#I remember they have a ship name but I don’t remember it

[the-writerwoman]

Wow, look at me, not having 4am brain rot 😂 this has been a brain worm since I first posted about Tides of the heart though and someone mentioned about Siren Wade and Logan. And I’ve been thinking about it and as I was cooking dinner earlier I was thinking about it and I went to go talk to my partner about it and I saw he was watching Pirates of the Caribbean, the one with the mermaids. I know they’re not exactly the same thing but it was close enough for me to be like “Yup, this is a sign.” So here we go. Also I’m making up some of my own lore mixed with stuff I’ve read on them 😂

This is after Wade saves Logan from the water after he went overboard during a storm. Might tweak it if I write a full fic.

———————

The storm had passed, leaving the beach quiet under the pale glow of the moon. Waves gently lapped at the shore, the sound a soothing contrast to the chaos that had nearly swallowed Logan earlier. He sat on the damp sand, his muscles aching and his mind spinning as he stared at the figure before him.

Half-submerged in the shallows was a man, or something like one. His upper body could almost pass for human if not for the faint shimmer of his skin in the moonlight and the too-sharp angles of his grin. Below the waist, however, a long, glistening tail shimmered red and black, curling lazily in the water as if mocking the impossible.

“You’ve been watching us,” Logan said slowly, his voice hoarse from seawater and disbelief. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact he was still struggling to process.

“For days,” the man replied casually, his melodic voice carrying over the quiet waves. “Your boat’s noisy, your crew’s noisier than a pod of dolphins chasing fish.”

Logan frowned, his muscles tensing as unease prickled up his spine. “Why did you save me?”

Wade’s grin widened, revealing sharp teeth that glinted in the moonlight. “You’re… different. Interesting.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to feel flattered or unnerved. “Different how?”

Wade’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he tilted his head. “Oh, lots of ways. But let’s start with your name. What do they call you, sailor?”

Logan hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to stay silent. But something about Wade’s piercing gaze, and the fact that he still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not, pushed him to answer. “Logan.”

“Logan,” Wade repeated, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Strong. Simple. Suits you.”

Logan glanced at him warily. “And you? What do I call you?”

Wade smirked, leaning forward slightly. “You could try pronouncing it, but… well, you’d have to cut out your tongue first.”

Logan stiffened, instinctively shifting back on the sand. Wade held his gaze for a long, tense moment before his grin broke into a laugh, bright and carefree.

“Relax,” Wade said, waving a webbed hand dismissively. “I’m joking. You can call me Wade.”

Logan grunted, still not entirely reassured. “Real funny.”

“I thought so,” Wade said, flashing another grin before leaning forward on his arms, his tail stirring the water behind him.

Logan was trying to process what was going on right now when his mind froze. His stomach dropped as he remembered his father’s lighter. His most prized possession. His hand shot into his pocket, fumbling until he felt the familiar shape. Pulling it out, he turned it over in his hands, relief flooding him when he saw it was intact.

“What is that?” Wade asked, inching closer, his curiosity palpable.

“It’s a lighter,” Logan said, flicking it open. A tiny flame flared to life, its warm glow dancing in the cool night air.

Wade’s eyes widened, his expression transforming into pure wonder. “What’s it for?”

“Fire,” Logan said, holding it up but keeping it at a distance. “You use it to start fires.”

“Fire? Like those orange and yellow ships when lightening hits them?” Wade asked, his voice soft with awe. He inched closer, his gaze fixed on the flickering flame. “It’s… beautiful.”

“Don’t touch it,” Logan warned. “It burns.”

But before Logan could stop him, Wade reached out, his finger brushing the flame. A sharp hiss escaped him, and he yanked his hand back, plunging it into the water with a splash. “Ow! What the hell?”

Logan barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he clicked the lighter shut. “I told you. Fire burns.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Wade shot back, glaring at the lighter like it had personally wronged him. “I live underwater. We don’t exactly have a lot of that down there .”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

Wade huffed, inspecting his finger with an exaggerated pout. “You’re lucky you’re pretty. Otherwise, I would’ve left you to the sharks.”

Logan stilled, his amusement fading as Wade’s words hung in the air. Logan couldn’t tell if he was joking again but the siren’s the predatory glint in his eyes as he watched Logan squirm didn’t help.

Logan cleared his throat, ready to say something, when a distant shout broke the silence. His head snapped toward the sound, and he spotted the dim glow of lanterns further up the beach. His crew.

“Logan! You out there?” one voice called.

Logan turned back toward Wade, but his breath caught in his throat. All he saw was the shimmering tail dipping back into the waves, vanishing beneath the surface. The water stilled as if he’d never been there at all.

“Logan!” Another shout grew louder as the crew came running down the beach. Within moments, two of them were at his side, helping him to his feet.

“Are you alright?” Scott asked, his lantern swinging wildly as he scanned Logan for injuries. “What happened? We thought you were lost.”

Logan hesitated, his gaze flicking back to the now-empty water. “I… I must’ve swam to shore. Can’t remember much. Maybe I hit my head.”

“You’re lucky you made it, some of the lads weren’t so lucky,” Scott said gravely, slinging Logan’s arm over his shoulder. “Come on, we’re going to find shelter.”

Logan let himself be guided away, his body still aching and his mind reeling. As they trudged up the beach, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, his eyes scanning the dark waves. For a moment, he thought he saw something, a head poking out of the water, watching them.

The figure disappeared before Logan could be sure.

——————

I hope you liked it! I’m thinking of doing a new fic now, to add on to all my WIP’s since I’ve finished This life chose us, and Tides of the heart is almost finished. I’ve got 3 ideas brewing from bits and pieces I’ve put up on tumblr from my 4am brain rot (feel free to read them on my blog to help pick which one you like the idea of.

[baloopy]

It’s been a bit since I read this and honestly it kinda faded into the background of power fantasy manhwa, but I do remember the ending of the 2nd season seemed to be setting up actual granfell angst & consequences of some sort? 😭 forgot that girls name but she totally could’ve kept being an interesting character.

shipping granfell and hoyeol is interesting to me bc like. assuming hoyeol created granfell (which maybe put in contention based on how the series marinates) how do you reconcile a relationship where all your suffering was because of someone else’s need to make it through middle school. fuck. I’m seeing the orv connections. bc it was mentioned early on that like… hoyeols family was going through a bunch of financial issues? so living this vr life as granfell is an escape for him. so one avenue the relationship could take it for granfell recognizing that while hoyeol did manifest all his traumatic backstory it’s not his fault for being a guy just to survive.

anyways I’m just rambling on from your post but to see what other ppl think of these quite mid manhwas bc I don’t have any irls who read them lol

what the fuck toxic yuri selfcest out of nowhere?????

[quibbs126]

Hi! Might know who this is after a post but could you do a kid for Red Velvet and Milk?

Yeah, sorry it took so long (I remember who this is), but here we are, with White Velvet Cookie

She was also done ages ago aside from her little sketch

So White Velvet here lives in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, specifically in the Milk Village (that's also where her parents live). She's part of the Cream Wolves, and maybe takes her job too seriously

She's kind of always on edge, not super trusting of strangers. The pose here is supposed to be her encountering someone on her patrol. She’s fine enough when she’s familiar with you, the Milk Villagers like her, but she’s a bit too uptight and doesn’t seem to have a concept of relaxation

There’s not too much I can remember about her other than this, sorry. On to design stuff

So her name was giving me a lot of trouble, because I wasn’t sure how to combine milk and red velvet cake. I think one of my first ideas was Tres Leches cake, but that name didn’t really fit with her parents. I tried many different things, but someone suggested white velvet cake, so I went with that. Reasoning? It’s a velvet cake, and it’s white in color like Milk

White velvet cake:

I remember one of the big difficult things about her being her colors. Mainly because white velvet is white and light yellow, but there’s no yellow in Milk or Red Velvet’s designs. And also straight yellow just didn’t look good on her. But I didn’t want her to be mostly white, because that’s just Milk’s color palette. The whole color thing is what made me shelve her for a while (though not as long as Dark Sapote)

I’d say by the final product though, the colors are fine enough

Her design’s more of a mix between Crunchy Chip’s and Milk’s, since she works in Crunchy Chip’s group and lives in Milk’s area

I knew I wanted to give her white eyes like Milk, but I didn’t want to put any sort of pupils in there like Red Velvet. I wanted to give her something that resembled Red Velvet, and someone suggested giving her different colored eyecing, which I eventually did, and I think it looks good

I’m also noticing now that the bag I had her hold isn’t drawn correct, as her hood is in front of it when it shouldn’t be, and now it’s bothering me

Overall I’d say she looks perfectly fine, she ain’t bad at all. Though overall with my recent fankids, I feel like I’m losing steam or I’m just not satisfied with them. White Velvet’s design isn’t bad, but I have next to nothing to say about her character, or much about any of the others for that matter. And I feel like only some of my recent designs are decent. White Velvet is in that latter category of decent design, but my current views are bringing my thoughts on her down in the process

Anyways yeah, that’s White Velvet Cookie. Hopefully you like her

[bisexualmultifandommess]

I find it so funny but also adorable that Malakai waited until Amerie was finished with her list to question why she’s dressed as a frog lmao

[konnyart]

The kiss of Judas (colorized)

I am dealing with the final very maturely and healthily, I swear. Believe me.

[pechachaos]

wait they’re actually so cute this is so sweet this is giving me cavities

[crystalskyz]

PINESCONE!!!

to color or not to color…

[carpetbug]

woahh hophhaoh hooo wow. thinking about loveybug and adrien. her geeking out over her ‘celebrity crush’ when she runs into him. she would be just non stop flirting with him and adriens thinking ‘oh my god why does every ladybug holder have to be such a beautiful girl and i really REALLY want her to kiss me’ and trying to kind of hide the catwalker side of himself from her so he kind of returns the flirts a bit and she. loses it.

[yujiitadorigirlfriend]

I haven’t watched this anime in a hot minute but I remember this was my favorite ship

I always thought they are a pretty couple.

[mabsart]

[Final Fantasy VII]

Younger Vincent and Veld taking it easy after a long day of being Turks for Violent over on the FF7 Discord!

[dust-of-embers]

Re-reading vol 10 of Kamisama kiss is amazing… it’s so fucking fruity

Tomoe turning into Nanami to try seducing Jiro is amazing, truely taking advantage of the genderfluidity of kitsune, I love it

(Sorry about the image quality, it’s dark and I’m tired)

And then my favourite past ship in this fandom…

You can’t be a demon lord in Japan without being at least a tad fruity, the ridiculously strong bond with one person and one person only is very bisexual and autism…

(Sesshōmaru does this too)

[awakefor48hours]

Chris: Harcourt said I’m pretty

Adebayo: really?

Chris: well she’s said I was “pretty annoying” but I’m choosing to focus on the positive

[peronasbeloved]

you know what fuck it fuck it im brave (shaking) i will just post these already. i don’t have any eyes on this account anyways, so it’s whatever :P brain has kinda been ummm not good lately so save me self shipping art.. save me

[fistfuloflightning]

So. I’ve been trying to find a fic I read a couple years ago but I don’t remember the title. It was a Lan Qiren/Madam Lan where they fall in love during her captivity and lwj is their son. LQR helps smuggle her out of Cloud Recesses and she goes to study under Baoshan Sanren, while he stays behind to protect the boys.

If this sounds familiar to anyone pls let me know! It was a fantastic read even tho it wasn’t finished (at the time)

[strawberrycherriesncream]

Blackmore light character study but not- idk what the fuck this is to be called but it’s Blackmore and he’s in love with a cowboy and a suicidal gunslinger

Soooo

[1,963 words] Nothing bad happens besides a little implied fire damage

Also, ‘I Will Wait’ by Mumford & Sons, is what I’ve been listening to lately and it’s kinda named after it.

——————————————————————————

The days had grown tedious in the passing weeks. Redundant while serving as his employer’s silent hand that danced across the rain like he was a weightless feather amongst the darkened clouds. Each day was counted in their passing. Counted until they were harder to keep track of as months so he kept counting the days even as it stormed hard enough to wash out that old bridge on the other side of town and when the sun gazed down on the Earth with an intensity so bright it felt like it would melt your skin through the sweat.

Blackmore’s loyal. He always is. But that loyalty doesn’t stop his mind from drifting to a cowboy dressed in unique animal hide he could only stand when he wore it and no one else. No one else could ever hope to wear the dead and tanned skin like he does. Then his mind would skip like how he played and toyed with the rain he manipulated to his want and will to the gunslinger he only saw occasionally, if not rarer than the cowboy himself, despite being employed by the same man.

That house waiting in the orchard stared back. Stagnant and unmoving, forever stuck fumbling back through time, even as its owner sat out on the front porch carefully cleaning and oiling a 1874 Colt like a mother wiping the blood clean from her deceased child’s mouth. The handgun was always treated with the respect of a man devoted, a priest tending to the alter, like it would break the fragile sense of self if it became rusty and unusable. No longer able to stand as an unwavering ally in a death match meant to prove a sickly child wrong.

Another call drew Blackmore back to himself. It wasn’t the ringing of a telephone, but of Mike O. staring at him in disappointment all the while uttering where in this world his mind had drifted off to. Another apology slipped from his lips. The tenth of the night and they’ve only been present at this event for two hours and it’s supposed to last well into the night. Each time became more halfhearted than the last despite his utter devotion.

If Mr. Valentine noticed his sullen and distant behavior, he kept it close to his chest and did not comment. Blackmore would have died in embarrassment if he tried.

Instead, the night wore on and his mind never once tired of its repetitive slips. Drifting from one thought to the next. Some idle, and some fast. Never lingering on anything for too long before his head was filled with something else.

The inability to concentrate was driving him crazy but it’s been one hundred and twenty-seven days since he’s seen them, and it aches so much hurts to be so utterly devoted to three men and torn between his loyalty to protecting Mr. Valentine and never straying too far from his side less he need an able gun in a time of need. Comparing the three of them wasn’t fair but he’s long since learned life has never, and will never, be fair to anyone. Only Mr. Valentine can change that and that’s why he chooses to be at his beck and call.

Because why wouldn’t he want a world where misfortune is driven away? Why wouldn’t anyone want that? All the heartache and pain it would save was worth more than gold and silver. There was no greater pain than losing someone you loved.

The fire in Chicago raged day and night for almost forty-eight hours straight until it finally burned itself out in the early morning hours. Devastating families, businesses and livelihoods for thousands of people.

Fire was supposed to be a source of comfort and warmth. A light to guide you through the darkness and to warm your food. But a tamed beast is still a beast, only gentle until it’s given no more reason to be and snaps its jaws to bite you back. It became a raging beast that swallowed the city for everything that it was worth. Killing over three hundred people and scorching the ones that got stuck inside from the intensity of the heat and the awful stench of billowing smoke. It was easy to mistake the sounds of the flesh and bones of a human body popping as the sound of a crackling fire.

The sound and warmth of a fireplace had never felt the same since. Sometimes when he gazed into the flickering abyss that burned his eyes dry if Tim felt the same about his comrades he had no choice but to leave in the Devil’s Palm. The constant shifting sands likely ensured the corpses of both human and animal were buried despite their inability to return home. Hopefully they were at peace and no longer lost wandering a hellscape.

About halfway through the event, it started to downpour. Drenching the land where the earth begged to be quenched. Blackmore would always appreciate the rain for as long as he lived. It doused the Chicago Fire along with his childish nativity his ability to manipulate rain was anything other than to stop it from falling. He would have killed everyone, he did kill everyone, if he had tried, and he did. He tried so hard but nothing was working—

The walk back home was quiet and peaceful as thunder crackled along the sky, illuminating the clouds as thunder rolled ahead of it like an omen. Mr. Valentine hadn’t spoken a word about his performance when he dismissed him for the remainder of the night. With him you could never be too sure if you were in trouble with him or not unless he told you. Mr. Valentine kept his face impassive in a way that was either a natural one from birth or a mask he painted and put up to hide his true thoughts from the rest of the political world.

Either way, only his wife seemed to be able to read him. And she did, like he was a book written by an excitable child that never learned how to properly write.

He tried not to be jealous of her clear devotion and love for her husband. Tried not to imagine someone cared enough about him that they were always thinking of him and knew how he was feeling just from a glance. But they were a married couple, fundamentally different from who he desired. He’d never bring the men he called lovers home to anyone but himself. For there was no one left alive to meet, and even if there was, he’d never dare.

Time always appeared to pass oddly when it rained. Perhaps it was how at ease he felt walking down the street with the gentle pattering of rainwater splattering on the ground and atop his umbrella. The sound of running water rushing through rains reminded him of the river Tim once took them to. He had even picked them wildflowers before dragging them along with a grin that made his eyes crinkle and the age to show in his crows feet.

It’s no later than three in the morning by the time he arrived to his apartment. The metal stairs leading up to his front door were slick with water, a hazard he’s seen both Tim and Ringo slip on and slam their knees into the grating or simply trip face first and smack their chin into the stairs higher above the one they slipped on. Afterwards, it had been funny, but not in the moment.

The lock clicked open easily underneath the stress of a prodding key and he slipped inside without a word and dripped water all over the hardwood floor. The doormat was practically useless as the door was shut and locked once again. He got his outerwear off eventually. The water made his poncho heavy despite letting liquid roll off its surface like a repellent.

Below the floor, he can hear the old, wooden piano playing something he can’t name in the bar he lives above. The notes are perfect if slurred in some places from a night of one too many drinks. He’s ninety-nine percent positive the owners are making whiskey in the basement, but as long as they don’t blow anything up, he really doesn’t care. He’s pretty sure it’s not the son running it anyways like the two old ladies try convincing everyone when they ask why they haven’t seen the young man around and instead excuse his absence with one thing or another.

The two women are sweet regardless. Probably well into their late sixties and just kind people in general, bless their hearts. Interestingly enough, they wear the same shade of red lipstick he’s seen on Mrs. Valentine.

Lightning cracked in the sky, a whip in disguise its lover screamed behind it. Illuminating the vase of flowers he very much didn’t leave out on the table. The tightening in his chest at the realization someone had been inside his home without him present itched something fierce as his hand hovered over his gun. Awaiting for someone lying in the darkness that was only brightened by occasional flashes.

Blackmore waited, a hand on the doorknob, prepared to throw himself out into the mercy of the clouds if necessary. All the urgency drained out of him at the sound of an excited meow calling out for him and scarcely a second later was followed by a weight throwing herself against his calf in all the display of affection she could muster.

Curiously, he named her, Midnight, because her fur was as black as the night sky and her green eyes shown like stars. She was a very timid and shy girl that would hide from everyone but him. She was simply just like that. Her personality just a unique as a humans despite his parents telling them animals have no souls and don’t feel a thing. But he’s seen different, been proven time and time again that animals have feelings of their own.

Midnight meowed again, more persistent and loud and he knew no one was in his home. Scooping her up, she grunted in protest but purred like a steam train nonetheless. He loved this cat.

Gliding over towards the table, he set her down to examine the vase. Her tail curled up against his cheek and over his nose, a constant back and forth as she meowed and bumped her entire weight into his arm with her head. Absently stroking down her back, his fingers brushed along the soft petals of the flowers with the other.

Blackmore smiled despite himself. That jealousy from earlier washing away to be replaced by a warmth that made him feel all warm and floaty. How beautiful was it to be on someone else’s mind? Enough so that they went out of their way when they didn’t have to. Nothing made him feel more special, and made him feel like his utter devotion was shared.

Nestled beside the vase sat a cloth bag. Opening it revealed the pears grown in the orchard blanketing a home away from home he misses. So they were both in here while he was away.

Glancing around, nothing else looked out of place. They must’ve not lingered for long. Naturally as his nature as an assassin, he’s curious what called them into town. What business they have. Tim’s a bounty hunter that is a regular for the sheriffs and popular throughout the nation for it. Ringo could’ve been called in by Mr. Valentine, strange as it may be as he normally lets the gunslinger stay at home waiting for someone to wander into his home.

He’d track them down in the morning. Once the rain calms down.

[spaceagetoon]

Honestly Abe and topher belong together. They’re both such shit heads they deserve each other.