#the gloves hits so much you cannot unglove him

[cleumuu]

Hc of jamil wearing the proper uniform during his freshman years

[mxchowind]

So, sleep well

IJSFJDSG HI THIS IS REQUESTED BY ANON SO I DELIVER THIS 1K WORD(S)??? TO YOU RIGHT NOW FRESH AND HOT. also any suggestions if i hit 100 followers? *insert eye emoji* ALSO TYSM FOR THE SUPPORT AND KEEP THE REQUESTS COMING I’D LOVE TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS!! TYSM FOR REQUESTING ANON

edit: bro i made so much typos i am cryi g

warning: lowkey angst lmao with xiao background reveal

pairing: xiao x reader

He remembers. 

He remembers vividly, the bloodshed screams of those people, the terror on their faces, and how they turn back to the soil of Liyue with grief. 

Xiao, no, Alatus remembers, the pain that is more than what a wound could cause, but the agony that strangled him, to his very last breath. It struck more than arrows do, and it broke him into pieces. 

Of course, he has forgotten how to rest, someone has to watch over Liyue, and that would always be him. To watch those people’s suffering, and cannot do a thing about it. He is always late, and when he arrives, it is naught but a show of death.

Xiao hates it.

The voices draining in his head, the wounds that would never heal, the war he still fights with himself. 

He’s exhausted.

So when his eyelids flutter open from such a nightmare of old memories, panic hits him. Where is he? Is he finally, going to lose his most important person- to lose you? The blood on his hands cannot be washed away, because he’s taken more lives than known, under the control of this one archon. He doesn’t deserve you, in any ways. He knows, Xiao knows, he is nothing but a monster,  a weapon, a demon, a-

‘‘Xiao?’’

Oh.

It is then he realises that he’s kneeling on the top ground of Wangshu Inn, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. Was it really that bad of a nightmare? But while his train of thoughts progresses you hurriedly approach him, kneeling down all the same and his amber eyes- the ones that hold emotions, that hold the entire Liyue, trails to you. 

When you touch him, it feels surreal. Are you even real? He wonders. It hurts his head to think, all over his mess of a form, Xiao struggles to stand up, and desperately wishes to hold on tight to your hand- the very own hand of yours that leaves his cheek in a split second. He thought, for so long, he yearned for your warmth, and he wants to-

‘‘Xiao, are you feeling alright? Is it a fever? Or those memories again?’’

He, honestly, isn’t sure at this point. His head feels light, as if the world around him is ready to blur in shades of royal blue and tints of yellow. To think, such a mighty Yaksha would have days like this. When you stand, his gentle voice trembles as he speak, 

‘‘Don’t go anywhere, not yet.’’

It’s a plea, Xiao can’t shake the pain away, so he resorts back to your heart, back to you, who truly is there always, first and foremost. You bend down, and hold onto his hand, tight. 

‘‘I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry. If you like, tell me about it.’’

In all honesty, Xiao never confided in you about his past- it’s terrible. It’s gruesome, it’s nothing you, someone so innocent, should hear about. He wrestles his own mind, and fails to keep you safe from those demons everytime, in his dreams. No doubt, he used to eat dreams, after all, and he’s finally paying his price.

Not even Rex Lapis could save him.

So he explains. Those blood, those people who died in his vision, the heavy burden he carries, the memories engraved in his mind that cannot be erased, the prayers they recite for him to rescue- 

It’s simply too much. 

It is surprising, and you are at once, glad yet sorrowful that Xiao finally opened up. You have never seen him- this vulnerable. You know he shouldn’t, and doesn’t want to show it to anyone, so he hides. He hides his own thoughts, those dreadful memories that haunt him like the very death of the other Yakshas, everything. 

You didn’t know, of course. You knew nothing because Xiao was so good at hiding. His pretence was so strong, and held his head high as the only remaining Adepti. His pain was more than someone could ever maintain, and to think- 

He endured all of this by himself.

It’s so late in the night, stars glitter and shine upon your figure. When Xiao gazes at you, his breath hitches in his throat. You look like the Moon Goddess. Are you here to finally save him? 

Yes, you are.

‘‘Xiao.. listen to me.’’ You start, eyes sincere with every bit of care laced in. He listens, amber eyes reflecting off the moonlight. He looks ethereal. Too daint that you fear he might just disappear into thin air if you don’t grasp properly. So your lithe hands move onto his, those hands that are sheathed away from the harsh gloves, from the battles he fought bravely. You remove the gloves in a gentle motion, and press a kiss on his hand. It feels so soft, yet the calluses from using his polearm remain. It’s his battle proof, he’s done well. 

‘‘I love you. Every part of you. How you went ever so bravely against enemies both in the dark and the daylight. I love your hands,’’ you stop abruptly, before caressing those hands, ‘‘They are the proof that you exist, that you fought with evil beings to keep Liyue safe. I love your hair,’’ as you seize a strand, his eyes quivering like a scared mortal who is finally all battered, no more of the suffering bottling up inside, ‘‘They are of a unique colour, and it’s engraved in my mind. I love you, I love you so much. No matter what happened in the past, or what will happen in the future, even if no one forgives you, I will. Liyue is, truly blessed to have an Adeptus like you, dedicated to his duties. So please, rest easy. The stars are singing of praises, close your eyes and listen.’’

For the first time, he doesn’t retort back, because your words bring such comfort upon his beaten mind and heart. It works like magic, and in an instant he hears the stars, the words they whisper to him. The same words you used. 

‘‘The moon is guiding your path, so don’t be afraid. You won’t get lost anymore. And what is more? I’m here. Right here, and I won’t leave. Sleep well, my dear.’’

Those words lull him to the ceasing vision, and all of a sudden these thoughts, the memories disappeared into nothingness. The soft wind brushing past his jade-coloured hair, and his eyelids flutter close in a subtle way. Your hand still remains on his ungloved ones, the lenient night whispering its melodies to the skies and beyond, as you press a final kiss on his forehead, where the lilac diamond mark is.

‘‘Goodnight, my hero.’’

[turinn]

Sometimes, the Best Laid Plans Work Out Just Fine

Hokuto Hidaka x GN!Reader

Summary: A notebook full of planning, and all the date going well relies on is the weather being right. Oh, and Keito not catching him sneaking out of the dorm at 11pm. Hokuto really knows how to keep things exciting.

A/N: Remember how I said I wasn’t up to full writing? My brain likes to do this wonderful thing where it makes me a liar, so uhhh. Hi!! I was thinking about how some popular tropes are popular because they’re good and I got the idea to write my take on one of my favourites- so here we go! This is inspired by a video I saw like 2 years ago and cannot for the life of me find. EDIT: for some reason this god awful website added multiple extra spaces between a bunch of words and deleted several words so? sorry abt that. fixed it now.

Word Count: 1.4k

Sneaking you out past curfew might not have been his best laid plan- it was a bolder move than he should really pull, and at the very least sure to get him on the receiving end of a very long Keito lecture- but for the chance to show you something magical, Hokuto was willing to take the risks. After all, you made everything seem worth it to him. Hajime's light breathing and the fans of his laptop were the only sounds in the room as he double checked both time and weather forecast once more, shutting down the machine and sneaking out of the room. He was extra careful to shut the door quietly, as not to wake his roommate up. At least Keito was working late as usual. He didn't want to be stopped before he began.

The cold tingle that hit him as he stepped outside sent a shiver right through him and he huffed, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets- but behind his scarf there was the hint of a smile. The chill and the light mist that lingered in the air and cast a white haze over everything the street lamps illuminated were both telltale signs of winter, and he was counting on the weather that usually followed to make tonight perfect. It had to be perfect. Week after week of planning and distraction and discussion had gone into this surprise. He'd zoned out thinking of it so many times that even Akehoshi had noticed something was up with him. A whole notebook was dedicated to the idea, from writing out the plot of the dream that had inspired it to finding a date he was sure he could make it work, and a place to actually do it. It was the most elaborate date he'd ever planned, and you had absolutely no idea it was coming.

Not a single light was on in your house, and Hokuto crossed his fingers with the hope that you'd still be awake. He'd never exactly climbed up to your window before, but he'd spent enough time with the rest of his unit- and various others- that climbing buildings had somehow become something he was fairly good at. There's a reason he doesn't try to think about his time at Yumenosaki in too much detail. With luck, it only takes you a moment to open your window after he knocks, a large can of deodorant in hand to presumably whack him with if he's dangerous. He tries not to laugh. He really does.

"Kuto??? It's like 11pm, what on earth are you doing here?" You half whisper and half hiss, clamping a hand over his mouth to silence his laughter. If your parents find your boyfriend on your windowsill in the middle of the night it's not gonna go down too well. "Get dressed," he's smiling so beautifully, face half illuminated in the dim light of the waxing moon, that you almost forget to question him, "we have a date." "Um, I have a curfew, and it ended an hour ago." "We can sneak out. Just this once, I promise it's worth it." "It can't wait until morning?" "It won't be half as beautiful in the morning, koibito." You've never seen him this close to pleading, and that nickname always gets you. You sigh. You never could say no to him. Not really. "Turn around, then." Hokuto stares at you quizzically, and you wave a sweater at him to indicate your desire to get dressed. He quickly obeys, grinning. Five minutes and 3 sweaters later- ’I can't go downstairs to get my coat, tenshi, they'll hear me. Leave me and my 3 sweaters alone’ -  the two of you are turning the corner of your street, and you're staring at him suspiciously.

"You know, if you wanted to murder me you could have done it at home?" "I'm not murdering you, idiot." "Oh, I see, when you want me to come with you, I'm sweetheart, but then when I agree to, I'm idiot?" "Exactly." There's that grin again, the one that could convince you to jump in a freezing lake without question- you're suddenly scared he's going to try that- and you're rolling your eyes and giggling. "All right, if you're not murdering me, where are we goi-" His hand on your shoulder stops you both mid-step and sentence, and he turns you around to face the docks you were about to walk past. "The docks??" "Yes." "It's-" "About 10 minutes before our boat leaves. Right on time, if you ask me." "Our what?" "Boat." "I repeat. Our what?" "Oh, just come with me." In another moment, he's tangling your ungloved fingers with his gloved ones, and the fleece dragging across your skin feels like fire when your nerves are so on edge from the cold. "Babe my hands hurt, could you loosen up?" "Oh no, I forgot." Hokuto groans. Suddenly, he drops your hand and passes you a pair of gloves from the inside pocket of his jacket, warm from their proximity to his body and double lined. You could cry from the relief they provide, and from how thoughtful he can be- even if he did forget about them. But as you board the boat behind him, the confusion settles back over you.

"So, where are we going?" "We aren't going anywhere." A beat. A glare. No response. "Where is the boat going." "Nowhere.... Out a little. Then back." "What's the point in that." "You'll see. Come, I want you to get a good view." The two of you find a spot on the deck just as the boat departs, and you lean against the railings with him. 5 minutes out, you realise just how peaceful it all is. "Is this what you brought me here for? The peace?" "Not quite." He murmurs, looking up at the sky. "Give it just a moment." As he takes a step closer to you, his hand linking with yours once more, snow begins to fall around you.

It's breathtaking. The way it falls, completely surrounding you, reflecting so beautifully off the still surface of the water. All you can hear is the gentle purring of the boats motor and the calm waves, and all you can see ahead of you is snow. You stand there, staring up at it, your jaw hung open slightly in silent wonder. And he stands there, staring at you- taking it all in. The way your eyes shine with awe, the slight upturn in the corners of your mouth, the way you fight to find something to say only to change your mind and decide to leave the moment silent for just a little longer. The way you repeat that motion three or four times.

"It's... it's gorgeous." You whisper eventually, as soft as you possibly can. "Yeah." He replies, just as softly. "Yeah, it is." You don't notice that you're talking about completely different things, that he's captivated not by the snow, but by you. A snowflake lands on your nose, and you scrunch it up at the cold sensation- an action he finds so adorable he can't help but laugh. "What?" He doesn't actually answer your question, instead catching your chin in his hand. With the free one he brushes what is now a droplet of water off the top of your nose, and then he’s kissing you.

As first kisses go, it's pretty good. His lips are cold, but so are yours. That comes of standing in the snow at nearly midnight, naturally. And while your back pressed against the railing of the boat doesn't make you feel particularly safe, you don't even realise that until you run it over in your head later. All in all, it's kind of romantic as hell, and something about that plus the cold and the late hour almost makes you cry. Almost.

"I love you." He whispers as he pulls back, hand falling away from your chin. "Oh..." You dip your head a little, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I-I love you too." The both of you fall silent again, grinning, and you go back to watching the snow. If his cheeks are red, he's sure it's just because of the cold.

He gives you his coat when you start to shiver, ignoring your insistence that your 3 sweaters are more than enough. He reads you awfully well. Unfortunately for him, the cold his chivalrous gesture left him with does nothing to spare him the 3 hour lecture Keito had prepared about getting back to the dorm past 1am. For you, though? Well, he'd say it was definitely worth it.

[infinitegalahad]

All The Light We Cannot See

Pairing: Safin x Blind!Reader

Summary: A young assassin and blind sculptor find beauty in each other.

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Thank you @just-a-queen-bee​ for this fun little request! This was my very first one actually! It was so fun to write. A short and sweet drabble. Soft Safin is the best Safin. Alicia and Ben are dorks together so I did slightly inspire it toff of them. The reader is blind and gender-neutral. And yes, I shamelessly named it after the book...I had too!  I'm sorry the book was so damn good! I legit love all the requests, keep them coming! Just a reminder that I’m doing rabbles and heacanons only due to school. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy! ;)

Masterlist 

There was something about them that Safin fell for.

He wasn’t one for emotions. In fact, he was a cold-blooded killer and nothing more. The world had never given him any kindness. All it had done was strip his family, dignity, everything. Emotions were simply nonexistent in Safin’s world. Life was a game and nothing more. He was SPECTRE’s lapdog and always did as they pleased. Safin was a ruthless killer who hid behind a mask to hide his true self.

But if he felt nothing, why did he feel the urge to hide his face? The scars had been burned into his skin ever since he was a child. He was young, yet looked old. At a glance, the scars seemed normal, but they truly a monstrosity. He was a monster, he knew he was. But nobody had ever cared about him or comforted him. People were targets in his eyes. Every last one of them.

Except for y/n.

Y/n’s father was an infamous scientist Dr.Morte. He had worked for Spectre and thousands of organizations over the years. Morte was known for kidnapping agents and horribly disfiguring them. Safin was corrupt, but Morte had been far in the deep end. When assigned the hit, Safin had no problem killing him. The death had been rather personal. Morte had been one of the many men responsible for the death of Safin’s family, and disfigurement of his face. The burns were a reminder of Morte and his actions. Safin didn’t kill him because of the crimes he had committed against others. He killed Morte for what he had done to him; strangled him with the very gas he used against Safin. Seeing his eyes roll into the back of his head as he pleaded for help only satisfied Safin.

As Morte took his final breath, Safin had heard footsteps in the room above him. He was instructed to kill every suspect in the building. As he traveled up with his finger on the trigger, he had walked into a dark room full of thousands of clay sculptures. Each had depicted a range of faces, small and big, happy and sad. A noise had startled Safin, causing him to point his weapon in the direction of a young person. They wore rags with a frail figure. There face was expressionless as they looked at him with the saddest clear eyes he had ever seen. They had blinked a few times, still looking directly at Safin. But their sad eyes never moved once from his form. Instead of being scared, they were calm in the heat of the moment. Safin’s breathes were heavy and stressed, yet it did not once scare them. They did not cower or cry. All they did was haunt him with those eyes.

Safin’s finger fiddled with the trigger. Why was he hesitating? His hands shook as everything became blurry. A feeling emerged in his body that he had never felt before. Was it sympathy, or confusion? Everybody who had seen him was scared of him for his repulsive features. But not them. It seemed like they knew what was going to happen to them, and that they had accepted it.

A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he lowered the gun, his finger gently sliding off of the trigger.

-----

“Why would you let me see you?”

Out of all the people Saifn had met, they were the only person who had any form of sympathy for. The reason y/n had never reacted to Safin’s weapon was that they couldn’t see him. Y/n had an amazing sense of hearing and smell. They thought there were going to die, but Safin (in a sudden act) couldn’t bring himself to kill them. Y/n had been a victim of there own father’s work. Being blinded at a young age, they accustomed quickly to it. As a form of expression, y/n had used sculpture. All of the faces they felt were transformed into identical sculptures.

Whenever he saw them, Safin felt the urge to protect them as they were the only person that ever mattered him.

Safin turned over to y/n, greeted with there big clear eyes. They had a small, curious smile on there face as they moved towards them. Clay spots were all over there face as they had been working on a new project.

“I’m not special. You wouldn’t want to feel me.”

Tilting there head, they huffed but kept persisting. “Why? I love to feel all kinds of faces!”

“Not mine, y/n. You wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t what?”

Y/n had grabbed Safin’s gloved hand, pulling him towards her. Her eyes, although emotionless, were begging. Y/n had known Safin for three years and not once had ever felt his body. They saw Safin has a friend and someone they could trust. After years of abuse and torment, Safin (although cold) had treated them with the respect that no one had ever done. It always had felt like whenever Y/n was close to Safin, he would be so far.

“Like my face. It’s…”

“Different?” A shocked chuckle escaped their lips. “Safin, have you not realized I can’t see anything? I’m not phased, as you can clearly see.”

“Just..” Y/n was close to Safin as they inhaled the cologne he wore. It smelt expensive and was a trademark of Safin. Holding there hand, they played around with his gloved things. They yearned to feel his skin and see who he truly was. “Let me see you. I don’t see the point in you hiding from me…”

“You always joke about your vision…” Safin had noticed, a sigh escaping from his lips. Y/n did have a point. They truly couldn’t see what he was. They were one of the only people who hadn’t run away from him (yet). If they were going to be with him for a while, then what was the point in hiding behind a mask and gloves. “I will allow it. But you won’t...scream, right?”

“Scream? Safin, if I scream and run, where will I go? I will most likely hit a wall.” You joked. Safin’s hands began to lighten in your grasp. Did he not perceive the joke well. Squeezing his hand, you subtly smiled, “I won’t run, I promise.”

Sighing, Safin removed his gloves so they could feel his hands. Y/n’s gentle fingers hesitated with his face, wanting to be gentle. What could be on Safin’s face that he had been so afraid of? He was smart enough to know that they were as blind as a bat.

Their fingers gently caressed his cheeks. It started off with a few fingers which responded to a wrinkled complexion. Furrowing their eyebrows, y/n placed their hands on his cheeks. It wasn’t just wrinkled, but burn marks. They didn’t even need sight to see them. Whatever had been on his face was extremely severe. All of the wrinkles were deep and long. The burns were rough and textured.

But once did it disgust them. Safin had some of the most interesting skin they had ever felt. It wasn’t boring but different. Y/n liked different. It would be fascinating to sculpt.

“Your skin is so...unqiue. I’ve never felt someone like this before...” Y/n had pointed out. Feeling Safin’s eyebrow soften at the response, they quickly reassured him. “That’s a good thing. I like unique things…”

Safin froze at the response. Then he had realized. Had y/n complimented him? All a sudden, he felt flustered as his cheeks began to burn. Y/n had cupped his face, a smile.

“You liked my compliment?”

Safin was caught off guard, too distracted by there face. Their skin was soft to the touch, gliding over his skin. He felt like he was being touched by an angel. “Y-yes, I did. Thank you.”

“Your welcome.” You replied. Your hands became more liberal as you explored his face. The further up you moved, the more you could feel the pain in his face. His face was scrunched along with his whole body, tense by your touch. Not because of you, but he was afraid.

“So sad…” They mumbled. Safin had leaned into your hands, enjoying the soft touch. His ungloved hands wrapped around there soft hands as he pulled them close. A small noise escaped from y/n’s mouth as he pulled them in, surprised by Safin’s sudden move. Safin had usually been distant from you was now pulling them in. They could feel his cheek nestle in your hand, a dreamy sigh escape from his lips.

“Y/n?” He asked, looking into your clear eyes.

“Yes, Safin?”

“You’re never going to leave me, right?”

His voice was rather shaky as he left out of his vulnerable side. It was a side that you were quite unfamiliar with. They knew Safin as someone who felt very little emotion and hated the world that surrounded him. After years of endless speculation, they finally had come to the realization that Safin hated the world because he believed it hated him for the way he looked. The only person he had seemingly ever taken any interest in was them and only them.

“No, why would you think that..?” They perplexed. Feeling his scarred skin, you then had realized. “Oh...Safin. Of course not.”

“Your the man who saved from that place. We’ve been together for three years. I am here for the man inside, not the man outside.” Their fingers moved pieces of his ebony hair, which had begun slowly graying. “I like the man on the outside just as much.”

A smile had curved on his face. It was the first time that you had ever felt such emotion on his face. Safin’s hands brought you close to his face. Before you knew it, your lips had connected. It was a sweet embrace. His hand’s held your cheeks as you held onto his chest for security. Safin’s lips were plush like bread as they overpowered your own lips. He held and treated you like you were made of glass. It had been the first time you had ever had romantic feelings in your life. It took you three years to realize that the love of your life was standing right in front of. Even if you were blind, Safin’s face never mattered to you. All that mattered was that you loved the man that you couldn’t even see. All you ever needed from Safin was to feel his damaged skin against your clay ridden hands.

To sculpt him.

To comfort him.

To love him.

[csykora]

Generally, do we take Oshie coming back out at the end of the game (or any similar sitch of an athlete returning to the ice after a potentially injury-causing incident) as a good sign (presumably he passed a concussion test so even if he does somehow have one, it's probably not as serious as it could be), a bad sign (there's a good chance he's playing through something that will be/could be made worse by playing through it), or just like a neutral "who knows" non-sign?

It’s a neutral sign about Oshie’s wellbeing, because being cleared to return to play simply isn’t the same as that.

I think it’s a rough sign about us.

Oshie went through the League’s concussion protocol.  The League has pulled out certain symptoms (subjective information that has to be reported by the patient) and signs (objective information that can be seen by the healthcare provider) which it holds to be the most reliable clues. If a player shows some combination of these, they’re sent off the ice to be tested:

Symptoms:

Headache

Dizziness

Balance or coordination difficulties

Nausea

Amnesia for the circumstances surrounding the injury (i.e., retrograde/anterograde amnesia)

Cognitive slowness

Light/sound sensitivity

Disorientation

Visual disturbance

Tinnitus

Sign “Lying Motionless on the Ice”: A Player lies motionless on the ice or falls to the ice in an unprotected manner (i.e., without stretching out his hands or arms to lessen or minimize his fall).

Sign “Motor Incoordination/Balance Problems”: A Player staggers, struggles to get up or skate properly, appears to lose his balance, trips or falls, or stumbles while getting up, trying to get up, or skating.

Sign “Blank or Vacant Look”: A player has a blank or vacant look.

If you also thought, “But wouldn’t TJ always qualify?” you’re a bit of a dick, but you’re not wrong

Sign “Slow to Get Up” or “Clutches his Head”: A player is slow to get up or clutches his head (including any part of his face) 2 following any of these mechanisms of injury:

a blow to the Player’s head or upper torso from another player’s shoulder;

the Player’s head makes secondary contact with the ice; or,

the Player is punched in the head (including any part of his face) by an ungloved fist during a fight

Exceptions: If a player is Slow to Get Up or Clutches his Head following a mechanism of injury other than the three listed above, removal from play is not mandatory and Club medical staff shall exercise their medical judgment as to whether to remove the Player for an acute evaluation.

That last bit means that the NHL has done some math and determined that those three impacts cause most concussions. They’ve found that fewer concussions come from ‘head makes secondary contact with the boards’ than from ‘contact with the ice’, so they say a player who hit the ice needs to be tested and a player who hit the boards doesn’t. He can still be sent for testing, but the call falls to the trainer, and that’s a problem because we can’t diagnose a concussion by looking at you.

Does Oshie have a concussion? I don’t know. Not ‘I don’t know I’m only friendly bone witch’ like I say when I think somebody sprained their wrist but don’t want to get in trouble, I mean I cannot tell you shit. I cannot see concussions. I can see those signs that often appear with a concussion, but seeing them does not mean my patient for sure has a concussion. If I don’t see them, it doesn’t mean he does not.

We have to assess the damn patient.

The NHL uses it’s own version of the Standardized/Sports Concussion Assessment Tool (SCAT3).

The SCAT3 combines aspects of several concussion tools…into eight components designed to assess concussion symptoms, cognition, and neurological signs. Each of the eight components is scored and recorded The test consists of the Glasgow Coma Scale  [you conscious?], Maddocks score [are you aware you’re a hockey player?], symptom evaluation, cognitive evaluation using SAC [can you solve my puzzles?], neck examination, balance examination, coordination examination, and a follow-up of the SAC delayed recall task.

The SCAT3 is not meant to replace comprehensive neuropsychological testing. It should not be used as a stand-alone method to diagnose concussion, measure recovery, or make decisions about an athlete’s readiness to return to competition after a concussion.”

What you need to know from that is that the SAC is a timed paper-and-pencil quiz that takes 5 to 10 minutes. It’s a pretty reliable indicator. You do it twice in the SCAT. 

When the SCAT was introduced Dr. Ruben Echemendia, chair of the NHL’s Concussion Working Group, denied that players have to be in the quiet room for a minimum of 15 minutes. “The 15 minutes that has been talked about in the media is a fallacy….It really is the amount of time that’s necessary to conduct a thorough evaluation.” x That’s interesting.

Oshie left the ice with 16 and a half minutes left in the 3rd. He returned with 3 and a bit to go. It is physically impossible that he completed just one of the eight parts of the NHL’s own tool properly.

Using just one tool may give you almost 50% error, compared to 80-100% accuracy when you use the SCAT and other tools to get a more complete picture. Reasonable medical care for concussions does exist, this just…isn’t it.

I’m not saying a word about the medical staff. I’m saying that this system means being cleared to play has as much to do with your concussion status as a coin flip. 

Kariya shows character in Game 6

Jun 8, 2003

Sherry Skalko

ANAHEIM, Calif. – Paul Kariya wasn’t going to stay down.

It was Game 6 of the Stanley Cup finals and there was more work to do.

At 6:26 of the second period Saturday night with the Mighty Ducks leading the Devils 3-1, Kariya joined the list of players who have fallen victim to a Scott Stevens check. An instant after dishing the puck off to his left before the Devils’ blueline, Kariya, with his head down, turned to his right – full-speed, face-first into the white No. 4 on the New Jersey captain’s shoulder.

Kariya fell to the ice and lay motionless. The capacity crowd that he had whipped into a frenzy with two assists in the first period fell silent.

…

So at the most crucial of moments, with his young Mighty Ducks facing elimination in the playoffs for the first time, Kariya got up. And less than four minutes later, he made a surprising return. 

Later in the period, it was Kariya who provided the nicest lift of all by beating Martin Brodeur high glove side with a slapshot off the left wing at 17:15.

“He was able to come back, and that really inspired every player in our room,” Ducks veteran winger Steve Thomas said.

“I was impressed with that,” coach Mike Babcock said. “It was impressive for him. When you’re stretched and people are calling you out, you get a chance to respond. When you respond, that’s the best feeling. That’s why they pay you the money.”

They pay him the money because they know what other people don’t.

“That’s just a sign of leadership, right there, to come back after that and score that goal,” Rucchin said. “I expect the same from him in Game 7.”

Because Paul Kariya won’t stay down.

Paul Kariya can’t remember that goal. 

He had anterograde amnesia: like we talked about with Kempný this season, his brain couldn’t record any new information. His muscle memory was out there, and it did okay without the rest of him, because you truly don’t need judgement or personality to be a hockey player. 

Seeing TJ return to the ice last night and score was the nightmare scenario. It’s what we can’t seem to get away from. We keep cheering when they go back on the ice. We keep saying see? He’s okay! 

And that’s pretty damn awkward fifteen years later. 

I don’t think Oshie has a concussion. I don’t know! We don’t. We cheered anyway.

I’ve been trying to get this, reading posts praising what Oshie did. Because I know you all want him to be well. And you want him to get a victory. We want the story to end with the good guy safe and sound and still good at hockey. It feels right. 

But a player being well and being good at hockey are not the same thing. Sometimes wanting him to be well means acknowledging that he can’t do this right now, because doing this is hurting him.

Dessy, A. M., Yuk, F. J., Maniya, A. Y., Gometz, A., Rasouli, J. J., Lovell, M. R., & Choudhri, T. F. (2017). Review of Assessment Scales for Diagnosing and Monitoring Sports-related Concussion. Cureus, 9(12), e1922.  

Resch JE, Brown CN, Schmidt J, et alThe sensitivity and specificity of clinical measures of sport concussion: three tests are better than oneBMJ Open Sport & Exercise Medicine 2016

[kacchanns]

[Fic] No Need for Two Kings

Another fic for BNHA Fest! I'm a couple days late with this one though... orz The prompt this time was for Overhaul and Shigaraki, "chaos; there's no need for two kings" (I HATE COMING UP WITH FIC TITLES OKAY). I had a LOT of fun with this one, writing villains is always one of my favorite things. :D I can't wait to see where their relationship is going to go in canon!

Shigaraki’s nails bit into his palms as he stood and tried not to give in to his anger. He could already tell he was losing. “Looking down your stupid mask at me like that, you’re convinced that no one can be on the same level as you.”

An innocent shine glazed across Overhaul’s eyes as he reached up to scratch absentmindedly at his mask. “Well, no one is ever equal to the king, are they?”

Shigaraki swore he felt a vein in his forehead burst.

[Read on AO3]

Their second meeting was supposed to be a simple affair, where they would go over each other’s ideals and motivations, and find out how each could benefit from the other. It was clear to Shigaraki however, from the very moment he and his group stepped into the room, that Overhaul still very much considered himself the superior. Vehement red eyes narrowed behind a disembodied hand, but the man showed no outward aggression.

“I’m glad you came to your senses,” Overhaul greeted them, though his tone seemed stiff. “There’s a lot to discuss.”

“Don’t get any premature ideas,” Shigaraki replied dangerously. “I’m not just blindly hopping aboard your bandwagon.” Overhaul outstretched his arms and shrugged lightly.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Our goals and methods of reaching them are in direct conflict with each other. But you’ve agreed to meeting with me again, which means you at least recognize that your system is flawed.”

Anger began bubbling up inside Shigaraki. He knew this was a bad idea. Why had he let Kurogiri talk him into this? It was pointless; they would never be able to come to an understanding. As if to establish his displeasure with the situation, he threw a cold glare over at the swirling mist of a man standing to his right. Kurogiri stepped forward almost instantly.

“We are seeking to expand our numbers, and thought that if we could settle our differences here and now then perhaps there would be a possibility of our organizations joining,” he said as business-like as always. “We would like to avoid any further bloodshed if possible.”

“As would we, of course,” Overhaul agreed, sounding awfully passive.

“You should start by not looking down on us then,” Shigaraki hissed. “View us as equals, or this isn’t going to work out.”

Overhaul slid his gaze back to Shigaraki, and the two took a short moment to study each other. Neither backed down from the other’s intense glare, although Overhaul was the one to break the silence.

“I don’t think that’s entirely possible,” he said. “I want to teach you and show you how to bring out your full potential. I want you to learn from me. With that in mind, the teacher can’t exactly view the student as on equal ground with them, can they?”

Struggling to keep his voice even, Shigaraki responded, “My sensei’s choosing me for his succession still means nothing to you, huh?”

“I’m trying to make you see that your so-called “succession” has no merit when you refuse to acknowledge the fact that, with All Might being no more, the darkness will only grow thicker and thicker. More and more Villains will begin cropping up, and who knows how many of them will also be aiming for the top. You have no plan for dealing with this, and simply think the throne will wait patiently for you. If you cannot drop this mentality and begin preparing specific measures to meet your goals, then it won’t matter whether All For One chose you or not. Because you will fall short no matter what.”

“You’re not only questioning me, but my sensei as well…” Shigaraki’s nails bit into his palms as he stood and tried not to give in to his anger. He could already tell he was losing. “Looking down your stupid mask at me like that, you’re convinced that no one can be on the same level as you.”

An innocent shine glazed across Overhaul’s eyes as he reached up to scratch absentmindedly at his mask. “Well, no one is ever equal to the king, are they?”

Shigaraki swore he felt a vein in his forehead burst.

“Kurogiri!” Shigaraki ordered, his enraged voice echoing throughout the room. The man in question appeared beside Shigaraki in an instant, and Shigaraki thrust out his arm towards him. The purplish miasma that constructed his being quickly engulfed Kurogiri’s body, and Shigaraki’s arm plunged into the darkness. Across the room, a small portion of that miasma appeared behind Overhaul, and Shigaraki’s arm shot out, hand outstretched.

Sighing, Overhaul stepped to the side, causing Shigaraki to grab at air. The masked man turned a disapproving eye towards where Shigaraki was standing, and then slowly began slipping the gloves off his hands.

“Mediocre attempt,” he murmured just loud enough for the other group to hear. “I thought we were in agreement that we wanted to avoid-”

His words cut themselves off when a grunt of pain rose from his throat. A strong stinging sensation had erupted across his right forearm, and when he looked down he noticed a pale, bony hand wrapped around his arm. He whipped his head towards the other side of the room and saw Shigaraki’s other arm inside a second portal. Furiously, Overhaul yanked his arm free and tried to retaliate with his ungloved hand, but Shigaraki’s arm retreated and the portal disappeared. With eyes like fire, Overhaul glared across the room while cradling his right arm.

“Overhaul!” one of his minions yelled out, approaching him.

“I’m fine,” Overhaul barked. Glancing down at his arm, he saw that a good amount of skin had cracked and chipped off, revealing some of the muscle and tissue underneath. The slightest touch sent pain shooting up into his shoulder. Grinding his teeth, he lifted his gaze once again towards his opponents.

“That was unwise,” he growled, taking a step forward and tossing his gloves to the ground. “I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.”

“I will become my sensei’s successor,” Shigaraki said in response, flexing the hand that had made contact with Overhaul’s arm. “Your challenging of that reality is what’s truly unwise.”

A few quick strides were all it took. The two leaders didn’t notice the chaos that erupted around them when they clashed. The only thing that seemed to matter to either of them was asserting their dominance and making their place known. Both were entirely focused on eradicating the other.

With eyes ablaze, both men viciously thrust their hands at each other, only for both to dodge the other’s attack. They didn’t waste a second, going in for the kill a second time and again coming away unsuccessful. It was like some kind of chaotic dance as they continually swung at each other and spun out of the way of each other’s blows. Neither of them lost their concentration for a second.

The first to make contact with the other was Overhaul, although what he managed to grab was one of the inanimate hands that clung onto Shigaraki’s arm. There was a cracking noise as the hand burst and sprayed blood over the two men. Overhaul staggered backwards, repulsed by the sticky substance, and Shigaraki made his move against him with an angered roar. Without a proper reaction, Overhaul’s dodge was a little slow, allowing Shigaraki to grab a handful of his coat. The material immediately began decaying away and disintegrating into the air. With a harsh twist, Overhaul tore his coat from Shigaraki’s grip, threw off the man’s balance, and, seeing an opening, swung out his leg and rammed it into Shigaraki’s side. The force of the blow was enough to send the man sprawling to the ground, but before Overhaul could get another hit in, Shigaraki had rolled out of his range and jumped back to his feet all in the same motion.

As the two stood and surveyed each other, Shigaraki gripping at his side and trying to regain the breath he had lost, the members of each of their organizations continued to brawl around them. There were sounds of Quirks being used without hesitation mixed with shouts and crashes of destruction. A thin layer of dust that had risen from the conflict stood stagnant throughout the room, creating a hazy atmosphere. Red eyes bore into brown, but for just a moment, neither leader jumped at the other.

“You say you’ll succeed All For One,” Overhaul began, “and yet you’re still going about things mindlessly. I’ll give you one last chance.” The masked man held out his arm in a beckoning way, never once breaking eye contact with his opponent. “Come under my wing, and let me show you the true pathway to success.”

Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed dangerously and his teeth crunched together behind the severed hand that adorned his face. His hands started to tremble and a low growl built up within his throat. Before he was even aware of it himself, he was digging his nails into his neck, groaning and grunting in animosity.

“You…” he hissed through his teeth. “You think… you’re so goddamn perfect… and more worthy of my sensei’s throne than me…” Shigaraki’s whole body was shaking by this point, and the tearing of his skin had grown harsh enough to draw blood. The daggers he was shooting at Overhaul became even sharper and deadlier than before. “I’ll show you…”

Abruptly, Shigaraki leapt forward, closing the distance between them before Overhaul had a chance to think. His hands were outstretched, skin and blood buried under his unkempt fingernails. The crimson of his eyes shone with a murderous intent.

“…Why my sensei chose me!!” he screamed.

His hand came down on Overhaul’s mask before the latter had even taken a step backward. Cracks immediately began sprouting up the beak-like object and it started crumbling into nothing. Overhaul’s eyes widened in something like terror as the tip of the mask opened up and the dust in the air invaded his breathing space. With a shriek, he blindly swung out his arm. Unprepared for the sudden retaliation, Shigaraki was unable to dodge the blow, and Overhaul’s fist cracked into his jaw. He was sent tumbling to the side, tearing off the brittle remainder of Overhaul’s mask as he went.

A sudden coughing fit shook Overhaul’s frame, and he immediately thrust his hand into one of the pockets of his coat. After momentarily fumbling, he pulled out a pair of disposable medical gloves and quickly put them on before covering his exposed mouth with his hand. His eyes had gone bloodshot and sweat covered his face as he took several steps backward from where Shigaraki was regaining his bearings.

The disembodied hand that usually stayed attached to Shigaraki’s face was lying discarded on the ground. Shigaraki was carefully rubbing at his jaw while also trying to conceal his features. His unoccupied hand probed the ground cautiously for the dropped object and tentatively picked it up, holding it in his grip as he glanced over towards Overhaul’s direction. Although the man had backed up considerably and looked to be in a state of panic, Shigaraki refused to let his guard down for a moment.

As if sensing Shigaraki’s gaze, Overhaul turned his attention back to him, his reddened eyes enraged and his gloved hand still clutching tightly to his lips. The hellish expression on Shigaraki’s revealed face didn’t seem to faze Overhaul at all. Even still, he took another step backward.

“So it’s war you want,” he muttered behind his hand. Shigaraki barely heard him. “So be it.”

With one quick yell, all of Overhaul’s subordinates abandoned their fighting with the League members and grouped up behind their leader. The young yakuza gave Shigaraki a sharp glare.

“This is only the beginning,” he proclaimed between coughs. His breathing had become rather erratic. “When next we meet, you’ll be sure to realize how mistaken you’ve been.”

“Your threats mean nothing to me,” Shigaraki responded, standing up straight. “There’s nothing I want more than to turn you and your ridiculous crusade into dust. Besides…”

With a malicious grin splitting across his face, Shigaraki placed the severed hand back over his face. His flaming red eyes gazed out from between the fingers, and the look of discomfort shaking throughout Overhaul’s entire being as he tried to deal with no longer having his mask only brought Shigaraki mirth.

“The underworld is a rather dirty place, you know?” he said, not quite containing the levity in his voice. Overhaul’s eyes narrowed, but he made no move to make a rebuttal. Instead, he turned away from Shigaraki, still keeping his mouth covered. Before taking any steps to leave however, he turned his head halfway back towards Shigaraki, his brown eyes piercing.

“I look forward to your inevitable destruction,” he said simply, but his tone was sharper than ever.

With that final statement, he and his group began to leave. A few members from the League began trying to stop them, but Shigaraki lifted his hand into the air.

“Let them go,” he ordered, some amusement still leaking into his words. “We’ll see them again soon enough.”

And I’ll be looking down on you from the top, Shigaraki thought to himself. And his cracked lips turned up further.