#the experience of drawing and also wanting accuracy. pain.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

A very noticeable delay follows the Embrace's question, Aesop hurriedly digging through his case. "Y-yes, I'm all right." To the surprise of absolutely nobody, he is, in fact, short circuiting, but he would rather not say this to someone. The question of "are you all right" has a correct answer, and he has no intention of getting it wrong. Even if it means lying really, really badly due to the nickname surprise. "I... simply prefer to know what my plan is before going in. Not exactly much room for mistakes... I'm sure you understand."

He breathes slowly: in, then out. A gloved hand slips under the bandages, Aesop working to find what he's looking for with careful fingers and all-too-focused eyes. At least, he follows the bandage trail and starts loosening where he can until he feels eye liquid through his gloves, discomfort painfully visible (and easy to feel, his hands tightening at the sensation). He looks back down to the case, finding his scissors for bandage separation, and slips one cold blade underneath, making a slow cut across the bandage before he unwraps the bandages (from the exterior, as he does not want to experience that sensation again). "...Is this to your liking?"

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yves reaction where it’s one of the rare times he initiates sex and reader declines?

Also how does he initiate sex?

Tw: sex mention

Yves doesn't necessarily "initiate" sex per se, it's more like he would present an opportunity for you to grab. Whether you decide to take it or not, it's up to you and he would respect whatever choice you made. Yves will merely present signs that your proposal to fuck is very likely to be accepted. In the end, you're mostly still doing the initiation by asking him if it's a "yes" to sex.

His reaction depends on your baseline, if you're not very interested in having sex in the first place, your passiveness is already predicted and it confirms the accuracy of his algorithms, and his logic. He wouldn't spend too much time investigating why you said no, because he already knew the reasons. Yves would then move on to either test his other, countless hypotheses out, or just enjoy your company in the moment.

It also could be that you're just dense and missed the silent signs. Then, he would outright ask you if you wanted to make love with him. Yves will never word it as a demand, it's always a suggestion and never a request.

However, if he knew that you're the type to be caught dead before declining the delicious offer for sex, it would both excite and worry him at the same time. He's curious and intrigued, elated that there is something new about you he discovered. An anomaly in his prediction models, which doesn't occur very often and it's a marvel to witness.

Worried, because whenever you defy his expectations, it usually means you're suffering some sort of disease or under distress.

Yves would comb through everything that happened to you on that day and a few days prior. Checking what you saw on the Internet, hearing what other people told you, so on and so forth. Even sneakily taking a biological sample out of you without your knowledge. Yves knows how to draw a vial of clean blood undetected.

Once he is sure that he found the reason(s), he would perform two experiments on you:

1. He would remove the stimuli that caused your rejection or passiveness towards fornication, and suggest the idea of doing it with you again. Of course, he would do this at a much later date.

2. Yves would replicate the exact environment and sequence of events that he thought was the grounds for this inconsistency, and present an opportunity for you to fuck him again. You will experience a sense of Deja Vu, but ultimately more or less put you in the same headspace as before.

It goes without saying, he will NOT be replicating the cause if it's due to an illness, injury or a period of severe emotional turmoil. It pains Yves to make assumptions during the scientific process, but he would rather have some inaccurate data than have you hurt.

If he is wrong with his hypothesis AND sickness being the reason is absolutely ruled out, Yves would be even more thrilled. It's a new set of data for him to hunt down!

He would be running experiments on you as if you're a lab rat, and you wouldn't even notice.

Yves is cocky enough to think he could "read your mind" and determine the reason why you refused, he wouldn't ask you at all because that may interfere with his findings, introducing bias into his work and into your mind.

[avelera]

Apologies for screaming into your askbox like this but

EVERYTHING YOU SAID ABOUT BENIOFF AND WEISS IS SO FUCKING TRUE AND I AM SO GLAD SOMEONE ELSE IS FINALLY SAYING SOMETHING

As someone who read the Game of Thrones books (probably younger than I should have...but that's beside the point) the sorts of things that the two Ds decided needed to be added for the sake of "realism" or "accuracy" was ALWAYS just an excuse to brutalize someone. Be it kids, be it women (though in GoT is was usually women) and so much of it was not in the books!!! Like, sure, the books have accrued a reputation for being brutal, and they totally are...but they never seem as gretuatus in the way that David and Dan seem to revel in the crualty. Utterly original characters are introduced for the express purpose of being killed or assaulted, and it makes watching Game of Thrones a harrowing experience.

I'm not surprised that this has continued in their other work, in so many ways, the bloodlust became their calling card. I am deeply thankful that most of the other places that had been courting them to make projects have dropped them.

I will say in defense of the no doubt huge team who worked on Three Body Problem that it's not a gore fest or anything. There was a lot I've enjoyed in eps 1-5 (which as far as I've gotten at the moment) and scenes of violence are hardly the only thing that happens (though umm... maybe be prepared for the opening scene. It's also a doozy.)

Anyway, as I see it, Benioff and Weiss's sadism is more like... Tarantino's foot fetish. It doesn't consume the entire story, but when Tarantino does a loving closeup of feet you're like, "Ah, there it is. I was wondering when that would show up." If B&W work on something, like it or not, they're going to mash the cruelty button and heighten the cruelty of canonical scenes (if it's an adaptation) in order to try to get a reaction out of the audience. It's just how they work. For some audiences, that might even be a feature, not a bug!

The thing that makes me so frothing at the mouth enraged about Benioff and Weiss is how fucking coquettish they are about their sadism. They always act so fucking surprised like they're shocked that anyone would think that the gore and the horror were the point and what drew them to the story (I know, I'm just repeating my post at this point but STILL--!).

Look, when I was a teen, I totally first started writing angst to sort of... express this vein of sadism in myself in a safe outlet like fiction. I wanted to make people cry with my writing. So I'd do things like just kill off all the characters and be so proud when a reader said they were sad after.

But that's just... really flat and amateurish angst, y'know? There are so many more sophisticated and meaningful ways to create emotion, including sadness, in an audience other than just killing off all the characters or torturing them.

But I feel I remember enough from those days (I'd like to think I've long since grown out of that impulse) to know a sadist when I see one? And Benioff and Weiss's storytelling, to my eyes again, is simply sadistic. It glories in watching people in pain and it finds ways to exaggerate that pain and the chance to exaggerate moments of pain is what draws them to the stories they like to depict.

And that's fine. Plenty of horror creators revel in gore and cruelty and it's an entirely worthy art form!

But for the most part, those horror creators know what they're doing and they're open or even joyful about the fun they have creating these horror stories! Enjoying creating horror stories or depicting suffering or even being sadistic, particularly in fiction where no one is actually getting hurt, is perfectly fine.

I just fuckin... wish Benioff and Weiss would admit that's what it is goddamn it makes me INSANE.

[twofacedtrickery]

List of Tropes for Delta-?? "Tutelary"

This is non-exhaustive and is only stuff that applies in-universe.

All a Part of the Job - a pretty extreme example 

All-Loving Hero - they want to be this, sort of

All of the Other Reindeer - it believed this to be true when it was at the Foundation, and now it actually is

The Anti-Nihilist - Knight in Sour Armor type, mainly

Be All My Sins Remembered

Became Their Own Antithesis - partially subverted

Beleaguered Bureaucrat - this is part of what helped push it to defect, though now it wants that workload back as it knows no other life anymore

Blank Slate - threatened with this

Broken Bird

Bullying a Dragon - the hatercult are doing this, they're just lucky that it's unlikely to retaliate

Byronic Hero

The Call Knows Where You Live - to be fair, it did unintentionally telegraph that, averted now

The Chains of Commanding - a lot of how they wound up swayed

The Chosen One - well, in the minds of Professor's followers, he treats it as this, so they resent it

Chronic Hero Syndrome

Cigarette of Anxiety

Cold Turkeys Are Everywhere - this is why it's so hard for it 

Compliment Backfire - because it hates praise

Conditioned to Accept Horror - this was the case, and to a large extent, it still is, it has found some way to regain some reactions

Conditioned to Be Weak - by the followers, despite Professor trying to avert this

Convicted By Public Opinion - even if its partner made a compelled and unassailable argument to defend it, it would still be guilty according to the hatercult 

Death of a Thousand Cuts - ultimately, this mixed with just enough mind poison is what broke its resolve 

Defiant to the End - zig zagged

Desperately Looking for a Purpose in Life

Determinator - played with, while it might genuinely give up at times, it is able to rally itself

Didn't Think This Through - because it didn't think far enough ahead, its attempt to spare lives by surrendering didn't really have the result it had hoped for

The Ditherer - empathic, insecure, and too many trees type

Do Not Call Me "Paul" - subverted, it doesn't speak up very much when it doesn't like a name being used

Don't Look at Me!

Don't You Dare Pity Me!

Draw Aggro - a major way it tries to protect others

Drunk with Power - inverted, both in the sense that it was handed its position unexpectedly, breeding resentment and suspicion that only grew, and in that it wanted to use this as a second chance to be a nicer leader

Dull Surprise - to the point that it does not feel surprise proper, at all

Emissary from the Divine - in another world, perhaps, it could be seen this way, but it's too new

Emotional Language Shift - defied, they used to, but they fear it would harm Professor 

Entertainingly Wrong - a more dramatic take

Extreme Doormat

"Fawlty Towers" Plot - averted

Flat Joy

Friendless Background - and it's an Ineffectual Loner, too

Go Mad From The Isolation - they didn't used to

Greater Need Than Mine - exaggerated 

Great Escape - though it didn't exactly want to be rescued at that cost, this does border on an Unwanted Rescue, but it refuses to outright start Complaining About Rescues They Don't Like

Grew a Spine - SPOILERS

Grumpy Old Man - it's trying to unlearn this

Guilt-Induced Nightmare - the primary source of its nightmares

Hauled Before a Senate Subcommittee

Heel–Face Door-Slam

Heroic Safe Mode

History Repeats - subverted, but it fears this

Honor Before Reason - downplayed

Hope Is Scary - one of the things it struggles with more than it wants to admit, though Professor helps with that

I Am What I Am

I Didn't Tell You Because You'd Be Unhappy

I Gave My Word

I Hate Past Me - and how

I'm Having Soul Pains - invoked

Incredibly Lame Fun - most if its hobbies class as this, and it's a bit anxious around more novel experiences

Insult Backfire - inevitable due to how it functions, often in the form of Insult Accuracy Acceptance, but also due to wanting to be detested

Intergenerational Friendship - Nina

I Should Have Been Better

I Take Offense to That Last One - due to its Berserk Buttons being what they are, it does not mind character attacks, but it does hate when people say it means or did something it did not do

A Lesson Learned Too Well - tends toward this often

Madden Into Misanthropy - defied, it hates being around others, but refuses to give up on saving them all

Manchild - downplayed, but its understanding of relationships is pretty stunted and its interpersonal interactions can see it behaving pretty immaturely

Meaningful Rename - many times over, the names Professor chose were meant to be meaningful, as best he could, and the name it has tried for itself is incredibly meaningful while it has shed its former name, for now 

Misblamed - by the cult

Mood Swinger - Hair-Trigger Temper, especially, it can't understand why

Mutually Unequal Relation - downplayed, it doesn't know how Dogma views it truly, Dogma doesn't know how unreasonably charitable it is to them

Nailed To The Wagon

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

No Place for Me There - formerly, Professor did convince it otherwise

No Social Skills - it's always been this way, and it hates this

Not Afraid to Die - it was not raised with a cultural fear of death, add to that its life experience requiring it accept this fate is eventual, it Faces Death with Dignity 

Oblivious to Hatred - it knows it isn't liked, but underestimates the degree

Obviously Not Fine - trying to be a Stepford Smiler, though not doing it well, Major Injury Underreaction as well

Odd Friendship - with Nina

Once Done, Never Forgotten - the followers subject it to this, and it struggles with doing this as well

Only Friend - Nina

O.O.C. Is Serious Business - it can be incredibly dramatic, but it will not allow itself any of that if it's down to the wire, emotions will be off

Open Mouth, Insert Foot - all day every day

Paranoia Fuel - oh so many ways

The Perfectionist - it tried to defy this, it failed

Perfectly Cromulent Word- justified, these words were common earlier in his life

Personal Horror - trying to convince itself that "I Did What I Had to Do," and even force itself to Gain the Will to Kill about it, to prove That Man Is Dead, but It Never Gets Any Easier, also Batman Grabs a Gun, Why Did It Have To Be Snakes?

Prayer Is a Last Resort - played with, it hates asking for help 

Prison Changes People - of course, the hatercult refuses to get this and thinks it is a

Manchurian Agent now, or that it was just some karma for its perceived insolence, it also tries to deny this, it also struggles with some things related to that it is Not Used to Freedom

Room 101

The Secret-Keeper - perhaps more so than it should, often unbidden and at its own expense

Set Right What Once Went Wrong - defied, while it has remorse, no regrets, and it knows better

Single-Issue Psychology - subverted, it thinks it works this way, but is getting frustrated to learn otherwise

Sinister Surveillance - while detained, but also how it got caught, it is Properly Paranoid of this now

The Snark Knight - situationally subverted or played straight

Spock Speak - tends to do this out of fear of being misunderstood, but this does not help

Stranger in a Familiar Land

Survival Mantra - that only goes so far

Survivor Guilt

Suspiciously Specific Denial - the main reason it tends to be a Bad Liar

Tautological Templar - the hatercult contingent view it as the inverse of this

Technical Pacifist

Then Let Me Be Evil - defied as well as played straight, it believes in Turning The Other Cheek for those it lives with, but to those outside it will be every bit as terrible as it is told it is

Think Nothing Of It

This Is Gonna Suck - Dialed Up To 11, in some ways 

Took a Level in Kindness - played with, while it used to be so much harder to deal with as an individual on the whole, and it uses superhuman reserves of patience and compassion on the hatercult, as a result of that, it has very little left for anyone else

A Tragedy of Impulsiveness - downplayed

Trauma Conga Line - it denies this reality, because it doesn't understand, but it has had traumatic experiences happen even since Emery was a child

Traumatic Haircut

We Have Reserves - downplayed and subverted, it cares deeply and understands that sacrifice is necessary, but it's having a harder time coping with that these days, perhaps it needs a cry

Well-Intentioned Extremist - by necessity of its position, though it is one of the more restrained examples

We Used to Be Friends - Four

Workaholic - they were already one but this is liable to become an Addiction Displacement for them soon

Wound That Will Not Heal - their eye

Yank the Dog's Chain

You Keep Using That Word - while it knows the distinctions that matter to it don't always matter to others, its attempts to seek clarity can come off as this, particularly due to its propensity to be More Insulting Than Intended and Innocently Insensitive, as the case may be

Your Days Are Numbered - while untrue, due largely to its partner's protection, it still lives as if this were the case

Zero-Approval Gambit - to everyone outside of the Insurgency

[takoto]

lmao before all the AI "art" bullshit I frequently made jokes like "man I wish I could just wish pictures of my OCs into existence w/o having to do any work" or "I wish finished art would just appear in front of me sometimes" and now every time I go to make a joke like that I have to stop myself because. hm. no actually.

The onset of AI image generation has made me remember why I love the process of creating. It isn't just the final picture, I get so much enjoyment from just the physical act of drawing, be it personal art, commercial work, or doodles. Yeah it can be stressful and difficult for sure, but the catharsis I get from the action of creating nearly always outweighs any stress I feel (aside from when my chronic pain and stuff is flaring up but that's a different matter).

Yeah, I do wish I could just have a literal printer hooked up to my brain sometimes so I could just magic what I see in my head into existence, but also... like, who is that for? If I sit down and seriously imagine a world where that was possible to even like, 90% accuracy, I don't think it'd be fun. It might be useful, sure, to show someone a general idea of how I'm thinking, but... the final picture is only part of what makes a piece of art.

And like, honestly, I will openly admit that 2010 - 2020 image gen technology fascinated me. I loved seeing it progress, and I loved the unique ways early AI image generation could interpret things. I will also openly admit I started trying to learn about how to create with things like StyleGAN, because I wanted to do a project where I would train on a series of illustrations I'd done, and then incorporate other elements, but then like... all the recent AI stuff happened. And AI image generation basically just became "how to rip off artists" "how to rip off writers" "how to rip off musicians" etc. and now it all just feels tainted.

Like, absolutely 100% no shade or shame to artists who want to train AI models on their own artwork and use that to experiment, that honestly sounds fun! But I just can't look at the whole "AI image gen" scene and not cringe at all the art theft, grifting, techbros stroking their own egos, etc. and not just feel repulsed by the whole thing.

[conniephleb]

Mastering Phlebotomy Draw: Essential Techniques for Accurate Blood Collection

Mastering‍ phlebotomy Draw: ‌Essential Techniques for Accurate Blood Collection

phlebotomy is an⁤ essential medical procedure that involves drawing blood from patients for⁢ various⁢ clinical reasons, such ‌as ⁤diagnostics, treatment monitoring, and transfusions.‍ Mastering the phlebotomy draw is vital not only for healthcare ​professionals but also for patients who want a smooth ​experience. In‍ this⁢ thorough guide, ‌we’ll dive into essential techniques for accurate blood collection and explore practical tips, benefits,⁣ and first-hand experiences to elevate your phlebotomy ‌skills.

Understanding Phlebotomy: An Overview

Phlebotomy is derived from the Greek words “phlebs,” ​meaning vein, and “tomia,” meaning incision. It ⁣is indeed a procedure ⁤that involves the puncturing of a ⁣vein to⁣ draw blood. A well-executed phlebotomy⁢ draw ensures that samples are clean, accurate, and suitable ‌for ‌testing.

Essential Techniques for Accurate⁢ Blood ​Collection

1. Preparation ‍is Key

Gather‌ Equipment: Ensure you have all necessary equipment, including sterilized needles, collection tubes, tourniquet, gloves,⁣ and alcohol⁣ wipes.

Patient‌ Identification: Confirm the patient’s identity‌ using two ⁣identifiers (e.g., name and⁤ date of birth) to ensure​ accurate sample ⁣collection.

2.⁣ Choosing⁢ the Right Site

Choosing the appropriate venipuncture site is‍ crucial for a ​successful blood draw.‌ Common⁣ sites ‌include:

Median Cubital Vein: The most preferred site due to ⁣its size and position.

cephalic Vein: Particularly useful for⁣ obese patients.

Basilic Vein: ⁤last⁤ resort due‌ to its proximity to major arteries and nerves.

3. ​Applying the Tourniquet

Use a tourniquet​ to engorge the veins, making them more accessible.‍ Here are a few tips:

Apply the⁢ tourniquet about 3-4‍ inches above the selected puncture site.

Ensure that it’s not too​ tight to avoid discomfort and⁤ excessive bleeding.

Do not leave the‌ tourniquet⁣ on for longer ​than one minute to prevent hemoconcentration.

4. Venipuncture Techniques

Once veins are engorged, it’s ⁢time for the⁣ actual blood draw:

Needle ​Insertion: Hold ‍the needle at ‍a 15-30 ⁣degree angle, insert ⁣it smoothly into the vein, and‌ ensure you’re in the ⁣lumen.

Blood Collection: Allow​ the blood to flow into⁣ the collection tube. If multiple tubes are needed, follow the correct order of draw.

needle Removal: Once sufficient blood is⁤ collected, remove the ‍needle swiftly⁤ and⁢ apply pressure⁤ to the site⁢ instantly.

5. Post-draw Care

Apply a​ clean cotton ball or gauze pad to the puncture site and have ‌the patient apply pressure.

Instruct the ⁤patient not‌ to ⁣bend or lift their arm for a few minutes.

Benefits ⁤of Mastering Phlebotomy Draw ‍Techniques

Improving your ⁢phlebotomy skills will not ‌only enhance your professional capabilities​ but also ⁤benefit your patients:

Increased accuracy: Mastering ​techniques‍ leads to better blood samples for diagnostics.

Patient Comfort: ⁣ Skilled practitioners can minimize pain ​and anxiety during the ‍draw.

Reduced complications: Knowledgeable professionals ‍can avoid common pitfalls and ⁣complications.

Practical ⁢Tips for⁢ Effective Blood Collection

Practice ⁤Aseptic Technique: Always use gloves and maintain a sterile field to reduce the risk‍ of infection.

Communicate with Patients: Explain the procedure to alleviate⁣ any fears ‍and build rapport.

Know⁤ the ⁣Types of‌ Collection Tubes: Familiarize yourself‍ with⁣ different collection tubes and their specific additive requirements.

Case ⁤Study: First-Hand Experience in Phlebotomy

A recent case ‍involved ⁢a challenging blood draw from⁣ a patient with small veins. Using thorough preparation techniques, the technician opted to warm the ‍site with a warm compress prior to the venipuncture, which increased blood flow and made the veins ⁣more palpable. The technician successfully‍ collected the sample on their first attempt, demonstrating the importance of adaptability and technique in phlebotomy.

Conclusion: Become a Phlebotomy Expert

Mastering phlebotomy draw techniques is an essential ⁤skill for ⁤healthcare professionals involved in blood collection. by‍ understanding the preparation ‍steps,mastering ⁤vein selection,and ⁢employing ‌effective drawing techniques,you can ensure accurate and comfortable blood collection⁣ for your patients. ​Remember, practice makes perfect! Continue to refine your skills, prioritize patient care, and stay ​updated with the⁣ latest⁢ best⁣ practices in​ phlebotomy. With these strategies in place, you’re well on your way ⁤to becoming a phlebotomy expert!

https://phlebotomytrainingcenter.net/mastering-phlebotomy-draw-essential-techniques-for-accurate-blood-collection/

[dailycharacteroption]

Alternate Class Review: Samurai part 2

 Utility and Builds

 And now we’ll take a look at the abilities of the samurai as a class.

Like the cavalier they are based upon, the samurai has the ability to challenge a foe, increasing their damage against them but making them vulnerable to attacks from other sources. This reflects the samurai’s traditional focus on singling out another foe to duel. Curiously, however, the text does not mention if the target of their challenge must be able to understand the samurai the way the cavalier version does, so best ask your GM on that one.

They also gain a mount, much like the cavalier, which makes sense as samurai were meant to be mounted combatants firsts, specifically archers. However, don’t expect them to get any of the cavalier’s charging-themed abilities.

They also gain an order like a cavalier, reflecting their devotion. For those seeking an authentic samurai experience, one is expected to take the order of the warrior, the black daimyo, or ronin. The first two reflect the traditional devotion a samurai might have to their lord, the first being more honorable, the other upholding the veneer of honor but being exceedingly brutal and cruel, while being ronin reflects their outcast nature. However, this is a fantasy game, so if you want a samurai devoted to a religion, or a mystic philosophy, or to their friends and allies, then by all means go for it.

The first ability that sets the samurai apart from the cavalier, however, is their resolve. Their determination is so strong it gives them a reserve of energy to push past their limits, most notably by removing debilitating conditions, giving them greater chances to resist attacks on their body and mind, and even help them stay standing and conscious when they would otherwise fall.

Additionally, these samurai learn to perfect and specialize in a traditional samurai weapon, notably katana, longbows, naginata, or wakizashi. They can draw these weapons in swift, fluid motions, deal lethal blows more easily, and even learn techniques that improve their performance with that specific weapon type that are normally associated with the fighter class.

True to their origin as mounted archers, they have a reduced penalty to their accuracy when firing a bow while mounted.

Like the cavalier, samurai also have a banner which they can display, granting the same sort of buffs to allies that can see it.

Not as concerned with guiding other troops, these warriors focus on learning more personal combat techniques.

Eventually, they also learn to use their resolve to ignore pain and reflexively twist to mitigate the impact that a grievous blow would have on their vitals.

While retreat is a tactical move that even these honorable warriors occasionally use, sometimes honor demands facing down a foe no matter what. As such, samurai can choose to make a stand against a foe they have challenged, ignoring fear entirely and resisting debilitation, and even fighting on when others would fall unconscious. However, they can only do so sparingly, and if they are forced to retreat anyway, the act shakes them up, preventing them from challenging foes for at least a day.

Like a cavalier, the samurai also eventually dogs their challenged foe so insistently that they become too focused on them to properly defend themselves against other attacks.

Their banner also improves like that of a cavalier as well.

A master samurai utterly refuses to die, and as long as they have a decent amount of resolve remaining, they can stabilize, even if they can’t keep fighting anymore.

The most skilled samurai can enter a last stand, declaring a special challenge against a truly dangerous foe. In this state, they ignore pain, reducing the harm that foes deal to minimum except against the most grievous wounds, and refusing to fall to weapons or blows other than that wielded by their challenged foe, though spells and supernatural harm could still cut them down. Even still, they fight on even as they are bleeding out till their last breath, but they must keep fighting to maintain this stance.

 Of course, there is an alternate capstone from Chronicle of Legends. In the case of the samurai, they improve the range at which others are inspired by their banner, and can rally with it with less effort.

Other, more general capstones they might have include Great Beast, for a mount of truly legendary greatness; Perfect Body, Flawless Mind to improve their bodies and minds to the pinnacle of their species; The Boss, representing them becoming a great general, teacher of their code, or a proper landed noble in their own right; With This Sword could grant them a truly legendary weapon or suit of armor; or the appropriate Won’t Stay Dead, for a samurai that no mortal can truly defeat for long.

 Overall, the samurai is much less about supporting allies in melee as the cavalier (but the banner does provide roots of that), but is much more focused on having tools for every combat situation, having superior range and mobility while mounted, excellent offense, and the defensive abilities to tough out most things that foes throw at you. Depending on your choice of order, you may be an impervious tank or a tank that can also bring down deadly blows and support allies as well. Weapon specialization also matters, as that can inform your strategy and feat choice as well, whether you focus on archery, naginata polearm builds, or the katana or wakizashi (or both at once)

In the most optimal scenario, a samurai will be able to pepper foes from afar while mounted until the battle is joined, either staying mounted or dismounting to fight on the ground.

 That about does it for today, but tomorrow we’ll cover the handful of archetypes that the samurai got!

[sukumen]

CONGRATS ON 2.5k!!!!!! so so deserved!! also i don’t think i ever told u this but you were my first ever mutual on here and i just 💞💕💞💕 if it’s still open can i request bakugou + exes to lovers?

HOORAY FOR 2.5K --- AU/TROPE FICLETS: bakugou x exes to lovers.

notes: things we already knew about me: i overwrite. WOW! this got so long, but i had so much freaking fun with it, i can’t even tell you. it’s my first time writing bakugou and i hope i did him justice, especially with this trope that i love. thank you so so much for the support and love victoria - it’s an honor to have been your first mutual!!!! i hope you enjoy this~

summary: it was an odd match from the start, you and katsuki --- at least that’s what you tell him when you walk away after a year and a half. as you leave, you remind yourself of the probability your quirk had read the night of your first date - 73% chance of breaking up. not certain, sure, but high enough to help you through missing him: this was always going to happen. you tell yourself the same thing a year later when he becomes your protection detail at a support item expo that’s received a major threat: being in the same industry, you were always going to cross paths.

but, over the course of your week together, you start to realize that not everything has a rational explanation, a logical way in or out. not Katsuki, and certainly not the way he makes you feel.

quirk details: reader has a quirk that grants insight into the probability of an outcome occurring. ultimately, she can analyze a situation and determine within seconds how likely a specific outcome is if she was to move forward with all variables unchanged. she uses it primarily to design her support items, but can also use it in personal situations too. notably, she used it to work out how likely it was that she and bakugou were going to break up in a misguided attempt to deal with her feelings.

key limitations: scenarios have to be simple for her quirk to work - she can only determine if something will or won’t happen, not what will happen. the information she has will impact the accuracy of her prediction; this means that using it for personal situations - which often rely on the complicated emotions of other people - can be tricky. but, being emotional too, she doesn’t always remember that….

Snippet (2.7k, slight nsfw at the end):

Your flight ends too quickly for your liking, the walk to the arrivals gate even more so. Katsuki is waiting for you under a Starbucks sign as planned with arms folded over his chest while a second hero - a newcomer to the rankings - makes small talk beside him. 

As you move in their direction, time follows in slow motion, each step rigid as you’re reminded of the day you’d walked the other way and out of his life. You’d been strong willed then and hadn’t turned once to see the look in his eyes as you went. But now, you can’t look anywhere but him, not even when the other hero notices you and waves for your attention.

He hasn’t changed much in the year apart. There’s a littering of scars that you’d noticed on the news and are seeing for the first time in person; but otherwise, Katsuki is the same man you’d always known, imposing but in a way that’s nearly comforting after his years in the public eye.

He seems to be watching you right back, but where your gaze is full of scrutiny, his is practically empty. Looking right through you as you draw near, which doesn’t change even when you still in front of them.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giving an awkward half-bow that you hope neither of them read too much into. The person beside Katsuki - hero name Phantom - introduces themselves right back, their bow deeper before they return to their rambling. They’re too caught up to note the way you and Katsuki don’t share names with each other and, with the moment lost, have gone to avoiding each other’s eyes altogether.  

The tension lasts until the other support item maker - a man you recognize from the flight - emerges from baggage claim. The sight of him shifts the tides and you all start to gather your things for the hotel. Katsuki still hasn’t said a word to you, though if the others have noticed, it doesn’t show. You, of course, have and even as you trail behind him and Phantom to make small talk with the other designer, your eyes linger over his broad back.

Somehow, you’d expected more...anger when he saw you next. 

Of course, this calm is pleasant, especially when you’re in public. But, there’s something about it that’s disappointing as well. Leaves you with an emptiness in your gut that you push past with animated conversation with your new companion.

[ … ] 

“Who was she?” Your eyes screw shut before the words even make it out. How embarrassing --- all that talk to yourself about letting it go and you fold not even three steps into your shared suite. It’s none of your business who she is -- it’s none of your business what he does. But, your heart twists every time you think about the two of them in the back of the welcoming party. You’ve never seen him like that - at least not from an outsider’s lens - leaning into another person so closely and the curiosity comes tumbling out of you before you can stop it.

Katsuki is silent for a long while; long enough that you almost think he hadn’t heard you. But, the stiffness in his shoulders tells you aren’t so lucky and after a moment of you watching him untie his shoes, he finally turns to look at you. The glance is brief, but poignant, before his focus returns to himself --- this time, his tie. “I don’t think you’re in any place to be asking me that,” he grunts, tugging at the fabric until it loosens.

Embarrassment sears your throat, a sting you feel behind the eyes as you turn them towards the floor. It’s bad enough that you’d given into the urge to ask, but Katsuki being so straightforward is mortifying. He’s right, of course, but what makes it worse is that he’s not even trying to belittle you with that answer. He means it as simply and plainly as he’s said it: you’re in no position to ask him to tell you something like that.

Self-indulgence from you is rare and you find it’s for this very reason. When you step out of the safety of your logic, your equations, your reasoning, you always manage to trip yourself up. Even now, you want to push, misplaced jealousy gnashing its teeth at the back of your mind. But, his response has sobered you  and you lock it and your curiosity up tight with a stiff apology and a goodnight.

Katsuki doesn’t look up again until your door closes behind you.

[ … ] 

When the chaos has gone, and dust settled, a gang of thirty-something villains is in handcuffs and you’re banged up; ankle throbbing, but very much alive. You haven’t seen Katsuki since he’d stashed you away with the others with a promise to come back, but you’ve heard enough steady explosions to think he must be okay. 

Still, you want proof. When the panic room door opens with a creak, his face isn’t the first you see, but it’s all you’re thinking about. Him, and getting back to him. You want to say it’s the last of your adrenaline, but even you know better. Know adrenaline from longing well, even with your limited experience and you let yourself admit something you’ve hidden for twelve months.

You miss him. 

And even with the lengthy process that usually follows a villain attack, this will likely be the last full day you’ll have with him for the rest of your life.

The realization makes the panic room shrink to a quarter of the size, pain punching air out of your lungs so fast your vision swims. You need to go, you tell yourself, Katsuki’s promise lost in the static of your upset -- you can’t be here right now.

Your ankle smarts when you start putting real pressure on it, but the pain isn’t enough to stop you from pushing to the front of the line to leave.  With each step past someone else, you hear sneers and you think you apologize, but when you’re so cotton-mouthed, you can’t really be sure.

Either way, it doesn’t slow you. The madness makes it easy to peel away from the crowd and though it takes you some time, you don’t stop until you’ve made it outside where you can breathe. For everything that’s happened in the last forty-five minutes, the island’s relatively unaffected, air as cool and breezy as every other night that week. The only real sign of the attack where you are are sirens and voices rising from the other side of the expo center - where you imagine Katsuki to be. 

The thought - that he’s so close - should be comforting, but your despair does good work to keep it bittersweet; to remind you that it won’t be for much longer. It has to be selfish to be so upset when this had all been your choice to begin with; but for the first time since the breakup, you don’t try to explain away what you’re feeling. To dissect and rationalize so you can avoid it altogether. 

For the first time since the breakup, you let it all in.

[ … ]

It takes Katsuki fifteen minutes to find you. Each one finds him more agitated than the last as he works himself up, searching every space by the now empty panic room to figure out where you’d gone. 

At first, he’d assumed the best - that you’d been ushered with the rest of the group to the lobby waiting with police and paramedics. But, a quick skim of the crowd came up empty for your familiar face and panic set in not long after. 

An admittedly tense conversation with the officer that had unsealed the room revealed that one civilian - a woman with a noticeable limp - had broken away from the group just as the doors opened. It’d done well to calm him, knowing someone had seen you after the fighting was over, but he’s hardly settled, if the way he stomps through the floor is anything to go by. “She never fucking listens,” he growls to no one in particular, eyes narrowed in razor sharp focus. 

He’s worked up, above all, by his worry. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t vaguely wounded by the fact you hadn’t let him come back like promised. It draws him back, despite his best efforts, to the day you left --- the day you told him in no uncertain terms that you’d always expected one of you to leave, what with that know-it-all quirk of yours.

He’d felt then as he does now: utterly untrusted. Like he’s behind without even knowing there’s a race --- like he’s lost without any hope to catch up. He doesn’t like it, feeling that way again, and it gets him so unnerved that he starts to revert to old habits. Shoulders bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets, and, notably, taking a foot to every door that could stand between him and wherever the hell you’ve disappeared to. 

When he finds you, finally, behind the fourth, it’s with a kick so firm it turns your sob into a strangled squeak. 

[ ... ] 

“I thought I told you to stay put---” There’s venom in Katsuki’s voice, but a sort you know well. Worried more than enraged, even if his expressive face doesn’t show it. You move to answer, but he steps in before you can, eyes locked eerily on your face. “...Why the hell are you crying?” You reach up for your wet cheeks, cursing internally; you’d hoped to be well through this before you faced him again so the question catches you off guard. Long enough that Katsuki can close the distance and kneel at your feet, pulling your fingers away from your face so he can inspect it. “You gonna say something or what? Did someone hurt you?” 

You can tell he’s biting his tongue, tempering his rage until he’s sure there’s something to rage about. But even that muted anger can be dangerous and you’re quick to shake your head, hands coming up again to wipe your face. “No! No, it’s...just my ankle. From before, when we were running.”

Relief spreads in Katsuki’s face hearing that, like he’s grateful that that’s all it is. But, his frown stays put, deepening some when he reaches down for your ankle and watches your expression sour from the touch. “Hm. Doesn’t seem broken or anything.” He turns thoughtfully towards the building behind him, stilling at the sounds rising from the busy lobby. You try to glean purpose from his face, but have to wait until he speaks up again to work out what he’s doing. “‘S gonna take ages for them to see you right now. I can wrap your ankle up at the hotel and take you in for a check up before tomorrow’s flight.” 

You nod wordlessly, grateful for the chance to avoid anyone else for the night.

[ … ]

The quiet in your suite as Katsuki carries you in is a blessing.

You hadn’t realized how badly overwhelmed you were until you’d been alone on the balcony, so even just a few minutes going through the expo center was too much. Katsuki had picked up on it and hesitated very little in hoisting you up so you could move quickly through the crowd and rubble.

You’d insisted he didn’t need to do it at all, let alone again in the hotel; but just one glance at you down the slope of his nose had silenced you.

The first thing he does when the door shuts behind you is set you down on the couch, warning you to stay still with a look alone. When you’re settled, he disappears into his room before emerging with an impressively stocked first aid kit. And for the second time that night, he’s on his knees for you, taking your swollen ankle in hand to inspect it more closely. 

With so much happening earlier, his touch on the balcony was easy to drown out. Now, there’s nowhere to focus but him and the press from his palm as it cups your bare skin. He runs a thumb over scratches you hadn’t noticed, the way he traces the lines almost pensive, before his attention turns to the kit beside him. 

You, all the while, are stock still, frozen from the heat of his touch. It’s nothing compared to his mouth or the weight of his full body, but after so many months apart, it bowls you over all the same.

You don’t notice you’re crying again until he says something.

“You’re not crying over the ankle,” he says simply, though his touch softens just in case as he brings it into his lap with some bandage wrap.

You don’t know what it is, but something in the way he asks compels your honesty and you nod, feeling pathetic as you sniffle and look down at your hands.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on then?”

You swallow thickly, words already threatening to bubble up like they had the night of the welcoming party. “I...I don’t think I can.” Or should, rather - you don’t need to use your quirk to know that nothing good could come out of this.

But, Katsuki is firm, shaking his head as he starts to wind the first layer of bandage carefully around your ankle. “Well, I’m sayin’ you can. So, don’t go crying by yourself for some dumb reason like that. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to. But if you do, you can.” 

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s a given. And beside your better judgment, you lean into that open assuredness. You’d always loved it about him, after all --- the way he so firmly believes that nothing could stop him - or anyone - if he didn’t let it. For some people, it was self-importance, but nights holding him after good and bad days had taught you otherwise -- it was bravery.

Bakugou Katsuki was the bravest man you’d ever known. A blaze that shone so bright on its own that you felt out of place beside him -- like you couldn’t give him what he needed --  and decided for you both that that meant you didn’t have a chance. 

But, in the quiet of your suite, with Katsuki sitting comfortably at your feet, you decide that maybe he’s rubbed off on you some. That maybe, in your time alone, you’ve become a lot braver than you realized.

So, you suck in a deep breath, look him square in the eye, and tell him the truth.

“I miss you, Katsuki.”

[ … ]

He holds your hands to the mattress so tight they hurt, but the ache is welcome. You know him well, even now, and can read between the lines of your intertwined fingers. 

He’d missed you too.

All these days of looking through you, past you had been intentional to protect himself, but here, now, he’s completely laid bare. Mouth kiss swollen and eyes lined with tears he’ll wave off later, Katsuki is spilling out every ounce of love he’d held back the day you told him you’d always planned to leave.

You meet him halfway with an arch off the bed to chase his kisses and tell him that you love him --- and you’re sorry --- between each one.

The weight of his body is as precious as you remember and the heat of your tangled limbs lulls you into a daze that pulls your eyes shut.

Katsuki doesn’t notice at first as he’s dragging his mouth over your bare neck, but when he does, he’s quickly displeased. “Look at me,” he hisses, fingers tightening between yours. Your eyes open heavily and it takes you a moment to find his gaze in the darkness. But, once you’re back, he presses his forehead to yours and slowly, carefully presses forward until his cock’s stretched you to the hilt.

The fill feels like coming home. 

[mrsalwayswrite]

Filthy Tease (Eugene Roe x f!reader)

I meant for this to be a spicy Roe piece but it kinda of took a different route than anticipated... oops? Anyway, i wanna dedicate this to @saritanotserena for giving me the idea but also cuz she is amazing! (sorry if this is awful, i still think i’m terrible at smut) also, not super edited cuz we die like men, alright?

Warning: sexual content- teasing & fingering & my poor attempts at dirty talk

Words:3700

Tag list: @happyveday @saritanotserena @sydney-m @evelynshelby

 There were many things most people were not aware of in regards to Easy Company's Eugene Roe. For example, he was terrified of bees. But instead of running away screaming, he would freeze and not move, barely breathing until he felt safe enough to move. Also, the man was obsessed with strawberries. He would pick them any day over chocolate or any other kind of dessert. When alone, he enjoyed quietly quoting poetry. He never did it in front of the men, for fear they would mock him. The biggest secret that would surprise people though?

 Eugene Roe was a filthy tease whose lips dripped sin and hands brought you to heaven with their touch. 

 And you were well acquainted with this side of him. 

 In Albourne, the replacements had begun calling you 'mama bear' shortly after you punched a Sergeant from a different company, who was picking on one of Easy's replacements. You also had the habit of checking up on them and trying to teach them extra things that training left out. You did not mind the nickname. Honestly, you thought it was sweet how all the boys took to you so. Since most of the Toccoa guys did not want anything to do with the replacements, you stepped up. 

 Unfortunately, all this extra attention from the replacements seemed to spark unnecessary jealousy from Roe. In the quiet moments you two managed to sneak away, you always tried to remind and show him how he was the only man who caught your eye. You would shower him with words of affection, hold him close and kiss him until he forgot his worries. You both hated that you had to keep your relationship a secret. You tried to remind him that this was only temporary. One day you could kiss and hold hands in public. One day you could stand before him in a white dress. One day you would make others jealous with the overwhelming love you had for each other. 

 But that was not today. Or in any sense of the foreseeable future. So you kept your relationship secret and tried to keep your affections on a slow simmer as to not alert the rest of the company. 

 After you started gaining more attention from the replacements, after you started spending more time with them…. Roe changed his tactics in reminding you of who always stole your breath and made you feel like a goddess on earth. 

 And that was how you learned he was a filthy tease. 

 It started off with simple things. He would walk past you and let his hand caress your ass for a fleeting moment before moving on to avoid drawing notice to the pair of you. Or if you sat next to one another to eat, he would place his hand on your knee or thigh underneath the table, giving you an occasional squeeze. If your hair got in your face, he would tenderly tuck it behind your ear or adjust your cap if your hands were full. It was sweet how tactical he was. Always seeking for a way to subtly touch you. 

 Then one day, you were walking with a couple of replacements back from the firing range, having been helping them with their accuracy. You saw Roe approaching, hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on you. He commented how he needed your advice for something and so you innocently followed him towards the small aid station set up in Albourne, having waved goodbye to the replacements. 

 As you passed a huge stack of empty boxes next to a brick building, he pushed you off the road and behind the boxes. You slammed against the brick wall, shock making you unable to cry out or demand about his actions. He had never been rough with you before. Concern and anger warned in you, unsure if something was wrong with him or he was being an asshole. When you leaned back, ready to demand what was going on, your words were cut off by his mouth covering yours and his tongue slipping between your lips. His body pressed against you, pinning you between him and the brick wall behind you. His mouth and touch dominated you, bringing you to the brink and turning you into a puddle of desire. Just as a whine left your throat, desperate for him to touch you where you needed him most, he pulled back. Through the haze of lust, you could see his lips swollen, eyes dilated, and chest rising and falling rapidly, matching your own. 

 "What…?" You stumbled out, your mind and body quaking with need. 

 "That's so ya don't forget." Even his voice was affected, more husky than normal. God, it sounded delicious and you wanted to taste it from the source again. 

 "Forget… forget what?"

 "Who makes ya feel good. Who can please ya… and who always wants ya." He stepped back, a smug smirk tugging on his lips. "See ya later, chéri." Then he walked away, back onto the road, hands in his pockets as if nothing had happened. As if he had not left you aching in need and obscenely wet. 

 You stayed there against the brick wall for longer than you would ever care to admit. Your heart hammered in your chest, the ache in your belly at an almost painful level, your breathing heavy in anticipation for what you thought was to come. But now you stood there… alone… and horny. 

 You thought maybe this was just a one-time thing. He had never done anything like this before. 

 Oh, how wrong you were. 

 A couple days later you sat in the back of a lecture room, Nixon at the front talking about something very important. But you could not hear a word he was saying. Oh no, because Eugene Roe was sitting next to you, whispering in your ear about all the dirty things he wanted to do to you in quite explicit terms. Half the stuff he whispered, you wondered where he even got the ideas. Soon enough, his words seeped into your mind as he painted such lewd images of the two of you. You had to press your thighs tightly together to deal with the growing ache. Something you were positive he noticed and delighted in. At one point, he even drew his finger slowly up from your knee to your hip as he whispered about sneaking into Sink's office and letting him fuck you over the man's desk. Once the lecture was over, Roe just gave you a wink and easily got up to walk away with the others heading out. You had to sit there for several minutes, taking long, deep breaths to try and will away the flush over your skin and suppress the pooling desire in your belly. 

 You could not decide if you loved or hated this new side of Roe. 

 Another time he asked for your help, that he might practice a new technique he read about in one of his medical books. You laid down on one of the beds in the aid station. The quiet chatting of a couple of the other medics behind the half-wall curtain filled the otherwise silent air from the other side of the station. Roe snuck a quick kiss to your lips making you giggle quietly and the two of you easily fell into a light-hearted conversation about a party being set up for the enlisted. Though as you two kept talking and he practiced wrapping and unwrapping various parts of your body, his hands began to…. wander. His fingers skimmed up your thighs, moving teasingly close to your groin then darting away. 

 At first you thought it was an accident and paid no mind, but after a couple times, you realized he was doing it on purpose. When you called him out on it, he pretended to have no idea what you were talking about. Then he told you he needed to practice working on a chest wound. Next thing you knew, he had the top several buttons of your army-issued jacket open, and he was laying a bandage on your exposed skin. His hands roamed across your chest, brushing your breasts with firm strokes. At one point he murmured something about giving you morphine and pretended to jab a syringe into your thigh; but as his hand moved back up, it grazed over your sex, leaving a fiery trail up your torso and back to your chest in its wake.  

 "Gene…" you moaned, unable to take it anymore, wriggling underneath his touch seeking friction. 

 He hushed you, wicked eyes glancing towards where the others were in the aid station. "Ya gotta keep quiet, pretty lady. Can ya do that for me?"

 You nodded but it was only half-hearted, your mind already drawing in the euphoric hunger he induced in you. His hands worked you- skimming, fondling, cupping and teasing- in all the ways that soon left you a quivering mess, biting down on your hand to keep the lascivious moans at bay. 

 The whole time he complimented and whispered to you, saying things that only seemed to heighten the experience. "Doin' so good, mon chéri, look at ya. Beautiful." Or "gotta keep quiet, pretty lady." Or "just imagine when I do this to ya, but with my tongue… I know ya taste so damn good. How's that feel, darlin'?"

 Finally, you were toeing the edge, body desperate to fall off that cliff. Your body vibrated with maddening want. "Gene, please…." You begged without shame; the desire, the need too great for you to care. 

 "Shhh...can't let 'em see ya like this." He cooed, one hand cupping your cheek while the other fondled your breast. "This is for me only, yeah? Say it, chéri."

 "Just you… just you, Gene."

 "Mmm… good girl." Then he finally slipped his skilled hand into your pants and pushed you off the edge. Your body drowned in bliss, mind hazy with pleasure. 

 This went on for weeks. Any opportunity he could pull you into a dark corner, push you against a wall, touch you, or drive you wild… he took full advantage of. 

 To everyone else, he still remained the quiet, slightly reclusive medic with a heart of gold and healing hands. 

 But to you… he was a fallen angel with the sole purpose to tempt you with that delightful Cajun accent and take control of you with those sinful lips and magical hands. 

 ***

 The atmosphere in the pub was jovial. Glenn Miller played in the background from the radio. The many voices of the paratroopers filled the pub, overshadowing the famous artist. The place reeked of beer, cigarette smoke and testosterone.  

 Buck, Luz, Toye and Heffron played darts in the corner. A few of the other Toccoa men heckled them and laughed at their own jokes, ignoring the replacements scattered about. The divide between Toccoa men and replacements felt like a terrible chasm. You tried to bridge it though. Floating between both parties, you laughed and cracked jokes with everyone while sipping on your beer. 

 This was the first time you had worn your WAAC uniform in months, reviving fond memories at its feel and look. You had started in the WAAC but then threw a series of unexpected encounters and circumstances, you eventually found yourself at Camp Toccoa training to be a paratrooper. Now, it felt odd to be wearing a skirt, stockings and kitten heels. You had become so used to your dirty ODs. Tonight though, you donned your skirt and heels, even going so far to put on some red lipstick. Who knew when the next chance you would have to dress up would be?

 "Come on, just one dance." Simmons was begging from the seat beside you, his boyish charm on full display, enhanced by the dimples in his cheeks. 

 You laughed, more amused than annoyed by his persistence. "No, if I dance with you then everyone else will expect a dance too."

 "Give it up, Peter." Burkle chuckled. "Mama bear ain't going out there."

 You pointed a finger at the dark-haired replacement across the table. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Frank."

 "Ya hear 'bout the man who got caught joy-ridin' the other day?" Ralph Nestor changed the topic thankfully, leaning forward against the table, ready to spread the latest gossip. 

 Taking another sip of your beer, you listened but scanned the crowd around you. It was about time for you to move on to the next group. 

 As if sensing a pair of eyes burning into you, you swiveled your head trying to locate the gaze. It did not take long for you to meet the eyes of Eugene Roe. He sat with Spina and a few others at a table on the other side of the bar. He subtly tapped the empty spot next to him after he caught your eye. A warmth filled you. It was stupid since you knew he loved you but even here amongst a crowd, he wanted you by his side. 

 "Well, I'm off, fellas. Don't get too drunk tonight please… and if you do, make sure to keep all your clothes on. I'm looking at you, Private Burkle." You teased, watching the young man's face redden at the reminder, while the others laughed. Standing up, you brushed your skirt down, still unused to the feeling after so long. 

 "Yes, mama bear." A couple of them chorused. 

 You smiled. As you reached forward to grab your half-full beer glass, a hand slipped into yours and spun you around into a solid chest. "What?"

 Simmons held your hand as he placed his other on your waist. "Come on, one dance. I'll even keep my hands to myself."

 "Your hands wander at all, there's at least thirty men here who will rip your hands off for me if I ask."

 "Oh believe me, I know." He squeezed your hand, a cheeky smile on his face. "Please?"

 "Simmons, give it up!" Nestor said. "I see your platoon Sergeant looking over here."

 That got Simmons to freeze, glancing over his shoulder to see Guarnere with eyes narrowed at the two of you. 

 You laughed, pushing away from the replacement. "Better not piss your platoon Sergeant off. I'll be back for my glass." Swiftly, you moved in the direction of the bathroom, sending a wink Guarnere's way and receiving one in return. 

 The women's bathroom was small and cramped with two stalls, barely room to move, and a small counter with a sink. Either women did not frequent this pub much or this was awkwardly small to discourage women from lounging and socializing in here away from men. In your mind, it could go either way honestly. 

 After you finished your business, you stood at the sink washing your hands. The cool water soothed your skin after the heat in the pub. Looking up in the mirror, you saw your lipstick had faded and was slightly smudged. Most likely from the beer glass. Carefully, you tried to fix it using the tip of your finger. It seemed absurd, with everything you had been through- the training and combat you had seen- for you to be standing here worried about your smudged lipstick. Perhaps it would not have felt so odd if you stayed in the WAAC instead of joining the paratroopers. 

 Behind you, the bathroom door opened which surprised you. You thought you had been the only woman at the pub tonight. Maybe a few local women showed up? You looked up into the mirror, prepared to greet the woman. After the person stepped through, your jaw dropped and eyes widened. For it was not a local woman in a pretty dress that stepped in.  

 It was Eugene Roe. 

 "What are you doing in here, Gene?" You looked at him through the mirror. "Is the men's bathroom full?"

 Instead of verbally responding, you watched him latch the simple lock over the door. Your movements stilled as you realized what he just did. 

 "Gene?"

 In a single stride, he came up behind you, putting his arms out on either side of you, caging you between the sink and his body. 

 "Darlin'," he crooned in your ear as his lips left a trail of sweet heat along your neck. "Ya look too damn sexy out there. I see ya legs in those heels and skirt and all I can think about is how good they feel wrapped around me as I pound into ya."

 Your skin felt feverish as the heat radiated off his body. Even through all the layers between you two, your body soaked it in like the parched ground after a thunderstorm. With the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin and his filthy words, your womb clenched from that alone. 

 "Then I see that boy with his hands on ya… shit, it took everythin' for me to not rip him off ya."

 "He didn't mean anything, Gene. I promise."

 "Don't matter. I hate it." His hands gripped the hem of your skirt, slowly pulling it up and bunching it around your hips. He began laying open-mouth kisses along your neck, the whole time his eyes holding yours, as you watched him in the mirror. "I need to 'ear ya sing, pretty lady, I need to 'ear ya gorgeous sounds."

 "Gene…" you moaned out, your eyelids fluttering. That delicious warmth, that only he could fuel, began growing in your belly. "We can't right here." 

 "Shall we find out?"

 Without preamble, one of his hands slipped under your skirt, the other still bunching the fabric up around you and out of the way. You hissed slightly as he touched your bare core, unable to completely hide the smirk on your face as he gave a slight groan. 

 "Mon chéri, where ya skivvies at? Ya been out there this whole time with no underwear on?" 

 "I wanted to surprise you… I thought you might try something."

 "Fuck!" He bit your earlobe and ground his hardening cock against your ass. "Ya tryin' to tease me? Mmm?"

 Before you could retort something smart back at him, you gasped as he slipped a finger into you, finding you already wet for him. 

 "Look at ya, sweetheart, so fuckin' beautiful right now." He murmured, eyes not having left yours in the mirror this whole time, pining you even more so than his body still caging you. 

 With one hand, you grabbed the sink to anchor yourself, your legs turning into jelly beneath you from the onslaught of pleasure coursing through your veins. "Gene, please." You begged. 

 Eyes boring into yours, he pulled his finger out of you, drawing a whiny whimper from your lips. With a salacious smirk, he opened his mouth and placed his pointer and middle fingers in his mouth, making sure to swirl his tongue around them then pulled them slowly out. 

 "Holy fuck…"

 Still smirking, he reached down and slipped both fingers into you. They plunged in and out of you, the wet sounds lewdly echoed in the small bathroom. Roe continued to grind against you from behind, timing it to match with the thrusts of his fingers. You wanted to close your eyes, to sink into the heat bubbling in you. But you were unable to for Roe watched you with a heated, heavy gaze in the mirror. Your gazes locked as he brought you closer and closer to your climax, moans and sighs slipping from your lips. 

 "Good girl, mon chérie, so beautiful. Look at ya."

 He continued to whisper in your ear in between leaving open-mouth kisses and bites on your neck and jaw. 

 "Ya close, sweetheart? I can feel it, so close."

 "Oh God, please, Gene…. Don't stop. Please."

 With a dark chuckle, he gave one last flick to your clit and pushed you over the edge. As you opened your mouth, he slammed his mouth over yours, greedily swallowing your cry of bliss. You floated on waves of ecstasy; your eyes closed to soak in the sensations. Eventually you opened your eyes, even if the movement felt sluggish and your body limp. 

 "There's those gorgeous eyes." Roe nuzzle your temple. "Ya back with me?"

 "Mmm… I think so."

 He chuckled. "Think ya can stand?"

 That was when you noticed he was practically holding you up between an arm now wrapped around your waist and you still pinned between him and the sink. 

 "Sorry." You mumbled, standing up on shaky legs. When you noticed his cocky smirk, you languidly swatted at him. "Shut up." Slowly you turned around to look at him. It did not escape your notice his… um… large problem he was sporting in his trousers. 

 "You know… the couple I am billeted with, they left this afternoon for a weekend in London visiting family."

 "Oh? Well, that is interestin' news."

 "Uh huh. What's the likelihood we can sneak out of here unnoticed?"

 He leaned down to press his lips against yours, drawing a soft sigh from you at the sweetness in the kiss. "Very likely… Guess we'll find out though."

 "And what's the likelihood we'll actually make it to the house before you try to get under my skirt again?"

 "Less likely."

 You laughed, pressing a hand to his chest to push him back. Running a hand over your skirt, you tried to smooth it out as much as possible and hide any evidence of your tryst. 

 "Ready?"

 "Always."

 The two of you somehow managed to sneak out of the bathroom and out of the pub without drawing notice to yourselves. As you stepped out into the night, walking quickly down the street, you both were giggling like teenagers having snuck out of your parents' homes. He snagged your hand and pulled you along, almost jogging down the silent road in Albourne. 

 Before you even made it halfway to your billeted house, Roe pulled you into a dark corner, just off the road. You laughed before his mouth covered yours, silencing you and turning your laughter into moans. 

 You did not mind too much. 

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #13

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

[AO3]

((edited because I figured out to add some more history facts that I think are important))

~POV Sinbad~

"The Kou Empire, huh?"

"That is going to make things risky."

With all of the Generals caught up with what happened in Balbadd, they needed to start planning for King Sinbad's trip to the Kou Empire, as well as catching him up with everything that had happened in Sindria while he was gone.

"LadY YamuRAI H AA AA A" A yell came from the hallway accompanied by the sounds of running.

((Sinbad is hidden on the left. There's a hint of him poking out.))

A panting magician gave apologies for disturbing their meeting and ran to the head of Sindria's magicians. "I wish I knew you were here so I didn't search the tower first~" Then he started explaining about some magical proof. Most of his words sounded like gibberish to the rest, but it was clear that he had made some kind of break though.

Yam jumped out of her seat. "How did you finally figure it out?! Who figured it out?!" She whipped her head to her King, "Sorry your majesty," and then looked back to the other magician.

"It was the work of the Prophet!” the magician answered. "We were talking about her illness and she pulled out scrolls that- you just have to read them for yourself!”

Mori had said that she had written other scrolls before she started coping down Fate. This must have been what she was working on.

Both magicians bowed out to go test out this new information. Before they could leave, Sinbad ended the meeting; there was no way he was going to wait to learn what other information Mori had blessed them with. Ja'far followed as did a few of the other Generals.

When they got into the court yard, the doctors that had been sent to take care of Mori were already pushing their supply cart back to their main building. The magician that had stayed behind spotted them and raised two scrolls up triumphantly. "She let me take the scrolls!"

---

News of the scrolls written by a Prophet spread throughout the Black Libra Tower within an hour. Yamuraiha and the doctors explained their significance to King Sinbad.

If even a fraction of the theories in the scrolls proved true it would completely changed their understanding of how illnesses work. If Mori wasn't sick she would undoubtedly be swarmed with questions and demands for proof. According to the magicians, nothing in the scrolls went against any known information. Instead, they gave explanations to why certain things that had been attempted in the past had failed. What she wrote about 'cells' was what really caught the eyes of the white magicians and doctors. As an example, according to Mori's writing there were blood types and most couldn't mix; that would explain why most past attempts at blood transfusions had failed.

The 2nd scroll showed a break down of even smaller particles, and how the structures of different particles made up everything. This was going to bring alchemic magic to a whole new era. Sure, such things would most likely be limited to high magicians, group efforts, and the Magi, but it looked possible now. A lot of common magic of the current day took extreme amounts of magoi in the past because they hadn't found the right formula yet. Mori's writing -if true- could easily be used as a guide to finding the right order of commands for many spells.

And even more than that, Mori had said that she had even more information to share; she had just ran out of scrolls and ink.

Mori's presence in Sindria, and everything that went with it were Fate and the Rukh's guidance. King Sinbad could see it -the future he wanted.

---

~POV Mori~

In Sindria's Palace there is a Great Bell. It is rung during celebrations, and to signify the King returning home like it did earlier that day, but it's main use was to ring every 2 hours to tell everyone the time since clocks weren't invented yet. So even though I was a sick person trying to rest during the day, I was woken up by the Great Bell every 2 hours... which of course is also situated right on top of the guest tower.

For obvious reasons, I was awake again.

I wish I knew how the others responded to the scrolls. I really wanted to know Yam's opinion most. Those scrolls basically gave away the secret to Yunan's signature alchemy magic.

I still had the first scroll I had worked on -the one on the science behind blimps-, and the last science scroll I had started. That one was on DNA, and reproductive systems. It was the last one I started in Balbadd. I hadn't started working on it until sunrise on my 2nd sleepless night and it showed; there were missing words everywhere, many incomplete sentences, and I couldn't stay in topic.

These mistakes were too great to fix with an ink knife. Editing was going be super annoying and time consuming since I couldn't work digitally. I'd have to physically cut up the first draft to put everything in the right order before making the next one.

Wait- Did this world have scissors???

Back home the first evolution of shears that could be labeled as scissors was in Roman barber shops in the last hundred years or so before Rome fell. China would spontaneous also create something akin to scissors not long after. Reim and the Kou Empire seemed to line up with Rome and ancient China for the most part, so I tend to use them to place the time period, but the dress Princess Dunya wears is centuries off and throws all historical accuracy questions out the window. Rome was long gone by the time boning was added to women's undergarments, and that dress had all the signs of boned corsetry.

Fuck it. I'll ask for scissors and if they don't have them I'll just invent them myself. I had been drafting professionally for the past 4 years. That may have been for microelectronics, but it uses all the same skills; I could do this. I needed to get a ruler -or at least a straight edge- and a drafting compass which they probably have based on the look of maps in the series, and pencils, or at least colored inks if they had them. I probably needed to reinvent the French curve(stencil tool used in art & drafting)...

Since I was struggling to fall back asleep I moved to the table and pulled out my test scroll. It was full of random marks and some of my early drawing attempts that I used to practice with the dip pen -it's also where I wrote down the dreams from the Rukh. I'd write the list of things I needed, rip the section out of the scroll, and pass the list to someone who could get me what I was asking for. I added some living necessities too like sleep wear and a comb.

The maids that came to give me dinner, and next dose of medicine were not pleased that I wasn't in bed -I was an important guest who was sick after all. And I wasn't pleased to have to drink more of that bitter medicine, but we can't have nice things all the time, now can we?

My voices was strained but I managed to communicate enough. I gave them my list, and laundry (the clothes I wore on the boat) before they left. They'd get me the things the next day. I was instructed to sleep until someone brings me breakfast the next day... which is what I was going to do anyway since the sun was practically gone. I might be a bit of a workaholic but I'm not going to let myself pull an accidental all-nighter when I know I'm still sick. I'm far more self aware than that.

And besides, the Great Bell didn't ring at night.

---

Maids brought my breakfast (& meds) the next morning and let me know that my clothes would be cleaned and dry by the end of the day. I guess they didn't use magic for everything.

They also gave me all of the drafting and inking supplies I asked for except for scissors. In one of the omakes Sinbad was shown cutting his hair with a knife as a part of his normal grooming. I had hoped he was just old fashioned.

For the greater good and the future of my own hair care, I drafted up detailed designs for a few different types of basic scissors. They wouldn't look fancy, but hopefully I had put enough of a detailed explanation on everything for the smith to figure out what I was asking. Steel wasn't developed until the middle ages and some of the counties of this world matched that so I hoped

that God and anime were on my side. I really wanted scissors that would be a good quality.

And if that didn't work I'd just have to get used to using knives and bladed rollers like a regular person.

The Great Bell rung for 10 am. There were at least another 2 hours before someone would show up, to give lunch, that I could ask to take my draft for the scissors to a black Smith.

I should be resting as a sick person. I should be more exhausted and in pain as a sick person. What was making me recover this quickly?

I still didn't feel like laying back down, so I decided to start drafting up the materials and equipment for proving everything I had written in the scrolls I gave the previous day.

Globally, micro-organisms, viruses, and bacteria were not really accept or proved until the late 1800's. Since Magi seems to take place some time around our 100AD-1300, and Yunan hinting at chemical compounds was seen as shocking by Yam, I knew that my bio scrolls were probably causing an uproar in the Black Libra Tower. I refused to use actual people or wait for an outbreak to prove it like how it happened in history -like how John Snow proved it when finding the cause of cholera outbreaks in 1848 and 1854 England. No, I needed to show how to prove these things in a lab, and to do that I was going to need to explain how to keep samples and invent a way to see microorganisms.

First was for a glass petri dish and other containers for samples. I'd need at least 3 -preferably more. I know glass works have been around since BC, and that this world had glass windows in some scenes, but I worried about the quality of the glass contaminating the experiments. I was going to have to boil them beforehand to sterilize them anyway.

Gosh I wish I had access to nonporous, air tight containers, and a temperature controlled environment. The heat and humidity of Sindria could easily mess everything up.

Wait... I suddenly remembered a scene from the Magnostadt arc when they showed how a sample was being stored. They already had good enough glass. I knew there were magic bio experiments but I had no idea how they worked.

With the realization that I was getting ahead myself, I switched to writing about how to use the scientific method to test for germs. It was basically the bread in a bag test to teach young children about germs but with petri dishes. I also wrote about how to analyze samples with a microscope to see micro organisms so I was going to have to figure that out next.

Lunch came as the perfect break.

Just thinking about reinventing this thing made me nervous. I knew magnifying glasses existed in ancient Rome, but they would be nothing like what I was used to. I had to explain how light moves and made multiple diagrams showing how concave and convex lenses affect light as well as the material of the lens. I ended up also showing how to make a telescope even though I knew Yam already had one.

Magicians were the only ones shown with glasses. Maybe now the rest of the world could have them too.

4 o'clock came and so did 3 doctors and a magician. It was less than yesterday, but still more than necessary to treat or analyze one person. I only recognized one of the doctors from the previous day. All of the new faces looked nervous. None of them looked young by any measure, so I really doubted this was their first time treating someone.

They weren't happy to see me at the table and made me return to my bed -their loss.

The doctor from the previous day was the one doing most of the talking. "Your recovery is amazing. You will most likely be better in another 3 days at this rate if not sooner. It's practically a miracle."

I smiled. "It's pretty shocking for me too." As long as I spoke quietly and kept my comments short, I found I could talk again for a bit.

The doctor was silent for a moment before changing the subject. "I know you need rest, but would you be willing to answer a few questions about those scrolls from yesterday?

The 3 other men looked expectant. This was why they were here.

"I don't mind as long as you don't make me talk too much."

Then came the question I was expecting since I had first made the scrolls. "I know you are a Prophet and the information came from your visions but is there any way you can prove what you wrote?"

I pointed to the table with the scroll I had started earlier. "I can't prove it with the current equipment I have, so I've been drafting up the needed equipment and processes for proving it."

They all turned to look at where I was pointing.

I added, "It's not done, but you're welcome to read what I have so far."

I was thanked as they went to the table they had called me away from when they entered.

'He called it 'visions?' Really?' I had to ask Sinbad later what he was telling his people about me so I could keep the story straight.

The magician confirmed for the others what I wrote about light bending. There was magic to do that, but not everyone is a magician. I had just invented a way for non-magicians to bend light.

Just wait until I show them a prism that can split light into colors. Or teach them how light is perceived in the eye. Or even better, show them the double slit experiment that proves that light is a particle not just a wave... Did they know light was a wave yet?

"Lady Prophet."

I was pulled out of my thoughts.

"You said this isn't finished and there is plenty of space in this scroll for more, but would you let us take this back to the tower so we can get started?"

I wanted to say 'no.' I was still coming up with things to add to it, but I also knew that holding things back because I wanted to save paper was a fool's game. Besides, I could always add more to it later.

I nodded and they thanked me before making me promise not to leave my bed. They were grateful for this new scroll but not at the expense of my health -they were doctors after all.

And then they left.

It was probably about 5pm if my internal clock was on schedule, so I had about an hour before the next ring of the Bell.

Even if I wasn't a man of my word, I would have lost the motivation to work with my current project taken from me while I was still in the middle of making it.

So, I did the thing I grew up doing when I was bedridden from illness: I looked out the window. From the bed I could only see the tops of the buildings on the other side of the courtyard. The Tower that was just poking in from the left had to be the Black Libra Tower.

The waves in Sindria were calmer yet stronger than those in Balbadd. It was probably due to Sinbad's influence. He brought stability and security to his people. I could understand why so many chose to follow him or ally with him. But I knew where all this would lead. As he obtains more power and influence he will stop being able to see himself from the pedestal that he and everyone else put him on; his greed will make him blind to the wants and needs of others, and like a middle aged parent that isn't ready for their child to leave the nest he will take out his frustration on the world that was moving on without him. When Sinbad dies at the end of the manga, Drakon realizes that they all put too much on Sinbad's shoulders.

To change Fate, I was going to have to make sure I never put him on that pedestal nor rely on him for much. And I was going to have to convince the 8 Generals to do the same -or at least to start pulling more of the weight.

The 6 o'clock Bell came faster than I expected, as well as my dinner not long after. They brought my clean laundry, a sleeping gown, and some other common clothes and things for my convenience.

I would have preferred something much shorter for the night gown since I hate having a lot of extra fabric around my legs when I already have blankets. I was not going to risk being walked in on by doctors or whoever when sleeping naked, so I would make do for now.

There was no way King Sinbad wasn't going to reward me for those scrolls. If it was some kind of treasure I'd sell it and buy a new wardrobe for myself that actually suited me, and if the reward was a request then I would ask that he pay for everything directly.

The light coming in my windows changed, and I watched my 2nd sunset in Sindria.

When Sinbad found this island 10 years ago, he completely terraformed it. He didn't get rid of all of the vegetation that was here, but he did break down one of the sides to allow for easier access by boat. The side he carved out faced northish towards all of the other known countries, so no boat would have a reason to circle the island. It was a decision that would benefit the merchants and make it easier to defend.

It also meant that my windows faced west, so I could watch the Sun set every day. I couldn't help but see that as a blessing and a curse. Sure not getting the sunrise meant I'd need to put more effort into

waking up in the morning but that wasn't the part I was worried about.

See- The thing is... I have synesthesia (having 2 or more senses overlapping). I see sounds, letters, and numbers as colors and textures. I have it mild enough that I can normally block it out so it's not too distracting (thank God because music is a main stim), but sometimes I'll hear something and get overwhelmed by how it looks.

Each letter and number is a color. So every voice can make every color, but language, pitch, tone, and accent all affect the colors and textures I see from a person's voice like a filter. There have definitely been some people that I struggled to give my full attention to when I first met them because I was entranced by how their voice looked. The more I hear a person's voice the more I'm able to move its visuals to the background so I can focus -desensitizing myself to it.

Luckily, Sinbad's voice is normally not so distracting that I stop paying attention. Since it's like a merger of every voice actor I've heard play him (All the characters I had met so far were like this.) I'm already desensitized. The similarities across all of the VAs meant that his voice looked like a sunset -full of deep purples and magentas, and bright reds, peach, and gold, and with a smooth and flowing texture like painting in acrylic with a wet brush -like a painting of the last moments of a sunset.

His voice was as pretty as he was.

I hadn't actually gotten to see or hear him for a whole day. But I'd get to look at his voice's equivalent every day while living under his protection.

It was frustrating to admit -I barely knew him as a real person- yet I couldn't deny that I missed him. I feel asleep watching the sun set.

((I wasn't going to write about my synesthesia, but this is my fanfic and I thought it might be fun to reference the colors peoples voices make when the characters talk. I'm not going to paint every VA and head cannon, but I will describe them as I go. Ja'far's Japanese and English VAs have voices that look very different so finding the middle ground is proving tricky.

Also, anyone who noticed that the purple I see in Sinbad's voice is the same as the purple I've been using for the illustrations and comics is super smart and cool.))

[comfy-whumpee]

Whumping Safely 101

Many people in this community have mental health problems, face various types of discrimination, and have complicated relationships with some parts or types of whump. In particular, I aim this at people who care about the experience of survivors and others with triggers – partially because I am an abuse survivor who often flirts with triggering content as part of my love of whump.

Keeping your blog safe is difficult, takes effort, and is never a perfect process. But as the community grows and grows, it’s really important that we hold ourselves to a high standard. I would argue that this is a responsibility of all content creators, but especially those of us in the messy playground of whump.

I’ve got three sections in here: content warnings, writing with care, and community interaction. I’ve tried to make it navigable. It’s about 1.8k words. Shorter than a lot of drabbles! I welcome good-faith criticism on this topic and further questions on my own views.

Content Warnings

The biggest responsibility, in my opinion, is empowering your reader to make their own decision on whether they want to expose themselves to your writing. This also happens to be by far the easiest way to help people whump safely.

What to warn

This is a big and ever-changing topic. Some things you should warn for as a rule of thumb are anything NSFW, pet whump and box boy whump, drugs and alcohol, medical and hospital content, graphic gore, intimate partner violence, and animal harm. It can be tricky to draw the line of what counts – what needs a warning? If you’re in doubt, just warn it anyway. It doesn’t hurt.

If someone requests a trigger be warned for, even if it’s something that feels obscure or tame, show compassion and agree to the request. This is someone who cares enough about being able to read your writing that they wrote in! They want to be able to read it and enjoy it. You’re being complimented.

Otherwise, look at what other blogs tag for. You’ll see some variation in styles and levels of detail, but it’s a good way to gauge what people think is warn-worthy, when we’re often writing stuff that would already be R-rated in mainstream media.

Read Mores

The easiest way to make sure people don’t see your triggering content is to use a cut. Tumblr is not a very functional website and likes to delete cuts, but a cursory check of your posted content will usually tell you whether it’s worked. With asks, cuts are very spotty, so don’t be afraid to post an ask response separately with a screengrab of the original question. People often then respond to the ask itself with a link to the post, especially if it’s a whole drabble. Tumblr is weird and bad so just do your best.

Content notices

I.e., a quick summary before the drabble, usually in bold, to state what will be coming. I like to distinguish between using content notes (CN) and trigger warnings (TW) to indicate severity. Others might use the old phrase ‘dead dove do not eat’ to indicate this is a heavy piece, and often you will see qualifiers like ‘intense’, ‘mild’, ‘mention’, ‘referenced’ (i.e. it is discussed but not actively happening), and ‘implied’ (as the opposite of ��explicit’). I’ve also seen a couple of people use ‘vibes’, which is a really nice way of demonstrating that it’s there, but not the focus. A quick paragraph like this, or just a line, lets people make a quick risk assessment on their reading.

This is also important if you’re sending in asks or requests to people. If you want to ask about something triggering, send an inquiry first about whether the blog is okay to hear it.

Tagging

Tagging is a chore, but it’s your primary way of warning people about your content. The main benefit of tagging is that you can be as detailed as you want, because can be tagging for content in general, not just triggers.

In a best case scenario, you’d tag the kind of whump you’re doing, tag triggers, tag characters, and even your ‘verses, because tagging is your index for your blog. If you tag reliably, you help your future self and your readers find stuff, and you also make your blog really dang safe. People who have unusual triggers can blacklist tags, and will pick up on your content tags to help them.

Don’t just tag your own writing. Tag your reblogs, tag your prompts, tag your asks. Yes, edit your asks to add the tags. Tag your images and gifs. Tag your images as images and your gifs as gifs.

If you aren’t up for detailed tagging for whatever reason, just tag for triggering content, and add stuff to that list if you’re asked to. My usual technique is to make a mental note of tags while I’m formatting and editing before posting.

Be aware that your first five tags will be used in search results. If you’re using tags that are associated with kink too, such as ‘shibari’, you might want to rethink your tag order if you don’t want interaction from those blogs. Also think about what tags might come up in non-whump contexts, such as ‘collar’ or ‘PTSD’. Some tactics for getting around this I’ve seen are adding ‘whump’ after the content or writing the tags in past tense (i.e., ‘collared’).

It is also a good idea to watch out for when you might be reblogging something whumpy that is intended as kink / porn / fetish, especially in images. Tagging these as spicy / nsfw / kink is a sensible move.

Writing with Care

Okay, now for the harder stuff.

I mean here to lay out some guidelines for how to write in a way that helps your reader build good faith. This is a much more nuanced topic, and it’s different for everyone. There will always be differing opinions on what should and shouldn’t be written about, what a good depiction of a sensitive topic is, and how to discuss that topic. I tried to strip this back into absolute basics that I hope we can all agree on.

Maybe your whump involves abuse. Maybe it’s gaslighting. Maybe it’s severe mental health problems, or addiction, or slavery, or you write about or analogise real-world issues. Whump deals with the dark stuff, and that’s a big part of its appeal. But don’t ever forget you’re writing the dark stuff.

(Try to) Know what you’re doing

Some of us play fast and loose with plots, medical accuracy, worldbuilding, and other things that get in the way of the pain we crave. This is all well and good, but when we start using whump that speaks true to people’s lived experiences, we shouldn’t be careless with it. I’m particularly talking about things that get represented poorly in mainstream media, such as abusive relationships, issues around marginalisation, mental illness and disability.

Be critical of media that you’ve consumed. Think about how its depicted things that you want to depict in turn. Look for opinions on fictional representations of those issues. Be aware that you might be more ignorant of things than you realise.

Look at how others are writing these issues, particularly if they’re writing from a perspective different to yours. If you haven’t personally experienced what you’re writing about, e.g., if you don’t have PTSD and you want to depict a character who does, seek out stuff written from or with experience. Listen to the experts.

If you’re looking for stuff about representation specifically, I recommend this collection of posts about ‘Braving Diversity’ cultivated by Writing With Colour, who are in themselves a fantastic resource for this topic, and have recommendations for other blogs that deal with intersecting issues.

Listen to others

Missteps are inevitable. Nobody is perfect. If constructive criticism is offered, that’s also a compliment to your writing. Someone read your work and thought about it, and thought you’d care about improving it. They’re offering themselves as a resource for helping you see your work in a new light.

Criticism is hard and sometimes hurtful, but even if we don’t think it’s accurate, there’s often a grain of truth in it. If someone tells you that your writing is harmful, think about why they’ve said that, not whether or not they’re correct. This is an opinion! Opinions are subjective! But what drove someone to send that in?

You don’t have to respond to all your criticism and definitely don’t respond straight away. Being respectful to those who are trying to help you means taking the time to consider it properly. Sometimes, they don’t need a response. Others, you might want to learn more about what they think before deciding. You might have already discussed the topic, in which case, you might just want to reblog your previous posts.

If it’s sent in bad faith or is outright hateful, you’re well within your rights to just delete it and move on. You might get the same criticism over and over again, and that’s exhausting, and you don’t have to retrace your steps for everyone.

But if it’s new, even if it puts your hackles up, you can always stop and wonder why someone felt that strongly about your work.

Take a step back

One of my better-known characters is a pet whumper who conditioned his victim to adore and depend on him. It’s not always easy to represent how deeply messed up that is within the text – though I think that’s part of the challenge – but in meta-commentary, I am always describing him as a creeptastic bastard lacking compassion and self-reflection. I hope to always give the reader the confidence that I know just how wrong it is.

This is a really simple thing you can do just to give readers good faith in you. Show that you know what you’re writing is dark and messed up. Show your understanding for the issues you’re handling and that they’re complicated. It might seem self-evident, but when you’re writing the really dark stuff, or unhealthy relationships, or institutionalised whump, you can inadvertently create the impression that you just think it’s fun. The fact that it’s fiction does not automatically absolve you. Show that you care about doing it right.

Community Interaction

I’m going to keep this one short and sweet because I will almost entirely be preaching to the choir here.

Be polite to others. Imagine saying what you’re saying to their face.

Don’t send anon hate. Just don’t. If you can send criticism off anon, do so.

Nobody is obligated to interact with you.

Nobody is obligated to monitor their own reader base.

If someone says do not interact, do not interact.

If someone says do not interact, why they’ve said that is none of your business.

You don’t need to spread the word about someone’s bad politics.

Ask yourself if your input is needed, or if what you’ve said has already been said.

You don’t have to take a side.

Take care of yourself. Take breaks. Remind yourself that whump is a small part of the world.

That’s all from me, folks. Stay safe.

[imherongraystairstrash]

Gift of The Angel

I’m finally done with this fic!! Thank you to all of you who were so patient while I was taking my exams <3. And thank you to everybody who sent requests! I’m super excited to get around to them after Wednesday, when I finally finish all of my tests. You’re all incredible and all of you reading this is my gift of the angel. Enjoy!

Cecily was reluctant to detach herself from Gabriel’s embrace, but she felt as though she was holding in enough water to fill a dam. She peeled herself away and awkwardly moved to the edge of the bed. She hissed when her feet touched the cold floor and threw a longing glance at Gabriel, who was so nice to sleep against. By the angel, she thought as she crossed her legs, she was about to explode. She walked quickly across the room towards the bathroom. The moment she sat down, Cecily swore she gave birth to a waterfall, which confused her greatly, for it was a strange sensation. How peculiar.

Oh.

Oh.

Cecily put a hand to her swollen belly. 

Her water must have broken. Cecily sat there for a minute, pondering, before shrugging and saying to herself: “Well, that was convenient.”

No clean up required.

Cecily almost laughed as she got up and padded over to Gabriel. She was ecstatic; her pregnancy had felt so long, she’d forgotten what it was like to not be pregnant. And Gabriel will be so excited! Stressed, but excited. Cecily couldn’t contain her smile. She was about to place a hand on his shoulder and shake him awake, until she looked at his face. 

He seldom slept so well; like everything was all right. She had the full intentions of waking him, but he was so peaceful at the moment, that to wake him felt like a crime.

No, he did not need to be woken up immediately and besides, she hadn't started having contractions yet. Letting him sleep outweighed waking him up. Knowing Gabriel, he would stress throughout the entire process, which will not be good for his health or youth. Yes, he should sleep. Cecily kissed his brow lightly, picked up her book and went into the drawing room. She had debated going back to bed herself, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep; not after her feet had become so accustomed to the floor. She also had no desire of being awoken by contractions. So, she got as comfortable as she could, and read her book.  

…

A while later, Cecily put a hand to her belly. Goodness, she should probably wake Gabriel. Though she wanted him to sleep, she couldn’t imagine him being too happy if he slept through the birth of his first child simply because Cecily had wanted him to rest. She struggled for a while before she was able to get on her feet. Oh, she cannot wait to not be pregnant anymore and be able to do things easily. She braced a hand on her lower back as she sat down on the bed, next to where Gabriel was sleeping. She sat down the only way she could: with her legs spread wide open. She smirked at the way her mother would react, seeing her in such an unladylike position. 

“Gabriel,” she said, nudging him half-heartedly. She wasn’t really in a hurry. 

His brows furrowed in a semiconscious state. Cecily smiled down at him. He was so very adorable. She took his warm hand into her cooler one. 

Cecily pressed a kiss to his soft cheek, and felt his eyelashes flutter against her skin. He turned over and looked into her eyes with that beautiful shade of green she loved so dearly. He smiled sleepy at her, massaging small circles into her palm. All she really wanted to do was climb into his arms and fall asleep beside him. What a shame she was in labour.

Gabriel suddenly opened his eyes wide, as he realized that if Cecily was waking him in the middle of the night, there was probably a reason behind it.

“Are you alright? Is the baby all right?” He sat up and put one hand to her belly and another to the side of her face

“Yes, Annwyl, everybody is fine.” She said, combing his hair with her fingers. “It’s only my water. It broke.” 

She said it with such casualty that Gabriel sighed in relief, before opening his eyes wide open once more.

“Did you just say your water broke?!”

“Yes,” Cecily said, looking down. Oh dear, a thread in her nightgown is loose. Now she’ll have to sew it back. How unfortunate. She really did despise sewing. 

Gabriel threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “When?” he asked.

“What?” Cecily said, before remembering what they were talking about, “Oh, right. Just about an hour ago.”

“An hour?!”

“That is what I said, wasn’t it?”

“Cecy,” he said.

“Gabriel,” she said, matching his tone of voice and proceeded to laugh at its accuracy.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gabriel said, clearly not pleased. 

“You were sleeping.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“You know what I mean, Gabriel.”

Gabriel paused and looked away from her. Even after all of this time, Gabriel still had trouble sleeping most of the time. Cecily, being a light sleeper, would wake up upon hearing his panting and thrashing while he slept. Sometimes, he even cried in his sleep and mumbled how he was sorry for what he had done over and over again.

“Gabriel, it’s all right,” Cecily would say, kissing away his tears and wrapping her arms around him. He would hold on tightly to her and bury his face in her neck. 

Now, Gabriel was standing up and walking away.

“Where in the world are you going?”

“To call the Silent Brothers,” 

“Gabriel, stop being dramatic. You know we’re only supposed to call when I start getting contractions.” Cecily was already having contractions, but Gabriel was going to have a heart attack if she told him. One thing at a time. 

“Your brother calls them when he gets a paper cut, I think we can call them now.”

“We don’t need them now. Besides, I would like to reduce the amount of time anybody spends looking down my you-know-what, thank you very much.”

Gabriel threw up his hands in a gesture that meant he gave up.

“Then I’m going to get changed.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be in my nightclothes when Will comes in to ‘murder me’ like he said he would.”

“Gabriel, just relax.”

“Relax? That baby may pop out at any minute!”

Cecily scrunched up her face and walked over to where Gabriel was buttoning on his shirt.

“Do you know nothing of childbirth?”

Gabriel jumped and turned around.

“Cecy! Go lay down!”

“Why? I feel wonderful.” Cecily gave a little twirl to empathize her point. 

“Because you are in labor.” Gabriel sounded exasperated.

“I hardly see why that is relevant. It’s not like I’ve gotten sic—BLOODY HELL!” She cursed, bracing an arm against the wall. Instantly she felt Gabriel beside her, holding her upright. 

Pain shot through her body as she struggled to take deep breaths. Labour must be kicking in. She screwed her face until the pain subsided. 

“Would you like to go lie down now?”

Cecily rolled her eyes. “If you insist.”

...

Gabriel hung up the phone and looked over at Cecily. He opened his mouth to talk but Cecily held up a hand.

“If you ask me if I am alright one more time, I’m divorcing you.”

Gabriel kneeled down in front of her and put his ear to her belly. “I’m just worried.”

Cecily brushed his hair to one side. “You needn’t worry for me, Gabriel.”

“I know,” Gabriel smiled, “I just love you so much, I cannot help it.”

“I love you too, but I’m not annoying about it.” Cecily said gently.

She felt Gabriel shake from laughing silently before he stood up and offered his hands to Cecy. She took them and he hoisted her up. 

She instinctively put her head on his chest and hugged him tight. 

His arms went around her, too. They couldn’t get too close, since Cecily’s pregnant belly seemed to make it's mission to separate them as much as possible, but they managed. Gabriel leaned down so that his forehead and Cecily’s were touching. One of his hands found her belly while the other stroked her cheek.

“Are you relishing your last moments of freedom?” Cecy asked, referring to that fact that they’ll have an infant to take care of soon.

Gabriel opened his eyes, stealing her breath with his bright green eyes. “No. I’m anticipating the start for something new.”

Cecily felt her insides melt, which was something no person, other than Gabriel, could do. However strange it may be, Cecily was excited to give birth. She wouldn’t be pregnant anymore (which had been a torturous experience) and she would finally get to meet the baby she had been carrying for nine months. There was a small nagging in the back of her head that said the baby might be born sickly which Cecily tried to dismiss. Worrying is the root of everybody’s problems, and Cecily had sworn she would do everything in her power to avoid partaking in it. Now that she was almost a mother, however, she worried. She worried more these past months than she had her entire life for now she was responsible for a new life, and she couldn’t imagine anything terrible happening to it.

“Cecy?” Gabriel said.

“Yes?”

Gabriel looked at her.

“Are you all right?”

“Just a little bit nervous.”

She got on her tiptoes, in hopes of receiving a kiss on the lips. Gabriel lowered his chin, and Cecily closed her eyes. She felt his lips on her forehead and they shot back open. Gabriel laughed at her expression of pure betrayal. 

“You have to lie down before you get another contraction.”

“That won’t happen for ages.” she protested.

“You’re like a child sometimes, do you know that?”

“Hm. Would a child do this?” Cecily said, doing something scandalous to Gabriel.

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “You’re in labor, and you do that?”

Cecily smirked. “What can I say? You are irresistible.” 

“Do you need a cold bath?”

“Will you be assisting me?”

“Well, that defeats the whole purpose of taking a cold bath,” Gabriel said, walking her over to the bed. 

“Pity.”

…

“How big is this baby?!” Cecily gasped. 

Normal sized, for an infant.

“Stop lying, Enoch.” 

“I’m sorry to say, but the Silent Brothers don’t lie, Cecy.”

Push.

Cecily pushed until her legs started to shake.

“Bloody hell, I intended to blame Gabriel’s height for my torture.”

“I’m so relieved it’s normal sized.” Gabriel said.

Push.

“I’m trying to!” Cecily snapped at Brother Enoch. She was definitely not in a good mood. 

“We can see the head, Cecy!” Sophie said, who was assisting in the birth, due to her previous experience. 

“The head?! What about the body?”

“The body slides out,” Sophie explained, “the hard part is the head.”

“And you are just seeing it? Wonderful.”

Push.

Cecily pushed. It wasn’t so much that she was tired, but the pain was unbearable. Nephilim do not have numbing runes or medication to help with birthing, much to Cecily’s dismay. Somebody should really get to inventing that; perhaps she could get Henry to look into it, if she survived this torturous birth.   

“She’s almost out! You’re so close,” Sophie exclaimed, smiling widely.

Cecily felt tears pricking her eyes. Her baby. She was so close to holding it.

Push once more, Cecily Lightwood. It’ll be the last one.

Cecily took a deep breath. She felt Gabriel’s hand on her back tense; he could feel it too. One more. She pushed with all of the strength she could muster. 

Seconds later, Brother Enoch held up their crying daughter for the new parents to see. An “oh” escaped from Cecily’s lips as she watched Brother Enoch clean the baby, wrap her in a blanket and place her in her mother’s arms. No wonder she suffered so much during the pregnancy; it would have been unfair to all of the mothers in the world if she did not suffer and still ended up with the most beautiful baby to ever be born. Cecily had looked through a multitude of names and their meanings in preparation for the birth, so she knew what name she wanted as soon as she laid eyes on her daughter:

“Anna.”

For the Angel has favored them.

She looked up at Gabriel in question. 

But he was looking at their daughter in wonder. She found his hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. They had created something and the feelings they were feeling were unfathomable. 

…

Cecily lay on her side with a pillow in between her knees as a means of easing the pain birth had left her in. Apparently, childbirth can tear your lady parts, something Cecily would have liked to have known, so that she would have been giving time to mentally prepare. Her eyes drifted to Anna, who was sleeping next her. Cecily wished to pick her up and cuddle her, but did not wish to wake her from her slumbers. So, she just watched affectionately. 

 She heard footsteps coming in and soon Gabriel laid down next to her, wrapping her in an embrace.

“My baby pouch is still trying to get back to normal.” Cecily said. 

“I like it.” Gabriel said, patting her belly.

Cecily smirked and tilted her head backward to kiss the bottom on his jaw. “Well, it’s uncomfortable. And I want to patrol again. Though I do appreciate the fact that you’re trying to make me feel better.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. I love you for who you are, not what you look like.” he said, nestling closer.

Cecily closed her eyes. If only her young self could hear those words. It would have caused her 

so much less pain. 

She opened her eyes again, just barely, and caught a look at her daughter. Cecily vowed that she would support her in every way she possibly could. Anna will never hide in the shadows. 

Gabriel kissed her shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

“I can’t believe we have a child.”

“Neither can I,” Gabriel said, shivering. “It’s very strange.”

“A good strange.”

“Yes. Definitely a good strange.”

“I’d say a seven.”

“For the feeling, or Anna?”

“The feeling, of course. Anna’s score is immeasurable.”

She felt Gabriel nod against her.

“The birth was a negative 10.”

Gabriel chuckled, “you made that very clear throughout the process, love.”

“I want to see you give birth.”

Gabriel kissed her, “thank you.”

Cecily was taken aback. “For what?”

“For suffering through those nine months so that we can be parents. For enabling me to be a father.”

“I would do it again. I want to do it again. In the future.” Cecily added quickly.

Gabriel chuckled, “For now, Anna is all we need.”

Tagging: @celias @hitheresomeoneusingthus @tsccreatorsnet

[palmett-hoes]

7 for Andrew??

( ask game )

7. Exists as a pretext for the intellectual exercise of seeing how much textual support I can find for something patently absurd

okay well this isn't patently absurd it's actually a very sad and sadly very common story for a lot of kids, but i did spend a lot of time combing the books for evidence of andrew’s relationship with books and reading. him being a big reader is a super common headcanon in the fandom, and im sorry to tell yall that we pulled that one out of our asses. from what’s available in canon andrew hates reading and refuses to do it in front of other people. so, i concluded that andrew is in fact, dyslexic, and that reading is difficult and frustrating for him. he avoids it whenever possible, instead relying on audible information that seems to work best for his memory. it also tracks that he wouldn’t read around other people because it would be displaying weakness in his eyes for people to see him struggling

so, the evidence. i’ve searched the books by appearances of words like “book” “read” “paper” etc. most things i can think are related to reading yknow? and there’s not one instance in the entire trilogy of andrew reading anything, ever. in fact, he canonically hates libraries and refuses to go in them. one time he’s handed a packet of an opposing team’s stats and he crumples it up and throws it in his locker immediately.

to put it in perspective, most if not every other characters is shown reading at some point or another, it’s just in very short, missable scenic descriptors. aaron buying a book in the airport. kevin reading a magazine in the dorm. the upperclassmen hanging out and doing homework together. neil reading foreign news sites. it doesn’t seem like much but the fact that andrew is never actually seen reading anything at any point ever,, is actually somewhat conspicuous if you pay attention to the fact that well,, everyone else does.

there’s a handful of other details, mostly andrew’s phone. he has an older model that both essentially forces him to use it slower to type, as well as disincentivizes other ppl from texting him and expecting a quick response. he doesn’t text neil at any point except for the essentials of setting up the phone, and it doesn’t seem like he texts with anyone else either. he specifically tells neil to call him, not text.

so let’s backtrack. let’s talk about what it means for andrew to be dyslexic.

(um,, a lot of this is gonna be based on articles and studies i’ve read but i don’t really wanna make this an Essay i want to cut through the explanations and background info so i’m gonna be making some Statements. if you’re curious or confused pls send me a message and i’ll tell u what i had in mind/what i was drawing from)

thematically, when thinking about andrew’s background, the most important thing i keep in mind about andrew is that he has never been lucky, ever. he is consistently, over and over, handed the worst cards. he is born and raised in the foster care system, and even within this (basically inherently traumatic system) he is ONLY placed in bad homes. he says so. maybe they vary in their methodology, but they’re all bad. so then i have to extend this reasoning to the other parts of his life. he has bad teachers, bad foster siblings, bad case workers. no one CARES about this boy, no one looks at him, no one asks why he behaves the way he does. he gets written off, over and over and over again, in every part of his life. that is FUNDAMENTAL to who he is and what has shaped his views and personality as a person

growing up, no one helped him with his homework, no one read to him at night. probably he had very limited experience with books before he entered school. if andrew is dyslexic he would have struggled in school from very early on, and he would not be receiving any help or support at home. he never learned any skills or coping mechanisms for dealing with the fact that he mixes up his letters or that his head hurts when he looks at them too long, because no one is paying attention to him to notice these things. if he’d received help, if people had been patient with him, he probably could have learned to read just fine and could have done well in school with some accommodations. instead, he just learned to resent reading, to hate books, because people were always trying to force him into it the wrong way, when he was a square peg in a round hole and he needed to approach reading differently from the other kids. but no one saw that there was a problem that could be helped, they only saw HIM as a problem, so no one helped him. not his foster parents, not his foster siblings, not his teachers. so he has no positive associations with reading, it’s just a continuous negative in his life

his teachers especially saw his outbursts and his resistance in class. they didn’t see that he was an abused, traumatized (autistic) child with a learning disability who couldn’t convey to anyone that reading was frustrating and physically painful for him, that he only needed a little more time and a little more support. they only saw his “attitude” and the fact that he took longer than his classmates. so they labelled him a “bad” kid, a “stupid” kid, and they didn’t question that judgement further

no one saw that, if he was given that extra time to read and think at his own pace, that he was brilliant. that he remembered everything that was ever said to him, word for word. they didn’t notice his self-discipline. his skill at puzzles and mind-games. the way he could see right through people and predict with uncanny accuracy how they would act and react. how good he was at putting clues together. his incredible spatial reasoning. they didn’t start conversations with him long enough to realize that he was incisive and observant and clever. they didn’t notice that he was bright and inquisitive, if reserved. that because no one ever answered his questions he learned how to answer them himself. that he started trouble because he was bored and under-stimulated. all they knew was that he never finished his tests and that he couldn’t read aloud in class because everything in schools is levels and data and test scores and working under ridiculous time requirements.

so i don’t really like that common characterization of andrew as a bookworm who does well in school. we know that andrew is intelligent, it’s so obvious that he’s brilliant to us from reading the books, but that’s because we’re seeing him through neil’s eyes. neil who looks at and understands andrew more than anyone else ever has, who sees in him the things that other people miss. and that’s important, because people have missed the fact that andrew is smart. but reading books, getting good grades, eloquent essays, that’s all one of the most typical, the most universally recognized ways to be smart. and i think that’s an injustice for andrew as a character and what his story represents, because he represents all the kids that got missed and passed over and thrown aside for not operating “correctly,” for reacting to things the “wrong” way

there are so many ways to be smart, so many different kinds of intelligence that get dismissed and written off for not being successful in the very narrow set of skills the school system teaches. giving andrew the most classic and conformative and universally recognized signs of “being smart” (actively AGAINST his passive characterization in canon) is honestly a disservice to him. and that’s what i like about him being dyslexic, of him struggling in school, because he can still be smart, be BRILLIANT (because he IS brilliant) but in non-conventional ways

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

11x17: Red Meat Analysis (or, how can I make every episode Destiel even if Misha isn’t in them)

I have feelings about this episode, and I needed to therapeutically analyze them for REASONS, so here we go.  Script bytes included with my emphasis.

***It is important to note that, despite this being a generally MOTW/brother-focused episode, Dean is so focused on getting Cas back at this point in the season that he doesn’t even want to go on the hunt to begin with (despite just two episodes back pushing Sam to do it in Beyond the Mat):

DEAN 

All right, well, we make a call and we put somebody on it.

SAM

Yeah, but... [He sighs, closes his laptop and looks at Dean]. We'll get him back.

DEAN

How?

SAM

I... I don't know. But we'll figure it out. Meantime, we got to get out of here. Clear our heads. I mean, this is a case. Let's do what we do. Let's work it.

***Since no good deed goes unpunished, Sam’s attempt to clear Dean’s head leads to him almost dying and then (TW) Dean’s grisly faux-suicide attempt in order to get to a reaper to bargain for Sam’s life (really this entire episode should have a TW before the content) (*really the entire show should have a TW before the content).

Anyways, enter Billie, our queen of foreshadowing, who says:

BILLIE 

Just savoring this. Though I have to say of all the ways I thought you'd go... heart attack, some fang, choking on a burger while binge-watching “Charles in Charge”...

***So, you know, both things he goes through in the thing that must not be named, the first being Billie’s actual attempt to kill him, and the second being what kills him for good.  Dammit, Bilie.  I equally adore and detest you and your accuracy.  Are you secretly a prophet?  

Dean continues to plead with her:

DEANS SPIRIT [sadness and desperation in his eyes]

I'm asking you... I'm begging you, please. Bring him back. Bring him back and take me instead.

***So as we know, the doctor revives Dean and Sam ends up being alive and everything is fine for everyone.  Well, everyone EXCEPT Michelle, one of the newlywed victims, who loses her husband (Corbin - he becomes a werewolf - Sam has to shoot him).  At the end of the episode, Dean is trying to comfort her ->

DEAN 

Michelle, this is gonna be very hard. But you will be okay. And, eventually... eventually you'll get back to normal.

MICHELLE [sighing]: 

No, I won't.

Michelle smiles gently at Dean, and then turns away, as tears spill.

MICHELLE 

They said I could leave... [she sighs] an hour ago. But... where am I even supposed to go? After everything we survived together... [turning back to Dean] I watched the man I love die. There's no normal after that.

***Later, Dean and Sam leave the hospital, despite the prior exchange, Dean remains aloof/casually optimistic about Michelle’s state.

DEAN 

So, that's it, huh? Two quarts O-neg, and you're good to go.

SAM 

[sighing as he walks gingerly down the steps]: How is she? Ooh.

DEAN 

She's strong. She'll be all right. Those stitches gonna hold?

ANALYSIS: I had some issues to work through on my first viewing of this scene.  It made me feel icky-weird - like, why is my baby Dean being so dismissive?  Why isn’t he taking what she said seriously?  She’s hopeless and devastated - and while Dean is pretty rough around the edges at times, he’s not callous.  He wouldn't just dismiss Michelle’s feelings, especially since she played an integral role in helping him and they really connected on some level during the episode.  Saving people is what Dean loves to do, how is leaving Michelle alone in her despair and grief saving her? 

As everything tends to, this hit different on the rewatch - my assessment - Dean’s attitude in this scene does not come from his lack of sympathy for Michelle, but a lack of true understanding - because what she is feeling he cannot possibly comprehend at this point in the show.  He hasn’t yet really, and I mean REALLY watched the person he loves most in this world die in the same sense that Michelle just did.  Yes, at one point in this particular episode Sam dies, and I’m sure that people draw that parallel as “the point” in this story arc (and then go on to do more than that but we do not allow that crap here), but Sam is Dean’s brother, and it’s just not the *same* parallel.  AND that wouldn’t explain Dean’s attitude - his nonchalant, off handed comment that Michelle will be okay (I don’t think this statement reads as a “cover” of any concerns he actually has, I truly think he thinks she will be okay), so while he went through watching someone die who has been through everything with him, someone he loves deeply as his family, it’s not really the same as watching your soulmate, the person you love romantically die.  Yes - Cas is “missing” because of Lucifer but he is not dead, there is still hope (and while Dean lost Cas back in Season 7, I don’t believe he was quite *there* with his feelings for Cas then to understand what Michelle is going through).  Dean simply cannot fathom the feeling of despair Michelle is feeling at this point.

But he will.  And he will also experience what Michelle did.  I wonder if he thought back to that conversation when it happened to him.

I present to you for consideration the following two images.

11x17:

13x01:

***By the way, Dean’s spirit and Billie have another exchange in this season after Cas’s death in 13x05:

BILLIE

That doesn’t sound like the Dean Winchester I know and love. The man who has been dead so many times but it never seems to stick. Maybe you’re not that guy anymore, they guy who saves the world, the guy who always thinks he’ll win no matter what. You have changed. And you tell people it’s not a big deal. You tell people you’ll work through it but you know you won’t, you can’t and that scares the hell out of you. Or… am I wrong?

DEAN

What do you want me to say? Doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.

BILLIE

Don’t you?

DEAN I couldn’t save Mom. I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down. So I’m not going to beg. Okay, if it’s my time, it’s my time.

BILLIE

You really believe that. [Dean shakes his head yes] You wanna die.

***There is the despair.  Dean has changed.  There is no normal after Cas is gone.

I know, I know I am “making it all about the angel,” and forgetting that technically Dean lost Mary in the Season 12 finale and he is feeling defeated by the world and can’t get a win.  I get that.  I understand your point.  It isn’t JUST the loss of Cas that brings this level of increased pain to the same words he uttered in 11x17.  I appreciate your viewpoint.

But, I want to also present for your consideration the third image aka the final chapter in the lesson of despair (right after a certain episode with a certain name).

15x19:

And that, my friends, is why I have feelings about Red Meat.

[nutty1005]

How “The Untamed” reversed its fate, Xiao Zhan went the hard way in his depiction of Wei Wuxian

Original Article: https://www.weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404476523863212216#_0 Original Author: 乍暖已寒 (Published by: 爱战DAYTOY_1005)

(TN: The Untamed was based off the novel “Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation” or “Mo Dao Zu Shi / 魔道祖师”. Bringing this novel to the silver screen had its fair share of troubles and many did not look kindly at this project in 2018, nor believed that it would fair well in China.)

I have said this before – when a new top celebrity with stunning good looks appears onto the scene, immediately accompanying it will be forceful criticisms of his/her acting. Xiao Zhan, who burst into fame because of The Untamed, is no exception to this as well.

Endless negative articles, out-of-context screen snaps with negative captions (e.g. the first 3 episodes where he had to act as Mo Xuanyu, a lunatic), slowed down GIFs, or even insinuating special effects… they really tried their best to smear his acting.

Just this once though, Xiao Zhan prevailed despite all of these. The endless waves of well-prepared negative articles did not prevent Xiao Zhan’s acting chops from appearing on Weibo’s trending topics  (instead of his appearance). His unforeseen, exceptional performance in The Untamed proved them wrong – such a great refute to their efforts!

Xiao Zhan’s Exceptional Moments

He had multiple different ways in handling his crying scenes, and they were all able to invoke a lot empathy in his audiences. There were tears of helplessness, tears of doubt, tears of pain, tears of false bravado, tears like that of a lost child – and every teardrop touched his audiences’ hearts.

This scene was my personal favorite – it was as painful as it was beautiful. Besides grief and hopelessness, you could also sense Wei Wuxian’s helplessness, and it became extra heartbreaking. Yes, many would always forget that beneath the all powerful Yiling Patriarch, he was merely a teenage boy, and he had just lost his home. 

Besides his crying scenes, Xiao Zhan also had similar delicacy and accuracy in managing the character’s psychology – for example, the scene which Wei Wuxian discovers the method to transfer the Golden Core. At the moment of discovery, he was filled with exultation, but the joy in his eyes slowly dimmed down, ending with relief. There was this sliver of sadness amidst the jubilation but it was quietly set aside.

Xiao Zhan used his “eyes acting” to great effect, and performed the series of complex emotions perfectly – from the discovery of a cure, to understanding that someone has to sacrifice his Golden Core, to deciding that he would be this person. This made the audiences want to ask, “What about you? What is going to happen to you?”

I also admired Xiao Zhan’s attention to details in the scene where Wei Wuxian brings Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli to Yiling Supervisory Hold – he was like a helpless prey trapped at a dead end.

Wei Wuxian was just an child when his family perished, and he had just went through another massacre – there was simply too much death and bloodshed. He was high strung and any bit of provocation could make him lose his rationality. He was instinctively biting his teeth and shaking as he forced himself to protect his only remaining kin.

In fact, after leaving behind the first 10 episodes of happy-go-lucky, Xiao Zhan had countless exceptional moments such as these. I could not even finish describing 10% of them in this long article of mine. For someone who was the lead actor for the first time, his future is really filled with endless possibilities.

As such, I could not even fathom why someone would blindly mock Xiao Zhan’s acting, even more so than when someone mocks his appearance. For someone who could weep while script reading with his fellow actors, how could he be someone with “zero acting chops”?

“Empathic” Style of Performance

The most apt words I can use to describe Xiao Zhan’s acting are “graceful” and “touching” – there appears to be no discourse to his acting, but yet his acting draws empathy and his characterization extremely believable.

To an actor, this is a solution, but this is one of the dumbest method as this is also one of the most harmful method. This is because this method requires the actor to breakdown his personality and restructure himself to suit his character. It makes entering and exiting the role extra difficult – every teardrop is created from the actor’s blood and soul.

To me, I am an extremely sensitive viewer and I like the acting to be natural; I cannot accept any bit of deliberation. I do not like it when performance leaves a trace of the techniques used, instead this “dumb” method is what that can touch me – to become one with the character.

This is probably why this silly child could weep like this during script reading. He might really be a natural born actor, but also a gentle angel – what kind of soul resides in him? How is he able to empathize entirely with Wei Wuxian such that he could tear up like this? Who would not love this boy, who is naturally extraordinary, but yet also incredibly compassionate?

He Understands Wei Wuxian

And because he understood the true meaning behind “becoming Wei Wuxian”, so he understood him even in the smallest details.

Have you ever wondered how Wei Wuxian was like beneath the manically cool Yiling Patriarch and suave youngster?

Firstly, he was an insecure person.

Below is from the author’s Weibo:

His childhood as a stray set the tone for him as person who is always filled with uncertainties – he will subconsciously attempt to change his facade in order to please his loved ones.

And it is evident that Xiao Zhan understands this – you can see that Wei Wuxian has a different facade when dealing with different people. To Jiang Cheng, he is his best buddy; To Nie Huaisang, he tries to be the friend who leads him astray; To Jiang Yanli, he is unashamedly a child begging for praises; To Madam Jiang, he is the most proper and obedient student.

In fact, this scene of an obedient Wei Wuxian gave me more affirmation that Xiao Zhan knows Wei Wuxian, more than any of his crying scenes. (Madam Jiang appeared, and he was the first person who stood up, in apprehension.)

Secondly, he puts up a false front.

Before the broadcast of the drama, Xiao Zhan gave an interview which caused displeasure among part of the novel fans. He said “Too many crying scenes, Wei Wuxian cried too much.” Some of these agitated fans expressed that Wei Wuxian was actually a cheerful happy-go-lucky person, he does not like to cry – he only cried twice in the books, Xiao Zhan must not understand his character!

However, is that really so? Evidently not. The novel was written from Wei Wuxian’s angle, therefore the story was told to us by Wei Wuxian, and hence we are actually reading his version of the story.

When you think about it, how is it possible for Wei Wuxian to not be devastated at the massacre of Jiang Family, the death of his brother-in-law due to his misstep, the death of Jiang Yanli, who took the sword on his behalf, or his own death, where he despaired and allowed himself to be devoured by ghosts? It is definitely not possible, but why were these not described in the books? Because, Wei Wuxian, who liked to put on a false front, decided to sidestep these in his own version.

Yes, our Wei Wuxian was the sort of person who only spoke of the good, but never the bad. No matter how much trauma he suffered physically or mentally, he kept smiling and kept his false front. He always looked like nothing mattered to him and he never suffered.

Hence, when he was battered and wounded by the demonic dog in the drama, despite being covered in wounds, after he took a bite of the bun he got from Jiang Cheng, he smiled brilliantly and said “delicious”. This part made me cry for him – I felt so much for this stubborn child.

Below is why, I was sure from the beginning that Xiao Zhan would do a good portrayal of Wei Wuxian. He told Wei Wuxian at the end of The Untamed shooting to “cherish yourself more, stop putting on a false front”. 

He really knew him. He really felt for him.

He came from a boyband, he had no professional acting training, he did not even have much experience in acting, but he lived up to Wei Wuxian.

In the End

Finally I wanted to say, analyzing anyone’s acting using static pictures, GIFs or even short video clips, without script or character context, are all biased analysis. True performance is not pieced together by short clips, but by complete characterization. As such, perhaps my article may just be as truthful as those gossip articles online. You are welcomed to watch The Untamed in order to truly understand how Xiao Zhan did.

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘dul’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.7k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

It doesn't take Mr Kim too long to find a way to meet you.

A week or so later, Adrianne is handing you a little post-it where her curvy cursive spells his name, with his phone number and a time. He says he'll bring Jimmy early to school in two days, to contact him if it doesn't work for you and that he cannot wait to talk to you again. This last part you wouldn't bet on the accuracy. Adrianne says he stuttered his way through a mumbo jumbo of English and another language she didn't recognize, apologizing because he didn't know how to express what he meant but from what she could gather, he was excited to have this meeting about Jimmy.

He arrives two days later, right on time. Not a minute early nor late, perfectly on time and if you don't point it out loud, you still notice it with a discreet smile.

They both look perfectly relaxed, smiling for the man and rather calm for the boy. It's funny to see him now. Mr Kim looks pretty much nothing like the first time you saw him, with the worry, the low-key panicked, agitated state he came bursting in your classroom. He looks a few years younger, with an easy grin stretching full rosy lips, dimples digging deep in his roundish honey cheeks -almost the same as his son's, you notice with delight- wearing a straight maroon coat, this time well adjusted, that's making him even taller and more elongated if possible and of which the shade compliments his complexion endearingly so.

"Hi. It's really nice to see you." You end up greeting him first, as warmly as you can.

You've been pondering over this meeting for so long, time feeling like it never ceased to stretch out and felt dreading, dreading, dreading. It was never coming soon enough and you were terrified, even if you had no reason to doubt Mr Kim's honesty, that he'd bail on you for whatever reason.

But here he is, seemingly so open to discuss and after installing Jimmy at his desk with the same tools as last time (a pile of white sheets waiting to be filled and your set of crayons) you join him a few tables away (far enough for Jimmy not to be exposed to the conversation but close enough to keep an eye on him, or more accurately, for him to keep an eye on his guardian), pressing your hands together and against your bosom to try to contain my excitement.

"As I told you last time, Jimmy is a very sweet boy. He's not doing bad with the exercises and activities, it's quite surprising -in a great way!- since from my understanding English is not his first language, right?"

"Yeah, no, it's uh- it's Korean. We just moved from Korea a few months ago, well, right before he started school. But we- my- her mother and I would try to talk to him a bit of English at home to have him pick up on the basis..."

"Oh, that's nice! Children that young do learn languages particularly easily, it's definitely beneficial for him. I can already tell."

Namjoon sends a glance his way, a fond, dad's proud one lingering on his tiny figure hunched over the desk. You can't quite tell from where you sit but it does look like he's started drawing.

"Had you planned moving here for a long time? I mean, was it the plan from the start, that's why you wanted to teach him English?"

"No, not really." The mood feels different. It switches from rather tranquil and cheerful into a very heavy, uneasy silence his deep voice hardly disturbs. There's a glint in his eyes. It's not an easy one to look at and your heart stings as the glint takes over his whole gaze hovering over his son. You understand it's something sad. Probably painful and hard to carry even for such a strong-looking, shoulder-broad grown man.

You don't want to push it. You're curious, as one gets, but too decent and you know yourself to be too soft-hearted and sensitive, for you to be snooping through sad people's luggage. But you think back about Jimmy, whose curious eyes, beautiful but wide with something reflecting like a perfect mirror what you can now find in his dad's, and you're certain that his odd behaviour must come from that.

"Mr Kim, the reason I wanted to see you," You start, voice quieter. He's startled for a second, redirecting his attention back on you, and he looks a bit guilty. As if he highly suspects, if not already know full well, where this is going. "I do meet all the parents of my students, as I told you. But in the case of Jimmy, if I was so insistent, it's that I'm really concerned about him."

His eyes draw downwards, staring at his hands. Long slender fingers fidgeting with one another, pinching and twisting a bit. I wonder if like his son, he might start crying.

"He's lovely but he cannot- he has had a really hard time uh- how could I put it?" You don't want to sound too alarmist. You know parents have the tendency to freak the fuck out for the misinterpretation of one single word. Sometimes an onomatopoeia, misplaced, send them into a raging spiral of anxiety over what terrible condition their kid might be dealing with. Not all parents are insane or simply too quick to jump to conclusions -or plain stupid. Some understand, whatever words you use. The father sitting in front of you seems worried and pained enough you wish you could protect him but you need him to understand that his situation is serious, and how important it is for Jimmy to have the tools to change now, while he still can, before he gets too old and start to take all those unfortunate coping mechanisms as lifelong terrible habits. "He's had a hard time simply being a kid." Namjoon sighs deeply. "He doesn't speak to anyone, not even me. Hardly looks at his classmates, never approaches them. I've noticed also that talking is not the only issue, any form of expression, if not made to do because it's in the course and all the other children are doing it too, he simply won't do." Mr Kim has raised his head enough for you to see him. He's troubled, upset, worried. But he seems to want to show himself more involved and you can tell he is, you can tell he cares as he listens so carefully as you explain in great details the odd incident with the papers and the crayons he refused to play with, even without a soul to watch over his shoulder.

"I feel it's a bit more than simple timidity. Or that at least, there's something significant behind this timidity. I can understand that it might be sensitive to you," You do, his eyes are screaming at you and you can't ignore them. Sort of begging for something, you're not quite sure what, you're not quite sure they, themselves, know either. It's a terrible case of a grown adult, an apparent composed grown man with a mighty balanced life, not a child anymore, actually, a dad, appearing so vulnerable and broken. It's a horrid vision. You've never been able to handle those.

"But it's in Jimmy's interest that I know a bit more. It's quite concerning. He's at an age where he's supposed to develop those skills. If we just let him be, leave him in this... unease, whatever it is, he might adopt it for a very long time until the time comes when it's become an exhausting challenge, almost impossible, to overcome.”

"I understand what you're saying." Mr Kim starts, voice low and tiny I can hardly pick up on the words. "I noticed- I mean, he's not changed that much with me. He's never been a very loud, boisterous boy, you know? But lately, he's been a bit quieter. I can see it at home, he's a bit stoic, less... expressive." You lose the man for a second. He's staring at his son longly and you don't want to abruptly bring him back to the conversation. Eventually, he does come back on his own, clearing his throat and scratching his neck. "That's- ridiculous but I even told myself the other day that I miss his tantrums. He didn't use to throw a lot of fits but sometimes he would, for more candies or something stupid like that. But he hasn't in a while."

You can't count how many times you heard overwhelmed parents jokingly wish that their kid would just turn off, stop causing scenes, stop demanding, screaming and crying out ridiculous tantrums. You remember Adrienne, saying more than once, to chastise the behaviour of one too agitated child to take a look at Jimmy, learn to be more like him, and why can't they be like him.

The thing is, a child is not supposed to be quiet.

A child should be problematic, testing, challenging. Loud and cheerful and agitated because children are like that. They are little humans just starting this whole insane experience that is Life, trying to figure themselves out, trying to figure out the people around them and the whole world along with it. They're meant to be a mess.

They're not meant to be quiet and tranquil, and bathing in a sort of slow, stoic haze. They're certainly not meant to have this expression on their face. The one Jimmy is wearing. Of deep, deep sadness. Like he's been somewhere, he's felt something, he's lost something that has left him misplaced forever. As if he's not really part of this world, this Life, or doesn't care or know why he's in it. Just letting himself float about. Embarrassed and denying all impulse that could potentially shape him and his existence.

He's only five.

"Do you have any inclination as to why his behaviour has turned into this?"

You see the gears going into labour in his head. He looks pensive, lost in a pit of thoughts he doesn't know if he can nor should share. There's a tremble to his lips, to his fingers, a telling frown to his eyebrows as his eyes very obviously decide to avoid you. The question seems to seize him like an earthquake but somehow, it's a good one. A disturbing but potentially lucky one. One that would invite him to experience something hard but liberating, something that he really needs.

Not long after you've asked the question to which you already know half of the answer, he pauses to think it over and then decides to talk. You notice the way his body slump over himself instantly, along with an abyssal years-old sigh and he starts to talk.

"5 months ago, my- his mom passed away." You hate yourself for the way you gasp, eyes wide and already blurry as if it's appropriate, as if you're allowed when you can't even imagine the beginning of their pain. It all starts making sense and you're heartbroken. You wish you didn't show yourself so reckless, sensitive but somehow naive and unhelpful.

You mouth a silent apology and condolence you notice he accepts from the way he nods, not wanting to cut him off. He's already breathless and you wonder how many more words he has in stock before the resources shut down, right before he loses it and breaks the strong persona he has to keep straight and steady for his son. How exhausting it must be. "It was hard already in Korea but I thought -naively- that if we moved here, close to her family, maybe, being around them would ease- everything out a bit. I don't know. It was stupid." He shakes his head from left to right, scoffing to himself, a hand raised to his forehead, hiding his eyes.

"It wasn't, Mr Kim. It's very honorable of you to quit everything for your son." Your words have no effect whatsoever. Unfortunately, it's blatantly obvious, he's made up his mind already. He's guilty, he messed up, and he holds a grudge against himself for this decision and nothing a dumb teacher, sensitive and half-weeping, would say could change that opinion, as destructive and inaccurate as it may be.

"It really was. It's so different here, I thought after some time it would be worth it but I think he hates it. I think he's very confused and I don't know if he's too young to feel like that, I'm not sure, but he looks like he's embarrassed about being a foreigner. Like not speaking properly. I can't even tell if he understands well or if he doesn't get it at all when people speak to him in English since he just- he can't really communicate. Even with his cousins, it's-"

Oh.

"Oh." Now that you hear him say that, it lights a small bulb hidden at the back of your head. It shines upon a whole roof-tall shelf holding all of those awkward, disagreeable memories you tend to forget actively because even reflecting on them decades later still sends a thrill of disgust the length of your spin.

It's those moments of pure embarrassment, of horrid dreading feelings that you used to be overwhelmed with as a child and this until you were not much more of a child anymore, and those memories paired with their emotions simply faded into shadows of scenes that you can only wonder if they ever were real.

You used to be filled with stupid insecurities based on very confused, distant, impossible to decipher pretend truths, sometimes, you would just feel stupid. Completely idiotic, ignorant, and unlovable. In those moments, you just couldn't dare open your mouth to pronounce a word that would give you away. Because if you did, somehow, you would end up messing up and people would laugh and make fun of you and hate you because there are so many reasons to and of course you deserved it.

Images of the little boy, hiding obviously in a corner but longingly observing his peers. Obviously terrified but curious, and most definitely desiring.

Because of course, he'd want to. Talk to them, be with them but how could he when he's not even sure he could speak the way they do.

"Mr Kim, I can tell he wants to. Even if he can't let anyone approach him, I can tell he'd like to be part of the group. That being said his fears or as you said, maybe his insecurities, don't allow him to."

"Should I- Should I seek for a therapist? He had one in Korea but I don't think he was ready for it. He just reacts very badly to strangers, especially when they try to, you know, sink into your brain and- now that we're here, I can hardly picture how that would go."

"Well, therapy is never a bad idea. It can only be beneficial for him... for anyone." You're not sure how appropriate it is for you to add this but you owe to say it. Sometimes, parents don't realize, but a child's deepest wounds are born from seeing and feeling their guardians'.

"I'd seen someone already." He explains without needing you to insist further. Seems like you're not as subtle as you thought yourself to be. "I did because- I had to. His mom and I had been separated for a while before her passing, it'd always been complicated between us and I can't lie, I did feel terribly guilty... I thought it might hurt him somehow. Maybe he could feel it and experience it too. I had to for the both of us. It fixed me but not him, so I suppose, it didn't come from that."

"Grief is... It's very complex. It comes along with a plethora of confusing, untamed emotions as an adult but for a child... It must manifest in a way we can't even imagine. I'm sorry, you don't need me to tell you that." You're a mess of stutters. Words are running away from you, the smart ones are even flying, making sure there's no way you'd catch them by the tip of the tail. You just want to ease this father's struggles, somehow. You don't know him much but you know his son, a little, and you, for reasons you don't care much to look into, deeper than simply you having a saviour complex, need to help it all resolve. They don't deserve any of it all. No one does.

It might be silly. But the thought of Jimmy, that sweet, lovely child, sensitive and precious as he is, must have a father quite special himself to have been brought up this way.

"No, it's fine. You're right." A heavy silence settles in between you. In the background, faintly, you can hear the soft rustling of the tip of a crayon against paper. You open your mouth, the fantastic memory of the other day, when he arrived late to pick Jimmy up and something you still, a week later, recalling itself back to you. He opens his at the exact same time and before you're able to utter any word, he's the one starting, "Actually, I really appreciate it. Being able to talk about it like that with someone. Since my therapist, I don't think I was able to. People only have enough tolerance for other's pain. Which I understand, it's just- hard and well, I'm thankful for you."

He stammers saying that, seemingly scrambling with his own words. The compliment is so heartfelt, like a shot from his heart directly into yours. Most of the emotions it rises probably coming from his choice of wording, maybe an error of translation, a lack of exactitude that doesn’t come smoothly. You've never heard anyone said those words to you and somehow, so unprepared for it, you can hardly handle the overwhelming burst of gratitude.

With the greatest pleasure, you jump on the occasion to bring something good to him, what you meant to say when he started first, the story about last time and how confident you are that better days are yet to come.

It brings an evident brush of light to his expression. The youthful sense he gave off when he just walked in, made of warm colours and smiles, is back. As if a weight has been lifted. As if he trusts you with his son, now wearing his hopefulness and trust and appreciation on this soft face of his, and you feel yourself blush in delight.

It’s precisely why you do what you do. Most of the times, those moments come in more subtle, almost dubious manifestations. It’s a drawing made ‘only for you, Miss’ or a kid you haven’t seen in a few years recognising you from across a hallway and beaming all his teeth your way; or maybe a present too nicely picked out and wrapped up too well to be the product of a kid’s, handed to you at the end of the year.

It's a wonderful feeling you're experiencing.

Until it turns sort of awkward. You mean, from a third party, maybe from Jimmy's eyes, it’s definitely awkward. It doesn’t exactly feel this way for you though. You're just kind of staring at each other, grinning obnoxiously. Delighted by the turns of events -even more so with the start of the conversation, which brought difficult painful shocks to an already sensitive soul, the benevolence and mutual understanding feel all the more pleasant.

Conquered by each other in a way you probably won’t be able to express very well with words if any of you tried. You see in him an ally -which is always such a wonderful feeling because as curious as it is, all parents are not always reliable allies to you, teachers- and you think he does too.

It’s just that it lasts for quite a bit. Probably too long. Until finally, the rummage going on outside brings you back to earth and school that is about to start in a few reminds itself to you.

Quickly he thanks me again, in between the bursting in of a loud, chatty-feeling Riley Donovan, and a Charlotte dragging her feet in discontent. He says something about meeting again before he’s rushing to Jimmy, whose calm demeanour has wavered when his classmates starting walking in.

It’s as heartwarming as last time. The way Mr Kim just has to lean forward to wrap his arms around Jimmy to have him melt onto his chest, face burying in his neck and tiny hands squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until the chubby fingers turn white against his dad’s neck. There’s an exchange of secret words and of gazes, special ones that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, you believe on the moment, until Mr Kim needs to depart and does so.

The gaze Jimmy had for his dad doesn’t disappear right as the later leaves. It remains and is directed solely on you in a very peculiar way, so notable that your heart starts racing when you notice.

Jimmy who usually avoids eye contact, sometimes would look at you, if you're addressing directly to him for example and those looks are systematically made of bewilderment, maybe fear, definite insecurity. Like a prey caught in a predator's radar.

But now those eyes, the round, dark wonders are lingering with something utterly different. A stillness that hits so differently. You're not sure if you are seeing things, if it’s wishful thinking. If it’s you now watching through the lens of someone beyond enchanted, purely content from the newfound trust and confidence and inspiration.

When you free your class for recess, you have confirmation that something has changed. You have no idea how he did it without you noticing but as you turn your back to the door to face your desk -and your chair, which your legs are dreading to have you throw yourself on- you see the perfect tidy pile of your crayons laid carefully on top of it. A few papers are sitting next to it, less than you gave him.

It’s ridiculous, embarrassing to an extent you would never tell that moment out loud but you end up jumping on the balls of your feet, clapping your hands together like a stupid seal, squealing before grabbing the stack of crayons and pressing it to your heart.

A/N : thanks so much for having waited for me so patiently; as always, lots of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)