#I do not have it in me to even begin explaining the layers of this horseshit lmao

[tsukasalover]

I can think of a lot of reasons why I like and have gotten attached to tsukasa more than any other fictional character and i think if i had to keep it simple (or else id be rambling for hours) id say

1. He’s so interesting. I usually pick up the extremely mischaracterized blonde characters anyways but he gets my brain working real hard. its almost 2am and i cant think straight but theres something about his duality that keeps me glued to him and the amount of Layers he has and how removing even one layer or completely ignoring how both his huge ego and kindness + selflessness coexist can really mess up your perception of him. There was something quite short i wrote about how both sides make him. Well. Him. back when his colofes dropped since i was so annoyed at the people Not getting it (while most never even read the STORIES 😁) anf ive been screaming this for a year now Please. Also the way his dream and being a good big brother go hand in hand have captured me. I really like fictional siblings and they fill something personal i miss and Looove looking at the roots of characters. Discovering where this and that and connecting events to what started their behaviors or helped their personality bloom. So seeing saki and toya play such an important role in his life keeps me HOOOKEDDD. I took the bait like tiny fish. Dont regret it. Never will. I like my fictional characters like layered cake. Thats basically how i see them. I had a yummy chocolate cake with so mant layers the other day 🤤 but anyways. I also really like when characters have to learn and grow as people after making really bad mistakes or being straight up assholes so it really took a while even after mainstory but once i got to see more of him with saki and read dazzling i was like. This is the guyyy. Youre mine now lets go. I dont like perfect characters but.. you see.. when characters who have (sometimes way too much) confidence and are dramatic yet are shown to truly be good people who enjoy making others happy… alright.. now im listening… Sign me up…

But really he has almost everything I’ve ever looked for in a character. Starting with the fact that he’s a theatre kid. And blonde. Of course emu nene and rui + more fictional characters have made their way into my heart and ive gotten attached to them on very Very personal levels but when it comes to this Idiot who wants to be a star and reminds me of a dog its something that i dont even know how to explain sometimes. Why is he here? What are you doing inside of my head. Ill never have one solid answer because he takes up too much space in my mind and i become incoherent too often when talking about him.

2. Ignoring my first answer, He is ugly. My favorite punching bag. Cartoon character. Begins floating when he smells pie. I dont know anymore

3. he just like me fr (Which is terrible i dont like that)

[nugatorysheep]

Ş̸̻͕̺́̚Ṕ̵̛̪̃Ȩ̷̳̫̿̾Ã̶̞̺̇͐͘K̷͈̿̎̇.

This damn comic is fucking A N C I E N T but as far as like, the content of it- not necessarily the art because I always hate my older art, but the presentation, what is objectively here- still feels right to me, so I'm sharing it. again

[cherrygarden]

weon es que no entienden. nunca había estado TAN FELIZ después de un concierto

[cloudzoro]

Non-sexual turn ons | One Piece ♡

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small, innocent things you do that turns them on

masterlist

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characters: law, nami, robin, zoro

genre: smut (minors dni)

cw: fem!reader, hair pulling for nami's, semi public making out/heavy petting

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Law - wearing glasses

You had hid your glasses from Law at first, worried that he would find you less attractive, but when he sees the glasses case in your room, he begs you to put them on.

You two have been relaxing in bed together, and innocent kisses quickly escalate to heavy petting. You're straddling him, rocking your hips against his. You start to think you might cum without even taking your clothes off, but Law's firm grip on your hips stops your movement.

“Can you do something for me?” he asks, leaning over to rummage in the bedside table drawer. When he pulls out your glasses case, you go to protest but he speaks before you can open your mouth

“Babe just put them on for me. I want to see them on,” he says. You haven't noticed yet, but he's already hard thinking about what you'd look like. You groan and take them from his hand.

“I don't get why you want me to put them on. It's not like I'm any hotter with them,” you say as you push them onto your face. Law goes to respond, but after seeing you in glasses he freezes. You begin to feel self-conscious because of Law's lack of response. However, you're shocked when you reach your hand up to take off your glasses, and Law shouts out ‘no’.

You're initially confused about his outburst but Law is quick to recover and pulls you in a kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth against yours and his hands begin to wander your body. When he pulls back for air, he explains himself.

“you look so fucking sexy in those. Please let me fuck you. Can you feel how hard I am?”

Nami - red lipstick

Date night between you and Nami was always special, but this time you've decided to get ready together. The silence had been tension-filled, With both of you keeping an eye on each other as you went about your beauty routine.

You're putting your makeup on, and you've got it down to a science and move freely, stealing glances at the woman sitting next to you. You turn back to add the final touch: a red lipstick. You're so focused on getting the application right that you don't notice Nami is watching you.

As the stick glides over your lips, Nami can't take her eyes off it. The movement is simple, but it has her stomach fluttering. As soon as you finish and turn to her for approval, she pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss. The kiss smudges the lipstick and transfers onto her skin. She sees you with smudged lipstick around your perfect pout and feels her soaked panties clinging to her pussy. She has lipstick smudged on her face too, and it gives her an idea.

“Can you put some more on, baby?” she asks, handing you the lipstick tube. You nod and obey her. She watches intently, running her fingers through your hair as you put on another layer of red lipstick. Once you finish, Nami switches from playing with your hair to gripping it and pulling you towards her bare shoulder.

“wanna leave some other pretty messes on me?” she asks. You don't give a verbal response, instead deciding to attach your mouth to your lover's neck as she lets out a gasp.

Robin - standing up for yourself

Robin's favourite thing to do is observe the always loud, busy environment of the ship and her favourite subject to study is you. She keeps her eye on you as you spend some alone time on the deck, soaking in the sun.

Sanji comes out to talk to you, and your mood plummets. You and Sanji generally got along, but his comments and behaviour had been getting too much to handle recently. You try to let him down nicely, tell him to behave, but when he doesn't - and Nami's not around to smack him - you finally snap.

Robin is intrigued; she's never seen you give anyone this level of attitude. She finds herself excited by the aggressive tone of your voice, which she doesn't get to hear very often. The sharp glare you're giving Sanji as you talk him down is so sexy that Robin almost wishes it was directed at her. Sanji gets himself together and apologises when he realises that he's genuinely upset. You, still angry, just nod and storm off.

Robin follows you into the girls’ room. Nami is busy with Usopp, so the chances of being interrupted are low. When she catches up to you, she checks that you're ok before leaning down to kiss you.

“I like seeing you stand up for yourself. You're so confident. it's so hot”, she says as she pulls you towards her bed. “it makes me want to let you take charge”, she says, and it makes your skin tingle. She's usually more of a service top, but the opportunity to see your aggressive side is too good to pass up. She lies down on the bed, beckoning you to take a seat on her tongue.

“come ride my face.”

Zoro - training together

Zoro reluctantly agreed to train you after you followed him around the Sunny all day, begging him for help. You felt you needed the extra training - and being pinned down by Zoro doesn't sound like a bad use of an evening. He's the only person aboard the ship who doesn't know you like him and you want to use that fact to your advantage sometimes.

You already have the basics of fighting down due to strawhat experience so Zoro suggests going straight to sparring. Zoro is much stronger than you, and he refuses to go easy on someone he has genuine respect for. He knew that he would be pinning you down pretty frequently at first but what he didn't anticipate is how that would make feelings stir inside him that he hadn't felt towards you before.

By the fourth round, you were starting to pick up on Zoro's techniques, and Zoro was feeling relieved about that fact hoping that now he could stop adjusting his hip placement so you wouldn't feel hard cock against you when he pinned you. However, when you do finally get one over on him, you land straddling him with your ass resting just above his bulge.

You freeze above him, and he knows you've felt it. He panics at first, and he accidentally shifts his hips. The friction causes you both to moan slightly. He wants to apologise, but then notices how you're looking at him. You look desperate, like you might cry if he doesn't touch you soon.

“Do you want some help?” you ask, hovering above him. He doesn't know what to say. Are you asking if he needs help getting up or if he needs help with his erection? Zoro breathes out your name and a yes. You grind down against his crotch and bend down to kiss him.

Zoro lifts his hips to help you both and growls against your lips.

“We should go somewhere more private. Anyone could walk in on us here.”

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thank you for reading! any comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated!!! ♡♡

[lex-the-flex]

Nightly Misery

Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: In the wake of another major nightmare, Logan is always grateful to have you by his side.

Word Count: 578

Warning(s): SLIGHT ANGST, MEGA FLUFF, mentions of PTSD, established relationship, brief descriptions of injuries, the reader being a sweetheart, and Logan being protective.

A/N: Welp, my hyper fixation for Hugh Jackman has come back. …As did my love for Wolverine. Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

Rustling in the softness of your shared bed, Logan’s warmth poured over every square inch over the quaint space. Shifting endlessly underneath the thin bedding, a thick layer of sweat covers his skin and the sheets that surround him. The faint sound of crickets beyond the windows do their best to provide some sense of comfort, but it seems that nothing’s working. Not even the faint beams of moonlight could calm the man’s restlessness.

“Logan, Logan…” You speak quietly.

Gently rubbing Logan’s shoulders, he continues to heavily toss and turn in his sleep. Beads of sweat trickle down his temples just as his mumbling grows louder.

“No… NO!” He shouts.

Suddenly, Logan’s body jolts awake, and he sits up. Yelling from his dream, he gasps for air before ultimately gaining his bearings.

He’s here, in the large comfortable master bedroom that he calls home. Logan’s chest rises and falls and his breathing returns to normal as his hazel eyes scan the dark room. Finding that everything is in its proper place, his light orbs find yours opposite him.

“Baby?” He whispers in the dark.

Silently reaching for you, the sight of his bone claws cause a gasp to leave his chapped lips. Retracting the claws, his brief moment of pain subsides, and a minuscule ring of tears begin to form in his eyes.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay, you just had a bad dream, Logan.” You say before traveling to the bathroom.

Retuning moments later, you join Logan’s side, and wipe the sweat from his face with a damp washcloth. Exhaling at the cool cloth, Logan wraps his arms around your waist.

“That’s nice.” He chuckles.

“I thought it might help. You’ve been doing this too much.” You reply with a smile.

“Can’t help it, bub. The wars, I- I can’t. They still…” Logan tries to explain, but fails silent.

“Hey, it’s alright. Don’t let them control you. You’ve done so well lately, don’t let this be the end of all the progress you’ve made.” You say, running your fingers through Logan’s thick dark hair.

Calming stroking his scruff, Logan’s eyelids grow heavy from your soothing touch. However, your therapeutic abilities only work for a short while before his eyes make contact with a series of three small scars on the base of your forearm.

“Jesus Christ. Y/N, I…” Logan begins, but you cut him off.

“I’m fine, babe. It’s just a scratch. I promise, you didn’t mean it.” You explain, stroking his cheeks.

Pulling you into him, Logan lays down with you in his arms. Letting go of a sigh of relief, you can feel Logan’s muscles start to relax beneath your fingertips. Turning to face you, Logan cradles you in his muscular arms, pulling you closer to his broad chest. Placing a soft kiss to your forehead, Logan's fingers lightly grip the hem of your sleep shirt, fearful of hurting you over again.

Facing you, his eyes grow weary whilst he touches the tip of your nose with his own. Tangling your hair in his fingers, he inhales deeply, longing for the taste of your scent on his tongue.

"I know I don't say this often, but I'm so grateful to have you in my life, Y/N. Not just here, in Canada, in our own private life. But you make me realize the true importance that life isn't always so bad." He vows through whispers with a rare, yet happy smile taking over his lips.

tagging ~

@dreamliners

@miss1sarcasmo

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

[wolfhoundwitch]

Introduction to Shielding

If you haven’t already, check out my lessons on visualisation for the basic knowledge you’ll need to begin practicing shielding.

So what is shielding?

Shielding is a manipulation of energy, used to create a barrier between yourself and unwanted, usually negative or malicious energies. It’s a basic aspect of spellwork that everyone, beginner or experienced, should use to keep themselves safe.

What can I use shielding for?

Some beginner-level uses for shielding are drawing a circle, or casting a spell. A more experienced individual might use shielding in astral travel or spirit work, where there are a lot more malicious energies involved. Personally, I use shielding as often as possible, for instance when I do tarot readings, spells, spirit work, shadow work, and especially cursing. It gives that extra guarantee that you won't flood your personal space with unwanted energies.

Other uses include shielding against real-life dangers, to a certain degree. I often shield when I am walking through town at night for extra protection. But please remember to take other measures too! Call someone, pretend to be on the phone, plan your route, and even carry pepper spray if it's legal where you are.

An easy shielding method:

The easiest way to explain this is to think of your energy as a physical manifestation. Think how power attacks are shown in anime or cartoons - a streak of colour or light, or an element. Make it personable to you: fire signs (Leo/Aries/Sagittarius) might visualise fire, or a red energy or light etc.

Firstly, some people prefer to cleanse before shielding. I don't think its all that necessary but the choice is yours.

Begin by easing yourself into meditation. Get comfortable, and use whichever technique works for you. I have various methods for this in my visualisation lessons if you are struggling.

Attempt to visualise the energies surrounding you in your mind. It might be a swirling colour of light, almost like a cloud of dust. It could be flames, it could be water. Maybe try to see it held within your hand.

Now, attempt to shape this energy around your entire body. You might want to start with a bubble or a cube surrounding you. Feel this shape surrounding and protecting you. Visualise negative and unwanted energies being held back by it.

You can also layer shields, so if you are working with a particularly malicious energy you might want to have multiple shapes surrounding you, all within each other. You can also work with deities or spirits to ask them to shield you too.

Shielding Incantation

When I am shielding, I recite a spell as well as using visualisation techniques.

The shield of protection, I carry it strong, No ill wishes or trouble shall come along, You cannot harm me, or weaken my soul, My light is my weapon, and peace is my goal.

Try it out for yourself and let me know in the comments how it went! Thank you as always for reading. Please message for requests.

[muntitled]

omg hi pookie bear , hru ?

i’m going feral and have a request <\3 hmm what if anton hasn’t seen his gf in a few months because she stays in the states . they usually make sure to call and check in with each other every night but maybe for the last few days she hasn’t been responding too much but only because she’s flying to go surprise him ! so basically a bit of angst then fluff at the end loll (and a little smut if ur up to it 🤓👆🏾) .

also, can i be 🎀 anon ?!

Of course, my darling! Thank you for the lovely request, I literally had so much fun writing this omg.

𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 | 𝐀𝐧𝐭��𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐞

- Pairings: Anton Lee x Fem!Reader

- Warnings: Language, Established Relationship, Codependency, Angst, Jealousy, Relationship Paranoia, Possessiveness, Manipulation, Smut (+18, Minors DNI), Spitting, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Unprotected Sex, Needy Sex

He wouldn't call himself obsessive.

That's not the correct word. Infatuation would probably best explain the tempest of emotions rattling through his brain when his phone rings, signaling a video call from you.

Sungchan's chest rises and falls with the extremities of their evening workout. He barely keeps himself toppling over when he and the rest of the group watch Anton lumber to his bag in large, quick steps

"Yo?" Sohee asks, anatomically defeated as he races to catch his breath.

"Carry on, without me," Anton throws over his hunched shoulder. He is cupping his phone with both hands when he enters one of the many bathrooms peppered throughout the gym, letting his feet guide him almost robotically into a stall while his finger swipes to answer the video call. At the sight of your relaxed smile, Anton exhales lightly.

He knew it's particularly bad to form dependant relationships, but he couldn't exactly help himself, can he? Your voice is just so light when you say, "Hi," and his is equally shy as he replies with his quiet "Hi yourself."

Anton can not help himself from being so incredibly infatuated. He's diving headfirst into codependency, but hey, at least he is aware.

At least he is aware that he would do quite literally anything for the girl in trapped in his phone, and you would do the same for him, therefore it is of no surprise at all when he airly says, "You're so pretty,"

His voice is barely above a whisper and his eyes are bright as he buries the lower half of his face in the comforting fleece of his black sweater. "Really pretty,"

An airy sort of chuckle escapes the confines of your lips, and Anton's pulse begins to race as he takes note of your tongue swiping over your bottom lip. "Anton, did you hear anything I just said?" If it weren't for the slight hesitation that pollutes the sound of your beautiful voice, Anton would've gladly kept staring at your lips. But his heart sinks imperceptibly as he gazes back at you apprehensively.

"Uh- no," he says, "I was too busy thinking about how excited I am for you to get here." The panic only begins to set when your smile wavers.

"Oh... about that-"

"No," he whispers, "Please don't do that-"

"My boss hasn't exactly cleared me for a vacation day-"

Anton is livid, but his voice remains stable. "We have spoken about this for 2 months!"

"You know how my boss can be," you reply, "He hasn't given me off, Anton. I have no one to cover my shift, I'm sorry!" You exclaim, as the dreaded guilt begins to trickle into your voice. Anton's eyes narrow, and he brings his phone closer. Temporarily ignoring his whirlwind of negative emotions, Anton instead skeptically asks, "Where are you?" That doesn't look like your bathroom."

Anton's heart only sinks lower into the pit of his stomach when he notices a quick hint of alarm flash through your eyes before you're pulling the camera back into a more intimate aspect ratio as you prattle on. "Yeah, I just decided to head to the movies to make myself feel better. Maybe you should do the same," your voice is tight and layered with anxiety as if you were... lying to him.

Anton cannot imagine why you would want to do that, least of all to him. He knew when you lied because you both did it together. On myriad occasions.

He made you call up your part-time job on multiple occasions, rubbing smoothe, encouraging circles on your belly while you feigned an illness just to spend more time with him.

In high school, you had both lied to each of your parents about 'studying together' when in actual fact, those 4 had been excuses to make out messily in your sheets. Exploring confusing emotions until a simmering heat flowed through the both of you while Anton's large hands began to pet over new, various spots on your body.

He had never been on the receiving end of your dishonesty, not even since he left the country. But here you are, evading eye contact, stuttering over your words and lying...

to him.

"How's the team workout been, big boy?" He notices with grave finality how quick you are to not only change the subject, but to weaponize a nickname that you knew would have him melting for you.

Is this what you have both become?

Was he seriously being manipulated?

Was he...

Perhaps...

Being cheated on?

The thought sent a wave of nausea threatening to spill out of his badly pursed lips, and perhaps you realize, from years of studying Anton's non verbal expressions, that he was thinking of something very grave and very bad.

"Hey, didn't you say you only had five minutes?" Your voice is like the tingling goosebumps left in the wake of your nails raking across his skin and he shivers slightly.

"Yeah," his voice, although characteristically quiet, is guarded and you frown, perhaps noticing that you have a lot of making up to do.

Anton suddenly, quite literally out of the blue, asks, "Remember when you said you went bra shopping the other day?

"Yeah?" You ask, completely oblivious to the darkened thoughts polluting your boyfriend's mind. You watch his eyes tare into yours as he monotonously asks.

"Are you wearing any of the new ones right now?"

"Anton, aren't you in the middle of-"

He immediately cuts in, voice impatient and snide, "They can carry on without me, it's fine."

It was petulant, but Anton needed to know you still belonged to him. He needed to know that high school wasn't some sick fever dream you could just swiftly move past as if it meant nothing. He needed to know that.

"Can I see?"

You curtly comply, and you look around before pushing yourself further into the stall. You both found yourselves on opposite end of a cellular line, both silent with the weight of your attraction to one another, keeping your eyes glued to the screen.

"Please?" He asks, in an airy voice, "for me?"

Anton knew from the strike of guilt in his chest that it was not a morally correct thing to do, but what else was there?

You would be away from him, indefinitely. He would have to spend another evening, another week, another month without your body to hold onto. Not to mention, the jealousy at this new hypothetical boyfriend still hung heavily on his shoulders.

Besides, Anton's guilt completely disappeared when you begrudgingly pulled the string of your halter neck down until the material was falling flmisily down your torso, exposing your chest to him. Anton released a wobbly breath while his hand almost immediately went to cover the bulge, forming in his oversized pants. "Oh god," he whispered.

It was so remarkably mesmerising watching your boyfriend slips so easily into desire. You knew he was angry and that made this part of the mission remarkably uncomfortable, but instead, you choose to focus on Anton's lumbering breathing through the screen of your phone. His large eyes hooded and locked onto your breasts, still very much covered by your white lace bra.

Although he cannot see anything besides cleavage, Anton reckons he could cum just from this. That's how bad he needs you, that's how bad he yearns for your soft, grounding presence to be near him.

But your phone chimes. And just as Anton's jaw locks, you exclaim, "Babe, I have to go-"

"What?" The frown on his face is astounding, but you're already propping your phone up to pull up the strings of your dress.

His protests fall on deaf ears.

You could not very well tell him that you have already touched down in Korea. You couldn't tell him the unrecognizable bathroom stall was a sterile cubicle in the international airport. You couldn't tell him that you were closer than he thought.

"My movie is gonna start soon,"

His shoulders visibly deflate and your heart pounds faster in your chest.

"Skip it,"

"I'll call later okay?"

"Skip the movie."

"I love you,"

When you abruptly ended the call, Anton stared at his screen until the dimness turned to black, with only one question permeating through his restless mind.

'Do you?'

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

"You say you hear me," Sohee's voice reaches the rafters as the group of boys leave the gym. "You hear me, but do you feel me?"

"Gross," Anton mumbles, leaving Sohee behind.

"It's a simple question," The older boy continues, "at what point does water become soup?"

"When any reasonable amount of seasoning is added," pipes up Shotaro, adjusting the straps of his work out bag along his shoulder.

"Don't encourage him," Eunseok grumbles as they all walk out into the cool night air.

Anton's gaze is still lowered to the floor, but his breath stutters momentarily at the sudden rush of the open air.

"So salt water can be considered soup?" Sohee scoffs, "That's what you're telling me right now?" The group groans in unison, all beginning to walk like a hive mind to the nearest restaurant. All except Anton, who is quieter than usual, whose only plans for the evening consist of wallowing in self-pity.

"Hey, um, I'm just gonna go home," he says, causing the group of boys to stop in their tracks. Anton evade their curious, worried gazes.

"Not when you look like you're about kill yourself-" Shotaro says, attempting to step closer to Anton, but only frowning when the youngest takes a step back.

"That's okay," he attempts to reassure his friends, "There's a beat thats been..." Anton does vague hand gestures to the side of his head, "I wanna go work,"

He was already walking away, head bowed, and headphones pushed over his head, walking into the night before his friends could even get a word in...

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

He could not describe his feelings as Jealousy. That somehow felt like to tame a word to describe the flurry of emotions hanging so heavily on Anton's face as he pushes the password into the door's keypad, before kicking his shoes off at the door.

Anger was certainly a part of it. The large monolith of emotions threating to burst right through him. He felt unpleasantly overstimulated, even in the silence of the apartment. He felt like anything and everything was threatening to have him burst at the seams, his emotions running along the rim of his usually calm and collected state of mind, ready to spill over and make a dreaded mess everywhere.

Anton's only plans for the night had been to lock himself in his dorm room, perhaps crying, perhaps screaming, perhaps knocking himself out for a couple hours with his prescription sleeping pills. Anything to make this horrific strain on his heart disappeared.

The baggy clothes he is accustomed to wearing somehow appear bigger and sloppier as he lumbers his way deeper into the apartment, heart sinking the more steps he takes.

"Oh look,"

Cold, piercing phantom pain zings through his heart, kickstarting every dormant sleepy cell in his body.

"A dinosaur,"

Anton thinks that he couldn't even move if he wanted to. His socks are glued to the threshold, watching you, or perhaps an apparition of you, laying lazily on his bed.

His bed.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, and you watch with furrowed brows as Anton brings his two hands up to his face. You immediately push yourself off the bed when he begins to slap lightly at his cheeks, whispering incoherently about asylums and potentially getting a contact high.

His cheeks are already bright red when you stumble your way in front of him.

“Woah, Big boy,” your hands are on his wrist, effectively stopping Anton from reddening the skin any further.

He can feel you. He can feel the softness of your palms struggling to enclose around his large wrists.

“This is real,” he whispers, watching with wide, doe eyes as a smirk curls at the end of your lips. Before you can reply in whatever witty or snarky remark you had cooked up, Anton was already bending his head until his lips were crashing down to yours.

He very surprisingly, very uncharacteristically pours his strength into the kiss until you were stumbling back rather clumsily into his room.

Anton crumbles into a flurry moans and groans as he slips his tongue inside your mouth, melting into a whimpering puddle when your tongue brushes against his. “B-But when?” he breathes out before reattaching his lips to yours, letting his hands roam unabashedly over every part of your body it can find.

The infuriating need to breathe causes him to pull apart from you once again, but he never strays too far. Anton’s fingers dig into your sides until he's pulling your dress over your head. He wishes to capture every single inch of your exposed body to memory. The way you look up at him with a light, relieved smile curling at the sides of your puffy, red lips.

You're so much shorter than him, and it sends his brain into a mindless, state of lust. He loves how big he feels when you two are together, in the flesh with no digital box separating the two of you.

“H-How?” He breathes out, noting immediate that you are in the same white lace bra from your earlier phone call.

There is a cheeky smile on your face when you pull his oversized shirt over his head, all while he stares you down as if you hung the moon.

“I always keep my promises, Ant,”

His body betrays him with a rough shiver and he groans as you push him onto his bed, discarding his shirt behind you. As you prowl your way on top of him, Ant throws his head back into the sheets, nearly hyperventilating at the sight of you straddling his hips. You lift your torso, immediately discarding your bra, and Anton’s hand flies to cup your breasts. This, he immediately decides, is what heaven looks like.

“Fuck, you're so fucking pretty, you know that?” Anton rarely ever swore, so to hear the crass words coated in his airy, breathless voice is enough to have you moaning into the air, arching your back as you push his face into your chest while you press your core down onto his irresistible bulge.

“Oh God, Anton.”

“Missed you so much,’ he whines, before enclosing his mouth around your nipple, almost instinctively pushing his hips up to meet your desperate grinding. You were quite literally humping like maddened adolescents brimming with too many hormones to know what to do with.

When Anton feels his cock twitching in his pants, he immediately pulls away.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, “I need to be inside of you,” he admits gravely, already getting up to switch places until you were underneath his large and lumbering frame, “I don't think I'll last long,” Another grave admittance. He pushes his hand into his sweatpants, and you watch, mesmerized as he reveals his large, aching cock absolutely leaking precum.

“I'm definitely not gonna last long,” you reassure before eagerly opening your restless legs, “We're gonna cum together, yeah?” Anton squeezes his eyes shut before squeezing the base of his twitching dick. All while you slip your own underwear down.

“Yeah,” he agreed before positioning his cock at your weeping enterance.

You both watch mesmerized as his cock begins to stretch the tight walls of your soaked cunt. The stretch, immediately causing a whimper to slip out of your mouth as you throw your head back into the pillows. You're clenching around him, while Anton coaxes himself into you with shallow thrusts. The rutting being just enough to spill a wave of pleasure over the both of you. He watches you moan with wide, pained eyes.

“I know, baby-” He whisper, “You're doing so good for me, you know that?”

“Fuck, you're so big,” is all you're able to say, effectively causing his hips to stutter.

“F-Fuck I'm not gonna last long-”

Instead of repeating your response, you bring your hips up to meet Anton's thrusts effectively, taking him deeper and deeper until he was fucking you with little to no restraint.

“Oh God,” you whisper, as Anton clumsily brings a hand up to squeeze and pinch at your nipples. Not even a minute later and you're both sitting in the crest of your respective orgasms, looking deep into each other's eyes as if you were communicating that fact. Anton nods, completely dazed.

“Close,” he whimpers, “I'm so fucking close,”

Anton bends his head, spitting directly onto your clit. The sight has your hips stuttering, as the first signs of your orgasm warms your lower abdomen.

“F-Fuck, Ant- I'm-”

The moment his hand travels to rub dizzying wet circles on your clit, you crash into your orgasm.

“Oh fuck- oh fuck-” He fights to keep his eyes open but your squeezing him so hard and Anton can't help but cum directly inside of you. Both your lips are hanging open as your boyfriend attempts to fuck every last drop of his seed into you. You're both releasing months worth of frustration.

The frustration of not being near one another. Of relying on a device to keep your relationship afloat. It all comes crashing down until Anton's is thoughtlessly collapsing on top of you - the weight of a giant landing your front, with his hand playing lazily, wiyh your breasts as you both fight to catch your breathe.

Despite the obvious discomfort, the very last thing you think of doing is pushing him away. Instead, you cradle him closer, raking your fingers into his hair while his eyes flutter shut.

All is quiet, and you vaguely believe Anton may have fallen asleep, but his voice is wide awake as he says, “I thought you were cheating on me.”

You remain quiet, hoping the soft petting on his wild curls was reply enough.

“I'm never letting you go back, okay?”

Your eyes are heavy as you continue to smooothe down his hair, and you whisper, “Okay”.

♡♡♡

[vidduality]

SPOILERS for Episode 6 of the Avatar Live Action series

AKA why this episode makes me SO grateful for this adaptation (re: the Zuko flashbacks and the Agni Kai).

----

Wow.

I admit, I was really worried at the idea that Zuko might potentially fight back in the Agni Kai against his father in the live action. I expected to HATE it, and it's certainly a bold change, but it fits in SO WELL with why Zuko is the way that he is (and why he works so hard to push down his empathy whenever Aang tries to reason with him).

The Agni Kai - Zuko obviously did NOT want to fight his father. He still tried to apologize and beg for mercy, but in the end he was just too terrified of his father to disobey a direct order.

But when Ozai left him an opening to see what he'd do with it, Zuko couldn't bring himself to actually land a blow that might burn him. Making his lack of ruthlessness the weakness that Ozai ends up mutilating him for - even straight up telling Zuko that compassion is weakness and then demonstrating by holding his own child down and lighting him on fire - adds a layer of depth that only enhances the original scene (and in another stroke of genius, we see Ozai nearly in tears himself. He's convincing himself of this lesson as well as Zuko, which was likely passed down to him by his own father). Honestly, this to me is even more heartbreaking than Ozai burning him for refusing to stand and fight. Zuko did everything his father asked and he still failed, because his family has distorted what it means to be honorable and believes Zuko's capacity for mercy to be a shameful weakness unbecoming of an heir to the throne.

The 41st Division - And here come the waterworks. Assigning the very people Zuko was hurt so severely for trying to save to his ship as it's being cast out of the fire nation (presumably forever, with the Avatar not having been seen in 100 years) is SUCH a brilliant addition. His crew resents Zuko for being stuck on this impossible mission with this bratty, angry child. And Zuko is too ashamed of his "weakness" to explain why they were assigned to him.

I can totally see Zuko's hurt at their lack of respect making him even more angry (especially after everything he went through to save them from being sacrificed), and his seemingly irrational anger at them just continuing to make them resent him more in a neverending feedback loop of anger and disrespect that's been growing and festering for 3 years.

Which makes the scene at the end when Zuko's crew finally learns about how he saved their lives (as well as why he's obsessed with the avatar, why he's banished, what his scar means and why he's trying so very hard to rid himself of empathy, even if he can never quite manage it when it counts) so much more impactful. I SOBBED when the 41st Division stood at attention and showed him their utmost respect and loyalty, possibly for the first time since they've been on that ship. Zuko's soft "what's going on?" at finally being honored by his crew is just imprinted on my brain.

The seed of the idea that his compassion may NOT actually be what was shameful about his banishment afterall can finally begin to take root.

I just, damn, I love this episode so much.

[shadowtriovibes]

fever (what a lovely way to burn)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: M

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, friends to lovers, character with fever/illness, mild sensual content

Summary: request: "since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly."

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–” He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.” “N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

Monday, October 5, 1891

Even a month after the start of term, it’s unseasonably warm in the Highlands. The heat from the dog days of summer persists well into the arrival of autumn, permeating the ancient stone walls of the castle and settling like a thin layer of fog across Hogwarts’ students.

Professor Sharp’s N.E.W.T.s-level Potions class meets promptly at nine o’clock every morning. Despite the early time slot, the dungeon-level classroom starts to become warm rather quickly thanks to the heat of two dozen bodies and six potion stations, each with their flickering flames preheating the students’ pewter cauldrons.

Your little trio is usually the last to arrive from breakfast. Sebastian sidles up to the doorway just as Professor Sharp is preparing to close it, gallantly offering to hold it open for you and Ominis as you take your time sauntering down the hall, arms linked together and chatting happily about the latest gossip to have surfaced in the Great Hall.

Then you settle in at the potions table squarely in the middle of the classroom, which you’d unabashedly claimed at the start of term. (Ominis can hear Professor Sharp most clearly here, and Sebastian, as always, gets to remain the center of attention.)

Finally, with Ominis’ dictation quill hovering over his parchment, Professor Sharp begins his daily discourse.

“Dittany, as you’ll recall, is one of the most useful herbs for creating a wide range of healing draughts,” he explains, showing off a tendril of the fiercely pink plant clipped from Professor Garlick’s greenhouse just that morning. “Can anyone give me an example of one?”

“Wiggenweld Potion, sir,” Amit chimes in.

“Very good, Mister Thakkar,” Sharp replies with an approving nod. “Another?”

Adelaide Oakes timidly raises her hand. “Essence of Dittany, sir?”

“Well done, Miss Oakes,” he murmurs. “Though not as effective as a properly-brewed bottle of Wiggenweld, dittany on its own can be used to craft a powerful restorative tonic – especially useful in preventing the occurrence of scars. Five points to Hufflepuff.”

Then Professor Sharp glances around the room expectantly. “One more, perhaps?”

“Moustache paste, sir?” Sebastian mumbles under his breath, and you quickly elbow him in the side.

“What was that, Mister Sallow?” Professor Sharp drawls.

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek. “Er, the Antidote to Common Poisons, perhaps?”

Professor Sharp levels Sebastian with a dubious look. “I’m afraid not. While dittany is a broadly useful herb, its powers are generally limited to healing, not curing. When considering its uses, think ‘paper cut,’ not ‘influenza.’”

You raise your hand and ask, “Sir, are there any potions that do cure illnesses?”

“Yes, in fact,” Professor Sharp answers. “The Pepperup Potion will quickly resolve any common colds or cases of the flu, with the enigmatic side effect of generating steam that will pour from your ears for hours on end.”

You wince a bit. “I suppose that’s worth being over a cold in a day.”

“I should think so,” he replies with a slight grin. “So has the majority of the wizarding world since the twelfth century.”

As Professor Sharp segues into a lecture on the history of healing potions, you pull out a piece of parchment and start to take down some notes.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “What does Pepperup Potion taste like?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I’ve only had it once, and it was a decade ago.”

You frown. “Why’s that?”

“I can’t drink it,” Sebastian says simply. “I’m allergic to bicorn horn.”

You blink, surprised. “You’re… allergic? How did you even discover that about yourself?”

“Oh, it was gruesome,” Ominis chimes in gleefully.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Well, I had my suspicions as a child when my parents gave me Pepperup Potion and steam poured out of my ears, nose, and mouth for a full week. Simply suffering through the cold would have been better.”

“And then?” you prompt.

“Well… in our third year, Anne and I made some Polyjuice Potion,” Sebastian admits, glancing around furtively. “We wanted to see if we could attend our classes all day as each other without anyone noticing the difference.”

“And Polyjuice Potion has bicorn horn,” you surmise.

Ominis looks delighted. “They were both in the Hospital Wing for three days, stuck as half-formed versions of each other.”

You gasp in disbelief. “That sounds awful!”

“It was the one and only time in their lives they were truly identical!” Ominis crows. “‘Sebastianne,’ we called them.”

You can’t help but giggle at Ominis’ delight while Sebastian sulks.

“In any case,” Sebastian grumbles, “I can’t take Pepperup Potion anymore, but luckily I never get sick.”

“Really?” you ask skeptically. “Everyone gets a common cold once in a while.”

“Not me,” he says proudly. “I haven’t been sick since I was a child. At the very least, if I have been sick, it must have been so mild that I wasn’t slowed down in the slightest – no need for Pepperup, thanks.”

“I’d be careful, Sebastian,” Ominis demurs. “Wouldn’t want to tempt fate, would we?”

With a lazy shrug, Sebastian turns to his potions station and begins to roughly chop some dittany leaves for a new healing potion Sharp intends to teach that afternoon. He glances up surreptitiously while you tie your hair back with one of those green ribbons you like to keep around your wrist for when the Potions classroom becomes especially humid with cauldron steam.

Though it’s unwise to lose focus while holding a knife, Sebastian has become quite skilled at multitasking while tending to his lovesick heart with stolen glances and half-formed daydreams.

He becomes so distracted staring at the column of your neck that when he suddenly feels a bit dizzy, he merely attributes it to the thick, heavy air in the room.

—

Tuesday, October 6, 1891

“You look dreadful,” you tell Sebastian cheerfully as you take a seat at breakfast.

Across from you, Sebastian looks a sight. His generally unruly hair is sticking up in every direction, and his face, which until this morning had still been sun-kissed and freckled from his time carrying out summer chores in Feldcroft, is ghostly pale.

“Cheers,” he grumbles, his head in his hands as he stares down at a plate full of untouched tattie scones.

You know for a fact they’re his favorite. In fact, you’ve stolen countless scones from the Great Hall on weekends when he treats himself to a bit of a lie-in just to make sure there are some left for when he finally emerges, hair rumpled and cheeks creased with pillow lines.

“Late night?” you ask him as you pour yourself some juice.

“The opposite, actually,” Ominis explains. “Sebastian was asleep before I even finished my Runes assignment last night, and I practically had to drag him out of bed this morning.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” you comment, frowning. “You’re usually up half the night reading. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Sebastian shrugs weakly. “I’m fine, I just… It’s dreadfully warm in the castle, and my head is aching.”

Without thinking, you reach across the table and press the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You’re quite hot,” you mumble.

“Wh-what?” Sebastian stammers, his eyes going wide. “What did you do that for?”

“You have a fever,” you explain to him. “Old Muggle trick. And your eyes are quite glassy. I think you might be coming down with something.”

Ominis unsubtly slides further down the bench.

“I’m not sick,” Sebastian protests. “It’s just the heat, it’s making me tired.”

You eye him warily, and as if to prove that he’s not ill, Sebastian lifts one of his hoarded scones to his mouth and takes a bite.

“See?” he asks with his mouth full. “M’fine.”

You grimace. “Lovely.”

Sebastian determinedly joins you and Ominis for Potions and manages to remain upright until the very end of class. He sways just a bit as he gathers up his belongings, and you offer him your shoulder while you make your way toward the stairs to Divination.

He balks when he sees the twisting spiral steps.

“On second thought,” he mumbles, “I think I’ll skive off today and get some rest.”

“Will you be alright?” you ask him concernedly. “I can come with you…”

“No, it’s fine,” he insists. “I’ll just lie down for a bit and then I’ll be grand, I promise. Save a seat for me at dinner, will you?”

Later that evening you linger in the Great Hall until the last of dinner melts through the tables down to the kitchens below, but Sebastian never shows up.

—

Wednesday, October 7, 1891

“You do not want to go in there,” Ominis tells you warningly. “Trust me, he’s a mess.”

You scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sebastian still hasn’t emerged from his dormitory in nearly eighteen hours, and you’re starting to worry for him. Ominis had brought him back some food from dinner the night before, but according to him, it had gone untouched.

When he’d failed to show his face at breakfast, you knew you had to step in.

“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this,” Ominis tries. “Sebastian is hardly a gentleman, but some things are sacred.”

“He’s our best friend,” you remind Ominis. “I really don’t care if he’s not entirely put together.”

Ominis opens his mouth as if to say more, and then seemingly changes his mind.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll tell Professor Sharp you’re tending to Sebastian, and I’ll ask Amit if you can borrow his notes.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ominis,” you breathe, quickly pulling him in for a hug. “What would we do without you?”

“Rot in Azkaban, most likely,” he grumbles, which… is fair.

Once Ominis leaves for class, you gently knock on the seventh-year boys’ dormitory door. “Sebastian? Can I come in?”

Through the door, you hear him whine, “Go ‘way.”

“Sebastian,” you call out patiently. “Ominis told me you’re sick, and you haven’t gotten out of bed in too long. I’m coming in.”

He protests weakly from his bed as you open the door and slip inside, carefully pressing it closed behind you. As you’d expected, his other roommates have all gone for the day. Only Sebastian remains – or at least, you think it’s Sebastian.

All you can see sticking out from underneath the pile of pilfered blankets on his bed is a mess of curly, brown hair.

“Oh, dear,” you sigh.

“Jus’ leave me alone,” he mumbles from beneath the covers. “...I think I’m sick.”

“Finally facing the music, are you?” you tease him, taking a seat at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed over,” he groans. “I’ve never been this ill before.”

“Should I take you to see Nurse Blainey?” you ask him. “I know you can’t have Pepperup Potion, but perhaps she has something else that would help.”

“No,” he sighs. “Ominis already sent for her, she said I’m a dafty and I’ll be fine in a coupl’a days.”

You bite back a laugh at Sebastian’s deteriorating accent; for how posh he usually sounds, apparently that rougher Feldcroft vernacular tends to slip out when he’s feeling poorly.

“Poor lamb,” you croon. “Can I do anything for you? Have you eaten?”

“M’not hungry,” he sulks. “Ominis made me drink some water before he left.”

You hum softly as you start to slowly pull his piles of blankets down low enough that you can see his face. Quickly you realize that Ominis had been exaggerating – Sebastian doesn’t look entirely a mess.

His eyes are a bit wet and glassy, you observe, and his nose is bright red from persistent rubbing with a handkerchief abandoned on his bedside table. He looks a little swollen beneath his jaw, but otherwise, he looks like he’d merely stayed awake all night, and you’ve seen a sleepless Sebastian countless times throughout your friendship.

There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw that you’ve never noticed before; it’s the same rich brown color as his wild, unkempt hair.

(Honestly, how dare he still look handsome even when he’s ill.)

“Hello, you,” you tease him in a voice just above a whisper. “Was beginning to wonder if you were even there under all those blankets.”

“I’m cold,” he complains.

“That’s the fever talking,” you tell him. “You should probably–”

But before you can tell him that he’d be better off with less covers, the blankets shift lower and you realize he’s not wearing a pajama shirt.

(Your disobedient mind immediately raises the question of whether he’s wearing anything at all, and subsequently, if you could get away with having a look. Immediately you scold that particular thought away.)

“Er, you should… don’t overheat yourself,” you finish lamely.

He’s flushed down to his chest, fever-pale skin burning red where the blankets had been piled on top of him. You discover that he’s got a thin smattering of hair here, too; he’s grown into the body of a man much sooner than many of your classmates, you imagine.

Sebastian watches as you swallow, your own eyes raking down his body.

“You’re missing class,” he observes. “You never miss class.”

“It’ll be alright, just this once,” you say softly.

For a moment you aren’t sure if you’re talking about missing class or being in Sebastian’s bed.

Then Sebastian suddenly starts to cough and hastily reaches for his handkerchief. He sounds utterly pathetic as he coughs and groans in discomfort, rolling onto his side and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

“My chest hurts,” he whimpers. “I’ve been coughing all night.”

You reach across him and gently stroke the backs of your fingers down the middle of his chest. His skin is noticeably hot to the touch and damp with sweat.

“I can put some Muggle herbs in a warm compress for your chest,” you offer. “I know they’re not as effective as a potion would be, but it always helped me feel better when I was a child.”

“Alright, I suppose that’d be nice,” he mumbles.

But when you move to stand, he quickly snags your wrist.

“Wait,” he says. “Er… where would you go? For how long?”

“Well, I’ll have to go see if Nurse Blainey has any, and if not I can go look at the edge of the Forbidden Forest,” you explain. “It might take a bit of time, I’m afraid.”

“Then, just… stay,” he whines. “Keep me company? That’s better than some plain old herbs.”

You shift onto the bed, curling up on your side behind Sebastian. It’s a tight fit, and you’re dangerously close to falling off the edge, but you’re able to leave enough space between your bodies that you can make the argument that it’s friendly, and it’s fine.

“Can I rub your back?” you ask him softly. “It might help with the soreness.”

You have no idea if it will help his aching body, but you’re eager to try it nonetheless.

“Go on,” Sebastian rasps. “I… I might fall asleep.”

“You should,” you croon. “Your body’s telling you that you need to rest.”

“S’pathetic,” he grumbles. “I never get sick.”

“You had a good run,” you tease him. “But the common cold comes for us all eventually.”

He falls silent after that, his leanly muscled arms curled around a pillow while you stroke your hand up and down the length of his back. He’s so warm, and you’re a bit anxious about letting him ride out a fever as long as he has, but soon he drifts off to sleep.

You learn two things while he rests: he snores when he’s on his back, and he frowns whenever you take your hands off of him.

—

Thursday, October 8, 1891

Ominis had managed to talk you into returning to your own dormitory for the night, promising to look after Sebastian while you got some rest. When you return the following morning, you find him in even worse condition.

His sheets are bunched down to his hips, and he’s still bare from the waist up. His entire body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and the bags underneath his eyes have worsened – despite how much rest he’s getting, he seems more fatigued than ever.

“What happened?!” you ask Ominis.

“He’s had a fever all night,” Ominis says grimly, looking just as worn out as Sebastian. “He hasn’t eaten a thing, and I’ve barely been able to get him to drink some water.”

“Oh, Seb,” you sigh, taking his clammy hand and resting it in your lap as you sit on the edge of the bed. “You poor thing.”

“I think I’m dying,” he rasps. “This is it, right?”

“Hush now, there’s no need to be so dramatic,” you gently scold him, pressing your hand to his forehead. “You’re quite warm, but I’m not worried about your imminent demise.”

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–”

He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.”

“N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

“You’ll feel better,” you promise him. “And I swear I won’t, er… look, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You argue back and forth until Sebastian, utterly depleted of his typical stubbornness, loses energy and gives in. Ominis promises to stop by J. Pippin’s to see if the shopkeeper has any draughts suitable for Sebastian’s allergies before leaving to go to class, and you help Sebastian get out of bed with his arm around your shoulders and your own around his waist.

(He’s got pants on, thank Merlin, but you have to help him into a pair of pajamas to make the walk to the Slytherin baths.)

Sebastian balks when you enter the boys’ baths, but you both quickly learn there are no enchantments in place to keep you from joining him. You offer him an arm to lean on while he takes off his pajamas and coughs – this time pointedly – for you to turn around while he sinks into the lukewarm bath you’d drawn.

“This does feel nice,” he finally says once he’s settled in the opaque, murlap-scented water.

“Good,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice how your voice has gone up a bit higher than usual. “I’ll be back in a few moments with some fresh pajamas for you.”

“I’ll try not to drown while you’re gone,” he drawls, and even though he still sounds exhausted, you smile to yourself knowing that the bath is already helping him feel more like his usual self.

Hogwarts’ house elves were exceptionally fast in tidying up the boys’ dormitory while the two of you were out, so when you finally lead a clean, dry Sebastian back to his room, you’re thrilled to find freshly laundered sheets and a new pair of pillows waiting for him.

“Gods, I love magic,” he groans as he collapses into bed.

You stay all afternoon and into the evening. Ominis returns shortly before dinner with a brew from Parry Pippin himself, similar to the Pepperup Potion but with cinnamon instead of powdered bicorn horn.

(Sebastian seems to emit thin tendrils of steam straight from the top of his head after he drinks it, but he perks up all the same.)

Feenky herself brings a tray of soup and some leftover scones from breakfast once Sebastian regains his appetite. While he eats, he tells you about how he used to sit with Anne during the summers when she was particularly ill from her curse.

“At the time, I wondered if my being there was more of a help or a hindrance,” he says ruefully. “She was… hard to read, then. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed by me or appreciated me staying.”

You pause before shyly asking, “Am I helping? By being here?”

“Of course,” he says without thinking.

“Then I’m sure you were helping Anne, even when she was annoyed,” you tell him reassuringly. “That’s all we ever want to do really, isn’t it? Help the ones we love?”

Sebastian glances up at his tray with an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes are still glassy and he’s a bit peaky, but the cinnamon-laced, not-quite-Pepperup Potion has restored some of the usual warmth in his gaze.

“Right,” he echoes. “Help the ones we love.”

You end up staying the night in the boys’ dormitory. Only Ominis knows you’re there, as he draws the curtains around the both of you before the boys’ other roommates return from the common room. Given that Sebastian seems to be feeling better already, it’s not strictly necessary.

But it feels nice all the same.

—

Friday, October 9, 1891

Sebastian’s fever finally broke during the night.

When you wake up he’s wrapped around you from behind, one of his legs jammed between yours with his arm curled possessively around your waist.

You’re sweltering, but he’s cool to the touch.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Judging by the way sunlight pours over the top of Sebastian’s bed curtains, it’s well past when you’d usually wake up during the school week. You can’t hear any other snoring boys around you, either.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “Wake up.”

He groans tiredly into your hair as his arm tightens around your waist. “No.”

“N-no?!” you sputter. “It’s morning! We… we should, er.”

You trail off when you realize you aren’t quite sure what you should be doing. Evidently you’ve missed breakfast, and you’ve likely missed the start of Potions for the third day in a row. Professor Sharp will have no choice but to give you a detention; just as well, you suppose, as you can use the time to make up what you’ve missed.

But now that the damage is done…

“How are you feeling?” you ask him softly, your eyes still fixed on the green curtains in front of your face.

“Loads better,” he says, only this time his lips are pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You gasp as he rolls more of his weight toward you, pressing you more firmly into the mattress.

“Sebastian…” you sigh.

“I had a dream about you last night,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper beneath your ear. “I’ve heard Pepperup Potion can give one strange dreams.”

“St-strange?” you whisper back. “Why was it a strange dream?”

“I suppose it wasn’t really ‘strange,’” he acquiesces. “But it was nice. Really nice.”

“Tell me about it?” you ask breathlessly.

“Perhaps I’ll show you instead,” he asks, and when you nod, he slides his hand down to your hip and turns you onto your back.

Then quite suddenly he’s leaning over you, one knee still between your thighs. He rests on his elbows so his face is just centimeters from yours, and it’s the first time you’ve gotten a good look at him since the boys put out last night’s fire.

Sebastian looks so much better. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are clear and bright, and the sickly sheen of sweat he’d worn for days is entirely gone. (His hair is still a bird’s nest, but that’s to be expected.)

“We were like this,” he tells you.

“Were we just talking?” you ask him, but you’re met with only silence.

After a beat, he asks you, “Why have you been so kind to me this week?”

“You’re my best friend,” you tell him softly. “I – I wanted to help you feel better.”

“Is that all I am?” he asks. “Am I simply your friend?”

You bite your lip hesitantly and his gaze dips down to your mouth, his brown eyes nearly black in the soft morning light.

“Do you want to kiss me, Sebastian?” you ask.

Rather than answering, he surprises you by leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he lifts one of his hands to gently tip your face toward his, cradling your jaw while he deepens the kiss into one that’s hardly sweet at all.

It feels like it’s perhaps the first time in days that Sebastian has felt hunger.

You gasp his name into his mouth and then he’s the one biting your lip, just a quick graze of his teeth before he soothes your ensuing whine with another slow kiss. He shifts his weight onto his hip to rest on the mattress beside you, using that leg between yours to coax you into lying next to him. He rewards your body’s assent with a filthy kiss – the kind you’ve only read about in those Muggle romance novels you hide under your pillow, the kind where the hero kisses the girl with his tongue in her mouth and his hand in her blouse.

“Seb,” you moan.

“I didn’t know,” he confesses against your lips.

“Didn’t know what?” you whine.

“I didn’t know you loved me until last night,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours.

You’re so distracted by how red and swollen his lips look that you nearly miss him saying, “You stayed with me all week, you held me, practically healed me, and I still didn’t know.”

“Of course I love you,” you tell him.

“You love Ominis, you love Poppy,” he counters. “This – us – is different. Right?”

And the truth is, you would have done anything you’d done for Sebastian for any one of your friends. You would have helped Poppy into a warm bath and back into bed, and you would have sat at Ominis’ bedside all day and torn up pieces of scone to float on the surface of his soup.

But you would not have let them press you into their bedsheets and trace their lips along your neck, and right now Sebastian is eagerly doing both.

“Yes,” you whimper, both in answer to his question and as a plea for more.

“I love you, too,” he sighs against your jaw. “I have for ages, and I didn’t want you to see me all pathetic and poorly, but you still love me anyway.”

“I’ve loved you through worse,” you quietly remind him.

He nips at your throat for that remark; you’ve both agreed to speak of your fifth year as little as possible. Truly, the only reason you’d ever bring it up now is to remind Sebastian that you’ve long since made your choice – him, over duty and the law and perhaps even reason.

“Stay with me,” he pleads. “We have all morning, we have the dormitory to ourselves. Let me take care of you now.”

He pulls your thigh across his own and tangles his fingers in your sleep-mussed hair, holding you against his warm, bare chest.

“That’s tempting,” you breathe. “B-but perhaps we should check with Nurse Blainey, to see if you’re ready to return to–”

You cut yourself off with a gasp as he grinds his hips against yours. There’s no mistaking that he’s aroused, and that alone convinces you that he must be feeling well – you’re positive that he would’ve been too weak for this type of debauchery yesterday morning even if you’d gotten fully nude before him and begged.

“Trust me, I feel excellent,” he moans into your mouth. “Love, please.”

You don’t come up for air for a long while after that. By the time Ominis stops by during lunchtime to check on Sebastian, he nearly trips over your skirt, hastily tossed near the doorway.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” he deadpans.

“That potion of yours worked like a charm, Ominis,” Sebastian drawls. “Cinnamon, who would have thought?”

“I don’t suppose I mentioned that Muggles find cinnamon to be an organic aphrodisiac?” Ominis says innocently. “At least, that’s what Mister Pippin said. He told me you might have some rather amorous dreams while you recover.”

“No, I think you forgot to mention that,” Sebastian replies just as innocently.

Ominis simply hums and says, “Well, now that you’ve been made aware, I’ll be off to Herbology. I’d recommend locking the door if our dear friend is going to be keeping you company this afternoon, Sebastian.”

You’re too embarrassed to say a word, but Sebastian cheerfully thanks him as he pulls the door shut and reaches for his wand on his bedside table to magically lock it behind him.

“We’ve become menaces,” you whine as he rolls on top of you once more.

Sebastian grins wickedly down at you. “Not yet we haven’t, but thank Merlin we’ve got all afternoon.”

[jolapeno]

circles and squares

simon ghost riley x f!reader (cod)

an: you should all thank @halfmoth-halfman for this one and our early morning chat. I heart you lots.

an: written on phone, mind any errors.

Ghost is aware he’s not the easiest person to be with. 

He's an entanglement of repressed feelings, scars that run deeper than layers of skin and a need for solitude, that you seem to have slid past. 

You take it all in your stride, not fazed—not asking too much—the patience of a saint.

It’s not that why he likes you. It’s that you make up rules for the two of them with relative ease. Providing him with ways to express himself without using words.

For someone whose skin is littered with only a handful of marked memories and a heart still soft, you surprise him with how deeply you understand him.

How much you just get him.

In all of his future thinking, Ghost never envisioned such a soul would fall for him—although Simon had always hoped. 

Two fragmented parts of him working together, desperate to keep whatever was happening between the two of you intact. Even if he had little to give and not a whole lot to offer, you stuck around.

You say very little when it comes to his past, taking what you can with gratitude. When you’re ticking, turning over thoughts—needing something but unsure how to ask for it—you make up solutions to give him a voice.

Not a physical one, but one just as loud.  

“—like this,” you explain, taking the pen from his hand, drawing a circle—small, no bigger than 2cm—onto the plain, crisp page. 

The black stands out, all stark against the white paper on the chipped wooden desk. His eyes glancing up from the nib, to your eyes.

He wants to ask for an explanation, folding his arms, sighing as he runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You smile. 

He suspects it isn’t because you hear his sigh or because of the way he folds his arms—but because you know him. 

You know it isn’t to do with impatience or confusion, but rather because you understand that the two of you squirrelled away in a room brings questions. Ones he wants to save you from, as though you’re a damsel and not a lieutenant under him. 

You don’t need to protect me.

You’d said that once. Under him, your legs on either side of his thighs as your fingers brush over stubble and blemishes.

But he does.

Not just from the gossip, from the glances. But those who look for him—those who inflicted each defacement he lets you see.

If anything, you’re one of the very things he needs to protect. Keep you safe.

“If we fill it in like this,” you say, shading in the circle. “We’ll know the other person isn’t okay. We don’t have to explain to why, but we’ll know.” 

He cocks a brow, not that you can see it. His mask, the one all plain black, more for the base than out in the open, hiding his expressions from you. 

Ghost suspects, though, you see right through the fabric. Like you saw through him to begin with. Ignored the snark and the bitterness, saw something—someone—worth getting drenched for when you were both stationed in Europe. 

He hadn’t liked the rain before then, not the scent of it—not the way it made his clothes cling to his skin, how it suffocated him. But he likes how you looked in the rain, how your face relaxed even as your hair flattened to your head. How your hand turned palm over, catching droplets like they were blessings and not something which had ruined an entire night of recon. 

“Alright, but if we’re OK?” He asks. 

Your head nods, drawing another circle next to it. Not filling it, just leaving the outline there. 

“Not filled in means we’re okay.” 

It doesn’t cross his mind what they’ll do if there’s no paper, if there’s no way in a crowded room to get across that you’re drowning. That it feels too much. That you need him. 

You think about it, though. Because you always are. Always thinking of ways to make things easier, better. Ticking it off—always assessing, attempting to better things. Not for you, never for you (your selflessness knows no bounds), but for him. 

An answer to his inner thought was answered a month or two later.

It’s a mess, loud voices—arguments brewing in fractions as mutinies begin to build. Price in the centre, chewing his cheek, fingers twitching, likely desperate for a cigar or even a drink as another captain chews his ear off.

The 141 rarely partner with others for this reason.

He doesn’t linger on Price. Knows if he’s needed, he’ll hear his name cutting through the loudness. So he looks for you, eyes searching, finding you pressed into the corner. Alone. 

You’ve not been sleeping. Tossing, turning beside him. Fingers reaching for him, finding his side, his arm—even his fingers—as your brows knit and stencils lines into your face.

He never wakes you, just lets you take—and when you don’t take, he just holds. Clutching you close, pressing your ear to his chest, hoping the steady beat of his heart is enough.

Sometimes it is.

He suspects now wouldn’t be.

Your back is pressed against the wall, eyes down on the ground before they flick up, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Not just because your eyes are stunning, cutting into him from across a room, but because of how you look at him: a silent calling, a beckoning, a help dancing close to your pupils.

Slowly, for confirmation, he watches as you raise your right hand, drawing a circle on your left shoulder. His eyes track it, following it as it meets your starting point. Mind drowning out Johnny, not even listening to the group of idiots next to him—focused instead on how you begin using your finger to fill in the symbolic shape.  

He nods.

Feet moving, gloved hands pushing shoulders and bodies, parting the pockets of people as he moves towards you.

Ghost isn’t sure what he can do when he gets there, his pulse just thumping—following only a need to be next to you. He expects murmurs, more suspicious comments about how he’s always close by to you. Smarter soldiers recognise that he always has an eye on you if you’re close—they’re just not smart enough to identify something is already happening, and has been for a while.

As he nears you, he’s thankful he doesn’t need to ask it because you’re already keeping your eyes on him. Seeing as he gets closer that your lips are slightly parted, a little O created, chest rising and falling as you take in shallow breaths. 

He wants to offer something, whether it’s his voice, presence, or anything. Which is why he asks:

“Wanna get out of here?” 

He’s not sure if you expect it—not sure if you had considered it an option. Your head nodding, furiously, blinking away tears that threaten to spill as your hand brushes his wrist. 

Not to take his hand—the two of you don’t do that—but to tap. Once, twice. 

Thank you. 

He nods. Not able to (or wanting to) stop the way his heart soars at it—at being able to provide you with something.

Give you a fraction of what you give to him: a way out, a safe place.

In time, your things begin to merge with his.

Not just on base, but back in England too. Your socks are washed with his, your back covered in one of his tees that skirts your thighs.

He doesn’t mind, for the most part, only finding he struggles with it at night. When you’re sound asleep, soft snores kissing the darkness as he turns over the many ways you could be taken from him.

Ghost sleeps less when he’s home. Most of his REM is collected in the day, sun shimmering through the blinds, your fingers drawing shapes on his shoulders.

Sometimes they’re squares—which means either I love you, or I miss you—and sometimes their triangles. The latter, he’s not sure if they have a meaning. He just draws them back on your knee, watching your lips slide up into your cheek as you try to read your book.

He likes it—the code.

The one he can say down the radio. The one he can draw on your arm when you’re both pressed together in some place in the Middle East.

Which is why it doesn’t surprise him when you shout his name, the front door being kicked shut behind you—a surprise in a carrier bag.

“I know you’re struggling.”

You say it so plainly. Not a hello or how are you, getting straight into it, watching him as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

He says nothing either because there’s little reason to lie. He wears the truth well, the bags under his eyes worse than when he’s sent away on a solo—his need to pin you under him in the morning when sleep hasn’t been wiped from your eyes another tick against your assumption.

Retrieving the item from your bag, you place it on the counter with a tap. His eyes falling from you to them, noticing four magnets.

Nothing impressive, nothing too much. But he knows instantly what they are.

One black circle, one white circle; one green circle, one red circle.

“Naturally, I’m the colourful ones.”

“Naturally,” he snorts.

Moving towards him, you slide a hand over his hip. “They’ll live at the base of the fridge door, and we’ll slide one up—close to the top. When we remember,” you say, looking at him. “Same as the circles. For me, red is—“

“Black.”

Nodding, you try to smile. “Square.”

“Square,” he says back, quickly. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing a line across it.

Wondering, as he always does, how you remain so soft, so kind. How even though you’re haunted too, you still find ways to do things for him—

“Because I love you,” you say, as though reading his mind. “It’s easy because I love you.”

Swallowing, he holds your cheek more firmly, his other hand resting on your hip.

“Y… you don’t have to say it, I’m fine with—“

“I love you. It’s why I worry.”

Rolling your lips, you sigh—soft and small—before you nod. “I know, Simon. But we keep each other safe. Yeah?”

He nods back.

Because you do keep him safe. Not wearing a mark on your skin from him—or asking him to leave one—just in case. Your name on the place the two of you call yours, just in case.

An understanding is known about the future—mainly around rings and names, just in case.

“Which circle are you?”

His lips twitch, a smile wanting to show. “White.”

“Okay, good.” Your finger begins to draw a triangle, his eyes narrowing, your lips rising into a smirk. “Bought something else, too.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you lick your lips, eyes widening as you continue to draw it on him. “Wanna go upstairs and… see?”

It hits him only then. The deviousness in your eyes showing.

Triangle means—

“I want you,” you whisper.

He snorts, his laugh dying in his throat, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his.

Kissing shapes against your lips, unshaded circles, squares, and then triangles.

[beenbaanbuun]

brothers best friend pt 2 w/ jeong yunho

part 1

so i forgot to pause my queue and you’re getting this a day early… whoops

yunho looks so massive towering above you like that

there’s an unfamiliar look on his face, cheeks flushed, lips parted, nostrils flared, and you can’t help but feel a little nervous under his watchful gaze

maybe he’s angry, but you can’t think of anything you’d done to upset him

hell, you’d fallen asleep pretty much as soon as he told you to! its like you could’ve—

oh fuck… the dream

you sit up as quick as humanly possible, any semblance of sleepiness slipping away as you realise exactly why he’s looking at you like that

like you’ve just committed the greatest crime known to man

you can’t look at him, embarrassment and guilt flowing through you like blood

“yun, i—” he cuts you off with a shush

it confuses you for just a second or two; surely he’d give you the chance to explain your self right?

it’s hardly like you deserve to have that chance, perverted little slut

but still, yunho is a nice enough guy; he’ll let you try and wriggle your way out of it… won’t he?

“yunho, i can ex—” again, you’re cut off with a sharp shush

you whimper in response as the tears that begin to gather along your lash line turn his silhouette blurry

“i don’t need an explanation from you,” he speaks softly, “i don’t want one, either. i don’t think it would change anything, do you?”

his face is still set in stone, eyes steely as they stare you down

it only makes you feel even more pathetic, like a child being scolded for making a mess

you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how he saw you; nothing more than his friends kid sister making a mess of things again

you’re always making a mess of things…

your eyes begin to burn with tears

“why are you getting upset, sweetheart?” yunho asks from above you, voice stern and commanding and nothing like the teasing tone he usually uses with you

“it’s embarrassing,” you sniffle, trying your hardest to stop your voice from wavering under the influence of your tears, “i’m sorry.”

he hums, nodding slightly as though he’s seriously mulling over your apology

as if he’s actually considering accepting it…

its cruel, making you wait for your judgement as if he’s not going to end up kicking you out at the end of it all

maybe you were wrong about him being a kind man…

“why is it embarrassing?” he hums, and your heart sinks just a little further

great; he’s going to humiliate you before kicking you out

your eyes meet his, begging for just a little mercy

he doesn’t seem to waver, eyes still icy and face still wearing that unreadable expression

“yunho,” you whisper, mentally preparing yourself to beg for forgiveness

he shakes his head, a hum of disapproval leaving his lips, “tell me, honey; why are you embarrassed?”

and just like that the dam breaks, your chin wobbling as a long keen leaves the back of your throat

the first tear rolls down your cheek, swiftly followed by a second

yunho catches them with his thumbs

“tell me…”

you suck in a shaky breath, forcing it out through your pursed lips

it doesn’t really help to soothe you like you thought it would…

“i had a wet dream about you,” your voice is so timid and small… you’re pathetic

“yes, you did,” yunho agrees, “but i hardly think that’s a good reason for all this fuss, hm?”

you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice

it almost sounds affectionate under that thick layer of condescension that only ever comes out when he’s talking to you

“after all, you didn’t see me crying when i was thinking all those dirty thoughts about you crawling into my bed…”

what?

your jaw hangs slack as you let his words soak in

he has to be teasing you, right?

“your pretty pussy was showing through your shorts, baby, but you didn’t even realise, hm?”

he takes your chin in his hand, forcefully snapping your mouth shut

“you were clenching around nothing,” his pink tongue swipes over his bottom lip, “practically begging for me to fill you up and you didn’t even realise.”

you squirm, everything he does working against you and your barely intact sanity

his words that he says so nonchalantly as if you’re not utterly filthy

his hand that remains firmly on your chin, his thumb dancing back and forth along your jawline

that damned tongue that he can’t seem to keep inside of his mouth for more than a second

you can’t help it when you whimper; after all, he’s the only one to blame

“yuyu,” you sound as pathetic as you feel, but you don’t have the brain power to feel humiliated, “please do something…”

he smiles down at you

“do something?” he asks, “like what, honey? you’re going to have to be more specific if you want yuyu to do what you want.”

the sound of him teasing you so effortlessly goes straight to your cunt, and you clench your thighs around nothing

it doesn’t help ease the ache between them at all

in fact all it does is smear your wetness over your thighs, leaving you with a sticky, uncomfortable mess

you desperately need something more; some friction to ease that ache in your clit and something inside of you to fill up your empty hole

and there’s yunho, your brothers best friend, standing above you looking like a fucking god

that’s all you need to push you over the edge

“yunho, please fuck me,” you whine, bringing a hand up to rest upon his wrist

your fingers wrap around it, tugging softly until his grip slips from your jaw

you drag it down, heading lower and lower until his hand catches on the duvet that still rests over your lower half

and then you stop, passing the proverbial ball to him; it’s in his court now and whatever happens next is up to him

whether he fucks you or not… it’s his choice

but you have no time to worry about what might not come to pass when he grabs the covers and tosses them to the side

his eyes hone in on those fucking shorts, and he swears he can feel his cock jump in his shorts

fucking hell, they’re practically see through with just how wet you are

he can see everything and what a delight that is

your pretty little pussy, wet and waiting for him to ruin it with his fingers, his cock, him cum

he needs so badly to see the real thing

“these damn shorts, baby,” he groans as he hooks his fingers over the waist band and tugs, “i might just have to keep them, if that’s okay with you?”

his words make your pussy clench, a sight that has him humming in appreciation

“i take that as a yes?” he tugs them down over your thighs, wasting no time in stripping your bottom half bare and tucking your shorts in the pocket of his pants.

with your glistening hole now exposed to him, he wastes no time in getting on his knees at the bottom of the bed

at first he just watches it, studying it as intensely as a college student studies their textbook the night before a final

you’re about to say something, to beg some more, when he reaches out a hand and slides a finger through your sopping folds

you gasp as he brushes it gently against you clit before pulling it away entirely, slipping it between his lips without so much as a second of hesitation

his eyes flutter closed and his cheeks hollow

the moan he lets out is nothing short of pornographic; you find yourself in awe of the show he’s putting on for you

“taste so good, honey,” he purrs as he tugs his finger free, “i’d eat you up forever, if you let me…”

he pauses, letting his eyes flicker up to meet yours

“will you let me?”

you nod, too dazed to say anything

“good girl…”

he wastes no time in laying down and throwing your legs over his shoulders

his giant hands find your thighs, gently caressing your smooth skin under the calloused tips of his fingers

they squeeze, kneading your flesh as he lowers his face to your aching core

“ready?” he hums, the word propelling a cool blast of air against your clit

you squirm and nod, but he shakes his head

“i really need your words this time, baby,” he says, “i’ve been lenient so far but i won’t do anything without your explicit permission; are you ready?”

“y-yes, yun…”

and just like that, he presses a soft kiss to your clit, the tip of his tongue just barely grazing it before he pulls away

it draws a whine through your gritted teeth

yunho chuckles before going back in to lick a stripe over your dripping hole

an obscene slurping sound echoing around the room as his tongue collects as much of your juices as he can before going back for more

he licks and prods are your hole, seeming to tease it until it leaks some more, all which his nose bumps gorgeously up against your clit

you hands fly to his hair, holding him against you in fear of him leaving you high and dry

he’s making you feel so good, the last thing you want is for this to stop

he just smiles against you as he feels the tug of your fingers in his locks, scraping his teeth against you in a way that has your body going limp

it’s even worse when he brushes them against your sensitive bud

you don’t quite register the sound your own mouth makes, too lost in the throws of pleasure to fully comprehend anything other than yunho

“so sweet, honey,” he grunts before he takes you clit between his lips

he suckles on it, hollowing his cheeks out as he pulses the pressure

he alternates between hard and soft sucks

it’s enough to make that knot in your stomach tighten

you’re getting close

“yuyu,” you cry as you let your hips buck into his mouth

it doesn’t phase him at all, so you carry on seeking your high

and when yunho sharpens his tongue to a point, letting you grind against the very top of it, that’s when you come undone

that’s when the knot snaps and your world turns white for just a second

fucking hell, yunho knows how to eat pussy…

he continues his ministrations for just a moment or two, letting you get it all out of your system before he pulls away and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand

“how was that, pretty girl?” he hums, “think you can take my cock next?”

[nonbinarypirat]

Okay okay, SO let’s talk about the latest chapter of Iruma kun because the lore is JUICY. Spoilers for chapter 358. This also leaves me with even more questions while answering some I had before. So I actually had a post planned where I was going to ask why Delkira received a special and sublime classroom to begin with. I wondered if maybe he was a previous demon king’s son and maybe that was why he was already revered. But NOPE it seems not likely. It’s still possible, I just got the vibe was that he was miraculous in his achievements and power. So it kind of answers that question but we still have no info on his family, the king’s classroom, or how he was able to achieve so much. On the other hand we got some VERY VERY interesting lore on Mephisto-pheles. It also explains why he gave this task to Iruma since he obviously sees the potential for him to surpass Delkira in the future. He wants Iruma to know what it takes to be in power, somewhat as an advisor role like he has been for previous kings. By assisting a king you can understand how to rule. And by building up a country, you can know what it takes to lead a country. I already guessed that since he was already interested in Iruma. But this just adds an extra layer to why he is as fascinated by him as he is. GOD NISHI IS SO GOOD AT WRITING LORE. I ASPIRE to write something with as much depth and intricacies as this manga. She is my inspiration truly 🙏🏽

Like, look at Mephisto’s face here compared to after he met Iruma. Different face but same vibe.

Now, going back to Delkira one, we get to see more of his personality and he’s so much like Iruma!!!!! No wonder everyone and their fucking mom keeps being like, “damn why tf do I see Delkira in him.” Neither strive for power for power’s sake, instead they strive for power because they see it as a step forward in their goal and desires. They both want to find their own path rather than it just being given to them. It really shocked me at first that Delkira turned Mephisto down but it actually makes so much sense why everyone is enamored by him. That is the most undemon like thing he could have done, he had the perfect opportunity to gain all the power in the world in a quick and easy way. Any other demon would have killed for that chance. They are so fucking alike and it makes me want to rage. I love it so much, I love that we are getting to see more of him as time goes on. Him and Iruma even have the same smile! Like come on.

He even has similar jesters to Iruma!!!! This flashback is making me rethink my theories about him and his connection to Iruma. Ughhhh, I’m so fucking happy about this. Also, this nothing to do with anything but look at Delkira’s cunty lil outfit. This sheer shirt? Rolled up uniform jacket he has popped open. These tight pants with a weird belt design? I would be Delkira’s number one supporter is all I’m saying. He’s babygirl just like Iruma. Maybe that’s the requirement to be the next powerful demon king, you have to serve mother fucking CUNT if you want to rule. Anyway, I think there was more I wanted to say but I got distracted with my rant lol. I just love this lore so much, I love how Nishi handles lore drops (especially with characters) and seeing more of Delkira because I am so fascinated with him and must know more.

[sturnsiolos0]

Private-Matt Sturniolo

You will do anything to get what you want. And what you wanted? Well, that was the man currently dragging you up to his bedroom,a crooked grin lighting up his face as he glances over his shoulder to take in your half-running, half-stumbling form.

A breathless giggle slips past your lips as he begins to slow his pace, and when the two of you draw close to his door, he turns to walk backwards, not even pausing in his steps to tug you close and wind his arms around you. Matt leans down to plant an eager kiss to your lips, and before you can reciprocate, he's spinning you around, still pacing backwards to retrace his steps.

He repeats his actions once more, a firm, promising press of his mouth against yours followed by a sudden turn.

"You wanna tell me why i was dragged up here?" You comment jokingly, peering into the room before glancing back up to Matt, who is smirking down at you, pride and anticipation mingling into what would be an adorable expression if not tinged by the all-encompassing lust blowing his pupils and staining his cheeks.

"Thought we could use some quiet, plus Chris and Nick aren't here." He explains casually, hands slipping down from your waist to cup your ass, and a wicked grin reveals his intentions.

Liquid heat pools within you - It's the push you need for your hands to slip back down to grip at his shirt and yank him into the room, this time you being the one to walk backwards. He follows eagerly, hurrying into the room, and kicks the door closed behind him without a even half a glance.

You break away for a moment, "Quiet, what for?"

"Well, not that I don't enjoy our little midnight quickies in the kitchen or the car, but I thought we could do with somewhere a little more.." He gives pause as he considers the right word, and your heart beats double-time at what was sure to come; sure enough, Matt runs the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, walking you backwards until your knees buckle against the bed, flopping down to stare up into his eyes. "...private."

Matt studies you - lips parted in anticipation, cheeks flushed, eyes hooded as they mirror the lust in his own. A broad palm cups your jaw, fingers splaying across your warm cheek as his thumb takes its time tracing the curve your of bottom lip, before daring to slip into the corner of your awaiting mouth. Your tongue is quick to envelope the digit, sucking gently as you maintain eye contact; Matt swallows, his breath deepening as his pupils dilate like a spill of ink. Pulling back, his thumb slips from your mouth with a wet pop, and you smirk lazily up at him.

"What did you have planned then, Matt?" You breathe, steeling yourself against the temptation of simply grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him down on top of you, especially when he shudders at his name, whispered like something akin to a prayer if only it wasn't with such filthy intonation. Instead, you wait for him to put his own plans in motion.

"Well, I thought we could get naked for a change." He jokes, and your laughter bursts out of you; certainly, the pair of you got up to plenty of mischief together, but never more than a few half-undressed fucks or a heavy make-out session in the kitchen before one of his brothers would interrupt.

He drops down onto the bed beside you, knees bumping into yours as he twists to face your awaiting form, and you watch his every move in anticipation that increases with every passing second. Matt reaches out, curling a long arm around your waist and pulling you closer whilst the other cups the back of your neck, and your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders of their own accord as he closes the short distance. It's a swift kiss that quickly turns heated, his tongue exploring every word your mouth once uttered. The gap between you closes when you shift from the bed and twist to straddle his lap, knees digging into the plush mattress as you grind against his cock, already hard and ready though the layers of clothing separating you.

Matt grunts at the pressure, and you smirk against his mouth, daring to nip at his lower lip; it's enough to catch him by surprise, and you use the opportunity to push him back onto the bed before fidgeting with his shirt to take it off. Your breathing comes fast and heavy, a pace that matches Matt's as his hands disappear behind you to grab your ass, pulling you closer still.

With his shirt finally off, you barely have a moment to admire the exposed skin before he's sitting up once again and removing your shirt to reciprocate the act of removing his; he immediately was latching himself onto the exposed arch of your throat, nibbling and sucking a path down the sensitive flesh and across your chest until coming to a stop at your clothed breasts. Matt wastes no time in unlatching the clasp of your bra to toss away without a thought.

You lift yourself higher onto your knees, stomach pressed tight against his bare chest, and a breathless whimper escapes you when Matt's mouth once again reconnects with your skin, hot lips skimming the underside of your breasts before daring to caress your nipples. Matt's arms coil tight around your waist, pulling you close, and you run your hands through his hair, cradling his head. His tongue laves and swirls until they peak, and he takes the tender bud between his teeth to gently tug, to which you can only whine desperately, your fingers twisting in his hair and yanking in pleasure.

Matt continues his admissions on your breasts, alternating between playful nips, earnest sucking, and adoring kisses, and you fight against your closed eyelids to peer down at him, admiring the sheer devotion and passion written across his face, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Lowering yourself until your ass once again rests against his lap, you almost laugh at the way his neck bows in his pursue of your breasts, until he can't no longer; he pauses only a moment before redirecting his attention once again to your mouth, to which you eagerly respond.

You grind against his lap, feeling his thick cock press against you, and your hands graze down his chest, fingers splayed in appreciation, before reaching your destination and getting to work on undoing the buttons on his pants. Like-minded, Matt loosens his grip to undo the fastenings of yours, before giving a light swat to your ass.

"Up," He grunts, but he's already lifting you to stand you up; your pants slip from your body, and you kick them away, your shoes and socks quick to follow, as Matt does the same with his own remaining clothing, almost falling in his excitement.

Before you can remove your panties, already soaked, Matt is grabbing you by the waist and tugging you close. He's stripped bare, sat on the edge of the bed with his legs splayed, and you can only stare at him, a blend of awe and hunger alight in your eyes at his naked form. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, the material peeling away from your glistening pussy that he can't look away from.

"Fuck, come here," Matt mutters, voice like gravel as he pulls you close. He runs a thick finger through your folds appreciatively, and when he pulls away to inspect it, he nods in approval at your liquid arousal before slipping the digit into his mouth and sucking it clean. "Hmm, you're fucking delicious, love. All of this, just for me?"

"Mm-hmm." You moan, nodding fervently as your fingers once again entwine in his hair, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before guiding you to kneel on his spread lap, shins pressing into the solid muscle of his thighs as your feet catch against his knees. Matt's lips find yours, desperation tingeing the rough movements, and when you shift closer, you jolt with a needy moan when the length of his throbbing cock brushes against your pussy.

"Shit," He hisses through clenched teeth, and one hand leaves your ass to slip between your bodies. Fingers trace your folds, finding your swollen clit to rub a trembling circle around the bundle of nerves before once again slipping back down through your slick folds to tease your entrance. Despite the awkward angle, Matt still manages to slip a thick finger into you, his thumb brushing against your clit with each knuckle that he sinks in; one, two, and three, and he pumps a couple of strokes before withdrawing, only to return with a second finger. Your pussy clenches around the intrusion, his expert digits working you open in preparation, and you can only moan and sigh wantonly against his lips.

You try to return the favour, one hand untangling from his ruffled hair to stroke at his cock, but you only get as far as wrapping your hand around his throbbing length before Matt is withdrawing his fingers and leaving you empty. He can feel your cry of desperation on your lips before you can even utter it, and his fingers, drenched in your arousal, seeks out your own around his cock.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, tonight is all about you." He soothes, and he gently pushes your hand away to pump his cock, your slick mixing with his beading pre-cum as his fingers twist against his tip. Matt leans back to stare down, eyes fixated on your pussy as he runs cock through your dripping folds, the tip nudging at your clit, and you can only grind yourself closer as he continues to tease you; with every half-thrust guided by his hand, the head of his cock would catch your entrance before slipping through your pussy to brush against the throbbing bundle of nerves.

"Matt, Matt, please," You beg, voice needy and breathless as you clutch at his shoulders. "Please, fuck me, Matt, I want you inside of me now."

"Anything for you, love." He murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before aligning his dick with your entrance. "Ready?"

You nod earnestly, loose hair flailing about your shoulders as you gaze into Matts's eyes, your own heavy-lidded and glassy with tears of pleasure-fueled desperation. Slowly, achingly so, he pushes in, inch by inch, and your high-pitched moan reverberates through the room as his thick cock stretches you to your limits. Finally, he bottoms out, and through your euphoria, you catch sight of Matt, slack-jawed and panting heavily as he tries to hold still; around him, your pussy twitches and trembles, and your moans are met by strained grunts as his grip tightens on you, palms squeezing your hips and fingertips sinking in to the flesh of your ass.

Your hips shift experimentally, slowly lifting an inch before dropping back down, and you can only offer him a dazed nod before tightening your grip on his shoulders and rising again, the drag of his cock against your fluttering walls alighting each and every nerve within you. It's difficult to ride him in this position when you're so over-stimulated, and Matt is quick to note this; his grip on you adjusts, and he lifts you before dropping you back down, repeating the act until your hips are rolling and he's thrusting up to meet you.

The room is filled with heavy panting and high moans, curses and profanity littering the air like prayers as sweat dampens your overheated skin and kisses become hungry clashes of teeth and tongue. You're distantly aware of your nails biting into Matt's shoulders, and when you drag them down his back, scrambling for purchase, Matt's hips stutter. Suddenly, you're being flipped, your back colliding with the rumpled sheets.

Matt looms over you, hasty hands grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist before burying his cock in you once more. You only have a moment to acclimatise before he starts to thrust, face buried in your neck, and the new angle combined with the sheer force as he drills into you makes the tension within snap. Your pussy clenches tight, walls spasming as you climax, and you can only chant his name as your hands clamp down on his biceps.

He continues to thrust throughout your orgasm, throbbing cock dragging against your velvet heat, until he finally shudders, hips faltering and stuttering to a halt as he cums deep within you. Matt collapses against you, softening cock still buried in your pussy, before rolling over with an exhausted grunt and pulling out. Strong arms seek out your shuddering form, still desperately trying to catch your breath, and Matt pulls you over until your head rests against his heaving chest, his pounding heart echoing in your ear.

"Holy shit," You murmur when you finally find your voice. "That was good."

"Only good?" He mumbles around a yawn, prompting you to yawn yourself. "How about we go to the shower and have round two in there?"

[starlit-typewriter]

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 8

Behold the cliffhanger has been fixed! Kinda. . .

More details about the creator and the history of Teyvat hast been revealed. Things are definitely heating up!

Fun Fact: I have officially drafted the final part of this story!

before you ask, no I have not written any of the parts leading up to that ending, nor will I begin to write faster.

But there is a confirmed ending and I swear I will get to it even if it takes me until the end of Genshin. It probably won't take that long, but life is unpredictable.

Warning for Spoilers up to 4.6

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

You can’t breathe.

Well,

Actually you can.

But it’s hard.

Really hard.

Like a giant boulder pressing on your chest hard.

Every breath you take feels like a struggle.

You can’t feel any tangible weight pressing you down, no restraints or chains.

And yet.

You can barely move.

You lash out blindly, trying to get rid of this invisible weight.

You feel a slight tugging at your chest.

You don’t know what it is, but you’re desperate enough to try anything.

You reach inwards and try to pull it out. 

To push back that suffocating force.

You can feel it straining against your efforts. 

But it holds fast.

It’s easier to breathe now, but the second you retract your powers, it pushes back with even more force.

A backlash.

A shockwave of your own power slammed into your body, flattening it against the surface you’re laying on.

You can barely breathe.

You can’t see.

It’s dark, and cold and it hurts.

You tentatively reach out with that same energy you felt in your chest. Delicately mapping out the crushing weight.

You’re more careful this time, desperate to avoid a backlash. 

Like a cat, weaving it’s way through the undergrowth.

It’s slow, and difficult.

But you push through nonetheless. 

You move small tendrils of your power towards the barrier. 

Gently testing its limits.

It’s hard to explain.

It, feels like a wall.

But not a smooth one.

An old weathered wall with nooks and crannies.

There are several cracks and chips in the wall. 

You focus on those.

Sharpening your energy into fine points, and drilling into those weak spots.

You feel a bead of sweat trail down your forehead and you strain yourself.

It’s like trying to fit a brick into a keyhole.

Turning this lump of raw energy into a precise instrument. 

It’s hard.

Like hitting a fly with a toothpick hard.

It takes time.

Hours pass.

Or even days.

It’s not like you have any way of counting time here.

But you don’t get hungry.

Or thirsty.

Occasionally tired, but.

No,

Focus on the barrier.

That’s what’s important right now. 

You’ve been doing this for a while.

The intricacies and details of the seal are familiar to you now.

It’s layered in a specific pattern designed to bounce any attempts at breaking it back to the perpetrator.

It was difficult mapping it out, figuring out which parts were the weak points and which were red herrings.

It took trial and error, being hit with the backlash more than a couple of times.

Your attempts have grown from throwing waves of energy out at random, to sharpened points of precise energy, targeting known weak points.

You’ve gotten better at controlling the energy.

Today is the day.

You know it is.

You focus yourself.

Your powers reaching out to strike the barrier. 

Seven strikes in seven places with equal amounts of force.

You feel the barrier loosen, you try not to let your excitement grow, lest you lose your concentration.

You strike once more, focusing in on those weak points.

There’s a small cracking sound.

Then a larger one.

Then.

The twinkling sound of shattered glass fills your ears.

The first sound you’ve heard in, who knows how long.

You blink and gold light fills your eyes.

It’s beautiful.

Golden floating sigils suspended in a gigantic cave.

Intricate geometric patterns, tracing itself against the walls. 

You can hear again, the sound of your breathing, your heartbeat.

You can feel the silky texture of the clothing draped across your body.

You can see the carved stone bed you were laying on. 

You sit up, slowly.

It’s been a while since you’ve used your physical body. 

The first attempt to stand up goes.

Well.

You crumple like wet paper.

At least you’re alone.

Although,

You wouldn’t mind some company.

Someone to explain who or what.

Your head hurts.

Flashes of memories and names that are not your own flow through.

A dragon.

A friend.

A protector.

A prisoner.

You know his name, you know his story.

But it’s,

Blurred.

Seen through a hazy film of emotions.

It’s a lot.

You sit there, for.

Well,

A while.

Just trying to sort through these memories.

Who are they,

Who am I,

Who are these people I see.

Wh-

A distant rumbling of stone distracts you from your thoughts.

You can hear the echo of footsteps coming towards you.

Your eyes focus on the direction they came from. 

A slight outline in the stone marks an entryway.

That stone starts to shift.

~~~

It has been well over a week since he, Xiao and the Traveler had sealed the creator underground.

In all honesty, he was surprised that it had taken them this long to break the first seal.

The looks on Mountain Shaper and Moon Carver’s faces when he requested they alerted him when the first seal showed signs of breaking were rather humorous.

But that was not the only reason.

While there were periods of time where he could’ve been considered the strongest of the Archons. That could hardly compare to the powers of a creator. 

Even sealed and heavily weakened, there was no telling the limits their powers could go. 

All of Celestia was created for the sole purpose of suppressing them after all. How could he dare compete with that.

The Primordial One themselves didn’t even dare approach them in single combat, choosing to instead- 

Well,

That is a story for another time

Besides, he is retired.

He’d much rather avoid a fight if he can.

No, those seals served much different purposes than the ones he’d placed on Azhadha.

As he’d explained to the Traveler and Paimon. His worry was not if the creator would break out. 

That was but a matter of time.

Rather their mental state and their ability to control their powers.

The first seal was to test for that. 

An intricate web of woven seals. Interlocking with each other to create a strong but complex puzzle to push through. Using brute force would only create a backlash that would hurt the captive. 

To escape the seal would take immense control over their powers and concentration. 

A feat not easily done by one blinded by rage and fury.

A test.

From the reports he’d received, it seems that things are proceeding well.

He’d asked for a couple of days off from Director Hu. Something that she did not grant home without trying to pry for details.

Unluckily for her, he simply told her that he was taking a trip to enjoy the sights of Mt. Hulao.

He’s not lying. 

He is enjoying the sights of Mt. Hulao.

The fact that it has an excellent view of where the cave the creator is sealed in, well. 

Some things are not for mortals to interfere with, as Xiao would say.

Nonetheless, Zhongli could feel the seal weakening. 

It is time.

~~~

As the stone door shuddered open, the retired Geo Archon stared upon the figure in the center of the room.

They looked deceptively delicate, dressed in a flowing white robe, much akin to the ones granted to the Archons alongside their gnoses.

If this was a form favored by the creator, it would explain the design of the ceremonial robes having taken inspiration from their attire.

Zhongli strongly doubts it.

Nonetheless from their position, crumpled up at the base of the stone platform they were laid upon.

They very much looked harmless.

Like a gentle dove that flew into the clutches of some evil creature, trapped by a monster's greed.

But the Adeptus knew that if it weren’t for the layers upon layers of sealing barriers he’d be faced with a crushing wave of uncontrolled energy.

A truly fascinating duality.

He let his footsteps echo as he stepped into the chamber, stopping only a couple meters before the largest barrier.

Their eyes flickered over, conveying a truly unsettling emptiness.

He would have expected anger, betrayal, or even confusion. 

Not this blank stare.

Although, it seems that it is changing.

He watches as their blank stare becomes more aware.

The retired Archons wondered at what their first words to him would be.

The traveler told him of their interaction in the teapot. At how unconcerned and calm they were.

Zhongli suspected their attitude at the time had less to do with their personality and more with the sheer amount of seals Celestia had placed upon them. Ones that suppress not just their elemental power but memory and emotion.

Even now, with layers of his own powers sealed around them, the presence of celestial power is difficult to ignore.

The fact that they’re able to dismantle one of his barriers is a great feat. Even if it was meant to be a test, it was by no means an easy one.

Dare he say that many of the Adepti would struggle, even with their full abilities.

To dismantle it, takes not only strength, but focus and concentration.

That focus is nowhere to be seen now.

Hundreds of emotions flashed across their face. Likely the result of Azhadha’s memories mixing with bits of their own.

The Adeptus can’t help but wonder which belonged to his old friend, and which were from the creator.

Either would be a sight to see.

He missed his old friend deeply.

But the creator.

As much as he is wary of them, and rightfully so.

There is still an intrinsic longing to know the creature that created the world he knew.

That infused the ley lines with their energy, and created the ground and plants that he knows.

That breathed life into what he suspected would be a barren rock.

However, that is neither here nor now.

It looks as if they’re almost done processing everything.

Their hand grasped at the side of the stone altar weakly as they panted for breath from their position on the floor.

The silence was suffocating.

The retired Archon knew that they wouldn’t make the first move. Vulnerable as they are, it was best for him to reach out first.

“Are you alright?” He asked, careful to pitch his voice in a way that belies only concern.

“You dare speak to me, child of Celestia,” slitted eyes flashed in anger as their energy slammed against the sealing barriers, making the ceiling shake from its force. 

Ah, anger it is.

“I dare,” he agrees. “And with good reason,”

“ What reason could that be, your trust in your beloved gods,” they snapped in response, wincing slightly. 

It seems that their memories have yet to settle fully.

A pity

“You blessed me,” Zhongli asserts calmly, “that means something.” 

“I wh-“

Focusing on that fragile flame inside his chest, the Adeptus lets out some of its power. Allows it to seep through the heavy seals and reach the confused figure slumped on the ground.

“Tha-“

“Is your blessing” Zhongli finishes.

He brings the power back in. Nestling it closely in his chest.

He looks back at the creator, whose confusion is evident.

“Why would I-“ they shake their head in confusion, “no I, it must’ve been a trick or-“

“It’s not,” He asserts. 

They clenched their fists, bunching up the white fabric in frustration.

It seems that the two have much to talk about.

Zhongli summoned a chair, pulling the earth up into his preferred shape, before taking a seat. Perfectly aware of the sharp gaze tracking his every move.

“I believe introductions are in order,” he started, 

“Morax,” they interrupted, not batting an eyelid.

The Adeptus in question blinked in response at their interruption. “I am, yes. Do you know who you are.”

They paused, biting their lip slightly as they frowned in thought. 

“He, . He called me Creator.” They said hesitantly. 

“He did,” Morax agreed, “and you are.”

“Then if I’m the creator, why am I locked up?” Their voice rose at that last word, their energy flaring out slightly, slamming into the barriers.

“Because of that,” Zhongli said, as he tilted his head at the barrier. “You are uncontrolled, wild. There is no guarantee that you will not destroy mountains every time you encounter a minor inconvenience.”

He held up a hand, halting their protests. “I take no pleasure in sealing you away.” He promised, “I’m only doing it to protect Liyue.”

“To protect humans,”

“Yes, to protect humans.”

“Despite what they did to him.”

“It was not intentional on their part.” 

“But you sealed him away for that,”

“He broke his contract.”

“They were hurting him”

“- yes.” He admitted.

The creator stared them down with cold unforgiving eyes.

“I did everything I could to ease his suffering.”

“But it wasn't enough,” 

“It was not enough.”

A tense silence enveloped the cave.

The creator sighed, pulling themselves up to sit upon the stone platform, their legs dangling slightly.

“Why did you offer him a contract?” They asked, tilting their head. “You knew who Azdaha was. What your god did to him.”

Zhongli paused, it was a question that he himself has mulled over many times. Even when he first found Azhada, in his weakened blind form, having been trapped underground for so long. He knew that he was the last remnant of the Geo Sovereign. 

Regardless of how useful Azdaha’s aid could be, it would not have been worth the scrutiny and possible retaliation from Celestia.

Even so, 

Even though he knew the dangers.

Even though he knew it would one day backfire on him.

He still wanted to give him a chance.

To prove that dragons and humans could coexist.

Even if it was for a short time.

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

He knew his answer.

However he didn’t know how the creator would react.

A part of him feared that they’d reject the notion.

Reject the idea of peace.

Of course, avoiding the topic won’t make it go away. Some things are better done swiftly.

Call him selfish, but he’d like to hold on to the hope for a while longer.

At moments such as these, he understands why the Traveler let’s Paimon talk herself in circles. Whilst there are undoubtedly ways to speed up the course of the conversation, it is much easier to let someone else speak for you. 

Of course, the duo did offer their assistance in this matter. However he believed their talent was better used elsewhere. 

After all, there was no telling how the creator would react, and if they were unwilling to listen to him. Perhaps they’d be more willing to listen to their own people.

After all, whilst Azhdaha had fallen victim to erosion, the companion of an old friend had not.

Perhaps they’d be just what he needs.

He can only hope that they get here in time.

~~~

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

and so the plot thickens!

A huge thank you to everyone who likes and replies, would not have been able to finish this without you.

As always my askbox is open if you have any comments, speculations and questions.

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[shantechni]

I think an awful lot about Splinter believing in the start of the series that he'd lost his humanity.

For the sake of someone named Pete, I will go through the events in chronological order for once-

In Lone Rat and Cubs, Splinter tells the turtles about their time spent running from the Kraang before they found their forever home, and we learn that Splinter didn't easily slip into his new role. Sure, he cared for the turtles, kept them fed and sheltered them from the elements, but he still called them "creatures" and "turtles" before naming them. He didn't see this as an opportunistic situation where he miraculously became a father to a second batch of kids, but rather that he'd fallen into a pool of misfortune and would need to live with this new form while protecting himself and the turtles.

"What terrible deed did I do in a past life that such a curse has befallen me?"

As he considers the turtles' growth and the possibility of a future with them, he then begins to view himself as a potential father. He explains that he wondered if he had the discipline to be a proper father, especially after the loss of his first family, and he realizes it was something he wanted to be regardless of discipline or odd circumstances.

And so, he claims the turtles as his own, and accepts his role as their father.

Though he'd grown accustomed to being a mutant rat over the years, he still draws a line between "Hamato Yoshi" and "Splinter" without knowing it, albeit a blurry and ephemeral one drawn in ever changing sand.

We hear Splinter in the second episode of the series talking about the loss of his family, his home, and his own name. He more or less tells Leo that being mutated erased whatever connection he formally had to the name "Hamato," and the idea is further supported by a similar and more somber scene in I, Monster. Splinter fights off the Rat King's control as he again laments that his entire clan and family, even his humanity, is gone, and he has nothing but the turtles left for him in this new life. Fortunately, he retains his sense of self post mutation, and he's presented from the beginning of the series as one who's in control of himself, both to his sons and friends of theirs, as well as any enemy that comes their way.

However, that presentation of control gives us a bit of a look into his psyche and allows us to consider the idea of him still struggling to come to terms with not being human anymore.

With the introduction of the Rat King, he's taunted by a potential loss of that control for the first time and it shakes him to his core. It makes sense for him to be shaken up since all that'd be left without him is a mindless, humanoid rat who'd lost touch with the human it used to be. Which is why it's so compelling that his sons, particularly Leo, are so adamant about reinforcing the fact that his mutation doesn't erase who he is. It's incredibly noteworthy what Leo says to him when trying to break the Rat King's control over him, "Remember who you are!"

Not who he once was, or the human he used to be, but who he is.

They never viewed Splinter as a separate being from Hamato Yoshi.

The boys aren't strangers to Splinter's old life before them, and they're very much aware of everything he'd lost; the guy talks about certain things frequently enough for them to know his tragedies and recite them without skipping a letter. It's his recollections of the tribulations he suffered through that helped them understand that his life with them is undeniably disconnected from his life with Tang Shen, but not unrelated.

He's still Hamato Yoshi, and his place will always be with his family.

Having been defeated by Splinter, the Rat King runs to find another way of tormenting him, and his perfect target is fear.

Though we got a brief look into this during their first encounter with Falco's twisted appearance, it's not until Of Rats and Men that we get further insight into another layer of Splinter's concern with his rat half: the repercussions that could result from the loss of control.

Throughout all of his years of raising his sons, not once did he ever treat them with the intention to frighten them and make them wary of his every move. The Rat King can easily use that fear to his advantage and weaken Splinter's mental stability enough to figure out how to make mutants similar to him. And he truly makes use of that fear by turning Splinter into his personal puppet.

There's still a considerable amount of concern on the turtles' end that pierces through that fear though. After Splinter teleports across the room to distance himself, Leo looked ready to leap to his side, and the others, despite being threatened literal seconds earlier, remain where they are and are equally concerned.

Eventually, the Rat King strikes again and everyone begins to piece together what's going on when Splinter loses it. Mikey is absolutely terrified and staggered by what happened, and Raph and Donnie tread with caution while Leo and April are the first ones to approach Splinter.

The TV gives them extra confirmation that Falco is back, and to everyone's surprise, Splinter refuses to help them fight Falco, even when Casey is dragged down a manhole by one of the mutated rats in their first attempt to clear the streets. It's not an easy choice for Splinter to make because we see how guilty he feels for his refusal, but the gang doesn't fault him for refusing either. No matter how much they want for Splinter to join them, he's right to worry about what the Rat King, now stronger than before, could force him to do.

April speaks for everyone though when she tells him they all believe in him. They make it known that they aren't afraid of what may happen, and they especially aren't afraid of him.

Unsurprisingly, Splinter changes his mind at the last minute, and, with the help of a recently mutated cat, he chases Falco down to deal with him once and for all. Protecting his family takes priority over his doubts, and by the end of the episode, he overcomes his fear of the Rat King controlling him.

He has his humanity, and that's what makes him different from the rat Falco constantly made him out to be.

And for the first time in the series, in The Lonely Mutation of Baxter Stockman, he says out loud that he has his humanity and is thankful he's fortunate enough to still have it when others lose it post mutation.

I previously went a bit more in depth about it in this post but the boys have witnessed Splinter grappling with being a rat, particularly with the Rat King's meddling, and Donnie sincerely believed giving him retromutagen would be something he'd want. This was clearly an idea that's been weighing on Donnie's mind for a while considering that he seemingly kept quiet about his plan until he completed the retromutagen, and he's the most upset when he has to use the remaining dosage for Kirby.

But Splinter tells him and the other turtles he's content as he is and wouldn't do anything to change himself this far in. And the boys all seem content with his answer.

With the invasion of the Kraang and his defeat at the hands of the Shredder, Splinter again comes face to face with his mutated genes, and there's no Rat King stringing him along this time. He'd been swallowed by delirium with the lack of familial support to pull him out of it, and he became spiritually disconnected from his body as a result. The gang is initially caught off guard by Splinter's state, but they quickly get over it and work to subdue him.

While the boys are pulled away into battle, April uses her powers to sift through Splinter's memories and, after showing him the time he asked her to train with him, we see a memory with the turtles, Karai, and his only family portrait from before his mutation:

Seeing his family is what manages to bring him back to his senses.

We the audience, as well as Splinter, figured that was the end of his troubles with being a mutant rat, but Shredder decided to bathe in some super juice and sent Splinter careening a thousand feet into a dark cavern, the same one Splinter sent Falco down two seasons ago. Being thrown into near total darkness with a fairly debilitating injury and fever was the perfect recipe for him to begin hallucinating, and he believes the Rat King is attacking him when he's most vulnerable. But just when he feels himself slipping further away, his mind goes straight to the day his sons celebrated their 15th mutation day, and just beyond them is Tang Shen.

He regains his clarity, grasps that Falco's been dead the whole time, and is immensely relieved to see Donnie and Mikey after what he'd been through.

"Perhaps a teacher, but never my master."

Falco inadvertently taught Splinter that he's always had his humanity, and his family serves as a reminder of that fact by remaining a constant and significant pillar for him.

His family is his humanity.

[pyreo]

I'm comparing the Dungeon Meshi manga to episodes I just watched and now I gotta capital-p Post about this one episode (spoilers past Episode 12)

So this part is an emotional side-step from the central throughline so far - Laios and Marcille got Falin back successfully and reunited, and they got that payoff from the very beginning where they thought it would be impossible. But Chilchuck is very much a part of these layers of development, so after that dragon finally dies, we stop for a second - Laios and Marcille are recovering, Falin has disappeared again - how does Chilchuck feel at that point?

It's the perfect stage to insert that because he didn't really share in that sense of victory in the same way as Laios and Marcille recovering someone extremely close to them. And that's on purpose because he keeps everyone at arms' length. As soon as that arc hits its end and Falin is recovered, there's at last space to ask - why is Chilchuck even here.

He's asking himself that through the chapter. Now that they've lost the person they intended to save, he regrets agreeing to come.

And starts shouldering responsibility for everything ending up this way. We saw that when he got stuck in the mimic room before - he refuses to let himself ask for help, or he'll try to take burdens alone to lessen relying on others. The original Touden Party was six people, and when Laios insisted on going back underground they were two, and he knew they would die, and figured maybe, maybe if they were one more, with his skillset, maybe they'd have a chance. He couldn't let them walk back down just to die.

And he's going back to that mindset - their lives are on me. He thinks he could have prevented this if he'd chosen differently. Essentially, the walk alongside the orc woman is him working through a guilt spiral.

He sees a second chance to correct that mistake of joining the party. He wants them out now, before they die. The orc asks him how they defeated a dragon and, in explaining it, he reminds himself of all the risky, ridiculous things they had to do, and he isn't satisfied with just getting lucky. Laios got his foot bitten off, on purpose! This proves to him that if they go any further they will not survive. And he hints at this dissatisfaction a couple chapters later, wishing his teammates prioritised things other than winning at all costs...

Like, obviously. The point of this chapter is Chilchuck pretending to be a self-serving coward. To the point where others react with disdain, even disgust, towards him because he wants to lie to Marcille and Laios to ensure they turn back. He's desperate to get out of a hopeless situation by any means necessary, and will destroy his standing in the group in a blink if it means nobody else dies. He has to go on a stupid mental health walk for his stupid mental health and talk through his little bout of panic and doubt.

'You called me a coward so don't be surprised when I act accordingly'

He needs someone very blunt to tell him 'dude you're not being a coward for wanting your friends to get out of hell alive. you're a coward for making excuses instead of honestly telling them your concern is genuine' and he BSODs about it. He needs to rant and externalise that frustration over their recklessness at a third party. He needs to scream that they are idiots because he's the only one for which the ends don't justify the means and he can't keep losing his mind over everyone's safety. Down to a point, the orc praises their ability to survive the explosion from the dragon's fuel sac, and it only justifies Chilchuck - Falin didn't even know she could cast the spell that stopped them all being killed, and they cannot continue getting lucky like this.

Anyway. The reason I stopped to think about it was this part-

Where he recovers Laios's monster-infused sword. The thing that made their situation in the dragon fight go from bad to worse, that he swore at Laios for in every language he knew. The most angry we'd seen him. And now he calmly picks it up and praises it for being the only one of them smart enough to make a run for it.

He's projecting, obviously. He's internalising the label of 'coward' and changing himself to fit it. And, look at him, he's so tired of this. It's evidence of his sheer exhaustion that his anger immediately disappears and he actually gives it a compliment. Him and Laios's sword, the group cowards, the only one who agrees with him.

Then, because he had a walk before getting into the argument, he's organised his feelings and drops all the walls and pretense and just says it.

There's a rule of writing where you contrast your high energy sequences with parts that are slow and mundane, to make the difference more apparent. I think that's why I like this bit so much. The fight against the dragon is long, and the emotional stakes are enormous. Right after that we have the bath scene with Falin and Marcille, and Laios ruffling Falin's hair, and this part that pauses everything to explore the stuff that Chilchuck finally needs to say. And it's wrapped in this neat little solemn journey to pick up their supplies and remember how it felt when all five of them had a meal around a real dinner table at last.

And because he doesn't resort to individualistic trickery, because he explains his point as a duty of care rather than pitting himself against the others, he gets backed up. Senshi agrees that they don't have the supplies to continue, and the orc lady mentions her brethren will return later and can give them support, all of which together breaks down Laios's singleminded devotion to his cause.

Personally I think the manga's better suited to comic timing, but in the anime you can get fleshed out little moments, like Laios's face journey as he realises the other three are making a good case for their survival.

This was my favourite part so far, and I like how both Chilchuck-centric episodes have separated him from the others. Because he won't reveal anything he's thinking otherwise. lmao