to his antics could muster. “Buggy, that’s called nepotism.”

He shrugged unapologetically. “So?”

“I don’t know…” she sighed, toying with the loose threads on the hem of her shirt. Her voice softened. “I… got onto this ship just for fun, I thought one day I’d just leave and continue my way through my dad.” 

“But?” Buggy tilted his head, intrigued by her answer, her dad is a scary man with scary potential, he needs to know these things. 

“Sailing with you guys is so fun,” She mumbled, her voice had a slight tremble to it as she still didn’t want to look straight in the eyes at the other apprentices. 

“My older brother’s a Marine.” Her thoughts briefly flicked to Dragon, once a loving brother figure to her, now an increasingly distant one. She recalls her childhood where Dragon and her would scavenge through the forests in Dawn Island, waiting for Garp to finally show and do some training. 

“Rarely saw him after, and when I do, he looked like shit!”

“You mean that Dragon guy?” Shanks asked, blinking as if trying to remember something, “I think you mentioned him before.”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “Never home. Even Dad visits more.”

“You sound like a brat throwing a tantrum,” Buggy chimed in again, grinning. “So you do act like a girl sometimes, I thought you’re just a brute.”

She gasped, scandalized. “Excuse you?! ”

“Now, now,” Shanks stepped in quickly, arms between them like a referee. “Let’s not start a war on deck, alright?”

“She started it,” Buggy mumbled under his breath.

“You provoked me!” she shot back, leaning forward with a glare.

“Alright, alright,” Shanks laughed, placing a hand on her head and ruffling her hair. “Let’s take it easy, marine spawn.”

“Hey!” She shot up, clearly offended, a frown scrunching up her face. “I’m a pirate through and through now, okay? I hate Marines.” Her arms crossed over her chest with the full drama of someone thoroughly committed to the bit.

Buggy blinked at her, unimpressed. “So you hate your family?”

“That’s different!” she huffed, turning her nose up. “They don’t count.”

-----

“How ya feeling?” Hongo asked, standing beside the bed with his arms loosely crossed, his expression gentle but observant. He had just finished checking her vitals, carefully, given how frantic Shanks had been when he all but shoved her into his care. It had taken a lot to calm the captain down.

The girl blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling before letting her gaze drift around the room. Clean. Nautical. Slightly chaotic. She didn’t recognize a single thing, except for the man watching her with quiet patience.

“Hongo,” she finally said, her voice dry but teasing, “I see you got your teeth back.”

“Hey,” he replied with a short laugh, clearly not offended. “We can trade barbs when you’re not halfway to the grave. Let’s not make my captain worry more than he already is.”

A pause, then a soft murmur: “I’m on the Red Force, huh?”

“Yeah.” Hongo nodded, but then narrowed his eyes slightly. “If you’re not gonna answer my questions, I’ll go get Shanks.”

“No!” she blurted, sitting up too fast before wincing at the effort. “No, I’ll answer. Just… please. I need to be away from Shanks for a bit. If that’s okay?”

Hongo eyed her, reading more between the lines than she realized. Then, with a small smile, he said, “Can’t reject a lady’s request.”

He pulled a chair closer to her bedside, his tone gentle but firm. “So… what happened?”

She stared down and then she told him. Everything. (or at least stuff that are relevant)

-----

“Hey, Capt.” Hongo greeted as he stepped out of the room, only for Shanks to immediately crowd him, hand still half on the doorframe.

“How is she? Is she okay?” Shanks asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, he failed miserably. Everyone on the crew knew just how much the girl meant to him. He might’ve tried to act cool about it, but the fact he’d been standing outside the door the entire time, down to the second, said everything.

Hongo sighed, his hands on his waist. “She needs rest. Her health isn’t great. She told me a few things, but… I don’t think it’s the full story. I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle all of it.”

“She’s awake?” Shanks asked, eyes lighting up, completely ignoring the rest of Hongo’s words.

“Yes, she’s awake, but—”

Before Hongo could finish, Shanks had already turned to push the door open, only to be yanked back by Benn Beckman with one hand. It looked comical, like someone dragging back an overexcited cat.

“Whoa there. Listen to the doctor, she needs rest,” Beckman said, calm but firm.

“Ugh, fine,” Shanks groaned, deflating like a sulking kid.

“Never thought I’d live to see Pouting Shanks,” Yassop muttered to Lucky Roux with a smirk.

“We’re gonna be seeing a lot of that,” Roux whispered back, both of them shaking their heads with amusement.

“Hm, I think Limejuice is calling for me,” Shanks blurted out, already half-turning to flee down the front of the deck, clearly hoping no one would question why Limejuice, of all people, would ever need him urgently.

Behind him, several senior officers exchanged knowing smirks, low chuckles echoing through the corridor. Watching their proud captain all but retreat because of a woman? Now that was a sight.

“So,” Benn Beckman called out casually, arms crossed, “What did she actually say, Hongo?”

Yassop and Lucky Roux blinked, then leaned in like kids overhearing gossip for the first time.

Hongo, ever calm, adjusted the strap of his med kit and sighed. “She asked me to keep Shanks out of her room for a while.”

That made the air shift slightly.

“Not sure what happened between them back on that island,” he added, voice just low enough to make it sound important, “but whatever it was… it definitely something .”

The silence that followed was punctuated only by Shanks’ very unsubtle footsteps retreating down the Red Force, faster than any pirate captain should ever be walking.

----

“Now,” a voice called from the doorway, smooth, teasing, yet unmistakably firm. “Why did I hear from my doctor that Ms. Patient in here doesn’t want my presence?”

The air shifted.

She flinched before she could catch herself. That voice, low and careless, threaded with an old warmth that unsettled her more than she'd admit, dug into her chest like a dull blade. She didn’t turn toward him. She didn’t want to.

“Because Ms. Patient ,” she said tightly, her eyes fixed on the wooden planks, “ explicitly does not want your presence. Is that too hard to understand, Red-Hair ?”

Shanks stepped inside anyway, she had been cooped in the room for awhile, but guessing from the silence on deck and the night sky, it was around dawn, she finally saw that familiar smirk was already tugging at his lips, boyish and far too charming for someone so infuriating.

“Yeah,” he said with a mock sigh, “I guess it is. Y’see, I’ve never really had women reject me before.” His voice dipped with amusement, eyes scanning the room before locking onto her still form. “Kind of a new experience.”

She rolled her eyes, slowly turning her head to glance at him, just a little. “Glad I could be your first,” she muttered.

“I’d love for you to be my firsts,” He had jokingly said, but was met up with a glare from the bedridden patient so Shanks immediately deflected, “So,” he said, gaze drifting around before settling back on her. “How’ve you been?”

The silence between them stretched.

“Peachy,” she answered curtly, her voice clipped, eyes already drifting back toward the ceiling as if it could shield her.

Shanks inhaled, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “Right. Should’ve expected that.”

There was a flicker in her gaze then. Still, her voice was softer this time. “Luffy missed you.”

Shanks’ face shifted, just slightly. His grin widened at the name being dropped, he thinks of the little guy who had dreams like his former captain, who’s now wearing his hat like a legacy. 

“Missed that little anchor too,” Shanks said with a smile. 

She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The name alone was enough to carve silence between them.

But Shanks pushed forward anyway, taking a cautious step closer, his eyes scanning her face like he was searching for something left unsaid.

“But I asked about you , sweetheart,” he said gently, his voice lower now. No grin. Just rawness.

“Never better,” she bit out, her voice thick with sarcasm as she shifted slightly on the bed, wincing at the sting that laced through her ribcage. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Shanks didn’t flinch, but something tightened in his eyes. His arms were still crossed, his stance relaxed—but only on the surface. “I want to hear the truth, at least,” he replied, tone softer now, stripped of that usual teasing lilt.

She stared at him, and then, without warning, glared, sharp, unfiltered, exhausted.

“Well,” she said, dragging the word like a blade, “I feel like shit. My head’s pounding, I can’t feel half my fingers, and I think I might hurl in about two minutes. So if you’re done playing pirate therapist, could you please get me a bucket?”

Shanks blinked once. “Why a bucket,” he said, already walking over to the gaped door with a nonchalant tilt of his head, “when you’ve got a perfectly good sea right outside this room?”

Despite herself, a breathy laugh escaped her lips. 

“Yeah, right,” she muttered, rolling her eyes, “As if I’d dare tarnish your beloved sea.”

He turned back, just in time to catch the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t bitter. Just a flicker of something long buried between them, genuine, if fleeting.

Her words held no venom now, only the dry edge of someone too tired to pretend and too familiar with the person standing before her. It was the kind of banter only shared between people who had once known each other too well and maybe still did.

Shanks leaned against the wooden walls of the room, watching her with a quiet fondness. “My sea’s been through worse,” he said, “It can handle a little heartbreak.”

“How ‘bout you?” she asked suddenly, voice casual but eyes carefully trained on him, like she was daring him to be honest. It caught Shanks off guard, but he recovered with a tilt of his head and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How’s the big scary Yonko faring in his beloved sea?”

A laugh erupted from him, loud, familiar, and echoing with that signature Red-Haired charm. It rumbled from his chest, deep and full, and for a fleeting moment, she saw not the infamous Emperor of the Sea, but the boy who once dangled his legs off the Oro Jackson beside her, carefree and bright-eyed.

“This big and scary Yonko,” he said, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye, “was absolutely terrified for a certain patient’s life. Scariest I’ve ever felt, I fear.” His voice dipped with quiet sincerity toward the end, a tremble of truth hidden in the humor.

She held his gaze, her smile softening just slightly before her tone leveled into something more grounded.

“I’m fine, Shanks,” she said, but it was too clean, too rehearsed. Her posture had stiffened, the slight tremor in her fingers betraying the calm she tried to maintain.

He watched her closely, unconvinced. The image of her back on that bloodstained island, crumpled beneath the weight of everything she carried, played on repeat in his mind.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice low and earnest, no longer laced with his usual levity.

“I’m not pretending,” she lied.

“Here’s some tangerine, your favorite,” Shanks suddenly said, setting down a small woven basket on the bedside table with a casual air that didn’t quite mask the thoughtfulness behind the gesture. “A bit sour since it’s not in season, but still sweet enough to eat. Don’t worry.”

She blinked at the offering, then at him, eyes narrowing slightly, not in annoyance, but in curiosity. Her fingers reached toward the fruit instinctively, brushing against the coarse skin of one of them. The scent was immediate, bright, citrusy, familiar.

“You have a tangerine tree on your ship now?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, as if trying to place the absurdity of it. Her voice was light, teasing, but her gaze stayed fixed on his face.

Shanks just hummed in response, a noncommittal sound paired with a shrug.

But you don’t like tangerines.

She didn’t say it out loud. It stayed trapped in the back of her throat like so many other things she didn’t allow herself to speak. Shanks never liked tangerines. Too acidic, he used to say. Always gave her some every time the three pirate apprentices scavange through a new island they just docked in. 

“Thanks…” She quietly said as she watched Shanks leave the room.

----

“Look who’s up!” Lucky Roux bellowed from the edge of the deck, waving one thick arm toward the figure emerging from the cabin. A broad grin stretched across his face, and several heads turned in her direction.

“I’m not that sick,” she called back with a small smile, the breeze catching strands of her hair as she stepped fully into view. Sunlight kissed her skin, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was suffocating.

“For the lady,” Roux said, presenting her with a skewer of freshly grilled meat, steam still rising from it.

As a Monkey D., she knows better than to reject a peace offering. Especially if it’s meat. She takes the meat with little to know grace, munching on it immediately. 

The crew chuckled, a few raising their mugs in a lazy salute.

“Not pairing my meat with beer? That’s preposterous,” she added with a mock frown, biting into the meat again. It was warm, juicy, something she missed. 

“We’re gonna dock soon,” Lucky Roux said, shifting beside her. “Might take a couple of days.”

She arched her brow. “One of those usual remote islands you lot crash on for rest and reckless drinking? Or something different?”

“Nah, captain said we needed to restock,” Yassop chimed in, puffing lazily on a cigarette. “Supplies, medicine, the works.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she inhaled deeply. The scent of the sea filled her lungs, salt and wind and wood and freedom. The breeze danced over her skin, she closed her eyes briefly, letting it wrap around her.

Being on a pirate ship felt different. It was different.

Even as a Vice Admiral, she never got to experience this, the quiet laughter, the sun-warmed deck beneath her feet, the unspoken bond between people who’ve risked their lives together not for duty, but for choice.

This wasn’t obligation. It was freedom.

And god, how she missed it.

“Now look who’s finally out of their room!” Shanks shouted, his voice booming with playful exaggeration as he strode across the deck. Without hesitation, he slung a heavy arm over her shoulders.

The gesture, so familiar yet distant, made her shoulders tense instinctively. Her balance wavered, just for a moment. She wasn’t as steady on her feet as she thought she’d be, her recovery is growing less and less each day. 

“Shanks,” she murmured, her voice low but not cold. A soft smile ghosted across her lips before she could stop it, brief, fleeting, but real. The man beside her still carried the same spark in his eyes, the same lopsided grin that used to drive her mad. 

“Oh~?” Shanks leaned closer, his red hair brushing her cheek as he tilted his head with mock disbelief. “Was that a smile I just saw? Are you actually happy to see me now? Miracles do happen.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He laughed, loud, unrestrained, like a certain captain they sailed under from back then, Shanks nudged her gently with his elbow. “You wound me. After everything I’ve done for you.”

“Your everything ain’t much if I’m being honest,” She jabbed at red-haired.

“Hey!” 

Choruses of laughter from his crewmates erupted.

----

Roger’s execution wasn’t a celebration, no matter how the world painted it.

The crowds in Loguetown had gathered like it was a festival, eager to see the Pirate King die, their voices loud with awe and hunger for a new era. Some cheered. Some jeered. Some clung to hope for the treasures whispered in dying breaths. But for her, for them, it was mourning in the truest form.

Heavy rain fell like judgment. Cold, sharp, relentless.

She stood in the shadow of the gallows, soaked through, her coat clinging to her frame, fists clenched at her sides. Beside her, Shanks was silent, red hair plastered to his face, lips drawn tight. He had cried, she realized, but now that it was raining heavily, she couldn't quite decipher it as well.

Buggy had just run off, screaming something about Shanks being a fool, his figure vanishing into the storm.

“Buggy rejected you, huh?” she said at last, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the patter of rain. It wasn’t mockery, far from it. Her tone was flat, like she had already expected it.

A beat of silence passed between them, and then Shanks took a hesitant step closer.

“I was gonna wait to ask, but…” He extended his hand, trembling just barely. “The offer’s for you too. Come with me. Let’s be pirates together.”

She looked down at his hand. It was the same hand that had once pulled her up when she stumbled on the deck of the Oro Jackson. The same hand that offered her meat when she hadn’t eaten. The same hand she used to sneakily reach for during storms when she was scared.

Now it was shaking.

Her eyes flicked toward the empty scaffolding, the wooden beams stained with rain—and Roger’s blood.

“Shanks…” she whispered.

“Don’t say no,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “Not after everything.”

She exhaled, slow and shaky. “Sha–”

Shanks interrupted, not wanting her rejection and excuse to be verbalized, “You wanted to, you wan–”

“I’m going to be a Marine,” she cut in, her voice firm, though her lips quivered. “I’ve already decided.”

His hand faltered in the air.

It made sense to her. It was the rational thing to do.

She had just watched a man—no, the man who had changed her life—die at the hands of the system her family served. A system her father upheld. A system her brother once fought for.

A system she had no choice but to return to.

To her, becoming a Marine was the only way to keep what little stability she had left. Garp was a Marine. Dragon was a Marine. Her blood was steeped in justice, in duty, in structure. Her and the naive dream to be able to change it.

But for Shanks?

For Shanks, it was betrayal.

He had just witnessed the World Government and the Marines steal the life of the only man he ever called Captain. He had lost Buggy. He had lost Roger. And now, he was losing her too.

“Decide differently,” Shanks said, the words sharper than he meant them to be. His voice was tight, strained.

She blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in tone.

“You think this is easy for me?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t raised, but it was cold. Steady.

“You think it’s easier for me?” he shot back.

“I have ties in the Marines,” she said, stepping back as if putting physical distance might temper the fire in his chest. “I’m not meant for your kind of freedom, Shanks.”

His hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, why it felt like her words were slicing open old wounds he hadn’t known he still carried.

“You don’t know a thing,” he muttered.

She frowned. “I know enough.”

She didn’t. She didn’t know that Shanks came from a past as stained and fractured as her own. That he wasn’t born free. That Roger saved him from a fate darker than most could imagine. That one day he had to step inside the place of his lineage, as much as he hated it. 

“You’re going to regret it,” Shanks said, not as a threat, not as spite. His voice was low, roughened by rain and grief. There was no smugness in his tone. He wasn’t warning her out of arrogance, he was mourning her before she even left.

She didn’t meet his eyes. If she did, she knew she’d shatter.

Shanks stepped forward, just once, but stopped himself from reaching out. They had touched so many times before, laughs shared under starlight, bruises exchanged during sparring, warmth passed during cold nights at sea.

But now?

Now his hands stayed at his sides. Anchored.

“I know you better than you think,” he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly, pained. “You’d hate yourself.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep it together. One second longer and she’d break.

“Goodbye, Shanks,” she said instead, turning and walking away from the comfort. “See you at sea.”

----

They met again for the first time in years.

----

The bitterness that had once wrapped around their hearts like iron had eroded, softened by time. With distance came clarity. With maturity came yearning, not the painful kind, but the quiet ache that settles in the chest when you realize the person you once pushed away is still part of your soul.

She hadn’t expected to hear her name that way, called out so openly, so joyfully. It echoed across the harbor, cutting through the noise of the port town.

And when she turned, blinking under the sun, there he was. A flash of crimson, a familiar grin, a mop of unmistakable red hair. Shanks.

“Shanks??” Her voice pitched up with disbelief and delight, her smile radiant, blooming like spring after a long winter.

Before she could say more, he was already there, arms around her, spinning her off the ground in a hug that pulled the breath out of her lungs and replaced it with laughter. She clung to him without hesitation, surprised by how natural it still felt.

“What are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly, once her feet found the earth again.

Shanks, still holding her elbows, looked at her with stars in his eyes—his grin boyish, just slightly crooked. “Docked here for some supplies,” he said, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, “but rumor had it there was a very charming and dangerously competent captain in the area.”

She snorted. “Who would that be?”

“I wonder who?” he said with a lopsided grin as they stood there for a moment longer than they should’ve, in the middle of a bustling dock, hearts caught somewhere between nostalgia and something dangerously close to hope.

“Huh,” Yassop muttered, eyes narrowing as he watched the woman who had been lingering near their captain ever since they docked. His arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression painted across his face. “You don’t look like the Captain’s type.”

She turned toward him, a brow arching. “Your captain has a type ?”

“N—” Limejuice tried to interject, perhaps to soften the blow, but Yassop barreled right over him.

“Petite,” Yassop began, counting on his fingers with theatrical flair. “Cute. Small. Maybe even a little helpless. You know, that damsel in distress effect.”

Each word stabbed just a bit sharper than the last.

She blinked. Her lips parted slightly, caught between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh…” she exhaled, her mouth agape just enough to hide how that landed, deep and uncomfortable. Convenient , she thought. That’s… everything she wasn’t.

Too tall. Too harsh. Too stubborn. Just gr—

“What are you guys talking about?” Shanks asked, flashing his usual boyish grin as he approached the small gathering.

“Nothing!” Yassop and Limejuice chimed in unison, a little too quickly. The woman beside them merely smiled with quiet amusement, clearly enjoying their flustered state. For all his carefree charm, it was easy to forget how much Shanks was respected by his crew, despite his young age. But now that they’d reunited, she could see how much he’d grown. 

“Really?” Shanks tilted his head, raising a brow in suspicion.

Before the others could dig themselves into a deeper hole, she casually looped her arm around his and leaned into him with a playful bump of her shoulder. “Exactly that. Nothing.”

Shanks glanced down at her, teasing warmth in his voice. “You’re getting awfully chummy. How would the world react, seeing their beloved Marine Captain arm in arm with a pirate like me?”

“They’ll live,” she quipped, her tone light but steady. “Besides, it’s not like you’re pillaging this island, right? Normal people know you don’t do that. I think.”

Shanks let out a laugh, light and windblown, “You think, huh? You sure you’re not ruining that pristine Marine record of yours by hanging around me?”

“Oh come on, your being noisy," She rolled her eyes , "let’s go and eat something. There’s this nice place that sells lobster, you still like that, right?” she said casually, though her eyes flickered with something softer, nostalgic.

Shanks’s face lit up like the sun hitting open waters. “I could never reject a woman’s offer to eat lobster,” he grinned, already falling into step beside her.

The streets of the island were warm and busy, dotted with cheerful chatter and the occasional cry of seagulls. They didn’t talk much as they walked, comfortable silence now filled the space between them.

When they reached the restaurant, Shanks looked around in delight, already imagining a seat by the window, B ut she surprised him. “To-go, please,” she told the vendor instead, then turned to Shanks. “We’re having a picnic.”

“A picnic?” Shanks raised a brow but didn’t protest, already intrigued.

“There’s a spot nearby, by the cliffs. I sit there when I needed to clear my head.” Her voice lowered, just slightly.

He smiled, following without another word.

As they found the perfect place overlooking the ocean, she spread the food between them on the grass, the red of the lobster almost glowing under the sun.

“If this keeps going, my crew’s gonna start calling me a neglectful captain,” Shanks teased, taking a generous bite and groaning with exaggerated delight.

“It’s been years since we ate together like this,” she said, smiling as she picked at her lobster with delicate precision. “They’ll live.”

Shanks let out a hearty laugh, the same laugh she remembered from what felt like a lifetime ago. “You really look like a reliable captain now,” she teasingly said out of the blue, taking a big bite of his own.

"While you still eat like an animal,” He said back, watching her with a playful smirk.

For a moment, the world around them faded, no Yonko, no Marines, no war or duty or time. Just them, sitting cross-legged on a faded cloth under the shade of an old tree, salt on their lips and sea breeze in their hair.

They talked like no time had passed. Jokes about Buggy’s tantrums. Memories of Roger yelling at them to “hold on tighter” during storms. The nights spent huddled beneath the stars, whispering dreams and dumb ideas to each other.

Shanks was the same. Older, yes. Stronger, yes. But his spirit? Still that scrappy, sharp-eyed boy, S he caught herself watching him too long, too softly. The way the light hit his hair, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way he still made her laugh without trying.

And then she felt it, that tug in her chest, that familiar ache.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t do this. Not again. But sitting here, with him, the years peeled away like they never existed.

She can’t help but fall in love with him all over again. 

----

That’s why, after a few weeks of The Red-Haired Pirates docking in this quaint island, she had decided to do something quite reckless.

She had kissed him, and he could only look at her with widened eyes. She was hoping for warmth, a laugh, a grin, maybe even the rare sight of the infamous Red-Haired Captain flustered.

But what she got was silence. His fingers rose, gently brushing against his lips, as if trying to hold onto something already fading.

“I can’t,” Shanks murmured, barely above the sound of the sea between them.

Her heart dropped.

Her love was answered with an I can’t . With rejection.

She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting salt that wasn’t from the ocean.

She thought of the nights wrapped in the same blanket, their knees touching beneath a shared silence. The soft laughter. The reckless teasing. The vulnerable conversations under the stars, whether it was yesterday or ten years ago, it all remained etched in her, stubborn and beautiful.

She had believed that maybe, maybe, some part of him held onto it too.

But now, with a kiss she never meant to be a goodbye, she knew, this moment would shift everything.

And that was the last moment they had with each other.

She knew then, as his laughter from his ship faded into the night and the scent of salt clung to his cloak, that she had never stood a chance. Not truly. Not against the pull of the horizon, not against the freedom in his veins.

He belonged to the sea.

And the sea never shared.

----

“Men!” Shanks called out, voice cracking ever so slightly as he raised a half-filled mug toward the sky. His usual grin was replaced by something softer.

“Let’s drink!”

----

Years later, when they meet again, it will be beneath the sun that shines over hometown, and standing beside her will be a wide-eyed, grinning rascal, pestering Shanks with unrelenting energy, who will soon inherit the will that’s the Straw Hat.

----

“Shanks…” Hongo’s voice came out low, hesitant, as he stood just outside her door. He couldn’t meet his captain’s gaze—how could he, with the weight of the news sitting like lead on his tongue? “I’m sorry.”

Shanks turned to him, smiling out of habit, though something uneasy tugged at the edges of his chest. “What is it, Hongo?”

The ship doctor hesitated for just a moment longer before the words dropped, heavy and final.

“She only has a few months left to live.”

The smile on Shanks’ face faltered, no, shattered. One word slipped from his lips, barely audible over the crashing waves beyond the deck.

“…What?”

----

“You knew?” Shanks’ voice was low, but there was something sharp in it, something that cracked beneath the surface. His eyes, usually warm with mischief or mirth, had gone cold. Focused. Piercing.

She didn’t flinch.

“Yes, I knew.” Her voice cut back with equal weight, though not as steady. “And I knew the real reason you kept docking on islands with no real trade value.” Her hand dragged down her face, wearied more by the conversation than her illness. “You weren’t looking for food or supplies. You were looking for a cure.”

Shanks stared at her, the silence stretching between them like a taut rope. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hongo’s your senior officer,” she replied flatly. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to hear it from him?”

“You don’t believe that,” Shanks said. “Do you?” Shanks would much rather listen in on the person with said illness, the same person he had cared for as well. 

She didn’t respond, and in her silence, Shanks sighed, long and tired, the sound of a man who’s been fighting something he can’t punch away.

His voice dropped. “So… you knew from the beginning. That’s why you asked me, isn’t it?”

Her eyes flickered, the briefest trembling in her fingers before she folded them into her sleeves. “I said what I said and I’m not going to take it back,” she murmured, “because I trust you more than anyone in this world.”

She looked at him then, not fragile, not even afraid, but unguarded.

“I can’t rely on anyone else to do it right.”

“You’re a cruel lady,” Shanks said, and though his voice held a teasing lilt, it faltered at the edges. There was a bitter smile on his face, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, because deep down, he knew: he couldn’t win with her. Not in this. Not ever.

She let out a lifeless chuckle, dry and hollow, despite wanting to ease the tension. “If only you knew what they call me in the Marines.”

“I don’t need to know,” he replied, softer now, searching her face for something, anything, beneath the cracks. “cause I know what you are.”

“Oh?” she raised a brow, dragging her gaze up to meet his. “And what am I, Red Hair?”

Shanks hesitated. The truth itched at the back of his throat.

“You’re someone who carries the world on her back, smiles like it’s light, and dares anyone to notice the weight.” He exhaled slowly, his words sincere. “A reckless woman indeed.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. But it passed quickly.

“That’s funny,” she murmured. “Because when I look at you, I see a man who sailed the seas to outrun the things he couldn’t fix. We’re not so different, you and I.”

Shanks looked away for a moment, jaw clenched, tongue caught behind words he wanted to say. That’s not true, if you knew what I’ve been doing these past few years…

“But you still asked me,” he said quietly, unsaid words remain unsaid. 

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

“You know I love you, right?” Shanks whispered, as if the words themselves might crumble under their own weight. His voice was quiet, almost too quiet, like he was afraid of what the sentence might become once spoken. 

She didn’t answer at first.

Brows furrowed, she blinked slowly, as if trying to decipher whether she had truly heard him right. She thought she had misheard the man she had known since childhood. 

Then after a few pauses, she answers, her hands clenched onto the bedding, glaring at the man, not believing a word that had left his lips. 

“No,” she said, curt and steady. “I don’t.”

Shanks blinked, surprised by the bluntness of it. He wasn’t expecting that type of answer.

“You don’t get to say that to me,” she continued, her voice cold under the silver gleam of moonlight. “Don’t you dare ever say you love me.”

Her words hit like a blade, it started blunt, yet it got sharper the more she says and she didn’t stop.

“Love is unconditional. Love is warm,” she said, jabbing a finger into her own chest. “You want to talk about love?”

Her voice cracked, just slightly.

“I’m afraid to die, no because of the pain, or what hell or judgement I’d face, but because I want to see Luffy become Pirate King. I want to see Ace carve his name into the world leaving his own legacy. I want to see the day my brother and my father finally reunite.”

She got out of bed, stepping forward towards where Shanks is, and now her finger pressed hard into his chest.

“They left me. Over and over. And still, I wait. Like some loyal fucking dog.” She took a shaky breath. “That’s love.”

Her hand fell back to her side, clenched into a trembling fist.

“That’s fucking love, Red-Haired.”

Shanks stood there, silent. Taking it. Letting her speak, letting her bleed it out, because he knew he had no right to interrupt.

“And you?” she laughed bitterly. “You brought me nothing but confusion. Silence. Half-truths. Heartbreak.”

She shook her head slowly, her eyes wet but blazing.

“So don’t you dare tell me you love me now, when you couldn’t even give me the dignity of closure.”

She turned her back slightly, her voice growing smaller, but no less furious.

Shanks tried to reach for her arm, her name softly leaving his lips, but she continued.

“You’ve always loved the sea more than me. And that’s fine. I made peace with that a long time ago.” She laughed, 'cause what can she do? The man she had painfully pined over the years and in the end rejected her, says that he loves her, when she was running on limited time.

“What I can’t forgive,” A pause, “what I’ll never accept is you standing there with those sad fucking eyes, telling me you love me... like it makes things better between us.”

Shanks didn’t say anything for a long time.

The night wind moved around them through the open door. brushing past her like an apology, rustling the red hair that earned him his name, now shadowed by guilt.

He stepped forward once.

Then stopped.

His hands clenched at his sides, not out of anger, but restraint, because the part of him that wanted to reach out, to hold her, to pull her close and say I’m sorry , was still the same part that had left her all those years ago.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me," Shanks said at last, his voice low, honest in a way that felt almost cruel.

She didn’t turn to face him. Her shoulders remained rigid, like the tension alone was holding her together.

"And I won’t insult you by asking for it."

Silence. But her breathing wasn’t steady anymore.

“I meant what I said,” he continued, each word heavier than the last. “My love for you… it was consuming.”

She furrowed her brows, a bitter scoff caught in her throat. Another excuse. Another romanticized lie.

“What I wanted was to live a quiet pirate life, just the three of us,” Shanks started out, a smile etched on his face as he thought back the memories they had in the Oro Jackson, the happiest moments of his life. 

“But then there were times I imagined something else. A quiet life. You and me. A farm, maybe. A family.” He shook his head, bitter at the dream. “And that's what terrified me.”

Her silence stung. So he kept going, the only way he knew how, forward, even if the ground was falling apart beneath him.

“I’m a pirate. The sea calls for me. But you—” Shanks looked at her, really looked at her— “You were like my anchor. You pulled me in, even when I didn’t want to be caught.”

She turned her head slowly, just enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. “I was your anchor? So I was the weight? The thing that held you back from chasing your grand adventure?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

But she wasn’t convinced. Her fingers twitched at her sides, trembling from holding back too much for too long.

Shanks stepped forward, his voice quieter now. “You were my freedom too. I just didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

That’s when she turned fully. Her gaze met his, glassy but sharp.

“Do you think that makes it easier?” she asked, voice frayed at the edges. “Hearing that now?”

“No,” he whispered. “But you deserve the truth. Even if it’s a thousand years late.” Eyes yearning for a future they never get to live in.

The wind picked up slightly, pushing the salty air against her cheeks, but it did nothing to cool the fire inside her chest. She hadn’t meant to say any of it, not to Shanks, but the words came tumbling out before she could stop them. She didn’t want his pity, she never did, but it felt like the weight of everything was finally collapsing on her.

“I lived a life where everyone I love left me,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words made them more real. 

“My mom, my dad,” She pressed her hands to her forehead, shielding her eyes from Shanks, the tears falling freely now, “My brother.”

Shanks didn’t move. He didn’t speak, but his eyes never left her, his presence quiet and steady.

“I gave up my freedom for Garp and Luffy,” she choked out, her breath hitching. “I stuck with Luffy because... because I grew up alone, and I didn’t want that for him. His dad... my brother left to do something greater, something important.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.

“I wanted to do the same,” she continued, her chest tightening, her grip on her hair becoming more desperate. “But I just can’t leave Luffy alone.” She shut her eyes, biting her lip so hard that it almost hurt, willing herself to stop the flood of emotions. She didn’t want him to see her this way. She didn’t want to break down in front of him.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Then he found himself his own family,” she continued, her words bitter with the sting of truth. “And he’s leaving, too, to be a pirate. And in the end... I’m the idiot who’s left behind, waiting for everyone to come back. I’m the one who stays, Shanks. I’m the one who stays .”

Her breath was ragged now, tears still falling, though she no longer cared.

Shanks didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He simply moved closer, his large presence both grounding and comforting.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough, his words quiet, but firm. “You’re not waiting. You’re living. You’ve been living, fighting for those you love, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

Her head snapped up, surprise flickering in her eyes, but Shanks didn’t meet her gaze. 

“I never wanted to leave you behind,” he murmured, “I never wanted to make you feel like that. But the sea... the sea calls, and we have our paths. We all have our own journeys. But that doesn’t mean you’re not important. You’re more than just someone left waiting. You’ve taken a piece of my heart with you, whether you believe it or not.”

“I don’t,” she whispered softly, “I don’t believe it.”

For a moment, the two stood there, locked in the silence of everything they were and everything they could never be.

----

“Boss?” Lucky Roux called, stepping toward Shanks the moment the red-haired captain emerged from the room she’s staying in. The sea breeze tugged at his coat, but Shanks didn’t seem to feel it.

Shanks stood still for a beat, his eyes dark beneath the shadow of his hat. His jaw was clenched, his usual grin nowhere to be found.

“Find a remote island,” he said, voice low and cold— resigned. “We’re doing this.”

A beat of silence.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” his crew echoed, voices steady but weighed with unspoken understanding.

----

Her fingers trembled by her sides, but her eyes, her eyes were still. Steady. They gleamed under the soft light with a clarity Shanks hadn’t seen in her for a long time: resolve, and something heavier, something final. He hated that look. It meant her decision had already been made. She wasn’t waiting for him to change it, just to accept it. Still, Shanks looked at her as if the weight in his chest might lift if he could just say it, if he could finally admit what he’d never been brave enough to before.

“I love you,” he said, quieter this time. No grin, no teasing lilt, just the truth. Raw and bare, stripped of everything he usually used to protect himself. It was the only thing he had left to give her.

There was a pause. A silence so thin it could’ve split open if one of them so much as breathed wrong.

“Yeah,” she said, voice soft, a smile tugging at her lips like it had been stitched there with thread too weak to hold. “I love you, Shanks.”

But she didn’t say 'too.'

And that absence meant everything.

Not because the words weren’t true. They were more than anything else she’d ever said. But because acknowledging it, admitting it fully, would’ve broken her. Would’ve tied her down to something she could no longer afford to chase.

She believed he said it to make her feel better. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. It didn’t matter.

Because in the end, this was it for her. 

He felt it, every trembling breath she took, every flicker of pain she tried to bury beneath that ever-steady gaze. It took everything in her just to stand, to speak, to let him see her like this: fragile, fading, but still proud. She never begged. Never cowered. Even now, at the end of everything, she clung to the last remnants of who she was. That was her final act of defiance.

“I’m asking you to set me free,” she said, cutting through the silence, her voice steady, almost gentle. “Before it gets to me. Before I forget who I am.”

Shanks’s hand curled into a fist. His jaw tightened so hard it ached. “Change your mind,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t ask me for this.”

But she only looked at him, unwavering. “I made up my mind, I trust you, Figarland Shanks.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes, refusing to fall, not yet. Not until she meets her peace. 

“Make it fast?” she asked, and this time her voice wavered.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice breaking around the edges, but still he meant it. With every aching bone in his body, he meant it.

She closed her eyes.

And then, with the quiet grace of a man who had carried the sea in his chest, Shanks drew his blade, not with anger, not with grief, but with reverence, as if he were not ending a life.

She waited for it, waited for the sharp, clean edge of mercy. But instead, he stepped forward. Gently, without a word, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

It shattered her.

The intimacy, so simple, so tender, caught her off guard. Especially after everything that had passed between them in their last encounter: the distance, the denial, the years filled with unspoken longing. The affection she had buried deep in her ribs, pined for in silence, was suddenly returned. But at what cost?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low, raw.

Her tears came in torrents, freely now, spilling down her cheeks as she managed a breathless, “I know.”

Then—

The blade slid through her heart like a whisper.

No sound. No resistance.

Only the wind remained.

And when it passed, she was gone.

Shanks stood there, unmoving, holding her close even as the warmth slipped from her limbs. For a long time, he said nothing. Did nothing. The sea was quiet, almost reverent, mourning with him in stillness.

And then, he wept.

Not loud. Not wild. Just a single tear, slipping down a face that had braved storms and gods.

Even the sea could not carry this loss.

----

“Men!” Shanks called out, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he raised a half-filled mug toward the sky. His usual grin, wide and reckless, was replaced by something more hollow, 

He could not hide his sorrow, not tonight. Despite the cheery lilt in his tone, his cheeks were stained with tears, carved by grief like rivers over weathered stone. 

“Let’s drink!” he declared, loud and bright, as if the sheer force of his voice could drown out the ache swelling in his chest.

“To her,” he said, quietly this time, to himself, voice nearly lost to the wind,

----

[tinytalkingtina]

Tales of Eddierotica Chapter 1: Argh me matey

Eddie writes the world's worst erotica about characters who are just poorly disguised versions of himself and Steve. One day, Steve finds out exactly what's been going on inside the mind of his roommate all these years.

Rated E | 4.3k words | Ao3 link [Chapter 1] | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 Overall tags: crack treated seriously/porn with a plot, modern/no-UD AU, friends to lovers, bisexual Eddie AND Steve, steddie as roommates, switch Eddie/Steve, vers Steve/Eddie, Eddie has a crush on Steve (and is horny about it), writer Eddie, the prose is so purple it has passed out from a lack of oxygen, friend fiction/erotica, so many bad puns and word play Chapter-specific tags: pirate AU, pirate Eddie, sailor Steve, pegging, rope bondage, non-con bondage, sexual frustration, orgasm denial, edging, and penis sword fighting (mind the tags but the erotica is at all times silly)

Written for the @switcheddieweek event, fulfilling the "art" prompt!

Find the full chapter on Ao3 to read it in all of its comic sans glory, but enjoy a snippet below the cut (as well as tags). Pink is Eddie's writing below.

“Theodore!” Stevenson growled manfully, as a man might. “You’ve gone too far this tiiiiiiimmmoohhhhh, too far this time! I demand you release me at once. Let us settle our differences as men of honor might.” The raven-haired roguish rascal grinned. “Why Commander, are you asking little old me for a duel? Your weapon is certainly impressive, but I promise, my own morning wood is far more dexterous in the afternoon!” Stevenson craned his neck. From where he was bound, he could just make out the captain’s trouser sword, the red tip shining merrily in the half past two o’clock sun. True to the captain’s word, it bobbed and waved in the breeze with quite agile ease. Still, what choice did Stevenson have? This unceasing torment would surely be his undoing. Even if he managed to reach his peak, la petite mort would be far too great for his tired body and overcum soul. “Yes, I do challenge you to a duel, you dastardly fieeeeend!” Anything to ease the ache in his pale twinned coconuts. The more Steve read, the less convinced he was that this was revenge. It was way too silly. Definitely weird and fucked up. But ‘pale twinned coconuts’ was something guys would say in like, a comedy porno. And now that he thought about it, Eddie had left the notebook where Steve could find it by accident. Maybe this was why the two of them got along so well, his roommate would turn his annoyance at whatever Steve had done into stupid porn to laugh at. Which was in fact very Midwestern of him after all. Mercifully the pirate captain holding him captive decided he’d had his fill of watching the commander writhe and groan. His loyal crew mates pulled Stevenson back onto the deck, giving him a much needed reprieve from the peg he’d been impaled upon. Though blood flowed back into Stevenson’s limbs, his body still spared some to hold his mighty spear aloft. For Stevenson’s johnson was truly a weapon to behold and envy. Even under clothes, its size and girth served as a source of distraction for those who shared the room with it. Steve glanced down at his pants and the super obvious outline of his dick. Okay so maybe these sweats were a little too tight to wear in public, but in his defense, Eddie had walked into a wall or tripped over his own feet every day since the two of them had met. How was he supposed to know some of those accidents were dick-related? Once the commander recovered his strength, he stood to his full height. Standing but one inch over his opponent only due to his stupidly attractive voluminous hairTowering over his opponent, he grasped his Not So Lil’ Stevie[son] and prepared to fight.

Read the rest on Ao3!

Tagging folks who have been scarred by wip weekend snippets:

@hbyrde36 @pearynice @eriquin @queenie-ofthe-void @yesdangerpls

@fkinkindagauche @helpimstuckposting @augustjustice @apomaro-mellow

@onirislanding @sidekick-hero @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @stellarspecter

@zombiethingy @wynnyfryd @griefabyss69 @stevesjockstrap @runninriot

@sourw0lfs @dame-zoom-a-latte @pentapoctopus @soaringornithopter

[tyrantisterror]

The Den!

She's big - specifically, long. Long cat is long. She also has just the right number of limbs in just the right number of places to make getting a good place to hold her while gluing on her fabric skin frustrating pretty much 90% of the time - a lot of awkward "how do I hold this so I have a good grip AND can get at the part I need to cover?" moments. Still, damn impressive once she pulled together!

I think I made her head slightly too large and monstrous - she doesn't have as much of those subtle human qualities that make the Den so haunting in many of her scenes. But I was actually worried I'd do the opposite and try to make her too pretty, so if I overcorrected I'm glad it's in the service of preserving how monstrous this iteration of the princess is. Plus if I made her head much smaller she wouldn't be as good at chomping those articulate jaws!

I am glad I kept her thin - one of the cool things about the Den is that, for all her animal viciousness, she's also clearly sickly and malnourished, like a tiger kept in captivity at a really shitty zoo. She needs to be big and impressive but also kind of frail and vulnerable at the same time - she's a wild animal who's suffered in a cage for too long.

(man, someone is going to tag this as some variation of "Verbing with Mama" and unwittingly suggest an incestuous paradox the likes of which have only been experienced by the Onceler and Phillip J. Fry)

[brain4stew]

NOT exactly forsaken x reader, but felt the need to talk about this.

Alright, I’m slowly falling away from writing for forsaken x reader.

You all probably remember the few posts I said about that people can ignore or block other bloggers, if something isn’t entirely x reader in the forsaken x reader tag?

I decided to check up on a blogger, and let me tell you how RUDE. An anon was to them!

“Shit post” (anon’s words, not mine.)

When it’s literally the blogger possibly writing somewhere else, they probably forgot to write the requests they have or something.

BUT!

It can also be good ideas for other forsaken x reader bloggers too!

If you do not like a specific thing about the blogger, and what they post. You can either;

Block them.

Ignore them.

NOT SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT TO THEM. (Especially when you decide to put it in their requests, and still stay anonymous, like you’re scared of your own feelings and etc, etc. WHAT ABOUT THE BLOGGER?? HAVE YOU NOT THOUGHT ABOUT THAT??)

Words. Can. Hurt. No matter what.

So whoever is the one being awfully mean and rude to x reader bloggers, grow up, actually. It is quite annoying having to address these types of bullshits.

All because someone can’t ignore or block, but has to comment about it, put it in requests, and stay anonymous.

I will be done with the 2 requests I have, and then I am;

DONE. With writing for forsaken x reader if people are going to be so upset and mad about something so silly and stupid. When they can ignore and/or block.

Sure, the post isn’t entirely forsaken x reader from the blogger, but how will the anon that put requests to the blogger see the bloggers responses?

The actual person who requested does not get notifications, when they are anonymous.

[sylvieserene]

cannot be the only one who hates when people ship the fairy costume x shadow milk cookie. Like ship whoever you want, but the costume is made specifically for Purelily shippers. I don’t wanna be that person, but it’s like they’re asking for hate ☹️

I personally dislike it but because of a few things that ultimately traces back to the hypocritical nature of this fandom.

I think most folks know that this costume is probably the MOST hated set in the game and if you visit twitter, you...just won't like it in there to say the least. From hating to attacking, everything goes for that set.

It is hated by both ShadowVanilla + Elderlily shippers (ofc) cuz:

"It should've been EF!! THEY WERE ROBBED"

"If not EF then SM plz."

"PV is ugly. Get him out."

"Ew he's molesting WL."

"WL is the one carrying this set. It should've been just her."

"This costume set was a mistake."

"I hate this."

The list goes on.

Most folks do keep mentioning the fact that WL slayed etc which she did, the costume is really pretty and on surface level? Everything seems alright but if you dig a lil deeper on the said users, you'll find NO history of them even caring, let alone talking about her outside Elderlily or in a lot cases, at all.

The same people who hate PV just being there, the "ugliness" (yes, the word ugly is being heavily used when it comes down to him) that comes down with him and how he should not have been there in the first place are the same folks who rejoice when PV is drawn in that same "ugly-ass" costume with SM.

Same folks like, reblog and comment like it's the second coming of Jesus and treat it as some holy event lol

This hypocritical behaviour is vast and funny at the same time lol

What I find the most funny is, this costume came from an explicitly Purelily content, but suddenly none of it is good cuz it's about PV and WL and it should've been just her but at the same time, they'll drag PV's costume with them to ship with SM.

Now some ppl will say that "HEY THATS CUZ WL SHOULD SHINE ON HER OWN NOT WITH JUST A GUY."

But is it REALLY about just that?

Because if it is so, why does this costume set gain the hate? Why should it have been Elder Faerie?

Why do all these folks feel the need to keep mentioning how WL looks amazing but PV has to go but then at the same time, treat that very costume as the most beautiful thing ever when it's SM?

So is it REALLY about just the costume or WL or is it about a misogynistic view on WL and the urge to fit shipping agendas?

Because I'm willing to bet if it was EF, the costume set wouldn't faced any heat. Suddenly it being an AU scenario wouldn't have mattered and it would've been the ultimate "proof" that Elderlily is canon but since it's Purelily, it sucks.

Like someone who borrows your work but never credits you.

It’s just like someone copying your art project, using the parts they like, and then trashing your name when people ask where it came from.

Cuz that's exactly whats happening here.

The said-fans consistently hate this set cuz it's "ugly" but at the same time, when taken seperate, they suddenly love everything about it.

The same folks who felt it's "terrible" just a few moments back when tagged with WL and felt the overwhelming urge to keep writing how she slayed every other comment.

It's like that one meme where when a fan tears down a character all the time but, the moment they're called out, they say "But I like her too! I reblogged fanart once!" as if that magically excuses all the other behavior.

So the question is,

Do they even mean it?

Or they're saying so to not come off as misogynistic?

I personally feel it's the latter because they never talk about WL meaningfully beyond that. If you check, almost all their history is filled with ShadowVanilla and Elderlily content which isn't wrong but the way they show their concern as if it's affecting WL's very autonomy (when it's literally not) and how they're concerned about it is incredibly hypocritical.

Because these same ppl also have expressed posts and comments with thousands of likes and reblogs on how WL should've married EF and stayed in the Faerie kingdom forever.

Heck they even say that EF and WL got married in this AU set WHEN THERE'S NO EVIDENCE FOR THAT :D

Ultimately, I just really hate that folks who hate Purelily and this costume set so blatantly, get their attitudes changed in a sec when the narrative is changed to their agendas and would attack you aggressively if you say anything against that cultivated narrative but wouldn't hesitate in doing so to the Purelily community. Heck, they won't even THANK the ship for the beautiful set they love interacting and using for themselves let alone even talk about it outside of criticising it.

It's almost as if the word "Purelily" burns them if they say it.

They certainly would hate on it, not acknowledge its positives but def rip off from its positives.

So yeah, I personally hate this particular behaviour regarding the set.

Not to mention the mischaracterisation that accompanies it all.

Viridescent PV is labelled as just a simp and all his other personality traits are completely erased. Like even under the potion, he simply just proposed to WL, nothing beyond that. He didn't "simp", he simply proposed to the woman both of his dreams and love (literally and metaphorically) to be his wife, a person who through tears had to say that they can't be together forever cuz duty and reminds him of his as well which he accepts and starts wondering how he'll get over her in the morning.

Even under the potion, Viridescent PV def had his nuances and even a personality of that of a benevolent responsible king who just was in love with another who can't be his forever as well.

That's exactly the reason it's a tragic comedy because the situation is not only ironic but also happened due to what's a potion (which may or may not have been the reason PV is acting this way cuz it's the faeries who assume so, we have no idea if it's true cuz unreliable narrator)

But nope in CRK fandom, it's nothing but just a simp costume and reserved for simping. If it's with WL then bad but with SM? Very good!

So yeah, this is basically my thoughts on it.

TLDR, I don't mind if someone uses his costume for shipping it with SM, Idt its waiting to be hated on either but I really, REALLY hate it when they act like it's the worst thing ever when it's with WL when they don't even care about her outside shipping and are hating SOLELY because she's there with PV while also being self-aware that this may come off as misogynistic so actively doing damage control as well.

If you’re gonna use the aesthetics or symbols from a ship you don’t like, at least stop pretending that ship is trash. Don't profit off it and then spit on it.

It's really garbage behaviour.

[the-kr8tor]

Bestiiiiiiiieeee 👀

As a req for IPOB, can you write r and Gwen making some smoothies while Pav is practicing his potions, and Gwen accidentally drinks a potion and becomes a baby? 🤣 the shenanigans of this prompt is killing me

- 😅

AWWWW BABY GWEN!!!!! I LOVE THIS TROPE SO MUCH

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, set in my IPOB AU, mockumentary AU, hunter! Reader, Clairvoyant! Miles, Werewolf! Gwen, Witch! Pavitr, CW food mentions, talks of having children, Fluff!

Navigation

“Can we add more sugar?” You ask Gwen while the blender whirrs loudly around the kitchen.

The camera crew are relaxed in front of you, camera perched on a tripod like you're in a cooking show. They munch on biscuits that you've given them while they let the camera do all the work. Meanwhile the other half of the crew are probably getting their work cut out for them while Hobie teaches Miles self defense in the backyard. Or that's what you think they're doing, it's either that or they're wrestling with the giant living snapping plants that you and Pav planted yesterday to quell the mosquito population.

“Are we making a fruit smoothie or candy?” She asks, a pierced brow raised as she glances at Pav beside you.

He chuckles under his breath, hair tied in a rare bun so it doesn't get inside the cauldron that he's mixing. “It's because you've been letting Hobie feed too many times and your blood sugar is in the dumps.” Shaking a bottle of something that's bright blue into the bubbling mixture, he flicks his eyes at a flat faced you.

“Or it's because I have a sweet tooth.” You retort back, nudging his bicep, almost making the bottle fall into the cauldron.

Pav gasps, clutching the shaker against his chest protectively. “Careful! This is rare!”

“What are you even making?” Gwen pauses the blender, opening the top to add more sliced mangoes.

“A moisturizer that makes your wrinkles go away. Felicia was asking for some because apparently I'm the only one who can make it right.” Shrugging, he carefully places the bottle down on the counter before going to the fridge to rummage for something.

“Huh, no wonder why she looks amazing.” You mumble, staring into the bright green cauldron curiously.

“Hobie could use some.” Pavitr jokes, earning a muffled ‘Oi’ from outside. “Sometimes I forget that he has super hearing.” He says as he almost puts his whole body inside the fridge to find something.

“If you're looking for the newt eyes, I placed it in the basement fridge ever since Miles accidentally added it to his sandwich.” Gwen remarks, taking a spoon to taste test the smoothie. Pav groans in annoyance and starts to trek downstairs while the blond makes a face, nose scrunched and eyes shut as she splutters out.

“I think the second batch of mangoes you added were too sour.” You say in between giggles. “Do you need that sugar now?”

“I hate it when you're right.” She huffs, side stepping so you could sprinkle some sugar in it.

Eyes roaming over the counter, you try to find the sugar that you were just using. Before you could give up from all the mess on the counter, you find a sugar bowl near Pav's cauldron and pick it up before scooping a big spoon full of sugar inside the blender.

“Alright, that's enough! You're going to give us diabetes!” Gwen swats your hand away while you chuckle mischievously. She clicks her tongue as she closes the lid and blends the mixture once again.

Pavitr returns to the kitchen, huffing and puffing from the stairs. “We should have one of those seats that go up and down next to the stairs.” Leaning against the counter, he places the jar of newt eyes that look like regular peppers. If black peppers have irises. “Wait, where's my pixie dust?”

“Right, I think it's done.” Smiling, Gwen pops the blender open and pours herself a drink. “This better not be too sweet.”

“Calm down, you won't turn into a mothman from sugar.” You fold your arms on your front, sugar bowl still in hand while Pavitr continues to look for something. “It happened to my cousin once,” Gwen pauses as she's about to drink. “Don't worry it's not because of the sugar, he ate a moth.”

With a scrunch of her nose, Gwen gulps down her drink, clearly pleased with it as she almost finishes it. “That hits the spot.”

“Don't hog it all!” Putting down the sugar bowl, Pavitr gasps out.

“What were you doing with my pixie dust?”

You and Gwen freeze in place. “Pixie dust?”

A puff of pink smoke envelopes the whole room, making the camera fall from the tripod as you scream Hobie's name.

—

“Fuckin'— let go of Miles, you green wanker!” Hobie yanks Miles out of the jaws of the snapping plant, or tries to at least when it has his arm in its jaws.

“Don't let it eat me! I need my arm!” Miles cries out, voice peaking while the camera pointed at him shakes as the crew tries to capture the scene. “Why don't you help Hobie!” He yells at the lenses, but the producer mumbles about not being involved in the documentary.

“I've got you, Miles! Almost there!” Punching the snout of the plant, it releases Miles’ arm bit by bit with every hit Hobie smacks it with. He could only hope that it doesn't kill the damn thing when it took you a long time to plant it.

“Hurry!” With one last smack, the sentient plant releases Miles’ poor arm. Making the two tumble backwards into the grass. Eyes closed, he waves his arm around in front of the camera. “Do I still have my arm?!”

“Guess your clairvoyance didn't work this time, huh?” Hobie heaves on the grass, casually lying down with his elbow resting as he teases Miles.

“It's not funny!” His voice rises so high that it makes Hobie laugh some more. His sheer voice alone makes the mics peak that has the sound guy grimace in place.

Taking his arm gently, Hobie gives it a once over. “You're fine, it only nicked you.”

Miles whips his eyes open, twisting and turning his arm around to check. The camera zooms in on his so-called injury that only looks like a couple of paper cuts below his elbow. He sighs in relief, body plunging down on the grass as he heaves.

“You're welcome by the way—”

“Hobie!” Your scream is as clear as day in his ears.

Without a second thought, wine red eyes flicking at the camera briefly, he runs inside at supersonic speeds.

“I'll catch up with you…” Miles rests on the grass after his near death experience.

The camera and the documentary crew catches up to Hobie in the knick of time, seeing him stand on the doorway with a bright pink cloud covering the whole kitchen. His face contorts into worry, fists opening and closing against itself.

“Love!” He braves the smoke as it parts for him. The crew stays behind, filming the pink smoke as Hobie disappears into it.

There's nothing but silence for a moment, and the whole crew stands there with bated breath.

With a loud yell of a string of latin, the smoke disperses, revealing the kitchen to the cameras. There's the sound of a baby crying, and your frantic scream that's joined by Pavitr's.

The lenses zeroes in on a bundle in Hobie's arms as he cradles it and tries to bounce it. Then within the pile of fabric, a dog's tail peeks out, then two pairs of fluffy ears. Footsteps slowly close the distance, and they perfectly record the scene just as the blond tuft of hair shows itself from how Hobie gently moves it away from her face.

You could recognize those baby blues anywhere.

“Gwen?!” You and Hobie yell simultaneously. Pavitr faints, almost plunging down harshly if not for you catching him by holding onto his apron.

“What happened?!” Miles runs into the crew, he then pushes them away and as he sees Gwen’s clothes bundled in the vampire's hold, he stops and freezes in place as she babbles in Hobie's arms, tiny feet kicking about and tail swishing around. “Oh fu–” His eyes rolled back, body falling down on the crew.

—

“It's okay, little Gwen.” You dance the baby in your arms, finding the whole thing weird but not unusual in your profession. You'd be lying if you were never turned into a baby after a cousin of yours made you try their ‘hair growth’ potion.

“I turned my friend into a baby.” Pavitr curls into himself, hugging the couch cushion as he hides into the sofa.

“I managed to convince the crew to get out.” Miles wipes the sweat off his brow, grimacing like he's in pain when he sees Gwen crying in your arms. “But we have to keep the cameras rolling in their tripods.” Pointing at one of the cameras in the corner, you eye it as you sigh.

“That's good enough, she didn't like that there was a crowd gathering around her.”

“Bah?” Baby Gwen tilts her head, big blue eyes blinking slowly at you as her fluffy ears flick. You'd be lying if you didn't find that adorable.

“Where's Hobie?” Miles sits down on the couch, patting the guilty Pavitr. “She’s fine, Pav, Y/N said that she'll only be like this for a few days.”

“A few days?!” Pav yells, bringing the pillow against his face as he screams into it.

Gwen giggles at him, pointing at the distraught witch like she's teasing him. “Pah!”

“Yeah, that's Pav! Good job!” You grin at her, and you couldn't help but squish her chubby cheeks with a coo. She beams back toothily, making grabby hands at your face.

“Stop talking to her like that, it's weird.” Miles deflates on the couch, watching as you carry her so naturally in your arms. “Where the hell is Hobie anyway?”

“Like it or not, Miles, she's a baby.” You say in a baby tone while cooing at the little werewolf. “And Hobie's buying baby stuff. Isn't he? Yes, Hobs is out shopping for you!” Little Gwen giggles, fluttering her lashes as she babbles back in your arms.

The second you said the words, Hobie appears in the middle of the room, clutching different bags from the supermarket and a few from some baby clothes shop. There's a big box tucked in his arm, from the looks of it he also bought a bassinet. But judging from the glass shards sticking to his hair and leather vest, it's safe to say that no store is open at this hour.

“Hi,” you smile at him and all the things he's holding onto falls on the floor with a loud thump. “Please tell me that you've got baby formula in there.”

“Yeah…I did— I mean I do.” His eyes glow, you've grown accustomed to the way his eyes light up. From happiness to excitement, you know all the different flickering in those red eyes you love. But this one seems… different. “You're a natural, love.” Whispering, his hand gravitates to your waist, holding onto you gently while his other hand holds Gwen's head.

You gaze at Hobie sweetly, “don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He chuckles, fangs and all as he feels your warmth ebb through him. Gwen watches the two of you with wide blue eyes as she nibbles on her thumb.

Smiling, you shake your head at him. “Nothing, I need to change her into a onesie or she'll catch a cold.” Hobie reluctantly lets you go, fingers lingering on the small of your back briefly.

“That is so weird.” Miles grimaces, head lolling over the couch.

“Make yourself useful and help me with buildin’ the bassinet.” Hobie yanks him off his feet as Miles stomps his foot. “Love, our children don't listen to us anymore.”

Chuckling, you let Gwen play with your necklace as you grab a bag filled with baby clothes and diapers. “Ground them if they don't help.”

“You're grounded.” Hobie says flatly, dangling Miles by his hand.

Miles groans, body falling limp. “This is so weird!”

“Pav, care to help me and your brother?” Hobie teases again, this time Pav is the one grimacing at him.

—

“Right, Pav found a recipe in the tomes that'll reverse the potion so I've gotten them to make it.” Hobie enters your bedroom, or what used to be your bedroom before you practically moved in his coffin room. The fully built bassinet and the warm bottle of milk almost falls from his hands when he sees you basking in the moonlight by the window as you coo at Gwen. “Fuck.”

“Language, there's innocent ears listening.” You joke as you gently dance Gwen in your arms. She's now dressed in a pink onesie with the words ‘mummy’s favourite’ printed on it that you're sure Gwen would not be laughing at after she turns back into her old self. “I've gotta hand it to you, Hobie, you know how to shop for baby clothes. I saw one in there that said ‘dad’s little rascal,’ I thought I'd save it for later—!” His lips meet yours suddenly, hand placed on the small of your back as you sigh into the kiss.

Hobie leans away, pecking you once, twice, before finally moving away. Gwen blows raspberries at the two of you, giggling and kicking about.

“What was that for?” Chuckling, you can't cup his face like always with your hands full so you just lean against him, face tucked on the crook of his neck.

Embracing you, arm looped over your back and the other cradling baby Gwen, he kisses your temple. “Nothin’, love.”

“The sight of me holding onto a baby unlocked something in you, huh?” As always, it didn't take you long to read the thousand year old vampire.

He scoffs, brows knitted as he rolls his eyes. “Children are a menace.”

“Yeah, but it made you think, right?” Your voice lowers as you briefly brush your lips on his neck. When Hobie doesn't answer, his crimson eyes gazing into your own with longing, you gently place Gwen in his arms. “Support her neck, I know that's against your nature but you don't want to break that.”

“Yeah, I know that, love.” Chuckling, he looks at Gwen as she grabs his finger and begins to bite at it with her own fangs. “Ow.” His smile only grows bigger instead of annoyance.

“I think she's hungry. Let me grab her bottle.” You take the bottle he made that he placed on the nightstand. You find that it's still warm, and you can't help that your heart soars at the thought of Hobie warming up the milk like it's natural instinct to him. “Alright, let go of the vampire's finger, I've got your baba.”

Cooing, you gently take Hobie's finger away from her mouth and replace it with the baby bottle. Miles is right, this is weird, especially when her familiar blue eyes gaze at you so sweetly that you've forgotten that she's the same Gwen, who chastises you for leaving a dirty glass on the sink.

Hobie watches you through pensive yet soft eyes. “How are you so good at this?” He asks as you hold up the bottle for her.

“I used to babysit my little cousins.” You reply, your other hand reaching for his forehead to rub the worry lines away. “You okay? I know that this is my fuck up—”

“It is, but it's not that, lovie.” Hobie grasps your hand, bringing it slowly to hold his cheek instead as he leans against your hold. “I jus' can't help thinkin’... What if.”

Your heart squeezes, nodding at what he meant. “Yeah, what if.” Looking at Gwen, her eyes start to close, slowly dozing in Hobie's arm. “They'll be cute, probably just as cute as her.”

Sniffing, Hobie swallows thickly. His mind draws up a vision of you running after a little version of him, or a little you. But then reality strikes that scene, a dhampir would be teasing fate, a toss of a coin. And sometimes it doesn't end like in the romance stories you read inside the coffin before bed.

“Maybe even cuter than Gwen.” He says, tone small as he takes your hand away from his cheek to hold your hand instead. “Any names you have in mind?”

“Something fun like Billie, or a classic like Ramona.” Whispering it like a secret, you clear your throat when a sob threatens to escape. “Anyway, it's fun to imagine.”

Nodding, Hobie leads you towards the bed so you could sit down. “Yeah, it's fun.”

As you stare at the sleeping baby Gwen bathed in moonlight, you lean against him, hand cupping the back of her head, thumb gently caressing her cheek. “It's all just some fun.”

There's happy shrieking downstairs, and you both know that Miles and Pavitr have made the counter potion.

[localgerman]

Can u do tipz plzzz

Permapet(kitty/puppy)

Transchubby

Transleftnanded

Tips for PermaPet(Kitty Edition & Puppy edition), TransChubby, and TransLefthanded

Here you go! I kinda just brained dump every idea i had for these lol

PermaPet: Kitty

- Grow out your nails, and cut them into triangle shapes if you want full effect, and start scratching things as a way of fidgeting

- Spend time laying in the sun, open up your window and just lay down/curl up on the floor where the sun hits!

- Start to eat canned tuna! You can buy it in bulk and it can look like cat food.

- Cling to people physically, bonus points if your nails poke them lightly. You can also playfully lightly scratch people, of course people you know and are comfortable with being scratched.

- If you live in an area with birds, you could set up a bird feeder outside your window and watch the birds!

- Start staying in dark places while you want to relax; make a little cozy spot in your closet or get under a blanket.

PermaPet: Puppy

- Get dog chew toys for „teething“, or you could also get baby teething toys if you want. If you cant get either; chew on ice!

- Eat dog food or dog treat like foods such as peanut butter filled pretzal bites, coco puffs, or scooby snacks.

- Be hyperactive! Always be up for a game of tag or a game of soccer. Cardio should be a new favorite!

- If you eat any foods with bones; chew on the bones for a bit before finishing the meal.

- Get some chewerly that you can chew on randomly. There is plenty of different online stores that sell bone shaped chewerly!

- Rough house with your friends! Be extra playful with them and be active with them.

Perma pet: General Tips

- You could make a cat bed or dog bed in your bed by simply putting some pillows in a circle amd putting a blanket over all of them!

- If you can; get someone to be your owner! They can take care of you and act as a caretaker to you.

- Be extra loving to your owner, see them as a parental figure! Learn from them and follow them around. Be clingy amd constantly want to be around them.

TransChubby

gaining weight to become chubby:

- Eat calorie rich foods! Desserts or meats with lots of calories!

- Be snacking, but don’t over snack! You dont want to get addicted to food which could make you pass you goal and keep gaining weight.

- Bulk! Have a set goal of calories that you need to eat a day.

- If you need a specific meal plan: Eat 3 full meals a day, with 2 snacks inbetween each meal. The snacks can either be fruits or maybe some sort of candy or chips.

loosing weight to become chubby:

- The only time id reccomend fasting is when you first want to start loosing weight. This is when you body most likely has the fastest metabolism so fasting will burn the most calories then.

- Cut down what you are eating if you over eat, if you want you could start cutting (2000cals a day -> 1500cals a day).

- Once you reach your desired chubbiness you can stop dieting and simply just maintain your weight. (You can let your weight fluctuate! its natural!)

- If you have an overeating problem eat foods that have more mass for less calories. The best reccomendation i have is Watermelon! You can eat a bunch of watermelon which can be fitting.

- Go to the gym or go on walks to burn fat! One walk a day can go a long way.

- Make sure to diet healthily, dont become obsessed with your weight and simply focus on getting chubby and thats all.

- Do not overfast! Fasting will slow down your metabolism which will make you loose fat slower, which may make getting to your goal of being chubby harder.

Seeming chubby if you arent physically chubby:

- Eat a bunch in the morning to make yourself get bloated, which can make you look a bit more chubbier.

- Be snacking throughout the day, let people around you know you are a total foodie.

- Wear baggy clothing, a baggy hoodie can totally make you pass as chubby if you are snacking constantly.

TransLeftHanded

- Practice writing with your left hand, maybe rewrite a chapter from a book you like. If you want you can print out lettter tracing pages, the ones usually meant for young kids in school, and trace the letters with your left hand.

- Start eating with your left hand; hold your spoon or form with your left hand. This is easier to learn then writing with your left hand since you put less thought into eating with utensils rather then writing.

- Do things with your left hand, small things like waving or turning off a light switch all whilst using your left hand.

- By using your lect hand for mundane tasks you will teain your brain into feeling more comfortable with using your left hand to write with(which id say is the hardest to learn from going from being right handed to left handed, well second hardest to drawing)

- On the topic of drawing, get some coloring books and crayons then start coloring using your left hand. Coloring is easier then drawing and this will help you continue to train your brain to use your left hand.

Hope these help! some of these took a bit of thinking but i had fun with these :3

[in-the-drowning-deep]

Thursday Bangers / Rook Appreciation Week Day 5 - Mercar

Thanks so much to @woundedsoul12 and @aetherflowers for the tag and for running the game this week!! This was really fun. Decided to make this one Esha-specific in honour of @rookappreciationweek.

Lyrics prompt was:

It's not a walk in the park to love each other But when our fingers interlock Can't deny, can't deny you're worth it -Paramore, Still Into You

No tags for this one, but if you're reading this and want to give it a go, please do!

"Here, lean on me. I can carry you." The elf - Mercar - blinks up at Harding, looking a little wary. "You sure?" "Course. Wouldn't offer if I wasn't." The girl nods and holds out a hand. Lace takes it and hauls her to her feet. Mercar staggers a moment; she'd tripped while dodging a Venatori blade, and her ankle isn't looking too great. Harding wraps an arm round her back to steady her and gets a grateful smile back. "See?" Varric says, as he slings Bianca onto his back and dusts off his hands. "She's stronger than she looks. And you," he adds, "are gonna need an alias, I'm guessing, now you're on the run and all."

The girl winces, and Harding doesn't think it's just because of the ankle. "Right. That." "Eh, we'll think of something." Varric takes a place on the girl's other side as they limp away from the absolute carnage behind them. Mercar had brought the house down - quite literally - on the heads of the Venatori they'd been chasing, which was dramatic and honestly kinda hot, but is also probably gonna attract all sorts of attention before too long. "Maybe… hm. Castle?" Mercar snorts. "You make me sound like some sort of princess." "Eh. We'll workshop it, figure something out." Well. Today was pure chaos, but with the warm weight of someone who might just be a new friend across her shoulders, Lace thinks it might just have been worth it.

- "Come on, this way!" Varric is - Varric - Lace won't let herself think about it. Not yet. Rook's alive. Woozy and heavy where her arm is slung across Lace's shoulders, but alive. And she's gonna stay that way.

At a shout from Neve, Lace sets her down to sit against the eluvian. She turns just in time to spot the demon swooping in towards them. It takes half a heartbeat to put an arrow through its spine thing, and then there's another demon, and another. "We can't fight them all off," Neve calls. "Back to Minrathous, come on!" Lace nods, turns - and sees Rook, sprawled on the ground with her eyes closed and a small pool of blood like a halo round her head. "No," she breathes. "No no no, not you too, not-" Fingers to her neck. A pulse. She's alive. Lace almost sobs. Neve drags Varric's body through the portal and Lace drags Rook through to - Well. Wherever they are, it's definitely not Minrathous. The mirror behind them is as tall as a house, and in front there's a cavernous dark hall lit by what looks like a lake of magic below. Lace's head pounds. Her heart feels like it's breaking. But her work isn't done yet. She fumbles in her bag for elfroot, rubbing alcohol, a needle and thread. She couldn't save Varric, but she can still help. She can do one thing right today. If she can save Rook, then it might all have been worth it. - "No! You can't!" Rook - Esha - is as stubborn as ever. She presses forward through the lyrium storm, her arms outstretched. "You're Lace Harding," she tells her, shouting to be heard over the scream of the Titan. "You're more than this rage. You believe that the world is beautiful, that people are good. Hold on to it! Hold on to who you are." Lace sobs. The sound rings through the air and Stone. "It's too much." "I know," Esha says, and fuck, when did she get this close? "But you don't have to carry it alone." Hands on Lace's shoulders. Then arms wrapping round them. Lace's eyes widen; now that she and the Titan are one, she can feel its lyrium - her lyrium - screaming through Esha's skin and along her veins. She can feel her muscles spasming, her mind flickering as its connection to the Fade is first blown wide open, then collapsed. Elf flesh was our flesh, once, the Titan hisses. Stolen from us. Crush her. Set her alight, set them all ablaze in - Esha's weight is suddenly much, much heavier. Lace clutches at her before she can fall. "No," she breathes, her voice rising to a shout as she presses her hand to Esha's chest, over her stuttering heart. "No, no, no. No!" She is- "Mine," Harding growls. "And you won’t take her from me." Her hands come alight, drawing the lyrium back and away and out. Esha's head lolls back in her grip, and then tips to rest against Harding's arm as the light in her veins recedes. Lace feels the moment the electric pulse of her heart begins to settle, and almost sobs with relief. "I've… fallen for you again, Lace Harding," Esha murmurs, her voice slurring round the edges of the words. The song of the lyrium, the song of the Titans, the sound of her voice; all of it shimmers into a perfect harmony that leaves Harding dizzy. "Shut up," she tells her, unable to stop her hand from moving from Esha's chest to her cheek. She needs her close, needs to feel her warm and alive and here. For that, everything else is worth it.

[voughtint]

Black noir x male supe reader perchance.... (pls :3)

Pairing : Black Noir X male reader.

Genre : Fluff.

Tag : SFW.

Summary : You forgot your umbrella. He doesn’t need his that badly.

Authors note : If you'd like this done with Black Noir II, or you'd like this to be NSFW, feel free to request again! (With, I’m begging, more specifics, lol.)

Content warnings : Reader gives Black Noir a “kiss” at the end, reader calls Black Noir “kitty” at the end.

It’s raining. The day had already surrendered to the persistent drumbeat of a (not so summer) summer shower. The usual harsh geometries of the parking lot softened under the veil of rain, transformed into a moody, introspective landscape. Gone were the sharp lines of individual parking spaces, blurred now by a slick, dark sheen. And, like the best supe out there, you forgot your umbrella. Did you read the email saying to bring an extra layer? Maybe. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s not like Vought cares if you’re soaking wet. You know who does care, though? Your PR manager. You’re going to hear it from him later. What do you even have to do today? Some photoshoots with the Deep, god, you’d rather not… something where you’re supposed to briefly interact with Homelander in a video. Cool.

The air, usually thick with the metallic tang of hot asphalt and exhaust fumes, was now washed clean. A fresh, earthy scent rose from the damp concrete, mingling with the faint sweetness of rain–soaked greenery from the scattered planters. Beneath it all, an almost imperceptible, yet persistent, aroma of wet metal and rubber began to emerge – the smell of countless vehicles breathing in the downpour. Nothing too miserable, considering the weather Vought has other supes running around in. The cars themselves, usually gleaming monuments to individual journeys, were now unified by their shared experience. Dark, wet surfaces reflected the overcast sky, turning each vehicle into a distorted mirror.

Headlights, some still stubbornly on, cast hazy, diffused beams that painted ephemeral streaks across the puddles. The chrome accents, usually sharp and glinting, were now muted, softened by moisture. Water streamed down windshields, creating abstract patterns that momentarily obscured the interiors, giving glimpses of empty seats or forgotten coffee cups. You’re about to start heading to the metal doors to get screened in, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. A little, tiny metal tap.

You froze, almost dropping your Vought–signed bag. You don’t want another one of the Seven hassling you for anything, not after the social rating debrief with the Deep and Homelander. Kevin likes to… go very into detail about his extremely close relationships with the sea creatures in his aquarium, but you’re unsure if he meant as friends or… something more. As much as you hate— well, hate is a strong word, it pays well… as much as you dislike being a supe, there’s the occasional moment of idiocracy from the Seven to keep you entertained.

Your grip on the bag is tighter now, as your eyes “meet” his – Black Noir. Or, his mesh eyeholes, that is. He’s the one who’d awkwardly followed you out of the meeting room and was staring off into nothing. He’s not nearly as intimidating or broody as everyone says he is. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head, looking at his hardened suit, then his mask. Tall, broad shoulders, …arms. How else can you describe a guy you can’t even see? Black Noir blinked. He’s holding out an umbrella, which is what he’d tapped you with: the metal tip.

Black Noir nodded his head, gesturing the umbrella forward. “Are you offering?” You cocked your head again, putting your hand out. He’s… well, him. Not exactly the figure you’d expect to inspire awe, not in this context. He’s not perched atop a skyscraper, not engaged in a brutal confrontation. Instead, he’s standing, rain–slicked and motionless, a stark contrast to the usual chaos that surrounds his public persona. The rain plasters his iconic black mask to his face, obscuring any expression, any hint of the formidable, terrifying assassin beneath. He’s less a towering menace and more a… presence. A quiet, unyielding sentinel in the deluge.

You smiled, more of a half–assed grin, taking the umbrella and holding it above yourself. “Thanks, Noir.” You snickered under your breath, tapping his chestplate. Black Noir stared back, not evening nodding, before turning to the building and taking a step. He waited for you to follow, turning his head back to make sure you would. You took a step, walking ahead of him instead. Black Noir walked behind you, watching your shoulders. After a moment of walking across the parking lot, you reached the doors much faster than any others (thank goodness for reserved parking.)

The colossal metal doors groaned open, a stark contrast to the drumming of rain on the outside world. You stepped through, the coldish hair clinging to your clothes as the doors sealed shut behind you with a heavy thud. The interior of Vought, even just the reception area, was a testament to its sheer scale. Polished concrete floors gleamed damply under the harsh fluorescent lights, mirroring the dreary sky you’d just left. “Come on…” you muttered, closing the umbrella as you kept walking pace with Black Noir. The air buzzed with a quiet efficiency. Vought Employees, sharp and alert, moved with a practiced calm, their eyes briefly flicking over incoming visitors as they were screened with silent professionalism.

It wasn’t an unfriendly atmosphere, but one of controlled order, a place where every movement seemed to have a purpose. Besides you, a silent, ‘imposing’ figure followed. Black Noir, his masked face inscrutable. You’re carrying his umbrella, its canopy a dark stripe against the bright, sterile interior, ensuring you remained dry from any lingering drops from your shirt. Your bag, now slung over your other shoulder, felt a little heavier with the added weight, but the shared space beside kept your attention. The rain outside seemed a world away as you stepped into the screener, nodding to a familiar employee, Adam.

You turned slightly as Black Noir walked through the side, following behind you quickly. You flashed him another smile, holding up the umbrella for him to now take. “Thanks, Noir.” You hummed, tapping the umbrella on his silica gel frames. Black Noir nodded, taking the umbrella from your hand, the leather of his suit dragging on your skin. You went to keep walking, but Black Noir followed, tucking his head in slightly when you gave him a questioning look. You rolled your eyes. Gods, he’s like a lost puppy. “Fine. Come on. Walk me to my meeting, will you?” You murmured, moving to go for the stairs, but Black Noir moved to the side to redirect you. You narrowed your eyes at him, looking where he was, noticing the elevators.

“You seriously can’t handle ten steps…?” You mumbled, more of yourself, walking into the elevator. Black Noir, unsurprisingly, didn’t respond. He stepped in behind you, pressing the ‘99’ button. Black Noir stood beside you, not moving as you leaned back against the wall. His hands interlaced above his waist, rubbing one thumb against the back of his palm. His umbrella rested against his legs, shifting every time the elevator thrummed. The interior of the elevator is sleek and modern, with a minimalist design that exudes luxury and sophistication. The walls are made of polished stainless steel, reflecting the soft glow of the embedded LED lighting, which casts a subtle, inviting ‘ambiance’.

The elevators control panel is a marvel of technology, featuring a touchscreen display that showcases the floor numbers in a crisp, high resolution font. As the doors close, the elevator begins its ascent, the hum of the machinery playing through the speakers. The elevators advanced stabilization system ensures a smooth ride, even as it navigates the dizzying heights of the Vought skyscraper. The elevators interior is equipped with a state of the art surveillance system, allowing you and Black Noir to see outside of the elevators stop as you ascend. Black Noir glanced back as you set your back down, then looked back at the screen. Just passing floor 38.

45, 57, 62…

The elevator hummed to a stop, showcasing floor 99. The doors opened, but Black Noir remained still, letting you step out first. You grabbed your bag walked out, turning your head to see Black Noirs face. When he was out, and the doors closed, you gave him a slight grin and cocked your head. You fully turned on your heels, moving forward, tilting your head up. You pressed your hand down on the umbrella, also keeping his hand down (the other snaked up, holding your arm,) he let you keep him still. He nodded his head down a peg, letting you peck a short kiss onto the nose of his mask. Black Noir pulled back, staring with his breath getting only a tad heavier.

“See you soon, kitty.” You sniggered, clutching your bag and turning, walking toward the meeting room. Black Noir watched you stride away, his umbrella falling onto the floor with a clatter.

Sourced by Vought International.

@voughtint . ©

[ladykailitha]

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames or specific AUs your WIPs; not titles, filenames (eg werewolf AU, unnamed mafia omegaverse, or Steve's Rizz vs Eddie's Zero Filter.)

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write at least 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

My only problem is that I tend to file name what the title is so I can find it easier, so...here’s what they were called before I titled them.

“File” Names

Street Racer (I know, I know! But it keeps trying to be longer, so it's here again)

Mascot

Fashion AU

Dragon Slayer

PI Eddie

Same as last week, if I finish a story I'll start one of my waiting AUs.

Heist AU (a la The Italian Job)

Beauty and the Beast

Spellbound Sequel

Snippet

As they all piled out of Maddy’s house, Eddie stopped to talk with Chad.

“Hey, man,” he murmured. “Thanks for coming out for this. I know you didn’t have to.”

Chad cocked his head to the side. “I wanted to. Despite our differences, I really do like you.” He put his finger on his cheek as he considered. “As a friend.”

Eddie smiled. “I’ll take that. If you’re in Indy again, hit me up. We’ll go out to drinks.”

“Deal,” Chad said with a broad smile. “I’ll see you around.”

Eddie watched him go with a fond smile on his face.

As he piled into the van, Gareth already in the passenger seat, said, “You know, I know Jeff was up in your face about that guy, but I quite like him.”

Eddie snorted. “I do too. He’s really come a long way from the guy who thought we were going to rob him just for walking into our offices. He’s an asset to have for the agency and maybe even a friend.”

Gareth cocked his head to the side as they watched Tommy and Chad pull away from the house, Tommy’s belongings in the back seat.

“Yeah,” he said. “I can accept that. And if Jeff can’t, he can shove it up his ass.”

Eddie barked out a laugh. “Yeah, man. He can shove it up his ass.”

It's that great and wonderful time of the week again! WIP Wednesday!

The game runs from 8am-11pm EST.

Send in as many asks as you want as often as you want.

My computer is still in the shop with them deciding it needed a new motherboard. They have to order so I don't know how long that will take. HOWEVER! I do have my laptop so send away!

Tag List:

@zerokrox-blog @forgottenkanji @w1ll0wtr33 @dreamercec

@beelze-the-bubkiss @bookworm0690 @kultiras @niniel-karenine

[skyrim-forever]

Started off just thinking about Vevora's relation to the Temple of Dibella in Markarth and had many ideas.

According to uesp, "she [Dibella] has had many different cults, some devoted to women, some to artists and aesthetics, and others to erotic instruction."

Since the Temple in Markarth is only for women the straightforward headcanon is this sect is among one devouted to women, which is what I've gone with. Vevora's mother, who was a priestess and argueably still saw herself as one even after leaving the Temple, was apart of a sect for artists. that's how she met Vevora's father Alms but that's another story.

I don't think Vevora would disagree with the Temple's place as women-only but with how she's views Dibella, as a way of life and cultivating pleasurable experiences, it wouldn't be something she'd consider joining. Aside from her having another faith in addition and the fact she knows the priesthood is not for her; there would also be the difference in the Nord understanding of Dibella (the Moth) and the Breton one she is familiar with.

I've had some ideas for theological differences within the Temple, although only 4 priestesses (excluding Fjotra as she's not there yet/a kid), one Breton (Senna) and one Redguard (Anwen). I could see with the ongoing religious oppression in Skyrim a promotion of distinctly Nordic concepts of the Divines as a way to "resist" and maintain their identity. Had this idea of a viewpoint of Dibella as a consort of Shor becoming popular (idea from unofficial lore) and particularly Senna being opposed to this as Shor is the Bad Man.

Senna is a friend of Vevora's. Although she doesn't feel the exact same because she doesn't have the same views on Shor/Lorkhan (mostly doesn't care about him beyond her interest in the Tribunal days), she would fundamentally disagree with the idea of Dibella having a consort and being tied to another. Would go against her idea of the freedom to seek out beauty and pleasurable experiences. Also if Vevora wanted to deal with religious propaganda, she could return to Mournhold :P

None of my favs are safe from me being weird about tes religion :P Though I do think Aicantar would be fairly non-religious, raised with the Altmeri Pantheon but lowkey gets interested in the Dwemer idea of "Logic and Reason".

But Vevora can definitely make him a believer ;)