#mid read commentary

[pathos-bathos]

Piranesi? What are you doing in my "the priory of the orange tree"?

[chiropteracupola]

I LOVE WHEN MAGIC SYSTEMS RECALL HUMORIC MEDICINE!!!!

[wingsofhcpe]

just got spoilered for the entirety of interview with the vampire help fjskrkks

[mysticalsadgirl]

Random account that posts weird, no commentary clips of minecraft playthroughs suddenly uploads a 7hr long video titled "I made my pulitzer prize winning journalist boyfriend solve FNAF for me" and the thumbnail is a guy in his 20s that looks like a renaissance muse sat in front of a corkboard and there's an old frazzled man in front of the corkboard mid gesture. You read the comments almost all of them are "Is that Daniel Molloy?????"

[fipindustries]

watching defunctland

the kids cities concept is just so incredibly fascinating to watch. it almost feels like unintentional commentary, there are some many directions in which to read this. it almost feels like something out of a magical realism novel from the mid 20th century.

the concept of children doing adult things, pretending to be adults, while a few actual adults around take care of them and make sure they are doing things right, having fun and not hurting each other, while their fathers and mothers rest above them on a lounge. is hard not to see a commentary about humans guided by angels while the gods rest atop mount olympus.

this is begging to be adapted into a lord of the flies style horror movie or a weird surrealist dark comedy or something. its such a rich vein to explore. what if we take the concept further, we got children doctors and children pilots and children police. why not children garbage collectors? children homeless? children drugaddicts?

[click4rainy]

Masked Man//Wade Wilson Boyfriend HeadCanons

����:slowly but surely getting back into my writing 💅🏼 (not proof read just super horny like a clown 🤡 HONKAH HONKAH)

SFW ♥️

★ Wade is a silly guy. So silly in fact, he’ll crack jokes or shoot a sarcastic comment your way—mid argument. “How am I supposed to listen when you look this good right now?” Fear not! Because he knows when to shut up. (When you tell him to)

★ Bro defo has a Roblox account. Not elaborating.

★ Despite his chaotic and reckless behavior, Wade is actually super protective and would go to extreme lengths to keep you safe. And then some. “Hey! Back off! Don’t you fuck with her! Unless you wanna fuck with me too. In that case we’ll need a sit down discussion for—“ “WADE!” “Right—sorry.”

★ Expect big, wild romantic gestures. Like standing outside your window while holding up a boom box. (playing ‘what you won’t do for love’ by Bobby Caldwell) or (attempting at) writing your name with fireworks. (There were definitely ‘unexpected’ explosions)

★ “I know it’s only Tuesday, but I totally, legally rented a helicopter so we can pretend we’re in the aveng—no? Okay…plan B then: Breakfast in bed with (penis) questionable pancakes.”

★ Cuddle bug Wade. Are we surprised? This man lives off of physical touch and affection. Wrapping you up in his arms, not letting you go with a shit eating grin. “Nope, you’re not leaving this couch. We’re practicing the ancient art of Wade Wrapping, which requires at least three hours of cuddles, just sayin.”

★ He is nonstop teasing you. It’s a hobby for him, really. (And his love language) Coming up with silly nicknames for you, challenging you to random games or chores, he’s not below making fun of himself to see you smile either.

★ “Oh-ho? You think you can wipe the track with me in Mario kart? That’s cute.” “Honey—you look fine. Approachable even. Unlike me…” (he says while laying limbless on the bed. Literally….)

★ Uses his dark humor to comfort you in times of ‘what the actual fuck?’ Knowing how to turn even the bleakest of moments into something a little lighter. “Hey, I know life might suck granny tits right now…but at least we’re not in a rom-com where one of us has to die or something worse for the other to grow emotionally, right?”

★ Unwaveringly supportive of you in any conflict. He is going to take your side. Every. Single. Time. Backing you up even if he has literally no idea what’s going on or why. “You said Rick was out of line at work today? Well guess who’s getting a strongly worded letter in the form of interpretive dance in the parking lot?” “Is it Ri—“ “it’s Rick.”

★ Wade loves experimenting in the kitchen with you! Attempting to make meals that sometimes end up in hilarious disasters, followed up by a take out order.

★ He breaks this…’fourth wall’ sometimes. Like looking off into the distance and talking to an invisible audience or camera while addressing you. This dead ass bewilders you at times. But mostly you roll your eyes at his antics.

★ “Can you believe this shit?” He’ll ask, turning to an imaginary audience. “I’m over here being the perfect boyfriend—funny, handsome, protective, all that—and you guys still think Peter Parker is the ‘Ideal Boyfriend’ pffft. Get real.” *turns back to you* “anyway, where were we?”

★ This overgrown man child is a PDA enthusiast. Unashamed of hugging, kissing, or trying to dip you during a playful dance in public. He doesn’t care, he’s proud to be with you and wants everyone to know it. “You know what this sidewalk needs? A spontaneous make out session”

★ One hundred percent would insist on wearing matching or theme outfits. Whether it’s full on costumes or something little like matching socks. “Ta-Da! Matching Taco Cat shirts—no, no. Don’t fight it. This is how we show the world we’re a team. Through peak fashion choices.”

★ Loves movie nights. They’re full of commentary, with your boyfriend narrating or making fun of the movie plots. He’d insist on watching rom-coms or action movies for sure.

★ You’ll receive unconventional love letters in the form of doodles, short jokes, or notes saying “I love you more than The Golden Girls. And that’s saying something. ;)”

★ Wade is a pretty chill dude. He’s not overboard with jealousy. But that won’t stop the man from making his classic (not so jokey) jokes when he feels like someone might be getting too close to you. “Oh, flirting? With you? Cute. Should I go over there and casually mention that I’m the love of your life and also really good with sharp objects?”

★ Beneath all the jokes and chaos, he has moments of genuine, heartfelt affection. Whispering his love and gratitude for you at unexpected times. “I know I never take shit for real. But I’m serious about you, about us. You’re my safe space, the one part of my life that makes sense on this stupid chunk of rock floating in space.”

★ Remembers odd little details about you. Showing it with unexpected gifts that align perfectly with your interests. (Even if they’re a bit off beat.) “I saw this super limited edition action figure of (favorite character). I had to get it for you—don’t ask me how, just say thank you and let’s run—“

★ Randomly belting out terrible renditions of love songs at the top of his lungs, just to get a laugh from you.

★ Acts tough for your amusement, like he’ll pretend to be all macho around your friends to make you laugh. “Yeah babe, I’m like, indestructible. Just gotta…” *struggles to open a jar of pickles* “wait—hold on. This jar is definitely cheating…”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

NSFW 🍆💦

★ Wade love love LOVESSS making you watch while playing with your pussy. Using his mouth, fingers and all kinds of cute little toys.

★ Tying your hands together, behind your back and sitting you in front of the mirror with your legs spread wide as he slowly circles your clit with a bullet vibrator, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “You see how fucking wet you are for me, baby?” “Look. At. This~” “did I say to look away? Didn’t think so…”

★ He’s into all kinds of crazy shit—high key an exhibitionist.

★ Fucking you in a theatre bathroom, pressing you up against the stall while he covers your mouth, dipping the head of his cock teasingly into your aching cunt.

★ “I don’t give one shit if someone hears us, I need you. Now.” “Shhh baby, gotta stay quiet if you wanna cum.” “Stay still now…”

★ Eating you out in the back of the car, hands kneading your plush thighs while looking up at you with that knowing, shit-eating grin. Not even bothering to wipe you from his chin.

★ Struggling to keep your eyes on the man, a red flush taking over your face as the vibrations of his groans send shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

★ Fingering you under the table/using a remote control vibrator on you when you��re out having dinner. “Yeah that’s it for me and uh, what about you babe?” He asks nonchalantly, as if he weren’t bumping the bullet to its highest intensity or running his fingers over your panty clad pussy. All the tasty stuff. It’s the thrill of almost being caught for him.

★ Baby girl also LOVES when you take control. Straddling him, tying him up to the bed, slapping his face. He’s fucking into it.

★ F-fuckk~ wan—wanna touch you so bad~” he whimpers, hips bucking involuntarily while you ride him, bouncing in his lap with your hands on his shoulders and his cuffed. “Mmff—need to cum…please, please—I’ll do whatever you wa—aaah, fffuck!”

★ Wade loves to buy you new toys/lingerie sets all the time! He’ll come through the door with a bag full of new things to try out or on. “Oh, come on—put the bunny ears on…I’ll let you do that one thing you like.”

★ Costumes, dressing up, role play. Cops and robbers, Professor and student, Master and pet. He loves that shit and has a lot of fun with it.

★ “You have the right to remain silent, on your knees, now.” He’ll smirk, cuffing your hands behind your back, trailing a finger down your cheek before fucking your face. “Cock hungry bitch, aren’t ya? Such a good girl…” he croons, pulling at your leash.

★ “You call that begging, honey? Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but you’re gonna have to be louder than that if you want me to fuck you silly.” He teases, sending a sharp smack to your ass while prodding at your slick pussy with his shaft, making you arch and whine out for him.

★ If you’re into it, he has no issue with knife/gun play. “How does it feel…?” he purrs into your ear, slowly sliding the cold metal up your stomach, circling your belly button before trailing up your chest, then collarbone, pressing the blade/barrel to your throat/temple. “Scary? Hot? Scary-Hot?”

★ Loves making you squirt, finger fucking you into oblivion, thumb pressed against your clit until you can’t take anymore. “Fuck yeah, baby.” He pants, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and cleaning them with a simple ‘pop’.

★ “Mhhh…” Wade hums in delight before shoving the same fingers into your mouth—pushing past your teeth, forcing you to taste yourself with a groan “You’re so yummy, don’t you think?”

★ If you’re being a brat, expect proper punishment. “Oooh, talking back to me, huh?” He’ll ask, gripping your face with one hand, forcing you to keep eye contact. “Watch that damn mouth of yours, pretty bitch. And keep riding me—I didn’t say stop.”

★ He’ll make you grind your hips until you’re sore. It’s so fucking good it hurts. “Awww, my poor baby…look at you crying and riding. You must be exhausted, hmm?” Wade grunts, bouncing you on top his lap as if you were a rag doll. His cock slamming into you, hitting that sweet spot—never missing a beat. “Keep going—be a good girl and keep going…”

★ Once you’re both a spent, panting, boneless mess beside each other, he’ll shower you with praise and pepper your face with kisses, combing your unkempt hair with his fingers as he caresses your arm.

★ Wade would set up a diy spa in the bathroom for you. Complete with cucumber slices, a glass of wine (or whatever you want) and a bath that’s wayyy too bubbly. He’d try and give you a foot massage while joking “Only the royal treatment for my queen. Minus the actual royalty…those guys were more fucked up than half of Alabama…”

👽:I wanna be SAVED Deadpool PLEASEEEE SLUT ME OUTTTT

[s1utlvr]

Candy ༯

synopsis: Your boyfriend’s an asshole, but everytime you break up without fail Clarisse always welcomes you with open arms.

a/n: hihi!!!!! I wrote this as a kind of quick drable to prequel feather but can be read as a one shot as well guess I should mention it is a college au sort offfff. General warnings asshole ex Luke suggestive themes weed things are implied but nothing outright said you know the drill read it or don’t!!!!

inspired by Candy by Doja Cat

You really didn’t mean to make it a habit.

But you knew if you went to your friends and told them about how you’d broken up with Luke for what had had to have been the fiftieth time this semester they’d tell you the exact same things they’d been preaching to you since the first time you “broke up”.

So there you were once again, standing outside of Clarisse’s dorm teary eyed in your pajamas knocking at her door.

It took one glance of you for Clarisse to figure out what had happened.

“So what was it this time?” She asked with a smirk as she motioned for you to come in.

“Good he was just being such an asshole about me going out with my friends” you say as you plop down onto her bed as you embraced one of her pillows.

“When is Luke not being an asshole?” Clarisse scoffed as she grabbed a lighter and a joint she had pre-rolled.

“For me?” You asked looking up at clarisse with bright eyes as she sat down next to you.

“No im just gonna smoke while you watch in misery” she responded as she lit up the end of the joint before placing it up by your lips.

Clarisse always knew how to make you feel better even if it came with a side of sarcastic commentary.

“Gee thanks” you replied with a sarcastic smile as you took the joint between your fingers.

You couldn’t help but admire Clarisse in this lighting. The way sweatpants hung low on her waist and the way her sports bra hugged her chest, but little did you know that you were staring…very hard actually..

“Stop looking at me like that” Clarrise scoffed snatching the joint that laid between your fingers her voice snapping you back to reality.

“Like what?” You asked.

“Like you wanna kiss me” She said taking a drag from the joint. You were staring at her lips now.

“What if I do?” You asked watching the smoke escape from her lips as she laid back.

“I wouldn’t let you” You frowned at her words as she passed you the joint.

“Why?” You asked placing the joint between your pouty lips before passing it back to Clarisse.

“Cause” she said taking a hit mid sentence “You know you’re gonna get back together next week and then you’re gonna feel all guilty for fucking around with me and I’m not gonna be at fault for that.”

You rolled your eyes at her words as you adjusted yourself your legs now on either side of hers as you straddled her

“I can handle my own feelings Clar. Luke’s probably out getting his dick sucked so who’s to say I can’t kiss you?”

“So do it. Kiss me.”

You didn’t even let the words fully leave her mouth before your lips were on hers.

Clarrise knew it was wrong of her to enjoy these moments so much. She knew she shouldn’t be hoping and praying that your dick of a boyfriend would pull a dick move so you’d end up on her doorstep all needy and desperate but gods she craved it so much. She knew it wasn’t real that it could never be that girls like you could never be saved from going back to your shitty boyfriends time and time again but aslong as it meant that she could indulge in you everytime you and Luke broke up she prayed that he would never change.

Your lips were the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted, and she was fucking addicted.

[city-of-ladies]

Although most of her writings did not survive, Pamphile (or Pamphila) of Epidaurus (fl. mid-1st century CE) deserves recognition. She is one of the earliest known female historians and the only ancient Greek woman historian about whom we have significant information. Additionally, she was a key figure in developing the genre of “miscellaneous history,” where authors retold anecdotes from earlier works.

A pioneer of historical writing

Pamphile stands among the earliest known female historians, alongside the Chinese scholar Ban Zhao (c. 40–45 – c. 117–120). This does not mean, however, that she was the first or only female historian of her time. For instance, there are references to a woman named Nicobule, who reportedly wrote a biography of Alexander the Great between the 1st and 3rd centuries CE.

According to Photios, Pamphile was a mature woman during the reign of Nero (54–68 CE). Conflicting accounts exist regarding her origins: Photios claimed she and her family were from Egypt, while the Suda, a Byzantine encyclopedia, stated that she and her father, Soterides, were from Epidaurus.

Pamphile was a polymath, likely with access to an extensive library. She attributed her knowledge to her own readings, her husband and the conversations she overheard from his visitors.

Pamphile’s Work and Influence

Pamphile’s main work, Historical Commentaries, survives only in fragments—eleven excerpts from the original 33 books, preserved in paraphrases by authors like Diogenes Laërtius, Aulus Gellius, and Photios. Her Historical Commentaries is considered the earliest known example of “miscellaneous history”. Later writers seem to have emulated her work and style.

In addition to this, Pamphile is credited with other works, including a collection of apophthegms, lectures, debates, and discussions on poetry. She also wrote an epitome of Ctesias in three books. According to the Suda, she authored a work titled On Controversies and a sexual manual called On Sexual Pleasure.

Deborah Levine Gera speculates that Pamphile might also be the author of Tractatus de Mulieribus Claris in Bello (Treatise on Women Distinguished in Wars), which recounts the deeds of powerful women from history, such as Tomyris and Artemisia I of Caria.

Pamphile described her work as poikilia, meaning a “tapestry” woven together from various sources and genres. She chose this approach to make her writing more engaging and enjoyable for her readers.

Enjoyed this post? You can support me on Ko-fi!

Further reading 

Anonymous, Tractatus de Mulieribus Claris in Bello

MacDaniel Spencer, Pamphile of Epidauros: A Female Ancient Greek Historian

Plant Ian Michael (ed.), Women Writers of Ancient Greece and Rome : An Anthology

Photios, Bibliotheca

[smystermy]

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

tags: geto suguru x you; canon-compliant; set some time after his defection; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; you both co-parent nana-mimi; you and he are somewhere between not being a couple and being one; this might be a bit too tender, methinks... but then again, geto deserves all the tenderness in the world.

warnings: none.

word count: 2325.

oneshot, loosely related to 'peel your heart like a pomegranate'.

The day clings to Geto Suguru like a shadow—long, heavy, and unrelenting.

By the time he steps through the door of the apartment, the sky outside is awash in hues of muted gold and burnt orange, streaked with threads of dusky lavender. The light spills through the hallway window in fractured rays, catching the fine dust motes in its path and painting everything in a soft glow.

He exhales slowly, the breath leaving him like the last note of a song played too many times. His shoulders slump, weighed down by exhaustion that seems to have seeped into his very bones. The scrape of his shoes against the threshold feels louder than it should in the quiet. He toes them off with a resigned sigh, the action mechanical, almost thoughtless.

The familiar creak of the floorboards greets him as his feet touch the wood, their uneven groan a sound he’s known for years. Yet, instead of comfort, it brings an odd pang of unease.

The silence that follows feels wrong, dissonant, like a chord struck out of tune.

He glances toward the living room, where the walls hold shadows that stretch and shift with the fading sunlight.

Normally, this hour carries its own quiet rhythm, a symphony of small sounds that speak of life and home. Nanako would be sprawled on the couch, her legs draped over the armrest as she flipped through channels with exaggerated commentary, her voice rising and falling like the tide. Mimiko would be close by on the floor, surrounded by her carefully arranged kingdom of stuffed animals, her soft, halting words as she read aloud filling the spaces between her sister's louder ones.

And you—his anchor, his constant in a sea of chaos—you’d be by the window.

The silhouette of your figure would merge with the light as you held a teacup delicately in one hand, the other hovering over the keyboard of your laptop. He could picture it so clearly, the faint furrow of concentration on your brow as you searched for online courses or worked on some quietly ambitious project. Your determination, quiet but steadfast, was a beacon to him, a reminder of the grounding he needed.

But tonight, the room feels hollow. The empty couch and scattered pillows are just that—empty. The table by the window stands bare, the chair pushed back slightly as if you’d only just left but taken the warmth of your presence with you.

The stillness presses against him, thick and suffocating, his pulse beginning to quicken. The unease coils tightly in his chest, the absence of sound more deafening than any noise could be. It stretches on, this silence, until—finally—a faint, rhythmic sound reaches his ears.

Soft snores drift down the hall, breaking through the oppressive quiet like a lifeline, and relief surges in a warm wave through his chest. The invisible bind around his ribs loosens, letting him take a breath that feels fuller, easier.

A quiet exhale escapes his lips as he moves toward the source of the sound, his steps deliberate and measured. Even as relief blooms, he remains careful not to disturb the fragile peace ahead.

The door to the twins’ room is slightly ajar, the warm hues of the setting sun spilling through the gap, casting amber streaks across the hallway floor. He nudges the door open, the soft creak of the hinges barely registering—but the sight inside halts him mid-step.

The room is a perfect tableau of chaos and comfort, a scene so achingly tender it roots him to the spot. The golden light filters in, catching on scattered Lego blocks that litter the floor, their bright, jagged edges glinting like tiny, sharp stars in the otherwise serene space. A few forgotten toys lie toppled over, silent witnesses to whatever grand adventure had played out here earlier.

And then his gaze moves upward, a surge of something soft and protective stirring within him when it lands on the bed where the three of you are tangled together in a mess of limbs and warmth that speaks of trust, of belonging.

Nanako lies sprawled across the middle of the mattress, one arm thrown dramatically over her head, her small form taking up far more space than it should. Her expression in sleep is unguarded, her mouth slightly ajar as she breathes in the slow, even rhythm of deep rest. Beside her, Mimiko is curled in a tight, protective ball, her tiny fingers clutching her favorite doll with a fierceness that defies her size. The doll's lopsided smile mirrors the one Geto often sees on her face, and the sight tugs at something tender in his chest.

And then there’s you, perched precariously at the very edge of the bed, as if even in sleep you’re making room for the girls. One arm is draped loosely over both of them, the curve of your wrist resting lightly on Nanako's shoulder—a quiet promise of protection and care. A strand of hair clings to your cheek, its dark line contrasting against the soft, flushed warmth of your skin. Your blanket lies forgotten on the floor, half-trampled by the earlier commotion, a testament to your restless slumber.

Geto exhales a soft, fond sigh, the familiar sight of the blanket on the floor more exasperating than anything else, yet it tugs at his heart all the same. Stepping into the room, he moves carefully, his feet avoiding the Lego blocks with the kind of ease born from countless similar nights. Bending down, he picks up the discarded blanket, shaking it out gently, his hands moving with instinctive precision.

As he straightens, though, you stir, a barely audible sound escaping your lips. Your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the faintest flicker of movement before your eyes open, hazy and unfocused, meeting his gaze—

“Geto-senpai?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, thick with the weight of sleep, each syllable soft enough to make something deep in his chest ache. The way you murmur his name, fragile and unguarded, pulls at him in a way he can’t quite put into words.

“Shh.” His voice is low, quiet enough not to disturb the peaceful rhythm of the room. He leans down, the blanket gathered in his hands as he gently drapes it over your body. His movements are careful, deliberate, as though afraid the smallest shift might shatter the delicate stillness around you. “Go back to sleep.”

Your lashes flutter again, the hazy warmth of sleep still clouding your gaze as you blink up at him. There’s a moment of disoriented hesitation, your brow furrowing faintly as if trying to place yourself in the moment. Then, stubborn as always, you make a sluggish attempt to sit up, your hand bracing weakly against the bed.

“Dinner,” you mumble, the word half-formed, your voice slurring under the insistent pull of sleep. “I need to—”

“Sleep.” His hand finds your shoulder, broad and warm, the faint weight of it grounding. He presses down gently, his touch firm but comforting, urging you to sink back into the bed. “I’ll take care of it.” There’s a steadiness in his tone, laced with a quiet resolve that leaves no room for argument.

“You will?”

For a fleeting moment, relief flickers across your face, soft and sweet, like a flower unfurling its petals in the morning light. But as your eyes blink open wider, clarity begins to seep in, and your expression shifts.

Your gaze sharpens just enough to take him in fully—his slouched shoulders, the faint hollows under his eyes, the weariness that clings to him like a second skin. Despite the drowsy slowness of your words, your brow furrows in concern. “No, you won’t,” you murmur, the frown on your face at odds with your sleepy tone. “What you’ll do is take a nap… You look like you’re about to fall over.”

A quiet chuckle escapes him, low and rumbling, slipping out before he can stop it. The weight of his exhaustion momentarily lifts, forgotten in the face of your unwavering care. There’s something about your stubbornness, even in this half-asleep state, that warms him, easing the tightness in his chest.

“You’re the one who’s been wrangling these two all day,” he says, his voice soft with affection as he gestures toward the twins. Nanako shifts slightly in her sleep, her arm flopping over Mimiko’s side, and he can’t help the faint smile that tugs at his lips. “And stressing over school,” he adds, his gaze flicking back to you. “You should be the one resting.”

But even as he speaks, you stir faintly, your eyelids twitching as though resisting the pull of sleep. Sleep weighs heavily on you, yet your resolve doesn’t waver. Your lips part, forming words weighed down by exhaustion but no less sincere.

“You… you need rest too…” you murmur, your voice barely audible, soft as the whisper of a breeze through the room. Despite the haze of fatigue in your expression, your concern for him cuts through, clear and steadfast.

He exhales, the sound half sigh, half quiet surrender, his resistance unraveling thread by thread under the weight of your care.

“Fine,” he concedes at last, his voice gentling, a small, fond smile curving his lips. His dark eyes soften as he watches you, his heart giving a faint, familiar ache at how stubbornly you always put others before yourself. “I’ll join you after I shower. Deal?” he says, his tone light, coaxing, like a soft nudge to soothe your tired mind.

You hum softly in response, a sound of sleepy approval, your head sinking back against the pillow as if his words have finally given you permission to rest.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath, and just like that, you’re gone again—drifting back into sleep with the same quiet trust that always leaves him marveling. He stands there for a moment longer, the faint glow of the setting sun casting a golden light across your face, as though the universe itself is cradling you. It’s in moments like these, small and fleeting, that he feels the quiet pull of gratitude—for you, for the twins, for the fragile but steadfast thread that holds his world together.

By the time he returns from his shower, the golden warmth of the sunset has faded, leaving the apartment bathed in the tranquil quiet of twilight.

The room is awash in muted silver and gray, the moonlight spilling through the window in soft streaks that trace the edges of scattered toys and faintly catch on the glossy covers of picture books. The soft, rhythmic sounds of breathing fill the space, a melody of comfort and stillness that eases the lingering tension in his chest.

As his gaze drifts to the bed, he notices the subtle shifts that have taken place in his absence. The girls have moved in their sleep, their closeness evident in the way their bodies naturally tangle together. Nanako now lies on her side, one hand loosely cradling Mimiko’s doll—an unexpected but endearing theft. Her small face is slack with sleep, making her appear younger, softer, free from the mischief she wears during waking hours.

Mimiko has burrowed further into your side, her head tucked against the curve of your shoulder. Her small fingers are curled tightly against your sleeve, clutching you with a quiet intensity, as though your presence is the anchor that holds her dreams in place.

And you, as if anticipating his return even in unconsciousness, have left just enough space for him on the edge of the bed near the window. The faint moonlight brushes your features, catching on the loose strands of hair that have slipped from behind your ear, and he feels a quiet, tender warmth spread through him—a gentle pull of affection that makes the world outside feel far away.

He steps quietly into the room, his movements deliberate and soundless, and slips into the space you’ve unknowingly saved for him. The mattress dips beneath his weight, letting out the faintest creak, and for a moment, he pauses.

His gaze lingers on the way you’ve curled around the girls, your arm draped protectively over Mimiko’s back, the rise and fall of your chest steady and soothing. Slowly, he drapes an arm loosely around you, his touch tentative at first, as if afraid to disturb the delicate serenity of the moment.

But as his arm settles, you shift instinctively, pressing back into him without waking, your body fitting against his as though it’s second nature. He exhales softly, his breath evening out, and allows himself to melt into the closeness of you, the twins, and the serene rhythm of the night.

And then, your eyes flutter open, the motion slow and hesitant, as though you’re fighting to remain in the pull of sleep. They meet his in the dim light, your gaze soft and unfocused, and for a moment, you simply blink at him before offering a sweet, sleepy smile.

“Oh,” you murmur, your voice thick and slurred with exhaustion, yet soothing in its warmth. “Forgot to say… welcome home, Geto-senpai.”

The words are so simple, so unadorned, yet they strike him with the kind of weight that lingers, softening the raw edges of his heart.

A faint, almost rueful smile curves his lips as he tightens his arm around you, his other hand reaching out to brush against Mimiko’s hair. His fingers graze the strands lightly before shifting to adjust the doll in Nanako’s grip, a quiet, affectionate gesture that leaves everything as it should be.

Drawing the twins closer, he holds all of you in the protective circle of his arms, the comfort of togetherness weaving a cocoon around him. Then, leaning down, he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips brushing your skin with all the tenderness he can muster.

"I’m home," he whispers, his voice soft and heartfelt—

And in this quiet, profound moment, he feels it—truly, deeply, undeniably: He’s home.

general masterlist || geto suguru masterlist

[moistvonlipwig]

Eternity, Growing Up, and Why Buffy Keeps Dating Vampires

Vampires in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, on a most basic level, represent stagnation, a desire to stay young forever, the refusal to grow up. The show emphasizes this several times: in the show's very first episode, Buffy recognizes a vampire by his outdated outfit, and in 2.07 "Lie to Me," Ford claims that becoming a vampire will allow him to "die young and stay pretty," the dream of "every American teen." Buffy's role as the titular vampire slayer can thus be read as a metaphor for her choosing to grow up and become an adult in the face of temptations to do otherwise. So what does it mean, then, that Buffy's two most narratively significant love interests are vampires -- that she repeatedly, across seven seasons, courts eternal immaturity? I would argue that Buffy's relationships with Angel and Spike represent her inner struggle to accept the reality of growing up and getting older.

Buffy and Angel's relationship is marked by repeated references to the concept of "forever" or an eternal relationship: "When I look into the future, all I see is you" (2.12 "Bad Eggs"); "Love is forever" (2.19 "I Only Have Eyes For You"); "Forever. That's the whole point" (3.01 "Anne"); "You still my girl?" / "Always" (3.17 "Enemies"); Buffy's "Buffy & Angel 4ever!" doodle on her notebook (3.20 "The Prom"); "How's forever? Does forever work for you?" (5.17 "Forever"). At first glance, this may appear to be a romantic cliche, but taken in context of what vampires represent, the motif takes on new meaning. To be eternal is to be like a vampire -- to stagnate, to never change or grow or mature. Indeed, Angel's final line on the entire show, in his and Buffy's last scene together, is, "I ain't getting any older" (7.22 "Chosen"). In Buffy the Vampire Slayer, immortality is synonymous with immaturity. To want a "forever" relationship, then, is to want to never grow up.

(This idea is revisited in the Angel episode 2.13 "Happy Anniversary," a disturbing tale about a man who responds to his impending breakup with his girlfriend Denise by attempting to freeze them both in time mid-coitus forever. Lorne's response -- "I can hold a note forever. But eventually that's just noise. It's the change we're listening for. The note coming after, and the one after that. That's what makes it music." -- is a perfect summation of the Buffyverse's stance on the concept of eternity. To last "forever" is not romantic or beautiful; it is simply to be in stasis.)

Buffy and Angel's relationship is also frequently associated with death, and Buffy's death in particular: "When you kiss me, I wanna die" (2.05 "Reptile Boy"); kissing against a gravestone reading "In Loving Memory" ("Bad Eggs"); Angel's dream of Buffy bursting into flames in the sunlight like a vampire after marrying him ("The Prom"). The implication is that, if Buffy stays in the relationship, it will metaphorically kill her, cut off her future, freeze her in this moment of teenage love until the end of time, like the first episode's vampire whose fashion sense was stuck in the past or, indeed, like the fate that almost befell poor Denise. To borrow a metaphor from Revolutionary Girl Utena (another show very concerned with the dichotomy of eternity vs. growing up), Angel and Buffy's relationship is their coffin. They can choose to stay trapped in it forever, to never grow or change, and thus to metaphorically die; or they can choose to leave, to grow and change and mature, to gain "the power to imagine the future" (Ikuhara Kunihiko, Utena DVD commentary), where before they could only imagine each other.

It's no coincidence that the second season's finale, an episode all about "becoming," about growing up and maturing, is when Buffy finally finds the strength to kill Angel in order to save the world. In doing so, she rejects her desire to stay young forever, trapped in her coffin with Angel for all of eternity, and chooses to continue to grow up instead. But, of course, growing up is never quite so simple; Angel comes back, and Buffy falls back into her relationship with him, falls back into her desire to pretend the events of the second season never happened and she is still the same young girl who never lost her "innocence" at his hands. Even when we consciously choose to grow up, it is all too easy to seek comfort in the idea that maybe, if we try hard enough, we won't have to. In the end, it is Angel who recognizes the harm their relationship is doing to Buffy, and he departs, taking Buffy's childhood with him. Her youth leaves her, as it leaves us all, whether she wants it to or not.

But Angel is not the last vampire she has a relationship with. In the show's sixth season, Buffy emerges from her literal coffin only to climb right back into a metaphorical one. In the time since she said goodbye to Angel, Buffy has attended college, had to drop out of college, had another romantic relationship fail, lost her mother, essentially become a parent to her newly-acquired sister, died through suicidal self-sacrifice, and been resurrected only to find that she is still just as depressed as she was before dying and is now swamped with bills she cannot pay. Her problems are firmly in the realm of adulthood, and at many points throughout the first half of the season, she longs for the grave she left instead of the life she has: "I was happy. [...] I think I was in heaven. [...] This is hell" (6.03 "After Life"); "There was no pain / no fear, no doubt / 'til they pulled me out / of heaven" (6.07 "Once More, with Feeling").

It is at this point that she begins a sexual relationship with Spike, her second dalliance with eternal immaturity. Buffy and Spike's relationship is also marked by references to death, with an emphasis this time on graves: Spike notices and verbalizes the shared experience they have of clawing their way out of their graves ("After Life"); Spike and Buffy fall into a grave together during Spike's song, during which he beseeches her to "let [him] rest in peace" ("Once More, with Feeling"); several of their sexual encounters literally occur inside the crypt Spike lives in; this crypt is brought into focus especially in 6.13 "Dead Things," in which Buffy and Spike place their hands on either side of its door, separated by her status as living and his as dead. Buffy additionally uses Spike as a proxy to call herself "dead inside" ("Dead Things"). Buffy may have literally risen from the dead, but in a metaphorical sense, she is still trapped in her coffin, unwilling to leave it.

There are, of course, multiple layers to the grave and coffin motif in Buffy the Vampire Slayer's sixth season. But I would argue that one such layer is that it serves as an extension of the death metaphor from Buffy and Angel's relationship, in which death signified Buffy never growing up. In this reading, Buffy's longing for the "heaven" granted to her by the grave is really a longing for the innocence of youth, now lost to her as she must continue to grow up. In Buffy's confession to Spike in "After Life" about where she was in death, she makes particular note of how "time didn't mean anything" in the place she labels "heaven," whereas in the real world, it's hellish "just getting through the next moment, and the one after that." Unlike Lorne, who saw beauty in the progression of time, Buffy sees only suffering, and longs for a time in her life when time itself seemed not to march forward at all.

It is no wonder, then, that she seeks comfort in someone who is frozen in time, who can never grow up. If Buffy's relationship with Angel represented her childhood desire to stay young forever and never face the hardships of adulthood, her relationship with Spike represents her adulthood desire to return to that period of youth and never leave it, to curl up in her coffin and close the lid. But unlike Buffy and Angel's relationship, which is littered with references to eternity, Buffy repeatedly insists on the temporary nature of her dalliance with Spike: "What we did is done. But I will never kiss you, Spike. Never touch you, ever, ever again" (6.08 "Tabula Rasa"); "Not gonna happen. Last night was the end of this freak show" (6.10 "Wrecked"). Buffy is furious with Spike for his hold over her and hates herself for wanting him, but returns to him again and again. She believes she shouldn't want to return to her unattainable youth, she knows she should accept her adult life and face its difficulties head-on, yet when confronted with its difficulties, she repeatedly goes to Spike to escape them, as in 6.11 "Gone," 6.12 "Doublemeat Palace," and 6.15 "As You Were."

If Angel represents Buffy's youth and Spike her nostalgia for that youth, then of course it follows that Angel must leave Buffy, but Buffy must leave Spike. Nostalgia, unlike youth, does not depart from us so easily. But she does leave him, and in the sixth season's finale, she finally crawls out of the grave she's been trapped in, represented by her leading her sister out of a literal grave and smiling at the world before her. As Buffy tells Dawn: "Things have really sucked lately, but it's all gonna change. And I wanna be there when it does. [...] And I want to see you grow up" (6.22 "Grave"). Change, the inevitable forward march of time, the reality of growing up -- these things no longer strike Buffy as hellish, but rather beautiful. She is an adult, and she is living in this ever-changing world, and she embraces that reality fully, leaving the coffin of youth behind for good.

What to make, then, of Buffy's relationship with Spike in the show's seventh season? I would argue that her evolving feelings towards Spike in the final season represent her reconciling with and forgiving her past self, the Buffy that didn't want to grow up, before finally letting that part of her go. She comes to recognize that Spike, like her past self, was capable of change, eternally immature though he may seem. She forgives herself for wanting him. When he offers to leave, she tells him she is "not ready for [him] to not be here" (7.14 "First Date"). She has already chosen to embrace and accept her adulthood, and she no longer resents her desire to return to childhood, but she still needs her inner eternal child with her.

It is in the very last episode of the series that she lets go, demonstrating her full-hearted and joyful acceptance of ephemerality in the process. Buffy has not told a romantic partner she loves them since Angel, although she told Angel she loved Riley in Angel 1.19 "Sanctuary," and from episodes like 4.03 "The Harsh Light of Day," it is clear how much the unexpected transience of her supposed-to-be-forever relationship with Angel has haunted her. But in 7.22 "Chosen," Buffy tells Spike she loves him in a moment when she knows for sure that his death is imminent and that their joint existence together is temporary. She no longer fears a love that is not eternal. Through Spike, she expresses her love for her past self and for the part of her that never quite grew up, and then she lets that part die with him, and with Sunnydale itself, the place where she spent her adolescence, another representation of the grave that was her dream of forever childhood. Despite this destruction and loss, Buffy only smiles in its face, and it is this smile we leave her on. She has grown up, she has forgiven herself for not wanting to grow up, she has let go of the last remnants of the childhood she once hoped would be eternal, and she has come to not only accept the ephemeral, ever-changing nature of life, but to meet it with love and joy. "The power to imagine the future" is hers to wield. And her smile tells us that she is finally ready to wield it.

[pathos-bathos]

Ursula K Le Guin I love you so much

[somehow-a-human]

Whose POV is it anyway?

An Introduction

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Cracking down on the storytelling of Good Omens season 2 through the lens of a changing narrator.

If you haven't read this interview with Good Omens cinematographer Gavin Finney, and you're interested in the fantastic dedication and detail that went into this TV show, definitely give it a read. Not only is it lovely, but Neil also posted the article with a caption mentioning that it's got so many secrets in it. Obviously that made me take a closer look.

I have already gone into a fair bit of detail about the different Lens Filters that Finney mentions in the article in a separate post and I will be referring to them quite a bit so if you aren't familiar with them I would suggest reading that first!

This first post is going to cover the basics of changing narrator/POV's and I'll be writing additional posts for separate episodes/minisodes/scenes since there's obviously way too much to cover in a single go. So shall we take our first look?

It's no secret that something's a *bit weird* with season two, and there are SO many theories about it. I love to read speculation, metas, theories, and opinions, it's definitely fun but my personal ideas align more with the idea that we're simply being shown the events of season 2 through the memories of multiple narrators, different POV's, and it slightly skews the story, sometimes within one continuous scene.

I am also a sucker for a good multiple timeline theory but that isn't this post.

Lens Filters

As I stated above, I wrote a post about each of these individual filters earlier. What I didn't go into in that post was speculation about the filters. While I think they're pretty straightforward, especially the filter for hell (Black Pro-Mist ((BPM)), I think the other two have a bit more room for speculation.

Bronze Glimmer Glass

BGG was described by Finney as being used for 'bookshop scenes', but after S2 back numerous times and paying as much attention as I could to the lighting and colouring of the scenes, I think this is generally true but not always true. There are times when bookshop scenes seem to use a different filter, and other locations also seem to be shot with the BGG filter as well. I think BGG aligns with Aziraphale's POV. Or if Not Aziraphale, an outside-of-Crowley narrator? Based on the scenes (which we'll specifically get into in other posts) which BGG seems to be used, context clues, character behavior, etc, I think BGG clues us in that we're seeing, if you will, through Aziraphale's eyes.

Black Diffusion FX

BDFX was described as being used for 'Crowley's present day storyline' and fuck me, that's not ominous or weirdly phrased at all Mr. Finney! This filter definitely aligns with Crowley. Most of the time he's separate from Aziraphale it seems that this is the filter being used, and certain scenes switch filters mid-scene when he begins to go off on snarky Crowley-centric commentary.

Catch-22 & Herzog

The books on Gabriels bookshelf, great books obviously, but I think books that are also meant to give us context about the story. Pride and Prejudice is a love story about making snap judgements on someone's character, and coming to recognize somebody might be good despite their title or appearance. The Crow Road is a story about life, death, love, morality, mystery, and God. 1984 details the tragedy of Julia and Winston's attempt at falling in love while living under in a police state. You see my point?

That's why I wanted to touch a bit more on Catch-22 and Herzog specifically when talking about the possibility of changing narrators/POV's in Good Omens 2.

Catch-22 frequently switches narrator and the events described are often not necessarily sequential. This way you're getting information about previous scenes as the story continues, so while you're reading the book you're forming a more complete image of the events as the story continues from different characters POV's and iterations of the story. Sound relevant?

Herzog is the other book I wanted to talk about. To be fair I haven't read Herzog in full like I have Catch-22 but I pulled out my copy to reference and flip through a bit to remind myself. Herzog unlike Catch-22 doesn't switch narrators but the narration by the main character, Herzog himself, switches between first and third person throughout. When he is narrating through his letters, you get a deeper look at his thought processes and emotions. It also relies on flashbacks to bring context to the life of Herzog.

While these books touch on other elements that are relevant to the Good Omens story, namely Yossarian's relationship and views of God in Catch-22, the way these stories are told intrigued me for this context.

Crowley's Hair

Yeah I'm gonna mention the hair, because I think the hair is linked. Crowley's shorter sideburns, trimmed mutton chops in the 1827 flashback, and shorter Job wig seem to be clearly aligned with the BDFX filter/Crowley's POV as far as I can tell. I don't know if this means it's just another way to denote POV, but it seems way too consistent not to mention it. The longer sideburns, fuller mutton chops, and longer Job wig all match up with Aziraphale's POV or the BGG filter. My thoughts here are that his hair is another hint of who may be relaying the information to us, AKA is it internal or external. I am making my best guesses though and there are still some situations that I feel less sure about. For example, when Aziraphale takes the Bentley to Edinburgh and Crowley is in the Bookshop with Jim his sideburns are long, is it because he's remembering these scenes unreliably? Is Aziraphale imagining the events? Is it because Jim is present? A brief fluttering thought I toy with from time to time is the fact that in the before-the-beginning scene they are long, and what that means in context of the rest of the season.

S2 Promo Posters

Finally this set of season 2 promo posters showing the characters thoughtfully considering scenes in their heads just gives me a lot of these POV vibes.

I'm planning on doing individual posts for specific scenes, episodes, and minisodes that require detailed breakdowns. I'll update this list with links as the posts are finished!

POV "Your 'Something's Wrong' Voice"

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

POV a Companion to Owls

POV The Dirty Donkey & I think I Found a *Clue*!

POV Bodysnatchers & Cosplaying a bookseller

POV 1941

POV The Ball

POV The End?

Whose POV is it Anyway - a Conclusion

[wileys-russo]

hey bb hope ur allgoods !!! i was reading that anonymous sayint “leah letting lessi top would be a whole lot of ‘you’re not doing it right’ and I WAS SWOONING !!! could u write a blurb about that like leah letting lessi be top FOR ONCE and she’s still interfering!! all goods is cant love you xx

hey love i don't write smut but so many of you have asked for this or this w reader so i tried to write it without it being direct smut?

you're not doing it right II a.russo & l.williamson

"i still say you can't do it." you smiled knowingly toward leah, hands folded behind your head as you lay half naked on the bed awaiting alessia to join the two of you, leah sat on the other side of the room manspreading like the polite young lady that she was.

"i can too, watch your mouth." leah warned making your smile widen. "that was quite a top thing of you to say love." you teased her with a grin, making the blonde roll her eyes but bite her tongue from saying anything further as your other girlfriend returned.

"baby you don't need to prepare for this, ignore her. pretend its just us!" you smiled softly to the striker who was clearly apprehensive about the idea.

"we've done plenty of things without leah before." you continued slyly, glancing to the eldest blonde who glared your way but remained quiet, observing from the love seat in the corner.

"except its not just the two of you. i said she could be in charge which means really you have to top both of us darling." leah smiled smugly, alessia's eyes widening in realization as you sat up and grabbed her hands.

"shut up leah. stop winding her up!" you warned the defender sternly who held up her hands with a cocky smile, settling back into the chair.

"you shut up." alessia warned suddenly, her hand grabbing at your jaw and turning your head to face her, your cheeks flushing slightly pink at the change of tone.

"don't be a brat and we'll be just fine."

an hour later and you had to wave the white flag, absolutely exhausted as alessia rolled off of you, leaving you naked and panting to try and catch your breath.

the blonde sat up on her knees, staring at you with lust filled eyes as her piercing blue orbs roamed the dark red and purple marks littering your tanned skin.

"switch. your turn!" you finally caught your breath somewhat, gesturing for leah to swap with you as alessia hurried to help you to your feet, slipping one of her jerseys over your naked body, your legs shaky as memories of what had just occurred flashed through your mind.

you winced a little as you sat down in the love seat leah had just been occupying moments earlier. a few choice words from you had wound up in the italian really showing you just how dominant she could be when pushed, and it was safe to say you'd struggle with sitting down for the next couple of days.

leah had done surprisingly well at keeping quiet throughout the whole ordeal which could probably be attributed to just how horny it had made her watching you and alessia go at it.

it left the english captain more than ready for it to be her turn, having to use all of her patience not to jump the both of you mid way through.

"you know you look quite good underneath me love." alessia started strong with a smirk as she straddled the older blonde, confidence built up from her last hour spent basically destroying you. "don't get used to it." leah chuckled as alessia tutted in warning, you watching on with a shift as alessias hand gripped leahs neck.

"baby you're not doing it right, you have to squeeze from the sides not the-" leah started to correct, you coughing obnoxiously and shooting her a warning look as the blonde rolled her eyes but fell quiet.

"you better keep that mouth closed unless its moaning my name." alessia warned smugly, not thrown off by the older girls commentary, still riding out her high from her time spent with you, and the satisfaction that during it leah could only look and not touch.

"put her in her place lessi baby." you watched on with a smug smile which quickly dropped as both blondes shot you a firm warning look, silencing you without even needing words.

it seemed to go well at first, you shifted as you watched on with hungry eyes, leahs moans filling the room only interrupted by the sounds of their lips smacking together as the defender withheld her urge to take over.

"no no, higher." leah ordered with a breathy moan, nudging alessia up a little as the girl sucked on her neck, the italian smacking her shoulder and warning her to be quiet, but did what she asked regardless.

which in hindsight was not her best move.

"no, more." leahs hand grabbed the back of alessia's head, pushing her face back into her neck as she tried to pull away. alessia however wasted no time grabbing the blondes hands and pinning them by her head.

"you do what i say, not the other way around." the italian warned with a scowl as leah rolled her eyes but nodded. "and don't roll your fucking eyes at me." you couldn't help but smile smugly at the look of surprise which flashed across leahs face at the younger girls authoritative tone.

once again it seemed the power balance had restored as alessia quickly regained control, leaving leah a mess of moans and whiny begs once more. but it seemed old habits die hard as not long after the commentary from the english captain started up again.

"no put your knee there instead."

"less no use your tongue."

"no that's not how you do it you move them in circles."

"less you're not doing it right you-"

"oh my god, i give up!" alessia finally snapped as she had enough, sitting up and rolling off of the older blonde, yanking a shirt out of the drawer and storming off to the bathroom, slamming the door after her.

"you're just gonna leave me like this!?" leah yelled out after her in disbelief, sitting up resting on her elbows, naked body heaving a little at the abrupt stop. "don't look at me, you did that to yourself." you shook your head as the blonde turned her needy gaze your way.

"go and apologize to her, now leah." you ordered, standing to your feet with a slight wobble, crossing your arms firmly over your chest. "leah." you warned a little firmer this time. "i was just trying to help her!" the blonde frowned with a slight pout.

"she didn't need your help, you're just a control freak." you accused as leah scoffed. "leah, baby. bedroom activities aside we all know who calls the shots in this relationship, so go and apologise to alessia, now." you moved closer, staring down at leah with a dangerously calm smile.

but it worked as the blonde sighed, slipping a shirt over naked form and sitting up. "i knew you couldn't do it though." you added on with a small chuckle as the defender pushed herself off the bed.

you hissed as her hand suddenly and swiftly smacked your backside, glaring daggers at the cocky smile which followed before she turned around and headed for the bathroom, sighing before opening the door and stepping inside.

and when the two of them emerged a little while later, leahs hair a mess and a smug smile on alessia's face you couldn't help but shake your head knowingly, both blondes collapsing into the bed either side of you as you melted into them and alessia grinned.

"so lee baby, did i do it right?"

[sailorspica]

the stars have all gone | ii

suggestive, with an allusion to assault and brief, clinical discussion of manslaughter. part two of a series. crocodile x f!reader, past basil hawkins x reader. selfshippy; reader is an astrologer, hawkins' former navigator, and a different race from both of them. post-timeskip canon au, 2.1k words.

"There's a man asking for you."

These days you did readings in the back of a the cafe near the bakery where you worked now. Your client base grew by word of mouth, and interested parties called your Den Den Mushi with their birth information, so the only people who showed up at the cafe asking for you by name were usually pissed at you—rarely a client themself, but more often than not someone in their life affected by whatever advice they heard in your commentary.

You checked your notebook of charts for the week. All women. Definitely not a client.

"What's he look like?" you asked the cafe owner.

His eyes shifted. "I like you, I do, I like that your business brings me business. I knew your past was something suspect. But—"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The owner stepped closer and stage whispered: "It's Sir Crocodile."

You didn't make a habit of hooking up with strange men, but you supposed infamous men were a trend in your single-digit body count considering you gave your virginity to a captain of the Worst Generation. That night, months ago, Crocodile easily tucked you into his side away from the from view of other diners as you left the restaurant, and you let yourself ebb along. You weren't even sure what you kept talking about, but his rich, low laughter sounded surprised at itself and thrummed in your veins the next morning when you woke alone in a suite at a fine hotel you'd only passed since settling here. On his side of the bed was a folded note, unsigned: "I'll see you."

You assumed they were empty words, or careful ones. Crocodile seemed to move around a lot, having no base of operations since he was stripped of his Warlord title, so you shrugged it off at the time. But now...

Surely they weren't sweet nothings. He was too sensible for that. So maybe you offended him and it was actually an oblique threat, in which case you'd better climb out the window.

"I'll talk to him. Is it okay for him to come in?"

The cafe owner blanched, then hardened. "If this means trouble, we're done."

He left to retrieve Crocodile like the notorious pirate was there for a chart reading (was he?), or like he was... calling on you, like a suitor (...was he?).

You shook yourself and tried to remember anything after the restaurant. What he tasted like under the wine, or what his pale skin looked like in low light. But you came up empty except for the smell of the cool spices of his aftershave in the sheets.

Damn.

His footsteps were heavy and leisurely before he stopped in the doorway, and you felt the breath leave your lungs. How was he so handsome? Other people would find his scars off putting, and there were several; you weren't researching him or anything, but you saw wanted posters from throughout the years, and they seemed to only accumulate along his face. His hair was dark as yours, but your skin was pinkish and cool while his was a warm, light olive.

"You keep odd hours," Crocodile more grunted than said.

"I do," you agreed. It was mid-afternoon, and only the start of your day. You had a little solitary time in your room at a women's boardinghouse before you did consultations, then spent the night studying for future clients until your pre-opening bakery shift well before nautical twilight, earlier than you'd wake up on the Grudge Dolph. Then you slept most of the time the sun was up, ironic for you and your diurnal chart, but you didn't believe in this stuff anymore.

"Long time no see," you said pointedly, and nodded at the chair across from you.

Crocodile looked too big for the cafe, like everything was doll furniture to his stature. You knew their were humans larger than him but wondered how the hell you two fit together that night since you woke up with minimal but tell-tale soreness. He angled his chair away from the table so he could cross his ankle over the opposite knee, and you swallowed, unable to pretend you weren't looking at the strong thighs crinkling his dress pants, before meting his gaze.

"I almost gave up," he said simply. "My associate would wonder why we bothered docking here with nothing to show for it."

Okay.

You were lost.

"Excuse me?"

He inhaled a good drag of his cigar. "'You're my captain,' you said. It was a thought exercise, to do with that instrument of yours, but I've warmed to the idea."

No.

"What do you say?"

He looked at you like he wouldn't be bothered either way you answered.

But.

"I'm sorry," you said against your better judgment. "I'm a little lost here. I don't... totally know what we discussed last time."

He wasn't expecting that.

"Hah." That bark-laugh-grunt he did that somehow also held a question, but not as undignified as a "huh?"

"It was a lot of wine for me," you said awkwardly. What were you, a kid? You're twenty eight. It's not that you were teetotal, but that was your first night of drinking in a good few months.

Crocodile seemed well and truly taken aback, and a bit of ash ungracefully plopped off the end of his cigar, which he caught with... a cloud of sand, and neatly floated off into an ash tray. Wow. Logia powers really were different.

His voice was tight. "What do you remember."

"Uhm..." You bit your lip, and his eyes flicked down there for millisecond. "We left the restaurant for your hotel. And then, uh. It was morning."

Slowly, with his cigar curled in his pinkie and ring fingers, Crocodile went to pinch his brow. "That unremarkable, huh?"

Oh god.

This was that little bit of sensitivity to him you found so endearing. He'd never call it that, though; pride was a euphemism.

"If I was drunk enough not to remember shit for shit," you started, "Surely I must have... I don't know, puked on you, or something."

"No." His moment was over in the blink of an eye. "It's better this way. Just know we mostly talked."

Mostly. "About?"

"Your travels." You winced. Surely you didn't cry over your ex-captain to Sir Crocodile of all people. You had a pitiful lack of girl friends despite living with women for the first time in a decade, but even the widow who brought you to that restaurant in the first place would be a better choice. "What you want, and who's in the way of it."

That also sounded vulnerable, but the way he studied your face for your reaction made you think it struck him, somehow.

"What I want."

"You can map the stars along the Grand Line if you stick with a Warlord," Crocodile said simply. "Not one of your greenhorns."

Your breath caught.

That was the reason you joined Hawkins when he came back to your hometown after forming his crew of sycophants who'd never seen cartomancy before. You didn't want to be a navigator. You wanted to survey the Grand Line celestially because the sea crossed the equator. In reality, you wanted to move to the South Blue and study the southern hemisphere's sky, only after familiarizing yourself with the one you were born under. The Navy wouldn't let you move that freely, and the astronomers of Mary Geoise weren't practiced in geography, nor would they give you the time of day. The only course was to do it all yourself.

"It will be dangerous." Hawkins hadn't lied to you, yet. "You need to hold your own to be a pirate, but I'll protect you when I can."

You were the only woman on the ship and the only one who knew him before, the neighbor boy who complained he had to babysit you but cried when the two of you got lost in a fishing boat as night fell, and you used Polaris to get back to your home port.

"Former Warlord," you corrected. Crocodile's lip curled in annoyance. "You're from the Grand Line, aren't you?"

"From the New World. Been back for almost two years now."

So had you. Your ancestors were from this sea, too.

"I saw it," Hawkins said easily, and three of his cards arranged themselves midair: the High Priestess, the Eight of Cups, the Chariot. "You, leaving here."

You hated it most when you had the same interpretation, because it let him think he was right. He'd long since assigned the High Priestess to you and the Magician to himself since by pure chance you shared birth cards, and in one of your now-rare lighter moods, you'd sniffed, "The Chariot navigates. You be the Tower." But besides that, the Chariot was ruled by Cancer, a water sign, beside a pip from Cups, and here you were, underwater. Leaving him.

"I'm sorry."

"You're not."

The Pacifistas were terrifying. You followed your instincts to run and hide, and no one resented you for it, but the crew barely acknowledged you as it was. You were either a know-it-all of a navigator or the captain's tagalong. Both of you knew they assumed you were fucking, still, but nor did you do anything to disabuse them of the idea, and this is where it led.

"No," you said out loud. "Thank you. But I'd hold you back. I'm not strong."

"You think I don't know?"

Ouch. "You could flatter me a little."

"Can you even use that thing?" Crocodile inclined his head downward. How did he...? You were better about keeping your dagger strapped to your thigh these days, but today you were wearing a longer skirt that should've hidden it well, and you briefly had the thought was he checking out your legs? You wore stockings today. Maybe he liked that sort of thing.

"It was a gift."

Hawkins called it an athame. You'd killed only one person in your life, dragging it down a man's femoral artery when Hawkins wasn't there, didn't see you get separated from the crew.

"I can teach you," Crocodile said. "But you should trust the person you follow. I've survived this long."

I'll protect you when I can.

You blinked.

"You also went to prison."

"And left."

You exhaled. "You know what I wanted when I was young and stupid. But what are you doing now?"

"There's nothing stupid about knowledge," he said sternly. "It's a weapon more strictly controlled by the World Government than any blade or bullet."

"How political."

"Everything is."

You grinned, more to yourself. Even when he was pressing you one way, he was so easy to talk to. But you schooled your face to neutrality. "What did you want with Alabasta?"

"That was a long time ago."

"I don't care about a monarchy going down," you said impatiently. "If I join you, what am I participating in? And do you even have a ship? A crew?"

"You know, I believe I told you all this last time. But apparently..."

"Oh, don't you hold that over my head." The look he gave you was unimpressed. "What?"

"You insist you're not a pirate, but you're vulgar as any sailor."

"Vulgar? I haven't said anything." Besides 'shit for shit,' but he seemed distracted in that moment.

"I don't mean your vocabulary."

"Oh!" you said sarcastically. "Okay, sir."

Crocodile's brow hardened. "Watch it."

"Or what, sir? Did I call you that in bed, sir?"

He stood up, suddenly, and closed the few feet of distance between you. His golden hook came through one of the wide stitches of your sweater harmlessly as he butted it up under your jaw, tilting your head up. "What are you playing at, hmm? I decided I'd forget it to be fair to you."

You breathed deeply and the cardamom and tobacco of him filled your head like a fog. "Or you could remind me."

His gaze didn't leave your face. "It's poor form to sleep with a subordinate."

"I'm not under you."

He closed his eyes and exhaled, like you were really testing him. "What will it take?"

Feeling brave, you gently coaxed your sweater from his hook—stretched the damn stockinette, you'd have to tug the fabric to get it smooth again—and held onto it, like it was his other hand, petting it with your thumb. "Your pitch needs work. You just showed back up in this town hoping I'd be amenable? Based on a one-night stand?"

"I thought it was more like a date."

He sounded a little sullen as he nudged his chair closer to you with his foot.

"One of us has to ask out the other, you know."

"You're exhausting."

"Yes. Are you still sure you want me?"

"Yes."

You didn't know if he meant for his crew or otherwise.

[puzzledprose]

Can you make gen HCS for Anya? Sfw & nsfw? For gn reader?

Of course I can!!! So hyped for my first ask 😝 Sorry if it’s bad I’m new to fanfic

Anya X GN!Reader: General head-canons!

Really loves it when you brush her hair. I think we can all agree that Anya is beyond stressed most of the time so it’s such a nice way for her to turn her brain off for a bit. Give her a scalp massage and she will be asleep in MINUTES.

When you two do one of your frequent trashy TV binges she will commentate the whole show with a lot of passion. Think of this clip cause that’s the kind of commentary you’re getting (maybe a little less aggressive though)

On a similar note it’s canon that she rages over board games and such, so you two will have a lot of competitive games of Mario Kart, Uno, Smash Bros etc. If it’s you and her VS another team she is an absolute menace. She will attempt some absolute Light Yagami level strategies to win.

It’s all in good fun though and you know she would never actually be mad at you over it.

I also imagine Anya can be very soft when she wants to. Absolutely adores quiet time. I can imagine she can get super into just doing stuff around you. When she’s completely swamped with med school homework she likes to do it with you in the room.

Cuddlescuddlescuddles Anya is big on cuddles. Definitely likes laying her head on your chest it’s very soothing.

Okay now it’s 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀 time 👅

Sex is a very intimate thing for Anya, so she has to be in the right mood for it. I wouldn’t say her sex drive is particularly low. But it is smaller than most.

So please make an effort for her, she really loves it when you do.

I feel like if you hugged her from behind with your arms around her waist and kissed her neck she would fold though.

Okay kinda going back to the intimacy thing she really likes when you hold her hand. It helps her relax into everything so easily. When she’s close I think her grip on you gets stronger.

Anya is definitely very quiet during sex. I can’t really imagine her moaning too loud, but she whimpers for sure, maybe even a few gasps if you’re really doing a good job 😉

In terms of giving I feel she’s quite good with her fingers, and she is definitely aware of it. She does like to tease you a bit by drawing out the process but once she finally gets her hands on you…

It’s heaven on earth

She also has a really good knowledge of the human body (duh) so she uses that to her advantage. Anya’s done a bit of research on the erogenous zones of the body and abuses the hell out of it.

Anyas aftercare is pretty good too, nothing over the top but she will make you both a cup of tea and snuggle up with you.

Any thoughts or feedback are welcome! This is my first official post so I apologise if it’s kinda mid. Also I didn’t proof read this too well so I may have made a few typos. Other than that I hope you enjoyed!

[soulmatesinc-if]

Here is a message I've gotten in the inbox, I highly recommend reading because anon was on fire partaking in our favorite pastime (laying into Romero). Hope you don't mind me splitting and screenshotting the ask like this in the interest of space, anon!

Now, to set the record straight, Romero is actually the shortest of the ROs at 5'9" (175 cm), which can be relatively tall depending on MC's height, but it's more or less average for the US (according to the 2024 statistics at least). I actually find it fascinating because I believe quite a lot of readers have gotten the impression they are this imposing figure based on their role in the story, but the only things they have going for them in that regard are somewhat bulky clothes and the fact that (to be revealed) they work out and hence have defined muscle 😅 Just to be clear, I'm not saying it's anyone's failure to grasp the description because the game doesn't provide the heights and ultimately it doesn't change much, but this effect is so intriguing to me as the author of the text in question!

emotionally? i feel like i just found out the guy in a scary mask who just threw a fistful of anthrax at me during a surgery i was mid-performing thought they were HELPING THE PATIENT AND THAT THIS WAS THE BEST WAY TO GET MY ATTENTION

10/10 summary no notes 😭

so like. code-wise? theres no way i can figure Romero can ever figure out that my MC is so bubbly and giggly around anyone who isnt Romero [...] not unless Romero sees the MC in general hang out with someone else, like Wyatt or Sam?

Yes, exactly. Everyone will meet everyone by a certain point so the difference in attitudes will be easy to see. Expect commentary.

because im assuming Romero would be a mix of yearning and pouty jealousy moreso than hurt

Yep

and Romero likes the idea of tiny girly-girl arguing with them (even between making out? whO SAID THAT)

Yep as well 😅

(purely bc my MC would not let kisses stop her argument, she iS WINNING THIS VERBAL FIGHT)

I'm so looking forward to writing those debates between a confident believer MC and Romero, because on a romance path, there is an added layer of them subtly (and perhaps not) discussing their blooming relationship in that context, and that is very delicious to me ✌