#michaela the radiant

[drain-purge-purify]

Based on a dream I had a couple of days ago. You know, I already don't sleep that well, I'd rather not have stressful dreams about having to figure out how to dispose of a body 🫠 Those couple people who wished Michaela to get away with murder, now's the time to really hope! I think it would've been more or less an accident though

[veneralice]

art credit: @sesamefruit on x / twitter! all credits to the artist!

divider credits: @cafekitsune ! all credits to the original creator of the divider!

seaborn soulmates / rafayel (m.)

in a cruel twist of fate, it is the god himself who becomes the most fervent worshipper. after lifetimes of looking for you, rafayel has finally found his beloved bride once more - but this time, it is him sinking to his knees to chant your praises, not the reverse. (20.4k words)

content warnings: maybe ooc-rafayel idk i’m still an inexperienced writer, me making up lemuria lore as i go because my ass wasn’t playing the game when god of tides came out (also i’m clueless about lads lore), mc as an independent character called michaela (pushing my wlw agenda with her and simone fr), kind of dubious consent???? (past!reader worships rafayel and acts very self-sacrificing so uh? idk? i’ll note it just to make sure) (also drunk rafayel initiates some skinship but reader shuts it down because you cant give consent while youre drunk yall), they fucking, p in v, switch!rafayel (bc we all know it’s canon /j), some biting, some scratching (rafayel’s back bleeds), overstimulation (fem. receiving), violence (blood and cutting is involved in deity worship), is it stalking? 💀 (he keeps tabs on reader in the same way he kept track of mc in-game before they met), idek man, let me know if you need more content warnings 🙂‍↕️, kind of inspired by @poisonf0rest bc i read her siren rafayel fic and saw god and immediately decided i had to write a raf fic myself, so honorary mention of them LMAO (pls read their fics they are so fucking good)

A thousand moons and a thousand suns have risen and fallen on the waves, but none compare to the sight of you entering Rafayel’s court. You are the only celestial constant in this life from that day on, the planet around which Rafayel’s immortal life spins. How humorous, that mortals are so below Lemurians that they are not even worthy of appraising their worship, but it is a mortal bride that weakens the god of the tides.

You are radiant, ephemeral in your beauty. There is a certain kind of delicate balance in your mortality, a rose so ethereal before it withers. Your skirts, although handmade and of unparticular material, a sign of your lowborn upbringing, part to reveal the soft skin hidden beneath, an image that makes Rafayel’s fingers twitch in yearning. He has never envied the land-walkers their bodies, not once. But at the sight of your clay-formed body, loved and created by the earth, he finds himself straining for the shape. Your feet land on the coral floor as if the ground there had been prepared for your stride, blessed by your existence.

It’s not love at first sight, certainly not. But it feels like brushing your fingers over a book and knowing the story already. It feels like helplessly wandering into the trap out of your own volition, although you know that trap will bite. But you let it. It creeps in, the sweetest kind of death you could imagine.

Like poison, the first taste of you condemns Rafayel to eternity.

“Your divinity, we have brought you your sacrifice,” the priests chant, the human part of your procession. The Lemurian guards accompanying them cast them a dubious glance. Not every sacrifice is deemed appropriate, but it is not like the world beneath the waves would balance itself without the human’s worship. A necessary evil, an ugly truth. Their sacrifices are not acknowledged, but appreciated nonetheless. A god feeds on what is given, no matter how all-powerful they are. Even blood as soiled by the human world’s elements is sustainable. “Your bride, your blood, your heart. We have brought you your sacrifice.”

When you walked in, your beautiful face had been angled upward. Even the most stoic of people are forced by the frescoes set in the wall to halt and wonder, because there is nothing else in this world that compares to the sea’s creations. Rafayel’s court was closed in by a dome, decorated with mosaic illustrations of the kingdom’s history. Painted in with elegant whorls of blue, white and red, the image depicted here showed the creation myth of his people, rising from the foam on his fingertips. You had looked straight at that painting, ignoring the gaggle of eyes that had looked on, feasting on the sight of you. But at the call of your entourage, you lower your gaze, meeting his straight-on.

There had never been a feeling so violent seizing him than in that very moment. He wanted to crush you. He wanted to own you.

He wanted to know you.

Rafayel is not the first monarch to hold this court in his blue-scaled fist. He is also not the only one whose heart has ever been stirred for something that could wreck this empire forever. It feels like being hunted, heady and dangerous and addicting. In your eyes lies a future more enticing than anything the seven seas could ever offer him. This is damnation.

What a powerful heart that frail chest must contain; secured only by the soft bones that would willingly give way to his monstrous hands, protected only by the warm flesh surrounding it. Rafayel is the king of sirens, monarch of the abyssal deep, but it was your song that drew him in. He wonders if the prayers you had dedicated to the waves tasted as sweet as your lips looked.

The soldiers surrounding his throne stepforward, signaling the silent message until here and no further. But Rafayel has already risen. Not registering the court which sinks to their knees as they pay their respects, he draws near enough that he could grasp your hands, tucked away in your companion’s crook of his arm. You lowered your head, obedient supplicant as you are. “Court of clay, I accept your sacrifice,” he announces, breathless. He doesn’t care how giddy that makes the humans, how his court begins to whisper. A scandal, an outrage. He only sees you. Not able to hold himself back, he reaches forward to cup your chin - you are shaking, an information he shouldn’t delight in, but does - and your gaze is steady, certain. You are a docile little lamb, not afraid of the knife about to fall. He could crush your right then and there; he could snap your neck if he wants to.

That was his first mistake. Gods have always been unmade by the most simple of human emotions, a fact every single predecessor had heeded. He should have struck you down where you stood, before you could lay the seeds of destruction. But Rafayel doesn’t heed his instincts. There is nothing else in the world anymore but you. Your eyes search his face, taking in every detail, as if the roles were reversed and you were the executioner who was gently lowering him to the chopping block. He imagines your hands roaming his body as you prepare him for certain death.

Deep inside his cold, scaled body, under the layers of divinity and immortality, his godly heart skips a beat.

Rafayel is coming undone, unravelling at the seams. It is only a matter of time until he dissolves into the sea, cupped by your gentle hands, until he finally disappears.

Later, when night draws closer and washes the world in darkness like a paint dissolving in a glass of water, he accompanies you and the bridal party to the rooms you will be residing in for the near future. Gentle, gentle fingers in his hands; you are ashamed of being able to touch him like this, and he notices it. Rafayel angles his head so he can look at you. Although this is nothing but a fancy dress-up of the matter at hand, which means your death at the end of this foolery, the sacrifice is still honored. That means becoming familiar with the heart that will soon bolster his powers, immortalized in him forever. It’s an excuse, of course, but it’s what his mind settles on as a reason for trying to commit your existence to memory. Your eyes are swimming around, looking like the schools of fishes that lounge around in his stronghold. Taking everything in. His own are obsessed with gazing at every inch of your face; soon, it will become more familiar to him than his own. “Your name, supplicant,” he says, breaking you out of your trance. “You have not given it yet.”

Your answer is quiet, and he has to lean even closer to actually hear it. Your female companions, who will wash you and prepare you and celebrate the wedding with you, are chattering behind him to the point of annoyance, but the excitement is understandable. The syllables of your name take physical shape as they go through him, and Rafayel finds himself closing to his eyes as he listens to the melody of your words. Settling in. Taking root. “But you may call me as you wish, Your Divinity,” you demure. Someone has trained you well in the niceties. “I am honored to become anything that you desire.”

“Bride of blood,” he says, and his treacherous fingers finally begin to wander. The supple flesh draws him in, and he adores the way goosebumps claim your skin. He is quite cold-blooded after all. And you are oh, so warm. Human bodies are so confusing and strange that Rafayel can’t help but wonder what moves them. The unreliable skin that gives way too easily to the lightest of bites, the awkward bones that bend at the simplest of angles. As Rafayel chases the muscles running down your arms with his fingertips, you turn your wrist so he can seize it, as if you know what instincts he is following. An instinct as old as time. Life was created when intuition turned into contact, after all. You watch as the deadly king of the abyss stares at your flesh as if it was a wonder to behold. As if he is not the father of all miracles.

Soft, soft flesh. Brittle as wood worn out by the water. Rafayel does not relinquish his hold on you as he speaks. “Bride of clay. You have already become what I desired. You are welcome to ask any wish of me for the sacrifice you will accomplish. Let no one speak that the ocean’s court is ungrateful to your service.”

“I would never imply otherwise, Your Divinity.” Your cheeks are aflush with your humanity, heating below his touch in reaction to being so close to the object of your worship. You do not seem like a typical, blushing bride. He has already taken notice of the harsher, roughened way you admonished your bridal party earlier. Often times, the brides sent to him are scared, chosen at random, unprepared for what the sacrifice means. Often times, it means that Rafayel chooses other brides, casting over the human’s lot. Every year they visit, fighting to compete in their adoration with other worshippers, not realizing that they cannot compare. But you are true in your faith. There are scars feathering all over the palms of both your hands where you have drawn blood to cast into the sea. A moon-shaped indentation, where the lunar priests of the sea (as his worshippers are called above, named for the moon’s strained effort to become one with the sea) brand themselves after ascending to their positions, is situated in the hollow of your throat, right above that precious collarbone he could snap like a coral branch. You are calm, clear-headed.

You could not have been more perfect.

He tugs you along, deeper into the cold water. You do not complain once. The court to strangers is built like a maze, intended to confuse and rattle. A safety measure that is laughable. There is no one who’s might parallels the god of the sea. But Rafayel had taken care to implement it nonetheless, to protect the weak, even though the most vulnerable Lemurian could still overpower the weakest of humans. It is why it so unsettling that you stir him like this. He has loved nothing else on this earth than he has loved the folk of the water. He angles another look at you, suspicious.

The moonlight makes every edge of you luminous with beauty. From the tips of your lashes, to the curves of your features, down to the shape of your human body. It is normal to experience attraction. You were very comely, after all; it wasn’t only Rafayel’s head that had turned to follow your every move. During your presentation, even the most cranky of attendants had lit up with pleasure at such a delicious sight. But he wonders if this means more. He shouldn’t be so attuned to you, shouldn’t be so drawn in by a first encounter. Fate had such a funny way of working its motives. Its cruelty and its humor affected the happenstances of all beings, even gods like him.

The doors to your room have already been affixed with a pair of guards. They are armed with lances, sharpened at the edge to stab through even the most enduring of scales. Warriors of the sea are trained to handle even the most extenuating of threats. Rafayel dismisses them at once, and they stand aside, each taking a few steps away to grant the party their privacy. They will return to their post when Rafayel has left. He gesticulates with his free arm that the women may enter; your companions mouths shape oohs and aahs of wonder as they step inside, but you remain where you are. Your warm hand still lies inside his, a fact that makes his fish-blooded heart tucker inside his chest. “Forgive me for this presumptuous question, Your Divinity,” you say then, affixing your gaze to his face. A face of polite pliancy. He can almost imagine you leading the prayers in the rooms of your faith, the prideful upraised head looking to the sea. “But might there be a fountain which we can use for our prayers?”

“Praying to what, when all your prayers have been answered?” Rafayel swipes a thumb over the blood-darkened veins inside your wrist, the blood you wish to cast into the waves in the same manner as starlight spills over the endless sky. Your skin is as malleable as sand. He wants to dig in, a primal urge from when Lemurians still hunted humans for sport. Some still do. “You may ask the guards to show you to an appropriate location to perform your prayers. But you have already become a symbol of faith, bride of clay. You are being rewarded as such.”

You dip your head in acknowledgement. “I have, Your Divinity. But it does not mean I should stop dedicating myself.”

He stares at you, hard. You are going to die for your faith. That precious little thing you seem to guard so weakly inside your mortal chest will be ripped from you like a human child is torn out of the womb. And yet here you are, asking to dedicate yourself to the very faith who will murder you. Piety is a wondrous thing, and it has moved you so far that you have surrendered to your own sacrifice, but is it really piety that is making you go through the motions of something as superfluous as prayer, when the very act of sacrifice is the highest religious duty you could fulfill? “What an interesting bride they have brought me,” he says, and you lower your gaze, the picture of humility. “Pray, then. As long as you meet me after you do.”

You hum in response, and he watches as you finally rejoin the women already appraising the room. One of them, a younger woman who shares the curve of your jaw and the color of your hair, reaches out to grasp your hand. You free it almost immediately to brush over her hair, a startlingly gentle display of affection in comparison to the chiding you subjected her to earlier. She must be family, though she does not share your beauty.

How confusing to be jealous of a simple gesture like this. How idiotic to yearn to be in that woman’s stead. Rafayel turns his back on the bridal party, before he can do anything that could tarnish his reputation.

Rafayel finds you where he guessed you would be. Your blood is still dripping into the fountain as he approaches you, the thick drops submerging quickly as they fall, like tears of pearl. It was once said, a myth unfurling in the motions of history due to the fascination other creatures often felt at the people of Lemuria, that his folk cried pearls, a myth they had been hunted for. “Wasteful, don’t you think?” he quips at the sight, but his touch is gentle when he takes your hand into his own. “Spilling blood when you will spill so much more when we are wed.”

“Nothing performed in service of the sea god is wasteful, Your Divinity,” you answer calmly. The supplicant at your side, not the family member he saw yesterday, sends you an alarmed look before she lowers it. You questioned the words of a god, an action most people would never even dare. Had you been anyone else, your bones would have already become the fishes’ supper. Even if you had been part of this court, such a comment could still have costed your head. But Rafayel feels himself begin to bend, turning over in your scarred palms. For being the most powerful entity roaming this planet, he feels as though you are the one holding all the cards. “It may not be worthy, but I beg you to accept our meager offerings to you. It is an honor to live in the light of your divinity.”

A memorized answer, devoid of anything personal. It is not the answer he craves, and he wishes to tug at your hair, to tear the secrets you carry in your heart from your head. It is a gruesome instinct, supped on the desire that is beginning to grow inside his heart. “Come with me,” he says, and then, addressing your companion, “You may remain here. I wish to become my bride’s acquaintance.”

The companion lowers her head in pliancy, but she seems nervous, apparently not trusting herself to formulate words in answer. Not because of his presence, perhaps. Rafayel has the inkling that it is you who’s distressing the bridal party. Something mysterious is unfolding in front of his eyes, and he itches to know more. He turns to offer you his arm, and you hesitate, shying away from the fact that he is an immortal being that is worshipped by everything the waves washes ashore on. But you take it, your warmth as shocking as the flash of lightnings the rainstorms sometimes inflict on his domain. Rafayel begins to walk, directing you to the royal gardens.

The weather is much nicer today. The sunlight fights to flood the scenery wherever it reaches, creating shadows of myth. Power is appearance. This court has been designed in a way to strike both fear and awe in hearts untouched by the heavens. You turn your head as far as it reaches, taking in the sight in the same way you had admired the ceiling yesterday. You must have an eye for art. “Tell me about yourself, daughter of clay,” he says, using the address most non-humans utilize to respectfully interact with an unknown land-walker. You whip your head back around to look at him. Today, your face is kissed by the sun, the lovely light enunciating every feature, every trace of the ancestors who had loved the idea of you so much that they willed you into existence. The sight rips into him like a shark bite, and for a moment, he finds himself envying whoever created humans. They had been much more adoring and obsessed with their work than he has, and it is reflected in the creation of you. “And none of the faithful derision today. I do adore being admired, but we are to be wed, and I wish to know whose heart I am going to consume.”

“Faithful derision,” you repeat, clearly taken aback by him reducing the faith of the sea to a simple piece of doggerel. Most of humanity’s prayers go unanswered, after all, expected from an existence so frail it could be wiped out with the smallest of tsunamis. “You mock me so, Your Divinity. Very well. What is it you wish to know of me?”

How have you managed to bewitch me, you evil thing? Rafayel thinks, but does not say. The urge to consume not just your heart, but you in your entirety has still not left him, even after a cold night of serious self-reflection. He has never realized how much desire could blur into hunger. “Who raised you?” he asks instead. “Who were you before you came here? What is it that made you become the lamb to my slaughter?”

Your eyes glaze over, an unidentifiable emotion he only manages to glimpse before you veil it over with the distanced civility you employ to interact with him. “I never knew my father, but my mother is a shepherdess above the sea,” you answer, slowly. The words are chosen carefully. “My mother used to be a priestess, but she was released from her duty when she had me. I was born of sin, you know. A lunar priestess is supposed to remain unwed and untainted, but she became pregnant with me. I am absolving both my mother and me of that taint.”

What a human belief, Rafayel thinks. To categorize love and coupling and touch as something sinful. As if the simple act of dedicating yourself to another wasn’t the holiest experience one could live through. The wax and wane of desire is as holy as the kneel of prayer to a Lemurian, which live and die for love. Above all else, it is the connection to someone else that could be the most well-guarded treasure a Lemurian could ever possess. But humanity’s civilization keeps its own rule, and to laugh about their beliefs would mean disrespecting you, so he only responds with, “I am sure the taint you speak of does not exist.”

“You are kind to say so, Your Divinity.” You do not sound like you believe it. Your words are, like nothing else, an act of worship. But perhaps it is because you understand him that you accept the answer, and that means something to him: to be understood as he is. He guides you along until he reaches a pavilion in the middle of the garden. You sit down first, a distance away from him in the spirit of propriety, but Rafayel is done acquiescing to your silly human rules. He sits near enough that your knees knock against each other, and as he cages you in like a hunter would circle his prey, he takes hold of your hand again. A bone-deep ache has claimed Rafayel, an ardor he never knew he possessed. It is taking hold of him, surging up in him like a wave. It is more than just your body he craves, something that runs deeper and hotter than the center of his own existence. “There is something you are hiding from me,” he tells you, watching as your eyes darken. You do not like being perceived, and the realization almost makes him laugh. “I will not make you tell it. You are free to do whatever it is you wish. But you fascinate me, daughter of clay. It is rare to enrapture a god’s attention, you know.”

As the night before, you roll your wrist in his hold so he may grasp it properly. Perhaps you search out his touch in the same manner as he does yours. Your fingers graze the flesh of his thighs as he lowers your hand to his lap. “I will get in over my head, Your Divinity, if you keep complimenting me like this,” you say. It makes his lips quirk into a genuine smile. Clever human, to play along like this. Your pulse thrums below his fingertips, the rhythm addicting. A true siren song. “I may overstep myself. That would not befit me at all. I am here to be free of sin, after all.”

“You are free already.” Rafayel’s fingers trace patterns into your skin, lower and lower. He unfolds your fingers for you, stretching them as far as they go. The scars on your skin are hypertrophic and ugly, but they fascinate him as much as every inch of your body does. They tell the stories of experiences and lived memories. Each one contains another secret he wants to unveil, a pearl he wants to claim as his own. “And we are to be wed, aren’t we?” His fingers curl over your own, and then you’re holding hands, intertwined in all manners of fate. Rafayel leans in, close enough to make you uncomfortable, close enough to kiss you. You don’t lean away. “There is nothing sinful about being betrothed, or what you do in the name of love. You are mine now, daughter of clay. All mine.”

For the first time since you have arrived here, you smile, your teeth gleaming like knifes. He feels it cutting into his chest, cutting away at his restraint. Although Rafayel is part of a species that is the apex predator of all predators, hunting and reigning over all that lives and breathes, in this moment, it is you who becomes the huntress.

How easy it is to climb a throne. How easy to be torn from it.

In the following days, he feels that tear at his existence in everything you do. Your allure only grows with every minute spent in your vicinity, and finally he has grown so needy that he absolves you of your prayers. Instead, he makes you worship him in person, and the time blurs into eternity, the noose at the end of the road long forgotten.

Rafayel spends afternoon tracing the traces of your creation; every bone, every tendon he explores with the devotion of a fervent prayer. Your fathomless eyes, glinting with the knowledge and the plans you keep hiding away from him, draw him in like the bait at the end of a fishing rod, and even though he knows it’s a trap, he lets himself be caught. Three nights before the day at your wedding, he finds himself caught on the sharp hook as he submerges into a bath with you.

You are not naked, but it almost seems like you are with the way the fabric of your dress begins to cling to you as the water kisses your skin. The shivering claiming your human bones create little currents in the pool, the water much colder than the ocean that surrounds this make-shift castle. Rafayel presses you closer to him, and then his face is in your hair, breathing in deeply. You both have long stopped caring about the rules of polite society. Rafayel has not allowed you to. Every touch, every word, every smile has made you more pliant, until finally you have even allowed him to partake in your ablutions before the wedding.

Every sacrificial bride of the sea god is supposed to take a bath before her wedding, washing away her past so that she can present herself in her most purified state. Most times, the bridal party is asked to help her with that, but Rafayel has stolen that role. It is the single most blasphemous thing one could do. But he is a god, and it is him who dictates the rules, delivers the scripture. All it took was a jut of his lip, the allusion of a pout, and you had caved immediately.

And now you were here, in the curve of his arm, your ear hovering above his chest. His heartbeat was powerful, pounding as loudly as the waves crashing on the beach, the sound susurrating inside your very soul. You breathe in deeply, shaking. This is the most divine thing you have ever experienced, something your mortal shell never thought it would be able to feel. “Sweet conch shell,” Rafayel murmurs in to your ear, shocking you to your core. “I’m sure you know that we have to step in even further to be able to perform the purification.”

“Just a second, please,” you speak through gritted teeth. This man vexes you in the most alluring of ways, and you cannot help but acquiesce to his every whim. You know your pleading falls on deaf ears, though, because Rafayel’s immediate reaction is a smile so mischievous it borders on schadenfreude, and he is already tugging at your shoulders in an attempt to submerge you further. You try to stand firm, even though your determination is crumbling. “It’s cold. It’s really cold.”

“Hmmm.” Rafayel nips at your ear, then your throat; you shudder violently enough for the water to splash. In the silence of your private little bubble, it almost sounds like an explosion. It makes your eyes snap open, as if preparing itself to fight or flee. Never had you let a man so close into your proximity. The village had always been ripe with gossip-mongering and backtalk. Your mother, although the most honorable person in the world to you, had been a demonized figure, to the point where your own worship had made you cull out the presence of men. No one had ever expected you to follow in your mother’s footsteps. No one had expected you to become a bride worthy of the sea. The simple pleasure of his ministrations floods your cheeks with hot blood. “See, I already warmed you up,” he teases, mouthing the words against your carotid artery. Speaking the words directly into your heart. You are guided much easier now, the water sloshing as you are pulled in. “I’ll take care of you, my pearl. You’re with your god, aren’t you?”

With your god. You turn your face toward him. Rafayel’s fingers tug at your lower lip, and you watch as his eyes zero in on the flesh; he is weirdly entranced with the way your human body works, the strange reaction it elicits from him. It is something you have become accustomed to in the past few days. His nail is sharp enough to draw blood. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” he coos, mocking you outright. But his fingers are shaking. It’s you who’s got him wrapped around your little finger, and that feels both emancipating and sacrilegious, a conflict so confusing that you do not know where you have to draw the line. You don’t even want to draw a line. When you had joined the faith of the waves, the image you had conjured during prayer had been ephemeral and fleeting, as changing as the sea. Not in your wildest dreams would you have been able to picture a man, a deity as flawless as Rafayel. His beauty kills. It constricts your lungs and tugs at your heart, as if falling into the maw of a great beast. The still water does nothing to take away from your hypersensitivity to his proximity.

Mortals aren’t made for divine dalliances. You burn too easily. But here you are, playing with fire.

You aren’t delusional enough to think he loves you. You are clay-born, after all. Rough and hastily assembled, none of the precision that the sea god had employed to give birth to his people. You are dazzling in the same way as a fire is dazzling: a short burst of destruction that is as awe-inspiring as it is revolting. But even you can recognize that he is attracted to you, and to a simple servant of the faith, that is quite enough. You are basking in whatever affection he grants you, any scrap at all.

Although you are still on the cusp of youth, old enough to yearn but young enough to grasp the moment, you had never in your wildest dreams conspired of something like this ever happening. Love just wasn’t on your cards. You had your sister, and your mother, and your faith, and that was truly enough. It was fulfilling to the point that you had felt untethered to the earth, free from the judging glances of the village, free from all the expectations the convent placed on you. Living and breathing and becoming one with the sea. If you had died tomorrow without ever having glimpsed the miraculous sea god you had entrusted yourself to, you would have died happy anyways. It was as simple as that.

But this was life-changing. Altering. You were experiencing an out-of-body experience, mythology come true. After all those years you had thrown your love into the universe, the universe was reaching back. You were spinning off axis, losing sight of everything but Rafayel. He was the new epicenter of your existence.

You jump as his fingers trail the naked skin of your arms. He settles on your hips, the touch so electrifying that you bite the lower lip he is still so fascinated by, staring at it as if it were a treasure he discovered at the bottom of the sea. The moon behind him outlines his shape in silver and white, making him seem more like an apparition than an actual person. How fitting, when you have been fantasizing about him all your life. “We should perform the purification now,” you whisper, but Rafayel is still lazily drawing patterns into the flesh of your curves. “Certainly,” he drawls out, every syllable enunciated in the abundant leisure only a god could possess. Your nerves feel like they are on fire. “In a minute.”

“Your Divinity,” you caution.

“Raf-a-yel.” He pronounces the words slowly, but with a deadly intonation. His eyes are dark, unreadable. “Say it. Say my name.”

You look at him, unsure. He looks just as much the deadly hunter he is sometimes depicted as in the murals. Before humanity had started building shrines in honor of the sea god of the abyss, they had painted warning signs about him, about the quick and bloody death he delivers. Some sailors still caution against all interaction with the creatures of the sea, their doom-calling stories a fresh batch of nightmares every time you hear them. The way Lemurians used to drag their willing prey beneath the waves, where they watched as the light left their eyes. What remained of them were the last bubbles of air as they rose to the surface. You cannot say his name, not with your tainted tongue. Not with the bastardry you carry in your veins. Not when you are deceiving him for the sake of your sister. But … “Rafayel,” you whisper.

You should feel scared about the way his lips curve into a smile. Beneath the most beautiful skins still lies the deadly bite of a venomous snake. Somehow you don’t think it’s fear that spikes the speed of your heartbeat, though. It’s not adrenaline that makes you angle your face upward so Rafayel can nuzzle your neck, and you almost buckle at the swipe of his tongue. Tasting the salt on your skin, the earth you came from. “Here, I purify you,” he answers. “I’ll lick you clean.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what the scriptures meant, Your Divinity. Rafayel,” you hastily correct. He had frozen in his motions, but resumed nipping at your skin when you had added his name. The cold water was doing absolutely nothing against the fire racing inside your veins.

“Don’t care about the scriptures.” Rafayel draws up, pulling you with him. The languorous stretch of his figure forces you upward, and following his guide, you wrap your arms around his neck until you’re flush against him. His eyes darken at the press of your breasts against his chest. You screw your eyes shut at the delicious pressure, the way your nipples had brushed against his skin. How easy it is to throw all caution into the wind. You were losing sight of everything you built, in the name of love. “My word is law. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, Rafayel.”

He almost seems to purr at the sound of his name, easily pleased. It’s a deeply unhuman sound that should make you shrink away in fear. You screw your eyes shut as his lips trace the shape of your cheeks, inching closer to your mouth. “My name sounds so delicious on your tongue,” he whispers against the corner of your lips, bordering on a kiss. “If only all your prayers had been like this. I would have flooded all the ports and claimed the land just to have you.”

“I am yours,” you tell him, and you mean it. Rafayel grips your hips hard enough to draw blood, and he doesn’t need to tell you to know what he wants from you. You repeat it, again and again, telling him you belong to him, until Rafayel shuts you up with a kiss that tastes of both sanctity and sin, and the poison he pours into you is so decadent you almost don’t realize it’s killing you. You forget that at the end of this, it will not just be his kiss consuming you whole. You welcome the knifes and the sharp teeth and let Rafayel devour you.

The night passes then with the two of you trading kisses in the dark, small touches bordering on disgrace. You bend so many of your rules that at the end of the night, you’re not sure whether your virginity is sacred after all. But Rafayel never asks you for it, and you both remain clothed, although the bath has made you drip all over the floor. Inside the enormous bed that Rafayel claims as his own, you watch the sun rise as his fingers trace your ears, your collarbones, the shape of your body. It feels intimate in a way that is devoid of sex. It almost feels like Rafayel is the supplicant and you his deity, with the reverence he dedicates to touching you. “You do not need to be purified, bride of blood,” he says, addressing you like he did on the day you met him. Once again, it is a sign of respect. A sign that although he doesn’t understand your beliefs, he still wants to adhere to them because you treasure them. “You are flawless as you are. I chose you because you are everything I want.”

Although your sight is already blurring from tiredness, you make an effort to look at him. “Even though I am human?”

“Despite everything,” he tells you. “My heart sings with the presence of you.”

The sincerity of that statement dizzies you. You fall back into the blurness, feeling light as a feather. Never in your life before have you experienced a joy as profound as this; you have seen the face of God, and God has looked back at you. He is only looking at you.

“You do not have to do this, you know.”

It is the sister who speaks. Rafayel turns over the ceremonial knife, staring at it as he strains to hear the soft voices in the room behind him. Technically, he was eavesdropping. It was a breach of privacy, of course, but there was the matter of intention; he had come to see you, to fall into your lap as you told him about the human world, to allow himself to be reduced to a lover at the beck and call of a mere human like you. The days were beginning to slip away like sand in an hourglass, the wedding inching closer with every passing second. He had been trying to identify where the pit of dread inside his stomach came from when he heard your sister speak up, a feat so rare that he had forced himself to stop behind the door before she stopped. Your bridal party was composed of the most annoying people in the world, all of them paling in comparison to you in both faith and creature, but your sister guarded her words like a clam her pearls. And now, when she finally spoke, it was to deter you from marrying at all.

Rafayel hears something shift. You must have sat closer to her. “Do not say those words,” you hiss, a tone he has never heard you take before. “Do you forget how easily it is for a human to lose their head down here? We are already on thin ice.”

“I’m serious. You do know we could all die anyways, right? How can you be so calm? I feel like I’m about to go insane!”

“Then keep it together!” The answer is too loud, a cat mother snapping at its young. The anger in your voice is palpable. For a moment, the silence claims the room alongside the tension created by the secret conversation, but then you speak up, much calmer. “We either die together for this treason, or I die and you will live to tell my tale. In either case, it’s fine by me. I don’t care about my own life, but so help me god, Alia, if you even think of ending this ruse I will send you above water myself. I’m your older sister. It is my duty to think of you first.”

Treason. Rafayel’s fingers skim the edge of the knife. Blood pearls at the tip of his fingers, the sight of it as nauseating as the thought of a possible betrayal by the human world. Already, the world above them has started to leave them behind, with their experiments of gunpowder and weaponry. More and more patrols return decimated, the serving soldiers reporting death and violence. Complaining, pointing fingers. It’s no secret that the bridal party at court has become somewhat of a group of hostages. And hadn’t Rafayel already known that you were hiding things?

But he thinks of the way you let him cup your face in the sight of only moon and sky, how your eyes glint with the unspoken tenderness between the two of you. It was easy to lie with words, but your souls sing to each other. You both know it. There is something tucked away inside your human heart that belongs to him and him alone, something that makes Rafayel forgive you for every past and future grievance you could possibly muster against him. There is something every living heart wants for itself, and his heart wants you. The metaphorical knife sinks and sinks and sinks into his chest, slamming into bone, stuck there like Rafayel is stuck on his throne. Forever a hand-width away from everyone else, even his happiness. Just then, your sister whispers, “You love him, do you not? You have already given him your heart.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you gently reprimand her. Rafayel closes his eyes; the hand twisting the knife is rough and scarred, but familiar. He imagines taking that hand to aid it. Stab here, he wishes to say. Just a little deeper. I permit you. Only you. “This plan isn’t going to work, and I don’t care. I’ll take them down with me if I can. If I’m dead, I can’t be blackmailed, can I? I don’t care whether I die, as long as you live.”

As long as you live. Rafayel thinks of hearts, and the consumption of them, and of weddings and happy endings. He tucks the ceremonial knife away, his insides cold with the grim certainty of what he is going to do.

Later on, Rafayel will not remember the way his wedding had crashed and floundered into flames. He will not remember the sharp sting of betraying his own people, how his power had bled and bled. It was always so gruesome when gods fell. They weren’t destined for tragedies of this scale.

The only thing Rafayel will be able to commit to his recollection is how stunning divinity looked on you. He will forget the way his home had tasted, how the blooming kingdom of Lemuria had seemed to explode with colors, how the laughter of his folk had accompanied him everywhere. The only thing left will be you, your radiant face and your warm, warm tears, as warm as blood, sparking a fire in even the coldest of deep sea creatures. It should make him curse your name.

And yet he cannot forget you.

He looks for you everywhere, at every time, in every moment. The way your smile looked like the warm rays of the sun as they broke through the rain-heavy sky. The way the sound of your steps seemed to echo like the drum-like rhythm of his heart. He races after people who seem to have just the right hair color, who seem to share the shape of your eyes, who remind him just too much of you, only to realize that it wasn’t the person he was chasing after. You are haunting him. In every waking moment, in every dream that tortures his sleep, it is always you.

The resulting soul-devouring longing has turned him into quite the artist. When Lemuria fell, it took everything with it. Every painting since then he has ever drawn up fails to compare with the real thing, and he is terrified by the idea that he is forgetting how his home looked like. Already the details begin to slip away from him, becoming eroded over time. What remains crystalline is the imagine of you. Devilish you, crux of Lemuria you. It torments him to love you, but what torments him more is the loss of you. He had never been prepared for this possibility. He had never even considered what giving his heart away would look like.

And yet, he would do it again, and again, and again. Selfishly, egotistically. What he wouldn’t give to be able to make you smile again. In his most desperate nights, he strains himself to remember the way you used to laugh, the sound more heavenly than any music ever composed on earth. Even the falsification of the sound still manages to bring him so much peace that Rafayel stills his hands and abstains from painting another death trap. Although revenge has become the new mistress of his heart, he doesn’t love her as much as he will ever love you. It is the memory of you that makes him halt, makes him grant mercy to a possible victim. That, and the everlasting fear it is your blood he could be punishing. Your wish had been granted, after all - it was your sister who had lived and witnessed the death of a civilization, your sister who had escaped all culpability.

It was one of the most earliest memories he managed to commit to his brain after the atrocity that was the destruction of Lemuria. He had dug your sister’s grave with his bare hands. He had never even known her, not closely anyways, but it was your blood running in her veins, your love that had raised her. After so many years of searching and retracing his steps, he had finally found the village you had been born into. But by then, his bride had disappeared, and your sister had grown old waiting for you, and she had barely been able to squeeze Rafayel’s hand before passing on peacefully. That had hurt him in an entirely different way. Here was someone, who loved you and missed you just as much as him, who would understand how severely the loss of you had impacted him, but then she went and died. A cruel fate, as usual. But he did not regret finding her. For a little while, someone had been able to share his grief. And for a little while, that had been enough.

In his worst nightmares, Rafayel dreams he will never see you again. He will live and die for his love, but it will not matter. The bond that connected your souls stretched on into nothingness, past the place where living beings could reach, and you have already passed onto a place he will never see, because you’re an angel and he’s going to hell. Whether he believes it or not, he has betrayed his people, his court, his duty. There was no redemption, no way to come back from that.

Sometimes he resents you for it, so much so that his soul grows heavy with the anger he carries within. He stares at himself in the mirror for hours, trying to claw off the Lemurian mark that bonds you to him, but then he dissolves into sobs. He is hollow of you, a carved out corpse, a mermaid drowned. An oxymoron, like he was. He loves you so much that he convinces himself the pain is worth it; he convinces himself that he can survive this.

He becomes a renowned artist, his paintings a manifest oh the emotions he tries to overcome. But in every single one, his muse remains the same.

Like divine intervention, it is his paintings you admire when Rafayel finally finds you again.

He almost doesn’t trust his eyes. After all, this is not the very first time he has chased after a mirage like a traveler lost at sea. The back that is turned to him is not as scarred as yours was, and the curls of your hair are tucked away in a neat coiffure that almost makes him look away; you had hated to have your hair up. His favorite part of the morning routine you both established was when you had let him sneak into your rooms, and you had let him brush your hair until it was smooth and silky to the touch. But then you cock your head at the painting, and Rafayel sees your face, and he almost buckles.

The moon pales in comparison of the sight of your face twitching into the amazed expression at the painting before you. The sharp teeth remember him of your knife-like grimaces, the ones you used to grace him with when he saw a little bit too much of the truth inside you. There is a horrifyingly familiar birthmark where your brandmark used to identify you as one of the most devoted priestesses of the sea’s faith. You are as beautiful as the day as he lost you, as stunning as the day you had walked into his life.

He stumbles into Thomas, who steadies him with an appalled noise. The rest of the world falls away as Rafayel drinks in the sight of you like a man completely parched with thirst, as if he might die from it. You’re staring at a rendition of how Rafayel had imagined you might look in a bridal gown. His legs carry him forward, and never has the burden of walking on earth hurt him as much as now; he feels that knowledge tearing at him, clawing away at every protective measure, before he even reaches you. Every step is razor-sharp and painful, a conscious memory of what he sacrificed to roam the earth for you. He already knows before you meet his eyes. Your eyes are as clear and amazed as the day you had been brought to him.

You have no idea who he is at all.

It had already been a weird day. You had woken up to your face wet with tears, but as you touched it, you couldn’t for the life of you remember what you had dreamt about. There was only the disturbing feeling that were was something missing, something you couldn’t live without. You had laid in bed for a very long time, your hand placed over your heart, before your bestfriend and roommate Simone had burst into your room and told you to ‘get your ass up before we miss work’.

In the subway, the feeling hadn’t subsided. Beneath the bones of your breast cage, your most vital organ sputtered and stuttered, strangely arhythmic. The thing wasn’t very reliable, anyways, and you already had monthly check-ups to ensure it wasn’t fucking you over and you could continue your work. And then sometimes, it performed miracles. So many times you had woken up in a hospital bed after having passed out with the certain thought that you were going to die, but every time your heart had won out, like it loved battling death and beating the shit out of it every time. It had mystified Zayne, your childhood friend, to the point where he had suggested setting up a field study for his university studies, but you had firmly declined. You didn’t want anyone else to know about this freak heart, thank you.

Work itself had passed by quickly either way, and you had almost passed over the opportunity of going out with your friends. But Simone had wheedled at you and whittled your rejection down until it turned into acceptance, so now here you were.

Staring at this stranger.

He almost looked familiar. In another life, perhaps, you would have walked up to him and struck up a conversation. You had a special weakness for pretty boys, even though you knew even the most beautiful of predators are still deadly. But you had sworn off men after college, the short dalliances that had sparked up remaining unfruitful, so you thought it was for the best.

But the look in his eyes was so heartbreaking.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he knew you. He seemed to be looking at you like someone who he had believed dead had magically been brought back to life and returned to him. When you finally mustered up your courage to approach him, because he had been staring at you for quite a while now, the gorgeous man had turned and left. You quickly lost sight of him, which made you frown.

You were a Deepspace hunter, one of the best. You usually don’t lose track of your prey, especially not pretty ones like him.

It didn’t matter. You never saw him again afterwards. Your fake vow of chastity remained stable, even after the countless club nights Simone dragged you to and even after Tara’s desperate pleading to please, pretty please let her set you up with someone. You declined every time. Not because you were stubborn, but because there was a hollowness inside you that starved for tenderness, something so unreal you were sure you were never going to find it. There was a beast encaged by your veins and bones, starving for the scraps of affection. You had fed it and fed it and fed it, to the point where at the end, you were the one who had been left unnurtured, so you had abandoned the search.

You had never once thought it would find you instead.

There were times when the timing seemed almost too suspicious. The appearance of a fake account perceiving your social media posts. The feeling of someone keeping watch of you. Not following you, but checking in on you. The knowledge that someone was looking out for you, but every time you turned the corner, what greeted you was the sight of a whole lot of nothing.

It’s Wednesday night after Simone’s shift when the doorbell rings. “Did you order in?” you ask the girl, but she shakes her head, the freshly washed hair whipping around like a flag in the wind. “Maybe it’s Michaela?” she theorizes, and you shrug. You’ve met Michaela before; she was Xavier’s hunting partner, a competent hunter that was sure to rise through the ranks. You hadn’t realized that Simone and her had become so acquainted, though. You were definitely going to needle Simone about that.

You went to open the door, but it wasn’t Michaela standing in front of it. Instead, a delivery boy that looks like the most bored employee you’ve ever seen holds out a packaged bouquet to you. “Please sign here, miss,” he says, and holds out a board where a paper has been pinned to it. You scan it quickly to confirm it’s actually for you, then give him the signature he requires.

“Who was it?” Simone appears in the hallway, scrubbing away at her hair. You are momentarily distracted from the bouquet and stare at her instead; you always scolded her for walking around with wet hair. “Is that a bouquet?” she asks before you can say something, her voice amazed. “I thought you were a chaste nun and all that!”

“I’m not dating anyone!” you immediately defend yourself. But your heart is racing as you pass her, and you quickly walk to the kitchen counter where you reach for the scissors in the drawers. Simone rejoins you and watches as you free the flowers from their paper cage.

It is the prettiest bouquet you’ve ever received. Nestled inbetween baby’s breath and foxgloves, water lilies in full bloom reach upward, filling the kitchen with their dizzying fragrance. Simone begins to sneeze almost immediately; she is violently allergic to foxgloves. You, on the other hand, breathe in deeply, almost light-headed with the violent longing the flowers fill you with.

You stare at the flowers for a very long time.

After almost an hour of theorizing and reaching to no conclusion, you place the bouquet on the windowsill in your room where it can be seen from the street. It’s intentional, because you are almost sure that the feeling of that watchful stranger was not just a feeling. Maybe it was a secret admirer or something. But your heart was at peace with that knowledge, and the feeling that encapsulated you was as familiar as a dream; a dream where you are loved as you are, with every inch of your being. You sleep deeply and restfully for the first time in a very long time.

As someone rounds the corner, he angles his eyes upward to stare at a certain window. He passes by here almost daily, just to see whether you were sleeping and taking care of yourself. Worrying about whether when the lamp burned deep into the night, it meant you were overworking yourself or haunted by nightmares. Reassured when the light was off and your shutters closed, because it meant you were home and sleeping. When the shutters are open, he doesn’t even bother to pass by this street, having learnt quickly it meant you were on a business trip of some kind. He has quickly become resentful of your vocation because of how much it drains you. But today, he sees the bouquet he sent you, proud on display on the very windowsill he is able to see from below here, so far away from you.

Almost unwillingly, because he has yet to relearn the motion, his lips curve into a smile. Rafayel walks home, his heart as light as it never has been before. Well, maybe once. Back when the waves were still the emperors of the world. When love meant a certain, moonlight-illuminated face.

It doesn’t take long for Rafayel to re-enter your life under the guise of a part-time job. A bodyguard, for a painter. The joke almost writes himself. But you couldn’t deny how you had clapped your hands in joy when you saw him again, the pretty face with no name you had seen on that day of the art reveal. You let him seduce into the worst side-gig ever, which might as well have been a babysitting job instead of a bodyguard position.

You learn that he’s a recluse, famous painter with the weirdest quirks. You’ve never met a man as strange as him. He was immature, and whiny, and a brat. Most times, you were too exasperated to handle him, despite the ridiculous amount of money he was paying you (the dude was rolling in money) and the bonus of getting to see his gorgeous face every day for free. Sometimes, though, when you are careless, your heart jumps to your throat when your fingers brush. Other times, when you watch him paint, you have the counterproductive urge to grasp his face and kiss him until you’re breathless. You cannot understand it. You don’t know where the instinct comes from. But it runs deep in your blood, a calling as old as time.

Simone calls you a horny freak, almost guffawing when you meekly admit to having developed a crush on him. And hey, sure, maybe you were a little horny. (A woman gets quite desperate when her only sexual encounters were the reliable appendages of her own hand.) And sometimes you did want to jump Rafayel’s bones until you were sure you (or him) wouldn’t be able to walk for a least a week. But it’s not what stirs you when you look at him. Deep inside your heart, something yearns for Rafayel, something that’s even hungrier than the beast you call your own heart.

You’re never sure what will overcome you. On most days, where Rafayel mooches off the vacation days you get from Deepspace hunting and calls you in to watch him live his life, your cravings run on the need of wanting to touch him. You want to ruffle your fingers through his hair to discover whether it’s as soft as it looks like. You’ve even candidly wondered what it would be like to hug him while he sleeps; Rafayel often falls asleep on his own job, curling into a sleeping position right in front of his unfinished paintings, the elegant fingers unfurling around his brush. The need to touch him can get so severe that you brush your fingers over his hand as he sleeps, just to satisfy it; it feels like fire grazing your skin, as dangerous as his Evol. You never tell him about anything of this, though, even though you know the secret is burning you.

Sometimes he looks at you as though he can tell exactly what you’re thinking. Like now.

He looks up before you can tear your gaze away. You had been staring at him for a little too long, admittedly, but he was looking downright ethereal today. You had almost collapsed on his porch when he had answered the door. The man was already a threat because of his looks, but he had opened the door looking like he fell right out of the bed and walked to the door without doing anything. The sight of his sleepy face and frazzled hair was doing a number on your heart. He claimed he’d already had breakfast and had laid out a plate of pancakes for you (not prepared by him, of course, the man was too lazy to stand in the kitchen without incentive), then gotten straight to painting. You were fantasizing about what it would be like to wake up in bed with him, to wipe away the sleep from his eyes and kiss the eyelids, when he caught you red-handed. “What, do I have something on my face?” he quips, and you jerk upright.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“You’re looking at me as if I sprouted another head. I’m not an alien, you know.”

“Technically, you are. Aren’t you?” You blink at him, the question innocent. Rafayel rolls his eyes, though, as if he had both expected your stupidity but had hoped you would overcome it. “Lemurians are from the ocean, idiot,” he retorts, turning back to his painting. He was swiping away at another creation, something that looked like the abstract rendition of a hurricane on the sea. “Last I checked, that was still on earth.”

Well, he got you there. Before you could think of a smart response, your phone rings, bringing the conversation to a halt. Rafayel clicks his tongue in annoyance; he likes to be the center of your attention and has often hidden your phone during work hours just so you couldn’t distract yourself. As someone with the attention span of a goldfish, you had rebelled pretty soon. You turn your attention to the device in your hands and read Simone’s name on the display before you answer the call. “Hello?” You drawl out, gaze still fixed on Rafayel.

“Where are you?”

“Working. At Raf’s.” You don’t miss the way Rafayel straightens up at the nickname, looking like the satisfied cats he often chases away due to his hatred of them. It’s your turn to roll your eyes; he was easily pleased. At the same time, his simple joy at a nickname makes your heart soften. Although his dramatic flair ensures that he is never taken seriously, deep beneath it all, you have come to realize that Rafayel is a genuinely tender person. And who are you to judge for being needy when it comes to affection? “I told you that this morning. You know, when you were in bed with Michaela.” As far as you knew, they weren’t dating, since Simone claimed Michaela had only slept over yesterday because they had stayed out late, and she had refused to let Michaela walk back home in the dark.

“Do not say that out loud,” comes Simone’s buzzing response from the other end of the phone, and you momentarily hold your phone away as you cringe at the sound. You put it back just in time to hear her add, “I do not need the fish-man to know about my private business, thank you. He’s an employer after all.”

“Everyone knows about your fat crush on Michaela.”

“Well, how about your fat crush on…”

“NO!” you shout down the phone before she can speak it out loud and ruin your life. You manage to startle Rafayel so strongly that he topples from the chair he was situated on; you wince and turn around guiltily, not wanting to deal with the consequences of that. Simone had almost given away your secret feelings for the man currently painting his heart out on the canvas. “Alright, point fucking taken. Is that why you called me? To bully me?”

“You decided to bully me first! Anyways, I called to let you know that they emergency-scheduled you for this afternoon. Something about you being familiar with that no-hunting zone.”

You narrow your eyes. She was probably talking about the suburb north of Linkon that had just recently been declared a no hunting zone; they were still carrying out evacuations from the area, although majority of the place had been abandoned ages ago due to a factory accident. You often ran patrols there and had been the one to notify the agency about the rising threat-level which had ultimately led to the declaration of it now being a no hunting zone. Still, it must be pretty serious if they scheduled you without checking back with you first. Jenna usually didn’t take advantage of your willingness, since you often offered to cover shifts for your colleagues.

“When?”

“7:30 at the subway station. North exit. You’ll patrol alone, but I can join you if you want to.”

“No, that’s fine,” you answered absentmindedly, already racking your brain about what could have happened and how you could get there. Perhaps another luminivore? But you had cleared out a nest of wanderers just a week ago…

You barely remember to say goodbye to Simone before you whirl around to face Rafayel. He’s still on the ground, pouting, his full lips jutted at you in irritation. “Let me guess,” he grumbles. “You’re gonna abandon me again. Forget aaaaall about me on your fancy wanderer-hunting job.”

“Rafayel,” you sigh. He always got vexed about this, the fact that you had a life aside from basically being his handbag that he carried everywhere. Rafayel doesn’t even like public appearances, and rarely appears often enough where the necessity of a bodyguard was warranted. You step towards him and offer him your hand so he can let himself be pulled up, but he turns his face away like a child. “Don’t be like this. I’ll literally be back tomorrow.”

“Oh, will you? And what if you get another emergency? And what when your free days are over and you have to go back to your regular work? Since you’ve managed to forget to text me every time you’ve been busy, I’m assuming you’ll check back with me as soon as sharks have started walking on land.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

Rafayel turns his head to glare at you. It’s the only thing your register before the world is flipped upside down in a rapid whorl of colors. Rafayel has taken hold of the hand that had intended to help him and had pulled you down. The movement is so swift and sudden that you squeak in indignation before you can remember your training, but your fight-response dies down as soon as Rafayel leans over you, his hands pinning yours over your head. You could easily free yourself if you wanted to. You were a Deepspace hunter, for crying out loud. But it’s Rafayel who’s pinning you down, Rafayel whose lovely hair is as blue as the swirling sea, his eyes capturing you like a predator hypnotizing its prey. “You’re a liar,” he tells you. It’s an insult, but your skin tingles as if the word was a caress. You squeeze your hands into fists in his hold, and he grips your wrists tighter, as if he can imprison them. As if he can imprison you. Rafayel’s eyes are as hard as flint, and you recoil from the real anger inside them; he’s never looked at you like this, never. The air is thick with tension. “You humans always lie. You’ll leave me and forget about me.”

The situation seems so silly, but there’s something urging you to take it seriously, something in Rafayel’s eyes that tugs at your heartstrings. You feel like a deer in the headlights, yearning for the approaching car. “I’d never lie,” you tell him after a few moments, unsure where the words are coming from. “And I’d never leave you.”

Rafayel scoffs, and you feel the embarrassment creep up on your face. Well, it’s not like you were the one who initiated this ridiculous situation! But you cannot help but feel this isn’t a joke. You scan Rafayel’s face, but he’s as unreadable as the calligraphy of a foreign language, unavailable and unreachable to you. “How can you be certain?” There’s a tang of anxiety to Rafayel’s voice, a tone so disquieting that you feel desperate to get rid of it. The urge is strange, but not unwelcome. You think for a long time before you tell him, “I can’t be. I’m only human, after all. But I mean it with all my heart when I say I would never intend to.”

Rafayel’s eyes visibly soften at the words. It’s a confusing, mind-muddling reaction. Although your relationship to Rafayel is indescribable by words and constrained by its professional setting, you would still be able to claim that you had grown close enough to realize this was an extremely uncommon reaction. What’s even more confusing is when Rafayel lowers himself to tug you closer; you fit like puzzle pieces as he cradles your head in the hollow of his neck, holding you against his heart. You return the embrace with a racing heart. This is everything what your touchstarved brain had asked for and more. You turn your face to tuck it into the crook of his neck, and the man above you sighs with what sounds like content. After a few moments, he finally releases you, his arms unfurling like the petals of a flower. He’s still pouting, but he looks appeased. “Go, then,” he says, sitting up and crossing his arms. “But don’t expect me to miss you or anything!”

Like a sea creature that’s washed up on the beach, unable to breathe air, you gape at him. Meanwhile, Rafayel dusts himself off, as if nothing ever happened. He goes straight back to his art, sparing you not even a glance as he says, “Be sure to lock the door behind you, will you? I really don’t want Thomas to crash in whenever he wants again. I like my privacy.”

That damned fish!

This is the shape your relationship takes on, the constant push-and-pull between tearing each other apart and digging into every crevice you can reach in the other. What has started as a simple crush is starting to drive you insane, what with how Rafayel begins to take advantage of how familiar you both become. It’s on a night like this where he makes every effort to blur the lines between you two, like colors mixing and washing over each other, creating something new. It’s the middle of the night, and you should really be in bed sleeping before your newest mission in the morning, and yet you’re standing in front of the art gallery in the middle of nowhere. Thomas’ face looks like a tomato. He’s been blushing and apologizing for at least ten minutes, begging you to forgive him and spewing excuses about how he absolutely couldn’t call anyone else. He pawns Rafayel off like a discovered item being handed in to lost-and-found, abandoning you to your new task so he can hush back inside and hide the fact that a) the artist in question being discussed in there is drunk out of his mind and b) he’s pulling the Frenchest exist ever known to humankind, having slipped out the backdoor that is supposed to be reserved for the staff. You stare at the label that marks the closed door as such long after Thomas has left you, ignoring the whiny little sounds Rafayel is making. Asking for your attention, probably. Eliciting a very different kind of response in both your pissed and tired mind, but also your easily excited abdomen.

How did you even get here?

“Can you pleaaaase stop staring at that door and stare at me instead? And I made all that effort to look pretty, too.”

Your eyes snap back to Rafayel, momentarily distracted. “Surely you didn’t dress up for me, mister,” you huff, although you did take note of his attire. It’s an elegantly cut suit and tie, the cuffs of his shirt studded with something that looks like glinting stars in the dark. As you step closer, you realize that the buttons are not buttons, but rather pearls. From Rafayel’s left ear dangles an ear ring, a silver fishing spear that seems to pierce through the earlobe. “Because you best believe I didn’t agree to be dragged out at the ass-crack of dawn to pick you up just because you can’t hold your liquor.”

“I can hold my liquor!” Rafayel complains. You want to muster up a snarky response, but then he grabs your calf and falls forward, his head coming to rest on your thigh. The proximity is making your breath catch in your throat. “That was just …. a lot of piña coladas. They were just so delicious. It’s not my fault.” The drunkard at your feet squishes his stunningly beautiful irritating face against your leg, looking up to catch your gaze as he pleads you to swallow the lie.

You are robbed of speech.

It’s one thing to have an unrequited crush. It’s another thing to live with it. And then it’s something entirely different to have that crush used against you. Rafayel’s cheeks are red from intoxication, his eyes lidded, seemingly in a haze. But his hands are steady, goal-oriented. They feel their way along your legs, up to the hollow of your knees, until finally Rafayel digs his fingers into the back of your thighs and closes his eyes.

If anyone knew how fast your heart was racing right now, you’d never live to hear the end of it. You are shy and overwhelmed and in love. Before you can embarrass yourself even further, you take Rafayel’s hands into yours and pull him, the sound of your blood rushing in your ears reminiscent of the way the thunderous waves crash on Whitesand Bay when it storms. “Let’s get you home,” you hear yourself speak as if from a distance. For once, Rafayel is obedient. He nods eagerly, wrapping both his arms around the one you offered him, and you manage to find your way back to the main street as you round the art gallery and hail a cab.

The driver looks as tired as you are. The meter, calculating the price for the amount of distance travelled, sets a ticking rhythm for the drive. As you settle in and buckle up both Rafayel and you, the former uses the chance to inch closer to you. You direct your gaze to the roof of the car, thinking, dear god, please help me survive the ride back home.

Because this is just plain torture. It takes Rafayel five minutes, tops, to fall against you and hide away his face against your throat. His breath comes more steadily now, not as erratic, and he’s still got the scent of coconut syrup and rum on his breath, but beneath all that, he smells like the Rafayel you have come to know. That strange smell of salt and paint and mint, the latter being part of the perfume he prefers to use. He’s close enough to bite through your throat if he wanted to.

Somehow, the thought doesn’t terrify you. The lack of fear ought to be a warning sign, but all you can think about is how lovely it would be die on those teeth, like the drowned sailors crushed to pulp as the waves throw them against the cliffs over and over again. You curl your fingers to your fist in your lap, willing yourself to endure it. In the darkness of the cab, every touch seems amplified.

“Missed you,” Rafayel mumbles then, almost making you leap out of your skin. He hadn’t been loud, but you’re growing incredibly hypersensitive to his every mood. His lips brush your skin as he speaks. “Thought you wouldn’t come.”

You slightly turn your head to create some life-saving distance. Your heat is threatening to jump right out of your chest. “Of course I would come to get you, silly fish,” you whisper back. Through the window, you see the cab cut by the city, drifting through its streets like a snake through a flower field. Even in the middle of the night, Linkon City doesn’t seem to sleep. You try to fixate on the sight outside, instead of the man beside you that was threatening to make you lose your grip on sanity.

Rafayel grunts, then shifts his position. As he sits up, his hand falls into your lap, and with an ease you usually only ever see him exert on his brushes, he claims your hand for his own and turns it over. He presses a thumb to your palm, the touch light, but something feathers in your muscles. Your hand twitches. “You sound so sure,” he sighs, sounding petulant. He doesn’t believe you.

When finally the sight of Rafayel’s humble appears on the horizon, Rafayel manages to step outside the cab without falling over once. In the time it takes him to step outside and stand up-right, you’ve already paid and thanked the cab driver, who only nods and speeds away as soon as the door to his vehicle closes. You watch for a few moments until the cab merges with general traffic and then disappears, then turn back to your drunk, pouting companion, avoiding your eyes as if the eye contact could be embarrassing to him. For being so touchy in the cab, he sure has some nerve of acting like this. Without another word, you enter the passcode to his door, and Rafayel slips inside.

The studio looks like a mess. Clearly, nothing had been cleaned or tidied up before someone left to attend their oh, so important event. There is paint everywhere, even on the couch you know costs more than an entire year of your salary. You avert your eyes and press your hand on Rafayel’s back; you would talk about that tomorrow. The studio usually was a representation of Rafayel’s mental state. Whatever bothered him, had exploded into the artful reorganization of his home. “Quit pushing me,” Rafayel nags at you. He winds around so that he can free himself from your touch, then glares at you as if this was somehow your fault. “I can walk on my own.”

“Well, then maybe you’ll take yourself home, too.”

Your voice comes out too harsh. You know it as soon as you close your mouth, but Rafayel has already flinched. “I’m sorry,” you say as you try to soften the blow, and it feels ridiculous. Why is it you who has to apologize right now? But you continue speaking as if compelled, because you can’t stand the thought of hurting him, of him thinking he meant nothing to you. He doesn’t answer, so you step closer, intending to make him look at you so he’d see that you’re being earnest. That’s not what happens, though.

What happens is that Rafayel’s hands find your shoulders, and you’re about to ask what he’s doing, and then the only thing you can feel is the shape of Rafayel’s full lips crashing against yours, swallowing your words. It’s not even an actual kiss, too messy to be actually deemed one; his teeth clack against yours, grazing your lip painfully enough that you’re almost sure he’s drawn blood. But then he re-angles his face and Rafayel is actually kissing you, tasting you, stealing the air you breathe. Your brain shortcircuits. For a second, you forget why you’re here, and your fingers act faster than your mind does, gripping onto Rafayel’s shirt so forcefully you almost rip the pearls off them. Thankfully, your brain snaps back to reality almost immediately, and you push Rafayel away before the realization that you had been tasting his sinful tongue can actually hit you. That would be an information your brain would deconstruct later. “You’re drunk,” you exclaim. It is the most difficult thing you ever had to do, tearing yourself away from Rafayel. His face is the very picture of longing, an expression that makes you want to eat him alive, bones and all. But you did it anyways, because it would not be fair to him, and this is something that would have to be discussed when he’s sober. “Come on, Raf, I’ll take you to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed.” His fingers haven’t left you. They wander up the sides of your throat, digging into the space beneath your jaw, forcing you to angle your head up. Like this, he almost looks like the deep-sea predator he is. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that seems to reflect your own hunger, a kind of starvation that will not leave a single scrap of you to scavenge. If you’re not dangerous, he will drag you into the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again. “I want to make you feel good and make it up to you, please, pretty please. You’ll let me, won’t you?” He tugs and tugs, unrelenting. His wicked lips are shaping his typical pout, his favorite expression of getting you to do his bidding. He almost gets away with it, too, and the only thing keeping him from kissing you again are your quick hands, placed on his mouth before he can even think of capturing your mouth again.

“Raf, I will not take advantage of you while you’re being drunk!” you exclaim. It’s unbelievable how his face grimaces into the most heartbroken expression ever, just because you refuse to be the villain here. It physically hurts, to see him in so much anguish. You quickly spin him around so you don’t have to see his face, directing him to his bedroom. “You can make it up to me tomorrow,” you say tentatively. Secretly, you hope he will forget all about this, and you’ll never have to talk about it all. You’ll file away the kiss in your secret drawer inside your mind palace and polish the memory until it physically deteriorates, like it’s your last dinner on death row. You’ll make that memory last. Because you know he doesn’t love you; you had just been a warm body who had been kind to him at the wrong time.

“You’re so mean.” Rafayel sniffs, but this time, he comes more willingly. In the bedroom, the atmosphere has almost returned to its original tranquility, the silence enveloping you both seeming to sober him up. The bed feathers, creaking as Rafayel falls into it, but then the only sound left is his quiet muttering as he continues to complain about your attitude. He falls asleep like that, grumbling about how you would regret not letting him kiss you, how he could make it worth your while. He almost looks innocent like this, his face relaxed and devoid of his usual dramatic flair. It smoothens out the deeper he falls into sleep, sinking further into the mattress, looking like a pre-Raphaelite angel in a painting. Peaceful. Neutral. Entirely ethereal. He’s so surreal, you wonder if you might not be imagining this moment, the way you imagined him doing other things to you as you laid awake at night.

You fan your burning face, wondering what exactly had Rafayel intended to with you. It only adds on to the maladaptive daydreaming you dedicated your time to every day, ever since the fish-eyed king who called you his bodyguard had stolen your heart.

You stare at him for a very long time, until every ethereal feature of him is burned into the back of your eyelids. Your heart is light as a feather, floating, yearning. It sings his name in a steady pattern, synching almost naturally to the breath that stirs in Rafayel’s chest.

From then on, there is a current of tension underlining every interaction.

It’s not on purpose, of course. You just can’t help yourself. Every single nerve is on fire, at the beck and call of your favorite painter’s whims. You twitch when your fingers accidentally touch. There’s an involuntary gasp whenever he comes near, a sound tugged out of you against your will. You would have never thought that love would feel like a thousand fireworks going off at once. Soft, resounding explosions going boom, boom, boom in your chest.

You are so very conscious of Rafayel. Your heart jealously guards every moment you share with him.

Amor vincit omnia, famous poet Virgil once said in his own works. Love conquers all. Poets have to describe it like that, for emotions to be so consuming. It’s supposed to be a fun little tale, a nice piece of text, to be read and enjoyed. It’s not supposed to be something that happens to you, in the most violent way possible. Rafayel, although his own empire has been laid to rest centuries ago, his claim on the throne long faded, has succeeded in conquering you after all, heart and soul.

But, spoiler alert: you do not talk about what happened. In fact, you make every effort to escape the conversation whenever Rafayel tries to bring it up.

Why, you ask? Well, that’s something not even you can answer. Your friends have grown intolerable with frustration, to the point where Simone has staged an intervention to get you to fess up and confess to Rafayel. (Michaela, finally dating Simone, had planned an entire powerpoint dedicated to the benefits of admitting your feelings to someone. Which is ironic, because it was Simone who had finally gotten her shit together and told Michaela about how she felt.) Even Zayne, uninterested in your love life and its endeavors, had chipped in with his own opinion, which you had quickly ignored, because Zayne was the only mentally-sound, responsible adult in your friend group, which meant unresponsible you didn’t want to think about his advice at all.

It probably has a lot to do with how Rafayel is the epitome of perfection in your eyes, and you are nothing. You know it’s completely idiotic to think of someone as flawless, although Rafayel, being a sea creature of mythological background, might be a little closer to fitting that description than a human would. But you do. He is tender and attentive and all-encompassing. You refuse to lose him like this, to lose him to an unrequited crush that he had nurtured on a whim because he had been intoxicated.

No, you’d rather dance around it and be able to stay in his vicinity. Even if it kills you to be the outstander in his life forever, you’ll sacrifice yourself for it.

Unluckily for you, Rafayel is entirely fed up with sacrifices.

To say the door was closed would be to put it gently; it crashes into the hinges as Rafayel shuts it in front of your nose, cutting off your only route of escape. The evening sunlight paints him in a rosy hue that only adds on to the weakness your heart feels when you see him. He is exquisite. “We are going to talk about this,” Rafayel states, crossing his arms in petulance. “Whether you like it or not.”

“Ah, I’d love to, Raf.” Your lips quirk into a nervous smile. The memory of those arms wrapping you up in their embrace is so powerful, it manages to spike your blood with adrenaline. You theatrically check your wristwatch, then point at it, as if Rafayel needed some kind of extra confirmation that you were out of time. “But I really have to get to this meeting, and I already told Simone that I would…”

“Nope, don’t care.”

“But I…”

“Nooooope. You want me to say it in Lemurian?”

“Raf,” you groan out. “Don’t be like this.”

“Me, not be like this?” It seems as if you’ve missed some kind of signal in his communication, because suddenly Rafayel draws up, taut as a bowstring. There is a palpable taste of anger on your tongue, like a shark tasting blood in the water, and the realization dawns on you that you probably shouldn’t have answered him like that. “You’re really one to talk. You know, I thought we were finally getting closer. But you can’t even look at me properly! Have I done something to you?” His eyes are unhappy, glassy with emotion. It tears at you. His anguish has always been like a knife in your gut, disembowling you like a fish being gutted.

Your breath hitches. Yes, you have done something to me. You’ve ruined me. All I can think about is you, and the way your smile looks like the first streak of warm light at the break of dawn, and how even your annoying jokes make me float with joy. You’ve done something, alright. But all you say is, “No, of course not. I mean, no you haven’t done anything. I like spending time with you.”

“Then, what is it?” Rafayel has stepped closer. You instinctually step back, craving distance from him so that your heart won’t explode in your chest, but it seems like he has had enough. He ignores your attempt at evading him and grabs your arms, shaking you like a child would its toy. You look up at him, helpless. “Please. I can’t stand the thought of being apart from you.”

“Don’t say that, please.” Your voice is meek. You cannot believe he is even saying those things to you, that he could possibly replicate all the feelings in your heart, both the light and the dark.

Rafayel sucks in a breath, as if the words were a slap to his face. “Does it disgust you? That I feel like this? Because if you don’t want me to take liberties, if you don’t want me to bother you, then that’s all you have to say. I promise I’ll go back to any role you want to cast me in, as long as we go back to what we were, and you will talk and laugh with me again.”

What even is this moment right now? You are dizzy with emotion, incapable of producing speech. In all your wildest dreams, never once had you thought that it would be Rafayel begging for even a scrap of your attention. It was always in reverse, the natural order of things. You shake your head, appalled at his words, heady with them. “You can’t possibly feel like this,” you manage to say through gritted teeth. “You can’t possibly feel like you’re the one being pushy, when all I’ve done is ruin things between us. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me. I knew you did it because you were drunk, and I’m not mad at all, but I should have been the responsible one, and now I’ve ruined everything.”

“Ruined everything?” Rafayel’s voice is ripe with incredulity. When you finally gather courage to look up, you see Rafayel’s face suffusing with blood, although you can’t tell if it’s in anger or frustration. You don’t understand that in reality, Rafayel has spent his entire existence living in devotion to you, praying to you, deifying you. There is a split second where you both look at each other, completely silent, but then Rafayel’s painter-roughened fingers circle around your wrist and guide you back into the studio.

There are art supplies strewn everywhere, littered on every surface, but the actual paintings have been draped in curtains, hidden from view. Sometimes, even the most talented of creators gets shy about his works, and you’ve never once pushed him or teased him for it, respecting his privacy. But now you’re standing in the middle of his domain, his one hand still gripping your flesh, the other curling around the soft fabric that hides his art. “Then believe this,” he scoffs, and before you can protest, he rips the curtain off to reveal what is beneath.

You are robbed of speech.

That day in the gallery, your eyes had been cloudy, blind. You never once thought to stop about whether Rafayel had a muse that he venerated, something he enshrined with his paintings in an effort to cage in the feeling. Like the visionary described in Plato’s allegory of the cave, you are stumbling towards the light, blinded by the grace Rafayel utilizes in everything he shapes and touches.

Blooming all over the canvas is a rendition of you, floating in the ocean, kissed by the sunlight straining to reach you in the depths of the water. You almost reach out to feel the brushes, each stroke of the paintbrush a loving word, a compliment to your existence. Rafayel has painted you with the loveliness of an artisan completely entranced with their source of inspiration. There is an unspoken language of love woven into the material of the canvas itself, every color, every shade fondly handpicked to highlight your radiance. The drawing of you is glowing, basking in Rafayel’s attentiveness, completely wrapped up in his adoration.

“This,” Rafayel speaks up at your side, leading you back to reality, “is how I feel about you. I worship you.”

“Worship me?” You are breathless. It’s an impossible feat to tear your eyes off of the craftsmanship, but you manage to do so. The sight of Rafayel almost knocks you to your knees anew. His gaze is so full of warmth that for the first time in years, your heart is expanding, feeling full and hungry at the same time. Rafayel takes your hands in his, pulling them towards him. “You sound so shocked,” he laughs gently, the reaction so untypical for him. You let yourself be guided closer into the circle of his arms, into your safe haven that Rafayel represented for you. “Is it so hard to believe that I love you? There is no one else I’d want to kiss, no matter whether I’m drunk or sober. I dream and think of you all the time, and I hate it, trust me. Did you really think there would have been anyone else that could take your place in my heart?”

You are still adoring the painting, but when you angle your head back to look at him, Rafayel is already looking at you. It’s a soul-connecting look, the kind that reaches deeper than his eyes, the color of them ressembling the star-speckled sky reaching to kiss the pink waves. He is literally cracking open inside his chest so that you may look within, so that you will believe him. There is a memory at the edge of your consciousness, something that washes the saltiness of the ocean and the strangely sweet taste of divinity over your tongue, something that you cannot recognize yet. But what you can recognize is the heart inside Rafayel’s chest, so similar to your own, even hungrier than yours possibly could ever be. “Say it in full,” you plead with him, just to hear it once more. To realize that this incomparable man, more legend than reality, in all his heavenliness and gracefulness, belongs to you. That although your heart has always been the most insatiable creature alive, it has finally found a twin that matched its voracity. “Say you love me.”

Rafayel’s hands come up to cradle your face, cupping it like one would hold their most precious treasure. He is looking at you like a devotee who has seen his salvation, like you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s the look of love you’ve always, always wanted directed at you. “I love you,” he says, sounding entirely to exultant for a moment like this, his voice like the bells of heaven. It is utterly unlike your sassy crush, the man who’s outwitted you countless times, who always tugs a laughter out of you whether you want it or not. This is someone else, someone who’s set fire to the earth just to dig you out of its ashes. “I will love you until the day I die and if there is another life after this one, then let me love you in that one too, in all lives that may yet come.”

You screw your eyes shut then. You are blinded by joy, amazed at what just a single string of words can do to you. There is a key turning in the lock inside your chest, something that opens up a tsunami of emotions inside you. I love you. I love you. I love you. “Rafayel,” you whisper, and then you stumble forward at the same time as Rafayel tips down, and you collide like stars. When Rafayel finally kisses you, it tastes of cosmic dust and red strings of fate and it tastes like eternity. Your hands reach upward, seizing at his clothes and shoulders, until finally your fingers claw at his cheeks and you are probably hurting him. Neither of you cares. You fold around each other until no one can tell where you stop and he begins.

Rafayel groans into the kiss, a sound of such profound relief that you almost manage to stop kissing him just to laugh. There is no opportunity to do that, though, as Rafayel keeps dragging you back for another kiss, and another, and another. “My pearl,” he gasps against your lips, and you swallow the sound eagerly, lips moving against his like the tide crashing back into the shore. There is a loud crash as Rafayel moves backwards; you are momentarily distracted and look downwards to see the palette having strewn all its paint and contents all over the floor. In the heat of passion, you had completely forgotten your surroundings. “Whoops,” you murmur, not feeling sorry at all. It makes Rafayel burst into laughter, and for a moment, you are two idiots stumbling in the dark, two boats in a storm.

Holding on to another.

“It’s so typical of you to make a mess when I’m trying to be romantic,” he whines, becoming your unserious Rafayel again, love of your life Rafayel. You brush a lock of his storm-blue hair aside, and he tilts his head until his cheek is fitted against your palm. “You exist to sabotage me, admit it.”

“You admit something first.” Still love-drunk from the kiss, you swipe your thumb over his cheekbone, the touch electric. “When did you paint this? Do you really like me for as long as I have liked you? Because if I’m being honest, I’ve been having the most embarrassing crush for the longest time. Simone can tell you all about it.”

Rafayel dips his head, looking at you straight on. “You have no idea,” he tells you, entirely honest. He looks as if he can tell that your heart is racing, like he’s speaking the words into your veins, carried to your heart with the steady pump of your blood.

You step closer to him then, the need so primal you feel your entire body shivering. The urge is so tantalizing that you threaten to choke on it, succumb to the threat that Rafayel’s love poses. He is a walking siren song. “Help me understand then,” you whisper. “You’re always so chatty. Chat to me now.”

“But I’ve done all the talking, you know.” He pouts, the expression entirely bratty and so Rafayel-coded that you can’t help but giggle. The corners of his own mouth twitch, clearly pleased by the reaction, the sound the only symphony in his ears he likes to hear more than the swell of the ocean.

Your arms come to wrap around his neck, and you slot together like puzzle pieces, every rib fitting into the hollow of Rafayel’s chest. It feels like you are made for each other. You place your lips on Rafayel’s ears, your own only hearing the rush of the ocean, the sound of your blood racing. “Tell me, please, Raf,” you whisper. He shudders violenty, a reaction that reaches deeper than evolutionary instinct. His hands find their home on the dips of your curves, every finger digging in. “I want to hear about every single thing inside your head. Always.”

“You are unfair.”

You kiss the curve of his ear. “Of course I am. I’m the human that stole your heart.”

Rafayel’s lips are seized by a helpless smile, an expression you’ve never seen before. It’s almost as if he’s reminiscing about a secret that you don’t know, something that feathers along the edge of your memory. But he answers you nonetheless. “But there was no theft, my love,” he purrs. It’s the sound of pure, languid affection, the kind that wells up from the depths of one’s heart. “I’d give you my heart again and again and again. You can tease me all you like, but in truth, I’d sink to my knees whenever you’d like and worship you forever.”

Your lips part in astonishment. You don’t miss the way Rafayel’s eyes zero in on the reaction in hunger. “You were right, you shouldn’t talk,” you stutter then. “Your words are gonna go right to my head.”

“And it’s such a pretty head, too.” Rafayel’s lips begin to chase the soft slopes of your face, tracing a fiery path across your cheeks. It is unbelievable how such a simple act unravels you, how you are going to explode beneath the simple touch of Rafayel’s kiss. You almost preen beneath the ministrations. You angle your head to entangle him in a kiss, but this time, it’s him who moves before your lips can touch. “Let me prove it to you,” he whispers, the words itself as soft as a kiss. It’s a dangerous promise, an even more dangerous game. “Please, pretty girl, let me prove it to you, show you how much I adore you. I’m all yours. Let me show you, I beg you.”

You bite your lips. You’re pretty sure the bar is in hell, but this is the single most attractive thing a man has ever done for you. Here he stands, his heart on a silver platter presented to you, his entire being at your whim. You are heady with power, dizzy with the implications. But at the same time, you have never felt so safe. You are in the palm of Rafayel’s hands, safe and comfortable and oh, so loved. “Show me,” you tell him, biting your lip. “Please, Raf, show me.”

Those are the magic words. You didn’t even need to plead. Before a single ‘please’ has left your mouth, Rafayel’s lips once again crash into yours, and this time, he kisses you properly. His tongue, as commanding as his personality, tastes like a weirdly enticing combination of cherry coke and ocean salt; there is a loud, embarrassing squeak that escapes you when Rafayel’s teeth drag over your lower lip, but the sound quickly changes into a drawn-out moan when he gently sucks on it. He releases it with a groan of his own, and his eyes, like mirrors to his soul, reveal the depths of his hunger. “God, you have no idea what I’d do for you,” he gasps out, his brain working faster than his own mouth, the words hurtling from some part in his soul he has been jealously guarding. You are his only vulnerability, the only one. “What I have been looking for all my life. Light of my life, my love, my pearl. Need to show you.”

“Show me what?” You’re so drunk on his kisses, you’ve already forgotten what Rafayel requested from you in the first place. He tugs you in the direction of his bedroom, and you follow with a scary compliance. Maybe all those stories about the sailors drowning at sea had more than just a kernel of truth to them. Who wouldn’t throw themselves into the waves, for a chance to experience Rafayel’s experiences, even if it was only mere seconds? Your haziness chases you into the bedroom; your head is still spinning when he pulls you down into the luxurious bed you’ve always mocked him for. Suddenly, all that space begins to make a lot of sense. You spread out on the bed entirely too easily, unfolding beneath Rafayel like the blossom of a flower.

He sucks in his breath, his chest rising rapidly. Even though you are dizzy in your stupor, your brain still registers with a delight that it’s not alone in its sensation. You are doing this to him, you are undoing him just as much as he is you. The knowledge is so sweet that every inch of your body seems to sing. “Show you how much I love you,” he says. “Never gonna make you doubt me again. You’ll never think about anyone else after this. No one will ever love you like I do, I promise.”

The promise sounds entirely too harrowing for the romantic atmosphere you had been cultivating since the reveal of the painting in the studio. You almost sit up. Not too argue against him, but to question where the need for the promise came from; after all, you’d be just as ready to prove to him that no one in your life would ever come close to the reign he held over your heart. But then Rafayel bows over you, and you’re entirely engulfed by his shadow, and Rafayel’s hands are carving their way out to your abdomen.

It almost makes you shy. You’re not a blushing virgin, but you’ve never let anyone into your body in this way, not like this. You’re afraid that Rafayel’s gonna get inside and seize evey cell of your body for him, and he’ll settle in your bones and your marrow and your blood, and he’ll stay there forever. It’s a delicious fear, a kind of anticipation that makes you peer into the void, listen to its call. You want it so bad that your own fingers dig into the way-too-expensive fabric of Rafayel’s blankets, tearing, anchoring. Finally, finally, his lips kiss their way down the shape of your hip bones, chasing their way to the edge of your jeans. “May I, please?” He asks, his voice laced with desperation, the picture of a petitioner.

You look down at him, at this siren bewitching your body and spirit. Although he looks like something straight out of a pornographic movie, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything this beautiful. Rafayel was like the most ethereal pictures, his lovely features carved out with the tender carefulness that makes even stone seem soft. His eyes are hopeful, open, trusting. You are falling in love with someone more divine than your mortal mind could have ever conjured, your every dream come true. “You better,” comes the weak response from you.

It’s all the consent he needs. Rafayel all but tears the pants off of you, his hands chasing flesh, craving connection. “Thank God,” he moans, and you almost think he’s enjoying this just as much as you are, more than you are. You watch his own hips buck into the soft mattress, chasing the mock-sensation your pussy would offer him, and you clench your thighs so hard your kneecaps almost pulverize. He grinds into the blankets, the torment of his own desire seemingly making him delirious, but his touches are determined, measured. Your curves fit perfectly into his hands, the elegant painter fingers gripping into your ass to angle you to his liking. “I thought I’d die without ever tasting you again.”

Again? You repeat in your mind, thinking you misheard. But Rafayel doesn’t permit you to think. Another pull, another tug, and then his treacherous mouth is around your core, kissing you through the cotton, mouthing around the shape of your pussy. You cry out, more in surprise than pleasure, but that quickly changes when he begins to drag his tongue across your pussy in a long, languorous swipe that makes your insides twitch wantonly. “Get those panties off of me or so help me god, Rafayel,” you manage to push out between gritted teeth, your own hips flying up to chase his touch. His grip is unrelenting, pinning you back into the mattress. “Weren’t you gonna prove something to me?”

Rafayel’s answer comes in a purr. “Your wish is my command, beloved.”

He pulls your panties to the side in a swift motion, placing another kiss on your clit. “Fucking hell,” he seems to mutter in amazement, and you’re not sure you were supposed to hear that. A mere moment later, Rafayel digs in like a man starved, moments away from the death sentence. You are not just a death row meal: you are the entire five-star course. You cry out entirely too loud as Rafayel plunges his tongue into you, the flexing muscle angling up to trace the soft, sensitive spot you chase with your own fingers when pleasuring yourself. You have no idea how he knows that, but you have no time to ponder as his left hands begins to trace circles around your clit, bullying the bundle of nerves with the pencil-roughened pads off his fingers. “Raf, oh my god!” you gasp, the sound dragged out of you in the same steady rhythm as his tongue pumping into you.

“I’m your god,” comes the moaned response, the sound’s vibration making your insides twitch in response. His fingers don’t let up, the ministrations steady, slowly picking up in speed in tandem with the coil of pleasure tightening inside your belly. You are twisting like a snake, your body shortcircuiting. “Say it.”

“Rafayel.” You are suprised in the coherency you fathom in expressing his name; your mind is already blurring at the edge, falling apart in soft colors like the confetti inside a kaleidoscope. “You’re my god, Rafayel, mine all mine.”

“Yours,” Rafayel keens. You notice the admission make him almost feral; he immediately puts his mouth back to work, slurping your essence in the most obscene manner. You are way beyond proprieties, way beyond embarrassment. All you can hope for is that he catches you at the end of this, as he hurtles you past the point of no return, the death-drop on a scary rollercoaster. You almost scream his name when he sucks your clit into his mouth, nursing on the spot like he’s going to die from thirst. The flick of his thumb makes you come undone; you fall back into the mattress into oblivion, shaking out of existence as Rafayel’s skilled tongue continues teasing your slit until you push him away, over-sensitive. “Stop, stop, stop,” you chant, the words slurred around the mind-blowing effects of your orgasm. Your tongue is heavy, your throat scraped raw. Did you scream that loud? “Can’t, Raf, can’t anymore, stop. So sensitive.”

“But I wasn’t done,” he whines out. His fingers still chase after you, even after you hastily sit up, dragging your unwilling body up the bed. He crawls after you, looking deliciously pathetic, his stunningly beautiful face pulled into a heartbroken grimace, as if the world was going to end if he couldn’t keep you eating out. There’s an unmistakingly large tent inside his thousand-dollar-designer pants, one that makes your mouth run dry again with hunger.

Heavens have mercy, you’ve never wanted to suck someone off so bad. You wonder if his pretty eyes would roll back into his head if you took it deep enough into your throat.

You don’t get to fulfill that wish, though. Rafayel pounces on you almost immediately, your sight taken over by his beautiful face as he kneels over you. His hips knock aside your thighs, demanding entrance, and you open up to him too easily. “Wanna make you feel good,” he begs you, but you’re too distracted with how delicious his kiss-swollen lips look. You trace your thumb over his lower lip, watch him as his mouth chases to suck on it.

He almost gapes when you place your thumb into your own mouth, tasting yourself. If he didn’t look so fucking attractive like that, you’d have laughed.

“You’re killing me,” he admits. Despite how vulnerable that sounds, he doesn’t hesitates at tearing at your legs until you’re laying below him chest to chest, ignoring the way you squeak at being manhandled into position. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Now you laugh. “I have no idea what I’m doing. But I’m definitely not trying to kill the person I love.”

His face softens. It’s that expression you’ve begin to adore, categorized in your mind palace which is entirely dedicated to being a shrine for Rafayel. It doesn’t matter that he’s the one submitting to you at the moment, wrapping himself around your finger. It’s you who’d move all the seas in the world just to be with him. “I love you more,” he tells you, and he sounds earnest. “I love you so much more. Here, I’ll show you.”

The kiss he places on your lips is entirely too sweet for the debauchery his lower half is committing. While his teeth gently tug at your lips, begging for entry, his hips have begun to grind against your pussy. You mewl into the kiss, the sound quickly swallowed by Rafayel’s greedy tongue as he curls it around your own, tasting you, tasting him. There’s a string of saliva connecting your lip when he disentangles from you, and you’re too busy staring at it to notice the way he stares at you like you’re the single most important thing in his world.

He’d die a thousand times just to live through this night once more.

You’re only pulled out of your thoughts by the realization that Rafayel has begun tugging off his clothes. You quickly mirror him by shedding the last of your own, tugging aside all the fabric until you’re as bare before him as the day you’ve been born. You feel a little self-conscious, but to him, you must look glorious: this time, you visibly see the way his chest expands with the sheer joy, the admiration that drowns out all the color in his eyes. “Like what you see?” you tease him, but there’s an edge of nervousness tainting the words. You’re literally offering yourself up to him like a sacrificial bride.

“I adore you more than anything,” he answers, his voice reverent. His fingers shiver with tremors as they brush their way down the curves of your breast, enveloping your waist until you’re snug in his grip. It makes you blush; he’s looking at you as if he’s seizing up every detail so he can paint you anew, the devotion only a painter can muster up for a muse he loves. “This is the single greatest thing I have ever experienced.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You haven’t been inside of me yet.”

His eyes darken then, returning to their sinful mischievousness. “No, I haven’t,” he retorts, and then he pulls you towards him, the head of his cock nudging aside your labia, knocking at your entrance. You yelp, and he snickers like the bastard he is. “May I come in?”

“Fuck you,” you tell him, breathless. It was supposed to be a harmless insult, your usual banter with Rafayel that most often ends up in you guys thinking up the most creative “your momma” jokes until you guys dissolve in laughter.

This Rafayel doesn’t. “You should not have said that,” is the only warning you get, before Rafayel drags you down on his cock, sheathing you entirely on it. Your back arches off the bed as if your heart was trying to escape your chest; the intrusion is so sudden that the nerves in your brain spasm before you register there’s something kissing your cervix. Not possible, you think. Not fucking possible. He can’t be this big.

Oh. Oh.

Rafayel bundles you up in his arms and pulls back his hips just to snap back into you with the deadly precision of a predator who’s killing its’ prey. This time, you’re fully conscious of the scream you let out, your insides squeezing the living hell out of Rafayel’s dick in a desperate attempt to contain him. The only thing that amounts to is him being spurned on; you turn your head to the sound of Rafayel’s sinful moans flowing into your ear, tingling right down into your abdomen. “Rafayel, slow down”, you manage to squeeze out, but at the same time, you raise your hips to meet his every thrust, your eyelids fluttering at the same time as the rapid rhythm Rafayel sets as he pounds you into the mattress.

“What was that, my pearl?” Slap, slap, slap. The lewd noise of his Rafayel’s balls smacking against your entrance makes your toes curl in delicious pleasure, and you wind around in his hold, sobbing from how good he makes you feel. His cock cruelly bullies into you, your cervix screaming up through your nerves every time the circle of muscles makes contact with his cockhead. Your fingers claw at his back, desperate to steady themselves somewhere, anywhere. You barely even register the fact that there’s blood dripping from where your nails dig in; you’re too distracted by the fact that the pain you’re inflicting on him only seems to make him fuck you into the mattress harder. “You want me to go faster?”

“Can’t,” you wail, feeling incredulous by the fact that sex can illicit a response like this in you. You’ve severely underestimated how much everything changes when you do something with the person you love. “Can’t, Raf, it’s too much, too much.”

Rafayel’s only response is to ignore your begging. He frees a hand from where it’s digging into the mattress above of you to balance himself and cradles your face in it easily, angling your face up so you look at him straight-on. “Wish I could stop, my angel, but I’m obsessed with you. Need you to cum all over me, mark me as all yours so I can never run away again. Can you do that for me, sweet thing? Cum for me, please?”

“Raf,” you whine out, the tell-tale sign of your orgasm approaching muddling your mind again. How exactly does he expect you to form a coherent thought when he’s fucking you like it’s his last night on earth? Your fingers search for purpose, gripping into his shoulders, weaving a cradle around his neck. He bows then, kissing you like his life depends on it, never once stopping his rhythm of fucking into you. “Gonna cum.”

“You promise?” he whispers against the curve of your lips. He angled his head, instead kissing his way down your throat, swallowing the sound of your heartbeat screaming his name inside your veins. Every thrust claims your soul more and more, until you’re nothing more than a prisoner to his love. “Please, my seastar, I can’t fucking take it. Need to cum with you so bad.”

“Pleeeease.” The sound is a single cry, hollowing out your chest as you hug him closer. Rafayel bites into the soft flesh of your shoulder, and you interlock your legs behind his back, seeing white. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. His bite feels like the soft brush of a kiss, violence mingling with lust. “Come with me, Raf, I’m coming, coming, coming.”

Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. You arch off the mattress, weightless for a moment; Rafayel continues to fuck you through it, chasing his own release as the most lewd moans tumble from his lovely lips, which are probably going to haunt you and your daydreams forever. His semen mingles with your release, the messy sound making you hide your face in the hollow of his neck; you slap at Rafayel’s chest when he doesn’t relent, almost wailing when the pleasure gets too much. Your heart feels raw and cradled at the same time; Rafayel doesn’t pull out when he falls off from you, instead pulling your leg with him so that you’re locked in an embrace while you both lay there, panting like animals who’ve been chased. For a long time, no one says anything. There are no words for the way your souls have converged. You’re almost not sure whether what you did even can be called sex. But then you feel Rafayel’s cum drip out of you, and the blush that rises to your cheeks reassures you that yes, it still is sex.

Rafayel squeezes your hips, hugging you against him like someone would a teddybear. “I love you,” he drawls against your still naked skin, kissing the raw teeth marks he left behind on your shoulder. You sigh out, a sound of pure contentment. Your heart still feels like it’s on the tip of your tongue. “Love you more,” you tell him, but Rafayel, stubborn as always, shakes his head. He kisses you into silence, hands cradling your face gently as he angles you upwards to receive his kisses. “Never,” he murmurs into each one. You don’t argue with him. As the moonlight bears witness to the whispered love declarations you speak in the dark, the two of you curl around each other until you’re an indistinguishable tangle of limbs, cuddling into each other like cats bathing in the sunlight.

You fall asleep like that, head pillowed against Rafayel’s chest as he props you up against him. He continues to mumble compliments into your hair long after you’ve fallen asleep, thousands of words of adoration he’s had to keep to himself in the years that have passed waiting for you.

It’s finally his turn to become your worshipper. Finally, finally, Rafayel’s hearts soars with happiness again. The sea always returns what it takes. You have washed up on the shores of his life again, mate of his soul, love of his life. And this time, he’s never going to let you go.

[gavilarkholin-deactivated116710]

Assigning random fictional characters to orders of the Knights Radiant

My only rule is, they can't canonically have magical powers in their own universe, or else I'd try to assign them based on what magic powers they have. I want to do this based on their character development and the ideals of their Radiant order.

Penelope Alvarez from One Day at a Time - Windrunner

I love One Day at a Time, it's one of my comfort shows. And now that I think about it, Penelope is very similar to Kaladin. They're both veterans who work in healthcare and struggle with depression. Protecting her family and the people around her is one of Penelope's main motivations, and we see her really come into her own as a leader over the course of the series. TV mom of all time, honestly.

Nancy Wheeler from Stranger Things - Skybreaker

I'm not saying Nancy is a cop. Far from it. I think she is motivated by justice though. Nothing gets her going like seeing others being unfairly dealt with, whether it's her friend's death being covered up or a little old lady not being listened to. I will say that she is like the canon Skybreakers in that she has faith in the system and she generally tries to work within it. It's only when supernatural circumstances defy the way the system is supposed to work that she reaches for her gun.

Edward Teach from Our Flag Means Death - Dustbringer/Releaser

Blackbeard is why the Releaser oaths are so concerned with self mastery. He caused so much destruction even without having any magical powers, imagine if he could incinerate things with a touch. Despite all that, Ed refused to let himself directly kill anyone because of what murder has turned him into. His character development is about learning the self control required to create instead of destroy. Also, he totally dresses like an ashspren, they would see him as one of them.

Blanca Evangelista from Pose - Edgedancer

Another iconic TV mom. Caring for the forgotten is not only Blanca's entire thing - breaking off and starting her own house specifically for that purpose is literally the inciting incident of the whole show. Taking care of others is how she copes with the difficult circumstances of her own life, but her friends remind her to take care of herself as well. The actress who plays her - Michaela Jae Rodriguez - moves with a grace that perfectly suits an Edgedancer.

Elle Woods from Legally Blonde - Truthwatcher

I woke up this morning thinking, "Elle Woods would totally be a Truthwatcher," which is what inspired me to make this post. She learns to value scholarship, and she basically uses Progression on all the friends she makes over the course of the movie. Elle heals Paulette's self confidence by helping her realize her best self. She and Vivian help each other realize they both deserve better than Warner. And she speaks truth to power, whether it's to her bestie's shitty ex or her asshole of a professor.

Wirt from Over the Garden Wall - Lightweaver

Probably the easiest to assign an order to. Aside from having the dramatic tendencies and creative ability of most Lightweavers, Wirt definitely lies to himself and others a lot. The show is very focused on Wirt learning and speaking his truths. I also think having a Cryptic with him 24/7 would drive him up the wall in the most hilarious way.

Janine Teagues from Abbott Elementary - Elsecaller

I thought about making her an Edgedancer, I really did. The Edgedancer ideals are a big part of her motivation for getting into teaching. But her character development is headed more in the direction of self actualization. She doesn't only want to be a teacher, she wants to be the best teacher possible. Janine also has the cautious personality and logical problem-solving skills of an Elsecaller.

Prince Wilhelm from Young Royals - Willshaper

Because Wille is constantly surrounded by lies, my first thought was that he'd be a Lightweaver. But he doesn't have the temperament to be a good illusionist. His character arc is more about seeking freedom and self expression for himself as well as others. Okay, mainly for himself. He's just a kid, but now that he (spoilers!) has abdicated the throne he can totally rage against the machine.

Eleanor Shellstrop from The Good Place - Stoneward

Eleanor starts out as probably the worst candidate for a Stoneward you could imagine. Good thing her show is all about self development! Her friends really come to rely on her by the time season 4 rolls around. Her team becomes her main motivation, and she overcomes her defensive selfishness to connect with and be there for others. The one Stoneward quality she did have from the get-go would definitely be her stubbornness, though.

Leslie Knope from Parks & Rec - Bondsmith

Leslie is all about unity and bringing people together. Her personality alone is powerful enough to be a Bondsmith. I definitely think she could fight Dalinar and steal the Stormfather from him, don't you? Maybe it's a good thing she can't worldhop . . .

[gender-queeries]

So right now I have a main name or two, but im nomifluid and always looking for names lmao. I wont be too specific cuz i feel like thats rude 😭but im looking for names from these:

Culture wise: celtic/irish, germanic, slavic, american/british

Can also be straight made up lmao, i make up names all the time

Mythological: greek, celtic, slavic, germanic, cryptid/folklore

Any object/aesthetic name to do with weirdcore, cryptids, darkness/shadows, mushrooms, dreams, demons, angels, grunge/punk/goth

Any time period from now to literally the middle ages is fine lol

ILL TAKE ANY NAME FROM THESEEE it doesnt have to be a huge list either 😭😭😭

For the sign off ill do 🫧🍄

you didn't tell me whether you preferred feminine, masculine, or gender-neutral names, so i'll give you some of each!! i hope at least one of these speaks to you

(also i'm so sorry there are so many, i got carried away and did this for literal hours on end)

'Real' Names

Feminine:

Achlys - from Greek Mythology, means "mist" or "darkness", is said to be the name of one of the figures on Herakles' shield

Aisling (typically pronounced "ash-ling" or "ash-lin") - Irish, means "dream" or "vision". variations include Ashling, Aislin, Aislinn, and Aislynn

Aureole - English, means "radiant halo"

Ciara (typically pronounced "keer-ah") - Irish, feminine version of Ciar. variations include Kiera

Melanie - English, French, Latin, and Greek, the French form of the Latin name Melania, which was derived from the Greek word μέλαινα (melaina, means "black" or "dark"). variations include Melany

Michaela - English, feminine variant of Michael. variations include Makayla, Mckayla/McKayla, Mikayla, Michayla, and Mikhaila

Morrigan - Irish, means "demon queen" or "great queen", the name of a goddess of war and death in Celtic mythology

Naomh (typically pronounced "neeve") - Irish, means "holy". variations include Niamh and Nieve

Reverie - English, means "daydream"

Sanja - Slavic, means "to dream"

Sanjica - Slavic, diminutive of Sanja

Seraphina - English, derived from the biblical words seraphim (the name of an order of angels)

Masculine:

Asmodeus - of Biblical origin, means "wrath" and "demon", the name of a demon in the Book of Tobit. variations include Ashmedai, Asmodai, and Asmodaios

Ciar (typically pronounced "keer") - Irish, means "black", variations include Kier

Duff - Scottish or Irish surname, Anglicized spelling of the Gaelic word dubh (meaning "dark")

Erebus - from Greek mythology, means "nether darkness", was the personification of the "primordial darkness" in Greek mythology, variations include Erebos

Ingram - Germanic, composed of Germanic words angil or engil (see Engel) and hram (raven)

Kirk - English surname, derived from the Old Norse word kirkja (meaning "church")

Malachi - English & Hebrew, meaning "my messenger/angel". variations include Malakai

Michael - English, means "who is like God?", the name of an archangel

Naomhan (typically pronounced "neeve-in" or "nevv-in") - Irish, masculine version/diminutive of Naomh. variations include Niven and Nevan

Orpheus - from Greek mythology, likely means "the darkness of night", the name of a prominent figure in Greek mythology

Rocco - Germanic, possibly derived from the Germanic word hruoh (meaning "crow/rook"). variations include Rochus

Sanjin - Slavic, masculinized version of Sanja

Androgynous:

Angel - English, meaning is pretty self-explanatory

Ciaran (typically pronounced "keer-in" - Irish, diminutive of Ciar. variations include Kieran, Kieron, and Kyran

Engel - Germanic, originally associated with the Angles, but has since come to be closely associated with angels due to its similarity to the Old German word for angel, engil

Mikey - English, common nickname for Michael, sometimes used as a name on its own

Phoebe - English, the Latinized form of the Greek name Phoibe, meaning "bright" or "pure". Phoibe was also the name of a Titan from Greek mythology, who was associated with the moon

Raven - English, self-explanatory meaning

most of these names were found and/or defined using the Behind the Name website, which is a very helpful resource that i recommend to folks looking for names (for themselves, friends, and/or OCs)

Nouns and Made-up Names

Agaric - shortened form of the name of a large genus of fungi (Agaricus)

Amanita - the name of a large genus of toxic mushrooms

Caddy - a common nickname for the Cadborosaurus willsi, an old cryptid, said to be a sea serpent

Leed/Leeds - another name for the Jersey Devil, a well-known cryptid said to roam the South Jersey Pine Barrens

Willsi - the end of the name of the Cadborosaurus willsi (prev.)

Yarri - a common nickname for the Queensland Tiger, a cryptid said to roam the Queensland area of Australia

[kakivino]

Querciabella 2020 Chianti Classico

Proper barnyard intro, followed by black cherry, currants, violets, earth and soft wood tones. Medium-full, spicy and firm-ish on the palate, with darker core of ripe fruit, marked acidity and dusty tannins. Everything in place, just somewhat holding back and chalky in texture. Have enough Querciabella straight Chianti Classico under my belt to tell this is another ugly duckling. — ★★★½

Appellation: Chianti Classico Region: Chianti, Toscana, Italy Subzone: Greve, Lamole, Radda and Gaiole Cépage: 100% Sangiovese Abv: 14% Production: 170,000 Élevage: 12 months in French oak barriques and tonneaux (10% new), 3 months in bottle Distributor: Asiaeuro

Critic Reviews:

The 2020 Chianti Classico is bright, fresh and nicely lifted, with terrific precision and energy lending quite a bit of character. Bright red Sangiovese fruit, spice and a touch of blood orange are front and center. Even so, the 2020 appears to still be recovering from its bottling. That should not be an issue in another 6-12 months' time. This is the first vintage that includes fruit from parcel in Greve's Lamole district. Drink: 2024-2032. Antonio Galloni (Vinous, 06/2022) 92

The 2020 Chianti Classico is impressive and pure, with ripe black cherry, a hint of blue fruit, violets, and sweet herbs. It is medium to full-bodied, with supple fruit throughout, fine grained tannins, and a polished feel. It displays fresh acidity without any harsh edges, but it is mouthwatering and compels returning for more. This beautiful wine from Querciabella is drinking well now, and I imagine will continue to improve over the coming decade or more. Audrey Frick (Jeb Dunnuck, 01/2023) 93

Shows black cherry and plum fruit accented by orange peel, earth and spices. Delivers dusty tannins, which lend support as this firms up on the finish. Bruce Sanderson (Wine Spectator, 05/2023) 88

Lustrous mid ruby. Perfumed and concentrated on the nose and finely balanced on the palate. Lots of polished tannins and vibrant red fruit. Suave and long. Walter Speller (Jancis Robinson, 02/2023) 17.5

With an annual production of approximately 150,000 bottles, this is Querciabella’s calling card – and an impressive one at that. It also gives an incisive panoramic shot of the Chianti Classico region as it's a blend of estate vineyards in three different subzones. Bright and fresh, the 2020 annata emerges energetically out of the glass with exuberant and pure red cherry and currants. It gains intrigue with stylish touches of mocha, tarragon and truffles. It's full and vigorous yet light on its feet thanks to radiant acidity, while well-formed tannins lend just the right amount of chew. As suave as it is characterful. Michaela Morris (Decanter, 02/2023) 92

A delightfully tart nose is full of Rainier cherries and dried cranberries, with undertones of minerality and herbaceousness. The palate runs with the cherries and adds oranges to the mix, with a latent heat and a thrilling amount of acidity elevating a minty freshness through the finish. Danielle Callegari (Wine Enthusiast, 11/2023) 92

[dancingisdangerouss]

Hey babe, just stopping by to say that we all (but mostly I 🥰) love you and that your mental, physical and emotional health matter. You shouldn’t have to feel censored about speaking your mind, or feel like you’re being guilt-tripped about anything. The world is yours for the taking, and it doesn’t know how much of a goddess YOU are.

You’re a beautiful bad bitch. You’re strong, you’re gorgeous. You are so talented and I’ll kick anybody’s ass who says otherwise. Don’t lose faith in yourself or what you like. Your opinion matters. And remember, you’re a queen amongst an ignorant flock of peasants (anonymous haters, the usual trolls).

And if anyone calls you a bitch, just remember what Latrice Royale likes to say: “A bitch means Being In Total Control of Herself.” 😌✌🏻

You got this, sis! Hope you’re doing alright.

Love, your big tiddy goth best friend, Michaela 🦇

JDJKSKKSJFKARGGHH BESTIIIIIEE 🥺🥺🥺

Thank you so much my love, I’m doing my best!! I might kill my insides with junk food and energy drinks trying to get through it, but I’ve dealt with worse.

But yeah thank you babe 🥺 I feel bad about it, but I also follow fanfics that take a full month to update one chapter and haven’t abandoned them, so I’m hoping a few extra days won’t run anyone off. I just need some time to deal with personal stuff/be there for people who need me right now.

I LOVE YOU AND YOU ARE A RADIANT BEAUTY OF KINDNESS AND TALENT AND YOU DESERVE ONLY THE BEST IN LIFE 💚💚💚

[andrewmoocow]

Little Homeworld Life chapter 8: The Krav Maga Gem (originally published on October 3, 2022)

AN: We're getting pretty close to the end of the season here, everyone. Time flew by so fast now that I think about it. Guess that's what happens when you're a twenty-one-year-old college boy who feels like time keeps moving way too fast for his taste. And in addition, consider this a spiritual tie-in to the ever amazing Cobra Kai, and by extension The Karate Kid. Only this is about Krav Maga instead of karate, and there's no rival dojos to contend with, only just one rival that Teal Zircon accidentally gets way in over her head against. Now, if we have nothing else to discuss, let the challenge begin!

Synopsis: Vice-president Theresa Maxwell teaches Krav Maga to Teal Zircon.

Cast:

Amy Sedaris as Teal Zircon

Wendie Malick as Theresa Maxwell

Kimberly Brooks as Jasper

Estelle as Garnet

Michaela Dietz as Amethyst

Deedee Magno-Hall as Pearl

Jennifer Paz as Lapis

Shelby Rabara as Peridot

Uzo Aduba as Bismuth

Lin-Manuel Miranda as Eduardo Suarez

GZA as Wade Grant

Noël Wells as Black Rutile

Lauren Ash as White Topaz

Featuring Ralph Macchio as Master Dan

Sean Schemmel as Jotaro Kaminashi

Christopher Sabat as Seto Itadori

Stephanie Sheh as Ujibe

Tony Oliver as Spiker

Kaiji Tang as Larry

Hilary Swank as Young Theresa Maxwell

And William Zabka as Tourist

--

"You cannot defeat me, Jotaro Kaminashi!" the Iron Blazer Seto Itadori exclaimed as he and his rival Jotaro Kaminashi faced off in an epic martial arts tournament. "My weather magic level is over 9000!"

"It's true, you may have great power, but none compared to the power of friendship!" Jotaro replied bravely. "If it weren't for all of my friends that helped me get to this point, like Ujibe, Spiker, and Larry, I wouldn't be standing here today as your fierce opponent!"

"We love you, Jotaro!" Jotaro's primary female companion and love interest Ujibe cried out, her assets jiggling a little too much in her skimpy outfit.

"We're with you all the way!" Jotaro's childhood best friend Spiker added.

"You got this." Jotaro's incredibly manly mentor Larry said tersely with a thumbs up.

"Their love for me shall give me my strength!" Jotaro cried happily as he was bathed in a golden-brown aura. "Behold, my ultimate technique!"

"Is that so?" Seto smirked arrogantly as he powered up with an emerald-green aura. "Then check out my technique!"

"AUTUMN LEAVES BREATHING STYLE: RAKE FLECHETTE!" Jotaro screamed as the two rivals charged at each other before Jotaro launched a barrage of light construct knives.

"SPRING BREEZE OVERDRIVE: BUTTERFLY METAMORPHOSIS!" Seto bellowed as he formed a barrier around himself like a cocoon that broke apart to give him radiant butterfly wings.

--

"And yeah, that's Divine Fighters of Mother Nature." Lapis said as she introduced Teal Zircon to anime. "Which anime do you want me to show you next? Planet Chasers: Starlight Excellent is so addicting, you could watch it all day, every day."

"No, I wanna keep watching this!" Teal exclaimed as she became enraptured by the rivalry between Jotaro and Seto. "Man, this show is so exciting! The animation looks amazing, the music is killer, all the characters are so lovable in their own ways, and the fights! The fights!"

"Yeah, there's a reason why so many people call this one of the best shonen anime." Lapis smiled at Teal. "Glad to see you like it. Who's your favorite character?"

"I think I like Seto the most; he's just so cool!" Teal replied eagerly. "I want someone like him to be my rival! I want to become a butt-kicking fighter too!"

"You want a rival?" Lapis asked. "I'd like to see you last against one." Just then, her phone began ringing, and Lapis pulled it out to see the message she got. "Sorry, but I must go. The president is visiting today and wants to see all the Crystal Gems."

"Okay then, this arc is almost done anyways." Teal replied as she turned her attention back to the anime. "We're almost at the episode where the main villain Kurengo reveals himself to have been organizing the tournament this whole time! Oops, spoilers!"

"Naw, I've already seen this arc." Lapis responded. "No need to worry about spoiling." Before she could leave, however, the water Gem gave a foreboding warning to Teal. "Though I wouldn't get too attached to that cute referee girl if I were you."

"Somehow, I feel like that might be a bad thing." Teal nervously replied before turning back to the show.

--

"So then, I said, why the long face?" White Topaz joked to Jasper as they sat on a bench at Little Homeworld. "You get it, because horses have long faces?"

"You know, that honestly makes me think more about the anatomy of these horses." Jasper responded to her girlfriend's joke. "Why do they have such long faces? Is there some kind of evolutionary reason to it or something?"

"I don't think you're getting the joke." White Topaz bluntly declared before they heard a rustle in the bushes. "Hey, did you hear that?"

"Let me check." Jasper said before beginning to investigate the bush where the couple had heard rustling. To her surprise, there was nothing there. "Hmph, guess it must've been the wind or something." She muttered in realization before turning away. "So anyways-"

"HYAAAHH!" Teal Zircon let out a loud Kiai as she leaped out of the trees while dressed as a ninja in garish colors. "Jasper, I have come to challenge you!"

"Uh, can I help you, Teal?" Jasper asked, completely taken aback by the Zircon's change in personality.

"Nice getup, TZ!" White Topaz complemented Teal's goofy attire.

"Weren't you going to break our bond?! Jasper?!" Teal theatrically asked Jasper, making the latter even more confused.

"I feel like I'm missing something here," Jasper wondered. "But judging by your attire, I assume you wish to challenge me."

"Yes, I must defeat you, for you are my rival and the one thing keeping me from becoming the president of the ninjas!" Teal exclaimed as she produced a kunai from her sleeve. "Now come and face me, and let us decide if our insurmountable tension means we're actually in love with each other!"

"Have you been watching anime with Lapis lately?" Paz asked Teal. "I feel like some of those shonens are getting to your head."

"The only thing in my head is the drive to win!" Teal exclaimed as she pulled out an MP3 player to play a poorly dubbed anime opening for her fight with Jasper.

"DRIVE TO WIN! DRIVE TO WIN!" the player yelled as Teal struck a pose and beckoned Jasper to bring it on. "THE ONLY THING IN MY HEAD IS THE DRIVE TO WIN!"

"This should be good for a laugh." Jasper rolled her eyes and charged at Teal. "RAAAARGH!"

"I have been training all my life, yes, all my life! All that time I spent was for the purpose to FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!" Teal's player continued singing in a ridiculous accent as Jasper started running circles around her opponent, not even bothering to land a real hit on Teal as a way of humoring the Zircon. "If you want power, say it with me now! All you gotta do is eat RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT! Always have a good meal three times a day; that will give you the DRIVE TO WIN!"

"Do you even wanna fight?!" Teal yelled as she tried to keep Jasper on her toes, despite the quartz's lack of interest in their battle. "It's like you don't even care that the fate of the planet is at stake!"

"You've been watching too much TV." Jasper smirked in response. "But if you want to fight, then allow me to give it my all."

"About time, too!" Teal smirked and conjured up an energy ball in her hand. "FAMILY JEWEL FLASH!" Unfortunately, Jasper punched her square in the face before she could launch the attack and sent her flying to the ground. "I have seen raccoons and oysters dancing in the head of a pin with the angels." TZ babbled in a daze. "They are laughing!"

"Geez, Jasp, you didn't need to hit her that hard." White Topaz said as she helped Teal up.

"Hard? I was going easy on her!" Jasper exclaimed as she marched over to TZ. "Look, Teal, you may think I was being harsh, but your spirit and determination honestly made me think you have potential." She said to her fallen opponent. "The only problem is that you're way over your head way too often. Try and fix that, and we'll have a rematch, okay?"

"You're right!" Teal declared. "I need proper training; I need a training arc!" That was when she got an idea. "I need to find the Gems! Lapis said they were meeting with the president, right?"

"Yeah, I think I heard they were gathering at the temple in Beach City." Jasper answered, but she didn't even have time to finish before Teal raced towards the local Warp Pad to the beach house. "Hey, if you want a rematch later, you know where to find me!" she hollered at the Zircon.

--

"Now, you may wonder why we have brought you together today." President Eduardo Suarez said to the Crystal Gems as he, his vice president Theresa Maxwell, and the major general Wade Grant sat down with the Gems at the beach house. "Well, it's to discuss your celebrity status."

"Despite all the good you've done and the praise we've showered you with, it seems you got yourselves a few detractors that believe Black Rutile was actually innocent and deserves better." Theresa said while pulling out her phone to show the Crystal Gems the various uses of #BlackRutileWasRight on social media. "Though thankfully, it's mostly used by incels, conservatives, homophobes, skinheads, conspiracy theorists, users utilizing the tag to fantasize about their favorite Korean boy bands, etc."

"Oh yeah, I think I've seen one of those incels before." Amethyst said. "Some misogynist loser named Andre Kate who's been making a name for himself for his videos about how much he hates women."

"Honestly, how can anyone take him seriously?" Pearl sighed in disgust at the man Amethyst had just described.

"I think we should be more concerned about this." Garnet forebodingly proclaimed.

"No need to worry, Garnet." Wade assured the fusion while gently stroking both Cat Steven and Lion. "At the moment, they don't mean any long-term harm, just cancel culture at work here. I mean, it's not like they're going to form an army against you, right?"

"We already have to deal with Black Rutile and the Gems who agreed with her." Bismuth responded. "But humans who agree with her?! That's a whole different ballpark entirely!"

"I'm gonna have to agree with Bismuth on this one." Lapis added. "Who knows what these mindless sheep can do when they're all brought together?!"

"Probably some obnoxious complaining." Peridot smirked deviously. "Let's be real, it's the Internet! They'll always submit to whoever has the most amount of followers."

"You are indeed correct." Eduardo agreed with the little green Gem just as the Warp Pad hummed, and from the beam of light came a panicky Teal Zircon.

"Oh, Teal, what brings you here?" Lapis asked Teal.

"GUYS, I TRIED CHALLENGING JASPER TO A FIGHT, BUT I GOT UTTERLY WASTED, AND NOW I FEEL LIKE SHE WANTS A REMATCH!" Teal screamed loud enough to blow everyone's hair back. "WHICH ONE OF YOU CAN TRAIN ME TO BE A COOL ANIME MARTIAL ARTIST?!"

"Calm down, Teal, it'll be okay." Garnet settled the Zircon's anxieties with just a hand on her shoulder as TZ gazed into Garnet's visor. "If you'd like, I can give you a few instructions on how to fight."

"No need, Garnet." Theresa laughed with a snort as she got up and put a hand on Teal's shoulder. "What's your name, junior, Teal? Nice name. It really fits your color. Well, allow me to be your combat instructor!"

"You, my master?" Teal tilted her head in confusion. "But you look like a cool, funny businesslady, not a fighter."

"That's where you're wrong!" Theresa smirked with pride. "I'm not just a vice president of the United States; I'm also a black belt in Krav Maga from my years studying abroad when I was but a wee spunky college girl."

"That reminds me, you still owe me a sparring match!" Amethyst replied to Theresa.

"Oh, don't worry, little grape, you'll get your chance soon." Theresa smirked at the overcooked Gem with doe eyes before turning back to Teal. "So, whaddya say? Wanna come with me back to my place in DC to train with me?"

"Are you kidding me?! I'm in!" Teal replied eagerly at the prospect of training with an experienced fighter. "When do we start?!"

"Now, Teal, promise us that you'll behave yourself with Ms. Maxwell." Garnet ordered Teal. "She's the vice president and your mentor, so it's best to treat her as she would treat you."

"Yeah, you're lucky!" Amethyst added.

"Have fun, you two!" Pearl agreed. "And Theresa, try to keep an eye on Teal too. She can get very excitable and a little easily distracted."

"Oh, stuff and nonsense!" Teal scoffed at Pearl. "I have an excellent-" She was then interrupted by a wayward fly buzzing around her face. "Oh, look at that."

--

Once the meeting between the president and the Gems concluded, Teal Zircon was on her way to Number One Observatory Circle in Washington DC, where Theresa lived as part of her duties as vice president of the USA. It is also where Teal would be living as part of her Krav Maga training. Needless to say, Teal was absolutely excited to come along.

"So, do you live here all by yourself?" Teal asked as Theresa welcomed the Gem into her home. "I thought most vice presidents were married."

"Eh, didn't have enough time to get hitched, kid." Theresa answered. "Which means I get this whole house to myself! Aside from my own staff to keep the place running, of course."

"Lucky you!" Teal replied while bouncing up and down. "So when do we start training?"

"Just give me some time to freshen up and change before we begin." Theresa answered as she undid her hair and walked away. "Make yourself at home in the meantime."

"Okay!" Teal obeyed and sat down at a nearby chair, looking for something to do. All around her were various memorabilia dedicated to Theresa's achievements throughout her life, both before and after she became vice president. Spelling bee trophies, high school and college diplomas, world records broken, modeling for magazine covers, it seemed to Teal that her new mentor had enough stories to tell to last her ages.

"Alright, kiddo, I'm back." Theresa announced while walking back to her new pupil; her pantsuit now exchanged for a standard Krav Maga uniform. "Now, a few ground rules for Krav Maga. This martial art is about being aggressive, efficient, and above all else, being the last one standing. In Layman's terms, strike first, strike hard, no mercy, as a wise man once said."

"So this isn't anything like karate or kung-fu, then?" Teal asked.

"Far from it, starry eyes!" Theresa exclaimed. "Heck, some of the moves you'd learn would get you kicked out of an average martial arts contest! You said you wanted to be cool? Well, this will make you cool!"

"Well, what are we waiting for?!" Teal cheered impatiently. "Let's hit each other!"

"If you say so." Theresa declared and spread out her arms. "Hit me." Teal did just that and punched her in the chest. "Ooh, really strong! Hit me again!" The Zircon did as she was told by hitting Theresa in the chest again. "Okay, one more time!"

"I'm getting pumped up already!" Teal excitedly said as she kept punching Theresa. "What do I do next, master?!"

"Good to see you're getting into the swing of things, kiddo!" Theresa grinned before handing the Zircon a sponge, a bucket of water, and some wax. "Gonna need you to wax the car for me. You can't miss it; it's the fancy one out front!"

"She's a Buick!" TZ complimented the vice president's maroon-red automobile.

"A Bel-Air Prince 1990, actually." Theresa responded. "Won it at an auction against Will Smith back in 2014. Yes, that Will Smith."

--

Moments later, TZ was working hard on waxing the Bel-Air Prince, still wearing her Krav Maga uniform while Theresa changed into a casual T-shirt and shorts and was drinking some pop.

"Keep it coming, squirt!" Theresa urged TZ to keep working while taking another sip of soda. "And remember, wax on, wax off!"

"Is this part of my training?" Teal asked her mentor. "Will this help me with strength and muscle memory?"

"That's for you to decide." Theresa replied grinningly. "That reminds me, I've got some more things for you to do."

--

The next task Teal was ordered to do was to help Theresa with her laundry for the day, sticking various suits, shirts, pants, and other assorted clothing items into the many washing machines lined the basement walls.

"Hey, has anyone ever stuffed themselves into one of these before?" Teal asked after loading some clothes into one of the washers and closing the door. "Bet you a dollar that you can do it!"

"Oh please, I'm not that stupid!" Theresa scoffed with a snort. "Plus, I'm way too big to fit in one of those. But I bet you can, though!"

"Oh, you're on!" Teal dared as she shoved herself into a nearby machine. "Now wash me up, sista!" Theresa grinned as she turned the machine on, taking the Gem for a sopping wet ride as she was sent tumbling around the washer. "WHOOOO!"

"Just tell me when to stop, Teal; we got more work to do." Theresa called from outside as Teal continued tumbling and started getting wet.

"Ooh, I bet it's more training disguised as chores!" Teal exclaimed, though Theresa could barely hear her from outside the machine since it was starting to fill up with water. "I wonder what I'll do next!"

--

Soon after, Teal and Theresa were hitting the pool after the fun they had in the laundry room came to an unfortunate end. While Theresa was catching some rays in a yellow designer bikini that revealed her amazing curves, Teal, on the other hand, was turned into a makeshift pool-Gem who scooped debris out of the water.

"So what's this for, hand-eye coordination?" TZ asked as she fished out leaves, sticks, dead bugs, and other gross things from the ordinarily pristine pool. "Because I'm not sure if I like this. Everything in here is so grody!"

"Hey, gotta make tough choices for good reasons!" Vice President Maxwell replied as she took a sip of her drink. "Maybe later. Can you be a doll and give me some sunscreen? Summer's winding to a close, and I want to get every bit of sun I can still absorb!" Teal frowned in resignation as she started getting suspicious of her mentor's true motives.

--

Eventually, the afternoon turned into evening, which meant it was time for dinner at Washington. And of course, Teal was tasked with making the night's meal for her and Theresa to eat. While chopping up vegetables, Teal was greeted by more vegetables being tossed at her, and she cut them up with extreme precision. "Nice throw there, but what was that for?"

"If you can dodge a tomato, you can dodge a big, orange Amazon!" Theresa declared as she prepared another veggie to throw. "So, how's that Greek salad coming along?"

"I'm not even sure what I'm doing here." TZ replied, gazing down at her attempt at dinner, which looked like stuff she haphazardly threw together and nearly burnt to a crisp. "Uh, you want something microwaved instead?"

"Eh, accidents happen, buddy." Theresa remarked at Teal's failed Greek salad. "You up for frozen mac and cheese?"

"Oh, heck yeah!" Teal answered excitedly, glad to sit down to dinner at last with her master.

--

Once dinner wrapped up, Theresa felt like taking a shower and invited Teal to join her. Under the belief that she would do more chores for the vice president, Teal readily accepted and was positively enamored with how opulent she discovered the bathroom to be.

"Zoo-wee-mama, this place is huge!" TZ gasped in awe as Theresa stepped into the shower. "You must be super lucky to have a place like this!"

"Why, thank you." Theresa smirked as she peeked her head out of the shower. "Now, would you be a doll and help me in here? I got some parts on my back that I just can't reach. My old lady arms can only stretch so far."

"You got it, hoss!" Teal willingly complied with a stuck-out tongue and quickly joined her teacher in the shower to help wash her back. "So what's this for, knowing which weak points to exploit on your enemy?"

"Uh, sure? Why not?" Theresa laughed nervously as she scrubbed her hair with shampoo, making Teal more suspicious as she continued with the vice president's back.

--

The following day, there were more chores for Teal Zircon to do, which she still assumed to be part of her Krav Maga training, though now she was slowly starting to get wise to the fact that Theresa was possibly using her. This time, she was told to tend to the garden room by watering flowers, throwing out dead flowers that have long since worn out their welcome, and helping new ones grow in the proper conditions.

"Ooh, these are some pretty rare ones you got here." Teal complimented Theresa's assortment of flowers. "Ooh, are these blue puyas you got here?!"

"Yeah, actually had to go out to Chile to find these bad boys." Theresa replied. "How do you know about these?"

"I take horticulture classes with Peridot. It comes with the territory." TZ answered while watering the blue puyas, noticing some jade vines hanging nearby. "And those have got to be jade vines! You're quite the explorer, aren't you?"

"Thanks for noticing, sport!" Theresa accepted the compliment with a smile. "I'm a real Poison Ivy here. Not the plant, in case you're wondering."

"Thank the stars." Teal began laughing at Theresa's declaration, but despite her reverie, she knew at some point she needed to ask the master she's had since yesterday about her motives.

--

Though Teal had fun spending time with Theresa and doing chores together, there had to come to a point where she needed to put her foot down and demand some real Krav Maga training, which came in the form of being told to take out the garbage.

"Wait, you want me to throw out HOW MUCH?!" Teal yelled as she gazed upon the massive amounts of trash piled up before her and Theresa.

"Come on, Teal, you Gems are strong; you can take it!" Theresa replied, unaware that it was time for Teal to stop playing along and say her peace.

"Okay, I think I've just about had enough time before I wanted to ask this." Teal declared as she turned to Theresa. "Are you sure this is real Krav Maga training, or are you just forcing me to do all your chores for you?"

"Took you long enough to ask that, huh?" Theresa frowned with a cross of her arms. "Well, to be honest, yeah. I was training you this whole time, but I also needed someone to do all the heavy lifting since I gave the staff time off for a bit and somebody had to fill in. And coincidentally, you were just the one to do it!"

"So all this time, I was never training to fire giant lasers from my hands, stretch my body like rubber, summon a ghost to do my fighting for me, turn into a living weapon, and all that cool anime stuff?" Teal asked, utterly disappointed by the answer she got when Theresa put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You still think martial arts is all cool anime stuff?" Theresa wondered soothingly. "It's adorable how people keep thinking everything they see on TV is real. But no, martial arts is more about learning to fight back, feeling more confident in yourself, and gaining some self-discipline too." She then started to get a little nostalgic. "In fact, you kinda remind me of me when I first started training."

"Ooh, are you going to tell me a backstory?!" Teal asked excitedly.

"You bet, and it's a long and awesome story too." Theresa responded as she began to tell her tale. "Got any gum? Anyways, it all started when I was a rowdy college kid a few decades ago."

--

Many years ago, during the 1990s, future vice president Theresa Maxwell was a spunky, tomboyish college student from Empire City studying at Empire State University who decided to travel abroad for the first semester of her senior year. She chose to study in Israel for her political science major and lived with a friendly nuclear Jewish family during her time there, but a trip to the market would soon change Maxwell's life forever.

"Thank you for your time, miss." A shopkeeper thanked Theresa as she walked away with some bread she had purchased from him.

"You're welcome!" the young college girl responded as she moved her way through tons of shopping Jews and Muslims crowded around her, restricting her free range of movement. "Hey, uh, can you all please move out of the way? I have to get home to my host family." Just then, however, she saw a pack of thugs menacing an old man nearby, and she felt it necessary to stand up for the senior citizen. "Hey, get away from him, you guys! You should respect your elders!"

"Hey, who gave you the right to boss us around, white girl?!" the leader of a bunch of snobby tourists yelled at Theresa. "I mean, it's not like you're the president, and it's now illegal for us to ask for directions!"

"Actually, I'm majoring in political science, so maybe I could become president." The future vice president smirked. "And I don't care if you were just asking for directions; there's no need to gang up on the elderly like that!"

The leader of the muggers smirked. "Okay, you asked for it." He snapped his fingers, cuing his two cronies to start ganging up on the college student, who had now just realized she had made a huge mistake.

"Uh, I surrender?" Theresa squeaked and pretended to wave a white flag before the two muggers started beating her up, giving the girl no chance to try and fight back.

"Wait, leave her alone!" the old man exclaimed before the leading tourist stopped him.

"We only wanted to ask for directions to the nearest church!" the tourist yelled at the geezer. "This all could've been avoided if you just listened to us!"

"Okay, it's down the street, and to your right, just let her go!" the old man hurriedly exclaimed, and with another snap of the tourist's fingers, his two cronies stopped torturing Theresa.

"Thank you for your time, good sir." The lead tourist grinned as he and his followers left the old man and the unconscious Theresa behind. "Friggin' foreigners."

"Oy gevalt, tourists." The old man shook his head in disgust before looking down at the comatose political science major at his feet. "Come, young lady, you need to rest." Scooping the girl in his arms, the elder carried her away from the market back to his home.

--

"Mmm, Day of Unity, Raine, human junk." Theresa muttered about an hour later as she rolled around before jolting awake. "Whoa, girls, you would not believe the dream I had!" she exclaimed like she was talking to her dormmates back in America. "I was a witch in this hellhole of an alternate dimension with a human apprentice, a bratty little demon son, and a crush on this cute band geek; I had a sister who cursed me to turn into a monster, and this creepy fascist Puritan wanted to kill us all!" As Theresa regained consciousness, she realized she wasn't in her dorm room with her three female roommates anymore. "Wait, this isn't Empire State."

"Hey you, you're finally awake." The old man from earlier said as he made his guest a light meal to recuperate with. "First of all, thank you for trying to help me out against those tourists. Americans, am I right?" Theresa just glared at him. "Oh, my mistake. And second, welcome to my home. What's your name, my dear?"

"Theresa Maxwell." Theresa introduced herself as she got off the bed the old man had placed her unconscious body on and received her meal. "I'm an Empire State University student studying political science and visiting here for the semester. I got three roommates back in the USA waiting for me named Carolyn, Victoria, and Lilith. What's your name, stranger?"

"My name is of no importance, Theresa." The old man answered. "But if you want, you can call me Dan."

"Okay, Dan." Theresa responded as she sat down to eat. "Why did you save me back there? I mean, I'm just as basic a college girl as you can get."

"Because regardless of your status, I can see you have a good heart and a desire to protect others." Dan responded while tracing a heart shape on Theresa's chest. "However, you can sometimes get in over your head and get yourself into trouble. However, some say that the path to peace begins with a friendly ear. You said you're studying political science, right? Do you intend to use that knowledge to help the less fortunate?"

"You bet I do!" Theresa exclaimed while slamming her hands on the table. "I dream of working for the government not because I'm some power-hungry lunatic who'll make the world worse than it already is, but because I want to make people feel good. And seeing everyone feel good just makes me feel good too!"

"There's that good heart I noticed." Dan beamed warmly. "Perhaps I can help you learn how to defend others and especially yourself better. Have you ever heard of Krav Maga?"

"What is that, some kind of weapon?" Theresa asked curiously.

"No, it is a form of martial art that I learned from my days in the Suez Crisis." Dan explained. "It is all about being aggressive, efficient, and above all else, being the last one standing. Or as I put it, strike first, strike hard, no mercy."

"Hey, just like in that movie!" Theresa's eyes lit up in awe upon hearing of Krav Maga for the first time. "You know, you're starting to remind me of that handyman guy."

"Is that so?" Dan smirked as he got up. "Well, let me show you how that handyman pales compared to me." He suddenly leaped into the air and dove down to grab Theresa by the neck, forcing her into a chokehold. "This is exactly what I spoke of! Strike first, strike hard, no mercy!"

"I see your point!" Theresa gasped for air while trying to free herself from the old master's grasp. "So, you gonna train me or what?!"

"Of course." Dan smiled and finally let his new student go.

For the remainder of Theresa's semester in Israel, she balanced her studying and spending time with her host family with rigorous Krav Maga training under Master Dan. He had set some decently high expectations for his new pupil. Theresa worked diligently to meet those expectations, but no matter how much she tried, there were many obstacles that she kept stumbling over.

"Theresa, quit laying around and get back to work!" Dan yelled and whapped Theresa with a stick. "I swear, I expected better from you, young lady!"

"I'm sorry, sir, I expected better of myself as well!" Theresa replied with a nervous bow. "It's just so draining to try being perfect all the time, but I can't stop making mistakes."

"Then make as many mistakes as you'd like." Dan advised. "For they are opportunities to learn. For example, you keep making the mistake of slacking off, yet that could also be a lesson about learning to be attentive to your surroundings."

That day, Theresa took those words to heart for the rest of her training with Dan, using them to master her reflexes and timing when it comes to disarming opponents at the flick of the wrist. However, like most things, her training had to come to an end when the semester ended, and she had to return to the States.

--

"Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Apu. Thank you for taking me in." Theresa began saying goodbye to her host family at the airport. "Goodbye, Iman and Kam. You were like the little brother and sister I never had."

"Uh, Theresa, I think there's someone else here to see you." Mr. Apu said as he noticed Master Dan approaching Theresa.

"He's standing right behind me, right?" Theresa asked rhetorically.

"Actually, I'm right next to you." Dan chuckled sneakily as he made Theresa jump in surprise. "Though it's a shame our time ran short, and you have to return to America, I will always remember the time we spent together, my girl. Good luck with your major, and be sure to remember me when you become president or something."

"Actually, I'm thinking more vice president, but yeah, me too." Theresa smiled sweetly as she gave her Krav Maga master one last hug goodbye. "Man, I can't wait to tell the girls back home about my time here!"

"Oh, and one more thing." Dan said before he reached behind his back and presented his student with a yellow Krav Maga belt. "For you, as a reminder of how far you've come. Maybe someday you can even become a black belt."

"You can bet on that." Theresa snorted as she stashed the belt in her backpack before remembering the time. "Oh, cheese and crackers, my flight's almost ready to take off! Gotta run!" She immediately raced off to catch her flight in time, hurriedly waving goodbye to her Israelian friends as she ran.

--

"Okay, this is a pretty nice story, but what does this have to do with my training?" Teal asked as Theresa finished her story.

"Well, to be frank, I just felt like telling that story, hoping I'd pass old Dan's lessons onto someone else." Theresa proclaimed. "But my point stands. I was a lot like you when I started my training. I thought I could talk big when I just got in way over my head. Maybe after hearing all that, we could start some real training."

"Finally!" Teal cheered. "Hey, can we do a few rounds on the trash first since we still have that to do?"

"Sure, go ahead." Theresa agreed, and the two got into a fighting stance to take on the massive amounts of trash together. It was here where Teal got the proper Krav Maga training she wanted all along, utilizing what she did in the chores Theresa made her do and mixing them with what Theresa was teaching her now. Before Teal knew it, she felt like she was ready to face Jasper in an epic rematch.

--

"You feel ready for this, Teal?" Theresa asked Teal Zircon as the two were driven back to Little Homeworld in a presidential limousine. "You sure you don't wanna go back and do a few more warmups?"

"No, I'm ready. No need to worry so much." Teal answered resolutely as the limo got closer to Little Homeworld. "All I need is all you've trained me to do and my drive to win."

"Miss Maxwell, we have arrived." The driver announced as Teal looked around the car windows to discover numerous Gems gathering around the vehicle in awe. "And Miss Zircon, happy fighting."

"Well, this is it." Teal smiled at her master as she prepared to get out of the car. "Wish me luck."

"You got this, sweetheart." Theresa smiled back as Teal stepped out of the limo and immediately made herself known.

"JASPER! I AM HERE!" Teal roared for her rival, taking the crowd aback. "JASPER, FACE ME!"

"Is that Teal?" Pearl whispered to the other Crystal Gems. "What has she been up to with Theresa?"

"I like this new Teal!" Amethyst exclaimed in delight.

"Hopefully, this won't end up like last time." Garnet responded.

"Jasper, do you fear me?!" Teal kept asking Jasper to show herself, but she still got no answer.

"Is Jasper keeping us waiting for dramatic effect, or is she just not going to show up?" Lapis wondered as the Gems got more and more impatient.

"Come on! Somebody throw a punch already!" Peridot yelled before they noticed a shadow flying overhead.

"Hey, is that-" Bismuth began when White Topaz cut her off.

"It is!" White Topaz exclaimed before Jasper landed on the ground, creating a small crater beneath her feet.

"I am here!" Jasper boomed as she prepared for her long-awaited rematch. "Took you long enough to come crawling back. And I hear you got a little training in too."

"Just like you wanted, you big orange Amazon." Teal responded while clenching her fists and putting up her dukes. "It's clobbering time!"

"Now we're talking." Jasper beckoned Teal to come and get her as the epic showdown began.

"Round one, begin!" Theresa's driver yelled to commence the battle. Teal made the first move, pouncing straight at Jasper and clawing at her face. Jasper retaliated by snatching Teal by the waist and smashing her to the ground, surprising their audience.

"Whoa, right off the bat, neither of them is showing a shred of mercy!" Amethyst commentated on the match. "But it looks like Teal might have a bit of an edge on her!"

"Goongala, goongala!" Teal chanted as she got up and pulled on Jasper's hair before spinning her around. "GOONGALA!" She then threw Jasper into the air, causing the quartz to crash into the whirly-bird tower, but Jasper managed to bounce back and tackle Teal to the ground, sealing her victory.

"Round one, Jasper wins!" the driver yelled. "Now, round two! Begin!"

"Don't get too cocky!" Teal declared before she gave Jasper a mean headbutt that rendered her temporarily incapacitated, allowing the Zircon enough time to regain her bearings as Jasper shook her head. "Come at me, bro!"

"I have to admit; we certainly are evenly matched." Jasper grimaced. "But you just trained with a human for only a day. I, on the other hand, have been fighting since the day I was created, and I've forever known what you fail to understand! STRENGTH ALWAYS PREVAILS!"

"Teal, look out!" Theresa yelled for Teal, but she was too late. Jasper summoned her crash helmet and rammed straight into the Zircon from behind. One wrong move, and Teal would've been poofed on the spot. Instead, Jasper merely smashed her to the ground again.

"Round two, Jasper wins!" the driver yelled again. "Final round, begin!"

"So, are you ready to give up yet, TZ?" Jasper growled while grabbing Teal by her collar. "Or do you still have that drive to win, as you call it?" Teal did not answer, instead wearily looking towards the worried Theresa Maxwell and giving her a soft grin. "WIPE THAT GRIN OFF YOUR FACE!"

"Someone, play my song." Teal croaked out a request. White Topaz's eyebrows perked up, and she immediately pulled out her phone, somehow knowing just which song the Zircon her girlfriend was fighting wanted.

"DRIVE TO WIN! DRIVE TO WIN!" the phone began blaring. "THE ONLY THING IN MY HEAD IS THE DRIVE TO WIN!"

"Wait, is that-" Jasper wondered before she was grabbed by the neck, and her face soon wiped the ground.

"Wax on, wax off!" Teal yelled as the song continued. "Wash cycle!" She then hoisted Jasper into the air and started spinning her in the air.

"I have been training all my life, yes, all my life! All that time I spent was for the purpose to FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!" the phone kept singing as Teal started jabbing Jasper in the eyes while crying out "POOL BOY!"

"Where did this come from?!" Jasper yelled at the sheer ridiculousness of the names for Teal's moves as she was chopped in the face, followed by being stomped in the back.

"She's really learned." Theresa beamed with pride as Teal went for the finishing blow.

"If you want power, say it with me now! All you gotta do is eat RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT! Always have a good meal three times a day, that will give you the DRIVE TO WIN!" The song finished just as Teal tossed Jasper into the air, grabbed her mid-descent, and spun around while slamming Jasper facefirst into the ground.

"ROUND THREE, TEAL ZIRCON WINS!" the driver declared, sealing Teal's victory as the other Gems celebrated their friend's victory.

"I have to admit; you really were unpredictable in that last round." Jasper coughed while getting up and brushing herself clean. "Maybe you are a good fighter after all."

"Hey, you weren't so bad yourself, y'know." Teal responded as the two bowed with respect to each other.

"Hm, for someone so simple-minded, she's quite strong and charismatic." Black Rutile mused to herself as she blended in with the jubilant Gems. "That Zircon could be very useful to have on my side." Without anyone else noticing, Black Rutile seemingly vanished into thin air.

--

Later that day, as the celebrations finally ended and everyone returned to their regular routines, it was time for Theresa to leave her student behind so she could return to Washington. "I have to admit, kid, you really took me by surprise there."

"You said it." Jasper smirked at the vice president. "Who knew humans could be so skilled?"

"It was very nice of you to take Teal in so she can learn to defend herself better." Garnet thanked Theresa. "While she was pretty capable on the battlefield in the Rebellion, it was mostly thanks to her illusions that she was able to keep herself from getting shattered."

"Wait, illusions?" Theresa asked. "How come I never knew about that? And how is that possible?"

"Oh, it's just something I can use thanks to this bracelet I keep hidden under my sleeve." Teal stated as she pulled back her sleeve to reveal a dark green-colored bracelet with a blue gem decorating it. "Wanna see what it can do?" With a press on the gem, Teal conjured up a horse head that landed in Theresa's hands. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Yeah, that's great." Theresa nervously said as she dropped the fake horse head and spread her arms out for a hug. "You really made me proud. Now, how about a hug, sweetie?" Teal immediately took up the offer, and the two women squeezed each other tight for what felt like ages for them.

"Aw, she's made a new friend." Pearl cooed at the adorable sight before the two let go, and Theresa prepared to return to the limo, but one thing was still missing.

"HEY!" Amethyst yelled at Theresa from behind, making the vice president turn around to face the little purple Gem. "You still owe me a little one-on-one!"

"Well, I'm a woman of my word." Theresa smirked at Amethyst as she took off her suit jacket and took a fighting stance. "Just gotta warn you, these designer heels aren't just made for walking!"

"Oh, it is on!" Amethyst replied as she shapeshifted into a stereotypical martial artist with a sleeveless black gi, a white headband, and a matching-colored belt. "Don't expect a flawless victory for you!"

"You're in for a real fatality yourself." Theresa smiled as the two women charged at each other, ready for a fight.

--

I think this might be my favorite chapter of Little Homeworld Life to write yet. Being able to write more of Teal Zircon is one thing, but giving her a wholesome student-teacher bond with the vice-president of all people is another! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I did, because next time, I'm pretty sure we can get much higher. And by higher, I mean my spin on human Gems. See you later!

[jelloapocalypse]

Ike is as gay as the day is long and everyone who's played Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn knows it.

ORIGINAL COMIC: https://mahnati.tumblr.com/post/155743845464/this-is-pretty-much-the-sum-of-99-of-their

Based on this Vine: https://vine.co/v/ijVz01Vn066

---

VOICES:

Aimee - Michaela A. Laws (http://thebunnyofevil.tumblr.com/)

Ike - Brendan Blaber (Me)

---

MUSIC:

"Ultralounge" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

[unafreyd]

( ahn heeyeon, cis female, she/her, fire emblem ) * &. i know it must be scary for you, micaiah, after not surviving the takeover. to turn into someone like michaela yoo, a twenty-four year-old intern at city hall, right here in castle town. just remember that you are as loyal as you are self-sacrificing, and to be wary, be safe, be true to who you are :  heroic through and through.

okay... so first off, disclaimer: it has been a hot minute since i last played radiant dawn

and while i have written micaiah before,,, it was for a crack fe group

sO bear with me as i get into the swing of things with her

anyway

some spoilers for, well, mostly FE10 but i suppose there’s some for FE9 !!

micaiah is one of the branded; part beorc (human, basically) and part laguz (animal/human, shifter types)

and let’s just say there’s a reason FE9 was kinda nicknamed “path of furry racism”

anyway

she has a literal brand (... hence the name branded) on the back of her right hand

her (some amount of greats) grandfather was a heron laguz

which means she’s got this cool power known as sacrifice... which basically means she can give some of her own health to heal others

she’s a resident of the country daein, and she is loyal to them to a fault

it’s honestly.... kinda actually scary just how loyal to daein she is

but it’s mostly because she cares about the people and residents so much???

anyway

she’s got a pet bird named yune

except yune is actually half of the goddess ashunera

yune is the goddess of chaos, while her other half, ashera, is the goddess of order

yune ends up possessing micaiah at one point and it’s Great

here in castle town she’s known as michaela yoo

she’s an intern at the city hall, but she also occasionally moonlights as a fortune teller

she’s still get her brand on the back of her hand, but as far as her memories are concerned, it’s just a tattoo she got when she turned 18

she’s friendly to most everyone, though she does have the tendency to hold everyone at arm’s length until she actually gets to know them

this was horribly ramble-y, i’m sorry to anyone that read through all of it

in my defense it’s almost midnight and i’m usually asleep by like 8 or 9pm so i’m real tired

also @ nintendo let micaiah join the ssb roster you Cowards

[drain-purge-purify]

Sprinting away from all those stalking encounters 🏃‍♀️💨

[eucataestrophe]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

I was tagged by the lovely @iamactuallyabat! Thank you!

1. Are you named for anyone?

Yes!! This is one of my favorite things to be asked. I was named after a tv character, Dr. Michaela Quinn, Medicine Woman. It was one of her favorite shows and she watched each new episode each week. She loved the name so much that she gave it to me. Even now, when reruns of the show come on, she excitedly points it out and let's it play, reminding me of where my name came from.

2. When was the last time you cried?

A week or so back? I think. It was from lack of sleep as well as frustration (which is usually why I cry lol).

3. Do you have any kids?

No! But I've taken care of my fair share of them.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Yes! I'm usually in the business of trying to make myself and others laugh, so I run around telling a stupid number of jokes to amuse myself. Sarcasm is good for that!

5. What's the first thing you notice about someone?

Their aura? Like the vibe they give off. Are they happy? Do they seem angry? Do they seem annoyed? What's wrong?

And then usually I notice their eyes, and then their general appearance.

6. What's your eye color?

Gray blue!

7. Scary movie, or happy ending?

I can't handle scary movies--it leaves me with an anxious feeling that doesn't leave for 3-4 days. So I much prefer happy endings!

8. Any special talents?

I don't know that this would be considered a talent, but I'm good at typical "girl" stuff (manicures, pedicures, makeup, hair styling, skin care, etc.) Animals seem to take to me and trust me, and I can train them pretty well. They always seem to be crossing my path or showing up at my house needing help (just last week there was a kitten stuck in a broken off tree). I seem to have a knack for baking, which is something I've been trying to explore more.

9. Where were you born?

Deep South.

10. What are your hobbies?

Reading (I'm trying to read as much as possible this year), baking, listening to music, learning languages (I'm SO slacking on this rn), writing fiction, and general "internet" hobbies.

11. Do you have any pets?

Yes! One dog, a beautiful baby boy named Rufus. I've mentioned him a few times here. He's an absolute doll baby at 14, and I adore him more as time goes on. He's so calm and collected and doesn't really want for anything outside of a walk each day (anywhere from 1-3 miles) and regular petting sessions. He's so sweet and gentle, and genuinely just one of the most well behaved dogs I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

12. What sports do/have you played?

I was cheerleader in school. Outside of that I've never been very sporty lol!

13. How tall are you?

6ft even!

14. Favorite subject in school?

Probably writing or animal science. I really enjoyed those.

15. Dream job?

Ideally, I'd like a homestead, actually. I love animals and farming, and always have. When I was a child I genuinely wanted to be a veterinarian with a barn full of animals. In this way, I'd be living out a childhood dream of mine by becoming a homesteader. I'd like to foster dogs/cats as well, but that's more of a side venture to get into once things are going smoothly enough.

I tag: @radiant-jungkook | @yashiro-isanas | @ambermayjune | @sunburn87 | and anyone else that wants to this! ♡

[kakivino]

Il Marroneto 2015 Brunello di Montalcino

Extravagantly floral bouquet literally fills an entire hall with potpourri, violets, red cherry and pine, plus touches of underbrush and tar. Pure, precise and minerally throughout. Scrumptious red fruit, blood orange, tobacco and rose water palate closes fresh yet steely and slightly herbal, with sneaky refined tannins that build and build and knit away to her glorious purpose, notwithstanding her deceptively ethereal façade. Absolutely gorgeous. Outstanding brunello from northern sector far removed from some of her brutish peers. — ★★★★½

Appellation: Brunello di Montalcino Region: Montalcino, Toscana, Italy Subzone: Montalcino Nord Cépage: 100% Sangiovese Grosso Abv: 13.9% Production: 23,569 Élevage: 39 months in 26hl old French casks, 6 in bottle Distributor: n/a

Critic Reviews:

Fragrant and loaded with finesse, this perfumed red features enticing scents of woodland berry, pine forest, violet, underbrush and a whiff of sandalwood. Elegantly structured, it's tantalizingly ethereal, delivering juicy red cherry, strawberry, black tea, licorice and a pronounced mineral note evoking rusty iron alongside tightly knit, refined tannins. It's surprisingly vibrant for the hot vintage and still youthfully austere, but that's a good thing as it shows great aging potential. Drink 2025–2035. Kerin O'Keefe (Wine Enthusiast, 05/2020) 98

Very lively red. Aromas of raspberry, blood orange and herbs. Sneaky concentration and complexity to the very pure flavors of red berries, blood orange and herbs. Tight with firm tannins on the clean, steely finish. Ian d'Agata (Vinous, 04/2020) 94

There is an inherent sweetness to this red, courtesy of the ripe strawberry and cherry fruit, complemented by mineral, tobacco and wild herb notes, balanced by a backbone of dense, refined tannins. Shows fine balance and length. Best from 2023 through 2040. Bruce Sanderson (Wine Spectator, 03/2020) 95

You just can't beat the purity of the bouquet here: cherries, red licorice, blue flowers and currants. It's all stunning. Il Marroneto's 2015 Brunello di Montalcino opens to a light garnet color with faint ruby highlights. The wine never veers from its lanes, sticking to an absolutely traditional and fresh expression from the appellation. It offers a lean to medium-weight mouthfeel with radiant fruit flavors—think pure cherry fruit. Fruit is harvested from a five-hectare parcel at 300 meters above sea level with calcareous sand and Galestro soils. These conditions lead to the aromatic intensity of the wine, and that's the main takeaway in this classic vintage. There is a moment of softness that expands quickly over the palate. These results are graceful and gorgeous. Some 23,569 bottles were made. This wine was bottled in June 2019, and it hit the market in January 2020. Drink: 2021-2038 Monica Larner (Wine Advocate, 01/2020) 96+

Tasted blind. Just mid ruby. Sweetly perfumed strawberry and cherry fruit. Elegant, almost ethereal fruit, but growing in stature on the finish and with bags of gorgeous, coating tannins. Long and aromatic, just not piling it very high at the moment, but with a full spread on the finish. Drink: 2020–2032 Walter Speller (www.jancisrobinson.com, 02/2020) 17.5

Il Marroneto sits just north of the town of Montalcino. Owner Alessandro Mori explains that the soil here is predominantly marine sand with micro-minerals from the coast, giving a floral rather than fruity expression. He uses botti (large oak casks) only for ageing, with some dating back to the 1970s - though it must be said that the cellar here is fanatically clean. The 2015 rings through with purity and clarity and is indeed decidedly mineral and floral-driven. Sweet earth, dried violets and lavender complement an underlying core of cherry and raspberry. The palate is tangy and saline with lots of substance, flavour and depth. Wonderfully textured with grainy tannins that escalate across the palate. Drink: 2020-2032. Michaela Morris (Decanter, 02/2020) 94

[seraphmicaela]

A young woman with crimson red hair dressed in what might be considered something like a fancy maid uniform would show up with some sort of package in her arms.

"Delivery for a... Michaela?" She'd ask, having already presented some sort of form for the customer to sign that they had received the delivery.

An initial moment of confusion would wash over the face of the former Seraph upon hearing that she had a delivery. However, as her mind began to drift she recalled putting in for some fabrics to be brought over so that the Elven clothes makers could have some fresh material outside from Enrika.

"Oh! Thank you, I've been waiting for this for a bit now. I know the seamstresses will be eager to use these materials."

She'd speak, signing her name with a warm, radiant smile.

"I hope the road treated you nicely? Things have been getting a bit better nowadays, for travelers and couriers like yourself."

[rabbittstewcomics]

Episode 309

October solicits

Comic Reviews:

Blue and Gold 1 by Dan Jurgens, Ryan Sook

Shazam 1 by Tim Sheridan, Clayton Henry, Marcelo Maiolo

Superman and the Authority 1 by Grant Morrison, Mikel Janin, Jordie Bellaire

Superman: Red and Blue 5 by Judd Winick, Ibrahim Moustafa, G. Willow Wilson, Valentine De Landro, Joshua Williamson, Chris Sprouse, Karl Story, Hi-Fi, Mark Buckingham, Lee Loughridge, Daniel Warren Johnson

Extreme Carnage: Phage by Steve Orlando, Gerardo Sandoval, Victor Nava, Chris Sotomayor

Moon Knight 1 by Jed MacKay, Alessandro Cappuccio, Rachelle Rosenberg

Thor Annual by Aaron Kuder, Cam Smith, Chris O'Halloran

Star Wars: War of the Bounty Hunters: Jabba the Hutt 1 by Justina Ireland, Ibraim Roberson, Luca Pizzari, Edgar Delgado, Giada Marchisio

M.O.M.: Mother of Madness 1 by Emilia Clarke, Marguerite Bennett, Leila Leiz

Syphon 1 by Mohsen Ashraf, Patrick Meaney, Jeff Edwards, John Kalisz

Mawrth Valliis by EPHK

Bermuda 1 by John Layman, Nick Bradshaw, Len O'Grady

Dejah Thoris vs. John Carter of Mars 1 by Dan Abnett, Alessandro Miracolo, Dearbhla Kelly

Tales From Harrow County: The Fair Folk 1 by Cullen Bunn, Emily Schnall, Tyler Crook

Dark Blood 1 by Latoya Morgan, Walt Barna, A.H.G.

Everyone is Tulip by Nicole Goux, Dave Baker, Ellie Hall

One Line by Ray Fawkes

99 Cent

Night Jackal by Heath Michaels, Philip Renne, Falk Hansel

Additional Reviews: Batman the Adventures Continue vol 1, The Empty Man, Washington Black, Masters of the Universe, Fargo s4, Trollhunters: Rise of the Titans, Schmigadoon, Sexy Beasts, Owl House ep7, Fear Street 1666, How the Best Hunter in the Village Met Her Death by Molly Knox Ostertag

News: Millar's new comic King of Spies, Batgirl casting, Larime Taylor TV series in development, Blade director, Anansi Boys adaptation, All-Nighters comixology series from Zdarsky, Michaela Coel cast in Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina returns, Michael B. Jordan black Superman project, All-Nighters, Remender is a naughty boy, Eisners, Amphibia season 3 release date, Ms. Marvel and Hawkeye confirmed for 2021, odd Legends news, Snyder signs massive deal with Comixology/Dark Horse, Astro City returns to Image

Trailers: Malignant, Nope, Doctor Who series 13, Dexter: New Blood

Ray Asks A Question

Comics Countdown: 

Many Deaths of Laila Starr 4 by Ram V, Filipe Andrade

Black Hammer Reborn 2 by Jeff Lemire, Caitlin Yarsky, Dave Stewart

Superman and the Authority 1 by Grant Morrison, Mikel Janin, Jordie Bellaire

Ascender 17 by Jeff Lemire, Dustin Nguyen

Usagi Yojimbo 21 by Stan Sakai

Undiscovered Country 14 by Scott Snyder, Charles Soule, Giuseppe Camuncoli, Leonardo Marcello Grassi, Matt Wilson

Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow 2 by Tom King, Bilquis Evely, Mat Lopes

Snow Angels Season Two 2 by Jeff Lemire, Jock

Tales From Harrow County: Fair Folk 1 by Cullen Bunn, Emily Schnall, Tyler Crook

Radiant Black 6 by Kyle Higgins, Cherish Chen, Darko Lafuente, Miquel Muerto, Becca Carey

Check out this episode!

[halfwayinlight]

a distraction

Title: A Distraction Rating: PG Notes: because I’ve been rewatching Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman on amazon. Set somewhere in late season 1, early season 2. I both love and am driven crazy by these two.

Dr. Michaela Quinn is a distraction. She’s infuriating. A force of nature. She’s a fire that burns fast, taking in everything in her wake. Head-strong. And Sully’s never met any woman with half so many opinions and ideas. It’s not that he minds opinions. More that she’s never quiet about hers. Worse when she’s right, flaring with indignation. Worst of all when she’s wrong, a backdraft of outrage.

She turns up everywhere, at least everywhere in town. He’s never been more grateful for the wilderness because it’s the only place he can go and feel like he knows his own thoughts. The town has always been so different from the Cheyenne camp—two extremes he travels between. But she’s making the lines smudge, determined to be anywhere and everywhere at once.

Dr. Mike is the most improperly improper lady that walks the earth. She’s Boston, ridiculous layers of petticoats and dresses, science and logic. And she moved across the country unaccompanied, braving a wild man’s frontier. She learned to ride long before he ever did. She’s a single mother. Sully can’t drag himself away, and it was all he could do at the mining operation not to look as she pulled on her things. She has the whitest skin he’s seen. And the smallest hands on a woman. He’s had to stop himself many times from taking either of those thoughts too far.

She smells good, too. Those weeks he spent in her bed were sheer torture—not only days and nights wondering if his legs would ever work again, but the smell of her around him. Something more than soap and warm Colorado sunshine. They’ve huddled for warmth under the lean-to all night and done dozens of things that would scandalize polite Boston society.

Her hair still fascinates him. It’s so long and such a rich color. It’s as unpredictable as herself—and often a clue to how tiring or exhausting her day has been. Sully knows which locks framing her face will come loose from her braid first. Which ones will stay until she lets the whole thing down. He’s wondered how long it would take to brush all the tangles from it. And he remembers exactly how soft it feels under his rough fingers.

His favorite, though, is her smile. Warm and radiant toward the children, especially Brian. He can understand that-- the boy has a gift, and it’s impossible not to love him. But her smile… Sully happiest moments these days are when she turns it on him. Those secret grins when they share a private thought, the one look and smile saying more than a conversation ever could. He’s never known friendship with a woman, not like this. And her heart is in her mismatched eyes that turns his way more than ever these days.

He wonders if she knows what she’s saying.

Or when he might be ready to show it freely back to her.