#All in one digital board for teaching

[globusinfocomlimited]

Importance of Digital Board for classroom learning

In this fast-changing world, both the role of schools and teachers are rapidly transforming. Many EdTech brands have developed effective learning software and applications to support students’ development inside the classroom. Digital learning platforms create learning experiences that encourage students to actively participate and learn available educational content. These online learning platforms are used to create an engaging learning environment for students and offer personalized lessons for each student supporting self-paced learning.  

Today, resources that aid teachers in grabbing and holding learners’ attention are essential. Low students engagement is the most common problem faced.

Smart boards, often known as digital boards for teaching, make teaching easier by enhancing student learning. They enable teachers and students to work together to study, share files, use instructional software and access online resources.

Here are the top five benefits of using smart boards in the classroom and how they may help every student.

1. Increase student involvement

Researchers claim that because of the available K–12 content today, students are turning into digital natives, and they learn more effectively. Solutions for easy-to-use, scalable, and secure displays provide teachers more power over the curriculum. Teachers may design more engaging lessons by writing or typing on digital boards, drawing attention to subjects with highlights, circles, arrows, or zooming in—as well as sharing multimedia information like videos, webpages, presentations, and photographs. Even numerous parts of the digital board for teaching can be created so that multiple students can use it effectively and simultaneously.

2. Accommodate many learning modalities

An interactive whiteboard is helpful for all types of learners, ensuring better audio-video experiences. Learners can hear multimedia content, also hands-on the board, and write on it with a stylus or even just their fingers. Visual learners benefit from a 4K UHD screen, like the one on Globus digital boards. The smart board can be used for one-on-one interaction with learners or for educating small groups of students arranged according to learning preferences.

3. Lessons saved, shared, and sent

K–12 instructors were already setting aside some of their time to make learning easily available for children who were absent due to illness before COVID-19. However, teachers can now utilize a digital board to take screenshots of their teachings, preserving them quickly by even recording, and sharing them with the entire class as well as any other colleagues who might require them. There are countless alternatives for content. Teachers can construct review materials for students to use at home or save their own notes so they can take up where they left off.

4. Make the classroom accessible to everybody.

Digital boards for teaching make it simpler for teachers to include students via video-conference technology, whether some or the entire class is learning remotely. There is no requirement to install any unique cameras. Students who are at home can participate in class discussions and observe everything the teacher does. This not only makes hybrid learning possible but also promotes it.

5. Encourage learner’s success

Students who used digital boards to learn performed noticeably better and engage better through it rather than the traditional method of learning. Students get inclined easily toward visual learning and thus "visual materials, paintings, symbols, and screen designs improve learning and increase learning persistence."

Schools that are digitalizing their classrooms with digital learning solutions are investing in their students making them future-ready and preparing them for a better tomorrow.

[wellthatswhatithought]

Y'all ever have a teacher who's just...teaching the wrong grade? My eighth grade science teacher was a weird, fat, definitely autistic woman who exclusively wore enormous caftans and had a cardboard cutout of Mr. Spock in her classroom. Everyone in that junior high made fun of her, and I know with deep certainty that if i had had her two years later i would have LOVED her. Like, i REALIZED this two years later. I'm so sad for her and for 10th grade me who didn't have Mrs. Miller.

[kotori-mochi]

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free, mostly teaches anatomy and how to draw people. But does have art talks and teaches the basics.)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard and teaches you everything)

Aaron Rutten (free, tips about art, talks about art programs and the best products for digital art)

BoroCG (free, teaches a verity of art mediums from 3D modeling to digital painting. As well as some tips that can be used across styles)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free, teaches digital painting and has classes in Spanish)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price. Mostly teaching character designs and simple backgrounds.)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney. Mostly nature art)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Sinix Design (has some tips on drawing people)

Winged canvas (art school for free on a verity of mediums)

Bob Ross (just a good time, learn how to paint, as well as how too relax when doing art. "there are no mistakes only happy accidents", this channel also provides tips from another artist)

Scott Christian Sava (Inspiration and provides tips and advice)

Pikat (art advice and critiques)

Drawbox (a suggested cheap online art school, made of a community of artist)

Skillshare (A cheap learning site that has art classes ranging from traditional to digital. As well as Animation and tutorials on art programs. All under one price, in the USA it's around $34 a month)

Human anatomy for artist (not a video or teacher but the site is full of awesome refs to practice and get better at anatomy)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

📝As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. If you want to go fancy Michaels is always a good place for traditional supplies. They also get in some good sales and discounts. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are usually more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates. Galaxy, Windows, macOS, iPad, iPhone, Android, or Chromebook device. )

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99 usd, IPAD & IPHONE ONLY)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, animation and more. Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Aseprite ($19.99 usd but has a free trail, for pixel art Windows & macOS)

Drawpile (free and for if you want to draw with others)

IbisPaint (free, phone app ONLY)

Medibang (free, IPAD, Android and PC)

NOTE: Some of these can work on almost any computer like Clip and Sai but others will require a bit stronger computer like Blender. Please check their sites for if your computer is compatible.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

"also apologies for any spelling or grammar errors, I have Dyslexia and it makes my brain go XP when it comes to speech or writing"

[janumun]

A Bond Everlasting (LaDS Rafayel - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Pairing: Rafayel/Reader Words: ~17k

Tags: soulmate AU (the red string of fate, with a twist), college setting (and they were roommates), angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, minor violence and action, scent kink, blow job, oral and vaginal sex, facial, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, merman knotting, sexual rut/Lemurian sexual cycle

Summary: Rafayel tries — and miserably fails —  to forget the one his red thread weaved against once upon a time, even a decade after its break. Finding her, once more, years later, and residing within the same place as her doesn’t help his cause. 

A/N: A happy very belated birthday gift to you, @chibamari. With all of my love and all of our favorite heartbreak, I hope you enjoy this, darling friend.

I. EBB 

The red string of fate. Rafayel found he truly loathed the concept.  

What was it, truly, if not just the Fates contemptuous scorn upon them?  

Forcing kinship and eternity in between a pair that did not mould against the other. That would, if time given, drift apart as mere bottled wishes left traversing, lonely, across the seas.  

And yet, the manacles remain celebrated, since time immemorial. As legends of the rare, and lucky few, destined to be bonded in harmony.  

Rafayel used to be — once upon a time — part of the same foolery brigade as the rest of them, the day his red thread spun and found itself interweaved against his first, and last, love. To her, he promised a Lemurian’s vow of faithful eternity. 

Until the day that blood-red thread quivered and ruptured apart, weakened by her absence.  

Leaving to Rafayel only the hollow remains of a heart rejected. The brand of its mockery left behind as indelible remains of the severed — useless — string wound against his finger.  

II. FLOW 

Deft, practiced digits streak a brush across canvas; the truculent quality to his paint lines reflecting the agitated knot of Rafayel’s brow and the hand he scrubs through his hair in chagrin at constant-wheeling thoughts. Bold strokes; an amalgamation of bright colors — gentle turquoise and oceanic azure — setting into paper to shape unconscious form to his muse, for his current class.  

It is only when he hears the ripple of applauding gasps behind — “You’re amazing, Senior Rafayel!” — is he knocked back into his senses, angling a stupefied gaze up at what he’s made of his project: originally an interpretation of the depths of the sea, the topic he’d presented his class for the day.  

He notes, in no small proportion of growing aversion, the strokes of his brush having shaped form of a delicate back — hers — against the backdrop of a vast sea, reminiscent of home. His thoughts — he muses in self-derision — having lent unconscious connection in between his place of most comfort to the person who stood as his entire comfort. 

Rafayel’s head throbs with heat, as if knelling the oncoming of a particularly harsh fever. Perhaps his less than perfect health was to blame for his momentary lapse of concentration.  

“Is the lady underwater inspired by anyone in particular, Senior? Your brushwork for her seems particularly passionate.” 

Rafayel’s mouth twitches into an insouciant, cool smile, he directs at his students. “Hmm I’m not sure. Perhaps, she’s inspired by that one mermaid movie they’re currently playing in theatres.”  

“Oh, ‘Aquatic’? I’ve seen it!” 

“Me too! It's really good.”  

“The part where she turns to sea foam—” 

A seamless lie; he lets it steer the focus of conversation away from him and his lapse in concentration. Turning back towards the board to proceed with his lecture.  

Opting to teach a fine arts course to a bunch of junior year students, for extra annual credit, was clearly shaping to be one of the worst decisions he’d ever made.  

Especially so, when the subject in question, he’d offered to teach for, in the first place, remained starkly absent throughout the duration of the lecture.  

III. EBB 

Shouldering open the door to their shared apartment, Rafayel steps inside, staggering under the weight of his stack of the newest arrival of deliveries. The apartment is silent, devoid of the sound of her characteristic pattering footsteps.  

Depositing his packages down against the side of the sofa in the living room, he collapses back into the cushions, tuning a distasteful frown towards the empty kitchen counter. Recounting to mind, the events of this morning, having shepherded him into an entire day of distraction at the University.  

“Ouch.” She hissed, a sound of surprise, wrenching her arm back from the sizzling frying pain at the spits of oil it spewed.  

Rafayel released an exaggerated sigh at the sight, ambling over towards the kitchen. “Let me help.”  

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of fixing breakfast on my own.” She attempted heroic reassurance, even as she easily treaded backwards to let Rafayel replace her at the stove.  

“Yes, yes, I believe you. I'd still like to ensure you don’t burn our apartment to the ground while I’m away at work. My paintings are priceless treasures, you know.” He deftly takes the eggs off the stove and plates them before shoving her share at her. “There you go, Miss All-Capable.” 

“Stop making fun of me.” She smiles in relieved gratitude, moving to set cutlery across the table. “And thank you.” 

Rafayel swivels a puffed smile her way. “Whatever would you do without me?”  

She shakes her head at him, attempting no effort to refute him. “Indeed.” Her fingers brush against his as she moves to pass him his share.  

“Rafayel.” She sweeps a sudden grab at his hand, digits entwining in between his. “You’re a bit warmer than usual. Are you feeling sick?” She smooths a gentle hand across his forehead.  

He feels his face burn darker at the sudden intimacy of their contact. “No, I don’t.” Instinctively jostling away from her touch. “I’m just tired, is all. I was up the entire night, after all.”  

“You really need to fix that terrible habit of yours. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind!” Rafayel can’t tamp back the grin from his face at her chiding. 

“Take better care of yourself. I can’t be here to keep you in check round the clock, you know.” She sighs in resignation.  

“Yes, yes, my noisy Mistress.”  

“Speaking of which,” She begins, just as Rafayel seats himself at the table. "I'll be out late tonight.” 

Rafayel feels his smile frost over; a dreaded, sour feeling immediately spurning at the base of his belly.  

“I have a study date with Caleb.” She does not meet his gaze, forking at her egg.  

Rafayel hears himself speak before he can tuck back his impulsive thoughts. “You sure you should be trusting the man this much? I don’t—” 

“’Like him.’ I know. I don’t know why you’re so biased against him, he’s a good person.”  

The praise dredges bitterness across his tongue; ashy and tepid. His fork nearly stabs at his own food, a disapproving moue he knows is dark upon his face. “Sure,” he intones at last, grappling against his desire to ask her not to go, to spend her day with him instead. “Have fun.” An unfair burden he knows he throws onto her shoulders; he does not possess the right to dictate who she chooses to associate with.  

And yet— 

Rafayel’s gaze deliberately treks the line of red thread adorning his ring finger — treacherously cut off a few centimetres in and dissipating into nothingness. Following the absent line of it; her own finger sits vacant against the wooden table-top. An immeasurable dejection he isn’t able to shuck off, no matter how many times his eyes have witnessed its emptiness.  

Perhaps she is right and he is sick, an inscrutable tremor setting into his fingers as they continue on with the rest of their meal in silence.  

IV. FLOW 

The oncoming dawn encroaches a gradual shell-pink spill of color across the velvet skies as Rafayel’s feverish gaze drags, listless, to the view past the patio windows, the bone-deep ache from the day past yet to recede.  

The angry scrapes of charcoal rushed across paper, forgotten as the unfinished sketch drifts purposeless down onto the floor to join the rest of its discarded predecessors.   

She has yet to return home — Rafayel had stayed up the entire night and remained planted, firm, within their lounge, to make sure he would be there to greet her on her return. She'd never been away from their apartment overnight.  

Rafayel knows because he had — on more occasions than he could count and didn’t wish to acknowledge — found himself crumpled within cool sheets, self-confined to the privacy of his room, listening in to the comforting sounds of her padded, soft movements around their apartment.  

She'd often slip back through their door, close to midnight — she made it a point, always, to return home, no matter the hour — after slaving away hours at the library for her Hunter exam. She'd try for quietude; he knew, so she wouldn’t disturb his absent sleep.  

A gentle clink of mugs at the kitchen counter as she’d make herself a cup of a coffee in preparation of burning the midnight oil.  

Despite having the physical structure of their apartment — a shelter and comfort in name — his room’s four-walled sanctity, it didn’t truly feel warm as a home until the moment she stepped past the threshold and into their shared space.  

And only when he’d hear the soft crinkle of pages turning steadily as she’d settle herself onto the living room sofa to study, would he find himself beckoned into slumber. As if she too, knew on instinct, how her presence aimed to soothe, choosing to make space for her studies right where he could hear her, in the lounge, instead of the confines of her own room. 

Yet now.  

Midnight had come and gone, dawn scraping indigo for approaching light, and no signs of her return.  

A long day behind him endured in feverish unrest and the toll of another sleepless night, doesn’t help disentangle burgeoning thoughts of her within the embrace of another man at that very moment, one not him. He can’t help but sorely curse himself for his ill-thought decision of staying the night up, waiting for her like some sorry love-struck fool.  

Not that he would’ve been able to sleep, either way; a part of him mocked in muted whispers.  

His thread throbs; a nipping bite of rejection and along with it, his body. Languid gaze absently trekking the severed thread, flickering incandescent against his ring finger. The constricting heat of it, as if traversing up his veins along with the fever within his body. Colluding against his heart, as if it wishes to eventually wither him up instead. A slow, bittersweet poison.  

Rafayel feels nauseous.  

He’s beginning to contemplate on retiring for the meagre, precious hours before his upcoming classes for the day — perhaps that bitterly strong liquor she’d stowed into the fridge earlier would help do the trick — just as the door lock clicks open.  

The sound violently startles Rafayel out of winding, unheeded thoughts enough, he springs off the sofa just as she steps foot over the threshold.  

Opening his mouth to put words to turbulent emotions — a million queries — before his questions wither off the tip of his tongue when he fixates a good, long look at her.   

She appears downright exhausted and an instinctual, foreboding spurts forth in him. The look on her careworn face, light-snuffed gaze meeting his — Rafayel thinks, mirrors the state of his own affairs — before it dissipates into stifled surprise. “Rafayel, what’re you doing up—”  

And before he can tamp himself back into composure, Rafayel’s striding the few paces it takes for him to reach her, dragging her into his embrace.  

She stiffens at the contact on instinctual reflex, it chips away at another piece of his heart. Tightens the strangulating hold of his severed thread against his soul.  

He hedges her tighter into his embrace, regardless. Head pitching down onto her shoulder; a hand he smooths down the line of her quivering back before she relaxes into him, at last.  

“Rafayel—” Arms twitching by her side and up as she circles him within her own comfort, returning his warmth in the cling of desperate digits against the back of his shirt.  

“You’re late. You're so late.” he gripes, half-hearted.  

A beat. Two passes. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”  

A peculiar relationship; she calls them friends — close — inappropriately so and he’d agreed to be one, to her, if it were the sole thing that allowed him to be by her side. For her to not abandon him once more. A relationship edging something far gnarled than friendship.  

He doesn’t believe even she has a name for what they share, in moments as these, where Rafayel forgets himself and the boundaries he holds himself to. Turns blind to pretenses and masks he fixates, so delicately crafted, for her benefit and the safety of his own heart. 

He is not, however, a man strong enough to ignore the strain of his beloved’s gaze, tiredness rimming her entire being, she feels so brittle in his arms, and it ruins him to not know the cause of it.  

“...Got something on your mind?” He murmurs into her hair. 

“Perhaps.” Her response is slow, halting.  

“Want to tell me what it is?” He breaks away from her, enough to let his eyes scour her face in stern scrutiny.  

A whispered laugh escapes her at his inspection.  

“...Rafayel, how do you feel about an early morning stroll with me?”  

V. EBB 

The shores of Whitesand Bay stretch empty within the wee hours of dawn, quiet, save for the twittering song of birds cutting across the sky and the gentle wash of waves at their bare feet as they amble along the sandy belt. She hasn’t uttered a word since, absent gaze trekking the gradual rise of the sun above the horizon, light flittering its diamonds across the lap of waves.  

The easy access to the sea — and by extension, the remarkable view — was one of the reasons they’d jointly agreed upon renting an apartment this close to Whitesand Bay, two years prior. On any other usual occasion, Rafayel’s fingers would’ve been upon pen and paper, soaking inspiration up and through rough strokes, sketching across paper.  

Now, however, his focus is all but entirely removed from his environment, vision honed in on her by his side.  

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” She murmurs, gaze still fixated upon the horizon. “I’m not an early riser like you are so I’ve never seen the sunrise here up this close.”  

She's skirting the issue, Rafayel has no mind to force her to spill her heart when she does not wish to. 

For her, he is willing to remain patient.  

Regardless of the consequences to his person.  

He joins in on her flimsy facade.  

“If only I wasn’t a little too aware of the fact.” Tapping a light fist against her temple, he angles a skewed smile down at her. “Despite my very arduous efforts to get you out of bed on multiple occasions, you’ve persisted in your terrible ways, Miss Hunter.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good, I fear.” 

That gets her breaking a smile, the tensed knitted worry within her gaze easing just that tiny bit; Rafayel plucks it up for the small reward it is. “A classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Like you’re any less bull-headed.” She defends. “Don’t make me recount all the times you nearly gave poor Thomas a heart attack because your paintings weren’t ready even mere hours before the exhibitions they were supposed to be featured in.”  

His mouth pulls into a distasteful moue at that. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side. He refuses to understand the world of difference it causes in between using cherry red or wine on a canvas. If it were up to that simpleton, he’d have me besmirch all my works, just for the sake of those trivial exhibitions.”  

She chuckles. “Now, no need to get so worked-up. You know Thomas cares for you and wishes to have your talent recognized like it deserves to be.” She moves to seat herself by the shore, close to where the waves lick up at the sand. Rafayel follows suit.  

“I know how much passion you pour into your paintings.” Crinkling a gentle smile up at him. “That’s exactly why I love your art so much.” 

Rafayel’s heart catches at his throat at the easy slip of her compliment.  

She's never been sparing with her appreciation of his artworks. 

Ever since she’d chanced upon them a few years back when they’d only shortly been re-united at the time.  

She’d always been generous and open with her admiration.  

His heart, however, wasn’t immune to its traitorous stuttering, every single time at her attentions and praise.  

Perhaps she discerns the look on his face, tapping into his emotions, or realizes the curious intimacy of her statement, she wrenches her gaze away from his. Rafayel swiftly feels the keen loss of it.  

Silence sweeps once more between them, her gaze having drifted back into the seas and with it, the steady droop of her shoulders as she curves in tighter against her huddled knees. “It was a place, similar to this one, where we first met. A lost little human meeting a young Lemurian washed ashore.” Her voice barely hikes above an octave. “I didn’t think Lemurians existed for real before that, and to know I shared a red fate with one...”  

His throat closes against a sharp inhale at her whisper, the first time she’s chosen to address their past severed bond, ever since their reunion.  

Why now. He means to ask. A question that dissipates off the tip of his tongue, un-uttered.  

“We were so young back then and I inadvertently hurt you. Ever since I moved away, and time just passed, regardless...” She pauses. “You must’ve really hated me for that, huh.” She angles a cautious smile at him. 

I did not. Rafayel means to refute and yet his tongue refuses to cooperate.  

She continues on, as if she had long perceived his answer and made peace with his supposed resentment of her, unperturbed by his lack of response. Her reaction vexes him.   

“I’ve hurt someone dear to me again. Caleb—” 

The familiar name spurns bitter within his chest. “Did he do something to you?” His fingers jam against coarse sand, snagging his thread tight against his ring finger. 

“No! No. Caleb’s a good man, he’s been nothing but kind to me.”  

Deep within the recesses of his heart, Rafayel knows it, he knows it only too well; he only wishes he could truly bring himself to hate him.  

“He...” Her fingers tense harsher against her arms. “Last night, he asked me to be his girlfriend.” 

His ring finger throbs; the missing line of its thread seeming to constrict against Rafayel’s neck.  

“I turned him down.” 

A quick, involuntary bite of wicked relief thrums at the back of his breastbone. And yet— 

Why do you look as if your heart is shattering into a million pieces? 

Rafayel’s mouth seems to form words on its own as if he wishes for his own demise. “Do you regret it?” 

Her silence is a dagger that digs pointed, deep in between his ribs, the longer she lets it steep.  

She meets his gaze, a turbulent question within hers, beseeching. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I should.” She looks as if she has more to speak, restive teeth biting into her lip to hold back unsaid thoughts.

Rafayel dares not parse the emotions he sees flittering within her eyes, dares not hope for what he cannot have. Not again, for his heart to fracture once more by setting up false narratives. He has loved and will love still for eternity — he doesn’t, however, have the tenacity to bear being abandoned again. 

And so, he shutters himself, gaze wrenching away from hers, a frown knitting tight against his brow. “Whatever it is that you want, if it makes you happy, I want you to grab onto it for yourself.” Fingers brushing against hers from where they rest within the sand, index and middle lingering longer against the base of her ring finger. Before he moves, carding hesitant digits through the fall of her hair.  

For it is the only way he knows how to love — regardless of broken vows — in her happiness, even if it would never be found by his side. 

VI. FLOW

The dream stirs vivid beneath restless lids — Rafayel hasn’t dreamt of that time of theirs together in so long, a welcome awareness of his mind’s conjuring, he embraces in that moment.   

Perhaps by-products of an exhausted, sick mind. 

Or yearning for an unfulfilled wish.  

A sweet sting of desire, just as the first time he remembers it. He lets himself drown deeper into the abyss of its calling. 

He’d cut a boring class during first semester at college — he could no longer remember the subject — in lieu of chasing the path of an ambitious sparrow within a secluded spot. Located far back along the grounds of the college and protected further underneath the dense foliage of the overgrown greenery as he’d sat perched upon a bench, motionless and silent.  

Save for the smooth rush of his pencil across his journal. Detailing the quest of the bird as it leapt across the grass towards a lazing cat, blissfully dodging the feline’s half-hearted attempt at pawing it away.  

Tranquility rippled only at a surprising intrusion; she’d walked into his private space — she always seemed to find him — and he’d startled at her presence.  

“Oh! Sorry. Rafayel, I thought I—” 

Their relationship on strained ice at the time — neither of them choosing to dig up unfulfilled childhood vows or the break of their fated thread. 

 A hastened apology she’d tripped over, for disturbing him before her eyes had flickered to the open journal in his lap and she’d breathed an awed sound. Called it beautiful — a slip of the tongue, he could tell, from her demeanor.  

They'd gotten back into conversation — albeit halting — after that.  

The moment, a pivotal one, in Rafayel allowing himself to accept her back into his life, both emotionally and physically. 

He recalls the citrus notes to her perfume as she’d tentatively seated herself by his side. The way her hair curled delicate against the curve of her cheek, beckoning Rafayel to dare a hand out and slip it back against her ear. 

The unconscious brush of soft digits against his as she’d moved to accept the proffered journal from him, when she’d asked for permission to view more of his artworks.  

The relief that had sunk into his marrow, body strung far too tight for so long — he felt each ache settle and ease, when she returned to his side. As if their bond still remained.  

As if it had never fractured in the first place. 

She moves to tug the curtains close, clipping back the last shafts of light from Rafayel’s room; his damp brow now decidedly relaxed in restless slumber, after being exposed to the heat of the sun for so long.  

He’s made a habit of drawing his windows open at night, perhaps to relieve the fevered pitch of his body off the cool breeze wafting of the sea. Restive sleeplessness; keeping him tossing until near close to dawn, when she often catches him falling, thankfully, into exhaustive sleep at the end of his long, disturbed nights.  

Rafayel had been out of sorts for nearly two weeks now; a distracted gaze and a listless stride his constant companions. Adamant and mulish in his response, at inquiring of his health, every time, that he was perfectly alright and merely plagued by the weariness of sleepless nights spent on his paintings.  

Barely a day or two into that ridiculous spectacle of his before her patience with him had expired and she’d hauled him off to his room and strong-armed him into bed.  

A rueful smile tugs at her mouth at the recollection of their silly argument then.  

“Hey, ow. Easy, you’ll break me! Aaah... too late. I think I’ve already dislocated my wrist. My life as a painter is done for. Ow.”   

“Rafayel. Shut up unless you want me to gag you as well.”  Forcing the covers over his body; she glowered at him for obedience while she hastened to take his temperature.  

Rafayel’s mouth soured deeper in distaste the longer she fretted over him. Opening his mouth, surely to protest, before she cut him off. “You’re running a low-grade fever.” 

Pressing a gentle hand over his forehead, “Please, rest now.” 

A knot twisted in between Rafayel’s brow at her plea. Threading his fingers against hers. “Alright, alright I will,” he murmured, a gentle thumb he smoothed against her furrowed brow. “So, stop making that face now.”  

His agitation at his prolonged ill-health, however, had manifested in numerous half-finished drafts and rough sketches, he’d filled sheets upon sheets of paper with, littered upon his bed.  

The subject matter of most, inexplicably similar in features; a fact that surprised her, for Rafayel had always been one for continual exploration of a wide variety of subjects in his artworks, rather than one stationary objective.  

She reaches for one such sketch now, discarded by his bedside. Predictably, it is the same subject her eyes have grown accustomed to: the graceful arch of a person’s — a woman’s — back, the cascade of her hair shrouding her gaze from view. It is ethereal, haunting. Lonely.  

And. 

She exhales an unsteady breath. Although a mere unpolished sketch, she feels Rafayel’s longing in the hastened strokes of charcoal across her visage.  An inscrutable sprout of emotion twinges at her chest each time she looks upon this faceless woman, a desire to tear her gaze away from the care put into the strokes and never look at them again and yet, it’s as if her hands are not her own, each time they sift through his sketches to reveal a new one made. She despises it, and the feeling of her selfish loathing itself. Not when she bears reason nor right to feel the way she does.  

The ring finger of her right hand throbs, an echo of her turbulent emotions manifesting in the faint red restraint flickering against the base of her digit before it winks once more out of existence. 

No.  

Her gaze instinctually jumps to Rafayel, his prone form still deep in sleep.  

She'd nearly forgotten the other reason for her undue distress these past couple of days; worry for Rafayel occupying each of her thoughts, leaving little space for much else.

She sinks, weak-kneed, onto the bed, right next to Rafayel. Carding her fingers through the soft brush of his hair, gently thumbing a line down his temple.  

She’d thought her mind was conjuring illusive tricks the first few times she’d caught that fleeting flicker of red across her finger. 

Impossible, for it had been nearly twelve years since she’d lost her bond after being forced away from Rafayel. And then, her eyes had insistently tried tracing the line of it, every time it shimmered against her finger, hoping that it would perhaps.... 

Just maybe, if a miracle were to occur— 

That it would re-connect. Back to the only person she’d ever loved. Back to him, her beautiful Lemurian. That perhaps, he’d grant her another chance. That perhaps there was a sliver of hope that Rafayel would love her back once more.  

Once more. 

 Her yearning dashed in the brutality of a truth, far too incomprehensible to her mind. 

On the day her grandmother caught sight of her glimmering thread before she’d informed her with much joy; a red thread of fate, if once severed, made an appearance once more, within the lifetime of rare, chosen… fortunate individuals. If Fate ever ordained for the individuals to find new love once more. Another love so great, it changed Fate’s threads and course itself.  

“You’re blessed, my darling girl. Most people are happy enough if they get to enjoy even one fated love throughout their lives. But you've found two in your lifetime. It is a joyous thing, my love, do not be sad. Do not weep.” 

“...Perhaps, it is time you let him — let your past go.”  

Like ice curdling within her veins. As if Fate itself were playing upon her a cruel jest. She could never. How could she ever? 

And then, her denials had crumbled entirely, shortly after that dreaded truth.  

Her oldest friend, her sole pillar when she’d lost Rafayel. The person who’d held her close and kept her heart safe—  

When she’d lie in bed all day during her earliest days, screaming from the deluging fever of her bond withering. 

—It was the day her childhood friend, her Caleb confessed.  

Even without the evidence of a corporeal bond connecting them, that had been her last straw.  

She presses her lips against Rafayel’s cheek, overwhelming emotions threatening to surge, unable to resist or hold herself in control. “I could never.” she vows under her breath, fingers stroking down the line of his cheek. “Even if you have let go of me, Rafayel, I’m—” 

She feels the roughened pads of his digits against where she touches his face, perturbed at the sudden movement. His eyes flitter, restless, beneath his lids, grasp tightening upon her wrist. “My beloved bride.”

She tries and yanks herself away from his touch, startled at his unconscious murmuring. Rafayel does not let go, nudging his cheek against the crook of her captured palm.  

“Rafayel.” She urges, her heart stuttering over its beats. “Rafayel, please wake up.”  

At long last, he listens; that beautiful, florid gaze misted with the callings of sleep still, as it focuses on her. He makes an indiscrete sound. “Is it morning already? Agh, my head hurts.” He continues to nuzzle his face against her palm.  

“R-Rafayel! Hey!” She winces, hand unbearably hot within his hold. “Let go of me now. If you’re up, have some breakfast instead. You need the energy, dummy.” 

“Don’t want to let you go. Pamper me more.” And yet, he refuses to heed her lukewarm pleas, extremely wilful in his post-sleep, feverish daze.  

She huffs out a breathless laugh, her apprehension ebbing, gentle, into silence the longer she feels his warmth against her.  

Maybe she is allowed to indulge just a bit longer.  

 VII. EBB 

An errant thread and an inexplicable long spell of heat, as if trudging up a steep path, burgeoning fast towards an inevitable destination he could not quite clutch at. Unsolicited suspicions, as to the true nature of his predicament, incessantly rapping at his thoughts.  

Rafayel feels that dour twist to his brow; darkening his features at the wheeling course of his mind. 

 She’s caught him in similar moods since his “illness” commenced, more times than he can count. The endless time afforded his way, involuntarily threading his thoughts to places he doesn’t wish to visit. He doesn’t wish, ever, to alarm or upset her, setting to ease her thoughts the moment worry mars her features, testing index and middle against the sharp knot at her forehead before his attentions — and hers — are compelled entirely her way.  

That is also something that has shifted in between them, into something entirely different. He’s been unusually attuned to her for the duration of his peculiar period of ill-health.  

She has always been his primary muse, the focal point where all of Rafayel’s tangled thoughts find eventual and inevitable convergence. However, somehow, all of those sensibilities have turned sharper, impossibly aware of... her.  

Unconsciously turning to placations the moment he comprehends her distress. Choosing to bury, in turn; soothe the heat of his body within the scent of hers. Her hands on him when she fusses to take his temperature, her clothes, he takes a surreptitious, lungful breath of, when she moves close to towel the fevered sweat off his body. Truly, he does not understand what is wrong with him.  

Two weeks in now and his need for answers has driven him to near madness. He’s loathe to admit he must consult one, perhaps, more knowledgeable on the subject than he.  

He paces into the lounge, heavy in thought, fingers worrying at the phone in hand. 

“Oh, you’re up. Are you feeling any better?”  Just as she calls over to him from the kitchen counter.  

“Of course,” he fibs, tucking the phone back into the pocket of his trousers. He ambles over to her, dressed neat in her trainee uniform as she works a paring knife around an apple. “What’re you doing?”  

“You should have something healthy to eat while I’m away.”  

“Ah.” He plucks a piece of fruit off the plate next to her, eyeing the peculiar shape. “So, you decided to cut me some apple bunnies.”  The corners of his mouth drag into a skewed grin. “I am not a child, cutie.”  

She makes an inflated motion of surprise, pressing a hand against her chest. “Really?”  

And when he rolls his eyes at her, “Of course you aren’t,” she grins. “I’ve never met any children as stubborn as you.”  

“Cheeky.” He flicks a gentle hand against her forehead.  

His eyes skim towards the wall clock and back towards her neatly pressed outfit. “You have an on-field Hunter’s exam this afternoon, don’t you? You’ll be late if you dawdle any longer. Besides, I can feed myself just fine.”  

She startles a bit as her eyes, too, take note of the hour. Hastily shoving the plate of her fresh cut fruit into his hands. “Alright, I’ll leave. You better eat, then rest up. Don’t exert yourself, alright?”  

She steps past the counter. “Come, Kiki.” A white dutiful ball of fur capers up to her as soon as she calls. Rafayel hedges further against the counter just as the white ball tumbles into her waiting arms.  

“There, what a good girl you are!” She croons over the cat, petting at that little fiend pet of her friend’s. She rises to her feet. 

“I’ll drop her off at Tara’s before heading to the centre.”  

“Good riddance,” Rafayel mutters, blenching just as she moves closer with the cat still in her arms.  

“Rude, I’m sad to see her go so soon.” She pulls a glum face at him.  “Do you want to pet her goodbye before she leaves and you start missing her?”  

“I won’t,” He dissents, even as he braves the tips of his fingers against Kiki’s head in a cautious scritch before snapping his hand right back. “Bye, white menace.”  

Rafayel’s moue of specious disapproval turns deeper with her knowing grin. “Let’s go now that you’ve said your farewells to Uncle Rafayel.” She kisses the top of the cat’s head as it purrs in elated satisfaction at her attentions. 

He quirks a flippant brow at her. “All affections for the furry feline, I see.” 

She laughs, the sound an aching balm against long-wrought nerves. “Why, is my fish jealous of a little kitten? Come here, then.”  

“I am not—!” He sputters, just as her hand curves about the back of his neck and pulls downward, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.  

The previously simmering, barely tamped warmth of his body bursts forth with a brilliant vengeance, his skin set ablaze at just the graze of her touch. Rafayel has to actively constrain himself from keeling over entirely on the floor from his sudden deluge of emotions. Has to curb the quiver of his arms from wanting to steal that heat back against his body.  

She draws back, just as swift, on her feet. The pink of her cheeks is infectious, enticing. Rafayel stares at her, mute and slack-jawed, even as she backs out of the kitchen and through the front door. “I’ll see you tonight, my little fish!” And then he’s left to his own spiraling thoughts.  

Ah. Rafayel scrubs agitated palms down the length of his face in the ensuing silence of their home. His scarlet thread burns incandescent in his hind-vision, flittering in its sporadic expansion. If only she knew how entirely ruined he was at her feet, alone.  

VIII. FLOW  

“You rejected Caleb’s confession?”  

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t anticipated Tara’s baffled outburst.  

It was part of the reason why she chose to reveal the ‘news’ to her this unceremoniously, as she gently eased Kiki over into Tara’s arms while they stood at her open front door. She adored Tara but was of no mind to be sat down at length while her best friend grilled the details out of her.  

Not ready for the difficult conversations that would ensue; of her past grievances, the break of her fated thread and how she dreaded, within a dark crevice of her heart, that Caleb might turn out to be the one her Fate was once more, trying to bind her to. How could she even begin to delineate it wasn’t what she wanted?  

No, she wasn’t ready for that conversation with Tara, at all.  

“I’m going to be late for my exam, Tara.” She gives her a contrite smile.  

“Yes, I know, sorry, darling, but… why? I really thought things were well between you too. And I was sure there was something going on—! I— can’t you say?” Her friend’s gaze is weighty, imploring. “Is there... someone else?” Her eyes widen. “Is it—” 

And the longer she’s met with terse silence, the heat of her gaze wanes in gradual realization before, at last, she retreats her onslaught, a troubled groan leaving her lips. “At least tell me you’re alright. I’ve been worried about you.”  

“I know, Tara, I’m sorry. I’m perfectly fine.” She gives her free hand a squeeze before withdrawing back a few steps. “I should really go now.”  

Tara loses another sigh. “You really should. Promise we’ll catch up later?”  

“I promise.” She raises her hand in farewell, jogging down the few steps to her house.  

Tara calls out to her just as she reaches the foot of her stairs. “Good luck, girl! I’m cheering for you.”  

She flashes her friend an appreciative smile.  

With Tara, she really can’t be sure if she meant her encouragement for her qualifying physical exam. Or something else entirely.  

Knowing her friend, it was probably both.  

She reaches the examination centre just under the wire, right as the towering gates to the grounds swing shut behind her and two other late-comers.  

Toggling open her Hunter’s Watch, she hastens to join the formation up ahead of several other students, already lined in neat rows for their on-field Wanderers exam. Sidling in place, into her empty spot, just as the instructor in front drones on the list of rules for the exam, from upon his podium. “You are to form pairs of two, as per your roll numbers and enter your designated Protofields, to commence your exam. Before you begin, make sure...” 

He goes over the structures of the regulations one by one, detailing what actions would mete them points and what would deduct them in case of improper conduct.  

“These Protofields have been simulated under intensively controlled environments and contain a plethora of C and B-grade Wanderers you are to deal with, within the desired time limit. Coordinate with your partner, watch each other’s backs and follow all routine safety regulations. Violators will be disqualified on the spot.” He continues. “Keep within bounds of all marked fields, maintain your senses and you should do well. Lastly, trust your education and the skills you have acquired over the course of these years via means of your perseverance and hard work. May you reign victorious, young Hunters!” With his final words, the crowd disperses, heading towards their designated spots for their exams. 

She taps her fingers against her Hunter’s Watch, pulling up the specifications of the Protofield she is to clear, before setting out. 

 

“Gabriel? Hi.” She calls to her team-mate as she moves to join him, recognizing the man from the same class division as hers.  

He returns her greeting, the two setting to sync their data via their watches within the final minute countdown before their exam commences. The flux nexus, in front, pulses to life upon confirmation of both their identities, filtering its pre-programmed wavelength to project upon the barren field. A kaleidoscopic flitter of energy wheeling across the space once is their only indication of a protofield activated, before the two step forwards, cautious, weapons at the ready.  

“No.” Rafayel’s jaw steels in chagrin, hearing the resigned, gentle finality of the words on the other end of the line.  

“Rafayel...” Talia coaxes.  

“I said no. You’re wrong.” He gnashes out, even as the heat simmers, muggy and suffocating, within his body. Even as he continues to deny the indubitable truth of her words.  

For if he did, he would have to face the looming fate of another horrifying possibility.  

The regret of asking for Talia’s help sits heavy within his throat. Facts she utters in such certitude, it leaves Rafayel irrationally agitated. He knows it is not her fault.  

 He hears her soft sigh on the other end of the line. “You told me you’ve been suffering these bouts of ‘fever’ since the past two weeks, an ‘illness’ that refuses to abate and that your...” She pauses, as if seeking words best to voice her next. “incomplete thread has been showing sporadic signs as of late.” 

“Yes.” His voice is quiet, stiff. 

“Rafayel, you’re experiencing early symptoms of an oncoming rut and you know it. You feel it. You didn’t need to call me, when you’re well-informed on the matter yourself, even if you’ve never experienced it before.” She pauses.  “The only reason you reached out to me is that you wanted me to validate your suspicions, isn’t that right?” 

He does not respond to her astute observation.

“An unmated Lemurian cannot experience sexual cycles the same way as a bonded Lemurian. And as you are well-aware, my thread was long severed.” He refutes, contemptuous. “You know what, forget I asked. You clearly don’t understand what’s wrong with me any better than I do. Sorry for crashing your honeymoon. Goodbye, Talia.”  

“Is your thread truly severed, Rafayel?” Her voice rings, solemn, from the other end of the line, just as Rafayel moves to disconnect the call. He pauses, gaze involuntarily skewing towards his lengthening line of red thread. The frown in between his brow turns severe, as if being coerced to witness a sight against his will.  

“You’re experiencing a re-connection and you’re not allowing yourself the happiness that comes with new love. It’s a rare and beautiful thing, for your red fate to find itself weaved against a new person you would cherish.”  

Rafayel does not have the resolve to discredit her words despite his vehement disagreement; having known her experience the loss of her first love, the agony of her days after. And only years later, had she allowed herself to love once more, a happiness Rafayel was content to stand in observance to, glad at her well-deserved peace.   

He, however, was different from Talia. He’d rather his Fate dissipate entirely than for it to wind itself against a stranger. He was different, for Rafayel knew he would never love again, never cherish another, no matter the decades in between.  

For him, there would never be anyone else. 

A transitory pressure curdles heavy about her shoulders as they pace past the barrier and into the protofield. The familiarity of their training grounds dwindles away, large looming falls of thick trees rising, ominous, to blot the skies. Blanketing twilight, instantaneous, overhead. A slow, sweeping curl of gray, mists about their feet, soaking into the dank ground beneath. 

Beside her, she hears Gabriel’s apprehensive breaths. “I can never get used to this.”  

Weapons at the ready, they trudge a slow, cautious path through the simulated wilderness. Gnarled branches seize and snick at their clothes, the craggy mire beneath, a strenuous trudge to keep upright through; as if the forest itself were alive with wicked intent.  

Gabriel’s firearm is the first to go off in a thunderous shot, breaking a flock of obsidian birds to startle into the skies. She follows suit, breaking into a dash along with him; the dark, hunched figure of a fleet-footed Wanderer she aims her gun at and fires, the shot catching it right against its head. The creature lurches forwards onto its body in a seething screech of sound, following its crackling demise into a spoor of pungent smoke.  

The two maintain their steady pace of weeding the area of Wanderers, most they’re able to dispatch with ease. Reflexes and hard ingrained years of training coming into play, the more battles they win through, setting into an easy rhythm of partnership.  

The Wanderer Gabriel skews his sword through in a final thrust, disintegrates into smoke with a rattling gurgle.  She pauses to survey their surroundings, the deep, metallic skies yet to dissipate entirely: indication of a cleared exam. Up ahead, she spies a peculiar forking at the path, the protofield seeming to disperse into dense, murky mist past the intersection. Gabriel flicks the blood off his sword, moving to join her. “Strange.” 

“Yeah. I don’t think low grade Wanderers can distort protofields to this extent.” She agrees. 

“Likely an A grade, at least. Shouldn’t be harder than what we’ve handled so far.” He pauses. “Besides the fact that this one seems like it can replicate itself into weaker copies, judging from the splice it’s created in the field.” 

She frowns at his conclusion, likely accurate. There shouldn’t be an A grade on the loose within a junior hunter’s exam, to begin with; a Wanderer class reserved only for the final year senior field exam. Signals are, as expected sparse, this deep within the protofield, and with an A grade, at hand, tampering the protofield, the possibility of communications being established sits non-existent, at present. She drops a distress signal onto the Hunter’s site, regardless, moving to join him at the fork.  

“We’ll have to clear out the Wanderer, either way, if we want to leave this protofield.” She swipes her empty magazine for a new one, securing it fast back into her gun.  

“Right.” Gabriel’s own fist tightens against the hilt of his sword. “You take the right, I’ll take the left? The distortion should be obliterated on its own once we eliminate all of its copies. I’ll see you soon, partner.”  

“Right back at you. Good luck.”  

Gabriel flashes a flimsy grin at her before treading onto the left path. A swift heavy oppression belts massive across the field, the compression settling a deafening din to her ears. “Hah, Gabriel, wait—” 

But it’s too late. Her partner’s form, long digested by the roiling clouds of black before she can call him back.  

Something’s not right. An A-grade Wanderer shouldn’t be able to exert that kind of pressure. 

An electromagnetic resonance tremors across the space, as if something rattles at the confines of the protofield from beyond. Wanting in.  

Sweat gathers clammy and unpleasant across the back of her neck, her eyes skittering back towards where Gabriel vanished into the murk.  

She firms a hand around her gun, steeling her spine for courage. Whatever anomaly has occurred within the premises of their exam can be dealt with later. Her first priority; to help Gabriel out in eliminating all of the A-grade's clones and dissipating the distortion in front before they planned their next move. And help would arrive soon, once transmission allowed her distress signal to go through, they just had to hold on until then; she reassures herself.  

Moving forward to stride past the muted obsidian barrier at her right.  

The dark cloak of the Wanderer’s protofield washes across her skin like skidding, frigid fingers of emptiness, it spills an involuntary shiver down her spine.  

The cold, metallic spires of the protofield taper off into the void overhead as she steps onto the main field. A skittering figure, one, two, three; lunge, whip-swift, towards her as soon as they spot her, gaping maws and needle teeth poised to tear into her before her fight or flight reflexes jam in. She empties a volley of bullets into their bodies, sieving clean through the approaching Wanderers. Lobs of inhumane flesh, dissipating as soon as they hit the ground.  

Several far smaller figures melt out of the darkness to aim their attacks at her; one after the other she takes down in swift shots. Breaths trembling harsh and hot, her heart hammering over its frantic beats the longer the fight persists.  

A fatigued mistake; being mere seconds slow to switch her empty gun for another, costs her a hard, long gash sliced through the sleeve of her shoulder by the remaining Wanderer. Fire licks up across her arm in a sudden shock of pain, muted instantaneously underneath the roiling pump of adrenaline. She wrenches a dagger off her leg strap. Twisting her torso about to bring her uninjured arm up in a sharp arc, furiously tearing a split through the last Wanderer with a fierce yell and the remnants of her fraying stamina.  

The Wanderer’s remains snivel into a fire just as it hits the ground, the cool, metallic gloom giving way to the unraveling edges of the original forest once more. 

And just as her eyes adjust to the shadows of the protofield once more, she catches sight of a figure slumped upon the grass, unmoving. “Gabriel!” She yells, forcing her limbs underneath her through the pained grit of bared teeth. Clutching hard at her arm to stopper the slow rivulets of blood flow seeping from the gash before she stumbles across the grass towards the man.  

Her Hunter’s Watch blinks, in indication of a transmission successful — her distress signal. Collapsing to her knees at Gabriel’s side just as her watch flares to life in blaring red, an ominous warning running across the screen.  

S-Grade: Deluge Wyrmlord.   Protofield type: Memory Distortion Solo Hunters, do not engage.  

Her mouth runs dry at the far calls of her name—  

“Special Grade—!” Gabriel’s voice resounds just from across the field. “—Run!” 

The collapsed figure at her feet assimilating into thin air, a trick blanketed over her weary mind, by the workings of a high-class Wanderer.  

She feels that intense bone-crushing pressure creep across her back once more, her breath coming through in fits of raspy air. Fixing the barrel of her gun back across her shoulder, she fires, just as a great, dark talon comes across her face, drowning her in darkness.

The call has barely disconnected when Rafayel tosses the phone aside, staggering onto his feet under the heated weight of his body. His eyes drift — an involuntary reflex — towards that squeamish glow of red, his thread flickering in and out of sight, the extended length of it, an alarming sight. Vexation ticks harsh at his jaw.  

Before he’s able to reign control, the spits of a brilliant vermillion fire spurt forth from tapered digits, rushing across the incorporeal red string, in an effort to blaze the blasted thing off of him entirely.  

The fire dissipates, harmless, as expected, with the absence of a pure solid medium to burn. His thread glimmers to life once more, as if deriding Rafayel with its presence.  

Beyond agitated, fervent digits pluck upwards, summoning his Evol to life for a stronger burst of energy —   

A sudden inundating contraction pierces in vengeance across his heart, sending a bolt of excruciating pain lancing through his chest. Rafayel flounders; violently pitching to his knees from the intensity of its sensations. His breaths are hard to smother past lungs that burn for oxygen and yet refuse to inhale. 

Red throbs, vivid and urgent, across his ring finger, as if the call of a terrible siren, knelling of ill-fate and destruction.  

His own fire, begs to consume, hurtling across his skin, a throat that chokes from the fervid heat of his bond, threatening to annihilate him entirely. He feels his humane features molding against the translucent glimmer of cerulean scales, his human form scattering in response to the irrefragable call of his bond, his mate.  

She’s in danger. 

Alarming apprehension dawns upon his mind, the sole thought of her throttling his mind, his oath promised, urging to call upon the one person her thread connects to, a Fate irrefutable, a bond everlasting.  

No. 

A savage inferno tears across Rafayel’s body — scarlet and florid licks of fire — until it engulfs him entirely, leaving nothing in its wake.  

Silence is all that remains behind. 

IX. EBB  [TW for this chapter: passing mentions of domestic abuse]

White peels back from her field of vision; slowly revealing to her the dreary, stifling atmosphere of an incredibly familiar room. A young girl stands amidst a crowd of mourning adults, some in loud tears. Others who secrete their faces into handkerchiefs and shake their heads in dismay at the “poor orphan”. Nausea wrestles pungent within her belly at the sight.  

Her gaze, involuntarily shepherded, past the throng of mourners and towards the picture of the deceased — she knows that face before she sees it — her absent father who had often left her to her own devices, save for the times he was not actively trying to assault her with stray bottles of alcohol, laying in plain sight or the utensils and plates she used to serve his meals, on days he wore down all of their expenses for another swig of tepid, cheap alcohol.  

She knows the child in front of her now feels neither sadness nor remorse as people who call themselves her relatives step over, one after the other, offering words of specious pity and solace she has no use of.  

It was also the day she’d met her Grandma for the first time.  

The scene in front falls out from beneath her feet, traded for the sounds of defeated shrieks and futile violence in the tiny fists that try and shove off the social workers, from bodily dragging her away from the familiarity of her old house. The young girl screams and screams for Rafayel, begs them not to take her away, that she doesn’t want to live with her Grandma several cities across the seas; a gap so wide, how would she ever find the only person who had meant the entire world to her, once more? She hadn’t even told him she was leaving. They wouldn’t let her leave the house, for fear she might run away.  

Her head throbs in vicious pain, ominous tendrils of rooted fire curling through the recesses of her brain as she watches the girl’s — her — futile resistance. 

A gibbering shadow skates past the edges of her vision. She feels like she’s forgetting something direly important, skirting just past the edge of memory. 

The young girl never told the adults around her of the young Lemurian boy — bonded though they were. She knew of the dark whispers that coiled through the cesspool she lived within, how the Lemurians were a species, well-coveted for how steeply priced their bodies sold for, within the black market. 

Her fierce possession and numbing worry for her vulnerable Lemurian had kept her from ever revealing her thread in another’s presence. For how had any of the adults stepped up to be her protectors, ever, in the young girl’s life? She trusted no one, save for herself and her sole mer-friend. She'd promised him they’d stay together forever; she’d vowed upon the sole pair of glimmering seashells, they’d found sanded within their beach, that she’d marry him when they grew up. She had— 

Obsidian smoke curls about her limbs, seeps into her lungs; a slow, poisonous ingestion. The deep, dark dreary roar of a beast sounds from afar, within the recesses of her memories.  

“You abandoned me.” She whips on her heel, coming face to face with her young Lemurian, eyes listless, lightless.  

“No.” She totters away from the horror of her nightmares manifested.  

An ice-cold hand wraps about her torn sleeve, digits digging deep into her wound. She cries out in instinctive pain, wrenching at her arm in an effort to free it. Her wild gaze meets Rafayel’s. Older, far frigid; the present Rafayel looks at her with an insouciant emptiness, it tears at the heart bruising within her chest. “You abandoned me,” he repeats.  

His hand jams about her throat, lifting her clean off her feet. She throttles violently within his grasp, breaths coming in rapid, tapering hisses. “And then, like the rest of those shameless humans, you thought it wise to appear before my eyes once more.” The pressure upon her wind-pipe increases, bit by bit, forcing tears into wide, panicked eyes. “You wanted to capture me too, didn’t you? You're just like the rest of them.” Rafayel’s just ire, cleaves like knives shoved right beneath her breastbone, bleeding out her heart. 

It’s an illusion, Rafayel would never. A stray whisper catches at her ears.  

“Would I really never? Well, aren't your thoughts so convenient. Admit it, you’ve always known.” Rafayel’s gaze is dark in barely tamped wrath and disgust. “I despise you, you and all your kind.” 

“R-Rafayel...” The dull, grey curl of smoke — previously shifting in wait at the edges of her vision — approaches nearer, her defences swiftly waning underneath his assault. Fingers, she scraps bloody against his grip upon her throat, and yet he refuses to relent.  

“It would be better for you to perish here, no? You'll leave me free to live my own life then. I would no longer be shackled to you like some pet.”  

“Y-You were never—” 

A furious scarlet fire splinters a path through Rafayel — his body distorts out of existence for a moment before he gathers form once more. A surprised brow he raises in question at the interference.  

“Snap out of it!”  

Rafayel?  

Her swimming gaze hones in on her beloved, from across the indifferent Rafayel’s shoulder, surely another wraith of her mind; wide blown panic, turbulent within his gaze.  

“What do you think you’re doing believing that sham?” Another burst of Evol sparks across his fingers, aimed at the other Rafayel.  

“You must trust me, believe in me alone.” Another volley of enraged fire skewers through the Rafayel holding her captive — cleaving past him harmless — the latter views him as if he were an offending impediment. “That thing is not me. It’s trying to devour you!” 

“Shut up,” the colder Rafayel speaks, hand jamming tighter against her throat, causing precious breaths to come through stuttered wheezes.  

The other Rafayel steps forward, a desperate hand he holds outstretched for her; an electromagnetic interference rippling about his body, stalling his further motions. “You have to believe the truth in front of your eyes — believe me — to be free of its prison. I have never, not for a moment, held our past against you.”  

“An imposter,” the cruel one says.  

Rafayel drives another step forwards, through the whipping waves of the scape’s resistance, snicking wounds across his jaw, tearing at his clothes. “I don’t regret meeting you.” The gentle azure of his gaze sparks vivid in a deluge of emotions; misery, panic and hopeful sincerity commingling. You were — you have always been my greatest joy, my only muse.” 

The Rafayel that holds her captive bites out an inhumane bark, eyes fading swiftly into obsidian. “I hate you, I’ve always hated you.”  

“Do you remember,” Rafayel urges, heaving another step closer. “the seashells you used to weave into necklaces and put on me when we first met? You told me they made me seem as brilliant as a Sea God, your Sea God, when you did.”A splintered laugh escapes his mouth at the recollection. “Even when I told you the ocean’s gods didn’t wear necklaces made of shells.” 

His voice breaks, emotions raw and desperate within the throaty catch of it, dragging her down the spiral of fond memories. “And the songs you used to hum for us in that odd, off-note voice when you were happy, you’ve retained that silly habit long even into your adult years now.”  

Emotions spurt and tumble free-fall from the inky desolation of her heart, tearing open at the seams of doubts and guilt.  

“And when you are mad, the reckless storm that gathers at your face is endearing. When you forgive me just as easily, the smile that lights your face...” 

A distant rumble sounds through the scape of your illusions, world crumbling apart at the seams.  

“I remember it all, like irreplaceable ornaments, treasures. Without you, I—” He bites back, harsh, at his words. The curious blue sheen across his face, glimmers. 

Eyes that glisten in moisture that threatens to seep past damp lashes; Rafayel’s eyes fall shut in a scraped plea.  

Emotions fueled by the catch of a distraught mind though he were, his words snag, painful, at her throat, springing tears to flow free-fall, at the comfort of his tender confessions. She, too, remembered all there was to know about him, her Rafayel, because of how she adored him. His words and steadfast affection seeping gentle into her mind now, in swift recollection. 

The great, dark beast in front has long shed its false skins, rattling useless in the face of her realization; it wrenches away from her body as if burned. “Pestilent humans.” As it flees entirely from the scape of illusions, great, dark fractures spilling up the space with its departure. 

She drops towards the disintegrating floor, once released, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Rafayel — the wraith of her mind — lunges forward, snatching her body mid-air against his as they fall, with the demolition of the Wanderer’s illusions shattered from her mind.  

A deluging rush of remembrance; the exam, the Wanderer, of being dragged into darkness by the Deluge Wyrmlord tumbles back into a now clear mind. 

And this Rafayel, having stood witness to all her memories.  

He lands on nimble feet, upon the now revealed protofield of the Wanderer; the weight of his Evol, she feels, scatter into the air.  

“You’re injured.” He mourns softly, fingers glancing gentle against the abrasion of her throat from where the Wanderer choked her, down her bruised arm, the blood long staunched in dark red across the cut. 

“I’ll be fine.” She cradles his face within a careful palm, face softening in overwhelming gratitude. If only she, too, could tell him how much she truly loved him. 

Rafayel makes a skeptical sound of disapproval. A hand, he sifts up into her hair and curls about the back of her head. “Hold still.” And before she can finally think to question why a figment of her mind still persists outside the cast illusion, Rafayel is pressing his lips against hers, mouth moving to part hers until she feels warmth flow into her, the shock of his actions making her throat swallow around him on instinct. 

The dull throb at her arm, the cuts and bruises across her aching legs — breaths that seep in easier, with the patched abrasions of her throat — give way to strength as she witnesses her wounds stitch up, in disbelieving surprise. 

“A Lemurian’s essence holds healing properties,” He breathes, heated against her lips. “our tears, saliva—” He pauses. “You’ll feel better soon.” The fever of his skin beneath her grasping fingertips, his shallow breaths come in quick; the flush across his cheekbones feels much too corporeal to be mere figment of her imagination. 

Her eyes widen in disbelief, mind refusing to comprehend his presence. Restless hands tracing the shape of his firm body underneath hers; his neck, the strength of his shoulders, down the unyielding expanse of a solid chest. 

It just couldn’t be. 

“Are you... real?” She slips a palm about the curve of his cheek, index and finger pinching at the flesh. “You can’t be real, you can’t be here.” 

Rafayel chokes on an incredulous laugh. “What an inane question, can’t you tell, silly girl?” He sounds offended. 

A plethora of questions tumble within her mind as Rafayel bumps his forehead up against hers, moisture glistening like pearls upon his cheeks. “I can sense you. And I felt it, when I nearly lost you.” He grits out the words, chagrined; breath hitching in pain as if reliving a nightmare. 

Her heart shrivels at his admission, aching gaze tracing the outline of his Lemurian features. “But, I... I don’t understand. You look so different, Rafayel, what—” 

A great ominous roar sounds from the center of the protofield, the Wanderer now having recovered from its short rebuttal of having been torn away from its prey.  

Rafayel lets her down onto her feet cautiously. Taking her hand in his, his skin sits unbearably warm against hers, “Questions later. We have to get rid of that Wanderer right now. Come on.” 

She nods at him, the two turning to face the Wanderer before they fixate their stance. Hurtling forth in tandem towards the approaching monster; weapons materializing within firm fists. 

They rush, as one, at the large winged creature, aiming right against the base of its great talons. A shield thrown upon the Wanderer, comes half-way down with their first assault.  

Back against his, she feels him tackle down the monster’s onslaught of weaker Wanderers, unearthly fire blazing away at its minions. A shimmering, amethyst line of fetters gathers form with his Evol, to grasp about the Wanderer’s body as it rages. She feels his breaths coming in harsher, feels the way he tightens his body through each motion of offense against their enemy — in no condition to be fighting off a high-class Wanderer with the weight of his sickness slowing him down.  

She captures Rafayel’s wrist in hers, jolting him backwards. Lunging in front of him to take the Wanderer’s next full-bodied assault. “Rely on me, I’ll fight for us both!” She calls to him over her shoulder. 

She catches his mute moment of surprise, out the corner of her eye before he bursts into quiet laughter. “What a reliable bodyguard.” Curving a palm about her shoulder, his Evol, she feels resonating against hers in harmony. “But if you insist.” Weaving their Evols together to strengthen; the dark fetters that plunge forwards this time, chain about the Wanderer’s girth, firmer, breaking clean through another of its shields.  

The Wyrmlord screeches in crazed agony, ramming a heavy appendage straight for them. The two lunge in opposing directions to avoid the assault; Rafayel, a split second too slow to dodge as its claws catch at the side of his abdomen, tearing at his shirt.  

He hurtles heavily onto the ground, body rolling across the Protofield before he swiftly catches himself, teetering back on to unsteady legs. His pants come in harsher, the scales across his face glimmering in fevered sweat; his body’s condition holding him back.

“Rafayel!” She calls for him on an urgent shout, rushing the Wanderer from its side, to cleave clean through its shield of defense. “Don’t push yourself anymore and stay back! You aren’t well!” 

He shakes his head at her, holding his body high once more. His shallow wound, she sees, stitch up soon after, the incandescent cerulean glow of his scales striking against his features. “It’s not what you think it is.” Rafayel streaks forward just as the Wanderer attempts to take flight for a sweeping offensive. 

He springs for the monster, using the momentum of his run, punting hard off its body; vicious chains of static purple zipping through it, to bring it crashing down onto the ground. The Wanderer’s remaining shield shattered in one critical hit, bringing it down in a violent collision of great, dark wings and a massive scaled body, vulnerable to damage.  

“Now! Rafayel instructs. Coalescing the bulk of his powers into the clench of a fist, he lunges for the Wanderer; her own movements, complimenting against his. Raising their weapons up high, their Evols converge against the other’s in a final, galvanic purple blast of energy. 

The Wanderer screeches one final sound of agony before it skitters lifeless at the ground, its disintegration setting into tattered fragments of energy.

The protofield around them begins to wane, jagged shards of breakage appearing across the domed surface of it, as soon as the Wanderer falls. 

“It’s over.” She exhales, relief plucking sharp across the back of her breastbone.

“Let me take… a moment to catch my breath.” And with the sheer adrenaline of the fight holding him up now, gone, so too does Rafayel’s strength ebb from him entirely, as he pitches onto his feet. “Rafayel!”  Just as she dives forward to catch him within her arms before his body hits the ground. “Hey!”  

Rafayel’s breathing harder, the sweat that dampens his brow far more pronounced with the appearance of his Lemurian features, glimmering scales gradually fanning wider across his skin. “Stay with me, it’s over.”

And then she sees it, the flittering of vivid red, burning against his ring finger. Pulsing harsher with each labored sound of breath he endures through and her breath frosts within her lungs.

She feels the distant pattering of approaching footsteps just as Rafayel’s hot palm curves about her wrist in a possessive hold. “We have to get out of here. I need to get home.”  

The frantic calls of her name echo across the field; she lifts her head to catch sight of a pale-faced Gabriel, waving his hands at her from just across the area. She shouts at him to stay where he is, cradling Rafayel closer to her torso for fear of his scales being seen. 

In this moment, she cannot bring herself to care for anything except providing what Rafayel needs; the frenetic urgency to his words enough to have her obeying without questions asked.  

Calling for her teammate, once more, to let the others know they were both alright and that she’d be back at a later time before Rafayel urges her thoughts back to himself.

“That’s... enough. Come now.” He moans within her embrace, just as Gabriel utters an unintelligible question of confusion. Her Lemurian’s fingers spasming against hers, “Hold tight.” he grinds out, before they’re both engulfed in a florid sea of fire.  

X. FLOOD 

The two of them come crashing onto a hard, polished surface; Rafayel’s arms tightening about her body in protection, just as his shoulder connects with the floor, with their fall. Deposited into the empty safety of his room — she notes in shock — by his Evol already shriveling out of existence.  

He shudders in visible pain beneath her, just as she scrabbles to get off his body. “I’m sorry—” The ferocity of his strength, however, hauls her back, bodies crushed against each in a firm, searing line. 

Rafayel’s pants rattle hot against the skin of her neck; the harsh rise and fall of his chest, she feels burn against her own, even through their clothes. He keeps them enclosed within that sweltering space of silence for several, long moments. 

Reaching her fingers out to comb through his unruly hair, in comfort, the adrenaline of their fight having fast shifted into worry for his health.  

Why had he decided to come after her in the fevered state he was in? How had he even known to come for her? The questions, unanswered, careened about in an endless cycle within her mind. 

Her Rafayel shifts, face sinking deeper against her breasts. Nosing, delicate, at the space exposed by her open collar as he inhales, long. His previous labored breaths seemingly soothed in her proximity, as he continues to breathe her in.

Her next gasp soughs past her lips on a catch of barely tamped sound, Rafayel’s gaze rolls up to meet hers — hot and piercing.  

“Rafayel,” She cups a hand about his warm cheek. “Let’s get you off the floor now, you’ll worsen your fever.”  

He knocks his cheek further into the space of her palm, lashes quivering shut, in comfort. “I told you... it’s not a fever ruining my body.” He repeats the words he’d uttered to her back in the Protofield.  

“It’s you.” Her mind jostles to a screeching halt.  

“What?” 

Rafayel’s body tightens beneath hers, the lean strength of his arms coming about to lift, with an ease entirely unexpected of a sick man. He moves them both onto the expanse of his bed, seating himself down, with her firm on his lap. “I’ve been going through these feverish bouts because you’ve been calling for me.” He heaves. “I’d never experienced them before because we’d never—” his words break. Rafayel’s fingers slip a slow, cautious path along the base of her spine, it makes her shiver above him. “I could’ve lost you,” he murmurs, “back there.” Hauling her close once more to sink his face into the crook of a tense shoulder as he breathes her in deep.

“I’m here now, I’m fine.” She soothes a gentle palm down the line of his back, the mild quivers that take it, muted into rest with her strokes. “Thank you for coming for me earlier.”

“Of course I did.” His grip upon her body tightens. “You called for me.” 

She rakes her fingers through his hair. “I... did not call for you, Rafayel. Even if I did, it’s impossible for you to have heard—”  

“Silly girl.” He captures her hand within his hair, entwining his fingers in between hers. “Do you not see?” Bringing their palms up close together for her to witness—

Red flitters about her ring finger, vivid — her heart jostles over its beats — the line of it longer and far corporeal, glimmering within the dark of his room, spiraling an undulating path up, up.  

Finding its other half, caught against the base of Rafayel’s finger. Her breath seizes within her throat at the sight, wary gaze tracing the line of the previously absent thread against their fingers. Not daring to believe the implications of the sight and what Rafayel too was saying. “How could this— I thought we were—”

“A Lemurian’s very being is set to perceive their beloved, in their entire capacity. Without exception.” He brings their entwined fists up to his mouth, feathering a kiss onto her knuckles apiece. “And I have not changed since the first moment I met you.”  

The heat of his words is within her head, the frenzied hammering of her heart within her throat. She dares not breathe too loud, dares not speak for fear of this precious moment shattering. The inference of his words could not be clearer and yet. A fleeting recollection of the Wanderer’s cast illusion comes to mind, the cold Rafayel’s unforgiving gaze flashing against hers.  

“Has your heart then... changed?” He asks, the wavering azure of his gaze fixated firm upon hers.

She caresses the back of her fingers against his cheek, down the line of his jaw. “It has not, not for a single moment in all these years but—” She whispers. But could you ever forgive me for leaving you on your own? 

“I’m not asking you for anything beyond that. I don’t care for it.” He shifts a thumb against the line of her lips dampened with a nervous swipe of her tongue. “I’m asking to know if the woman I love is willing to accept me again.”  

Her breath hitches within her throat. Turbulent emotions burst forth within her chest at his words, a sweet ache quivering at the back of her breastbone, the magnitude of his words she isn’t able to comprehend. Unable to believe the words she’s been wanting to hear him say, all this time, leaving that beautiful mouth. 

She surges forward onto his lap, desperate to answer the man who’s entrusted his heart so keenly into her hands. “I never stopped in the first place.” She speaks, adamant. Her fingers brush at his face, down the length of his neck to hold. The pads of them grazing the beauty of his scales, glimmering within the moonlight that shafts into the quiet dark of his room through the gauzy curtains. “I’ve loved only you all these years and by god, Rafayel, I don’t think I could ever love anyone but you.” She’s out of breath and dizzy in love, it’s a feeling she never wants to clamber out of, if it means he’d continue to look at her, just the way he is now.

She hears the audible throttle of his breath; a low, anguished sound, as if she’d told him something he’d considered entirely impossible. Rafayel had seemed so sure of her feelings, and yet, he looks at her now, with a relieved sort of devotion and desire. “Which god?” His whisper is sultry, his gaze along with the heat of his skin beneath have her feeling faint within his embrace, the flex of his arm tightening its hold about her waist.  

She tips her head closer, her lips shaping her answer a mere breadth from his. “My Rafayel, my own Sea God.” She braves a kiss against his mouth. “I love you.” She confesses, “I love you so—” 

Rafayel heaves forwards, filching the rest of her words right against the desperate tongue he sweeps into her mouth. Lips moving against each other in a mesh of reckless teeth and tongue, refusing to release from each other. Her fingers catch at the fabric of his collar, in a bid to drag him closer. Rafayel’s palms, a stable hold about the flare of her hips as she bucks against him in instinctual desire at the feeling of his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Her core grazes against the distinct line of his stiff arousal, straining beneath the placket of his trousers.  

Rafayel moans a low, throaty sound against her damp lips. “This is your fault,” he whispers, feverish. “You’re the one who has left me so vulnerable.” 

The turbulent seas within his gaze burn luminous, the gentle florid pinks of his irises swallowed within the blue that takes them. The scarcity of his scales now fleshing a path from his face. Down the graceful arc of his neck and across the expanse of his clavicle. Disappearing just under the line of collar of his shirt. She treks a reverential path about his beautiful Lemurian features; a shuddered exhale leaving Rafayel, in his inexplicable state of heightened sensitivity. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?” He seizes her exploring wrist within his gentle hold, halting her movements. His chest heaves once more in vehement, anguished pants, his skin impossibly hot beneath hers.

“No, tell me what’s happening to you. Why are you—” 

“—so sexually aroused?” He supplies, mouth skewing into a smile with the hot flush of her cheeks.  

“...I was going to ask about your humane features unraveling but that too. You're... burning up.”  

He sighs against her glancing touch, at the scales of his neck. “Each year, when the moon shifts phases and the tides ebb from the shores, bonded Lemurians go through an inevitable period of increased sexual activity. We are,” he pulses a delicate kiss to the inside of her captured wrist. “extremely vulnerable during this time, our base appetites, near insatiable, unless we bear it through with our bonded mates.” 

A streak of desire spurts within her chest, seeping down into her abdomen to pool in between her legs. “So then, all this time, you were...” 

“‘Sick’”, he continues, “because I wasn’t funneling my desires with my mate.” He tugs her close by her imprisoned hand, murmuring, hot, within her ear. “within my mate.” 

A low moan of desire breaks from her lips at his licentious provocation.  

“I’ve never experienced one before.” He confesses heavily. “I wasn’t sure what it was, when it started; the time of the year seemed to coincide with my symptoms but we weren’t bonded... not to my knowledge.” Rafayel’s gaze treks against the shimmering line of their thread, re-connected. “It’s a rarer miracle for it to find itself weaved against the ones it broke in between, more so than it is for the thread to re-emerge in between new lovers.” He laughs; a low self-deprecating sound. “Fate really played me for its fool.”

She murmurs his name, gathering his hand closer to press a reverent kiss against his ring of red at his finger. “I love you, Rafayel.” she reiterates, dragging his wide, wavering gaze back towards herself, letting the irrefutable truth of her words sink in. That it’s not Fate that tugs at the cogs of their bond now, but her feelings, unchanged as they’ve remained.  

“Promise me,” he implores. “Promise you’ll continue to see me the same, no matter how many years pass us by. Promise you’ll stay by my side this time?”  

Her answer rushed, eager, yearning to soothe. “Yes. Yes, I will. I want to stay by your side.” Stealing her arms about the broad strength of his shoulders, to pull closer.  

“Don’t let me go.” Rafayel breathes. Their mouths crush against each other in a consuming kiss; an urgent prayer he makes of her name. 

Each time she squirms atop his lap with the force of his kisses, her increasingly damp core shifts in glancing strokes above his clothed length. Her fingers jolt about Rafayel’s shoulders, sinking harsh into the skin through cloth, with a particularly ruinous lap of his tongue into her mouth.  

Her fingers fly for the clasps of his shirt, rushing down the length of buttons, generously revealing the unyielding expanse of his chest, the line of his toned abdomen. Briefly trekking the warmth of his skin with the pads of inquisitive digits before her mouth follows suit, drifting from Rafayel’s to kiss a path across the firm expanse of his chest. Slicking a gentle tongue right above his heart in devoted gratitude for the one who loves her so wholly. 

She glides a slow palm down his abdomen, appreciating the tremulous clench of muscles, underneath her touch. Her coveting digits pause at the metal clasp of his belt, gaze canting up to meet Rafayel’s in silent request.  

“Yes,” he grinds out, through arduous pants of her name. “It’s yours, I’m yours, do as you please.” She pushes off his lap, dropping onto her knees in between his legs at his affirmation. Rafayel’s breaths hitch higher within his throat, at the snag of her fingers reaching to swiftly undo the fastenings of his belt, pulling it clean from its confines to discard it onto the floor of his room. Her palm slips down the line of his zipper, stimulating him impossibly harder as she works to release him from the confines of his trousers.  

Until Rafayel sits there; her devastatingly alluring Lemurian, near-naked, save for the shirt that sags against broad shoulders, and the remaining modesty of his underwear. She takes a moment to control her shaky breaths before her thumbs slip under the waistband of his final barrier, keeping him from her gaze. Sliding the garment in one careful stroke, down the strength of his legs until she tosses it off to the side. His cock springs to full length, freed from its confines, hard; it curves, slight, towards his abdomen, the gentle slick of minute bluish scales running along the underside of his shaft. A thing of beauty, just as its owner.

The twitch of his length within her grasp is palpable as she moves to work an admiring fist about it. A lone bead of pre-cum sits upon the flared head of his cock; her tongue darts out in instinctual rapacious desire to sweep it into her mouth. The sweet-salt tang of him she hums against, in a soft moan, “I love how you taste.” 

Long, tapered digits thread through the fall of her locks, curving a loose fist at the back of her head. Her eyes traveling up his torso to meet his, bright in aroused impatience. It makes her want to flip that expression over into something entirely different. She tips forwards, lips falling apart to take the head of him into her eager mouth, just as Rafayel rewards her with his first approving groan. Tongue slicking about the head of him to lick, down, at a vein just underneath the flare of his head. His hips judder up into her face with the action, slipping more of him into her welcoming throat. “What’re you doing to me?” He moans, in gravelly rapture. “Your mouth feels divine.”  

She feels the clench of her own abdomen at his praise, wetness seeping further into the cloth of already damp panties. Her mouth slips further down the thick length of him, working him deeper into her throat as she tries and relaxes against the instinctive gagging intrusion of him. A shuddering string of words, he makes of her name, in overwhelming arousal, help her along on his cock. Until she is sliding about the length of him, back and forth, tongue drooling its spit down the expanse of his cock she cannot fit into herself.  

His fingers have tightened into a near-spasm within her hair, not nearly enough it hurts, holding her fixated in place; the pads of his digits tracing soothing, encouraging circles about her scalp as she sucks at his cock. “You’re doing so — agh — so well.” The fingers of his free hand, Rafayel brings to curve, delicate, about her jaw, tipping up; her eyes finding his, on silent instruction.  

He looks entirely gone, the rugged flush of his cheeks enticing as it dashes across his ears. Springs down the crescent of his neck and across the firm expanse of his chest. Rafayel’s cock hits the back of her throat on her next intake; she swallows against the heady swell of him, deliberate, measured, refusing to relent her gaze as she does. It immediately has the effect she desired; Rafayel’s next breath rattling out of his chest on a wrenched groan of pleasure, the blue of those inhuman eyes glistening brilliant as he propels his hips into her, in a reflexive bid for more.

His fingers skid along the underside of her jaw, where mouth meets throat, grazing for the place he knows she has him settled inside. A long, tapered index, he flicks down the line of her neck — she swallows on instinct, dragging another choked moan out of him as reward — before it comes to rest at the buttoned collar of her shirt. “Off.” He murmurs, hazily. Deftly unfastening open the first few buttons before he curves his index beneath her collar to tug. “Take it off. I want to see all of you when I come.” Pooling a blush into her cheeks at his sweetly sensual appeal. 

She pulls her shirt over her head, lured along by the nimble hands that drag her close, reaching around her, to undo the clasp of her bra before he coaxes that too, off her body. Mouth falling slack, cerulean flashing vivid, in flared arousal and want; to witness the heaving tremble of her breasts as she descends on him once more. 

Rafayel eases stray locks of her hair back against her ear to better afford himself the view of pink, moist lips parting to swallow around him once more in renewed enthusiasm. 

Her hands flitter about the length of him, slick slide aided by spit and pre-cum as she moves to work her tongue around the tip; the broad of it she teases at the slit, making Rafayel shudder above her. Slipping, slow and sure, down the generous length of him, insatiable desires flooding in the clench of empty walls, for the brimming taste of him within her throat.

Rafayel’s pants have turned far harsher, sporadic in impending release. She continues to ease her tongue about his length, her palms soothing down the tense muscle of his thighs before she moves to cup her fingers about his balls. “I’m—” Rafayel snaps.  

The skin beneath her fingers tightening, as she sucks about his shaft, to help him along the final stretch of his incoming release, swallowing up to the base of him in one forceful go. Her throat constricting in protest at the rough intrusion. Rafayel groans out loud — frenzied palms pressing at either sides of her head to force her off of his cock, just as he comes in thick, spurting strokes, across her cheeks, her nose; down the curve of her chest.  

“I can’t take it any longer,” he rasps. Hauling her onto her feet by her arm, he tumbles her back onto the cool, crumpled sheets of his bed. 

She barely has but a single moment to catch her breath — more from the surprise of his vehemence — before the shorts of her uniform, are being wrested off her body in the fervent catch of desperate fingers. Rafayel gets the material half-way down her thighs before his long-frayed patience snicks off entirely; a cool rubescent fire licks up clean across the material, blazing the offending cloth away entirely.  

She’s left dumbstruck, pleasure-addled mind wrung in between faint amazement at his precise Evol manipulation and mild offense at his ruination of her uniform. “We’ll get you a new one.” He heaves — as if he’s read her mind — in between kisses laid onto the instep of her bare leg, working up across her calf. “As long as you let me have you right now, I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Her breath seizes within her throat at his sultry request. Rafayel’s palms trace about the shell of her hips, curving about the sides of her abdomen before he caresses them up her stomach, pressing, light, into the yielding flesh. Her body shudders beneath his testing caresses. One of his hands steals down the cusp of her clothed mound, index and middle stroking at her labia above panties, before he skates them in between her folds. The two moan in unison; to feel how drenched she is for him.  

Her body squirms against his, begging for more of that sweet friction. Hips bucking up into his hand to force more of him against her aching slit. Rafayel towers above her, the delectable flush across that slack, sensual expression has her fluttering in on emptiness, her hole aching to be filled completely — as if she too has taken on the fever of his desires, writhing in phantom heat. Her drifting mind wonders for a fleeting moment, if a human bonded to a Lemurian could experience the mind-numbing lust of their cycles, along with their partners. That stray thought, she believes, with each passing second he riles her up in delirious rapture.  

Holding himself above her upon the crook of a folded arm, Rafayel descends for her mouth, covetous tongue savoring a moan against hers. She feels the hot, wet strength of his cock — already firmed to stone once more — rolling against the inside of her thigh. Just as he slips a long, tapered digit past her underwear, to curve it directly against her soaked opening. Her hips jump violently at the contact, her squeal of arousal Rafayel pilfers against a throaty chuckle. “You’re so wet.” Pressing up into her to make his point, the audible squelch of her slick, loud within the quiet night. “Are you enjoying this, my love?” 

“Isn’t,” she gasps, heat gathering, strong, into her face. “isn’t the answer obvious?” 

Rafayel hums, the skew of his smile tugging higher; a slow, relishing tongue he runs across his upper lip, end to end. And before she can think to parse the intention behind that wicked gaze, Rafayel’s palms are cupping about the soft of her ass —  digits pulsing into pliant flesh — to shear her underwear off, lifting her hips up to shove his tongue in between her legs. 

Her next sound leaves her on a shriek of pleasure, blaring stars wheeling across her field of vision. Fervid digits she convulses into the yank of his hair, in a manner that has to hurt and yet Rafayel makes no move to budge back, mouth sinking deeper against the wet flood of her heat. He curves his tongue up against her fluttering walls, sweeping at the slick. Nosing a stifled hum against her clit and that is all it takes for her over-sensitised body to break, spasming into a prompt, violent orgasm that siphons the breath from her lungs and the voice from her throat.  

Dazed in her floating awareness of the scrupulous mouth that continues to suck at her folds, laving away all of her released desire for himself. And when she sinks a quivering hand into tousled locks in whimpered protests of being too sensitive, all Rafayel offers her is an impish chuckle pressed into the soft of her thigh, right beside her mound. “You had your fun, didn’t you? It’s my turn now.” 

With that sensuous warning uttered, his mouth returns its attentions to her weeping slit once more, lips closing about the nub at her apex, sucking gentle at the bead. The jump of her hips Rafayel conquers, in the indolent arm he shackles about her waist, fingers reaching to hold hers across the quivering pliance of her stomach.  

The broad of his tongue laps a path above her entrance, catching at any stray slick that leaks from her before he eases the tip of it back into her slit, relishing the clench of her walls in a throaty groan. He continues to prolong that titillating torture of his, edging his tongue at just the entrance of her pussy, till her body burns once more within the kindled flames of a cresting orgasm.  

“Rafayel, there — hah — right there. Rafayel.”  Sliding that tormenting tongue into her walls once more, to her relief, to the mewls of his name flooding like rain from a parched tongue, the spasm of her fingers she smothers against their entwined digits at her abdomen.  

“Sing higher,” his stuttered groans smothered enthusiastic, into the drench of her slit. Tongue curling up against her frontal walls, in a drag that has her fracturing under his mouth once more. Tears sprung to lust-hazed eyes from the overwhelming arousal wrought upon her body under Rafayel’s dexterous tongue.  

He exhales a pleased sigh against her mound, each heated breath causing shivers to jump across tender skin. A kiss, Rafayel lays right against her swollen clit. 

“Once more.” Her walls clench in wrecked protest, a whimper leaving her throat at his whispered words. “Give me just one more.” He entreats. “I need your taste in my mouth again.” A flitter of kisses he strokes against the line of her pelvis, her mound; dark gaze rolling up to meets hers from in between her legs. She flushes at the intensity of their contact held, without mercy. Her wordless squeeze about her hand given, is all the permission her hungering Lemurian requires to sink back towards her wet heat.  

Tapered digits reach to shape a path about the sensitive bead of her pleasure, pinching in between steady, pleasurable strokes. Before they descend lower, coveting towards her fluttering entrance. Rafayel presses up, gentle, into her walls to coax wetness onto his digits with each drenched thrust of his fingers into her.  

His hand releases from hers, palm drifting up across the plane of her body to cup about a pliant breast. Fingers caressing a circular path about her areola in soft, stimulating strokes and she quivers at the sensation, breaths coming in short, stifled bursts of air.  

Rafayel’s mouth closes about her clit, just as the arch of his fingers hit at a particularly hot, sensitive spot within her pussy; walls spasming about his fingers, swallowing him in. His name soughs past her lips on whimpered gasps with each steady thrust of him up into her walls.  

The pads of his digits tweak about the puckered bead of her breast, thumb denting gentle at the bud, sending a jolt of arousal straight in between her legs.  

Rafayel continues to lap her up, dutiful; his lashes descending in pleased satisfaction just as her third, mind-numbing release crests through her body, leaving her skin a drenched, ruined mess Rafayel sucks at, in throaty moans of delight.  

“Rafayel,” she urges, unable to stand the searing desire he’s put inside her, body hungering for the heat of his cock in desolate emptiness. The overwhelming desire to feel his heat flooding into her, with how long he’s strung her dry for himself. She catches his face in between tremulous digits, pulling him from in between her legs to meet his gaze, dark in fervent desire. “I need you inside me now.”  

Heated obscurity scatters momentarily from his eyes at her fevered request, hips rolling against hers so she feels the hot strength of his arousal brush against her inner thigh; her gasps breaking into the air, at that brief second of contact. Burying her next moan in the vicious bite of teeth at his clavicle, when his cock ghosts across her mound, so close to where she wants him. “If you’re sure you want this...” He groans in ardent murmurs against her mouth.  

Her clambering response is swift and eager. “I want this, I want you.”  

“I’ll let you have me,” he relents in between their wet kisses. “this time, all of me. So drown with me, my beloved bride. Love me.” 

Just as he snaps his hips forwards, the head of his cock pressing her open for himself. The delectable stretch of him, so easy within the drenched warmth of her body as it ravenously sucks at him, all the way in. Rafayel’s searing groan of pleasure, he breaks against her jaw; mouthing, mindless, at the taut skin.  

The union of their bodies, have left them both winded, without breath to draw into aching lungs; several moments they take in between heated gazes and consuming kisses, unmoving. Growing accustomed to this new, exquisite feeling of being so deeply intertwined into each other, she feels she could live like this against him for the rest of her life.  

Until Rafayel begins to move and her world explodes into turbulent sparks of blinding pleasure, unlike anything she’s quite experienced before. His hands are upon her body, covetous digits flittering in between them to touch at dewy skin. Testing his touch against the trembling give of her breasts. Mouth capturing a pert nipple into his mouth, to suck until she keens underneath him.  

Her ankles hook about the base of his spine, dragging Rafayel’s propulsions deeper into her. A stuttered moan, she throttles out of him, at the stimulation before his hand steals about her ass to lift her lower body entirely off the bed. Angling his hips, Rafayel’s thrusts turn impossibly deeper, with the assistance offered in their new position; his pelvis grinding flush against hers on each fevered plunge. “You’re perfect around me, so very — hah — warm,” he grinds out in heedless praise, hips snapping against her harder, in rising intensity, in chase of a hovering orgasm.  

She moans in appreciation around the tongue he slips into her slack mouth in yearning want. “Rafayel,” she chokes out. “I’m so close.”  

“Me too,” he groans, shifting his weight forwards to lean against the crook of his arm at her side. His fingers trek up a path against her slack arm, digits entwining through hers, the line of their red thread flickering in between them both as they approach the crest of their combined pleasures.  

“I love you,” she sobs in between quivering gasps; his gaze crinkling in warmed affection and desire so acute, it drags another whimper out of her.  

“I love you.” Rafayel declares, into the catch of his kisses against her mouth, her cheeks, down the crescent of her jaw. Laving a kiss into the curve of her neck in a worrying bite of teeth, marking her for his own. He switches his pace once more, cock spearing up against her frontal walls in frenzied thrusts. “Come for me,” he beseeches. 

Jaw falling slack in a daze of undulating desire when she obliges at the heated scrap of his words, tumbling over the edge in an orgasm so vehement, her spine arcs clean off the bed. “You’re so good for me.” He worships.

Cresting waves of pleasure, she rides in the hard clench of her walls against Rafayel’s throbbing cock, pulsating hot within her until he too follows soon after. An incomprehensible swell of his cock inside, rising with its pulsations, has her gasping out a low, keening sound at the aching stretch of her pussy, it prolongs her high onto wondrous, searing moments of dizzy elation. Her toes curling into the sheets as the steady bulge of him catches at her walls and snags inside, hot spurts of cum surging into her, so much of it, she feels light-headed from how stuffed he has her. Just as Rafayel’s head falls low, on a loud, long groan of release.

Their damp breaths break against each other’s mouth for several moments that follow after, as they try and muster their senses back to themselves. Her fingers tracing absent, soothing circles along the curve of Rafayel’s spine until his trembling body stills to a gentle lull above her, quieted in the wake of their vehement orgasms.

A strange, fascinating imprint, throbs scarlet right above his heart — in the fleeting likeness of a fish — just as Rafayel’s rattling breaths abate. Captivated fingers she ventures, to trace against the edges of the mark. “...What is this, Rafayel?”  

“A sign of Lemurian loyalty.” A quiet smile tips across his face at the question.

The swell of breathless surprise, she knows is upon her face. “My devotion, here on, it’s yours to do with, as you please.” A kiss he buries into her palm in overwhelming affection. “I’m allowing myself to be trapped by you.” 

A low sob of adoration breaks from her throat at the words, just as the proof of his vow fades fast into his skin. A hand, she brings about his neck, to haul him down against her, to treasure a kiss right above where his heart thrums its beats, elated desire burning warm within her chest.  

Rafayel moves above her, maneuvering their positions until she rests at her side, within the circle of her arms, bodies still conjoined. His cock — she realizes with dazed shock — is still hard within her body. “Are you afraid?” He asks, gentle fingers carding through the mussed tresses of her hair. “I’ll need you much more times before I’m sated, you know.”  

She shakes her head at him, palm moving to cradle against his cheek. “I want all of what you have to give me, Rafayel. I’ll take it all.” 

He drags her closer by the hips at her affirmations; his touch along the back of her ass tending a slow fire back up within her weary body, as he moves to hoist her leg up against the cut of his hip.  

And she lets him show her just how profound a Lemurian’s devotion to his beloved truly runs, throughout the entirety of the night and into the greeting of dawn — a depth as unbounded as that of the Oceans.

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here.

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to scream with me about hot characters.

[chiscaralight]

warnings: fratboy!kaeya x afab!reader, nsfw, slight corruption kink, dick sucking and fingering fanatics, he’s a sucker for reader at the end, slight possessiveness, idk what else but have fun reading 🩵

fratboy!kaeya who’s everyone on campus’ dream. he’s tall, he’s sexy and he has people swooning left and right wherever he goes with his alluring voice and charming charisma.

fratboy!kaeya who’s taken a visual interest in you. his friends keep catching him staring at you, wether you’re readjusting your thick glasses while you’re nose deep in your book or how you gaze at the board while the teacher drones on about whatever it is they’re teaching.

fratboy!kaeya who can’t wait to corrupt you with his cock, to see your small face riddled with pleasure, your sweet voice calling out his name while he fills you up with everything he has to give.

fratboy!kaeya who’s sitting beside you on his bed. his warm fingers graze your thigh as he tells you to relax. you’re so tense, so flushed as your thighs press together because his oh-so-sexy voice has your arousal pooling in your panties.

fratboy!kaeya who fucks like he talks; fluid and fast. you’re face down in his sheets, moaning so much as he rolls his hips into you from behind. his hands rub down the dip of you’re waist before pushing you farther down onto the bed as he tells you how much of a gem you are, how sexy you sound for him and how he’s going to make sure you feel so good once he’s done with you .

fratboy!kaeya who’s turning you over so he can see your face while he paints his seed all over your stomach.

fratboy!kaeya who’s hooded eyes widen just a bit when you scoop up some of his cum with your finger and putting it in your mouth, never breaking eye contact. oh, he’s going to have so much fun with you.

fratboy!kaeya who loves fucking your mouth wherever and whenever he can. in the mixed bathrooms, in his car, in dark alleyways… he knows it’s a problem but just the sight of you on your knees for him gets him so worked up so quick. and hey, you never seem to have anything against it. hell, you’re the one initiating it half the time, who is he too not indulge his cutie?

fratboy!kaeya who notices how much you seem to love his fingers pumping into you. so, when your filthy mouth is sucking him off on the couch where anyone could walk into, he makes sure he stretches his arm to the sides and to slide his digits into your cunt, curling them at just the right spot that has you whimpering against his cock.

fratboy!kaeya who dreads the thought of sharing you with someone else. he stopped fucking around with randoms after basically your first time together. it’s driving him crazy and he knows no one can fuck you like he does. he’s holding you up, back to his chest as he fucks into your cunt. “do any of your other boytoys fuck you like this? hm?”

frat boy!kaeya who’s hips stutter just a bit when you weakly tell him that you haven’t been with anyone either. you just can’t get enough of him, how well he listens to what you want, how he touches you so soft and fucks you so hard, you’re not sure you’re willing to get it anywhere else.

fratboy!kaeya who watches you as you sleep. he can’t help the small smile on his face as he watches your chest rise and fall in his shirt while you cling to him. he knows he’s fucked, but he’d rather just enjoy the moment than think about anything else. he kisses your temple before wrapping his arms around you.

a/n: wrote this in one sitting lolzz. also can u tell i’m a sucker for them falling for reader lol im romantically and emotionally and physically constipated. SAVE ME

[kujakumai]

On the subject of being good with children, which characters do you think WOULD be good babysitters?

YUGIOH CHARACTERS AS BABYSITTERS, RANKED

TOP PICKS:

Seto Kaiba runs an entire company dedicated exclusively to safely entertaining children, and unless his parks are getting continually sued I believe he knows how. Your kindergartner is not only safe with him but will probably leave knowing how to play chess and write in C++. He may allow them to play with knives, but only if they're 9 or over, plus he has all the emergency numbers on speed-dial.

Hiroto Honda babysits his niblings on the regular. Can warm a bottle and change a diaper. A level-headed and practical guy. He’ll be fine as long as his friends don't drag him into a horrible game-themed deathtrap. Don't ask why that caveat exists.

Rishid Ishtar is safe, experienced, has dad energy, however he will crumple like wet paper at the first sign of conflict re: ice cream for dinner / no bedtime / blood-soaked cross-country quest for revenge / an extra episode of cartoons over the screentime limit.

Ishizu Ishtar would make a great babysitter. I don't really have a quirky joke here she just would.

"MAYBE"S

Jonouchi used to watch his little sister and I think he'll do about as well as any other teenager you're paying minimum wage, and with a lot of earnest enthusiasm. Your child will be fine at the end of the night, though they will probably have eaten some junk food and played a T rated videogame.

I do not think Atem would know what to do with a baby, and may panic about it, though if you have an older child he will be happy to offer a rousing speech and some deep-voiced mentorlike advice while teaching them to play board games. Not a bad choice, just try not to leave him with anyone under seven.

Yugi knows zilch about kids and often appears a little annoyed by them. Same general rules as Atem--do not leave him with a baby, but he'll probably just teach an older kid to play shogi or something.

Mai Kujaku will put the kid in front of the television and order pizza while she paints her nails. Honestly, though, what more are you paying her for?

Listen, I love Anzu. I do. She’s smart, driven, and big-hearted, but she is also sort of short-tempered and impatient, and patience is like 90% of child-rearing. Please do not ask Anzu Mazaki to watch your children. She WILL say yes because she needs the money, and she WILL go into it with optimism and gumption, and yes, both she and your child will both be in one piece at the end of the night, but it will be clear from both of their frazzled expressions that she lost most of her sanity an hour in after the fifth "Why?"

DEFINITELY NOT

Ryou Bakura would in theory be a perfectly good, if kind of spacey, babysitter, but you cannot trust him to remain Ryou Bakura, and the other guy is definitely not someone you want anywhere near your children.

I don't think Marik Ishtar has ever interacted with a child for very long and the number of people he talks to that are even his own age is in the single digits. And he is definitely not getting spat on or dealing with any bathroom stuff. I'm not saying he can't figure it out but the learning curve is going to be steep.

I have to put Yami Bakura here in principle and yet for some reason I think it wouldn't go that bad? I mean he definitely doesn't care about the safety of your child. And he may enlist them to the armies of darkness. And he's not cleaning anything up. But he's like, a weird socially awkward over-the-top guy? And children love those? Honestly I think they would both have fun. For at least an hour until everything goes horribly wrong.

Please do not summon Zork Necrophades to babysit your child.

[yjhariani]

A brief scenario of Simon teaching gn!reader how to drive a motorcycle.

“Are you sure you’re not supposed to be on the back seat?” you asked as you balanced yourself on the motorbike.

You put both hands on the handle, holding the brakes while Simon flipped up the kickstand with one hand holding the back handle.

The two of you now were idle in the edge of an empty field near where you live. The area was fairly empty and Simon picked this place specifically for convenience of teaching you how to drive a motorcycle. 

One day, you brought it up to him that you wanted to learn how to and Simon was on board immediately, without doubt. He did not even have to know if the reason was practical or because you wanted to do something that was of his interest. He did not care other than that you wanted to learn something from him.

“I could, but it’s going to be heavier for you,” Simon explained.

“Then, what if I fall? Or crash?” you questioned.

“Believe it or not, love, I might sound cruel, but it’s part of the process. You’ll fall or crash at some point, but my job here to make sure that it’s not going to be too bad of an accident,” Simon explained.

Looking at him disappointedly, Simon translated your face as concerned.

“I’ll be right next to you, I will catch up if you go too fast,” Simon promised. “Just remember to not panic.”

“You’re saying it like it’s easy,” you said.

“I believe in you,” Simon assured. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if at the end of the day you’d be the one driving us home.”

Those first four words alone injected you with a sheer of confidence. It could be his tone, it could be his voice, or whatever. Maybe it was Simon all the way since he had always had that effect on you.

“Okay,” you nodded. “What do I do from here?”

“Turn the key,” Simon instructed, followed by you doing as he said. “Hold the break and press the started.”

The bike started humming into life.

“Then?” you asked.

“You loose the brake and… slowly accelerate,” Simon said. “Slowly. You’ll know when to take your foot off the ground.”

So, as he said, you slowly and carefully twisted the accelerator, feeling the bike vibrating more the more you cranked it up. The digital rev counter started to raise from 0 to around 10 and you eventually started to feel the bike moving forwards.

“Yeah, keep going,” Simon encouraged.

At some point, you lifted your foot off the ground and actually started going forwards as the counter keep rising.

“Doing good, love,” Simon commented, now lightly jogging next to you. “Don’t go too fast yet.”

For some reason, you kept looking at the counter that now had reached the number 20 and hearing Simon telling you not to go too fast caught you a little bit off guard. In result, you accidentally cranked the accelerator, but also immediately following it by gripping both brakes at the same time.

Before you knew it, you advanced past Simon and your balance was off.. Not even on the next second, you ended up on the ground with one of your foot trapped under the bike.

As any other time you messed up and ended up on the ground, the pain was nothing compared to the embarrassment. So, you started off with a little chuckle as you, with Simon’s help, pulled the bike up.

“Are you alright?” Simon asked, flipping down the kickstand with his foot and twisted the key to turn the bike off.

“I’m fine,” you said.

“Did I startle you? I’m so sorry, love,” Simon said.

“No, I’m just… well, I mean, a little, but that shouldn’t have stopped me,” you said.

“Well, now we both know something we shouldn’t do,” Simon said. “Now, let me have a look at your foot.”

“It doesn’t feel so bad,” you admitted, looking at your own foot, twisting it around so you both could see all sides of it. “The shoes softened the impact.”

“Just a bit of scratch. Let me know if it’s hurting, yeah?” Simon replied.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Alright. You ready to get back on?” Simon asked.

“Sure,” you nodded.

Whilst getting back on the driving position, you tried to remember the feeling of driving the bike right before you fell.

“Now that I think about it, I do feel that I was gripping the handles really tightly,” you said holding your upper arm before continuing, “It’s a bit tight here.”

“Yeah?  Just remember to relax a little this time,” Simon said. 

“Alright,” you nodded.

“Ready?” Simon asked.

You nodded.

From there, you redid the start up. This time, you did better than the previous one. Simon was smoothly jogging along next to you and letting out some encouragements every now and again. When it came to it, he instructed you on how to take a turn and how to eventually stop when you reached the full lap.

You did another lap with Simon simply jogging next to you. Eventually, his pace got faster and faster, following your own on the bike.

Stopping at the end of the lap again, you and Simon took a moment to rest. You sat next to the bike, drinking your water. Simon, right away, started to gently massaged your arm where you very earlier on said that you felt a little bit of stiffness on.

After some time, you decided to continue.

“Now, how ‘bout you get on the backseat?” you asked once you turned the bike on and was ready to move.

“Are you sure?” Simon asked.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to in case I fall again,” you answered.

“Won’t happen,” Simon assured. “Now, hold on tight and make sure you balanced the bike. There’s going to be a little bit of a shift when I get on.”

You gripped the brakes and propped both feet on the ground. Simon carefully got on the bike. As he said, there was a shift, but once he was settled, his balance supported yours in a way.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Ready,” Simon answered.

With that, you started the drive again. There was a difference on the drive now you had someone on the backseat. As Simon said, it was quite heavier on the accelerator, but otherwise it all felt almost the same.

Having an additional weight did caught you a little bit off guard during the turn and, in a state of panic, you gripped both brakes and ended up with the two of you being thrown forwards.

Luckily, Simon managed to keep the bike upwards with the only casualty being him pressing you against the handles.

“Are you hurt?” Simon immediately asked, his arms now holding the handles, entraping you, but not squeezing.

Again, it was probably the adrenaline, but the embarrassment somehow felt more painful than the little bit of pain you felt.

“No, just surprised,” you chuckled.

“Are you sure?” Simon continued.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Let me continue.”

“Alright,” Simon replied.

However, you both only stayed there for a moment.

“You can let go, boo,” you said.

“Right, yeah,” Simon said, realising that he still had his arms around you.

One more time, you did the start up and did a couple of laps.

When the two of you decided to go home, you volunteered to drive and, as he said earlier, Simon was not surprised.

Did the journey home went smoothly? Not as much as when Simon was driving. Did you both get home uninjured? Not entirely per the previous incidents. However, Simon was glad that he got to spend the day out with you. Surely today would be something that he thought about for quite a few months in the future.

Simon was just proud that you wanted to learn something, actually learned it, and got him involved.

[chososcamgirl]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 - the old heads

—

—

m. list

background !

the five friends have been a close knitted group ever since highschool, and that didn’t change throughout college or after.

shoko graduated with valedictorian and top of the class and nanami was bitter about it for 3 days and didn’t talk to shoko at all. she completed her md and residency and now is an orthopaedic surgeon. choso and gojo both studied computer science in college however gojo just barely passed all his classes not because he wasn’t completing the work but because he was absent for almost half of them. satoru often takes advantage of the few skills he learnt in his classes and makes troll sites and leaks people’s ip on val after he loses (he shortly becomes semi-famous for this). choso, who actually paid attention in class, now works for a software company. nanami graduated with a degree in engineering and is planning to start his own company with the help of suguru who teaches with a degree in business and hospitality.

suguru, choso and satoru all live in a condo together and are all rather living pretty comfortably. whilst shoko and nanami choose to live separately and own a house each, they all live within the same block so if ever they need help, it’s just a 2 minute drive. upon graduating with a degree in business and hospitality, suguru opens up a new cafe. he has been planning this for the past year and nothing was stopping him now that he has all the expenses paid off. even though satoru is a trust fund baby and offered to give him all the money for it early on, suguru declined not because of his pride but because he needed to do this on his own for himself.

fun facts !

ᨘ໑▸ the characters included in this post are all aged 27-28 years old.

ᨘ໑▸ choso always scolds satoru about his digital footprint but that man does not GAF.

ᨘ໑▸ the whole group meets atleast once a week - which is usually friday nights at the condo in which they all eat dinner together - choso always ends up being the cook because not only does he volunteer but because he makes knows how to make a mean dish. the night usually ends in a board game which always ends up with gojo sulking and throwing a tantrum, accusing the winner (which is nanami most of the time) of cheating and then drinking until he forgets about the whole thing and starts dancing on the table.

ᨘ໑▸ due to satoru’s antics with trolling and doxxing and his new found fame, the whole group is blew up by association.

ᨘ໑▸ suguru adopted a stray black and white cat left on the side of the road. he called her ‘spring’. he loved her until her last breath up until she died 5 years later when he was 18. he cried for a week and gojo comforted him whole time. it was bittersweet but he knew she was in a better place. this was one of the reasons the cat cafe he’s opening is going to be home to multiple strays which will be up for adoption.

ᨘ໑▸ someone made a velocity thirst edit of choso after finding out about him through gojo and it’s now repeatedly played during dinner.

ᨘ໑▸ nanami and choso hated eachother in highschool because both of them claimed to be my chemical romance’s #1 fan

ᨘ໑▸ gojo was not joking in those tweets..

a/n: if i ever make typos plz do not make fun of me </3

#𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐅𝐄

synopsis ; the season of sun-kissed oceans and golden-hued moments is before you! however being a broke college student is not an ideal look to have, especially at your age. desperately seeking solace from financial woes, you and your bestfriend stumble upon an unexpected opportunity - a cat cafe. crafting lattes and pampering purring patrons seems easy enough, right? that fantasy lasts about one day before reality claws in.

🏷️taglist: @coquetteslvt @aliventboo @izakyun @luvvmae @tuihiatus @soonajeeme @ascybous @rotten1angel @catobsessedlady @myguumi @enhleui @viviennevianna @spacebaby1 @iheartlinds @haikyuu-tothetop @mua-for-now @waytootiredforthisss @j2upiters

[romanoffsbish]

Teach me, Mommy

Professor!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Warnings: Jealousy.

Smut: Subby Nat. Mommy (R), Good Girl/Baby (N), “BJ,” Strap (N), Choking, Punishment (Spanking).

18+ | Minors DNI

The echo of heels clicking against the polished linoleum of the large lecture hall caused your gaze to lift from the paperwork on your desk, giving you a chance to ogle your professor as she made her way over to the desk at the front.

The woman looked positively delectable in her red v neck blouse, layered beneath a form fit black suit jacket, and tucked into the front of her matching pencil skirt that fell at her knees.

——

Professor Romanoff, was a gorgeous force to be reckoned with, and when she dressed like this—for you, truth be told, you so wanted to play.

The need to control in her daily life made sense, she was a women leading the science department at a fairly prestigious university. In public she needed to commandeer respect, and she surely did just that, the men she worked over seemed to hold a healthy fear of her.

Once you saw her publicly putting Mr. Stark in his place, you got to see the usually smug man turn as pale as a ghost, so stunned in fact that Mr. Banner had to drag him away from the she devil stood in those calf defining black stilettos. The way she smirked as she turned around is what initially drew you to her. Because beneath those eyes dripping with power you saw the precious angel ready to be taken care of.

Everyone else on campus was afraid of her too. She held her head high, and ran a tight ship. Lessons started at 8am, her doors were locked the moment the digital clock hit said time. The homework was tedious, and unlike your other courses it actually required critical thinking. Quizzes took place every Friday, based off study guides that left your brain scrambling.

Even with the heavy workload, she didn't have the same hold over you that she did others. Natasha, as you know her, loved the way she could command a room's attention, but what she loved even more was having all of yours.

Natasha has always been in control, ever since she was little, and had to help raise Yelena. Fighting with just about anyone who got in her way of ensuring her sisters safety and future, so it makes sense that would bleed into her now.

But it didn't reflect her deep desires though.

The truth was she lived to be dominated, to be put in her place when she's stepped out of line, and with you she found herself submitting with ease. Handing you her body without any fight, and she plans to do so for as long as forever.

Natasha could feel your eyes on her, just as she wanted it, as she set up the board for the quiz on genetics. She drew a mock punnet square, because even with as strict as she was, she was not above offering the occasional cheat code.

When she spun around she offered the class a tight lipped smile that fell away when she saw one of your classmates hands on your bicep. "Miss Maximoff, if you don't mind, we have a quiz to start and that requires you be seated."

"Sorry Miss Romanoff," Wanda skittishly rushed away to her desk in the back and you quirked your brow at the professor who only met your gaze with one that dripped danger.

Natasha wasn't one to share, and she wasn't about to start today. As she walked around the class passing out the quizzes she made sure to sway her hips just as she passed by your desk. You quietly chuckled at her show of possession, as if she had anything to worry about, you already claimed her as yours years ago, it's why she had your initials tattooed on her wrist besides a heart made with the intricate grooves of your thumbs. You're hers too, the mark of her soft lips on your ribcage your chosen tie.

The exam was honestly a breeze for you, but for the sake of your cover remaining intact you'd pretended to struggle so you could be the last one seated as students slowly filed on out.

"Y/N, you're my best student, stop pretending that you're still working," Natasha challenged from her desk, the last student left fifteen minutes ago, clearly you were just taunting her.

"I don't know Miss. Romanoff, this exam is really hard," you relayed with a feigned sense of concern, "I sure hope I don't fail and have to retake this course, that would be a bummer."

Natasha rolled her eyes as you placed your test down on her desk, which she realized was a bad idea as you gripped her chin and tilted her head backwards until she was looking at you. "Careful with the attitude pretty girl, you don't want to go pissing mommy off now, do you?"

Natasha shook her head, "I'm sorry mommy," she latched on to your thumb, her tongue ran over the ridges of your skin, then she began to lightly suck as she gazed up at you sweetly. You smirked before looking up at the ticking clock, "You have just enough time to suck me off."

Natasha hummed around your thumb, you could see the way her eyes genuinely lit up at the prospect, and you chuckled as she danced then shimmied out of her seat to her knees. While maintaining eye contact you slipped your digit from her mouth and with the pad of your thumb you spread saliva all over her lips to assist her in her plans to suck you off.

The redhead looked up at you, she sat prettily, and the restraint you witnessed her showing was endearing. She knew better than to touch without guidance, "Good girl," you coo'd as you slid your shorts down to your ankles, then went your boxers and out popped your black strap.

"Follow me baby," you said as you stepped around her to take your place in her chair, you settled a hand on your strap and began to stroke the silicone as Natasha crawled over, "Hurry up baby, your next class starts in fifteen minutes, and I'm not leaving until I cum."

Natasha slackened her jaw, leaving her mouth agape so you could do as you pleased with her. After a few teasing moments of hovering over her you finally pushed the tip beyond her lips. The eager woman took initiative from there and began to bob her head aggressively while her hand applied dizzying pressure to the base.

"There you go baby," you softly growled as the pleasure started to flow throughout your body, your hand now tangled into her hair as you aided her in taking even more of you down her throat to the point that she was gagging.

"Mm, mm, fuck Tash, you're just so good for me," your hips were now thrusting wildly, "Mommy's good girl, fuck, take it all baby."

Natasha's nose met your stomach, the fact that she'd managed to take all of you is what threw you over the edge, the coil within you snapped, and in a controlled manner you moaned out her well deserved praises, "Good girl."

Natasha stared in relative awe as your slick dripped down the front of her desk chair as you stood up. You weren't opposed to chasing your own pleasure, but truth be told you preferred to make the redhead cry out for you, so after a moment tailored for you you tended to brush passed it, so it wasn't a shock you'd already redressed before her breath was back in sync.

"I'll see you in a few hours Miss. Romanoff," you said as you collected her ungraded papers, along with her office keys, "Five minutes," you added with a wink before you were gone.

"Ty budesh' moyey smert'yu," Natasha cursed under her breath, then as per usual, she was up and in order before the students traipsed on in.

(You will be the death of me.)

—

Natasha groaned in relief as the bell rang, you left her in quite the state, and unfortunately she had to sit through two more lectures before there was any promise of relief. Which is why she was on the verge of tears when she entered her office to find only stacks of graded papers.

"For fucks sake," she huffed with her face now in her hands, her bag that was haphazardly thrown in a moment of frustration hit the ground loud enough to conceal your entrance.

"Now, now," you pressed your body into hers from behind, your smirk wide as she tensed, "Tell me baby, is that how a respected woman speaks when she doesn't get what she wants?"

"No m-mommy, but I," she went to defend herself, but you stopped her with a finger to her lips that slid down until you were wrapping your hand around her throat. Natasha was actually grateful, because she had no excuse.

"It's inexcusable Natalia," you reminded her, "Just because you're needy doesn't mean you get to be bitchy," you sneered as you reached forward to clear her desk of her belongings.

You spun her around so she could face you as you spoke, "I was trying to do something nice for you," with a slow, calculated thrust you let the redhead feel the bulge in your shorts, it was sizably bigger than the one she sucked earlier, her eyes widened, and so did your cocky grin.

"I-is that?" Natasha gulped when you nodded, feeling her throat pulse beneath your palm was an incredibly arousing feeling, "What a shame too, mommy was gonna breed her special girl, so I left to change, but now I'm not so sure..."

"No, please, I'm sorry mommy," you cut her off before she could continue pleading, with your tight grip on her throat you tugged her forward until your lips were only millimeters apart, she could taste your breath and instinctually she tried to close the gap, but you stepped back and softly tsk'd as she whined, "Who's in charge?"

"Mommy is..."

"Exactly baby, so if you want something you..." you looked to her with so much confidence that she felt like this was almost a mirror to the lie of who she outwardly is to the world, "Ask."

"Can I have a kiss please?" Natasha whispered, she felt a brief moment of embarrassment, but then all she felt was warmth as you smiled at her, when she felt your hands firmly back on her hips she felt safe, and with your lips finally on hers she truly felt whole. "There she is."

The deceivingly soft kiss melded into a heady entanglement in only a matter of seconds. Natasha melted into you, becoming a pliant body for you to mold to your every whim, you didn't act right away though, you loved to keep her in this constant state of neediness, one she had never felt before with another person.

As your tongue slid over hers, and your hands roamed her body she was becoming quite the whimpering mess that you needed to tend to. Her hips canted against the air with a violent need, so you reluctantly pulled away, and even if she wanted more, part of her didn't want the kiss to end so she gripped your shirt collar.

"Baby," you warned softly, "If you want mommy to help with the mess in your panties then you need to bend over for me, but if you want to kiss then we can do that instead..."

Natasha relinquished her hold instantly, "No," you smiled and pecked her lips, "Over the desk then baby, give mommy her prettiest view."

Once the redhead settled her front against her hardwood desk, with her skirt perfectly bunched up at her hips she sighed dreamily. The poor girl thought she was going to just get a pass to what she wanted with no need for a punishment for her behavior, but as your hand began to knead the flesh of her ass she knew.

"Hmm, how many we thinking baby?"

"Five," she offered and you cackled, "Hilarious, how about 20? One for each question on your chapter 'quiz' since you are just so reasonable."

"Heyyyy, I'm just trying to give everyone a well rounded—," she was cut off with a shriek as your hand made brutal contact with her skin, “Your excuses are null and void, quiet down.”

Natasha took her punishment like a champ, every slap against her increasingly reddening cheeks a reminder that you're always watching. The only thing that taints this was she was a bit of an adrenaline junkie so she pushed back into your hand near the end, "Harder mommy..."

So, for her unconscious disobedience you added five more without a word, each one was surprisingly harsher than the other, and for the last one you rerouted to her cunt, so by the end the woman was sobbing, as she should be.

"What do we say?" You asked as you softly massaged her backside, "Thank you mommy."

"You're welcome," you leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, then you awkwardly tilted her head up, you pressed another to her lips as you slid your strap into her slicked hole. The redhead appreciated the way you muffled her screams, she was always very vocal whenever you entered her, so you knew what to do. You always did, she loved your considerate nature.

As you pounded into her you realized that she needed help with the noise, "Quiet now, don't wanna send Banner home with an erection," you whispered through gritted teeth, your hand on her hip squeezed tighter at the mention of her ex, their relationship was tumultuous, and you knew that, but you still hate knowing he has had her in ways you've yet to be able to.

Taking her classes made you exempt from the university fraternization rule, but since you had to be more major focused moving forward you were excited for the prospect of taking her out on the town and showing her off as yours.

"Tell me baby, who fucks you better?" Your free hand roamed between her legs just as she went to answer, you pinched her neglected clit and she shrieked your title into the skin of her palm in an attempt to not broadcast your activities, but you knew that no matter what he heard. There was a vent behind the desk that linked their offices, it's how she found him cheating.

It's how you knew your secret was safe...

Natasha began to quiet down, something about nearing the edge always seemed to cause her to go silent, it was an anomaly to you, you think it was her usual need for control seeping through the cracks, but you nonetheless found it sweet. Endearing really, that you could fuck the well known hard ass professor into a state of zen.

This time however she shocked you, her soft voice came out in a needy whimper, "I'm so close mommy, wanna feel you inside first, please, fill me up, I need it so bad, need you."

“Yeah?” You grunted as you reached down to grip the pump, “You want mommy’s seed? Want me to fill you up until your pregnant?”

Natasha shrieked yes as your words, coupled with the tip of your strap slamming into her inner most sensitive spot, sent her reeling. With a quick squeeze followed by a deep thrust you filled her pussy up with your faux cum, the sensation made her back arch her body into the desk, her head raised up as she screamed into your strategically placed mouth, and you were soon forcefully stilled by her fluttering walls.

Natasha moaned unendingly into your mouth as you managed to fuck her cunt through the resistance. It drove you wild, the sound of the mixed arousals as you drove the strap into her. Eventually the adrenaline from her orgasm faded and she lost the strength to hold her body up all of a sudden to maintain the kiss.

You chuckled as she slumped into the desk, and with a soft movement you pulled out. While she rested her hot skin against the chilled wood you reached into your file cabinet and pulled out a rag so you could clean her up. Then you did just that before you grabbed her pair of emergency sweats from the drawer, which were really just ones she stole from you.

After Natasha was cleaned, and redressed in comfy clothes you pulled her into your body, and settled the both of you into her desk chair. Natasha smushed her face against your chest, she was exhausted from her long day, and if you’d let her she would sleep here tonight.

“Natasha,” you softly called out to her and she groaned, knowing now that you wouldn’t, “Liho has been home alone with Alpine all day, that poor little guy is probably just as nervous as his dad is when around women at the bar.”

“Stupid Bucky,” Natasha grumbled in a muffled voice against you, “He ruins everything good.”

“He’s literally on an emergency military tour,” you cackled in a shocked tone, “Y/N, that was just code for Steve’s finally back in the states.”

Natasha was his childhood best friend, so of course she knew this, but you were slightly offended that she would think you didn’t.

“Yeah, I know Nat, but he’s far too modest to ask us to cat sit so he could fuck his boyfriend,” you smiled as she giggled unabashedly, “Still, he’s a good guy, the least we could do is watch the sweet little feline while he gets to do it.”

Natasha hummed thoughtfully, “Yeah, I get it, I couldn’t even imagine going a year without being fucked by you,” you snorted, “You can’t even go a few days Nat, you’d likely shrivel up.”

The elder woman slapped your shoulder in a futile protest, the truth was clear as day when you take note of your fresh marks layered over and around the fading ones from other days.

“Carry me to the car?” You shook your head in amusement that she’d risk such exposure, but when noting how late it was you deemed it safe, and when all you saw was a bright red Bruce as you exited into the connected parking garage you were happy to have agreed to this.

—

As you two settled into bed you could feel the exhaustion wash over you instantaneously. Natasha couldn't sleep though, she was playing with your limp hand as her thoughts ran wild.

"Malysh?"

You hummed groggily, "Yes baby?"

"How long until you graduate again?"

"Three semesters left, why?"

"We should get married next fall then, so your degree matches your name," she genuinely relayed, her voice was level, but you could hear the subtle insecurities, "Oh, interesting. Why is it that you're not taking my last name, hmm?"

"Because I'm well established in my career as a Romanoff,” she scoffed playfully, “Plus, you need the additive so people remember who you belong to..." her grip on your hand tightened, and you know she was transported back to when Wanda’s hand laid atop your shoulder.

You pulled her body closer, hand interlocking with hers to cut off all of her nervous fiddling, “Hmm, I always thought the one who spends most nights writhing beneath the other took the last name of the champion atop of them,” but your words were nothing short of teasing.

Natasha retracted her hand from yours to slap it away, “Go sleep on the couch Y/N,” she tried to shuffle away in a show of anger, but much to her genuine delight you wouldn’t let her go, “Baby, I'm just kidding, of course I'll become a Romanoff,” you kissed her cheek softly, “Now everyone on campus will know you’re mine.”

Natasha turned to face you, her hand gently settled atop your cheek, “Irrevocably so detka,” she kissed your lips tenderly, then she buried her face into the crook of your neck, “G’nite.”

“Goodnight Natty,” you chuckled softly as she was already snoring, “I love you sweet girl.”

——

3,358 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 💋

[the-broken-truth]

Blot-Mates: Yuu & The Overblots [Part 4]

SEGMENT: JAMI

Summary: Jami is struggling with his innate programming of servitude, but he has no one to serve. Consequently, he is finding it difficult to relax and function properly. What would happen if Yuu decides to teach Jami how to live a life where he is no longer a servant but rather spoiled?

[Note: The Yuu Variant is Male with Enma Yuuken's Body Build, Yuuka Hirasaki's Fighting Skills, and Yuuta Mito's Cooking Skills.]

[Note: This Storyline will be written in Script Format.]

Parts: [Prologue] - [Ri] - [Leo] - [Azu] - [Jami] (Here) - [Vi] - [Idi] - [Mal] - [All] - [Epilogue]

[Coal-colored eyes were fixed on the ceiling while serpents made of dark locks of hair hissed in irritation or struck at each other, showing their displeasure. Jami placed his hand on his forehead and ran his inked hand through his bangs before sitting up from his bed and perching on the ledge with his head hanging. He lifted his head and looked at the digital clock on the wall of his room: it was 6:45 in the morning. This was usually the time The Prefect would get up to make breakfast for the Overblots. The thought of the Prefect making breakfast for all of them, just as he and his Original Body would make breakfast for Scarabia Dorm and Kalim, was overwhelming. Jami wasn't sure how to cope with it..]

Jami (Hearing something coming downstairs): Prefect... (Stands up and leaves his room)

[Jami walked down the hall and down the stairs as silently as he could to make sure he didn't give away his location. He crept to the opening of the kitchen and hid around the corner while listening to Yuu speak to himself.]

Yuu (On the phone with Sam): Hey, Sam. I know you're getting the shop ready, but do you have cookbooks or teas from the Land of Scalding Sands?

Jami (Thinking): 'The Land of Scalding Sands? Surely, he is not thinking about...'

Yuu (On the phone): Did Ace and Deuce tell you about what happened in Potion's class? Yeah, The Overblots got separated front their original bodies and I offered them to stay at Ramshackle; I wasn't going to make them uncomfortable with dealing with their hosts in their dorms.

Jami (Thinking): 'He cares for our comfort? After we attempted to kill him? (Looks at the ground in shame) After I used him for my personal vendetta?'

Yuu (On the phone): I noticed that Jami seems uneasy and I want to do something to make him more at ease here. I thought of making him some food and tea from the Land of Scalding Sands, as he's not much of a coffee drinker. Also, I noticed a Mancala Board and I'm interested in buying it. Can you tell me how much it is? (Sam Talking) Great, I'll also take the Cookbook, Tea Canister Bundle, and Silk Bundle. I think I can make Jami some new robes with the silk. When can I pick up the items? (Sam Talking) Yes, I'm willing to do all of that for Jami, just like I would for the others. He deserves just as much as the others do. Can I come get the items now? (Sam Talking) Perfect, I'm on my way. (Hangs up phone)

[Jami silently moved away from the kitchen opening and around another corner just as Yuu left the kitchen, grabbed his wallet off the table, and walked out of the first door. Jami looked around the corner and stared at the door for a while before the same question began to haunt his mind.]

Jami: Prefect... Why are you willing to do so much for me...after everything I have done to you? All the pain I caused you? Why are you doing so much for me - A Servant?

[The front door of Ramshackle opened, and Yuu walked in with his arms filled with stuff; he walked over to the sofa and placed everything down before reaching into a bag and pulling out the Cookbook from the Land of Scalding Sands before he walked around the corner, only to see Jami sitting at the table with his hair snakes constantly hissing.]

Yuu: Jami?

Jami:...

Yuu (Placing the book on the table as he walked over to Jami): Jami, are you okay? I've never seen you up so early.

Jami: I had a hard time sleeping - the snakes are very...aggravated at the moment and their hissing is making it hard to sleep.

Yuu (Looks at the hair snakes with a thinking expression on his face before snapping his fingers with a knowing smile on his face): I know - They are dry.

Jami (Raises an eyebrow at Yuu): Dry?

Yuu: When was the last time you oiled your hair since coming here?

Jami: I... I hadn't.

Yuu: Give me a moment. (Walks over to the bags on the sofa, reaches into one, and pulls out a bottle of Hair Oil that came from the Land of Scalding Sands - Sam gave it to him for free) Found it. (Walks back over to Jami) I'll give you a hand.

[Yuu whistles, gaining the hair snakes' attention as he pours some hair oil into his hand and holds his hand out to the snakes, showing them what is in his hand. Once the first snake came close enough, he rubbed his hands together and rubbed the oil on the hair snake, making it hiss in pleasure. Yuu continues this process with all the hair snakes until he reached the top of Jami's Head and massaged the hair oil into Jami's dry scalp, making the Overblot hiss in pleasure.]

Jami: This... This feels nice...

Yuu (Smiles): I'm glad you like it, Jami. I'll make you some tea after this.

Jami: I have been meaning to ask you about that, Prefect: Why are you doing so much for me after everything I have done to you? Used you for a personal vendetta I had against Kalim? Why do all of this for me, a mere servant?

Yuu: You are not a servant here, Jami. Ramshackle Dorm has no servants and I will not allow you to speak about yourself in such a matter.

Jami: But... My entire life, I have served...

Yuu: And that was a crime done to you. It's no wonder you and Jamil overblotted; who would want to live like that? Forced to hold themselves back for the betterment of someone who doesn't deserve their staion?

Jami: You don't think Kalim deserves to be Housewarden of Scarabia?

Yuu: In all honesty: No, he doesn't. Listen, I have nothings agsint Kalim personally, but he is too immature to hold the position of power he does; constantly throwing parties at the slightest whim and leaving the aftereffect up to you and the other members of Scarabia; it's pitiful, really. The only reason he is in his position of power is because he was from the Asim Family. You are clearly a better choice of Housewarden, considering all the work you do.

Jami: You... You really think so?

Yuu: Of course, you are. Jami, you are skilled in both magic and cooking, your memory is sharper than a blade, you are skilled in multiple languages...

[4 Minutes Later]

Yuu (Making cups of tea and breakfast for Jami from the cookbook): You are able to craft an antidote from plants within a matter of mintues before the poison can actually kill someone, and don't even get me started on your Mancala Tips...

[5 Minutes Later]

Yuu (Placing the food in front of Jami with the tea): All and All, you are a amazing person, Jami.

Jami (Staring at Yuu): Prefect... You just spent 9 minutes praising me...

Yuu: Of course I did. I would say more but we would be here all day and I have to make breakfast for the others. Jami, you deserve every bit of praise I can give you and I shall give you as much as you wish. (Pets the top of Jami's Head) You are brilliant and loved, Jami. (Goes into the kitchen)

Jami:...

[Later that day]

Leo (Pounding on Jami's Door): OI, SERPENT! GIVE ME BACK MY LITTLE BROTHER! WE'RE GOING TO PLAY CHESS!!

Ri: No, Rose and I are going to tend to the Roses!

Azu (Shouting downstairs since his pot can't go upstairs): PEARL AND I ARE GOING SWIMMING!

[Inside The Room]

Jami (Moving his stones on the Mancala Board): Your turn, Little Flower.

Yuu (Thinking of his move while Jami's Hair Snakes are wrapped around his waist - preventing him from leaving): Jami, when can I leave? I need to make lunch.

Jami: They can order-in.

Yuu: But...

Jami: You are not leaving me until you beat me in Mancala, Desert Flower. Listen to your brother.

Yuu: Jami, you've beaten me over 20 times. I'm not gonna beat you anytime soon.

Jami: Then, you won't be leaving anytime soon.

Yuu: Okay. (Makes a move on the Mancala Board)

[END - TO BE CONTINUED]

[the-s1lly-corner]

TADC X Skater reader, except the reader is new and has no idea how to skate and keeps falling all the time,,,

TADC cast x skater!reader !

Wasnt sure if you meant roller skate or skate boarding so I might flip flop between those two I hope that's okay! I also have a similar request for a roller skater reader that I answered a few days ago, which I will link at the end of this post!

Written in mobile!

Side thing idk if it's because I have so many requests rn or what, but I SWEAR my inbox is bugging, I keep seeing requests I didnt notice before... maybe I just accidentally overlooked them? But I SWEAR it wasnt there before because I have looked at my current inbox a dozen times now over the past few days

Idk

CAINE:

Regardless of if ypure a roller skater or a skate boarder, hell or even an ice skater; if you're having trouble keeping your balance, Caine will hover above you and steady you. Hands on your shoulders, or hands under your arms... he may even grab your hands and lift them up while guiding you

I think its very sweet

Manifests a digital cushion for when you fall over

Regardless of if your body is part skate, or you just skate as a hobby, he will cheer you on the same

POMNI:

Honestly you've probably slipped backwards and fell onto her. She probably makes a squeaky toy noise when your weight slams into her... good news about this being the digital world, neither of you are going to be significantly hurt!

If you're wearing skates you guys probably stumble and struggle to get back up... it's a little sad to watch..

RAGATHA:

Insists that you wear a helmet and knee pads. Like sure you cant get permanently hurt, but it makes her feel better !

Helps you try to keep you steady by putting her hands on your sides or shoulders... nervously walks beside you while helping you.. pro awkwardly hovers her hands over you as well as you get more confident with it

JAX:

Either will actually help you or may he a menace... "endurance training" but its actually not endurance training that's just what he says when he throws a bunch of those tiny bouncing rubber balls into your path

"Expect the unexpected " type shit

I mean he would still help you up, I think

Not many thoughts here <\3

KINGER:

Balances you by standing behind you and holding your hands/wrists up... kinda looks like you two are dancing or something. Except you're on a skateboard while he walks you around the floor

Very sweet about it

Kind of gives off the energy of a guardian trying to teach their kid how to ride a bike

Its sweet I think

I would let kinger teach me how to ride a bike

I still dont know how to ride a bike

Hes so so encouraging, too

ZOOBLE:

Thinks that you skate is cool.... oh, you're new to it..? show them what you got!

Oh...

OOOOH...

Ooooh noooo... you just face planted into the floor

I think they would also try to guide you threw it. Probably the only one I can see who skated before, though in their past life in the real world

Maybe jax did but idk

I think they would join you, besides they kind of wish to see if they csn relearn how to do it with their new body

Yay bonding activities

Not many ideas for zooble either.. sobs

GANGLE:

Unique take for gangle, imagine not only do you struggle to keep steady while you're skating, imagine you struggle with stopping. I think you can see how this goes. Imagine you accidentally ram into her while trying to stop.. I mean look at it this way... her ribbons get stuck in your wheels so technically.. you do stop..! Pleade be gentle picking her out... I can only imagine how gnarly that feels

[ineffable-bisexual]

I can't wait for the husbands to finally have a life where they get to do "boring" every day human stuff. They retire to a cottage in the Downs and Crowley digs a whole garden by hand and fumbles through growing vegetables, learning that you can't yell at potatoes because they're just naturally stubborn and will smother their row neighbors with their roots no matter how much you threaten them.

They both learn how to cook but Crowley finds he's quite good at it (even if he uses a teensy miracle to make sure nothing burns again) and always wants to cook because we all know how he loves feeding his angel.

Aziraphale maybe working part time at the local library and taking his time shelving books and drinking tea so he doesn't have to get on those awful computers to use their digital catalog system. He also teaches the local students who visit about the Dewey Decimal Classification and starts a petition on the community board to put it back in place, in an actual card system as it should be. The only signatures on it are his and Crowley's (a reluctant participant but wants to support his husband's causes no matter how cringe).

Aziraphale dragging Crowley to one of those Paint and Sip parties where you paint the same thing and drink wine. Crowley only goes for the wine and, already being a talented painter, recreates a likeness of Francis Bacon's "Pope Innocent X" while everyone else paints a daisy in a vase.

Crowley stalling in taking out the garbage even though Aziraphale has been harping on him to do it all day, and he finally takes it out to the bin at one in the morning only to be accosted by a pack of raccoons because he forgot to close the bin lid the night before.

They prefer to stay in most nights, as they did at the bookshop but now they have a huge TV and watch old films or yet another David Attenborough special or yet another cooking program. Crowley usually falls asleep with his head on Aziraphale's lap because he always strokes his hair when he's laying there and Aziraphale gets to think of all the times that he resisted things like this as there were ample opportunities. This wasn't the first time Crowley fell asleep with his head in his lap, but now he can sit there and play with his husband's hair to his heart's content as his husband snores to where he can't hear the TV.

Aziraphale doesn't care that they skipped a honeymoon phase and went straight to retired married couple. They got to do it together. It took a few thousand years and a lot of patience and lots of time devoted to sitting down and finally talking. After 6000 years of heartache, stress, running, and hiding...the reward for their faith and love for each other brought them to a cozy cottage.

Their cottage. Their car (yes, it is). Their quiet life. Their "boring" life that still carries a bit of celestial magic that keeps their spark alive. That keeps their marriage like new every day, even in their new routines of living.

Crowley usually stirs himself awake from his loud snoring and smiles up at his angel. "Is it bedtime yet?"

Aziraphale glances at the old grandfather clock by the hallway. It's 8:30pm. He smiles and strokes his husband's cheek. "Sure...why not?"

[karaokebearwithal]

Mutuals Mutuals Come one COME ALL!!!

Put your various sona's and appendages together for the unveiling of a lil' something I've been working on while being distracted from animating Dame Aylin's wings (Its long, hard, fun as all hell but the concentration required to do so seems physically impossible for a beast of my genus)

I drew all my moots tavs/pseudo-companions!!! It took a bit, but it was well worth it! Everyone's design is so unique and fun to figure out. (10 is a big number of moots)((which I am very grateful to have :3)) So without Further Ado!!! (there will be so much more Ado):

(page break cuz the images are 400x400 each but 10 times, I also go on for a bit about how much I like each Tav/pseudo-companion character) ((if anyone can give me tips on how to size pieces in a normal style digitally i'd be very grateful))

First of all is Sivvus the Fey Prince (he/him)! This elusive Eladrin Tav belongs to @thedomesticanthropologist! A gorgeous yet seemingly cold-hearted druid who tends to keep his cards close to his chest. Though if you want the challenge you can see for yourself if you can try and get close to him to see if Sivvus is as closed off as he seems to be. To be quite honest, Sivvus really grew on me. A very fancy Eladrin with a high society (fey society) upbringing ( with very good looking mood boards to match) and the like only for him to be thrust into the bg3 world with a worm to boot. He is charming! Also his backstory? <3 Defienetly go read it! 10/10 would draw the snob again :)

Second off we have Gum (He/They)! A Githyanki Cleric of Mystra. Being @piipaw's Tav you'd find this charming fruit lover trying to live a peaceful life after escaping from the creche that raised them. I like Gum a lot as the concept of a githyanki trying to find their own way in Faerun while also having no idea about any of the social customs is very gripping to me. I recommend greatly to check out the blog for Gum fics, fanart and a very cool moot . :)

Next is H'rayn of Verkos (she/her)! Now different from all the character's I drew, H'rayn is not a Tav! She's actually a pseudo-companion character with a lotta lore and history! She even has her own quest, party banter, approval and disapproval things. It's the whole deal!! @githkisser made an amazing post all about H'rayn . If you want a ton of indepth and fun info that's really really well documented, I cannot overstate how much you should it check out! I find myself going back to learn more about H'rayn as she really is as well thought out as in game companions! It's quite fun thinking up of ways tavs can interact with her and the art is mwah!!! very good indeed :3

4th! Tavern (Tav) the Bard! (they/them) This darling bard ran away from the circus.....from birth! Created by @avocado-writing, Tavern plays their way into your heart with their silly antics, warm heart and eldritch pocket dimension in their chest!

Tavern is a doll to doodle and I am amped to draw them even more in the future. The heterochromia and the inclusion of instruments does make them a fun challenge (i will draw instruments accuratley with these paws eventually). Go check them out!! :D

5th! Hvinidyr the Barbarian (he/him)! @star-bear-art (I just realised after all this we aren't actually mutuals. Which is funny since we kinda have the same name and theme with the bear thing XD) If you wanna see wonderous art of Hvinidyr as well as the other companions, go look right over here!

Winnie (Hvinidyr) has a lot of forms depending on the time period you wanna look at. The one I chose was the most recent with the large scar tissue all over the left (right? I'm horrible at directions, my paws don't make an L shape for me to tell). He was really fun to sketch out (and probably later colour in) and has a really unique design that I appreciate :)

6th Vierlin the Enchantment Wizard (and a lil' bit rouge)!!!(she/her) @sybaritick's Tav!!! Now!! This classic drow has a keen intrest in enchantment magic, teaching her crafts to nobles in Amn. After the whole tadpole fiasco, she also finds another use for her multitude of arcane skills. Most notabley depicted with a local wizard.

Now I won't get ahead of myself here but the fics that Sybaritick wrote about Vierlin are like....licking a warm pan of thickened maple syrup or a fancy meat meal with so much demi-glaze you're left smacking your lips for at least 20 mins after eating. Its indulgent. And I couldn't recommend it enough!! Read it!! (it took me a good 8 times to get the 'ie' part of Vierlin's name right, the letters look the same to me)

7th Fink the Spores Druid (they/them) belonging to @causticcontemplation! They're a pretty short Tav a 2.5ft and have a whole modern AU fic about them!!! You can read all about it here! (the pun name is amazing!)

I found it cool to use the fic to figure out how to colour them in, I ended up sending an anon ask instead and it helped great! Lovely Tav 10/10!

8th Korydass the Druid!! (She/her)!!! Conjured by @cfcreative, this seemingly non-emotive bronze dragonborn lights a spark in viewers as her tail and love for nature portrays otherwise. Art of Kory is many and also very good. Reading through her lore is fun watching her dynamics with the different origin characters change as she opens up to the party.

Now I do have slight bias, I like drawing Kory the most since her head shape is less humanoid. It's just so satifying, also her design is crazy awesome to work with so all around its great recommend I like her a lot :3

9th Asheera the Paladin (she/her) produced by @optiwashere.

To be quite honest I wouldn't even have a blog if it wasn't for Asheera's fics. They are EXCELLENT. If you want to go through a journey of a half orcs struggles, successes and gripping romance with Shadowheart, VAULT YOURSELF into Opti's A03 page and devour. You will have negative regrets about it just like I! Asheera is great I love her a lot I am the most normal about her.

(I'll keep it brief since this post is long enough to cross a river)

10th Quin the Bard (he/him) composed by @quinthebard (who'd have known?)

This darling plucky bard is the star of an ongoing comic that is very dynamic and very gripping. (My fave panel is this one). Despite being 100, Quin still maintains his joyful and kind nature when traveling with the tadpole gang.

Definetly one of the most friendlies Tavs out of all the ones i've drawn. (he was also the first i drew out of all of these!) He's a delight!! Go check him out! Thanks to all my moots for giving permission, having such great characters and being such lovely moots! <3 <3 <3

(Any pronouns or other changes that want be changed, feel free to DM about it. I love those! )

[marzbix-crystal]

[Image ID: A page of annotated and fully-coloured digital drawings featuring an interpretation of the character Apophyllite from Land of the Lustrous, on the right is a full body drawing of the character facing the right, they have grey-blue hair that reaches their chin with one side partially covering their face, they wear the winter uniform with a shirt, tie, puffy sleeves, flared shorts, and flat shoes with bows on them, they also wear white knee-socks and elbow-length gloves, In the lower centre is a headshot of Apophyllite looking towards the left with their hair obscuring their face, in the lower left is a stylized drawing of them with one hand on their hip and the other holding a broom, finally in the top left is an image of Apophyllite crystals, and a Manga screenshot depicting a Lunarian mentioning the gem, with a red circle and arrows pointing to the name. /End ID]. Annotations will be rewritten below

APOPHYLLITE She/Her Pronouns Mohs Hardness: 4.5 Nicknames: Phyll or Poppy The Fourth Elder Gem. She pulled everyone together when Kongo Sensei lost consciousness. She's a lovely gem, but very strict on how she runs things- she's always fussing the youngsters about their uniforms, sleeping quarters, and even their posture. Apophyllite is a jack of all trades, she can teach, fix broken gems, mend clothes, she can even make quality paper. But she prefers cleaning above all else- dirt and clutter beware!! Some stuff I didn't write on the drawing: She is the Head Cleaner, and while she has a team of cleaners to keep the school tidy all year-round, she begins rallying every gem to get things (mostly) spotless before winter hits.

[Image ID: A page of annotated and fully-coloured digital drawings featuring an interpretation of the character Pink Fluorite from Land of the Lustrous, on the right is a full body drawing of the character facing the right with their head turned to the left, they have long, sleek, reddish pink hair that hangs around their shoulders like a scarf with a strand of hair drooping from the top of their head, they wear a suit with a waistcoat, shirt, tie, rolled-up sleeves, trousers, and high-heeled shoes, In the lower centre is a stylized doodle of Pink Fluorite from the waist up, they have their hands on their hips and they have a disgusted expression on their face, the word "disgusted" is written in bold letters on their left, in the lower left is a bust drawing of the character facing the left while looking over their shoulder at the viewer, their hair is tied into a bun, finally in the top left is an image of a Pink Fluorite crystal, and a Manga screenshot depicting a strategy board where the character Phosphophyllite mentions them, a red circle and arrows point to the name. /End ID]. Annotations will be rewritten below PINK FLUORITE She/He Pronouns Mohs Hardness: 4 No Nicknames: Use their full name or refer to as "Sir" A total etiquette freak, far too strict to be a Mediator, but she still does her best to uphold the rules to the best of her ability. He was once the Delinquents' worst nightmare, but he started to mellow out a while ago. She had a weird one-sided rivalry with Labradorite, but she has mostly grown out of it. Mostly. Several-hundred years shy of Elder Gem status, but he still pulls the age card like it's a badge once in a while. She's weirdly agile for a gem that doesn't fight. He often ties his hair up into a bun, a very prim and proper gem. Some stuff I didn't write on the drawing: Pink Fluorite is actually quite elusive nowadays, he's usually holed up in the Library, making sure everything is in the right place. Despite her cold demeanour, she gives pretty good advice to those looking for it. --------------------

ALRIGHT OK ALRIGHT!!! I'm so happy with these I posted them together because I didn't want to just, idk bloat?? my profile?? I don't know how to say it but ANYWAY I realise these are a bit messy but I don't really mind it? I got my thoughts down and that is what matters. All three of these gems (Sphalerite, Apophyllite, and Pink Fluorite) looked VERY different to when I first thought about them, it's a shame I didn't draft those out, but I' so so happy with how they ended up. Although it's been very hard not to write "Pink Floyd" instead of Pink Fluorite I will be doing some proper art soon ish, I have several ideas, but not not all of them will be pretty rock related, so if you're tuned into my other blogs you can keep an eye out if you want :]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Bezzle excerpt (Part II)

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me next in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Today, I'm bringing you part two of this week's serialized excerpt from The Bezzle, my new Martin Hench high-tech crime revenge thriller:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

Though most of the scams that Hench – a two-fisted forensic accountant specializing in Silicon Valley skullduggery – goes after in The Bezzle have a strong tech component, this excerpt concerns a pre-digital scam: music royalty theft.

This is a subject that I got really deep into when researching and writing 2022's Chokepoint Capitalism – a manifesto for fixing creative labor markets:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

My co-author on that book is Rebecca Giblin, who also happens to be one of the world's leading experts in "copyright termination" – the legal right of creative workers to claw back any rights they signed over after 35 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/26/take-it-back/

This was enshrined in the 1976 Copyright Act, and has largely languished in obscurity since then, though recent years have seen creators of all kinds getting their rights back through termination – the authors of The Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High Books, Stephen King, and George Clinton, to name a few. The estates of the core team at Marvel Comics, including Stan Lee, just settled a case that might have let them take the rights to all those characters back from Disney:

https://www.thewrap.com/marvel-settles-spiderman-lawsuit-steve-ditko/

Copyright termination is a powerful tonic to the bargaining disparities between creative workers. A creative worker who signs a bad contract at the start of their career can – if they choose – tear that contract up 35 years later and demand a better one.

Turning this into a plot-point in The Bezzle is the kind of thing that I love about this series – the ability to take important, obscure, technical aspects of how the world works and turn them into high-stakes technothriller storylines that bring them to the audience they deserve.

If you signed something away 35 years ago and you want to get it back, try Rights Back, an automated termination of tranfer tool co-developed by Creative Commons and Authors Alliance (whose advisory board I volunteer on):

https://rightsback.org/

All right, onto today's installment. Here's part one, published on Saturday:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

It was on one of those drives where Stefon learned about copyright termination. It was 2011, and NPR was doing a story on the 1976 Copyright Act, passed the same year that was on the bottom of the document Chuy forged.

Under the ’76 act, artists acquired a “termination right”—­ that is, the power to cancel any copyright assignment after thirty-­five years, even if they signed a contract promising to sign away their rights forever and a day (or until the copyright ran out, which was nearly the same thing).

Listening to a smart, assured lady law professor from UC Berkeley explaining how this termination thing worked, Stefon got a wild idea. He pulled over and found a stub of a pencil and the back of a parking-­ticket envelope and wrote down the professor’s name when it was repeated at the end of the program. The next day he went to the Inglewood Public Library and got a reference librarian to teach him how to look up a UC Berkeley email address and he sent an email to the professor asking how he could terminate his copyright assignment.

He was pretty sure she wasn’t going to answer him, but she did, in less than a day. He got the email on his son’s smartphone and the boy helped him send a reply asking if he could call her. One thing led to another and two weeks later, he’d filed the paperwork with the U.S. Copyright Office, along with a check for one hundred dollars.

Time passed, and Stefon mostly forgot about his paperwork adventure with the Copyright Office, though every now and again he’d remember, think about that hundred dollars, and shake his head. Then, nearly a year later, there it was, in his mailbox: a letter saying that his copyright assignment had been canceled and his copyrights were his again. There was also a copy of a letter that had been sent to Chuy, explaining the same thing.

Stefon knew a lawyer—­well, almost a lawyer, an ex–­trumpet player who became a paralegal after one time subbing for Sly Stone’s usual guy, and then never getting another gig that good. He invited Jamal over for dinner and cooked his best pot roast and served it with good whiskey and then Jamal agreed to send a letter to Inglewood Jams, informing them that Chuy no longer controlled his copyrights and they had to deal with him direct from now on.

Stefon hand-­delivered the letter the next day, wearing his good suit for reasons he couldn’t explain. The receptionist took it without a blink. He waited.

“Thank you,” she said, pointedly, glancing at the door.

“I can wait,” he said.

“For what?” She reminded him of his boy’s girlfriend, a sophomore a year younger than him. Both women projected a fierce message that they were done with everyone’s shit, especially shit from men, especially old men. He chose his words carefully.

“I don’t know, honestly.” He smiled shyly. He was a good-­looking man, still. That smile had once beamed out of televisions all over America, from the Soul Train stage. “But ma’am, begging your pardon, that letter is about my music, which you all sell here. You sell a lot of it, and I want to talk that over with whoever is in charge of that business.”

She let down her guard by one minute increment. “You’ll want Mr. Gounder,” she said. “He’s not in today. Give me your phone number, I’ll have him call.”

He did, but Mr. Gounder didn’t call. He called back two days later, and the day after that, and the following Monday, and then he went back to the office. The receptionist who reminded him of his son’s girlfriend gave him a shocked look.

“Hello,” he said, and tried out that shy smile. “I wonder if I might see that Mr. Gounder.”

She grew visibly uncomfortable. “Mr. Gounder isn’t in today,” she lied. “I see,” he said. “Will he be in tomorrow?”

“No,” she said.

“The day after?”

“No.” Softer.

“Is that Mr. Gounder of yours ever coming in?”

She sighed. “Mr. Gounder doesn’t want to speak with you, I’m sorry.”

The smile hadn’t worked, so he switched to the look he used to give his bandmates when they wouldn’t cooperate. “Maybe someone can tell me why?”

A door behind her had been open a crack; now it swung wide and a young man came out. He looked Hispanic, with a sharp fade and flashy sneakers, but he didn’t talk like a club kid or a hood rat—­he sounded like a USC law student.

“Sir, if you have a claim you’d like Mr. Gounder to engage with, please have your attorney contact him directly.”

Stefon looked this kid up and down and up, tried and failed to catch the receptionist’s eye, and said, “Maybe I can talk this over with you. Are you someone in charge around here?”

“I’m Xavier Perez. I’m vice president for catalog development here. I don’t deal with legal claims, though. That’s strictly Mr. Gounder’s job. Please have your attorney put your query in writing and Mr. Gounder will be in touch as soon as is ­feasible.”

“I did have a lawyer write him a letter,” Stefon said. “I gave it to this young woman. Mr. Gounder hasn’t been in touch.”

Perez looked at the receptionist. “Did you receive a letter from this gentleman?”

She nodded, still not meeting Stefon’s eye. “I gave it to Mr. Gounder last week.”

Perez grinned, showing a gold tooth, and then, in his white, white voice, said, “There you have it. I’m sure Mr. Gounder will get back in touch with your counsel soon. Thank you for coming in today, Mr.—­”

“Stefon Magner.” Stefon waited a moment, then said, for the first time in many years, “I used to perform under Steve Soul, though.”

Perez nodded briskly. He’d known that. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Magner.” Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared back into his office.

ETA: Here's part three!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#copyright-termination

[vikenticomeshome]

Anyone for a game of Gollywood Squares?

Yes, this was an official Cyberchase board game. It was released as a printable activity sometime in early 2005 as part of the "Know Your Dough" promotion. The promotion was all about teaching kids the value of saving their money. This was a few months after "The Snelfu Snafu" had aired. However, Cyberchase had a two-hour marathon, also called "Know Your Dough", containing four episodes that had to do with earning, saving, and spending money. They put live-action segments in between them, featuring Bianca and Harry hosting the show while goofing off at an arcade. I really should make a post about that.

The game looks like Monopoly on the surface, You roll a die and move around the board. Some squares force you to pay money, while others give you money. However, there are also temptation squares, where you can choose to pay money to move a certain number of squares. There is a "Get a Job!" square that allows you to get a job card and get paid for your work.

The goal is to earn enough money to buy autographs from each of the four Cybersquad members. The first player to get one from each member wins.

In addition to the spots that can directly buy the autographs, you can also end up on the U-Want U-Bid square. If one player lands on it, all players make their secret bids, and the person who bid the highest buys the autograph at that price.

Here's the sort of jobs they had in mind. I know some of this artwork has been reused, but some of it is unfamiliar to me.

I don't recall ever seeing Matt in green overalls, even though it makes alot of sense.

Inez is much more excited about walking the large creature here than she was in the episode.

I also don't remember that we've ever seen the inside of Hacker's closet. I really wish this picture was higher-resolution, as we so rarely see him in other outfits.

And here we have delete dressed as a waiter for a fancy restaurant.

Have you paid your Cyberchase Fan Club dues for the month?

Do the kids get some sort of allowance or stipend from Motherboard for saving the world every week?

I need it.

We get to see the Cybersquad's autographs.

I feel like Jackie put the most effort in here. She wrote in cursive and dotted the i with a flower. Digit's autograph is interesting though.

Here's the play money.

1 Snelfu denomination

5 Snelfu Denomination

10 Snelfu denomination

20 snelfu denomination

If you want to print the game out for yourself to play it, go to this Internet Archive link to get it.