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hyuniemyunie · 3 months ago

Text

Across the Leoverse

different versions of leonardo hamato x reader

sfw

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(ФωФ): little moments with leos, established relationship, fluff, lil bit of angst here n there, mentions of blood and injuries, domestic fluff

2003 up to 2023 leo.

i love love love love tmnt stawp. i have a vid of 3yo me sobbing over my mom telling me if i dont brush my teeth she'll lure my "husband" out with pizza and hand him to shredder. said husband was leonardo.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

MORNING RITUALS

The first few times you stayed over in the lair, you’d awaken to the sound of his breathing—deep, measured, rhythmic—and realize, not without a flutter in your chest, that he was already up, already dressed, already kneeling on the mat across the room with his swords resting beside him. It used to make you self-conscious, the way he’d train before sunrise while you were still tangled in sheets and dreams. But then you realized that he wasn’t trying to be impressive or distant; it was just his way. His version of peace.

Eventually, you started joining him, not to train—though he always offered to teach you—but to sit beside him on the tatami mat, wrapped in a hoodie you kept in the lair, sipping slowly from the cup of tea he’d always have waiting for you. He never said anything during those moments, didn’t need to. Just leaned a little closer, let his shoulder press against yours. It became a ritual: his morning meditation, and yours—quiet, mutual grounding before the world started asking things of you again.

---

AFTER-MISSION CARE

There’s a specific look Leo gets after a rough mission, a tightness around his mouth, a flicker of guilt in his eyes even when no one got hurt. You learned to spot it early in your relationship, even before he admitted how heavily failure—or even perceived failure—weighed on him. He never really spoke about it. Not directly. Not unless you pried.

So you stopped prying.

Instead, when he came back with a split lip or knuckles scraped raw, you’d reach for the first-aid kit without asking, sit him down, and tend to him in silence. You learned the way he winced, not from pain but from being seen, from being vulnerable. You learned the small, silent language of his guilt—the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you cleaned the cut across his collarbone, or how he’d clench his jaw when you dabbed at a bruise on his temple. You’d talk softly about mundane things—what you made for dinner, what Mikey said that made you laugh—and eventually, the tension in his shoulders would melt just a little.

The first time he let out a shaky breath and leaned into your touch instead of away from it, you didn’t say a word. Just kissed his knuckles, right over the bruises, and felt the way his fingers threaded through yours in response.

---

WHEN HE CAN’T SLEEP

You woke up to the sound of his footsteps, soft but unmistakable, pacing. At first, you thought it was part of a dream. But when you cracked open your eyes and saw the empty space beside you, the faint light of the hallway casting long shadows across the floor, you knew.

You found him in the training room, of course. Sword in hand. Sweat darkening the edge of his bandana. You didn’t say anything right away—just leaned against the doorway and watched as he moved, fluid and sharp. But there was something off about it. A hesitation in the swing. A falter in the stance.

“Nightmare?” you asked quietly.

He stopped mid-strike and let the tip of his katana dip toward the floor. Didn’t look at you. Just nodded once.

You walked over and took the sword from him gently, like it was a weight he’d been holding too long, and set it aside. You didn’t ask what it was about. You knew he’d tell you if he needed to. Instead, you reached up and cradled his face between your palms, feeling the faint tremble in his jaw.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered.

And he just folded into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder, and stayed there like your heartbeat was the only thing anchoring him to the present.

---

QUIET CONFESSIONS

Sometimes, the deepest things he said came when he wasn’t trying to be poetic at all—when he was halfway between exhaustion and honesty, staring up at the ceiling from the makeshift couch-bed in your apartment while your fingers idly traced the curve of his plastron.

“I don’t always know how to be… just a person,” he murmured once, the words falling like water in a quiet room. “Not a leader. Not a warrior. Just… someone.”

You had looked at him then, surprised but not startled, and slid your fingers up to touch his cheek.

“You don’t have to figure that out alone,” you said simply. “You’re someone to me.”

His eyes had gone soft, distant. “I know,” he said, voice barely above a breath. “That’s the scariest part.”

And you understood, somehow—how terrifying it must be to be seen so completely. But he let you see him, over and over. Let you love him, despite the edges.

---

DUMB DOMESTIC STUFF

There was one afternoon when you walked in on him trying to fix the sink.

He had the most determined expression on his face, wielding a wrench like it was a second katana, muttering under his breath while Donnie hovered in the background, clearly amused but not interfering. You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, biting back laughter.

“Should I be worried?”

He didn’t look up. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You say that like you didn’t once accidentally decapitate a vacuum cleaner.”

“That was one time.”

“That was last month.”

He paused, gave you a flat look, then—when the pipe under the sink gave an ominous creak—sighed and set the wrench down.

“…Okay, I might need help.”

Donnie burst out laughing. You just smiled and walked over to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll go get the towels.”

---

LITTLE TOUCHES

He’s not very physically affectionate in public. Not in the way Mikey is, with his constant hugs and leaning. But in private, in the soft quiet of shared space, he touches you constantly. Not clingy, not needy, but present—a hand on your back when you’re cooking, his knee brushing yours when you sit beside each other, his fingers brushing your wrist as he passes by.

You started keeping count once, just for fun, of how many times he touched you in a day—twenty-seven before dinner. Thirty-eight by bedtime. Each one said something different: I see you. I’m here. I need you. I love you. He never said the words often, not out loud, but they were in every gesture.

And the nights when he did say it—usually quiet, soft, spoken like a prayer against your skin—you felt it in your bones.

---

WHEN HE LETS GO

There are rare, sacred nights when Leonardo actually lets himself laugh. Not the polite little chuckle he gives when Mikey’s on a roll, or the amused exhale when Raph gets caught in his own sarcasm—but a real laugh, warm and unguarded, the kind that shakes through his whole body and makes you feel like the universe just cracked open and let the sun in.

One night, it was because you were trying to do a yoga pose he’d shown you, and you lost your balance and flopped onto his lap in the most undignified way possible. For a second, you were horrified. But then he looked down at you, eyes wide with disbelief, and burst out laughing—full-on, head-tilted-back laughter that made your embarrassment melt away completely.

“You—” he gasped between laughs, “—you looked like a falling turtle.”

“Wow. I feel so loved right now.”

He pulled you up into his lap, kissed the top of your head, still grinning.

“You are,” he said, and his voice was so full of affection you couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

---

FUTURE TALK

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes, late at night when everything is quiet and you’re wrapped in blankets with the hum of the city in the distance, he talks about the future. It always surprises you, how gentle his dreams are.

“I think about a place,” he said once, voice barely more than a murmur against your shoulder. “Not a battlefield. Just… somewhere quiet. Green. A garden, maybe. Somewhere I could still train. Somewhere you’d feel safe. Somewhere… we could be.”

You reached back to thread your fingers through his.

“We could make that,” you said.

He was quiet for a long moment.

“I want to,” he whispered.

And you knew he meant it. Knew he could, if you stayed beside him.

---

THE MOMENT THAT STAYS

There’s one moment that lives in your mind more than any other.

You were standing on the rooftop one evening, watching the sunset bleed into the horizon, his hand warm and solid in yours. No words. No plans. Just the two of you breathing in the same sky.

And without looking, he said:

“I used to think peace was something I had to fight for. But with you… it’s just there.”

You squeezed his hand.

And in the hush of that moment, with the world spinning soft and slow beneath your feet, you believed him.

The distance didn’t kill your love, but it did stretch it thin across time zones and lonely nights, and it made his return less like a reunion and more like learning how to hold him all over again—learning that the Leo who came back from the jungle wasn’t the same one who left. He was broader now, more serious than ever, and sometimes got lost in his own silence like it was the only thing he trusted. But he looked at you the same way, touched you the same way—tentatively, reverently, like every part of you was a prayer answered.

---

THE RETURN

You still remembered the way his arms wrapped around you the first time he came back to the lair—not in some movie-perfect spin-and-dip hug, but something tighter, fiercer, almost desperate. He didn’t say much, barely got out a “Hey,” before his arms were locked around you and your face was buried in his neck. You could feel the roughness of travel in the folds of his bandana, smell the damp earth and jungle still clinging to his skin, hear the tremble in his breath as he exhaled like he’d been holding it for seven months.

You had whispered, “You came home,” and he’d replied, voice cracked with something brittle, “I had to.”

---

THE NIGHTMARES

He didn’t talk about what happened while he was away—not at first. There were too many ghosts in his silence, too many things he hadn’t processed yet. But the nightmares gave him away. You’d wake to find him sitting at the edge of your shared bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, breathing like he was still running through the jungle.

You didn’t ask what he saw. You just touched his shoulder, climbed onto his back like a child needing reassurance, wrapped your arms around his chest and pressed your cheek to the curve between his shoulder and neck. “You’re not there anymore,” you’d murmur. “You’re here. You’re home. You’re with me.”

And every time, he’d cover your hand with his and hold it like it was the only solid thing in the world.

---

DOMESTIC STILLNESS

The lair was quieter since his return. He wasn’t loud to begin with, but something about the way he moved now was even more subdued—gentle footsteps, careful glances, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take up space anymore. But you found ways to fill the quiet together. Long evenings reading on the couch, your legs tossed lazily over his lap while he traced slow patterns into your shin with a calloused finger. Sometimes he’d fall asleep like that, upright and still, head bowed slightly, your warmth the only thing anchoring him to the present.

You learned to cook simple things together—soups, stir-fries, quiet meals shared shoulder-to-shoulder in the kitchen while the city buzzed beyond the sewers. He once smiled halfway through chopping carrots and said, “I missed this.”

---

WHEN YOU FOUGHT

It wasn’t frequent, but when you fought, it was like a dam cracking. His voice rarely rose, but his words could cut sharp when he was afraid—“You don’t understand what’s at stake,” or “I have responsibilities you’ll never have to carry.”

And sometimes, it felt like he was still more committed to his duty than he was to you.

But when the silence settled afterward, when the adrenaline was gone and his shoulders dropped under the weight of regret, he always came to you. Not with grand apologies, but with his heart in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper, kneeling in front of you, fingers tangling in your own. “I’m trying to unlearn the part of me that thinks I have to do it all alone.”

And each time, you’d remind him—gently, sometimes with your own tears held at bay—that love wasn’t another mission to complete. It was allowed to be messy. To be shared. To be leaned into, not carried like armor.

---

HIS UNGUARDED MOMENTS

There was one rainy evening when you caught him dancing in the kitchen—not good dancing, not graceful or poised—but pure, genuine awkward foot-tapping and hand-flailing while some old soul record played through the static of the lair’s ancient radio. He hadn’t seen you come in, and when he finally turned and saw you, he froze mid-step, one hand still raised like a deer caught in the act.

You laughed so hard you nearly cried.

He groaned, turned around, tried to play it off—but you ran to him and threw your arms around his neck and kissed him right there, half-bent in laughter, rain thudding overhead and the smell of cinnamon from the tea still steeping.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggled into his skin.

His arms tightened around you, his voice low and happy. “I know. But only for you.”

---

WHEN HE’S SICK

He is the worst patient.

Absolutely the worst.

He tries to train through fevers, insists he’s fine even while coughing into his arm, and refuses to rest until you threaten to sedate him. You have to wrestle him onto the couch and pile blankets on him like you’re trapping a wild animal.

“You’ll overheat me,” he grumbled once, flushed and pouty under two comforters and a quilt.

“You’re a reptile,” you replied, adjusting his position.

He gave you a look that was mostly amusement and slight betrayal. You kissed his forehead before he could argue again, and he melted instantly, limbs going soft under your touch.

“Okay. I’ll rest,” he mumbled.

And he did. Because if nothing else, Leo always listened when you asked him gently.

---

HIS LOVE LANGUAGE

Leo was quiet with affection, but he showed it in the way he memorized everything about you—the way you liked your tea, the angle you curled into when you were cold, how you always tilted your head when trying to decide something. He’d hand you your favorite mug before you asked, pull a blanket over you without a word, step into the space behind you and wrap his arms around your waist like it was second nature.

When you were stressed, he’d set up a bath for you, light candles (awkwardly, because Raph always teased him for it), and sit nearby while you soaked, reading out loud from whatever book you were working through, voice calm and low.

When you were sad, he didn’t try to fix it. He’d just hold you—sometimes in silence, sometimes whispering little truths against your temple: “You’re not alone.” “I love you.” “I’m here.”

And somehow, that made everything bearable.

---

THE MOMENT THAT STAYS

There was one late night—city asleep, lair humming soft with the sound of distant subway cars—where you both lay tangled in a nest of pillows and leftover warmth, your head on his chest, his fingers trailing up and down your back with thoughtless devotion.

And he whispered, like it hurt to say, “Sometimes I don’t know if I deserve this.”

You didn’t move. Just rested your hand over his heart and whispered back, “But you have it. Every part of it. Every part of me.”

And he pulled you in like that answer was the only thing keeping him whole.

---

THE PATH FORWARD

He still struggled, sometimes. With balancing duty and love, with forgiving himself, with remembering he didn’t always have to be perfect to be worthy. But you stayed. Through every stumble, every silence, every moment where he thought he had to carry it all alone—you stayed.

And every time he looked at you, you could see it.

The peace.

The gratitude.

The quiet, relentless love that built itself up in the spaces between missions and memories, in every little moment you made together.

THE FIRST TIME HE REALIZED YOU WERE IT

It wasn’t even a grand moment. No sweeping music or slow-motion realization. Just you, one late afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the lair, a bowl of popcorn on your lap, humming some dumb song he didn’t even recognize while watching a show he didn’t really care for. Your hair was a little messy. Your shirt was one of his, worn and soft. Your fingers flicked popcorn into your mouth between laughs.

He was supposed to be training. Supposed to be focused. But something in his chest squeezed—slow, gentle, like his heart was blinking. And he knew, then and there, watching you in the glow of the TV, feet wiggling in time to the opening theme, that this was it. You were his person. His future. His home.

He’d said nothing. Just walked over, sat behind you, and rested his chin on your shoulder. Quiet. Heavy with feeling. You didn’t say anything either—just reached up and threaded your fingers through his.

---

MOVIE NIGHTS GONE WRONG

He always picked the cheesiest, most dramatic action flicks. You made fun of him relentlessly for it.

“Leo, why do they keep flipping over cars? There’s no reason for this car to flip. It’s a normal road.”

“They’re setting up tension!”

“That guy just caught a grenade with his teeth.”

“Okay, but it was symbolic.”

You spent the entire runtime with your legs tossed over his lap, throwing popcorn at the screen while Leo tried to defend the plot like he wrote it personally. At some point, your arguing always dissolved into giggles, and by the end of the night, you were curled up against him, his arm around your waist, your head tucked under his chin.

He always said, “Next time, we’re watching something serious.”

And then picked another action flick every single time.

---

THE TIME YOU TOOK CARE OF HIM WHEN HE WAS HURT

Leo wasn’t scared of getting hurt. He was a trained ninja. He knew pain. What he wasn’t good at? Accepting help.

“Leo, sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Leo, your side is literally bleeding onto the floor.”

“I’ve had worse.”

You had to push him—gently but firmly—onto the couch, your fingers tugging off his gear while he hissed and tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. You cleaned the gash slowly, carefully, your brows furrowed, mouth pressed into a flat line of worry.

He watched you, quiet. Noticing the way your hands trembled just a little. The way your lip wobbled like you were trying not to cry. And it hit him then, hard and sudden, how much you cared.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“Because you’re hurt, idiot.”

He reached up, brushing your cheek with a knuckle. “I’m okay. Because you’re here.”

You sniffled and swatted his hand. “Don’t flirt while you’re bleeding.”

He grinned anyway. Blood loss and all.

---

TRAINING TOGETHER

Leo was a surprisingly patient teacher—meticulous, focused, and always watching you with this tiny smile that said he was proud even when you were just learning how to punch.

He always caught you when you fell. Always adjusted your stance with careful hands, never too tight, just the right amount of touch to send a jolt down your spine.

When you finally knocked him on his shell (with some help, but you never had to know that), you stood over him panting, beaming, triumphant.

“Did you let me win?” you demanded.

He grunted, winded. “I plead the Fifth.”

You flopped down on him, laughing, sweat-slick and breathless.

“Next time, I’m going for Mikey.”

“Good luck,” he wheezed.

---

THE TIME YOU WORE HIS GEAR

You’d been cold. That was the only reason. His chest strap was nearby, and you’d slung it on over your hoodie just for warmth—but then Leo had walked in mid-strut and stopped dead in the doorway.

He stared at you like you’d grown a second head. Or sprouted wings. Or maybe both.

“What?”

“…Nothing.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He walked up slowly, eyes locked on you like you were something sacred.

“You can’t wear that,” he said, almost breathless.

“Why not?”

“Because—because I can’t focus when you do.”

You raised an eyebrow, smug. “Oh?”

He tore it off you in two seconds and kissed you up against the wall like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

You wore it again the next day.

---

RAINY DAYS

You curled up in his bed while thunder rolled overhead, legs tangled together under too many blankets, both of you sleepy and warm and tangled in that lazy affection that only came when the weather outside demanded stillness.

Leo read out loud. A book you’d been working through together, his voice low and slow and a little rough from how relaxed he was. You had your head on his chest, listening more to the sound of him than the story.

He paused mid-sentence and kissed your hair without thinking.

You mumbled, “That’s not in the book.”

“Should be.”

---

THE ARGUMENT

It was over something dumb. Pizza, or missed training, or him not letting you follow during a mission. But it exploded, like everything you’d both been bottling up came out in one go.

“You don’t trust me.”

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“And I’m not just something you can shelve when things get hard!”

Silence.

He stared at you, breathing hard. “I know,” he said finally. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You sat down hard on the couch, all your anger gone in one breath.

He joined you a second later. Quiet. Small.

“You mean everything to me,” he said. “It’s hard to let you be in danger. Even when I know you can handle it.”

You rested your forehead against his.

“Next time, let me decide what I can handle.”

He nodded. “I will.”

And he did.

---

WHEN HE MISSED YOU

He once went away for a training retreat with Splinter. Only a week. But it felt longer than that.

he called when he could. Left you little notes in your hoodie pocket. Texted you every morning:

Morning, Sunshine.

Stay warm today.

Eat something real today, no cookies for breakfast.

I miss you.

When he came back, he held you like the world was ending. His face buried in your neck. His arms iron-tight around your waist. You didn’t speak for a long time. Just held each other, breathing each other in, until the ache of absence finally faded.

Later that night, curled up in bed, he whispered against your cheek, “I love you more every day.”

You whispered back, “I never stopped missing you.”

---

WHEN YOU GOT HURT

He panicked. Like, really panicked.

There was blood. A sprain. You were limping. And Leo was at your side instantly, eyes wild, hands trembling, trying to touch you everywhere at once—your face, your arms, your legs—checking.

“Are you okay? Talk to me. Where does it hurt?”

You tried to laugh it off. “It’s not that bad—”

“You’re hurt.”

His voice cracked on the word.

He carried you home. Didn’t let go once. And when you were bandaged up and resting, he just sat beside you, head bowed, hands clasped.

“I can’t lose you,” he said quietly.

“You won’t,” you promised.

And he didn’t.

---

A PEACEFUL FUTURE

There was one evening where nothing hurt. No fights. No stress. Just the two of you on the rooftop, watching the stars through the hazy New York night. You were sitting between his legs, his arms around you, your fingers laced with his.

He murmured, “Ever think about the future?”

You tilted your head. “All the time.”

“What do you see?”

You leaned back against him. “You. Somewhere quiet. Maybe a cabin. A garden. Peace.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then he whispered, “I want that. With you.”

And you sat there, under the stars, wrapped in warmth and the promise of a someday that felt more real than any mission ever had.

WHEN YOU REALIZED DATING LEO MEANT NEVER BEING BORED AGAIN

It started with a text.

leo: meet me on the roof. urgent.

You panicked. Sprinting up the stairs, heart racing, imagining blood, tears, a krang invasion, a missile falling from space. Only to find him dramatically lying on the floor like he was in a Renaissance painting, hand over his forehead, face contorted in pretend agony.

“What happened?!”

He blinked open one eye. “They... they ate the last pizza roll.”

“…Leo.”

“I was SAVING it. It had my name on it. I wrote it in Sharpie. In cursive.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, but then he sat up and gave you the most ridiculous puppy eyes in existence.

“Only your love can fill the pizza-roll-shaped hole in my heart.”

You still kissed him. Because of course you did.

---

THE TIME HE TRIED TO MAKE YOU A ROMANTIC DINNER AND ALMOST SET THE LAIR ON FIRE

He insisted. “I can cook. I watched a whole two-minute tutorial. I am a culinary legend.”

You should’ve known something was wrong when you smelled smoke before you even got to the kitchen.

You burst in to find him frantically trying to teleport flames off the stove and onto random plates, his apron reading “Kiss the Chef (Or Else),” flour on his face, and one noodle dangling from his bandana like it had tried to flee and died in the attempt.

“I can fix this,” he said, wild-eyed.

“Leo.”

“You love me, right?”

“…unfortunately.”

He ended up ordering pizza. You both ate it on the floor, legs tangled together, sauce on your faces, laughing so hard your stomachs hurt. You never let him cook again.

---

WHEN YOU WERE SAD AND HE TRIED (HIS VERSION OF) COMFORTING YOU

He didn’t always know what to say when you were quiet. When your eyes didn’t sparkle like they usually did, when your words got shorter, sadder, when you started holding your breath more than speaking.

But he knew what to do.

He appeared in your room wearing a blanket cape and a handmade crown (don’t ask where the glitter came from), holding a glittery scepter made of a spoon and duct tape.

“I hereby declare today A No Sad Days Zone,” he announced. “By royal decree, you are required to be adored, pampered, and held like the precious creature you are.”

You blinked at him.

Then you burst into tears.

He panicked—panicked—but then you just clung to him and buried your face in his plastron, sobbing and laughing all at once, and he just held you.

He held you until the tears stopped. He kept the crown on the entire time.

---

COUCH CUDDLES, AKA HIS FAVORITE PASTIME

Leo would always pull you into his lap the second you even glanced at the couch. Movie night? His lap. Game night? His lap. Nap time? Guess what.

He called it “his throne,” and you were “the crown jewel.”

His arms were always wrapped tight around your waist, chin perched on your shoulder, legs tangled beneath you. He radiated body heat like a furnace and always hummed random songs in your ear—off-key, sometimes on purpose.

And if anyone dared interrupt?

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were trying to DIE today.”

---

WHEN HE GOT JEALOUS

He wasn’t mean about it. But he was dramatic.

Someone flirted with you at the hidden city market once and Leo stared them down with the intensity of a thousand suns.

“Hey,” you whispered, nudging him. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice,” he said, arm tightening around your waist. “I haven’t banished them to another dimension. That’s restraint, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, but he leaned down and kissed your cheek in front of them, whispering, “Mine,” into your skin.

You never saw the stranger again. You assumed it was a coincidence. Probably.

---

THE TIME YOU GOT HURT

Leo tried to laugh it off.

At first.

“You’ve had worse papercuts than this,” you groaned, clutching your arm.

“Yeah,” he said, voice too high. “Totally. Totally fine. Not freaking out. Nope.”

He teleported you to Donnie so fast you almost threw up, and then paced like a caged tiger while Donnie worked.

When Donnie said you’d be okay, Leo collapsed onto the floor in a heap of relief. “Sweet merciful pizza gods,” he moaned.

You stared at him. “You good?”

He reached for your hand from the floor. “You’re not allowed to die. That’s, like, the one rule.”

“I just sprained my wrist.”

“The ONE RULE!”

You had to climb down to kiss him where he’d melted. He didn’t move, just sighed dramatically. “Your love resurrects me.”

---

PILLOW FIGHTS TURNED WAR ZONES

It started innocent. A little bop to the head while you were both making the bed. He smirked. You smirked.

Then he jumped behind you like a villain and whacked you square in the back with a pillow so hard you went flying onto the mattress.

“You DARE challenge the champion?!” he cackled.

“YOU’RE A COWARD.”

War was declared. Pillows were shredded. A plush turtle went flying and broke a lamp. Mikey walked by once and got caught in the crossfire. Raph had to confiscate your pillows for a week.

But your laughter echoed through the lair long after the feathers settled.

---

LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS

It was 3 a.m.

You couldn’t sleep. And Leo… well, Leo never really slept unless he had to.

You were lying on the rooftop, side by side, the city humming beneath you, stars barely visible through the glow.

“I don’t get it,” you murmured. “Why me?”

He turned to you slowly.

“What?”

“You could have anyone. You’re Leo. You’re cool, and funny, and handsome—”

“Go on,” he said, waggling his brows.(or..the bones..that were there..)

You laughed, but looked away. “Seriously. You’re you. Why’d you pick me?”

He was quiet. Then:

“Because I’ve never met someone who looked at me like I was more than the jokes. Like I could be something... real. And you make me feel like I’m not pretending all the time.”

You turned back. His eyes were so soft.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I love you more.”

And then he kissed you slow, under the stars, like the city was just background noise.

---

THOSE TINY, SILENT MOMENTS THAT MEANT EVERYTHING

Like when he always waited for you to walk through portals first, just to make sure you’d land okay.

Or how he’d draw little doodles on your arm with his fingers when you sat beside him, absentminded and sweet.

The way he’d steal your snacks and then pretend he saved them from “spoiling.”

How his hand always found yours—without even thinking, like muscle memory.

The way he looked at you when you laughed too hard. Like the world had just started spinning again. Like you were gravity.

---

THE MOMENT HE KNEW IT WAS FOREVER

He had been scared. Of being serious. Of committing. Not because he didn’t love you—he did, deeply, wildly—but because sometimes he felt like a spotlight with nothing under it. All flash, no foundation.

But you believed in him. Always.

And one morning, you were curled up on the couch, your head on his lap, hair tangled, sleep-warm and safe, and you looked up and mumbled, “I want this forever.”

And Leo, for once, didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t tease.

He just smiled. Soft. Wide.

“Me too.”

THE FIRST TIME YOU REALIZED HOW HARD HE TRIES TO IMPRESS YOU

It wasn’t loud. Not like most things with Leo. Not like his chaotic flips through the living room or his exaggerated battle cries or the way he used to dramatically flop over the furniture anytime he got a scratch and yell, “Tell my story…”

No, it was subtle—like the way he started fixing his bandana every time you walked into the room, smoothing it out in the reflection of the toaster oven or tugging at his elbow pads like they were fancy suit cuffs. Like the way he stood a little straighter when you were around, or the soft flush that crept up his cheeks when you caught him staring too long. You hadn’t realized it before—how much he wanted to impress you, how every quip, every gesture, every over-exaggerated pose was him holding out his heart in his hands, not quite sure what to do with it, but hoping you’d take it anyway.

And when you finally told him, just barely above a whisper, “You don’t have to try so hard. I already love you,” he froze. Blinked once. Twice.

Then smiled—small and bright, the kind of smile that made your ribs ache with how tender it was.

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “But I’m still gonna keep trying.”

---

WHEN YOU FOUND OUT HOW PHYSICALLY CLINGY HE IS

Leo was a limpet.

If he was within three feet of you, odds were high he was touching you—elbow against yours while you sat at the table, knee bumping yours when you stood still, arm slung around your shoulder like he was your personal weighted blanket.

But his favorite thing? Cuddling. Not just cute, little snuggle-in-bed cuddling. Full body clinging. He’d sprawl across you like a blanket that talked too much, his chin resting on your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, legs tangled with yours like you’d both get blown away in a storm if he let go.

You couldn’t move. Not without hearing a soft little whine and feeling him grip you tighter like a sleepy octopus. “Don’t gooo,” he’d murmur into your shirt, voice muffled. “You’re my favorite pillow.”

Even if you peeled yourself away, you’d find him crawling after you five minutes later like a needy little cat. “Come baaaack, I miss you already,” he’d say, despite you having only gone to grab water.

You stopped fighting it after a while. Not just because it was cute (though it was disgustingly cute), but because the way he sighed when you let him hold you—like all his tension dissolved the second he had you in his arms—made something melt in your chest.

---

THE DAY HE BROUGHT YOU FLOWERS AND GOT PUNCHED (KINDA)

He’d been planning it for days.

You knew something was up. He’d been suspiciously sneaky, whispering with Mikey and giggling in corners, acting like he was pulling off a heist every time he left the lair. Then, one day, he came into your room holding a messy, chaotic bouquet that looked like it had survived a battle with a weedwhacker—but he was beaming, blue eyes wide and bright, petals in his teeth, leaves sticking out of his bandana.

“For you,” he said proudly, thrusting the bouquet toward you like it was Excalibur and you were royalty.

You stepped forward to take it—and promptly got smacked in the face by a thorny stem sticking out at an unholy angle.

“OH MY GOSH—I’M SO SORRY—I SWEAR I—MIKEY SAID IT WAS A ROSE—IS THIS POISON IVY—ARE YOU BLEEDING—SHOULD I GO GET DONNIE—IS THIS HOW I LOSE YOU—”

You were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.

He looked so distressed, cradling your face and inspecting the barely-there scratch like you were on your deathbed. “I just wanted to be romantic,” he sniffled.

You kissed him on the cheek and said, “You are. You’re the most romantic person I know.”

He carried that bouquet around for the rest of the day like it was sacred. Accidentally hit Raph with it. Refused to apologize.

---

WHEN HE GOT NERVOUS ABOUT SAYING “I LOVE YOU” AND BLURTED SOMETHING ELSE INSTEAD

You knew he loved you.

It was obvious—in the way he always remembered your drink order from that one place, in how he’d travel across five boroughs to bring you your favorite snack, in how he always instinctively stood between you and danger with his arm held out like a shield. But saying it? That was another story.

One night, curled up in a hammock, swinging slowly with the sound of the city murmuring through the lair vents, he was holding you close—closer than usual, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your back, his voice quieter than normal. You looked up, about to speak, when he blurted:

“I really like your face.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean—not just your face, I like—you. All of you. I just—you know—your face is—really great—and—uh—”

You stared.

He panicked.

“I LOVE YOUR FACE, OKAY?”

You were laughing before you could stop yourself. You grabbed his cheeks, squishing them until his words stopped fumbling out in a rush, and said, “Leo. It’s okay. I love your face, too.”

His whole body melted.

Later, when it was darker and softer and sleep was starting to curl into the edges of your mind, you heard him whisper it. So quiet it barely existed.

“I love you.”

You squeezed his hand and whispered it back.

---

THE FIRST TIME HE SAW YOU CRY

He didn’t know what to do at first.

You weren’t loud. You didn’t scream or sob or throw things. You just... shut down. Went quiet. Your hands shook when you tried to hold your cup. Your breath hitched like your chest was breaking under invisible weight.

And Leo—Leo, who could attempt to talk his way out of any situation, who could joke through danger and chaos and fear—suddenly had no words.

He sat beside you. Not too close at first. Let you curl inward, pull your sleeves over your hands. He waited until you looked up at him, until your walls cracked just enough to let him in.

Then he opened his arms.

You collapsed into him without hesitation, and he held you like you were something breakable and precious, rubbing your back in slow, even strokes, murmuring nonsense—little sweet words, things like “you’re safe” and “I’ve got you” and “let me carry some of it, please.”

And when you finally fell asleep against his chest, his hand in your hair, he whispered, “You don’t have to be okay for me to love you. I love you anyway.”

---

WHEN YOU GOT HURT AND HE WENT FERAL

He doesn’t remember half of it.

One second you were fine, laughing beside him during a fight, trading jokes and ducking lasers, and the next—someone knocked you to the ground. Hard.

He saw red.

He was not the biggest, not the strongest—not like Raph—but Leo was fast. And when he was angry, when something precious was threatened, he moved like a knife through air.

By the time the others caught up, the attacker was down—hard—and Leo was at your side, shaking, his hands hovering over you like he didn’t know where to touch, afraid anything might hurt you more.

You were okay. Just a bump. Maybe a scrape.

But he held your face in his hands and whispered, “I need you to be okay. I can’t—please—just—stay with me—”

You kissed him. Right there. Right in the middle of the battlefield.

“I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t let go of your hand for hours.

---

SILLY MOMENTS THAT HAPPENED WHEN NO ONE WAS LOOKING

Like when he tried to do one of those “cool lean-in” kisses and headbutted you by accident. You both had matching bruises for a week. You still call him "horny turtle" when you want to make him blush.

Or the time he accidentally turned on romantic music during patrol and started spinning you around like a ballroom dancer in the middle of a dark alley. “For ambiance,” he claimed.

When you were brushing your teeth and he peeked around the corner to rap battle with your mouth full of toothpaste. You lost.

Or how sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he whispers little things into your hair like, “You’re my favorite part of the day,” and “I think I want forever with you.”

---

WHEN HE KNEW HE WANTED YOU TO BE HIS FOREVER

He didn’t know how to say it. Not really. Not yet. But he knew.

It was a quiet night. You were sitting beside him on the fire escape, legs dangling, your head resting on his shoulder, the stars barely flickering against the smog. He looked at you—just looked—and felt that ache in his chest that wasn’t painful, just big. Too big to contain.

You turned and smiled at him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you knew he was in love without him saying it. And you kissed his cheek and said, “I’m happy.”

And Leo?

He held your hand and whispered, “Me too.”

But what he really meant was:

I want every tomorrow to have you in it.

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lotusapple-xia · 6 days ago

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LADs Men as Merman Headcanons

✰summary: Headcanons of the LADs men as Mermen ✰ pairing: Love and Deepspace x reader ✰ content: talks of oceans and fish duh ✰ w/c: 240-290 for each ✰ notes: Twas supposed to be for Mermay but alas i got busy 😞 but Sea God Rafayel has got me motivated!! note that this was started before Raf's merman form came out, i just finished it recently. i have to say zayne and caleb were the hardest to write😭. ENJOYYY

🪷Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

Xavier

Merman Xavier lives between the Sunlight and Twilight Zones, not too deep in the sea, but not near the surface either. His eyes are a pale blue and are bigger in merman form to take in more light in the depths. Xavier's complexion is quite pale, and that would also be the case for his merman form. His skin looks like moonlight, with certain areas like his neck and arms being almost translucent, revealing his veins underneath

His tail would be lithe, able to entangle his prey and suffocate them to death. His tail would be mainly silver with a few blue and gold scales scattered around. His tail fin has the same colour palette as the rest of his tail, starting opaque at the top and becoming clearer towards the tip. The tail fin itself consists of sharp, triangular fins that can cut his prey with a simple swish. Two extra fins sit on his lower back, similar to flying fish fins. He uses bioluminescence to navigate and lure in prey.

I think Xavier would be a nomadic merman. He would definitely stay in one place for as long as he can, but sometimes, when the environment changes past his liking, he will move to find one that reminds him of home.

Xavier loves to take you on rides in the water currents. Since he’s nomadic, he’s picked up on where water currents are like mapping highways. He likes seeing the wonder and curiosity in your eyes as you see new things, and he's so willing to use his broad knowledge to teach you about the places he’s travelled.

Zayne

Zayne lives in the Arctic as the environment matches his ice evol abilities. He lives in icy waters and keeps mainly to the kelp forests on the coastlines. He regularly swims about the coastlines to gather a range of different foods to keep a good diet. However, if he sees anything remotely sweet (sweet for a mer, not sure what that could be, maybe a type of fish?) he will snatch it up. He kind of hoards sweet food as it can be a rarity in such a cold environment.

Zayne’s tail would be steel grey and blue and have a layer of fat over it as an extra layer of protection against the cold. His overall body would be very long, so that small movements will help him swim faster and longer to preserve energy in sub-zero temperatures. His hazel, green eyes have a third lid to protect against ice shards in the water, and his hair is thick and luscious to keep him warm. Thick skin covers his fingers and hands to increase grip and blood flow to improve fine motor movement in the cold.

Zayne is very fond of the arctic animals, especially the seals. When he first moved to the kelp forests, the seals were wary of the newcomer, but with time, they grew familiar. Zayne’s favourite part of his day is tending to the family of seals near his home.

Lazily swimming around the kelp forests and underwater ice caves, Zayne and you prioritise your time together. You find yourselves swimming at the surface, with Zayne on his back and you on his front, holding hands like otters. He presses kisses to your head and holds you tight, so you stay warm and don’t drift away.

Rafayel

Rafayel, being Lemurian, would likely live in the Indian Ocean, as that's where Lemuria is said to have sunk. He’d thrive near the surface of the ocean with a view of the hot sun on the sea and a maze of coral reefs and kelp forests to swim through. The Lemurian Kingdom is made up of intricate, artistic marble buildings, which Rafayel patrols to ensure his citizens’ safety.

Rafayel’s hair would be longer than usual, at least reaching his chest. His ear fins are a luminescent blue with matching scales underneath his eyes. Rafayel’s usual striking eyes are even more alluring in his merman form, glowing a cold blue. His Sea God markings decorate his chest, and he stacks his extensive luxurious jewellery on his arms, neck and even waist. His tail would be a shimmering dark blue and purple with luminescent scales embellishing his tail and upper body. His tail fin would be similar to a beta fish but with more structure to support his body, his hips have beta fish-style fins to symbolise his status as Lemurian royalty and to support strong swimming.

Rafayel is a patron of the arts, so of course he would visit and sponsor theatres, dances and music. He loves his culture and actively participates in it. Singing and playing instruments are an important hobby of his.

You love braiding Rafayel’s long hair. Twisting sections into intricate hairstyles and decorating it with coral and shells, you treasure this time with him. These moments where he is not a primordial Sea God, just your Rafayel who pouts when jealous and adores you unconditionally. His devotion knows no bounds. Rafayel loves feeling your fingers in his hair, it’s a feeling of peace like no other.

Sylus

Sylus is a deep-sea mermaid living in the Abyssal Zone, an underwater version of the N109 Zone. The sunken ships act as safe houses for him; the ships have plenty of storage and are run down and rusted to the point where entering one can spell danger even for the strongest of merfolk.

Sylus’s waist is snatched, and his tail is long, thick, and muscular, with a base colour of a deep red that appears black. Long, thin fins border the sides of his tail, similar to an eel, with a razor-sharp tail fin that can emit electrical shocks. He has jagged markings running down the length of his tail and arms, similar to his dragon form. Sylus has a red jewel embedded in his chest that emits a faint red glow from bioluminescence. His teeth, like most abyssal marine life, are sharper than a needle.

Sylus often uses the combination of energy, bioluminescence and serrated teeth to hunt for prey. Depending on the day, he’d either eat the prey straight up or he’d bring them back to his cave to store them for later. He also hunts from below like sharks, to attack prey’s underbelly as that is a weak spot for most creatures.

Sylus loves guiding you around the Abyssal Zone. No human has ever been down to these depths and in your own mer form you enjoy exploring this otherworldly environment. He takes you to the sunken ships and gives you his treasures.

Caleb

Caleb would live near the surface in a warm tropical ocean near Southeast Asia or northern Australia. I can see him living amongst coral and taking daily trips towards the surface to bask in the sunlight and see the open air filled with clouds or stars. He also makes it a point to challenge other sea creatures.

His tail is thick and rippling with muscles similar to his human form. Caleb’s tail would have a mix of purples and blues that reflect his eyes, with a few orange scales scattered about that are most noticeable when the sun shimmers on them. He has markings decorating his body, along his chest, upper back and some on his face that act as freckles. His tail fin resembles a shark’s tail, forming a “c” in the curve. He has a dorsal fin on the back of his tail and fins on the underside of his forearms. Caleb has thin, soft fins around his hips that resemble coat tails like his colonel’s coat.

Caleb hunts by stalking his prey first before expertly planning an attack. This mainly applies to larger prey but if a smaller fish is particularly tricky, he tends to brute force them to not waste time.

Caleb absolutely loves to bring you treasures he finds floating on the water’s surface or the sandy sea floor. He’s a provider at heart and wants to ensure that you’re satiated with the best trinkets and food. He will go all out to make sure you’re never hungry, always going for the biggest prey to feed you well.

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jadeazora · 3 months ago

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Just a rundown of Spinel's tactical moments/crimes so far:

Spied on the group for a while, then launched an attack on the Brave Olivine and disrupted all of the electronics on the ship and their phones

Had his own Pokemon attack Friede while he ordered them remotely so the heroes would never see his face, and forced Friede to reveal his Trump card of Terastallization.

Lured a preteen girl into a dark alley and mindwiped her, stealing her pendant (creepiest scene from this anime, honestly)

Had the heroes going thru a wild goose chase by disseminating false intel online, and also had a decoy deployed to distract Friede, their strongest battler at the time

Tried to harm/kill a defenseless Dot (who had just become a Trainer that night!) by having his Magneton use Electro Ball on her (thank goodness that was precisely when Liko and Roy found her)

Had his Umbreon attack the kids directly when they get the upper hand against Beheeyem and Magneton.(and was about to attack Liko again right before a pissed-off Arboliva appeared to make him reconsider)

Kept some info over what he observed on the pendant and how it interacted with Liko/one of the Heroes out of his report to the other Explorers and Gibeon.

Had a disinformation campaign running again keeping the RVT from pursuing other hero Pokemon effectively

Was the one who cooked up the "Let's let the Rising Volt Tacklers do the work for us" plot

The plot to catch Rayquaza in Ep44-45 is mostly his, and he lures Friede off into a trap again. He also learned from last time, boxing Friede and Pikachu in a small location so they couldn't go all-out with Charizard.

Apparently noticed Friede was in Exceed, stealth-blocked Friede's friend from accessing the files on Laquium, and then stole it right out from under Friede's nose.

Drove his own Umbreon, a friendship evolution, into a painful, berserk state.

Trapped Amethio and Liko in an icy cave, they definitely could have starved or froze to death in there.

While it's later revealed that he left his Beheeyem behind to monitor things in case Liko and Amethio escaped, and later used that footage to claim Amethio had betrayed them and get him banished, I think his hope was that they died down there, going by the way he talks about things here:

Just the fact he manipulated the apparent main villain into kicking out his own grandson who was genuinely loyal to him, to make it easier to stab him in the back later??? He had Gibeon wrapped around his little finger!

Left his own underlings/security behind just in case Amethio/his grunts tried to raid his office looking for evidence that he planned to betray Gibeon, and had them lock him somewhere away from Exceed where I don't think he was expecting anyone to find them (he even had them take their PokeBalls, just so they couldn't escape again. Another possible murder attempt?)

This way he smiles here is a pretty clear "God, I can't wait to see the look on your face when I inevitably betray you." (That turned out to be unnecessary, but he does essentially betray Gibeon and his wishes after his death.)

Jumped Friede again and severely weakened his Pokemon just before the final battle, which lead to them going berserk under the effects of Laquium later. (Plus teaching Beheeyem Skill Swap to render Pikachu and his Electric attacks useless was such a smart move.)

High probability that those inventions thumping the ground to activate the Laquium were his, just as the Laquium Spheres were.

Waited until Terapagos was powered down/in a weakened state to reveal that it didn't purify all the Laquium, using the Laquium Spheres to gas the Heroes and drive them all berserk.

Flipped the narrative and manipulated the media against our heroes by claiming the Rising Volt Tacklers were responsible for the damage done to Laqua and Kumuri.

Captured 5/6 of the Six Heroes. (And since we still don't know what happened to Friede, given Spinel's interest in him and their rivalry, I'm looking at him as a possible culprit.)

Is still fucking around with Laquium and sending various Pokemon into frenzies.

Honestly, he's definitely one of the smartest Pokemon villains we've had, and I expect this already long-ass list to get even longer in the future 🤣

#pokeani #anipoke #pokemon horizons mega voltage #pokemon horizons #pokemon spinel #pokemon villains

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saphronethaleph · 1 year ago

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The Deal

“Only through me can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi,” Palpatine said. “Learn to know the dark side of the Force, Anakin, and you will be able to save your wife from certain death.”

“What did you say?” Anakin asked.

“Use my knowledge, I beg you…” Palpatine pleaded.

“You’re a Sith Lord!” Anakin said.

He reached for his lightsaber, then paused.

“That story you told, about Darth Plagueis,” he said. “You mean – that was true? He really did discover a way to save people from death?”

“Yes, Anakin,” Palpatine agreed. “And I will-”

“So,” Anakin interrupted, frowning. “How do you know it? You said his apprentice murdered him in his sleep.”

“Because he taught everything to… his apprentice… before dying,” Palpatine explained.

“Again,” Anakin said, patiently. “How do you know it?”

“I was that apprentice!” Palpatine explained.

“So you killed your master in his sleep, and you ordered me to kill your apprentice, Dooku,” Anakin said. “You know, Chancellor, this isn’t a great job offer.”

“But think of what you have to gain, Anakin,” Palpatine said. “I can save your wife. Isn’t that what matters?”

“...yeah,” Anakin agreed, still frowning. “So when did Plagueis die?”

“About… fifteen years ago, now?” Palpatine said. “Maybe sixteen? Something like that. Why does that matter?”

“Just wanting to make sure I’ve got all the information, Chancellor,” Anakin replied. “Who have you been healing? Because I don’t actually think you’ve got any loved ones.”

He made a face. “Obi-Wan once took me aside and told me about what to look out for when an older man was going to try and touch me in the wrong way.”

“You see?” Palpatine asked. “He doesn’t trust you!”

“I see his point, though,” Anakin said. “Because you don’t have any loved ones that I can think of, like I say… so who have you been healing?”

Palpatine frowned.

“...why does that matter, Anakin?” he asked.

“Because it sounds like you learned how to do this at least fifteen years ago and you’ve never actually tried it,” Anakin clarified. “Which really sounds like you can’t do it, or even if you could before your medical license has expired.”

“I most certainly can!” Palpatine said, his patience fraying slightly. “Anakin, I am trying to help you!”

“Okay, then,” Anakin replied. “Teach me now.”

Palpatine made a face.

“If I do that, then how will I know you won’t betray me?” he said.

“...you’re saying that the only thing that would keep me from betraying you is if you don’t teach me the healing technique,” Anakin said, nodding. “So you’ve got no reason to get around to teaching me. I know how to lure an Eopie, Chancellor.”

“It will take too long to teach you, anyway,” Palpatine declared. “We can’t do it tonight. It won’t fit.”

“You’re really trying to help me, huh?” Anakin said. “Because all the visions I’ve been having about my wife dying are about it happening soon…”

He stopped.

“Actually, how do you know about that? I don’t think I ever told you.”

“Oh, please, it’s obvious that you’re married-” Palpatine said, rolling his eyes.

“I mean about the certain death bit,” Anakin explained. “It’s a bit of a guess.”

He frowned, visibly thinking. “And, uh… okay, so what you’re saying is that… you’re a Sith, you want to take direct control of the Jedi, and that’s because of the war against the Separatists, who were led by Count Dooku. Who was your apprentice… and then for me, personally, you want me to turn to the Dark Side so you can teach me a healing technique you’ve never actually used yourself, while you’ve killed the last two people who worked directly with you the moment they were no longer useful to you.”

Palpatine looked pained.

“That’s a very negative attitude, Anakin,” he said.

“I want to make sure I’ve got all this straight, is all,” Anakin replied.

Mace Windu’s commlink beeped, in a specific pattern that indicated it was a member of the Council.

“Windu here,” he said, raising the device to his ear.

“Master, I quit,” Anakin told him. “Also I married Senator Amidala at the start of the war, Palpatine was the Sith Lord, and I’d quite like to sleep for a week at some point. I’ve had a very long day.”

“...what?” Mace asked, a bit overloaded himself.

“Like, I’m pretty sure my day has had the sun go down three times so far,” Anakin went on. “Also the Chancellor exploded when I killed him. It’s okay, he was shooting lightning at me, that makes it fair.”

#star wars #anakin skywalker #palpatine #another bad day for palps

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violenteconomics · 6 months ago

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FRESHMEN 101 FOR ASPIRING UPPERCLASSMEN

today’s lesson: proper communication and translation 🗣️

azul: greetings! i am your professor, azul ashengrotto! welcome to "freshmen 101 for aspiring upperclassmen" at night raven college! the only class that will you teach how to effectively handle those little brats— I MEAN loveable new faces you see around your dorm!

riddle: today, we will focus on how to properly communicate with your first-years. some of the things they say may be confusing and/or contradictory, so it's important to know how to translate their sentences into coherent language you understand.

vil: we have set up a variety of examples with our fellow co-professors and fellow seniors to guide you along this journey.

epel: vil, do you think i’d look better with a tattoo?

vil: translation: i am entering my rebellious phase and also want to ruin my delicate skin with a glorified paint job that i will most definitely regret in the future and will make me wish i had listened to my housewarden more. also, i have no hope of a happy future and will live out my days as a gangster on the streets.

epel: …what?

ortho: big brother, can you help me with a cosmetics alteration to my gear?

idia: big brother, i want to be the sparkliest, prettiest, most drop-dead gorgeous, most attractive, most charming, 5-star-reviewed, no notes, darling, glamorous, talented, brilliant, incredible, show-stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, stunning, bewitching, adorbs, graceful, beguiling, smashing, knock-out, irresistible person in the classroom tomorrow.

ortho: yay~! 😀

deuce: sorry i was out past curfew, trey… i’m a little tired, so is it okay if i skip brushing my teeth tonight?

trey: translation: i have a secret boyfriend that i don’t want you to know about because he coerces me to engage in illegal underground boxing rings and convinces me that brushing my teeth is for losers. please get involved and maybe call the police and also never let me out of the dorm again until i’ve properly relearned the benefits of proper dental hygiene!

deuce: …huh?

sebek: silver, i think… i would like to make some friends with the people in our dorm. could you… mayhaps give me some advice?

silver: translation: i am a strikingly realistic imposter of your actual friend. i do not love nor care for you, and in fact, am very frightened by your presence, so i will gather allies from other places in an elaborate scheme to destroy you, the liege you’ve sworn your life to, your father, and your friend, whom i’ve already killed and whose body i have hidden in the basement. please end me.

sebek: pardon? what— what are you— why are you carrying around a camera— NO! NO NO NO NONONONO SILVER IF I’VE OFFENDED YOU I DEEPLY APOLOGIZE— SILVER PUT THE SWORD DOWN—

yuu: everyday, i’m scared that everything i’ve worked so hard to build in this world, all the friends i’ve made… all of it will just— slip through my fingers like sand… kalim? azul? what are your biggest fears?

kalim: translation: wow, things sure have been getting a little upsetti spaghetti around here! let’s throw a huge party in the mostro lounge with food and games and bright lights and elephants and and invite all of our friends to lighten up the atmosphere! the more, the merrier!

azul: translation: and while we’re at it, please don’t forget the mostro lounge’s limited time “part of your world” event, which offers authentic drinks, food, and even little trinkets from all around the world, for 20% off its original price!

yuu: guys pls

ace: hey, riddle? i, uh… i need help with smth.

riddle: translation: i have gotten into some very serious trouble and am about to lure you into a death trap that will get us both severely injured in all likelihood, and i am coming to you, specifically, about this, because i know you care deeply for me and couldn’t say no if you honestly thought my life was in danger, and i am going to exploit it for my own ends. what is it, ace?

ace: …ok, u lil bitch i see how it is

jack: hey, leona? ruggie? do you… do you love me?

leona:

ruggie:

leona:

ruggie:

ruggie: translation: give me food!

jack: …would it help if i said it first?

leona:

ruggie:

leona:

ruggie:

leona: …no, wait— i think maybe he said “give me sliced pears on a plate”... not sure, tho.

ruggie: that does sound right...

jack: oh my seven.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst first years #deuce spade #sebek zigvolt #ace trappola #jack howl #ortho shroud #epel felmier #twst yuu #riddle rosehearts #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #trey clover #kalim al asim #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #maybe a lil ooc and not very funny but i liked it so who cares lol

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sillygoofyqueer · 10 months ago

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Bing-ge getting super sparkly/shiny jewelry with magical abilities and the wives are like “Ooh, could this be for me?” only, nah. It’s actually to lure in his future husband. Go away. XD

Ahhh! Shen Yuan making a safe haven for crows is a wonderful idea! Demonic crows or yao, whether they’ve cultivated human form or not, are all welcome! Regular crows too!

Since I love teacher Shen Yuan, of course he teaches all the younger ones too. Just because they spend half their time as birds doesn’t mean they can’t get an education!

The human half of his family are probably from some tiny village who gave offerings to the local crow demons and unintentionally became friends (crows being protective of their people and all). Their village is startlingly safe thanks to crows mobbing anyone who dares try to mess with them! There might be other half-crow kiddos running around too, thanks to the good relations. Shen Yuan tutors the village kids too of course!

(Tiny bit of angst, but Bing-ge burns with envy if he finds out! This half-demon friendly town was here the whole time?!)

This is adorable, Shen Yuan seeing these young children and just being like "...students." Sometimes, if the human children are extra lucky, he'll take them on flights as long as they have 'necessary payment' (usually a cool looking rock and proof that they've done their chores). It's impossible to find Shen Yuan without at least one crow perched on his shoulder or in his hair, unless he's going on - what the others describe as - dangerous escapades to nab cool stuff from Bing-ge's palace, in which he will know and stop anyone who tries to follow him because he's a dumbass with no self-preservation skills, not them! It takes him a startlingly long time to figure out that Bing-ge is leaving things for him on purpose, and he is undeniably shocked when he finds out. He eventually finally takes it as a form of courtship due to other demons' and humans' instance that it probably is. After doing research on crows courting one another, did you know that the males feed the females?? And sing to them?? SO, I immediately thought of the idea of Shen Yuan trying to reciprocate the courting (because he would never be so silly as to reject the emperor, no one in their right mind would) by randomly appearing in Bing-ge's room (much to Bing-ge's delight and confusion) and singing sweetly before feeding a willing emperor apple slices or some shit until Bing-ge reciprocates and feeds him in response and Shen Yuan just pauses and goes "hang on, am I the wife?" and immediately takes to the role without any thought. ("Why would Bing-ge be the wife, how foolish of me!") When Bing-ge finds out about the village that accepts half demons, of course he's a little upset! Why couldn't he have this sort of comfort and love in his life? Why did he have to suffer all this time?? Then he goes to this village so that Shen Yuan can show off his nest to the emperor (sign of trust?) and is immediately hit with the "I want to be here forever" train.

Also, the more you think about it, the funnier it gets actually lmao. He just shows up with these gorgeous trinkets and jewellery and sometimes even clothes (shiny embroidery of course), and they vanish and the wives are all like "where the actual hell are they going? Who do we even complain about??" and it could be like a background thing where the wives all get jealous of each other when there's actually just this bird guy who comes over quite often and started by stealing shit while dropping off helpful things. Imagine how strange that must be for the wives. "Ugh, [wife's name here] is taking all the attention away from us!!", "Really? I thought it was [other wife's name]." Meanwhile, there's just one wife (Liu Mingyuan most likely) who just knows and she doesn't tell anyone, content to watch as chaos ensues while the bird man and Luo Bing-ge fall deeper in love with one another, and the gifts get more elaborate each time. {part three! Part one, part two, part four, part five, part six, part seven!!}

#four answers asks #crowyuan au #I'm literally researching crows now #I cannot be stopped #scum villian self saving system #scum villain #svsss #shen yuan #luo bingge #bingge #binggeyuan #liu mingyan #four's asks

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dixonsgirl93 · 11 months ago

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What Daryl Dixon would be like in a relationship:

I can’t remember if I’ve done one of these before or something similar but oh well

Looking at how he was with Connie, he’d be a lot more smiley with you. Just seeing your face, knowing you’re safe and happy is what keeps him going.

He loves your laugh, no matter what it sounds like. Your happiness warms his heart. Even better if he’s the one to make you laugh.

He loves just touching you. Holding your hand, touching your lowerback as you walk, when you’re alone he’ll trace his fingers over your arms and back.

He’s extremely protective but not to the point you feel suffocated. If you wanted to go on a run he won’t stop you but he will make it known to you that he wants you back safe, even going so far as to almost threaten who you’re going with that you make it home to him.

He’s also more anxious each day, that you’ll be taken from him in some way. He can’t stand the idea but sometimes it’s all he can think about. You have to keep reassuring him that you aren’t going anywhere.

At first he was worried about another man trying to steal you away, always having an eye on you incase they tried anything on you. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, just that maybe they’d be successful at luring you away somehow.

He’d teach you how to use his crossbow, letting you wear his wings and even riding his bike with him behind you.

He doesn’t care if you guys don’t have sex regularly, even if you didn’t have it ever again. He enjoys it with you of course but he’d never pressure you, only ask if you were feeling okay.

He’d be rubbish in the bedroom, let’s be honest. You’d have to teach him, show him how to make love. He’d take every lesson to heart, wanting to make you happy.

He loooooooves going down on you. It’s his favourite thing. The first thing he learned how to do well and he cannot get enough.

I feel like he’d eventually be comfortable enough with you to be really chatty, talking about the old days with Merle or some random story that just came to him and you’d listen because he feels so comfortable and safe with you.

If something were to happen, and you broke up or if you died, he’d never move on from that. Anyone after you would be a pale comparison to you, no matter how hard he might try to move on.

#daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon imagine #daryl twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon twd #Daryl Dixon x you

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pimosworld · 1 year ago

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Back in your day

Joel Miller x reader

Summary-Just a little Drabble about teasing Joel about his age. Who can’t resist teasing that old man, especially when he’s been around so long.

CW- Unspecified age gap, Joel is grumpy and sweet( sour patch Joel), reader is a menace, fluff, teasing.

WC-444

[Joel Miller Masterlist]

You just love to push Joel’s buttons.

The way he narrows his eyes at you when he knows you’ve got something smart to say about his age. It used to bother him at first, the stark contrast of things you could relate to. Now that he's grown used to it you won’t waste an opportunity to poke the bear.

“What’s on your mind darlin’?” He’s sitting at your kitchen table reading the newspaper. Perhaps the only person you know who still religiously buys one.

“Oh nothing.” It’s said innocently enough as you wait for him to look up at you. His eyes peek over as he lets out a huff of breath to say get on with it. “I was just wondering what it was like to vote for Roosevelt.”

He flips the paper over in his hand as he looks suspiciously at you. “Roosevelt?” He opens and closes it again as you try to keep your face as neutral as possible. “Roosevelt!? I never…I wasn’t even-“

You can’t help your laughter as you steady yourself on the kitchen chair next to him.

“Oh, you just think you’re a regular fuckin’ comedian don’t ya?” He sets the paper down again and the brown in his eyes have practically disappeared with the way he’s looking at you.

Knowing when to quit was never really your strong suit….and Joel didn’t like quitters anyway.

You slide up behind him and smooth your hands down his shoulders. For such a stubborn brooding man, he really was easy to lure in. He immediately relaxes into your touch as you kiss the side of his face, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo and aftershave.

“I’m not trying to make fun honey.” He hums as your fingers graze his forearms and revel in the goosebumps left on your wake. “It’s just that you can show me things I never got to experience. Like black and white movies.”

You’re down the hall before he can will his knees and his back to move out the chair. A litany of curses flowing from him as his heavy footsteps echo down the hall to your shared bedroom.

Joel knows it’s all an act.

If it really bothered him when you were being a “pain in his ass.” You’d stop and he’d never hear another word of it. He loves it, you keep him young and you laugh at his jokes. You make him smile until his cheeks hurt and he doesn't think he could love anyone more than he loves you (bratty behavior and all).

And at the end of the day he can teach you a lesson.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller drabble #joel miller fluff #joel miller fan fiction #pedro pascal characters #joel tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #grumpy joel #peepaw joel #joelmiller

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luciusdaskel · 4 months ago

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Macaque Episode Analysis ramble

So I was talking with a friend about the possible psychological and therapeutic take aways from each episode of Lego Monkie Kid, since I love Psychology as a whole, and came to a conclusion. Macaque's episode has a fuck ton of things to analyze. Such as - Not every role model you meet will be a good person Trust your teachers Don't push yourself too hard otherwise you'll get hurt, manipulated and possibly die (let's be real, Macaque would've killed MK if Wukong didn't step in) And, grooming They will all be covered as I explain the episode in depth. When MK first meets Macaque he thought he was Wukong but even after Macaque declines, MK still had stars in his eyes of pure admiration. He clearly looks up to Macaque since he was just as cool if not cooler than Monkey King. Within the very next second Macaque started the process of grooming, after a tiny test to see how strong MK's admiration was. "[...] I thought uh Monkey King was training you. [...] but you can never have too many teachers, I'm sure Monkey King would agree. [...]"

Then Macaque starts to train MK. This shows the duality of Wukong's more MK's current strength and capabilities training versus Macaque's more destructive and dehumanizing training. With Wukong's "Patience and focus, step into the strike", clashing with Macaque's far more brash "You don't use a weapon, you ARE the weapon." This is effective at isolating MK from Wukong and his teachings because MK feels like he is actually powerful now.

As Wukong says, MK's body isn't strong enough to handle the power. This applies to real life too. If someone tries to weight lift something too heavy for their skills, they could get seriously hurt. This is the just magical equivalent of weight lifting. But because of Macaque's influence, MK fights back and isolates himself from Wukong, his trust worthy mentor. This leads Macaque to his final part of his plan, lure MK into a trap with his full hearted trust in him.

Then Macaque finishes his plan by stealing MK's powers. Let's be honest, with how things were going and by our impression of Macaque in this episode, Macaque would have likely killed MK if it weren't for Wukong. OR left MK to die with the staff pressing him against the moutain. What can we gather from this? Well, first and foremost, MK's admiration made him an easy target for manipulation, and what resulted was MK nearly dying from the ordeal. Check for "not ever role model will be a good person", since Wukong is ALSO a role model, but a good one because he doesn't literally groom MK. (More on that in a minute.) Wukong was right and MK does what he taught him then admits his wrongs by the end and opens up on why, which Wukong responds with "Hey, your heart is in the right place, kid. We can work on the rest." MK learned to trust Wukong when he was teaching him something because ultimately that's what saved his life. I'm not saying trust EVERY authority figure, but one that is teaching you something that you trust and know will not hurt you. Get yourself a Wukong for your MK. Macaque's training has lasting impact on MK, making him feel like he needs to give himself up for others. Before this episode, MK never had the need to sacrifice himself or really seemingly blamed himself for anything. Macaque's dehumanizing training left MK with lasting damage to his mental health and also led to MK not being able to pick up the staff, granted that was after Macaque gut-punched the power out of him.

Ouch...

So, I hear you ask, "Ok, you made your point about various things, here but what about grooming? That's a bold word." Yes, it IS a bold word, especially considering the fandom space being primarily for children. However, I will clarify that grooming does not only apply to sexual circumstances.

This is from the official Canada public safety about child grooming. Notice the none sexual tactics.

"Make promises of a better life" - Promises to make MK stronger/a better fighter/hero

"Cause divsion saying "your parents are too strict" or "your parents don't understand you"." - Macaque says "Other people are going to tell you to be patient. They are slowing you down." to directly conflict with Wukong's training, further dividing MK and Wukong.

"May threaten or pressure your child to do what they ask, which could lead to sextortion." - Might not be explicit but it is implied MK had some minor doubts by the end of the training and was literally pushed into battle. Also he threw MK into the weapons rack on their first session, showing that MK was "weak" and prompted him to take up his implicit challenge, his trick. It's unclear if Macaque ever threatened MK while training, but I doubt it and he just pressured him and manipulated his drive and determination.

One that people might argue is "Approach your child online by pretending to be someone they're not - may falsely identify themselves as a person from school, or someone their age, to build a connection." but I believe it applies. - Macaque comes in creating a show with his own kaiju form, either to make himself popular or to attract MK or Wukong. Regardless, he seemed uncomfortable at first but once he prompts up "But you can never have too many teachers", that's when he starts creating a false identity, a trustworthy teacher who knows better than Wukong. That's also neglecting the fact Macaque pretended to not be that smoke demon.

If that's not "pretending to be someone they're not", then I'm not sure what is. Also for specifically adult grooming,

More signs I feel apply are;

"The person becomes withdrawn, or they may seem troubled by something but unwilling to talk about it. Alternatively their emotions might become volatile." - When Wukong points out MK has been running around other mentors, MK sounds calm and cold, like he was withdrawn. Then when Wukong presses on, MK yells at him and doesn't talk about exactly what was bothering him other than "You just don't like that there's someone who actually teaching me what I need to know."

"You notice them using or wearing something new, that you didn't buy [or teach] for them." - I added teach because Wukong points out he never taught MK how to break a wall like that, and was concerned and upset that MK learned that too quickly. Within that same scene, after MK yells at him, that's when Wukong notices the new symbol on MK's jacket and frowns. That's when he knows MK is being groomed, and by who.

"Groomers often aim to isolate their targets from their family or friends." - Well, we never see Mei, Pigsy, Tang, or Sandy in this episode, after the first meeting and they act like MK was gone for a month or more (could easily be a week lol). On top of that, Macaque was causing a divide between MK and Wukong. MK was very clearly pretty isolated already, and so Macaque just had to remove MK for MK's full reliance.

"The person might be spending more time on the phone, or online, than usual. But they won’t say what sites they’re visiting, or who they’re talking to." - This speaks for itself, but it's likely MK was training more and more with Macaque than being around his own friends, especially considering by previous point.

youtube

This video goes into great detail on how it happens, why the victim is manipulated easily, and what it does to someone. Granted this video is about a long-time grooming, but I believe the point and the awareness stands. If Macaque had been grooming MK for about a year or more, I feel MK would be closer to these signs than he is in the cannon LMK. Anyways! I hope you had fun with my analysis, and let me know if you'd like more! I love to just ramble about the psychology of certain characters or the takeaways of LMK episodes! I'd love to do Wukong, Macaque as a whole (not just the episode), MK, Xiangliu/Nine mayhaps?? Or even the Focus episode or something else- I have a minor analysis on the focus episode already in my head lol

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk macaque #lmk analysis #lmk theory #?#lmk mk #lego monkie kid mk #macaque lmk #lego monkie kid macaque #lego monkie kid sun wukong #sun wukong lmk #lmk sun wukong #lego monkie kid monkey king #lmk monkey king #Macaque Episode #Youtube #my post

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madschiavelique · 2 years ago

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𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : miguel didn't like very much the way you left him all horny for you in the toilets during the unexpected mission, so once the anomalies have all been maintained, he decides to teach you proper manners

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, lots of tension, soft!dom miguel, quick boob job, cunnilingus, "it's too big", pnv sex, miguel teaches reader magic words, so much kissing i swear, no use of Y/N, biting, mention of scars (from fights, miguel's) - let me know if i forgot any !! word count : 7,7k

note : i'm sorry i took SO LONG writing this baby, but here it is (and not yet proofread but i couldn't wait hehehe). the end is corny i AM SORRY but it was already long and this is to keep a pretty open. thank u all so much for ur support !! we passed the 400 subscribers today and i'm literally jumping to the ceiling of happiness. this is the last part of the 4shot, i hope you liked it <33 i was super inspired by Shameless by The Weeknd (one of my favourite songs hehehe). enough of me talking, love u guys !!

the previous parts : 1 - love bite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission

tag list : @marit332 @coralineyouareinterribledanger @sunnyx07 @mamamiriamxo @l3laze @amy180801 @gojos-goth-gf @readingfan @cheezit-luv3rr @scaleniusrm @cowboyharrryy

Miguel hadn't followed you, so you decided to lure the creature back by calling out to it:

"You're really terrible at hide-and-seek, you know that?”

Suddenly, it turned towards you and charged at you as you leapt into the air to keep it at bay, at least long enough for Miguel to finish... what he had to do. The sound of his breathless voice replayed in your head, the heat in your cheeks rising. You propelled yourself silently up to a floor above, observing the behaviour of the dough.

The feel of his fangs on the skin of your neck, his tender kisses on your cheeks, the hard feel of his erection against your thigh as his claws pressed into the skin of it...

"Oh my god you're going to be the end of him!" exclaimed a small voice beside you.

The anomaly turned towards it at the same time as you: Lyla.

"Lyla?" you choked out, swivelling your head just in time to avoid the anomaly that had climbed extraordinarily nimbly to your floor.

"His pulse quickened, his body heat increased and his muscles contracted amazingly hard!" she chirped as you mimed shutting up or lowering her voice, but she wasn't listening and you started darting from floor to floor as she continued "You've got him completely wrapped around your finger! No pun intended."

"Please Lyla, keep it down!" you begged her, feeling like a huge red tomato as you blushed and above all hoping not to be chased away by this abomination.

"Oopsie," she smiled, placing a hand over her mouth.

The anomaly swung a ball of paste at you, and you narrowly avoided it as it crashed and exploded with power, splattering you as it went, a large drop smearing across your suit.

"I didn't know you had access to... all this," you muttered breathlessly as you ran down a corridor to get away from the unspeakable thing. "It doesn't matter... Yes, it does matter actually, how come?"

"Don't be angry, you've just given me what little fun I'm allowed to have," she said with a pout, "you know, programme life isn't always fun."

Out of breath, you let out a sigh that relaxed your shoulders with its depth. You shook your head for a moment.

"Well, we'll talk about it later, can you identify this for me?" you asked breathlessly, silently, as you spooned some of the substance and held it up to a small metal support on your watch, which lit up when you dropped a little on it.

"My pleasure, sugar," she said with a quick clap. "Hmm, that looks like a basic bread dough mixture to me. Flour, water, salt, yeast, not forgetting the anomaly gene, otherwise it wouldn't be any fun."

"It's true that I'm bursting with laughter," you say, putting both hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath. You looked at her for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek, hesitating before asking, "Is Miguel... Done?"

"Yep, he's on his way," she said, giving you an amused wink, and you couldn't help but let a little laugh slip from your nose.

"Right," you said, clearing your throat so the anomaly could hear, "I'm going to lure this thing towards the exit!" You could hear the oily, slimy sounds coming in your direction, turning to Lyla one last time to ask: "Make sure you send Miguel my location, okay?" you said as you started to trot off.

"Already done!" she replied, blowing you a kiss which she pressed onto her hand before disappearing in a cloud of pixels.

You ran on, stammering aloud to keep the beast at your heels: " Come this way! You know, I think you'd really like rock, I've got two friends who play really well, I think you'd love to meet them!"

The pile rumbled behind you. You leapt into the air, grabbing the glass dome and hanging upside down, standing with your arms crossed over your chest.

"No, really, I think you'd like it. Oh well! You've got a head that could listen to metal, plus you've got exactly the right mouth shape to sing it, you know."

It was rumbling from the ground, right underneath you.

Then, just above you, you felt a tap on the thin glass roof, and when you looked up, you saw Miguel. It was a funny sight, the way you were standing made it look like you were reflecting yourselves in a mirror.

"Oh, hi there," you smiled behind your mask, taking on a slight intonation as if you hadn't been the cause of his delay. "Did everything go well?"

He let out a desperate sigh, the red glasses on his suit narrowing, before simply saying:

"Something unexpected came up, it was very... frustrating. But I'll wait."

I'll wait. The very word made you gulp.

"Observations?" he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the anomaly just below you.

"It's dough, we'd just have to find something to bake it with," you suggested.

Outside there was a loud bang: the lorry Gwen and Hobie had been chasing had started to roll over, and the anomaly, just as alert as you and Miguel, leapt towards the first bay window to get out.

Gwen and Hobie seemed to have managed to deal with their anomaly, the truck was completely dented, sideways, and luckily for you, the oil from the truck was starting to spread on the ground. You got out, Miguel following to examine the situation. All it needed was a spark...

"I'll try to coat it with a bit of oil, find a lighter, a box of matches, whatever," he warned, before dashing off towards the pile of dough.

You looked around, and there, as luck would have it, was a convenience store. You leapt towards it. Managing to light a lighter with your costume on would be complicated, so you managed to find a box of matches, rushing towards the street again.

Miguel kept jumping up and down to coat the anomaly, and when he finally saw you coming, he shouted: "Light it up.

So you grabbed a match, struck it against the side of the box and threw it into the oil. You stepped aside and ran further to avoid taking any damage from the fire. It immediately licked at the anomaly, which let out horrible, high-pitched screams as the paste on its body cooked and smoked, turning golden and thinning little by little.

And so, you launched the multidimensional cell that had been given to you, and finally imprisoned the anomaly.

"I think 'the more the merrier' is a phrase I like less and less," said Gwen as you catalogued the anomalies.

"Are you kidding me? This was so much fun," said Peter. "It was like doing MMA!"

"Speak for yourself, we took care of the Magic Bus driver," Hobie huffed.

"I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud of our muffin," you agreed.

"You have to admit it smelled good," confirmed Pavitr.

Everything had gone well, Gwen had finished her exam period and you were all filling in your reports. Everything was going well, and everyone was pretty relaxed, except maybe you.

It was a pretty nasty trick you played on Miguel, leaving him like that, so close to the climax, and then leaving. And somewhere in there, you feared and waited impatiently for what was to come.

You couldn't help glancing at him from time to time. He seemed to be concentrating, but sometimes you could feel his gaze on you, insistent. You found him incredibly calm, and maybe it was just because he hid it well, but just to see him lose a little of that control, you managed to brush past him for a moment when no one was looking, your knuckles deliberately brushing his thigh before joining the others. Pretending to be interested in their conversation, you couldn't help but glance over at Miguel.

Death stare was probably the closest you could come to defining the look he was giving you at that moment, and a shiver of dread ran down your spine as you swallowed. He seemed to chew the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying to act as if nothing had happened.

You weren't going to get out of this alive, or entirely.

"Well, I don't know about you, but the lack of sleep knocked me out, so I'm going to bed, see you later!" said Gwen before leaving.

"Same here, see ya," said Hobie.

And successively, the only ones left were Peter, Miguel and you.

He waited patiently, with you beside him, until Peter had finished his report and, like all the others before him, had gone to sleep. The seconds seemed to stretch out painfully, every movement and possibility accentuated by the wait. Miguel seemed tense, and you had no idea whether Peter could feel it from his side too, but you could feel your skin tingling with anticipation.

Every moment, every second tickled your mind and body like tiny needles, Miguel's gaze resting insistently on yours.

"Well, that's not all, but I think we've all got better things to do than hang around making a report," Peter yawned. "Good night, sleep well."

Oh, it won't be sleep.

He then waved goodbye one last time, turning his back to you as he headed for the exit. Miguel turned to look at you, taking a deep breath as he tilted his head back to look at you from an even higher angle.

The footsteps echoed around the room, fading away little by little as Miguel's eyes turned red, yours watching them and stifling a gasp. He took a single step closer, no more, but it was enough to intimidate you and for you to take a step backwards.

It was when the door finally closed behind Peter that he grabbed you powerfully around the waist and pinned you down on one of the desks, causing you to squeal in surprise as you widened your eyes for a moment, blinking frantically. In less time than it took to say 'empanada' Miguel had you completely under control, immobilising you faster than poison and more powerfully than a pair of handcuffs.

His nose wrinkled slightly.

"Did you enjoy your little act?" he asked, his tone extraordinarily calm, which made him all the more menacing. "Leaving me like that without finishing what you'd started?"

Your heart was racing, and suddenly just meeting his gaze seemed too powerful to maintain eye contact, so you turned your head to the side. Was it simply because you were embarrassed by your own little prank, or was it just that the intensity of his eyes on yours was too much? But Miguel wasn't going to have it any other way, so with one of his hands he grabbed your jaw and redirected it so that you were facing him.

"It's very rude not to look into someone's eyes when they're talking to you, you know that," he whispered, moving a little closer. "We're going to have to correct that, and teach you polite forms of address."

And you couldn't argue with that, because right now it wasn't a choice you had to make.

"Speaking of politeness, I realise that you haven't used any magic words so far for our little encounters," he said, his thumb pressing and digging into the skin of your cheek.

He moved a little closer, tilting his head to one side as you felt his nose brush against yours, moving a little closer still to feel his lips brush against yours, the simple touch of them sending little electric currents of excitement through you...

But nothing, he just grazed his lips against yours, not moving any further, but not backing away either. Your breaths collided softly, his eyes still fixed on yours with insistence.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice composed and contained, as you tried to free yourself a little from the hold his hand had on your jaw, to no avail.

His lips, so close to yours and yet so far away, gave you electrifying sensations, but you wanted more. You wanted the two of you to kiss, for your lips to become one again, for you to be able to offer him the body's 'I love you'.

So you tried to move a little closer, meeting his lips to satisfy your desire, no, your need. But he pulled back slightly, causing you to sigh in disappointment. No, you'd have to tell him.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice small but audible, as if you were pouring your desire into his plump lips.

A smile, the stretch of his lips pulling them a little further away from yours.

"Where," the question sounding more like a command.

His thumb eased a little in its pressure and caressed the skin of your cheek for a moment before sliding across your chin, settling just below your bottom lip.

"There," you replied, your desperation for more contact growing stronger by the second as the only thought on your mind was his kisses.

You wanted to taste that rainy, woody flavour on his lips again, and feel them assault your body with kisses.

"Only there?" he questioned, provoking your cravings even more as your impatience was felt almost painfully.

It didn't seem fair, he seemed to possess incredible composure and cold-blood as your veins pulsed through your body like lava flowing from the volcano of your heart.

The little game Miguel was playing with you almost felt like a little revenge. Could you blame him? He wanted all this as much as you did, but he liked balance, he liked things to be even, and he was making you pay for the advance you'd dared to take from him.

His thumb pressed against your plump lip, his skin barely brushing against it, and it felt like a thread sticking out with no way of pulling on it.

"Yes- No!" you moaned, feeling like a child who was denied a sweet treat, unable to hide your longing for more as his touch confused you, "everywhere."

His lips were parted, as close as ever, his warm breath spilling over yours. His thumb had moved up the curve of your lips to press against the volume of her, his eyes fixed on it.

"I didn't hear that properly," he said, his eyes returning to yours.

Their carmine colour reflected your face: eyebrows slanted back, eyes almost watery, his thumb resting on your lips as he continued to caress it mathematically to elicit a reaction from you.

You tried to squirm away for a moment, but Miguel's hand on your waist held you in place with incredible ease.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously your attempt was in vain, he hadn't started hand-to-hand training the day before like you had, he'd been an ace at physical power and combat for much longer, so of course he could immobilise you in less than no time and much less delicately if the mood took him.

His lips brushed yours a little closer, and you could almost feel them completely. But this tiny glimpse of heaven wasn't granted to you, and you whimpered for a moment before finally just saying:

"Kiss me," you whined, "please."

His eyes crinkled with his smile.

"Mira que buena."

He finally kissed you, and it was like you had taken cotton candy in your mouth and as it melted you could feel all the little crystals of sugar that were hidden by the fluffiness of the sweet, a moan of relief vibrating from your lips against his lips.

Millions of tiny sparkles crackled under your skin, rising to the surface like champagne bubbles as Miguel cupped your face and kissed you. He took your lips as if you were holding the air that allowed him to breathe, his hand going round your side to slip under your back, pressing against your pelvis to bring it close to his.

He bit your lower lip lightly before pulling away, his half-closed eyes looking into yours again. His hand came to caress your cheekbone gently, with a tenderness that was almost unlike anything he had ever offered you before.

"Tell me more about these desires you mentioned.”

Your breath caught slightly, and you suddenly felt your face heat up fiercely, as if you were leaning over the hearth of a fireplace, its fire licking your face and your being from afar. You swallowed, formulating out loud your desires, all those thoughts you'd had about him even after your meeting at the Conditioning Centre and what had happened in the cabin, seemed difficult.

"Come on, don't be scared," he murmured before leaning over to kiss your forehead gently, offering you soft, sweet words to help you get the burning out of your soul.

All those thoughts you'd had, those warm nights during that week when you'd imagined the feel of his fingers, his lips, the sweet words that interested you as he searched inside you to expose you to him emotionally, all of them could be said, especially the one that was vibrating immensely inside you at the moment.

"I want... I want you to..."

You had the impression that the words you were about to say would be like throwing a tiny stone into still water, like stepping on ice and feeling it crack, like throwing alcohol into the fireplace that was warming you up.

The hand that was resting on your cheek ran down your neck, brushing your chest as it slid to your hip and slid all the way down to your thigh, stopping in its descent at that very spot, his hand gripping it.

"Hmm?" he asked, his humming vibrating against the skin of your cheek and tickling you.

You bit the inside of your lip, your teeth pressing into your flesh and trapping some of the wet skin against your bottom teeth. You released this clutch with a gasp as your voice dropped to a whisper when you whispered :

"I want you to fuck me."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled, an eyebrow raised, his proud grin stretching across his cheek as his lip parted wide enough to reveal his fangs. He came to kiss your cheek, his soft lips caressing it as his lashes offered you butterfly kisses.

His grip on your thigh softened, his thumb making circular movements against your covered skin as a warm cloud began to form in your lower belly.

"Say that again," he said, his breath landing on your neck as his thumb began to move slightly up your inner thigh.

You tilted your head back, closing your eyes as the simple sensation of his fingers on your body caressed you sublimely, a sigh of ease slipping from your lips. Miguel then took the opportunity to kiss the corner of your jaw, laying a trail of kisses that mixed sweetness and hunger, kissing and biting your skin. He lowered his lips a little further down your neck and kissed you lazily, the coolness of his lips meeting the fire burning at the back of your head. His lips reached a sensitive corner, causing you to let out a moan.

You moistened your lips, your cheeks burning as Miguel's fingers traced the sensitive skin of your thigh and his other hand rested on the small of your back, close to the cloud of heat.

And he expected you, with all these delicious distractions, to be able to string a sentence together properly and clearly. So you tried to speak louder, swallowing before saying:

"I want you to fuck me."

His lips came away from your neck, just brushing your ear before coming back to face you. The red of his eyes was deep, hungry, but above all attentive to your every move, which made him even more intimidating. His lips were so close to yours that you could feel them moving close to your skin as he spoke.

"There must be something with my hear because I can't hear properly what you said," he said, his tone a little less contained than he had managed to convey before, less composed, "say it louder."

His fingers continued their trajectory, very close to you, to where your desires came from, the knot in your lower abdomen tightening even though he never reached the spot. So this was the intense despair he'd felt earlier? The pain of his desire overcoming his thought and logic in the simple hope that he would be touched to turn the pain into sweetness?

You tried to move your hips a little, in the simple hope that he might go further, touch you, but he steadied you in an instant with his hand on your back, making you let out a little cry of longing.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze meeting his for a moment, and you saw it in the reflection of his eyes: the breadth of your desire spreading through your whole body.

You breathed in, gathering your strength and thoughts to say, "I want you to-"

His hand went up your back to the nape of your neck and traced up and down your spine, your body undulating uncontrollably as you concluded with a strangled sigh:

"Fuck me, please."

His carmine eyes watched you through his long black lashes, a proud sneer stretching his lips, your request seemed to have pleased him greatly.

If you had something to ask him, you might as well ask him politely. He tilted his head to one side, the light illuminating his jaw over his massive shoulder, it was so sharp it could have cut glass. Did he have any idea of the hold he had over you?

"Muy bien, bien hecho, muñeca," he murmured before kissing you again, gently.

His kiss was demanding, hungry, eager for your lips to be captured by his. Your hands, until now too afraid to touch anything or attempt any gesture, were tempted by the need to touch him in turn. They came to rest on his face, cupping it as he devoured your mouth relentlessly, his kiss a mixture of thirst, craving and the occasional sensation of his canines scratching your skin.

His thumb had moved up to your groin, deliberately avoiding and brushing very close to the part you'd been dreaming of him touching. Both his hands were now on your hips, gripping them to draw them to his.

And the electrifying sensation of his erection meeting in a single touch the excitement of your cunt that had grown inside you caused you both to moan together.

Your hand snaked through his hair, his sighs of comfort rushing into the depths of your body, blowing on the already burning fire inside you making it blaze and shine. His pelvis had begun to undulate against yours, the friction he was exerting against your covered flesh, against your throbbing clit, sending sparks throughout your body.

"Coño," he let out between kisses, one of his hands gripping your hip a little tighter to pull you closer to him and hold you in place while the other moved up your body like ivy on a statue, pressing against the back of your neck so that you were even closer. He wanted to eliminate any space between you, and you wanted it just as much, arching your body to his touch.

The kiss went from gentle to passionate, from passionate to hungry, and from hungry to needing more. Your tongues exchanged a waltz, and the next moment Miguel was back at your neck as your hand rested on his hip.

You needed more closeness, more of everything, but less clothing. He pulled you in again, straightening you up so that you ended up sitting on the desk, both your mouths still dancing.

He placed both hands firmly under your thighs, ready to lift you up.

"Hang on," he whispered between two kisses.

Without missing a beat you wrapped your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as he lifted you with incredible ease, heading for a door at the back of the room: Miguel's quarters.

To avoid being bothered by anything during his precious, absent sleep, Miguel didn't belong to any of the dormitories, sleeping in secluded quarters. One of his hands came up to grip one of your buttocks, grasping it with his full hand and kneading it, a little hum of pleasure vibrating from your lips against his as you nibbled on it. You kissed his cheek, tracing his jaw with your wet skin.

As he depixelised his hand from his suit and placed it on the digital recognition pad, you gently kissed his neck, a rumble rising in his throat, a mixture of threat and plea for patience. But how could you still be patient? It was impossible, you were each other's tinder box and lighter.

As soon as the airlock opened, he came to kiss you dangerously, not tiring for a moment of the sensation of your lips caught between his. He walked quickly and eagerly, his erratic breathing colliding with your warm skin.

You rounded a corner, and the familiar sensation of a mattress under your back met you almost brutally. You were out of breath, lying back, looking at Miguel.

He stood there, looking down at you. His hair was dishevelled from the passage of your hands, his eyes shining like two rubies in the half-light, watching you hungrily. He towered over you, dominating you with his size and power. You shuddered, because at the moment he looked like a predator facing the prey he was about to devour.

He chuckled, moving closer as he put one knee on the mattress, one of his hands coming to rest beside your head, leaning gently over you, crawling up to spread your thighs as his face came level with yours.

And it was with the sensitivity that only lips possess that he whispered to you:

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," his mouth hungrily came to reclaim yours, his other hand sliding up your waist to reach your hip and hold it in place as he consumed you.

You were in his grip, entranced, trapped in the web of desire he had woven in your mind, every thread of which you touched bringing the spider back to its prey.

His hand came up to your head and nestled under the nape of your neck, looking for the zip to take off your suit. You helped him, pressing a little harder against his lips in your kisses as you raised your head to help him pull it off.

He found it, and you could feel with what composure he was pulling it. You knew perfectly well that if it had only been up to him, your suit would have been ripped to shreds and it would have been impossible to reassemble it properly and put it back together in one piece. But he was holding back, with difficulty.

The sensation of all those little metal teeth coming loose against your back and letting your abundantly heated skin breathe sent tingles through each of your ribs and down your spine, your back arching all the more at the sensation. Maybe having absolutely nothing under your costume could be complicated in certain situations, but it had never been as practical or as pleasant as it was right now. And Miguel seemed to agree.

His hand came to pull at the fabric, exposing your shoulder, and feeling his fingers run over it made you shiver. He continued to pull gently, your chest meeting the cool air until your breasts were bare.

He broke away from your lips for a moment, watching your skin like a flame and its enchanted dance. And you were burning, your whole body aflame with his touch, his kisses, his eyes. You couldn't undress him on your side, his costume knew no beginning or end other than pixels, and you found that profoundly unfair.

Then, very gently, his hand came to hover over your skin. It barely grazed, not even touching it, passing over the roundness of your shoulder, following your collarbone up to your cheek. He placed his hand on it, and it was as if your body was a diamond, every facet of which was illuminated by the light from his hand.

"Tan linda," he whispered, nestling back into the crook of your neck, kissing the warm, tender skin there. His kisses trailed down to your collarbone, sucking on your skin from time to time to reveal violet and pink flowers.

You hummed with delight under his touch, your body lighting up and glowing a little more with every touch of his lips against your skin. They came to rest between the valley of your breasts, his red eyes meeting yours as, while one of his hands pulled a little harder on the part of your suit that was still in place, his own suit began to depixel as he straightened up to face you.

Lips parted, you watched his body reveal itself, his tanned torso sculpted like a god. But above all, you couldn't help letting your eyes wander along the countless scars that marked his body.

Various shapes were mixed in, cuts, burns, strange, sinuous lines, all marking the traces of past dangers. And he had survived them all.

Gently, your hand came to rest on his cheek, pressing against your touch and kissing your palm as you let your fingers move down his torso. You let your fingertips trace a scar, caressing it gently, Miguel's breath shuddering against your skin for a moment.

Your breath caught in your throat as his bare hand grazed the skin of one of your tits, his thumb gently tracing the bouncing skin. His lips moved down the ridge of your breasts, kissing the soft, tender skin of it.

He looked into your eyes as he stuck out his tongue and ran it over your nipple slowly, the warmth of his saliva and the roughness of his muscle sending all sorts of little stars into your body.

It was as if your flesh was bare soil, and with his hands he brought forth flowers of many colours and intoxicating scents that enchanted you, making you drunk with his touch and the colours he painted under your skin.

His tongue traced the separation between your skin and your nipple, his hand resting on the other, pressing it gently between his large fingers. Then he kissed it gently, sucking lightly as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. And as the moans multiplied between your lips, he stopped, a smile stretching his lips as his hand dripped down your waist and clutched the rest of your costume.

As he pulled it off, in a slow motion, he kissed his way down your belly, letting buds of caress blossom on your body. Reaching below your navel, he exchanged a glance with you, seeking approval.

As a simple response, you raised your hips, and he gently pulled the rest of the costume down, his bare fingers brushing your buttocks and thighs as he pulled until you were covered by nothing but your panties.

One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other settled on your waist, lazily tracing your skin until it reached your groin, stopping there, drawing indescribable patterns as the fire in your lower belly heated up.

He stayed there, eyes riveted on yours, his other hand moving slightly up your inner thighs but not reaching your core either. The tingles it sent through your being were delicious, but you were getting impatient. Your pussy was almost starting to ache from the lack of touch and contact.

"Lower..." you murmured, your desires taking possession of your body, your reason silenced.

He tilted his head to one side, and the same words you'd said to him earlier in the bathroom came back to you:

"Say that again."

A grunt of frustration rattled against your teeth. Your own cards had just been used against you in your own game, and you had no say in the matter. His fingers continued to draw as if nothing had happened, sometimes reaching for half a second a little lower than where they were staying. You needed more.

"Touch me lower," you said, looking into his red eyes, which raised an eyebrow as if to say 'aren't you forgetting something?', so you punctuated your sentence with a little "please."

He smiled, dark, his tongue passing over his canine and his lip as he ran his fingers between your skin and the elastic of your panties, pulling the latter so that only the air, his hands and his warm breath covered you.

His fingers returned to your now naked groin, and he gently traced your skin, finally coming to touch your cunt, a sigh of respite taking hold of your chest as he gently passed a single finger between your lips.

"Hmm?" he hummed, raising his fingers to the height of his head, observing the sticky substance that glued to his skin, "would you look at that." Evidence of your arousal was placed before your eyes, "Am I the reason you're so wet ?"

Your head tucked into your shoulders, your cheeks heating intensely as he smiled wider.

"Tengo suerte," he murmured as his finger returned to your entrance, coating itself in more of your wetness as his thumb settled on your clit, making slow, hypnotic circular movements that tightened the knot in your lower abdomen.

Your hands clutched the sheets as you drew in a shaky breath, but he reached down and guided one of them to his hair, which you grabbed without hesitation.

"Like it when I touch you there?" he asked, echoing the words you had said to him in the cabin.

"Mhm," you agreed, unable to formulate a coherent sentence, inhaling more air as he pushed in his first finger.

His hands were big, his fingers thick, and he manipulated them all to perfection. His finger was streching you out, undulating to awaken exceptional sensations in you.

"How does that feel?" he asked, his tone composed and almost teasing in the way he asked you things.

"Good," you assented as he inserted a second finger, causing you to gasp out a moan, your eyelids closing of their own accord.

His fingers worked you out, curving up to touch the spot that made you see stars.

"Keeps your eyes on me," he whispered as his head lowered against your cunt, his hot breath falling against your damp skin, "I want you to see me."

With difficulty you complied, and he brought his tongue against your pussy, a moan of pleasure rising from your throat. The sensation of his hot, wet tongue licking your clit made your whole body burn.

Your hand gripped his hair more firmly, needing something to anchor it so that you didn't succumb entirely to all your vices. Miguel groaned at this gesture, and the sensation of his vibrant voice on your sensitive skin almost made you come in an instant.

Your pelvis moved of its own accord, and Miguel immediately grabbed it to immobilise you, his fingers and tongue working together to make you moan even more.

The sight reminded you immensely of the bullet incident: his eyes reddened, his tongue and lips resting on you while your fingers were knotted in his hair.

You were beginning to feel as if you were flying away, but it was at that precise moment that Miguel stopped, pulling his fingers out and his mouth away. You whimpered, a whiney complaint filling your mouth as you laid your head back in disappointment on the pillow, Miguel moving up to your face.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd know what it feels like."

The torment was unbearable, and you bit your lips for fear that, on the instant, you might send an insult into his face.

"Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow, "did I make you mad?"

His tone seemed almost condescending, addressing you as if you were a child. He brought his face close to yours, his eyes falling on your lips.

"Want me to fuck you, querida?" he questioned, his lips brushing yours "want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, simply nodding in response as his simple words managed to make your hair stand on end.

"Use your words," he said simply.

"Yes," you said, beginning to learn from his lessons, trying to find more strength in your voice, "fuck me, please."

He nodded, proud.

"Good," he said, bringing his two fingers, still covered with yourself, close to your lips, "open up."

Timidly, you parted your lips.

"Wider," he ordered in a calm voice.

You obeyed, and soon felt his moist fingers on your tongue. You licked them, his eyes watching with great interest. They were thick and having them both in your mouth wasn't easy, but by relaxing your jaw you eventually managed to suck them off properly, your eyes returning to his, feverish with desire.

Without further ado, he removed his fingers from your mouth and came to kiss your lips, hungry. The entre-met you had offered him wasn't enough, and he was fasting from it to be able to taste all the other parts of you that were still untouched by his lips.

His naked erection pressed against your cunt, and your hips undulated against the sensation as you let out an excited moan against his lips, your walls closing in on nothing.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he splayed his hand across your lower back, undoing the kiss to press his forehead against yours. He adjusted his cock in front of your entrance, coating himself in your juices, and just by that gesture and the memory of your hands, you knew it would be too much.

"Miguel it's," you breathed softly against him, "it's too big. I'll never-" but he cut you off.

"I'm sure you can take it, muñeca," he murmured softly, kissing your cheek.

He returned to kiss your lips, then asked before doing anything else:

"Ready?"

You inhaled softly, your eyes plunging into the red of his, before murmuring against his lips:

"Ready."

He nodded, coming to kiss you chastely before lining up his cock and thrusting in. A moan slipped from your lips, he was big, way too big.

"Shh," he soothed, kissing your temple, "you're tense cariño, breathe through your nose."

So you followed his instructions, trying to relax as much as possible as your nails on his back began to dig into his flesh. Your breath was coming in shaky gasps, your teeth sinking into your lip as Miguel whispered:

"You're doing so well," his hands gently caressing your arched back and thigh.

His voice relaxed you, your breathing a little more settled as he thrust deeper, stretching you out. He kissed your forehead tenderly, brushing the tiny tear from the corner of your eye with his lips.

"Just like that," he groaned, finally managing to fill you completely, "look at you taking me so well.

He kissed your lips gently, caressing the skin of your side. He kissed your cheek, then the side of your neck, sucking in one more mark.

Full, that's how you felt. He stretched you out fully, filling every inch of your being, meeting the warm cloud as he kissed you to contrast the sensation. And soon enough, you relaxed a little more.

"Are you ready for me to move?" he murmured, his thumb resting on your cheek.

As a simple response, breathing softly, you moved your hips on him. He smiled, kissing your lips softly as he pulled back slightly to push into you again, a shaky breath mingling with a moan that he swallowed from your lips.

His tongue came to meet yours, curling around it, sucking it between his lips tenderly as he took a slow rhythm to get you used to him.

He sprinkled kisses across your face, sloppy ones running over your warm naked skin, inevitably coming back to your neck, nibbling lightly. He traced your collarbone with his lips, running along it until he reached your shoulder, where the rounded skin was bitten and a moan was torn from your lips.

His hand came to take your arm, kissing the skin gently as he raised it, straightening slightly to manipulate and kiss it better.

His lips came to linger on the inner skin of your arms, depositing his lips gently as he traced that softened area, his pelvis taking on a slightly faster rhythm.

After the little treatment he'd given you, you weren't going to last long, so you let yourself be carried and touched by his adoring lips.

His tongue traced the skin on the inside of your wrist, his teeth grazing the separation between your hand and it. He came to kiss your palm, then delicately placed his lips on each of your knuckles before pressing it against his cheek.

Your thumb caressed it, and he surrendered to your touch. He then guided it to the side of your head, his fingers nestling in the crack of yours until your hands were intertwined.

"Qué guapa," he breathed.

His rhythm quickened, and you could feel the knot in your belly gradually tightening as Miguel's thrusting in and out of you became sublime, and the sounds you were making multiplied as he hit all the right spots.

Your fingers tightened on Miguel's hand as your other reached down his back to grip his arm, squeezing hard as you felt you were going to come.

"Miguel," you sobbed as he returned to kiss your lips, "I'm close."

It was a miracle you managed to get those few words right. The hand that wasn't intertwined with yours came to cup your face before moving down your body to grab your hip, a deep sigh escaping from his throat.

And you felt his canine gently bite your lip as the knot burst in your lower belly and a moan echoed in your throat. It was like a bolt of lightning striking against metal, spreading out in a powerful electric shock in your entire body as the pleasure beat like a second heart. Miguel's voice growled against your skin as you closed around him spasmodically, your nails clawing at his arm.

You twitched, Miguel kissing your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, your lips. You were slowly coming down from your clouds, the sensations you had gradually fading.

"Tan buena..." he whispered, close to your lips, "but I'm not done with you yet.”

His fingers loosened from yours as he grabbed your arms with both hands to pull you against him and straighten you up. He was sitting, still inside you, making you sit on top of him, facing him.

One of his hands grabbed one of your buttocks, guiding you to move back and forth on him, while his other was on your back, caressing it.

He came to attack your lips again, the sound of your two bodies meeting clapping in the air as you felt completely disorientated by the pleasure. The speed with which he entered you was exceptional, and the sensations he triggered were even more so.

His lips moved over the back of your neck, then settled on your shoulder, his breathing becoming more and more jerky.

You tilted your head back, your voice interspersed with the feeling of him pounding you, the heat in your belly not entirely gone and tightening again.

Then the hand that had been resting on your back slipped between your two bodies and caressed your clit, your breath catching as you felt the cloud spread once more to the small of your back.

Miguel's voice grew less hushed as his rhythm quickened, his fingers working your clit with speed as you felt the climax building up again.

And all at once, you felt his fangs penetrate your beloved as he gave a powerful thrust, and you both came. The earth stopped spinning as you felt like you'd been sent miles above the clouds, both your bodies warm against each other, both of you breathless.

Everything seemed soft, floating, an inner peace had taken hold of both of you as you came down from this peak of pleasure.

He held you against him gently, running his tongue over the two slits he'd made in your skin. He pulled out of you, placing you so gently and carefully on the mattress that it was as if he had a spider's web in his hands.

You snuggled up to him, and he pulled the blanket over you as he kissed you again.

You felt safe here, cuddled in his huge arms that wrapped around you, his hands caressing your body with pure adoration and softness.

You kissed his chest, on one of his scars, and he breathed a profound sigh.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

The end of his question never came, but it was simple: how did you know I wanted to be kissed here? Probably no one had ever touched him this way, here, like that.

"There's nothing like tenderness to soothe the scars." you smiled.

He breathed out, his eyes had returned to their natural brown. He pressed you a little closer to him, his eyes locked in yours. Blue words are the ones you say with your eyes, when your lips are too tired.

"Maybe we'll have to find a name for this pseudo-friendship?" he smiled, the little chat you'd had on the first mission coming back to you as you smiled and kissed him sweetly.

"Why when we already have two letters?" you replied, placing your hand on his cheek, kissing your palm as his hand caressed your waist.

"Two letters?" he asked, curious.

"Yeah," you confirmed, your voice becoming a whisper, "us."

He gave you a candid, sincere smile before kissing your lips softly.

"Yes," he nodded, "we could make a great us, muñeca."

Us, two letters, a whole world.

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j-richmond · 6 months ago

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Why aren't comics more common in TTRPGs?

(This is about game design and presentation) In school one of the things I discovered is that I have trouble absorbing info from a big text book. And most TTRPGs are presented as text books. Once I understand the basic information in the book (chemistry textbook or RPG sourcebook or whatever) I can deal with the book on my own terms. I can dive into individual parts and learn, and slowly absorb the book as a whole. But I need help to get there. I need an access port. Sometimes this comes in the form of someone explaining the book to me. Explaining the rules of the game or the outline of an essay. This is great, and gives me a way in so I can absorb and master the book myself. But I don't always have someone in my life who can do that. Interestingly, I don't have this problem with novels at all. Narrative feels easier to access, at least for me.

In school I also discovered Scot McCloud's Understanding Comics. This is a pretty fantastic book which I'd recommend to everyone. It helped me understand how I process information. More importantly, it helped me understand the different people process information in different ways. I hadn't realized that at age 16, although I was starting to suspect it. Before I started making comics or games I used to be a teacher. As a teacher I could see that some of my kids were struggling with the information I was giving them, in the same way I had struggled in school. I started using comics in class to help reach these students. I'd draw little comics on my handouts or on the whiteboard to explain what we were learning. The goal wasn't to provide an entire lesson in comics form. I'm not Scott McCloud! Instead, I was trying to find an access point for my students. An on ramp. A port of entry to the ideas and material we were covering so they could engage and eventually absorb the information. It worked so well. It worked like magic. Why don't we do this more in TTRPGs? I used comics in my early games, Panty Explosion Perfect and Ocean. These were narrative comics, not rules comics, but the goal was to provide both an example of what play looked like (from a narrative standpoint) and a point of access for players who weren't sure what the game was or how to engage with it. My thought was that if you understood what the game was supposed to look like it would be easier to approach the rules. (A short comic from Ocean. The book has a bunch of these)

When my brother Nick and I started working on The Magical Land of Yeld I knew I wanted to use comics more directly as a teaching tool. Especially because part of our target audience was new and younger players who might look at a big text book (Yeld is a giant 400 page hardcover) and just bounce right off it. Like I did in school and like I often do with big games. So I needed to teach with examples and illustrations, and especially comics.

The first comics you'll encounter in the Yeld book are narrative, and designed to get you into the ideas and themes of the game. But in the first few pages we also start sprinkling in rules comics. These are presented along side the rules text. They don't replace that text, which is important. The text explains the rules in greater detail, and includes information that just couldn't be added in a single page comic. Instead, the comic is intended to be a point of access to the rules text. A player can read the comic, understand the basic concept, and feel comfortable engaging with the text. That's the goal, to make players comfortable and to make the rules text accessible.

We use comics to teach basic game mechanics, but we also use them to explain specific player facing systems. Sometimes these are things that really do need a comic to explain them, but sometimes we use comics as lures to draw player attention to mechanics that we're afraid they might otherwise not engage with. For example, in playtesting we found that when characters died during a fight the player would just sit there for the rest of the fight and not engage. It turned out, since you don't do anything in D&D once you die (except slowly die more), most players assume that's how all games work! So they hadn't even noticed that in Yeld you become a Ghost and get to ghost around and do fun Ghost stuff! I decided to create a comic that not just explained this but drew attention to it and showed why it was a fun (and important) part of the game!

Structure of play isn't always obvious to players, especially if they're new to TTRPGs or have only played D&D. You pick up habits from the games you play the most, and since most gamers play nothing but D&D there is a tendency to assume EVERYTHING works like D&D. Yeld doesn't, so we decided to take nothing for granted and make comics that very specifically show what a session of play looks like. In this example, it may not look a lot different from D&D, but the adventure is specifically divided into 5 parts. The comic illustrates these parts in a way that is easy to understand. The accompanying game text explains each part in more detail and illustrates how they are important to play. The comic serves as a ramp that gets players to the info they need.

Not all of our comics are player facing. Yeld has a rotating GM (which is awesome, btw), and this means every player gets a chance in the Game Master roll. Which means every player needs to understand how this roll works. Comics like this one, which explain how to build monsters to use in your game, help make the process easy to understand. Again, its about building a point of entry for players. A player might say "I don't want to GM, it sounds to complicated!" But its not. You just need to make it easy for them. Make the mechanics and responsibilities easy to understand. Show why they're fun! In Yeld, its important that each player takes on the GM role from time to time, since we're building a story together. Making it look fun is important! Comics help with that. What's more fun than comics?

Narrative comics are important too. At least for Yeld. I don't think every game benefits from them (although I always love seeing them). Narrative comics show players what the game is supposed to look like. What the characters do and say. What environments they visit. Narrative comics set a tone. Narrative comics let new players understand what a game is about immediately! We can hand a Yeld book to a new player or customer and they know what's up in seconds, just by reading a short single page comic. That's a powerful tool. So why don't more games use comics? Part of it is that game creators are usually not comic creators. There's not a lot of crossover. That always surprises me, but both disciplines take a lot of work. Who has time for both? Even when you have game designers that are comic creators, they often don't include comics in the games (Lancer???). I don't think this means game designers don't recognize the value of comics. I've had this conversation with so many game designers, and they usually agree that comics are useful tools. But if you don't know how to make comics, making comics for your game can be daunting. What rules should you focus on? How do you present that information in comic form? How many comics should you make? How do you hire someone to make comics, anyway? Hiring artists is expansive, btw. You know that, of course. Hiring an artist to make a set of comics for your game could cost you thousands of dollars (or more), depending on what you want. Of course, you can try to make your own comics. And you should! Really! A poorly drawn comic is not necessarily a bad comic. The point is to get your information across to your reader. to provide a point of access. You don't need great art for that (although great art can help attract people to your game). Stick figure work just fine. Here's an example, the layout for the Tea Dragon card game. Another artist took this layout and redrew it in their own style. But my goal here was to be simple and concise with my explanation of the rules. To make the game accessible.

There's a few more pages of this, but you get the idea. The purpose is to explain, and make the player comfortable with learning more. The art matters to the extent that it serves this goal. In fact, flashy or complicated art can get in the way! You'll notice in that most of the Yeld rules comics I posted above the art is pretty simple, with solid color backgrounds. You want to make your comics as easy to read as possible, and that includes avoiding clutter, overpacked word balloons and messy layout. Readers are easily distracted. It doesn't take much for them to set down a book at all. A complicated phrase or hard to read font can often be enough. And once they set a book down they may not every pick it up again. That's more true for a big text book than it is for a comics, but its still true for a comic. So our goal is to make our comic the easiest, smoothest point of access it can possibly be. So easy and smooth that the reader can slide right into the rules text without noticing! Here's my general process for creating a rules comic. This is from my friend Brian's game Scofflaws. I start by taking the basic mechanics that need to be illustrated and breaking them down into panels. The goal is to make each panel readable and not overwhelm the player. At this point I'm just doing a rough sketch. It may not eve=n be readable, but that's fine!

Next, I refine the text and art. I decide on the exact language I'll use, and I finalize where characters and other elements will be placed. As you can see, the actual layout didn't change much here. Sometimes it changes a lot!

Finally, I create the finished art. Honestly, the previous step was just fine. It explanans the rules I wanted to explain. But this last step allows me to add in some narrative flavor. The first panel contains a complicated background in order to present the game's setting. The characters look like the kind of characters you'll play in the game. This isn't nessacary for presenting rules, but it helps present the game as a whole. You want players to engage with every part of your game. The last thing you want them doing is picking up your dungeon crawling game and going "Oh, this would be great for playing Star Wars!"

(I probably shouldn't have chose than shade of red for the background. It makes the text a bit hard to read!) So again, why aren't we seeing more comics in games? Its not as if they don't exist at all, and I'm personally always excited to see them. I recently opened the Final Fantasy RPG box set and was so happy to find the rules were accompanied by cute comics. And there's lot of other examples (maybe you can post some in the comments). But I think comics are a clearly underused tool in game design and presentation. And as a comic person, let me tell you that you're leaving a valuable tool on the table if you're not considering using comics. Are they right for every game? Maaaybe not? But I think MANY MANY MANY games could benefit form them. Are they expensive? They can be. Are they hard to make? They can be. Are there people you can go to for advice? Hey, my door is open.

#game design #ttrpgs #ttrpg design #ttrpg community #ttrpg #roleplayinggames #comics in games #comics as a teaching tool #teaching with comcis #put comics in your game for fucks sake #yeld

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