#Chess skill development

[chesstrainer24]

Chess has always been a game of intellect, strategy, and foresight. In the digital age, mastering chess has become more accessible than ever. A Personalized Approach to Improvement is essential for any player aiming to elevate their skills and compete at higher levels. With the advent of chess training programs and interactive chess tutorials, players can now receive tailored guidance and instruction from the comfort of their homes.

Do Read: https://chesstrainer.com/online-chess-training-a-personalized-approach-to-improvement/

[the-art-of-sanshoku]

Tokucember Day 31: Crossover

The House in Fata Morgana x Kamen Rider Kuuga

My two wives with smiles unyielding, they would make great friends if they met

(I assume the intention of the prompt was a toku crossover but once again I kinda do what I please (also i did some toku crossovers in previous days kind of). Today's case of doing what I please is two fandoms whose estimated intersection is one person and it's meee)

[inbabylontheywept]

i dont know why anyone else misses analog board games, but to me, it's because physical parts let me cheat. there's no moving pieces around when someone isnt looking in a chess app, no sneaking bonus pieces out of the graveyard in checkers, no double drawing cards in go fish.

i spent years developing those skills as a Professional Little Brother. what am i supposed to do now, go back to college? learn how to play games the right way? i mean, who gives a shit? the fun part was never the game, it was the Getting Away With It. or, you know, for the rest of my family, Catching The Bastard. now that was entertainment.

[borngeniusworld]

🧠 Ready to Think Smarter? Master These 7 Critical Thinking Exercises!

Saarthi For Success 🔍 A Step-by-Step Guide to Sharpen Your Critical Thinking SkillsCritical thinking is like a muscle—the more you use it, the sharper it gets! 🧠 Here’s a practical roadmap to boost your ability to evaluate arguments, spot logical flaws, and make better decisions.🛠️ Step 1: What is Critical Thinking?Ever tried defining it yourself?Exercise: Write your own definition.Identify…

[townpostin]

Chess Enthusiasts Celebrate International Chess Day

Strategic Minds Gather at Tumbling Tortilos for Global Chess Observance Local chess academy students and prominent figures come together to honor the intellectual sport, emphasizing its educational value and universal appeal. JAMSHEDPUR – Tumbling Tortilos buzzed with excitement as chess aficionados commemorated International Chess Day on July 20th, showcasing the game’s enduring popularity…

[agreenroad]

A King Seeking Absolute Power Can Do No Wrong And Cannot Be Held Accountable, Says Supreme Court Verdict - Where Is Uncorruptible King And Kingdom? Chess And Life Lessons

Life Is Like A Game Of Chess A chessboard has many pieces on it, including a king. A king symbolizes a persons life, and once a life is lost, symbolically, that is the same as losing the king piece via a checkmate, on the chessboard of life. In chess, generally there is no cheating, no corruption, no politics, no profit motive, no illegal or legal distinctions. The game of chess symbolizes life…

[bluemoonbun]

Rotating an idea in my head;

Imagine a neglected!Reader who did everything in an attempt to impress their family.

Who got amazing grades and got into high school at age 11.

Who was "a savant beyond their years" and "talented beyond what their age group could be taught".

Skills came easy to them. Give them a year and some encouragement and before you know it they'll have mastered whatever it was.

It wasn't like they could leave the house and hang out with friends. Bruce said that was off the table. It got quiet so often in the manor.

But it wasn't enough

Until someone saw the potential that Batman was just leaving there. Like he wanted someone to just... scoop them up and tutor them.

Their friends and allies and even a few enemies saw the potential. They all agreed to teach them their greatest skill. In a year they've mastered all of them, even surpassing some of them.

Any drug they were developing was improved beyond anything they could've imagined.

Weapons fashioned to fit them far surpassed anything, even the best on the black market.

The Rogue Gallery was beyond impressed.

And Reader was on Cloud Nine with all the attention it was earning them. Head pats, praise, treats. It was more than anything they could've asked for. And even if they didn't have a new invention at the end of the week, so many were willing to just hang out. Without prompting! No "Go bother Alfred" or "I'm busy" or "Another time, chickadee".

Harley had to be reminded that a 12 year old had no business around hyenas, even if Budsie and Louie were on their best behavior. Harley settled for watching old magical girl animes with you.

Luckily, Poison Ivy knew not to bring you around her poisonous plants. Though she did spend a concerning time teaching you exactly what plants were poisonous and how they were poisonous.

Bane taught you everything he knew, from throwing a punch, to how to scare someone off. Granted, a 12 year old, with so much of their baby fat in their cheeks, and wrists as thick as Bane's thumb, looked like a Ragdoll kitten copying a Bengal tiger. He played chess with you too, and he said that given your role in advising, a knight or a bishop would fit you best.

Bane was your favorite. He'd smush your face (gently, you were so tiny he was scared of breaking you), lift you up, even do pushups and pull ups with you on his back.

When Bane told you how he'd saved Alfred once during a collapse of Arkham Asylum, only to be incapacitated once Alfred was "done" with him, it made your blood boil.

As you learned all of their stories, learned the human in all of them, you knew that you were saved from a family with rotten blood. You'd spend your life repaying them, even if they never asked.

--------

Eventually, you decide to follow them into battle. You're kept up and away from the bulk of the battle. This time, it was Joker vs the Batfamily. Tim was unable to track what he'd been trying to do past a few errant clues. It was clear that the Rouge Gallery had a new villain.

You were given direct instructions to watch yourself; Joker wouldn't care enough to tear his eyes off Batman. You already knew that; Harley had spent 3 days trying to convince you to reschedule with someone else, but you told her you wanted Joker, not someone who'd be tempted to glance back and give away your hiding space.

Jason was the one that saw you. You were dressed in a costume that resembled a bishop chess piece with a split full face mask, perched atop a van far from the actual battle. His old scars with Joker made him hesitate, but you looked like a definite person of interest, and everyone else was indisposed.

He ran over, firing rubber bullets as you dodged, eventually tripping and falling off the van. Why were you so small? Jason picked you up, grip just loose enough so you could breathe.

You reached up, pulling your mask off. Jason blanched as he saw your face, soft around the edges and wide eyed.

Bruce told him that he'd stayed away to protect you from the vigilante life. You were the one person who hadn't pushed to join them, so he never told you about missions to avoid any ideas of joining. Jason followed suit, and so did the others. Their lives were busy enough anyways, and you had Alfred when he didn't have something more important to do.

He may have brushed you off more than absolutely necessary, but he wasn't in the right headspace then! You had already grown so much and all he'd wanted by then was vengeance on Batman. You couldn't blame him for keeping his distance at that point. He was protecting you.

But here you were, pinned by the throat by your own brother. Your protector. He released you, taking a step back. He glanced around for an opening, seeing a small alleyway. He gestured over his shoulder for you to follow. "C'mon kid. I'll get you back home and I won't even tell Bruce you snuck out, 'k?"

Suddenly, he felt a prick in his back, shortly followed by a burning itch and ice cold pain. He fell to the ground, trying to reach the spot you pricked.

"Miss Ivy said these were dangerous. Her own home blend. It's a diluted version, so you'll be fine in a few days, Todd" said the much too calm voice above him. He was struggling to breathe around the writhing mass of pain, looking up at you between blinks of tears.

He couldn't scream, he could barely breathe. He could die here and the family wouldn't know until the dust settled.

"It won't kill you, and from the looks of it, they'll be coming to pick you up soon."

"Aren't we family?" He chokes out between gasps. He felt so lost. You were his baby sibling, the tiny thing that'd wander the halls, holding an old chess board as you asked your cool big brother to play with you. The person he kept away from to protect. How could you repay him like this?

Hadn't he done so much for you?

You look at him from the boot of the van. When had you gotten so far away? Your voice is quiet, but it's heard, if barely, over the revving of the engine as Joker's minions prepare to drive away, and the screaming of his name as the rest of the family approaches.

"Were we? I never thought you wanted a baby sibling like me."

-------

The Batfamily took him home and patched him up. The new tech, like all other recent inventions brought in, were so advanced they bordered on state of the art. Even Tim was struggling to decode any of them, with all the kill-switches that seemed to recognize when it wasn't hooked up to the original computer and bricked themselves.

Jason had recovered, like you said, in a few days. Capable of breathing easily in 2 days, regularly needing to be sedated before then, and sitting up without pain by day 5.

The Batfamily had asked him by day 4 about the masked person they had seen next to him. Jason was detached from himself. That face, those eyes. They held no warmth for him, no pity for him while he was writhing in agony at their feet. Like he was less than a stranger.

Like he was less than human in their eyes.

Your name fell off his tongue like lead, slamming against the ground as everyone fell into silence.

"It was them. They gave me that injection. Their face, I-"

"Todd, did the injection give you hallucinations? There was no way that they'd accomplish something like that." Damian raised his brow, checking the chart to make sure the bulk was out of his system.

"I know what I saw. They hadn't even injected me when I saw their face."

"That's impossible, Jay! Look, I'll go to their room and get them right now. They'll probably be pretty cranky since it's, what, 4am?" Dick's footsteps disappeared down the hall.

After a few minutes, Dick came running back, looking at Jason with a mix of shock, horror, and confusion.

Two words.

Two words that finally made them look at you.

Two words that made them realized what they'd missed.

Two words that made them connect the inventions that almost got them killed to the darling child they'd convinced themselves they were protecting with cold shoulders and smothering silence.

Two words that made them refocus their sights on bringing you back.

"They're gone."

[keirareidss]

suggestive comments and coffee stains -s.r

♡ summary: you're obsessed with teasing your adorable, easily-flustered co-worker pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, suggestive language, case details, wc: 2.7k based on this request

Another serial killer has brought the BAU to Nebraska for their expertise. You were new to the team, but skilled nonetheless. Aaron Hotchner had you transferred from the organized crime division a few weeks ago and this was your second case with your new teammates.

You'd already taken a liking to Garcia and you bonded with Agent Prentiss pretty quickly. The person who intrigued you the most, though, was Agent Reid. He was a genius, an IQ of 187 and he could read 20,000 words a minute. He also had the most adorable blush on his face whenever you gave him a compliment, which you made sure to do often.

Him and his sweater vest stole your heart from the moment you saw him. He'd given you that little tight-lipped smile and a wave when you joined the team and made you a coffee the next day.

Looks like pretty boy has a crush. You heard Morgan teasing him in the kitchen later.

No. I'm just... welcoming her. You hoped that wasn't true. To be honest, you were developing a little crush on the young man. He was endearing with his little rambles and his glasses.

The unsub was kidnapping and torturing young men, signs of sexual assault found when their bodies were dumped. You arrived in Nebraska, heading to the police station to set up. Hotch sent Morgan and Prentiss to the last dump sites, JJ to talk to the press, and he went with Rossi to the morgue. You and Spencer stayed behind to make the geographical profile.

"So what do you like to do in your free time?" You asked, sitting at the conference table, your feet kicked up on it, a file in your lap. Spencer was up at the board pushing pins into the map.

"What?" He looked over his shoulder, brows furrowed at your sudden questioning.

"Like, do you have any hobbies?"

"Oh. I- I don't know. Sometimes I play chess in the park."

"Oh, fun. You should teach me how."

"You don't know how to play chess?" He turned around fully now, tilting his head.

"No, but I know a few chess jokes."

"Really? Tell me one."

"Why does MC Hammer only play blindfold chess?"

"Why?"

"He won't let anyone touch his pieces." You respond, grinning in anticipation for his laughter but it didn't come. Only a furrow of his eyebrows once again.

"What does blindfold chess have to do with touching pieces?" You smile drops slightly at having to explain the joke.

"Well you call out the coordinates, not play with actual pieces. There's no board in blindfold chess."

"If there's no board why is there a blindfold?" You giggled at him.

"You're thinking way too far into this." He frowns, turning back to the map. You stood up, striding over to him. "What about this one?" He looked over at you and leaned closer to him. "I'll play with your pawn all night until it turns into the knight I'm looking for." His face goes red and he looks away.

"I- I think I liked the other one better." He stammered, avoiding eye contact. You headed back to your seat as Spencer kept his back fully to you, hiding his blush.

Caffeine was needed if you were going to get through this, this job truly worsened your coffee addiction, so you were going out on a coffee run, bringing Spencer with you. For help carrying the cups, of course.

You headed to a cafe nearby, wanting better quality coffee than the stale police precinct stuff. It was early enough in the case that you weren't in your groove yet. You didn't have many leads so all you could do was wait for something big to happen. You know when you're cutting something and the scissors just start gliding cleanly? That's the feeling you were anticipating. The smooth glide of the denouement.

Spencer walked alongside you, his hands moving animatedly in the air as he explained growing conditions, processing methods, roasting styles, and whatever came to mind about coffee beans. You'd prompted the ramble, asking him purposefully, 'why does coffee taste different in different places?'

The bell above you dinged as you opened the door to the cafe, Spencer pausing his rant so you could order your long list of requests from the team. He continued talking as you waited for the drinks, standing against the wall. You watched him with a small smile, his excitement in his knowledge clear from his face and demeanor.

Eventually, his rant came to an end and he went silent with an awkward little, 'so... yeah'. He'd somehow made his way from coffee beans to frog habitats and you didn't even remember your initial question.

"You really know a lot." You said in awe. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down with a blush.

"Yeah, I guess." Your name is called and you go to grab the drink holder, Spencer picking up the other two drinks. He follows you to the small counter on the other side of the cafe where you set down the drinks to grab straws. You turned to grab the two drinks from Spencer, not realizing how close to you he was. You walked right into his hand as he was holding it out to you, the drink spilling all over your button up (thank god it was an iced coffee).

Spencer's eyes widened comically and he quickly grabbed a handful of napkins rubbing at your shirt.

"I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, that- I didn't mean to- I was just-"

"Spencer, it's alright." You chuckled, looking down at his hand. If there wasn't a napkin in his hand he would be basically pawing at your breasts. You could feel the coffee staining your shirt, soaking through to your skin as something else was soaking your panties between your legs.

"I'm so sorry." He repeated, wincing when the stain didn't come out. "I- um, you can take my jacket." He stammered, pulling his blazer off.

"It's okay Spencer. You know," You step closer, tilting your head back to look in his eyes. "I would have been wet no matter what, seeing you." You would think he was a malfunctioned robot the way he froze, mouth agape, speechless. You raised your eyebrows, a teasing grin on your face.

"I- I don't-" Okay, he really was malfunctioning. You Took the blazer from him, putting it on before cleaning up the rest of the coffee spill. You left him standing there wide-eyed, heading to the counter to re-order JJ's drink. He'd apparently gathered himself by the time you got back to him, holding one of the drinks and waiting for you to give him the other one.

He was quiet on the walk back, his face still bright red to the tips of his ears. What you didn't realize was that his mind was racing. Sure, he's been flirted with before, but not from someone he liked to call a friend. He couldn't tell if you were being serious. Were you actually interested in him or did you just want a quick fuck? He didn't know which he preferred.

On one hand, he was sure he wasn't in love with you. It was just a little crush. It happens. On the other hand, he didn't know if he'd be able to have a one night stand with you and not catch feelings. He could see it happening pretty clearly, you would fuck him in a hotel room or something, and he'd be lusting after you for the rest of his long, miserable career. God, why did you have to say that to him?

"Are you okay? You've been acting weird." You confronted Spencer a few days into the case. It was looking like it was going to be a long one.

"I'm not acting weird." He instantly defended. You raised your eyebrows at him. He was most definitely acting weird. The past few days he'd been sort of... avoiding you. When you sat next to him in the conference room, your knee brushing his, he'd find some reason to get up. He needed the bathroom or he wanted to refill his already filled coffee cup or some other bullshit excuse.

You were starting to suspect he was upset with you. Had you crossed a line with your comment? Did you make him uncomfortable?

"Yes you are. Look, I'm sorry I said that in the cafe the other day, I was just-"

"It's not about that." He cut you off quickly, a rosy blush already rising on his cheeks. You'd cornered him in the precinct kitchenette, making sure no one was around when you started interrogating.

"What is it then?"

"It's just... I mean... were you serious?"

"What?"

"Like... did you mean it?"

"When I said you made me wet?" He instantly went red, his eyes flickering to find anything else he could look at. "Yeah. I meant it." You stepped closer, crowing him against the counter. "Why? Does that turn you on?" His breaths were coming in quicker now as he stared down at you. Someone cleared their throat behind you and you stepped back, turning to find one of the cops awkwardly going to the coffee machine.

You give Spencer one last sultry glance before heading back to the conference room. Spencer felt his face heat as the officer's eyes bore into him. He quickly left the kitchenette, following you back to the conference room.

The AC had stopped working in your hotel room. Unfortunate, seeing as that was supposed to be where you get rest after working an intense and stressful case, and if you couldn't do that. how were you supposed to get any work done on said case?

You decided to head across the hall, knocking on your coworkers door softly, in case he was asleep. You didn't want to deprive someone else of rest.

"Hey, what's up?" Spencer answered the door, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"The AC in my room is broken, can I stay with you?" Spencer felt his heart speed up at the thought of what that could mean.

"I- there's only one bed. Doesn't JJ or Emily have room?"

"Emily snores and I think JJ had phone sex with her husband. It's a few nights, Spence, please?" He hesitated before sighing, stepping aside to let you enter his room. You grin, heading past him to set your go bag on the desk in the room. He hadn't even seen you holding it when he answered the door, but that might have been because his mind was preoccupied with picturing everything that could happen with the two of you in one bed.

"Mind if I shower?"

"Go ahead." Spencer said, his voice rough. Great, now he was picturing you in the shower. He sits on the bed, poring back over the files while he listened to the sounds of water running in the bathroom. If he strained his ears enough, he could hear the faint sound of you humming softly.

Soon, the water turned off and he could hear your humming more clearly. The door opened and you walked out in your pajamas, hair dripping down your back. You went back to your go bag, putting your work clothes inside. Spencer's eyes caught the pair of sleek black of panties you slipped back into the bag. He quickly averted his eyes when you turned back around, heading for the bed with your hairbrush.

"What are you looking at?" You asked brightly, peering at his files.

"Just the missing persons reports for all the victims. Something doesn't seem right." He mumbles.

"Oh?" Now you're intrigued. You shuffled across the bed leaning against his side to look closer at the files. He glanced at you, feeling the heat of your body through your shirt. Around the neckline and your shoulders were damp from the ends of your hair. "What's not right about them?"

"Just... I don't know, the way they were reported. It seemed so... formal. And they're all so similar."

"Hmm." You hummed, letting your head drop to his shoulder. "How long have you been looking at these?"

"I dunno. A few hours." You sighed, reaching out to clean up all the files. "Wha- no, it's-" He immediately protested.

"Spencer, you need a break. You've been looking at these for too long." You said, gathering them all and reaching across him to put them on his nightstand.

"I'm fine." He said weakly, staring at you, nearly bent over his lap. You sit back, on your knees next to him.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Y-yeah. Shoot."

Do you... do you ever think about me?" You looked at him through your eyelashes and he shifted on the bed.

"Yeah, I guess."

"No, I mean," You shuffled closer, setting a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to where his cock was hardening in his pajama pants. "Do you think about me like this?" Your voice gave off the illusion of innocence. He stared up at you, eyes going wide as he blushed.

"I..."

"Have you ever thought about me touching you?" You asked as your hand trailed further up, palming his cock. He let out a small moan, his hips jerking a bit.

"Yes." He breathed. You grinned, your hand slipping past the barrier of fabric, under his boxer briefs to grasp his cock in your palm. His breath hitched as you began stroking. "Wha- what are you doing?"

"I think about you too. You're so-" You cut yourself off, kissing him as if you'd been holding yourself back and couldn't help it anymore. "adorable, I can't fucking help myself. Every time you wear one of those-" You press another bruising kiss to his lips. "fucking sweater vests, I just wanna-" Another kiss. "rip it off you." He whimpered against your lips.

"Are you being serious?" He asks, pulling away to look into your eyes. He couldn't believe someone like you was actually into him like that.

"Spencer, I'm dead serious." You said, swiping your thumb over the head of his cock, catching the precum that dribbled from the top and spreading it down his length. You pulled his pants down enough to free him from his confines, slowly jerking him off.

You moved your kisses to his neck, the skin feeling warm under your lips. He breathed out shakily, a moan slipping past his mouth. You pulled away from him, shuffling further down the bed and bending down until your lips meet the tip of his cock.

He gasps as you take him into your mouth, taking as much as you can before pulling back up. You take a deep breath through your nose, sinking down again, taking more of him until he hits the back of your throat.

Your head bobs up and down as he whimpers, trembling underneath you. His hand finds your hair, grasping tightly, making you moan, the vibrations on his cock making him jerk.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm close." He whines, his head falling back. His hips jerk up and you move your hands up, holding him down against the bed. You swirl your tongue around the head, and Spencer lets out a high pitched moan. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!" Seconds later hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. You swallow it down greedily, hollowing out your cheeks as you drain every last drop.

You pull off his length, a trail of spit following as you lift your head to grin at him. His eyes are closed, strands of hair falling over his forehead. You brush it back, him blinking up at you blearily.

"You're... you're so..." He trails off, staring up at you with wide heart eyes. You chuckled, your hand trailing his jaw.

"So what?"

"Perfect. I can't believe you like me." He breathes and you laugh incredulously.

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Cause you're you. You're... flawless."

"So are you." He scoffs, shaking his head and your eyes widen. "You are! Do you need me to show you?" You asked, your hands trailing up his thighs, making him shudder.

"I don't..." You chuckled as his breath hitches. You lean down, pressing your lips to his.

"Ready for round two?"

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

[internetdaddy98]

The Beginning Of The End

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: A look into the evolution of Y/N’s relationship with Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, over the course of her three years in residency as she begins her fourth year as a senior resident. Their unspoken connection has simmered under the surface, building tension over shared glances, subtle touches, and buried feelings,  with their emotional stalemate still unresolved, but undeniably present. 

Word Count: 1.8 K Content Warning: Mentions of child death, medical procedures, panic attacks, unresolved tension, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times. 

You have been doing this dance for three years now. You had met Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch on your first day of residency at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Fresh-faced and full of childish hope. Dr. Robinavitch had taken a stern approach when it came to your learning, and although it stung for a while, you understood it came with the territory. You knew what people assume when they saw you, you stood at just 4'11", but what you lacked in height, you more than made up for in quiet tenacity. Your brown eyes, large and observant, held a kind of quiet sorrow, like someone who had seen too much too young, but never stopped hoping for better. Your medium-toned skin often had a warm flush from running around the hospital, but you carried yourself with a kind of composed stillness, as if the chaos of the ER never quite penetrated the shield you'd learned to hold up.

You had a slight frame, graceful and almost delicate in your movements, what Dr. Robby once offhandedly described as “pretty, dainty little thing who believes in rainbows and butterflies.” But he’d also learned, sometimes the hard way, that beneath your soft voice and gentle manner, you could be immovable when it counted. You didn’t raise your voice often, but when you did, the entire room listened.

In scrubs, you often looked like a med student playing dress-up, but anyone who underestimated you regretted it fast. You weren’t the type to demand space; you simply claimed it with quiet skill and calm certainty.

Despite the barriers you put up, your compassion was obvious in the way you held a patient’s hand, the way you comforted families, and the way you never once treated anyone like just another chart. You loved deeply, especially your family, though you rarely talked about yourself. Whatever trauma shaped you, you carried it like a scar stitched into your core, quiet, but unignorable.

You had earned Robby’s respect fast once he saw past what you looked like and learned about who you were as a doctor. You had thought of Dr. Robby as a good mentor, but three years of learning about each other and learning from him had developed something between you that was unspoken, buried deep in its roots beneath the surface.

It had become never-ending game of chess where neither of the players was ready to admit defeat or their feelings. Stolen glances, small touches and unspoken truths that have been bouncing between you two for the past year, and although you both thought you were subtle, half the ER were waiting for the ticking time bomb to go off. Your relationship had shifted fast one day during your third year. It had been a brutal shift, twelve hours of back-to-back traumas, a code blue that ended with a mother screaming into her child’s chest, and the guilt of a missed diagnosis that wasn’t yours, but still felt like it belonged to you. The kind of shift that strips the bones clean.

You held it together until the locker room.

No one saw you slip inside. You were good at that, disappearing when your emotions started to boil too close to the surface. You perched on the bench, elbows on your knees, breath coming short and sharp like your lungs had shrunk.

Your vision tunneled.

Your chest ached.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to will it away, but the past had already caught up, flashes of too-bright lights, sirens, someone calling your name while your voice refused to work. You weren’t here anymore. You were there, small and helpless and bleeding on the inside.

You didn’t hear the door open.

“Sheri?”

You flinched hard, jerking upright. Robby froze when he saw your face, your eyes wide and unfocused, chest rising too fast.

He stepped in slowly, voice gentling. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You tried to speak. Nothing came out. Your hands were shaking. Damn it, you thought, not here. Not in front of him.

But he didn’t comment. Didn’t tease. He crossed the room like he was walking toward a wounded animal, careful, steady.

“Can I come closer?”

You nodded, barely.

He crouched in front of you, not touching, just anchoring you with his presence. “You’re having a panic attack,” he said quietly. “You’re safe. You’re here at the hospital. It's over. Just breathe with me, okay? In through your nose.”

You mirrored him, trying to follow the rhythm of his breaths. His voice was low and grounding, like the rumble of a storm you trusted not to hit you.

“Out through your mouth.”

You did. Once. Twice. A third time. The air started to reach your lungs again.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Good. That’s good.”

Without thinking, you leaned forward, maybe just to stay tethered, maybe because the gravity between you pulled you there, and he caught you gently, his hand slipping behind your back. You felt his breath near your ear, his chest against yours.

Too close. Too much.

But you didn’t move.

And neither did he.

The moment stretched, quiet and heavy. His hand didn’t leave your back. Your forehead nearly rested against his shoulder, and the smell of his cologne, faint, clean, familiar, hit you in a way it never had before.

You pulled back at the same time he did, eyes catching. Locked.

The air changed.

Not like before, not in the safe, platonic way. Something crackled between you. Something dangerous. New.

You could feel his breath on your lips. His eyes flicked there, just for a second. Just long enough to light your nerves on fire.

He blinked and stood up fast, breaking the contact like it had burned him. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your voice still didn’t work. Your heart was pounding for an entirely new reason now.

“Good,” he said, running a hand through his hair, suddenly all sharp edges and avoidance. “I’ll give you a minute.”

And then he was gone, leaving you in the silence, staring at the door and trying to convince yourself it hadn’t just happened. That your skin wasn’t buzzing. That his touch hadn’t been gentle in a way that meant something.

You had no idea what the hell had just shifted between you. And for a long time after, you sat there in the stillness, breathing finally even, hands steady, but your skin still tingled from where his fingers had touched you, and your thoughts refused to fall back into place.

Something had changed.

Something that neither of you could pretend hadn’t happened.

After the panic attack, things didn’t go back to normal.

At least, not completely.

The next shift, Robby didn’t mention it. He was the same as ever, brisk, dryly sarcastic, sharp-eyed. But something about the air between you had shifted. The way he looked at you lingered just a breath longer. The way he stood beside you now left less space. Not suffocating, never that, but close enough that you could feel it.

And you told yourself it was nothing. Just him being kind. Just the aftershock of a bad night. Just you, reading too much into a silence that stretched a little too long.

But then came the day he reached past you for a chart and his hand brushed yours, and he didn’t pull away fast enough.

The morning he handed you a coffee, your order without asking.

The way he touched your elbow when you moved past him in, like he had to, like it was muscle memory.

Small things. Nothing obvious. Nothing anyone would question, no one except you. Because you noticed. Because your body noticed before your mind could catch up.

You weren’t foolish. You knew what you were to him. A resident. A student. Another junior duckling trailing behind him. And yet, it didn’t feel that simple anymore. It hadn’t felt simple since that day in the locker room, when your panic broke through the surface and he held you together with nothing but steadiness and silence.

You were careful after that. He was, too.

But carefulness didn’t erase the tension. If anything, it sharpened it.

A glance across a the ER became something charged. A moment of eye contact during a case presentation lasted a fraction too long. When you laughed at one of his dry little jabs, his mouth would twitch like he regretted making you smile. When you succeeded, he praised you with words that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

It became a game. A never-ending match between two people who refused to admit defeat. You were always one move behind him, then suddenly ahead. He’d say something biting, and you’d parry with soft defiance. You started calling him out more in rounds, in front of junior residents, even in front of attendings. Not disrespectfully, but with a kind of quiet precision he couldn’t ignore. And he didn’t shut you down. He liked it. You could tell.

Somewhere along the line, you stopped needing his approval. You had it. You knew that now. What you craved instead was something less nameable, something that sat beneath your skin and hummed at the base of your spine every time you were near him.

Late nights turned into long silences filled with everything neither of you would say.

There was the night he leaned against the nurses’ station at 3 a.m., watching you work a code from across the room with something close to pride in his eyes.

The time you stitched a laceration on a pediatric patient with trembling hands after a rough trauma, and he rested a hand on your shoulder when it was over, brief, but grounding.

The time you laughed too freely at something he said, and he looked away too fast, like it hurt him to hear it.

You thought maybe he was fighting it. Whatever it was between you. And you hated yourself for hoping he’d lose.

Because the truth was, somewhere between the mentorship and the medicine, the rivalry and the long hours, you had fallen in love with him. Not in the sweet, safe, storybook way. No. It was a quiet, painful kind of thing. The kind that lived in your chest like a secret, blooming and aching all at once.

You never told anyone. You didn’t need to.

Half the ER was watching the dance. Waiting for the moment someone slipped.

But he never did. And neither did you.

By the end of your third year, you had become known for your calm presence, your steady hands, and your ruthless efficiency. Your charts were tight. Your instincts were sharper. You could run a trauma code with one look at your team and a steady tone.

But behind all of it was that tension. That thread between you and Robby that neither of you had cut.

And as your final third-year shift wound to a close, the kind of rainy, unremarkable Thursday that smelled like bleach and burnt coffee, you caught him watching you across the break room, his gaze unreadable, jaw tight.

And by the time you walked into the ER for your first shift as a Senior resident with a new badge, and a team of interns trailing behind you, you felt the shift again.

This was your year now.

But it still started with him. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Your honor, I love my sad boi. Let me cook

[chesstrainer24]

Chess has always been a game of intellect, strategy, and foresight. In the digital age, mastering chess has become more accessible than ever. A Personalized Approach to Improvement is essential for any player aiming to elevate their skills and compete at higher levels. With the advent of chess training programs and interactive chess tutorials, players can now receive tailored guidance and instruction from the comfort of their homes.

The Importance of a Personalized Approach

In the realm of chess, a one-size-fits-all approach rarely yields the best results. A Personalized Approach to Improvement focuses on the unique strengths and weaknesses of each player, ensuring that training is both effective and engaging.

Benefits of Personalized Chess Training

Customized Chess Training: Tailors lessons to address specific areas of improvement.

Chess Skill Enhancement: Focuses on developing individual strengths and addressing weaknesses.

Remote Chess Instruction: Offers flexibility and convenience for busy schedules.

Tailored Chess Guidance: Provides personalized feedback and strategies.

Chess Training Programs

Chess training programs are designed to cater to players of all levels, from beginners to advanced competitors. These programs typically include a mix of theory, practice, and analysis, ensuring a comprehensive approach to learning.

Interactive Chess Tutorials

Interactive chess tutorials are a key component of modern chess training. These tutorials use engaging, hands-on methods to teach important concepts and tactics.

Virtual Chess Classes

Virtual chess classes provide an opportunity to learn in a group setting, benefiting from the collective knowledge and experience of peers. These classes often include live instruction, Q&A sessions, and practice games.

Customized Chess Training

The core of A Personalized Approach to Improvement is customized chess training. This approach involves creating a tailored training plan that addresses the specific needs of the player.

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To enhance your chess skills, it is crucial to engage in targeted practice and study. Chess Trainer offers various tools and resources to help players improve, including:

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Continue Reading: https://chesstrainer.com/online-chess-training-a-personalized-approach-to-improvement/

[angelicgirlmj]

cultivating your hobbies to become that girl

as summer starts to end, i find my days a little emptier and im full of anticipation for the coming academic year. but the last thing i want to do is waste the last part of summer so now is the perfect time to cultivate or begin a new hobby, focusing on four areas to level up your body, skills, mind and passions! enjoy angels and i hope this gives you some inspiration.

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body

having a hobby that helps you reach your dream body, maintain a healthy lifestyle or just help with your mental health (as moving your body always does!) is such a good idea. the past few months my workout schedule has decreased due to the amount of schoolwork i have had and exam season so now is the perfect time for me to get more disciplined and build up a good workout scheme. my hobbies based around my body are pilates or yoga, both of which help me with my fitness goals. here are some more ideas/inspiration for some hobbies you could start:

‘hot girl walks’ - set a goal for your daily steps and go on walks everyday to help you achieve that.

running daily.

swimming daily.

tennis or badminton daily.

joining a sports club such as football or gymnastics.

dance - could be by yourself at home following dance workouts!

strength training.

starting a fitness challenge - such as a month long youtube challenge.

start making your own fitness content! film videos or write tutorials.

bike riding daily.

skills

finding a hobby that helps you develop/cultivate your skills is so important. mine personally is cooking/baking as it helps me focus on giving my body what it needs, becoming more independent and providing for those i love. here are some ideas/inspiration:

painting.

making your own clothes - sewing, knitting or crocheting.

gardening.

scrapbooking.

photography.

drawing.

writing - poetry, novels, articles or anything similar.

acting - helps with public speaking, confidence and making friends.

jewellery making.

chess or a similar intense mental game - cultivates your thinking skills and mind.

mind

finding a hobby that helps you mentally, especially if relevant to schoolwork or career plans is so helpful. mine is reading/engaging with literature as not only does it align with my academic work but also helps me with how i think, view the world and allows me to be more empathetic.

mindfulness/meditation.

learning to play an instrument.

writing/researching around your subjects.

budgeting - good way of keeping track of and understanding money even if you aren’t planning on doing anything economics based!

journalling or keeping a diary.

joining/starting a book club.

starting a studyblr, study youtube channel etc.

learning a new language.

tutoring someone - great way of helping yourself learn as well!

joining a debate team.

passions

finding a hobby around one of your passions is such a fun and unique way of engaging in things you enjoy. mine personally is visiting museums/areas of historical importance as i am so passionate about history.

visiting art galleries.

attending the theatre/cinema.

going to live music events.

visiting libraries/book shops - growing your wish list, finding new book inspo etc!

going to cooking classes, restaurants or cafes.

travelling to new areas (could be local or international) - perhaps to develop language skills, find places to hike etc.

attending lectures on subjects youre interested in.

watching documentaries or video essays.

starting a new course - i do several history courses, my most recent was on European empires!

making a blog, channel, instagram etc for a new hobby or interest.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─────── thank you for reading angels! hopefully this will help us all on our hobby journeys and have given you ideas of hobbies to try or develop for the end of summer or just in general! love, m.

[celesomnis]

❝ Loosen Up Your Buttons. . . ❞

Nyoka Wadjet x Photographer Reader

The Prefect assists Nyoka with what they expect to be a small and casual photo-shoot for his magicam profile. What transpires is the most breath-loss the Prefect's has ever experienced in a mere hour's time.

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@cozymochi and @oddberryshortcake 's slitheringly handsome oc makes a return, baby

you know I had to do it to em.

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Now, truth be told, you didn't exactly grasp the huge draw to Magicam.

It seemed not to be dissimilar to your universe's version of instagram, and maybe fused with facebook too based on some of the interface.

Your old friends back home had always found it amusing that you weren't a social-media-bug, despite being so proficient in digital photography.

The short answer to that was: you preferred candids. And every photo on people's socials went through more edits and "touch-ups" than celebrity magazine covers.

Now, by some miraculous grace of fate, one of the first things you acquired when you entered this brand new world was the thing you can scarcely imagine living without - a camera.

A normal one? No. Professional one? Doubtful. Crowley gave it to you, after all.

But until you can get home, the pictures it develops are a high enough quality to satisfy your itch.

Now, even though you didn't exactly shy away from expressing your love for your hobby t your new friends here, it still took the NRC a little while to catch on to your exact talents.

It wasn't until Vil payed you a (shockingly substantial) amount of Thaumarks to photograph a few headshots for Epel that the school got its first a real taste for your skills.

And this was where a certain beastman came slithering back onto your radar.

"A photoshoot?" you repeat as you stall from placing down your final knight. You were in the middle of one of your now weekly sessions of chess matches, currently pretending you weren't vitally aware how badly you were losing this time. "Like, a real one? For your magicam account?"

"Yes." his reply is low and matter-of-fact, and, you notice, without shame.

Not that he should feel shame. Of all people, you think he should not. Every time you see him, it just re-instills in you how unnatural perfect he is.

You have to break yourself free of your own thoughts, teasing him to cover your blush, "Oh? So you don't 'have a guy' for that already?"

"I will," Nyoka leans more onto his knuckle, making the window light flicker across his glasses. "Have you. If you agree to it."

That sets off the heat in your face tenfold. You make a clumsy move on the board that Nyoka takes instant advantage of. A few more moves go by, between you both, before you finally answer.

"Alright" you say, holding up a finger, "On one condition. Outside of lighting and contrast adjustments, the photos get no edits."

You can't tell if the face he gives is because he finds that condition foolish, or if he is minutely approvingly towards your integrity.

Regardless, leans forward a tad more, showing off the sharp juts of his collarbones, and murmurs, "Very well." before checkmating you.

May the Seven have mercy on me, you think to yourself.

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The Seven do not have mercy at all, and in fact, must have banded together for your downfall.

Because when you walk into the private Savanaclaw room where Nyoka texted you to meet him, your knees almost buckle.

"Wadjet." The sight before you is off-guard catching that you call him by his surname.

He gives you only an acknowledging "Mmh?" while adjusting his braids over the many, many defined muscles of his back. Each one sticking out against his sheer shirt.

You think you die while this happens. You're still standing, and awake, but you aren't breathing, so you can't be too sure either way.

"You're-" comes squeaking from your throat.

You were about to say "you're wet", because the statement is true. He is wet. His entire upper half is drenched enough that his shirt has become see-through.

And it so baffling that this is the reality you're in that you nearly just blurt "you're wet" at him, but you can't say that. Not out loud. That can't come out anything but wrong.

He's watching you now, pinning you with those snake charmer eyes. Without the glare of his glasses, the warm sunlike colors in his eyes shine unobscured, drying your throat like desert sand.

Oh hell, prefect, get ahold of yourself. Please. You're a photographer. He asked you because he must trust you to be professional. Do not ruin this already fragile friendship by being stupid.

"You're ready... for the pictures... like that."

Oh god.

"You were late. I got prepared to keep ahead of schedule." Nyoka points out dryly.

He surely must to see how disheveled your expression is, and how your eyes keep skating down his chest, but you're thankful he isn't bringing it up.

You force a breath in and out. "Right. Let's- let's just get started. Where do you want to stand?"

"Are you not the photographer?" Nyoka challenges coolly, "And I not the subject? Your job is to adjust me into the ideal image."

Hauntingly erotic visage or no, he is still the Nyoka you've been playing chess with for the passed weeks.

To yourself, you mutter, "like you need me for that.", while pointing your camera to a few different spots in the room. Looking for the points with the best lighting.

"Over here." you decide, directing him between two deep red curtails.

There's a scoff from him, but he moves obediently to the position. The first pose he tries is a simple one. Raising his arms into a loose grasp of each curtain, stretching his wet shirt up slightly up his stomach.

You swallow hard.

"Uh, maybe, um, turn a little. To the side."

Nyoka edges his body sideways slowly, waiting for your signal to stop. His movement is languid, smooth and fluid as water. His face, though is as impassive as ever, clearly unaffected by the alluded high intimacy of this venture at all.

But in front of the lens, it turns smoldering. His professional training kicking in. His eyes burn you, and his lips are very slightly pursed in a way that accentuates their shape.

The camera is shaking in your hands. If these photos come out blurry, there'll be nothing else to blame except you.

With all your will, you steel your arms.

"Good. Can you," you hear yourself say, "Curl your tale, around your body."

After a minute, his tail slides up from its spot on the floor, and begins to spiral around his waist, peaking up into the lens view of the shot.

"Higher?" you rasp.

He does what you ask. The tail curls up until its a loop frames his abdomen, and the tip is grazing a loose hug to his chest. You swear that somehow you can feel the tail as if its on your own body instead.

Photos snap. Your heart won't stop slamming itself into your ribs.

His scales glitter with the perspiration on his neck. The pose you adjusted him to reveals the contours of his figure like some kind of marble statue in a museum. His skin glowing in this warm, fiery light.

These are probably the best photos you'll take in your whole life, and you aren't sure you can ever look at them again, not if you want to maintain any semblance of sanity in front of Nyoka from now on.

You stop clicking.

"Okay... I got- I got it."

Nyoka relaxes into a more familiar pose, crossing his arms and inclining his head by way to call you over. Wanting to see the results.

You inch over to him. You mean to just hand him the camera, even though it feels like you're handing someone your own severed limb every time you let people scrutinize your work.

But instead, he leans over you. His tall form hunches to peer over one of your shoulders, his wet shirt pressing onto your back, and his hand grabs over your's that's still on the camera.

Nyoka lightly pushes you finger aside with his own and hits the scrolling button. Reviewing the footage.

You do nothing because you actually are dead this time. Every ounce of breath has exited your lungs. There's nothing left inside you except mush and a loud, deafening roaring sound at your's ears.

A hum blows passed your ear. "So Schoenheit wasn't exaggerating. You are well at what you do. I could be impressed, mouse."

Oh yeah, you're dead.

Some mild eternity later, Nyoka rescues your soul by detaching from you. Walking to grab a small towel and pressing it over his neck.

"Adjust the lighting on those final four how you see fit," you hear him instruct you distantly, "I will chose the best one when you send them to me. Have them sent to me before next week's shoot, we'll discuss pay and post dates then."

Life crashes back upon you.

You whip around. Nearly drop the camera, fumble for it, and squeeze it into your both arms like it can protect you from the prospect you just heard.

"Next week!?"

"Next week," Nyoka confirrms. His eyes find your's, they pool heat into like lava. "You're my 'guy' for this now. Wasn't that the deal."

Oh. What the hell have you gotten yourself into.

[borngeniusworld]

🧠 Ready to Think Smarter? Master These 7 Critical Thinking Exercises!

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[anyxis]

I just hate how everyone seems to see Leona as less than he actually is. Neji, who was surprised to see his skills in the Bead Brawl. Vil, who was slightly offended when Leona could see trough his act and know he was injured (pretty sure the only other person who could have done that was Rook). Everyone comparing him to Malleus in spelldrive even though Malleus is practically a god with how magically powerful he his (of course he won’t be able to win?!).

Like, give the boy a break, would you?! He is so intelligent and talented. I’m pretty sure he could ace all his classes if he actually gave a damn. And let’s not forget about Vil’s Overblot. Remember when everyone came back to the scene, just to realise that the settings had all suddenly disappeared and there was not enough time to do it all again before the show? First off, Leona was the only one who thought of saving them in the cloud and, second, he obviously knew that something big happened for that to happen. Did he suspect it was an Overblot? I don’t know. But he was clearly suspicious of something.

Also, all the insights he gave Jamil during book 6? Helping him see that he could actually take his place and didn’t have to jump in front of Leona all the time? But also helping him think of how it was for Kalim? That money was power and Kalim was learning to use it?

All the chess references he gave during the new event and his opinion on how to develop his country to avoid having more people live like Ruggie his forced to live.

I don’t know… I just felt really upset about how people looked down on Leona in the new event and I needed to rant. I just feel like, if people stopped treating him this way, saying that they’re surprised of something almost basic or that ‘of course he would do that’, he would start showing that he cares about things and people. Because he does. God knows that boy cares. But what’s the use of putting himself out there if anyway people are going to give him backhanded compliments?

Edit: I forgot something in my rant! What’s up with the way Neji and the guards address Leona? Do they talk so freely with Falena? Will they talk that way too with Cheka when he’ll be older? Or do they just do this with Leona? Because, as far as I’m aware, Jamil didn’t address Leona that way and no one acts like that with Malleus (except us, but we didn’t know, and Lilia and Silver, but they’re his family). So what’s up with the disrespect, uh people??

Also, do we know what caused Leona’s scar when he was a kid..? Because I’d be curious to know which fucker did this to the poor boy!