#mentor guidance

[financia012]

What Relationships Have a Positive Impact on You?

What relationships have a positive impact on you? Introduction Relationships are a cornerstone of human life, shaping our emotional, mental, and social well-being. Positive relationships help us grow, provide support, and guide us through challenges, enabling us to live fulfilling lives. Family Relationships Family bonds are essential for emotional stability. The love and support from…

[puhpandas]

hi. beckory and fronnie parallel

[mulders-nose]

If anything... sydney is carmy's mentor if we're being honest with ourselves

[oswaldthatendswald]

This is not a new observation, but I think One Piece handles Doflamingo's backstory-- how it continues to affect his behavior and choices, as well as how it fits into the overall story-- exceptionally well. The villain who is evil due to a tragic past is a very well-established trope, but it is increasingly done quite poorly. Attempts to flesh out a villain and garner sympathy for them can become misguided justifications for their actions or goals, muddying the themes and tone of a story. My point isn't that morally complex characters can't be interesting when done competently and purpose; it's that when the villain with a tragic past is meant to be evil but his past becomes a justification, the writers' intended dynamics of the story are damaged.

Doflamingo's story never has that problem. His backstory makes it perfectly clear why he does the things he does, but it never implies that he is right to do them. It is a reason, not an excuse. The reader gets the sense that Doflamingo is very much the product of his childhood: first the golden excess of a Celestial Dragon, then the abrupt fall from grace into hatred and pain. It's the perfect storm to set a person down the worst paths possible.

But I think the reader might also feel (or at least I did) that this wasn't a fate set in stone. Doflamingo could have unlearned the ideology of a Noble and perhaps that the harm done to him doesn't justify further harm-- except that the only guidance he ever got was worship by Trebol and the other Executives, who were the nail in the coffin for any redemption Doflamingo might have had. Their appearance only validated and affirmed the beliefs Doflamingo already held regarding his place in the world.

Instead of ham-handed sympathy bait, Doflamingo's backstory is a beautifully executed extension of the worldbuilding and themes already present in the story. It is another tragedy in a world of tragedies, another story where children are put through hell. But without the external guidance and support the heroes get, Doflamingo takes the other path, becoming another perpetrator of tragedies, and a reminder that our heroes are the people they are as much (or more) because of the love and mentorship they had than due to innate goodness. It's the road less traveled, but they still might have traveled it.

[lavendrgremlin]

A devil's guidance chapter 15 (smut)

Decided to share the 4.7k smut here :)

Tags: Raphael x fem!reader, size difference, mutual masturbation, predator/prey dynamic, sub/dom, power dynamic (mentor/protege)

AN: I would recommend reading the actual fanfic here, but you can still read this for funsies.

You blink, and the world around you shifts, slowing down to a dreamlike effect.

Raphael’s hand encloses yours as he effortlessly pulls you from the bed and draws you to his side. His other hand grabs your luggage and leads you to the door. When you glance at your luggage, it seems to disappear into Raphael’s shadow, your gaze lowers to the dark cloud that holds your hand, and similarly, it seems to vanish within its grasp.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your heart and mind. You feel Raphael’s reassuring squeeze. You open them again and they meet his, and something dawns on you; the dark no longer frightens you. Instead, it seems to hold a promise for you…a place where you can lose yourself without fear or judgment. You return Raphael’s squeeze with your own.

The lock turns, and the door swings wide open, releasing a rush of heat that carries the potent scent of sulfur, cherries, and something else entirely. The rush of steam stings your eyes shut, and without a word, Raphael leads you through the door.

Within seconds, you slip back into the familiar cradle of heat. It's one of the purest forms of warmth you’ve ever felt. You’re back in the house of hope, in hell, and though you won’t admit it aloud, it almost feels like coming home.

“Welcome to my Boudoir,” Raphael says in a low voice as he places your bags down with a muted thud.

The boudoir.

You suddenly recall the strange interaction you had the other day with the servant, their warning echoing in your mind. Dont, it’s the boudoir. they said, but standing here with Raphael, you’re sure there’s nothing to worry about.

Cautiously, you open your eyes to the room. You squint, looking around, trying to make out the shapes hidden in the dark. In the stillness, you hear the gentle sound of rippling water echoing through the room and the faint crack of the fireplace. The flame beats weakly inside the grate, just enough to light the walls around it. You see the faint edges of heavy wooden furniture across the room, the silhouettes of curtains pooling heavily on the floor, and the rough edges of the rugs beneath your feet.

Your attention lingers on the many ornaments scattered here and there, catching the light with a jeweled shimmer.

Raphael stays by your side, his figure looming over yours, silently giving you time to adjust to the change of scenery. His presence seems to stretch across the room like some sort of dark specter, his two halos burning with curiosity, wondering what you’ll do next.

Your eyes stray past him, caught by the flicker of emerald colors shimmering beneath the surface of the water, casting a glow against the marbled tiles and towering pillars, encircled by scattered jewels, an assortment of plates with different fruits, cushions and the melted wax of half-used candles, dominating the space. A pool of sorts, you think.

Before you can inquire about it, Raphael’s patience snaps. He lifts you off the ground as if you weigh nothing, his arms curling around your body, pressing you against his bare, muscled chest. Startled, you gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. His steps land heavily on the floor, reverberating through the room despite being muted by the thick rugs.

He moves like a beast prowling through its territory, carrying his prize.

Raphael’s hold tightens around you as you rest your cheek against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat; slow, mechanical, like an infernal engine that purrs with a dizzying heat that seeps through your body like a fever. You sink further into his embrace, the enormity of his size becoming apparent to you.

Raphael stops at the edge of the bed, his palm carefully cradling the back of your head, as though afraid that even the slightest exertion of his strength might harm you. He gently lays you down. The sheets beneath you are silken, expensive to the touch, and most importantly, they smell like him. The pillows are so soft and comfortable that they make you feel as though you’re sinking into them.

You’re now in Raphael’s bed, just as he had been in yours.

Under different circumstances, you would’ve melted into the mattress and drifted to sleep, but as you gaze up, all you can see is Raphael, his form hovering above you, his eyes drowning in yours. The bed shifts ever so slightly as he leans closer, barely capturing the real weight of him.

He plants his hands on either side of your head, caging you beneath him. You hear the faint stretch and slight tear of the sheets under his grip. He exhales slowly, his claws digging further into the fabric as if trying to calm himself.

Raphael’s palm finds your face and softly caresses your cheek. Then, with his thumb, he traces along the line of your jaw before tilting your chin toward him.

“Are you sure, Tav?” he asks, his words sounding strained through his clenched jaw.

And perhaps, for the first time in your life, an absolute certainty washes over you.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands reach for the inky mass in front of you, feeling the sides of his face, the ridges of his skin, hardened and deep, beneath your fingertips.

Raphael’s hand slides under the small of your back, pulling you closer to him as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck. His horns brush softly against your hair, and the heat of his breath against your skin sends a flush through your body, knotting something within your core. You let your fingers thread through his hair, longer than usual, stroking it as he holds you.

Then, a thought creeps into your mind and you suddenly feel all too aware. Despite having showered earlier, you can’t help feeling… dirty. After all, you’ve known your body to be in a deplorable state for the past few years. And for Raphael to indulge in your scent, to believe he finds it desirable, is almost inconceivable. Your hands freeze, and your body tenses.

Raphael senses it and lets out a low growl in response. “Your scent…” He whispers into your ear, inhaling your scent with more intensity, his warm breath only amplifying the burning sensation on your face.

“I don't know how much longer I can restrain myself.”

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your pulse pounding in your ears and between your legs.

Carefully, Raphael adjusts the pillows behind you, laying you back so you are half-sitting.

There’s a moment of silence as you gaze at each other, the soothing ripple of water and the unrhythmic crackle of the fireplace filling the air around you.

His eyes, two halos of amber, hold yours with intensity, as an unnatural shadow clings to his figure as though… he doesn't want to be seen by you.

“Please, Raphael,” you whisper, your chest heavy. “ Please, let me see you."

Raphael leans over you, steadying himself with one hand against the bed frame, his breath tickling your skin. It takes all the restraint in the world not to pull him closer and crash your lips onto his.

The temperature in the room seems to rise gradually. The once-feeble flame in the fireplace now cracks with new life.

One by one, candles burst alight in a chain reaction, like a gust of fire sweeping through the room and igniting those in the chandelier, above the mantel, along the floor, beside the pool, and the ones lining the bed. You swallow hard, your eyes widening as your gaze returns to his, and the dark veil slowly slips down Raphael’s figure.

The paintings you’ve seen of him cannot compare to the sight before you. No artist could ever faithfully capture the raw intensity of his presence. No amount of brushstrokes, textures, or rare colors could ever do his essence justice—it’s nearly laughable.

The way his amber eyes study your expression with a thin layer of vulnerability nearly breaks your heart. Raphael’s gaze hardens, bracing for rejection, for you to flee, scream, or cry. His expression turns to confusion when you lean closer. He retreats, like a cornered wild animal, unsure whether you are friend or foe.

You keep leaning closer as he retreats until his back presses on the mattress and you straddle his chest, which is broad and solid, dwarfing yours. Your hair falls over your shoulders, your eyes softening into a smile as your hand reaches out to trace the sharp planes of his face. Your fingers thread through his hair, graze the curves of his horns, and trail back down to his lips.

The silence between you feels so fragile, precious too. So much so neither of you dares to break it. Your heart drums in your ear, and his echoes through the burning rhythms of the candle flames.

As soon as you part your lips to speak, Raphael’s muscles tense under your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, almost in awe. Yet, as the words leave your mouth, they immediately fall flat like a spoken betrayal. Language could hardly encompass his essence, let alone his beauty. But you couldn’t think of anything else.

Raphael’s eyes widen, burning with a blaze that matches the candles around you.

Sweat beads form on your skin as the room begins to feel like a furnace. Your breath grows heavier, your hair sticking to your face and neck. It feels suffocating. Raphael’s gaze darkens as he hooks your shirt with a claw, lifting it away from your now damp skin. He doesn’t seem bothered by the sweat dripping on him, clamming up against his body. If anything, he appears intent on easing your discomfort. His hands deliberately brush against your burning bare skin.

The room narrows to his touch, to the ache growing between your legs, your gaze drowning in his. You wish to stay in this moment forever, and as his eyes soften, as though he too is caught in it, not wanting it to end, you smile.

With the flick of his wrist, he lifts your shirt and tosses it across the spacious bed. His gaze moves from your bra down to your sides, and a flash of hurt(or perhaps guilt) crosses his features as he lingers on the bruises that mark your ribs. He tentatively reaches for them, brushing gently over the blue and purple skin with the back of his claws. Your breath catches in your throat, a mix of a wince and a moan. Suddenly, Raphael pulls you into his embrace, reclaiming his initial position as he lays you back down on the bed.

The muscles of his jaw clench as his eyes trail down your body, as though he’s burning it into memory: each bead of sweat that glistens against your skin in the candlelight, the curve of your neck, the line of your collarbone, dipping to your chest, and lingering on the bruises he caused. His intense gaze seems to peer right through you, past the skin and sinew, to the quickened pulse of your blood rushing through your veins. His eyes pause at each mole on your skin, as if catching a rare glimpse of stars in the unusually bright sky of hell.

Finally, Raphael’s eyes settle over the waistband of your pants. Your breath quickens in anticipation, your belly coiling tight. The back of his claw brushes down your ribcage, following the line of your navel. His touch is nearly ghostly, sending shivers down your spine. You bite back a moan as he hooks a nail around your waistband, tugging at it. His gaze lifts to meet yours, and unlike before, he pauses to ask for permission, his expression almost desperate. You can’t help but nod.

His finger slips beneath the fabric, grazing against the skin above your crotch. A moan escapes your lips as your body arches instinctively. Raphael groans, tugging further at the waistband, not enough to tear it but enough to feel the pull against your hips. A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest before he releases the fabric. 

He leans over, crashing his mouth against yours with a hunger that borders on desperation. Urgent, consuming, feral, as though he’s trying to imprint himself on you, to mark you as his. Heat flares in your chest and shoots straight to your head, intoxicating you, biting at your senses. It almost feels like… love?

It’s overwhelming, and you want nothing more than to be swallowed whole by it, to lose yourself in him completely, for him to devour you, to sink his teeth into the very essence of your soul and claim it as his.

Even as his body presses against yours, his claws digging into your hair, and his tongue exploring your mouth, there’s an undeniable barrier. A restraint prevents him from losing himself in you as you do in him. A layer that keeps you from becoming one, perhaps for your safety, or maybe to keep himself composed. Or, perhaps, it’s entirely imagined, and you’re overthinking it.

You’re reeled back to the present when Raphael cups the back of your head, tilting it back as he drags his lips from your mouth to your neck. He trails heated, wet kisses along your neck, savoring the taste of your skin. His fangs graze your flesh in almost a frenzy, nearly puncturing the skin and drinking you in. And you so wish he would.

Your heart pounds inside your chest, your legs pressing together as you grip his shoulders, pulling him closer, your frame disappearing in his.

In the heat of the moment, your hands instinctively reach for Raphael’s sensitive horns. But before you can grip them, something firmly slaps your hands away. Startled, your eyes flutter open, and you see a pointed tail coiling in the air, its tip twitching before it hooks around both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. Raphael’s gaze locks onto yours, dark and consuming.

“ Behave. ” he warns, his hair falling in disheveled strands across his face as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, making his massive size all the more prominent.

“And if I don’t?” you ask, surprising even yourself with your boldness.

His jaw tightens, and one of his brows arches. “We wouldn’t want that, now, Miss.”

Feeling bolder, you raise your leg and brush it against his crotch. You’re surprised to feel his hardness straining against the fabric of his trousers, the cloth somehow containing his formidable size. Your face flushes, and you swallow thickly, the reality of his arousal setting your nerves ablaze. Raphael’s hand moves to your legs, his palm broad enough to hold both of your thighs, pressing them firmly against the bed.

His tongue flicks out, pointed and snake-like, as he wets his dry lips. For a moment, he pauses, as if contemplating something, then leans to your ear.

“I can’t fuck you, Tav,” he whispers, the words so crude they make your pussy throb.

“Not because I don’t want to, but because it would take every ounce of my restraint not to hurt you. However,” he continues, his voice dropping to a deep, low tone, “if you behave, and prove yourself in the upcoming exams, then I might reconsider."

A throaty chuckle spills from his chest, low and rich, making your breathing heavier. “For now, though,” he says, “we can do something else.”

Raphael releases your wrists, and with deliberate, slow movements, he unzips his trousers, pushing them down and freeing his erection. It’s red, angry, and veiny.

Your eyes widen at the sight; his size is staggering; a length and thickness that makes you wonder what the fabric of his trousers is made of to have contained it. You swallow hard.

It’s both terrifying and enticing. He kneels on the bed in front of you, his presence overwhelming, and you can’t tear your eyes away from him. Your pulse quickens, your body responding to the sight of him despite the primal part of your mind that understands the danger. But that makes it all the more delicious.

“You be a good girl,” Raphael commands, his voice dropping to an octave lower. “And follow my instructions, yes?”

He spits into his palm, the sound vulgar and wet, and it sends you over the edge as you squirm in front of him. He spreads it over his garish hands, slicking the length of his cock with slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes locked onto you, expectant. You remind yourself to close your gaping mouth.

“Just as you did back at Sharess’s Caress.”

There’s something intoxicating about being here, on his bed, in his presence; it’s a high stronger than any substance you’ve ever known.

You obey without thinking, tugging off your pants and pushing them aside. Pressing your back against the bed frame, your hips tilt toward him, your legs semi-spread, and you feel shy, with a hand almost covering the view from him.

Raphael’s gaze drops from your face to your hand. He clicks his tongue and jerks his head sharply. You lower the hand, revealing your exposed pussy to him. You feel embarrassed by how wet you are, but the look on his face stops you from shutting your legs. Raphael's eyes darken, the amber turning molten. His fist tightens around his shaft as his breath escapes in hot, invisible steam.

What is before you is more beast than man, and the primal hunger in Raphael’s eyes turns any second thoughts into a rush of power.

The idea that this creature of darkness, with all his might and power, is infatuated with you and lusts after you only heightens your high.

You open your legs wider, fully exposing yourself to him. It’s a vulnerable pose; your knees bent, thighs splayed, and you lay yourself bare under his intense gaze. Swallowing hard, you bring two fingers to your mouth and slowly suck them, coating them in saliva. Raphael watches every movement, his hand stroking his cock in tandem, his tail thrashing against the bed like an excited animal. 

You can’t help but smile. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his eyes never leave your hands as they slide down to your folds. A moan slips from your lips as you touch yourself, the slick, swollen flesh of your clit pulsing under your finger. You slap it lightly, the sensation sending a sharp jolt of painful pleasure through you. You whimper, arching against the bed.

Raphael suddenly moves, closing the distance between you. His body hovers over yours, his cock throbbing inches from you.

His free hand grips the pillow next to your head, while the other slides with practiced pressure along the length of his tip, cupping his balls, before trailing back up. His tail slithers behind him, fluid and serpentine, before sinking down to your chest. With a swift flick, it slices through the middle of your bra, the fabric parting effortlessly as your breasts spill free. You gasp, the air making your nipples harden instantly. You whimper again, your breath coming in ragged, your mind clouded by the thick haze of lust and the reality of the situation.

There seems to be an unspoken understanding, a promise not to touch each other, but to indulge in the tension, the breaths, and the reactions you get from one another.

Raphael’s eyes lock with yours as your fingers move over your slick, his name burning at the tip of your quivering lips. His gaze follows every motion, every flush of your flesh. You can feel his restraint, the barely held-back desire in the way his muscles tense, the way his jaw clenches.

Neither of you blinks, eyes locked onto each other as your hands glide from your thighs to your breasts, fingers curling around the soft curves. You cup one with the familiarity of someone who knows their own body, knows what brings pleasure. You move with the same ease as when you are alone in your room, lost in the heat of your own fantasies. The line between lust and love blurs until all that remains is raw ecstasy coursing through you.

You slide two fingers inside yourself, eyes fluttering shut as you melt into the sensation. The heat, the wetness, the way your muscles tighten around your fingers, it all sends waves of pleasure radiating through you. A deep groan pulls you back to the present, and Raphael’s voice, rough and commanding, cuts through the haze.

“Look at me,” he orders, and the sound of his voice, the authority in it, sends a shiver down your spine. You obey, eyes opening to find him staring down at you, his gaze dark and ravenous. Your lips part in a moan, eyes glazed with pleasure as you hold his gaze.

Raphael’s hair falls forward, framing his face, and his hand moves faster on his cock. The slick slide of his palm over his length makes your heart race. There’s a desperate, hungry look in his eyes, like a starved beast, and his voice drops to a growl. “Say my name.”

A shaky breath escapes you, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. Your fingers curl inside you, pressing against that sensitive, aching spot. A moan spills from your mouth, mingled with his name. “ Raphael .”

His eyes flare with intensity, and for a moment, you lose yourself in them. You fall into a rhythm, your fingers moving inside yourself in time with the stroke of his hand on his cock. His tail lashes behind him, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex, and it becomes unbearably feverish.

This dance of pure, burning desire; eyes locked, bodies moving in tandem, each moan and groan bringing you closer to the edge, continues until finally, you feel yourself tipping over. Your body tightens, your back arches, and a cry tears from your throat as you hear Raphael’s own deep, guttural groan. His climax spills over him, drenching the silken sheets and your body. His hand stills on his tip as his chest heaves with ragged breaths. It seems as though it had taken all the power out of him as he retreats back into the body you’ve become accustomed to.

Raphael’s eyes find yours, and without a word, he leans down, capturing your mouth in his. His body presses against yours as though sealing a pact, and the certainty of it—whatever it is—feels like something neither of you can walk away from.

It’s an odd sight to see the devil help you clean yourself from his cum and your slick, even if it’s with the ease of a flick of his wrist.

You nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his scent, a mix of musk, cherries and the faintest trace of smoke. It soothes you, lulling you toward sleep, but Raphael's hand moves gently against your back, keeping you awake.

Raphael guides you to the oddly placed pool, convincing you to try it as it has healing properties, even though sleep is the only thing on your mind. As soon as you slide into the water, the ache in your ribs start to ease. You sink into the warmth, letting it seep through your body. Raphael joins you soon enough, the water lapping gently at his chest as he settles beside you. You lean against the smooth, curved edge, your body relaxing in the soothing warmth, and for the first time, you take in the room with a clear mind. Heavy crimson curtains hang from the windows, tied to the side with golden ropes, pooling on the floor. Ornate furniture is scattered about, all dark wood and velvet cushions with glorious paintings that adorn the walls. The air is thick with the scent of incense and the faint lingering of smoke from the candles.

Your eyes catch something as you glance over at Raphael’s back. The series of scars crisscrossing his back, pale and jagged, stand out against his skin. They look old, but there’s a brutality to them that makes your heart ache. You reach out, running your fingers lightly over one, feeling the raised texture beneath your fingertips. “Raphael,” you begin softly, “these scars… What happened?”

He stiffens for a moment under your touch, then his shoulders relax. He turns to face you with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not tonight, Tav,” he says quietly. “Another day, perhaps.”

The silence between you is comfortable as you let the water work its magic, easing the aches in your body. Eventually, Raphael lifts his head and gently touches your cheek. 

“You should retreat to your chambers and rest, Tav. We’ll resume your lessons tomorrow.” He rises from the pool, water cascading off his body, and wraps a burgundy robe around his shoulders. You follow suit, slipping back into your old clothes haphazardly.

Raphael kisses you once more before returning to his bed. You glance back at him one last time before slipping through the door and making your way back to your room. Without paying much attention, you somehow find your way back to your quarter’s corridor.

[pinkeoni]

Max might just be the most important character in El’s story arc

[ohromeoraine]

Here’s some Shinsou Hitoshi headcanons I have:

He has crippling insomnia(have you seen those eye bags?)

He has a dark sense of humor

Tokoyami and him read old spell books together and secretly try them out on Bakugou(“he doesn’t believe in that anyway, right? So he should be easy to practice on”.)

They also tried spells on Kaminari, but he started info dumping on them about how they might actually not just be superstitions.

Kaminari starts joining them on said spell practice days and laughs when he finds out their target is Bakugou.

Shinsou buys three bags of coffee each week. One for the entire class to share, one for himself, and the last one he stashes in his room just in case(He learned his lesson after Midoriya stole his coffee bag last time. “What does he even need it for?”)

He said he wasn’t joining the hero course to make friends, but Midoriya ate lunch with him everyday and others started joining one by one. One day Todoroki announced that he’d, “unlocked his tragic backstory,”(“That’s what Bakugou calls it.”) and proceeds to trauma dump on Shinsou. Shinsou wants to brainwash him into giving a villain a bouquet of flowers and asking them to marry him unprovoked, and Midoriya cackles.

He actually makes friends in the hero course, but he doesn’t admit it immediately. Shinsou isn’t used to having friends before UA, so this is new territory for him.

I have more stashed somewhere in my brain I swear, but part of this became a full on fic idea. I hope you enjoyed part one!(yes, there will be a part two).

[cienie-isengardu]

Kuai Liang and the matters of teaching

It is no secret I’m disappointed by NRS’ choices in regard to the brotherhood of Scorpion and Sub-Zero and in general, I do not like the changing of Kuai Liang from cryomancer to pyromancer. But if there is one thing about current Kuai Liang that is not related to his family issues that makes me so angry about it, is making Scorpion a bad teacher and man not interested in learning from others.

The biggest example comes from Smoke’s ending:

Kuai Liang and I were working hard to build our new clan. But even with the help of his close friend, Harumi, it was difficult. The biggest problem was finding the initiates. Then, one night, while walking outside Harumi's compound, I was attacked. I thought at first it was a Lin Kuei assassin. But his strikes were uncertain, too angry. My attacker, it turns out, was a boy. Homeless and hungry, his assault was born of desperation. He needed money so that he could eat. It was looking at myself, fifteen years ago. I would've ended up just like him, if the Lin Kuei hadn't taken me in. So I took the boy to Kuai Liang, who also appreciated his fire. We made him our first initiate. The boy's name? Hanzo Hasashi."

and mind you, if Kuai Liang was disappointed by an adult man’s skill then fine. But as far as we could see, the potential adept in question is some teenager(?) doing his best - he does not slack in his training and is focused on the task as he should (we can see blood on the boy's fingers, suggesting he is punching the hard wood for a while already).

Yet Kuai Liang (and Harumi)’s reaction indicate the kid is some sort of failure. Even though Kuai Liang himself said to Kung Lao and Raiden it takes years to learn Lin Kuei ways. He is not looking out for adepts to train at their own speed, but those that either quickly progress or already have the skills he needed, as could be seen with young Hanzo:

And don’t even let me start about the implication here of how Kuai Liang is interested in the boy solely for his “fire” and skills, not one ounce of worry about the boy himself. One could argue, well, Kuai Liang needs new warriors ASAP, because of Lin Kuei being a threat and all. But then he should not look to enlist children but a grown up, experienced warriors, maybe even from Harumi’s clan or Shaolin Monks or whoever was interested to serve Liu Kang and Earthrealm’s safety. All I got from the way Smoke’s ending pictured it, is that Kuai Liang

A) has no patience for mediocre and/or hard working students that need a bit more time and guidance to reach their potential and

B) doesn't think ahead, as for Shirai Ryu to function properly, he will need a new generation of warriors to step in and take the place of those serving now.

Which makes it weird that Hanzo was made the first initiate even though there were other willing volunteers. Because again, Kuai Liang himself said it takes years to master Lin Kuei ways and yet he gave the chance only to the one desperate, orphaned boy that has the “fire” he liked while others were what? Crossed out at the start for not meeting his high demand on spot? 

Which, as you can guess, pisses me off. Thankfully, the intro dialogues put Scorpion and Smoke in a better light when it comes to building their new clan’s strength.

Sindel: How many have joined the Shirai Ryu? Scorpion: We are hundreds strong and growing.

But the implication from Smoke’s ending also makes me wonder if in the past Kuai Liang looked down at Tomas that lacked his brothers’ supernatural abilities and who started his training much later than them? We know Bi-Han put in question Tomas’ skills in the past 

story mode:“Father may have taken you in, made you one of us... but your blood will never be Lin Kuei”

and as Noob Saibot he is even more harsher

Noob Saibot: That you are my brother’s second-in-command -- Smoke: Shows he understands me more than you ever did.

but those doubts were not baseless, as Tomas almost died on Lin Kuei’s first real mission presented on screen, when instead of relying on his smoke magic that allowed him to fly, he tried to stop the falling  instinctively with his bare hands, before he thought of using a knife. And despite assuming Smoke was not the perfect Lin Kuei warrior, Bi-Han still picked him for the mission. In contrast, Khaos Reigns made Kuai Liang (alongside Liu Kang, Cyrax or Sektor) totally omit Tomas when widely understood Lin Kuei characters were chosen for another dangerous job. Which adds salt to the injury.

I will be the first to note that Kuai Liang and Bi-Han share the same arrogance due to Lin Kuei upbringing, but Scorpion is framed by narrative as the hero other characters look up (seen especially in Mortal Kombat 1’s main story during Liu Kang’s absence and intro dialogues). And yet he feels at times dismissive about other characters or different teaching than his father (Lin Kuei) or his own Shirai Ryu.

Scorpion: Was it worth it, training with the Shaolin? Smoke: Let me show you what I learned.

Just to keep in mind: A) Shaolin Monks helped to prepare Liu Kang’s Champion for Tournament and Raiden beat down all Outworld’s mighty champions, and B) according to intro dialogue with Kung Lao, Kuai himself was taught by Master Kai  

Kung Lao: Master Kai said he taught you as well. Scorpion: You would be smart to heed his instruction.

so he should know well that yes, training with Shaolin Masters is not a waste of time. But instead of being directly curious what exactly his brother learned, Scorpion’s line sounds rather skeptical if not openly dismissive.

Some intros indicate he would teach and/or test Champions like Raiden or Syzoth, especially if Liu Kang decided so. Some like Tanya or Raiden will even be praised for their skills. Overall Kuai Liang may agree to test himself or his clan members in fight against others 

Tanya: I propose a tournament: Shirai Ryu versus Umgadi. Scorpion: It would be an excellent test of skill.

or

Scorpion: I would like my initiates to train against you. Ermac: We do not wish to serve that purpose.

but is not really seeking any “teacher” to improve his skill as he is self-assured about own fighting abilities

Li Mei: Liu Kang has nothing but praise for you. Scorpion: Let me demonstrate why that's so.

nor is willing to share his clan (or Lin Kuei)’s secrets with outsiders, including the training

Johnny Cage: Now what's the harm in me riding along? Scorpion: The Shirai Ryu's secrets must remain so, Cage.

or

Kenshi: Why won't you help train the Taira? Scorpion: The Shirai Ryu's methods aren't to be shared.

This attitude fits the Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi) from alternative timeline but not cryomancer Kuai Liang:

Jacqui: Any chance of a Shirai Ryu training mission? Scorpion: Training outsiders is Sub-Zero's passion. Jacqui: Huh. Takeda thought you'd be interested.

or

Sub-Zero: Back for another training mission? Cassie Cage: Gonna kick your ass in a snowball fight. Sub-Zero: I doubt that.

or

Jacqui: Testing me again, Sub-Zero? Sub-Zero: Prepare yourself, Jacqueline Briggs. Jacqui: Please, I was born ready.

or

Jacqui: I've got new gear to test. Sub-Zero: Want to know if it's cold-proof? Jacqui: Let's find out.

or

Cassie Cage: Another lesson, Sub-Zero? Sub-Zero: A lesson in failure. Cassie Cage: You a subject matter expert?

And let’s not forget the whole training mission pulled by Johnny and Kuai Liang to test New Generation in real combat in Mortal Kombat X. In contrast, Hanzo and his Shirai Ryu ninjas attacked Earthrealm Champions so Scorpion could take revenge against captured Quan Chi.

Similarly, MK11 intro dialogues imply Sub-Zero Kuai Liang was open to learning from other characters as one was never too old to learn:

Sub-Zero: One more time, Hanzo? Scorpion: You never learn. Sub-Zero: A man's never too old to learn.

or

Erron Black: Come for shooting lessons? Sub-Zero: Are you offering, Erron Black? Erron Black: Only to the quick and the brave.

In both timelines, Kuai Liang became a mentor - to Frost, as Sub-Zero and to Hanzo, as Scorpion. How much he failed Frost and how much it was the student's fault is up to debate, but being mentor to less experienced, often younger heroes is part of his character since introduction of Frost, in ~2002. And the biggest difference so far, for me at least is that cryomancer Kuai Liang seems like a guy that truly likes teaching others, whatever they are from his clan or outsiders and is usually seen as a good mentor (beside Frost herself), while Scorpion Kuai Liang will facepalm if said student won’t immediately turn out to be some pro fighter. Which irks me to no end, especially since this version of Scorpion is Kuai Liang seen through Tomas’ eyes (story) and Tomas was adopted into Lin Kuei 15 years ago, which is a lot time to get to know his adoptive brother well.

[kaerinio]

okay, i'm gonna be bouncing between here and working on some coding things this afternoon! i should be around this evening to scream and chat and write! 🥹💖 i hope you're all having a beautiful day! 💖

[clowningcrows]

people rlly mean it when they say life aligns in the strangest ways and everything works out somehow bc i very nearly didn’t take one class two years ago and now fast forward that class completely and utterly changed my life, im about to transfer my major to anthropology bc of it, i’m considering grad school (for ref, i was thinking about dropping out of college entirely literally a month ago), and im also getting to work in an on campus lab bc of it and i have the most amount of love and support and care ive received in… maybe ever like.. WHAT!!!!!

[piratingconstellations]

thrawn being good with kids…thrawn wanting to give kids the understanding and patience he has never been given his whole life…damn okay!! okay!!

[rotyolk]

who remembers these wackos

[quotelr]

Although many things may still need to happen before you identify what your exact work will be, I know that every single person whom you’re meeting and every experience that you’re having is necessary to you discovering your purpose. They are points on a map leading you to the moment where a match will finally be lit and you will be able to see through the darkness.

Jennifer Elisabeth, Born Ready: Unleash Your Inner Dream Girl

[myimaginationplain]

imagine: professor utonium mentoring dexter vs professor membrane mentoring mandark

[beliscary]

there's a tower in belisaere called dolorous bastion

[divinemackerel]

I understand valhoun and alyx/freehoun (idk the ship name for this, freevalhoun? Lol?), and sometimes even enjoy it bc i do think it is a really fun dynamic, (like, freeman hinge polycule where he is dating alyx and barney,) but tbh my ideal relationship between Alyx and Barney is more like, mentor figure and mentee.

It isn’t quite familial, but its like, neighbor who babysat you a lot while growing up if that makes sense. Barney was a constant after a point in Alyx’s life, not like an uncle or brother, but just as a reliable person. To me, their relationship is not romantic but it is still very deep while being platonic.

They might call each other best friends, but they’re not really quite that either, though it works well enough for short hand.

At one point someone makes beer or moonshine or some shit and Alyx tries it and calls it disgusting, and Barney laughs at the face she makes, and for a moment, despite the weight of the combine threat over their head, things are ok.