#tatínek

[jensojkaobecna]

Dívka na koštěti fanart 🧹

[hvezdnastreka]

Tohle možná bude trochu radikální take, ale třeba bychom mohli na chviličku přestat s těmi "Petr Pavel je můj prezident ❤️" a "Hihihi, koukněte, Petr Pavel houbaří! Úplně jako můj tatínek.", když letí do Izraele potřást si ruku muže, který režíruje genocidu lidu, jejichž zem Česko pomohlo okupovat. Neříkám, že je nějaký český prezident, který by se proti Izraeli postavil, ale Petr Pavel je pořád politik. Je fajn na chvíli nemít za prezidenta úplného budižkničemu, ale není to váš kamarád. Taky jsem tomu na chvíli propadla, takže to nemusí nikdo brát jako útok na jejich osobu, ale když se na tom zamyslíte na pět minut, uvědomíte si, že říct něco tak parasociálního jako "Oni jsou jak tatínek a maminka našich států 🥺" o dvou politicích je naprosto šílené.

[zluty-spendlik]

My, jako fandom Rychlých šípů, jsme zaspali nad fascinujícím ohnivě horkým úchopem

Samozřejmě, většina z nás hlavokanónuje Červenáčka jako ftm, ale víte, kdo by byl ještě lepší ftm?

Mirek.

Než po mně skočíte, abyste mi tento hlavokánon uvrhli do pekelných jam (nebo do stoky pod svatým Jakubem), představte si to:

Mirek si dává záležet, aby byl silný, aby byl nejsilnější z Rychlých šípů, protože si chce dokázat, že taky může být silný. Mirek, který se doma neučil, ani nepovolil ve škole, ale byl u doktora. Prosil rodiče, aby to jeho kamarádům neřekli. Mirek, kterého nechcou v žádném klubu, a tak si nakonec založí vlastní. Mirek, který je stereotyp dobrého kluka, protože se bojí, že jinak ho nikdo nebude respektovat. Mirek, který na sobě pracuje tak dlouho a tvrdě, dokud nebude příkladným hochem, příkladným "vůdcem", tak jako jeho tatínek*(*Neříkám, že tak to má být, ale ve třicátých letech, chápeme se..). Mirek, který nikdy neřekl sprosté slovo, protože "Tak slušné dámy nemluví".

Plantážníci, ftm Mirek.

[smogfromkortalmombat1]

The beginning (MK1 Tomas fic)

Hey there! Do you like Mortal Kombat 1? Do you like the Lin Kuei? Do you like traumatising children?

Well boy do I have the fanfiction for you!

Summary: The beginning of the Lin Kuei trio - The murder of the Vrbada family (Hurt/comfort - slight gore) - Word count ~ 6000

Can also be read here, on AO3: We are family. - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Mortal Kombat - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

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He had been only five. Only five, when his family were slaughtered.

That day- it was something he would never, ever forget. One of the first ever full memories to grace what he considered his early ‘childhood’, and it was one of his most vivid to date even all these years later.

His family were not deserving of the end that befell them that fateful day. They were not criminals- they had not stolen, pillaged or murdered. Their hearts were pure and beautiful, despite their personal struggles. They had been humble hunters, seeking a quiet, calm life. Yet despite this, their bright, kind souls were extinguished without a second thought that day. Right before his very eyes. His life had almost been taken in that fell swoop too.

And for what reason? Well, Tomas was still chasing the answer to this very day. Twenty nine years later. He had a feeling that he would never find it, though.

“Tomas-!”

Even if he did finally find an answer that made sense- an excuse that he could possibly understand and reason with, it didn’t change the fact that that day hurt him more than he had ever been hurt in his whole life. No physical wound could reap as much sorrow and pain as he had felt that day.

“Máma?”

Not even his own death could ever compare.

Tomas had been dozing, his little head resting in his hands when loud, violent shouting tore him from the beginning of a peaceful dream. 

Someone was yelling. In what language, exactly, Tomas wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that whoever it was was really, really upset, their snarls rattling the walls around him. They sounded like his Tatínek- when he drank too much juice, that was. Maybe this person had drunk too much too? They must have drunk a lot, if so. Tomas had never heard someone sound so angry.

 A sudden crash rattled the wall near his bedroom window. Tomas startled, his pale eyes wide. The whole room seemed to tremble with the impact, groaning as if it might collapse at any moment. His toys, once steady in their scattered spots across his floor wobbled and fell, little wooden soldiers clattering to the floor. Another shout, more yelling and then-

He gasped as his window shattered, exploding inwards towards him, tiny, fine shards of glittering glass raining down upon him like tiny, sparkling knives. He bit his lip, hard, a shiver wracking through his body as the cold night’s air swept easily into the room, biting into his exposed skin uncomfortably. This person- they needed to calm down. Papa got angry too, sometimes really, really angry, but never like this. 

Speaking of his Tatínek, he could hear him now, voice rising to meet the stranger’s own. Angry, heated words- something about the window, about the money it would cost. Typical of his Papa, really, but Tomas could hear, under that familiar, fiery anger, something new. Something different. Something that made his little stomach twist into knots. Fear.

His dad was scared.

He looked down at the glass surrounding him once more. It was like a landmine of sharp little daggers of ice, glistening from the lanterns outside. Máma would be so mad. She hated messes like this. Tomas would know- he’d caused many himself. Accidentally, of course. 

He should go and find her, really. Tell her that his window was broken, that he was cold, and that Papa may or may not be outside arguing with another crazy-man. She’d drag his Papa back inside so fast by just the ear if she found out he was causing up a stir. She was always quick to stomp his argumentative flame out.

Ever-so-carefully, he pushed himself upwards. His tiny hands brushed off the glass from his clothes as best as he could. He grabbed his favourite toy- a little wooden horse, handmade from the finest wood. A birthday gift, from his late babička. ‘For protection’ he reasoned with himself as he held the wooden figure close to his chest, letting his thumb gently run over the familiar grooves, feeling each and every cut that had been deliberately made in order to form the cute horse staring up at him. Comfort and ease washed over him.

Now, to find his Máma.

Cracking his door open, he peered out into the dimly lit corridor. The shouting was louder here, somehow. It was harsh and ugly, words Tomas hadn’t ever heard before being exchanged by his Papa and the stranger. More things were thrown, too, hitting the outer walls in rapid succession, shattering upon impact, rattling the house as they went. Grown-ups were scary, scary things.

“You’ve wandered into the wrong fucking area.” His father was slurring in Czech, voice muffled behind the bulk of the front door separating Tomas from the madness outside. His words were heavy, like it was a strain on his whole body to talk. Tomas’ little feet were quick to move away from the door, carrying him towards the kitchen instead, which resided right at the back of their house. That’s where he would find his Máma, napping in her big, brown, cosy rocking chair. She loved that chair. So did he- she always rocked him in it when he had nightmares. “You think you can come here and threaten me? Threaten my family? Do you? Who do you think you are, huh? Huh!?”

The stranger yelled something in their own native tongue, and before Tomas could even attempt to debunk it, a new sound tore through the night. 

His father’s screams.

Tomas froze, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t a mad scream. It was something else entirely, something he had never heard from his father before until this very moment. Pain. His father was screaming from pure and utter agony. He sounded hurt, really, really badly hurt. The house shook with the sound, the walls shuddering and whining. It sounded like the house was crying. Or maybe that was his Tatínek, Tomas couldn’t tell anymore.

Just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Everything stopped. The world was so incredibly still that the only thing he could hear was his own blood pounding in his ears. The frantic flutter of his petrified heart was loud, and painful, too. His tiny hand came to rest on his shirt above the spot, squeezing tight. 

“Papa?” He couldn’t help but call out, voice croaky and raspy with fear. He listened for a moment, straining his ears to hear anything other than his own laboured, terrified breathing. Nothing. Not a single sound.

The door unlocked with a soft click, like a twig snapping in a quiet forest, creaking open slowly on its hinges.

Tomas tried again, hopeful and desperate. His fingers tightened on his toy. “Papa?”

It wasn’t his Papa.

Tomas found himself here often.

It wasn’t a particularly well-known spot to those residing in the Shirai Ryu temples. An old, withered security post, high up out of the reach of even their best students, overlooking the wondrous, snow-capped mountains the very temples were built upon. The little area was untouched by humans for the most part, and, because of this, mother nature had been quick to recapture it. Birds’ nests, moss, lichen, it all grew and flourished in the cover of concrete privacy. Its beauty now marred the once dead stone walls, turning them into something new. Something alive. Something cherishable, and beautiful.

It reminded him of his first ever hunt with his dad. Covering his body in dirt and sticks and other gross muck in an attempt to ‘blend in’ with nature, trying to hold back his childish giggles as he lay stomach-down on the forest floor, His father laying beside him, dripping in mud and covered head-to-toe in leaves, attempting to shush and scold him with a finger against his own curled grin.

They had looked like a pair of idiots. Came back empty-handed too. As it turns out, birds and hares startled easily when you had a wiggling, excited toddler at your side, no matter how much of an expert you were. His dad hadn’t been upset, though. Instead he had ruffled Tomas’ filthy, mud-streaked hair with a laugh, and bought some rabbit meat from one of the local butchers on the way home.

His dad had tried to pretend Tomas had caught it, when confronted curiously by his mother. Wound up a wild tale of a chase that led to Tomas wrangling the prey with his bare hands. Obviously, Tomas’ mother wasn’t stupid enough to buy into that. Still, it had them all laughing and snorting and giggling over a nice cooked stew later that day. The rabbit had tasted amazing. 

Of course, that only happened once she had thoroughly scrubbed the pair of them clean from the dirt on the porch outside. She wouldn’t have let them step a single foot in the house before they were sparkling clean.

The sword was the first thing his eyes latched onto, the blade catching in the moonlight. Long streaks of crimson smeared the metal, thick drops of blood sliding off its edge and hitting the ground in sickening splats. 

The person didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to. His intentions were clear.

“Máma!” He shrieked, stealth forgotten as he turned tail and ran. His heart was in his throat- he felt sick. Deeply, truly sick. “Máma! Máma!”

He burst into the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process as he reached his mother. She was there, right where he’d pictured she would be, sat in her cosy rocking chair, looking at him with kind, sleep-fogged eyes. Her calm demeanour did nothing to ease him. He couldn’t stop shaking. 

Flinging herself at her, he buried his face into her lap, tiny hands desperately clutching onto her with newfound strength. His breath came in ragged, whimpered gasps, “Máma!”

“Tomas?” Her voice was silky and soft, still heavy with sleep as she blinked at him. His twin sister, Anna, sirred in her arms, pink tongue sticking out as she yawned. “Tomas? Sweetheart?” His mother called again, her beautiful, graceful features etched in a worried frown. A hand came to cup his cheek, thumb wiping at the tears in his eyes. “Another nightmare?”

The birds were chirping softly, nestled high above him, the moss wet and soothing under his palms.

His sister would have loved it. 

At least, he thinks she would have.

If Tomas closed his eyes, he could imagine it. Imagine Anna laughing, how the echoes of her giggles would ring through the quiet space. Her small, soft hands reaching out to touch the moss, her big, doe brown eyes staring up in wonder at the birds nesting above her head. She had always been the more adventurous of the two of them. Braver, louder, she was everything he was not. 

If he closed his eyes, he could see her here, with him. See her older, wiser, but still the little Anna he had grown up with. Cheeky and loving, her blonde hair longer, curling slightly at the ends, and still that same kind, curious gaze in her eyes as she took in the world around them both like she was five once more.

But it was just that, wasn’t it? Just imagination. Some sad, bittersweet fantasy his mind created, desperate to try and fill the aching void in his heart.

Today that void could not be filled. The gaping chasm of aching in his battered soul only wanted one thing, and that thing could never be given to him. 

Another year, that’s what today marked. Another year since his family’s murder.

The wind whispered softly through the temples, ruffling his clothes as if desperately attempting to soothe him. But that ache in his chest remained. It was a familiar pain, one Tomas was well aware of. A special place in his heart that ached only for his family. To play with his sister, or his father. To hug his mother. To feel her gentle arms on him, rocking him as she once did, her lips in his hair, pressing a kiss to chase away his nightmares.

The rocking chair lay on its side now, abandoned, its familiar, loving creak silenced. The three of them were huddled on the floor now, tucked away in the nearest corner; Tomas’ Máma had been quick to push him behind her, positioning herself between her children and the man stood in the doorway. Anna was clutched onto her side, her little face buried deep in their mother’s chest, her tiny body wracked with the trembles of complete and utter fear.

Anna’s sobs were muffled against their mother’s nightgown, but Tomas could feel every tremor. He pressed himself close to his mother too, peering out from behind his Máma’s shoulder, his small hands clung tightly to her gown, fingers twisting the fabric in a white-knuckled grip. 

The man- he was just standing there, in the doorway, watching them cower, only a few feet away. In his hand, that fated sword. Tomas could see it clearer now. Bits of hair and flesh were scattered among its crimson smears, like grotesque ornaments. He felt sick.

His mother noticed it too. She let out a heart-wrenching sob, her whole body beginning to tremble as realisation dawned upon her. “Marek…”

The man took a step closer. His mother’s hand shot backwards blindly, searching for Tomas, grasping a tight hold on him, pulling him even closer to her. He could feel the raw desperation in the way her nails dug into his skin, her breath hitching. It was as if she was trying to anchor them together, save them from a fate unsavable. Even she could not will them away from the inevitable. 

“They’re just children.” She choked out, her voice a true desperate plea. There was no anger, no fight. Just a mother’s last true hope. “They are just children.” Her voice shook, her body quaking. “Just kill me, please. Please leave them alone. Let them live, please. Please, god, let them live.”

Another step. Then another. Tomas buried his head into his mother’s soft hair, the familiar, comforting scent of her filling his nose. He could hear Anna’s frightened whimpers, feel her writhing and quaking against him. He reached out with his free hand, finding her arm and squeezing tightly. ‘I’m here’ he wanted to say, ‘I’m here. I love you’, but his mouth was screwed shut. The words couldn’t come, no matter how hard he willed them to. 

“I don’t want to die.” Anna’s whisper, hot and frantic in his ear, broke his heart into a thousand pieces. “Tomas, I don’t want to die. I’m scared-” Her voice broke into another sob. He wanted to tell her so, so badly that it would be okay. That they would be safe, somehow, that their Máma would get them out of this, but the words, just like before, simply would not come. He was scared too. So, so scared.

He never got the chance to comfort her. To hold her tightly, to kiss her forehead like he did so very often. The blade descended, swift and merciless, before he could even blink.

“Tomas?”

A voice startled him from his thoughts, though it was gentle, familiar. Kuai Liang. Leave it to his brother to track him down even when Tomas himself didn’t want to be found. ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire’. Something like that.

He didn’t need to look to know what his brother was thinking. Kuai Liang was no stranger to loss himself, and he was not blind to others' losses either, especially not his younger brother’s. Tomas felt a flicker of gratitude- a small ember of light in the darkness he had been drifting in. He wasn’t being pressured to talk, to make up silly excuses. Tomas didn’t need to explain himself. Kuai Liang wasn’t seeking an explanation. He knew why Tomas was here.

The silence settled between them, only disturbed by the wind. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It could never be awkward with Kuai Liang. Tomas could feel his warmth from here, a gentle, welcoming presence. An anchor to reality amidst his spiralling thoughts.

Kuai Liang’s footsteps, light, yet deliberate, broke their shared quiet, though barely heard over the wild whistling around them. He moved carefully into Tomas’ peripheral, his posture relaxed and calm as he claimed the empty spot beside him. With a deep, tired sigh, Kuai Liang leaned back on his hands, his gaze wandering over the surrounding landscape. The freshly-healed scar over his right eye tugged slightly with every small movement of his face. “I’ve never been up here before.” He hummed, “It’s nice. Peaceful.”

Tomas swallowed, his voice rough and croaky from disuse, “You don’t have to do this.” He started, “I’d understand.”

Kuai Liang paused. He shifted closer, until their shoulders touched, a steady warmth radiating from his body into Tomas’ own. His brother was a furnace. Always had been, really. The heat grounded Tomas in the moment. Kuai Liang shook his head, his expression calm but firm. “I do.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Don’t.” 

Tomas left it at that.

Go limp. Play dead.

Close your eyes, slow your breathing. Pretend it doesn’t hurt. Don’t flinch, don’t cry, don’t make a single sound. Do nothing at all. If you’re still, maybe you’ll live to see another day.

Anna was choking next to him,her breaths gurgling, wet and ragged, as if she were drowning. His mother was silent. Tomas kept his eyes tightly shut, willing himself not to look.

He attempted to steady his breathing, to quiet the frantic pounding of his heart. His whole body screamed in agony, twitching and writhing despite his best efforts. The blade hadn’t been merciful- the man had not held back. Deep, painful lacerations laced his skin- his face felt like it was on fire, his blood boiling as it pooled out of him, searing his pale, once unmarred skin. He wanted to cry so badly. To shriek and thrash and wail. He was only five. Only five.

He wanted his Máma. To feel her arms around him, hear her soft voice as she soothed away the pain. To have her kiss his bruises and bandage his cuts, to rock him to sleep like she always did when he was upset. His hand was still entangled in her nightgown, his face pressed against the back of her neck, which was steadily growing colder with each passing second. 

She was right there, beside him, and yet Tomas had never felt so alone.

He sighed, turning to lean closer into Kuai Liang’s welcoming presence, resting his cheek on his elder brother’s shoulder. In turn, Kuai Liang’s arm wrapped around him, tugging him closer. 

“I hate seeing you like this.” His brother whispered, as if almost to himself, gaze still set on the mountains before them. On the setting sun casting pretty yellows and purples across the cloudless sky. “I always hoped, as the years went by, that you’d be able to heal fully.” His mouth tugged into a grim, thin line, “I know now that pain like that doesn’t disappear, no matter how much you will it to.”

Watching his mother and sister die was something that Tomas could never, ever truly scrub from his memory. Pieces of his childhood had fallen away over the years, slipping through his fingers slowly like sand as he aged, but that memory would never leave him. It was imprinted on his brain, hardwired into his DNA, entangled in his coding- whatever metaphor he tried to use didn’t give it enough justice. It was there, and it was never leaving him. No matter what.

Part of him was thankful. Knowing that he’ll keep a memory of them forever- be able to remember their faces in such vivid detail, their voices clean and well-kept in tone, as other memories of his faded and warped over time. He won’t ever forget what they looked like. To him, that is invaluable.

Part of him though, deep down? He felt as though that moment was glued to him to remind him how he failed them. He led that attacker right to them both as they slept, unaware of the dangers. If he had run elsewhere, had time to wake them up before leading the man to them, done something brave and different- maybe the outcome would have changed. Maybe they would still be here today, alongside him.

Tomas didn’t know how long he lay there, motionless, his small, tiny body curled against his mother’s cold side. Time had become a blur, a slow, endless stretch of darkness and pain. He was caught between the terrifying thought that maybe this was what death was, and the equally more petrifying idea that if he was alive, and he moved, even just an inch, the man would return and finish what he started. 

Maybe this is what death really was. Nothingness. No heaven, no hell, just absolute nothingness. You just lay there, alone, forever, feeling nothing but aching emptiness and unending agony. He hoped it wasn't. He really, really hoped it wasn’t.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears eventually, breaking the eerie silence of the night. They were growing louder and louder. Voices hit the air around him, unfamiliar and hurried, a language he didn’t understand. He stayed still, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, his breath catching in his throat as the footsteps drew nearer and nearer, creaking down the hallway in a hurried fashion. The kitchen door whined on its hinges. His bloodied fingers clenched tighter onto his mother’s nightgown. 

A gentle, soft hand touched his neck, nimble fingers feeling for a pulse. Then, another cradled his head. Tomas couldn’t help but flinch, a sharp, violent shiver running through his body. The touch was warm. Alive. He dared to open his eyes. Just a little.

A woman. Long, black, silky strands of hair curling delicately around her cheeks, her haunted face pale in the moonlight. She was kneeling beside him, once-white clothes soaked crimson in the blood of his mother, sister- him, too, to an extent. Her eyes were the same shade of brown as his mother’s. Filled with the same concern, the same kindness. She was talking to him, her lips moving, though blurred by his tear-clouded vision, voice low and soothing, though he couldn’t understand a single word.

“Máma…” He whimpered, his voice barely more than a whisper. He wasn’t sure if he was calling for his mother, or asking this kind, strange lady to be her.

The woman, in turn, gave him a sad, heartbroken smile. She reached forward, her arms slipping under him, lifting him gently from the blood-soaked floor, pressing him close into her side. Tomas let her, too numb and weak to resist, a hand curling in the cloth of her dress. His head lolled against her shoulder tiredly, half-lidded eyes drawn back to the scene he had been pulled from.

His mother, his sister- they were just… lying there. Still and silent, their faces pale in the dim light of the night. His mother’s hand, the one that had held onto him so dearly, was so deathly limp now. Contorted and completely lifeless. Anna’s small body was curled into her side, half-tucked away from view, his mother’s last attempts at saving her clear as day. 

The woman holding onto him began moving away, turning towards the door without much notice, eager to leave the massacre behind. Her voice was still soft, though dripping in worry and urgency. Her hand cupped the back of his head where it rested against her shoulder, thumb feeling over a long, deep cut on his scalp. His gaze remained fixed on his family’s corpses, though. A part of him wanted to cry out, to reach for them. To demand that this woman put him down, let him cuddle with them one last time, to fall asleep in his mother’s arms once more, but his body wouldn’t respond. It felt as though he was floating, detached from everything around him. From himself, especially. His lips were sealed tightly shut as the door to the kitchen closed, his family disappearing for the last time behind its wooden frame.

Tomas’ world was a blur of movement and noises as the woman carried him through the cold night’s air. He could hear her calling out, her voice urgent and strong, though her words foreign and unfamiliar. Men, women, they had joined her as she walked, lanterns held up high, glinting weapons sheathed safely in scabbards as they escorted the pair. He glanced around, head still resting on the woman’s shoulder, eyes heavy with exhaustion. They were approaching something- something big. Massive, really. Tall and elegant, high up atop a hill, the climb steep and treacherous.

Oh. This must be a temple. Tomas had never seen a temple before.

The temple's inhabitants were beginning to stir as the woman’s calls echoed through the courtyards. Sleepy, confused faces appearing in windows and doorways, their features blurred by the soft glow of the travelling lanterns moving past. He could feel their eyes on him, though, their gazes shocked and concerned, racking over his wounds and the blood smeared both over him and his saviour. The woman’s hands tightened on him, pulling him closer, as if attempting to shield him from their judging view. That, he appreciated.

Two boys caught his own gaze as he sleepily looked at the crowds around him. One taller, more broader, the other smaller, but no less muscular, both staring at him from the footpath to one of the much larger, prettier temple homes. The taller one wore a deep, calming blue, the other a bright, fiery yellow, their little confused faces peering out at him, dark, curious eyes meeting his own pale ones. 

The woman holding him looked over herself, her own eyes meeting those of the young boys. She said something in her native tongue that sent the two of them scrambling back behind closed doors, out of view. Tomas tiredly wondered what she had said to them. Were those her children?

He was whisked away before he could question it further, carried down a narrow corridor into a dimly-lit room where the strong scent of sage and sandalwood greeted him, tickling his nose gently. There, she lay him down upon a low cot, his battered body sinking into the fabric. A man was waiting nearby- a doctor, if Tomas had to guess. He was much, much older than her, his face lined with wrinkles of age and wisdom. His eyes, though sharp, held a kindness as they took in the sight of the small boy placed before him. 

His voice was deep, calm and well-controlled as he turned to speak to the woman, his hands gesturing towards Tomas as he himself rolled back on his chair, checking over his equipment. In response, the woman touched Tomas’ shoulder, her fingers gentle as she began to peel back the layers of clothing clinging to his skin. Her movements were deliberate and careful, each button of his torn and bloodied shirt undone with absolute care. She murmured quietly in his ear the whole time as she worked, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed, jumpy nerves, even if her words were incomprehensible.

Once he was stripped bare of his clothes, the doctor leaned back in, his gaze sharpening as he examined the full extent of Tomas’ injuries. His cold, rough hands shifted Tomas back and forth and side-to-side, eyes hesitating over the deeper cuts across his shoulders and upper back. He muttered something short under his breath before turning away back to his equipment nearby.

Throughout it all, the woman stayed close, her hands never leaving him. Her fingers, which had deftly unbuttoned his shirt moments before now traced delicate patterns across the skin of his face, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp as she combed through his smoky hair. It reminded him achingly of his mother.

A single tear slipped from Tomas’ eye, tracing a path down his bloodied face. The woman’s thumb was quick to catch it, her lips pressing into a thin line as she leaned forwards, closer, whispering something to him, her eyes filled with honest concern. At just the simple gesture, more tears followed, and Tomas had to look away, his pale eyes staring down at his bloodied hands resting in his lap, entangling his fingers together. His lip wobbled dangerously. “Máma…”

Eventually, the woman was called away from him. Her warm hands left him hesitantly, replaced by the cold, harsh string of the needle as the doctor attempted to stitch him back up. As she stepped back, Tomas looked up, watching as she wandered over to a newcomer, a man, who was stood in the doorway, arms crossed and expression grim. Their conversation wasn’t a loud one by any means, but it held heat, their whispered voices rising and falling. Tomas noticed their eyes dart towards him occasionally, looking him up and down. Judging him. Were they discussing what to do with him? Was he even welcome here?

When the doctor finally finished, his wounds stinging and raw, but now clean and tended to, whatever argument had befallen the pair seemed to cease as well, an answer concluded, if the man’s dip of his head and his quick exit had anything to go by. The woman returned quickly, gathering Tomas up in one arm, cradling his tiny body close to her chest, her other hand reaching out, snagging the dirtied, slashed clothing he had once worn. She softly thanked the doctor, at least, he assumed so, Tomas hearing him murmur something to her in turn. A gentle, satisfied exchange between the pair before she took her leave, dragging Tomas away with her. Back down the narrow corridor they went, away from the scent of herbs and towards the crisp chill of the night’s air once more. 

She was quick to lead him towards another building- the same one, he noted, that he had seen those two boys disappear into earlier. She didn’t hesitate, waltzing in through the large, elegant door, down the winding hallways until she reached what he assumed were her own quarters, letting them both in quickly, the thin wooden door closing with a click behind them.

She moved with practised ease, setting Tomas down on a cushioned mat as she moved further into another room, returning moments later with an old, dusty box, full to the brim of children’s clothes- blue and yellow outfits, like the two boys he had seen. After rummaging around inside the box, and comparing him to the garments she found, the woman settled on a small pair of yellow pyjamas. The fabric was soft and worn from time, smelling faintly of lavender and rose. Though they were far too large on his small frame, the cuffs reaching the very tips of his fingertips, the bottoms pooling well past his toes. Regardless, they were comfortable- a stark contrast to his previous attire, which now sat abandoned near the doorway in a bloodied heap. The relief was immediate and more than welcome.

The woman changed out of her own blood-soaked dress, donning something soft and simple in tow. She sat down beside Tomas, pulling him into her lap, her arms wrapping around him in a comforting embrace. He curled into her almost immediately, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, seeking solace in her warmth. He could hear her murmuring softly to him, her voice soothing and melodic as she spoke simple, singular words to him. She was trying different languages, he realised, attempting to find which one he would react to- some words she spoke he vaguely recognized from stories or encounters, some completely foreign to him entirely. She didn’t speak Czech, though, but Tomas didn’t expect her to. Instead, he simply burrowed closer, letting the sound of her voice wash over him, lulling him toward the sleep his body desperately begged for.

Sensing his need for quiet and peace, the woman’s words gradually faded into a gentle hum as she began to rock him slowly, her hand idly stroking his soft, pale hair. The tune she hummed was soft and tender, a melody that felt like a distant memory. It sounded like something his own mother may have sung to him. Maybe one she may have sung to him tonight, in her beloved brown rocking chair. Had she been given the chance to.

Tomas’s eyelids grew heavier as his body sank deeper into the woman’s comforting embrace. He felt the tension in his muscles slowly ebb away, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion that he could no longer fight. The horrors of the night began to blur, replaced by the warmth of her arms, the softness of her voice, the steady beat of her heart beneath his cheek. He let himself drift, slipping into the safety of sleep, the last thing he heard being the woman’s gentle hum, carrying him into a world where, for a moment, he could forget everything.

Tomas awoke to Kuai Liang’s rough, scarred hand ghosting across his face, idly tracing old scars. His fingertips were careful and precise, brushing through his hair, flattening smoky strands. He tucked a few particularly curly rebels behind his ears ever-so-gently.

When he had fallen asleep, he hadn’t a clue. He had gone from sitting up to laying down somehow, his head now pillowed in his brother’s lap. The night’s winds were no longer a gentle breeze, instead howling and wailing through the mountains. The cold of the air bit at the exposed skin of his arms, but Kuai Liang’s unnatural, fiery warmth kept most of the discomfort at bay.

They hadn’t cuddled like this since they were children. Kuai Liang was much like Bi-Han when it came to things like affection, making Tomas the odd one out of the three, naturally. Cold and icy, Kuai Liang never wanted to get too close to anyone, attempting desperately to mimic his elder brother, wanting to be everything he was and more, even at the cost of his own mental health. It seems Harumi had done a good job in getting his brother to take up on his naturally softer side once more.

Losing Bi-Han to that same coldness he had once strived hard for probably helped, though. Tomas knew it was a sore spot still, even after all the time passed. It hurt him, too- he wasn’t afraid to admit it. Losing Bi-Han was like losing his blood family all over again. Like losing his adoptive father and mother. Bi-Han was the closest person he had to a parental figure after everything he had lost over the years, and just like the previous ones, he had disappeared too. Instead this time, on his own volition. That had stung even deeper.

“Sleep, brother.” Kuai Liang whispered, voice barely heard over the wind. “I’ll keep you safe.”

He yawned, jaw cracking. His brother’s warmth and ghosting touch were slowly dragging him back under, reminding his mind of better days, soothing his aching, lonely heart. And who was he to fight it?

[tired-demonspawn]

omlouvám se za zpoždění drazí obrozenci, po dokončení náčrtu jsem ztratil motivaci tak nějak ke všemu.

ALE JINAK! SAXÁNA kdyby byla víc po tátovi, Saxána YA edice, jestli chcete:

rukávy se dají rozepnout a připnout k límci aby nepřekážely, šaty mají ze stran díry aby nepřekážely křídlum co jsou připojené k jejímu trupu, lodičky vyměněny za sandále a drápy na nohou, zornice velké, je přeci napůl noční tvor, a uši pořádné netopýří.

chtěl jsem přidat i takovej ten epickej netopýří nos, ale podle, bohužel kanonického, saxána a lexikon kouzel tatínek netopýr je netopýr s lidským obličejem.

jakožto pravá YA postava se zvířecími rysy se umí přeměnit do více zvířecí podoby.

pro naší saxánu to znamená že umí natáhnout ruce nejen do dálky pro notes, ale taktéž tak že jsou její křídla použitelná aspoň na plachtění.

což epicky využije v závěru našeho filmu, kde dvakrát skočí z druhého patra. chtěl sem říct že díky tomu v timeskipu před titulkama nemá nohu v sádře, ale pro přihlášku ke studiu již skákala jakožto člověk.

během filmu kde tropí neplechy ve škole si může uši schovat do vlasů, a když si nikdo neřekl že je asi poněkud divné že soudružce učitelce prostě narostly hlodáky, tak nikomu nebude divné že má nová žákyně kudláčková trochu špičatější nehty na nohou a je trochu víc chlupatější.

uši má po přeměně v člověka trochu špičatější, zornice furt velký(taky znáte takovýho toho jednoho člověka co má prostě permanentně velký zornice? nechci říct že sou ve skutečnosti čarodějnice, ale-) a chudák štípačky na její nehty na nohou.

[dodo-z]

Učím se kreslit na iPadu … moc mi to tatínek nejde😅🙃

Mary a Amy

Mary nevěděla,co si má počít. Matka na kterou nejvíc spoléhala teď ležela v posteli a nemohla vstát. Nezáleželo na tom, jak moc se Mary snažila, nepodařilo se jí matku přesvědčit aby se byť jen o centimetr pohla. Nejedla, nepila, nemluvila…. I minuta byla dlouhou časovou jednotkou a hodina byla celá věčnost.

Když to takhle šlo skoro dva dny, zavolala Mary sanitku. Ta ji odvezla do nemocnice a po zdlouhavém pozorování doktorů byla poslána na psychiatrii do Berouna.

Doktoři říkali, že trpí syndromem vyhoření. Dlouho jsem ji pozorovala…byla hodně unavená, ale tohle jsem přicházet neviděla, zhoršila se ze dne na den.

Co se mnou teď bude? Kam mám jít? Dneska mi má sociálka podepsat ortel. Buď z tohohle bílého pokoje půjdu do děcáku, nebo mě šoupnou k mému zcela neschopnému otci. To bych radši popravdě brala ten děcák.

[modrapomnenka]

Tatínek: Anděl páně je který? Trojan nebo Vetchý?

Já: Trojan. Vetchý je kudla... (odmlčí se) ... z pudla.

[kralovna-ne-stesti]

*přijedu na chatu, máma ukáže k pergole, kde najednou na klacku visí naše prastará, rozpadající se ptačí budka, nad lavičkou, v úrovni očí*

Máma: "Vidíš, co tady tvůj tatínek vypíčil?"

Já: "Ha, no, minule říkal, že tomu hledá místo..."

Máma: "Řekni mu ať to dá pryč, ty můžeš, já ne, ty jo!"

Já: "...mami, ty si řekla vypíčil?"

Máma: "Máš pro to snad lepší výraz?"

[detaxe]

Kupalisko Nove Zamky ( přišel tatínek)

[haneulgangnamacademy-rpg]

Rora

Jméno postavy: Lee Dain Pozice: Student Ročník: 2. ročník Klub: Roztleskávačky Národnost: Korea

Backstory: Dain, půvabná slečna se snem stát se zpěvačkou. Narodila se do rodiny plné hudebníků. Její maminka je operní zpěvačka a tatínek tanečník. Oba ji tedy přirozeně vždy vedli k hudbě. Od mala chodí na soukromé hodiny zpěvu a hraje na různé nástroje. Před pár měsíci dokonce prošla přijímacím řízením do jedné známé agentury mladých umělců, kde teď působí jako trainee. Mimo to si ale žije život normální teenagerky. Chodí do školy, ráda jezdí na skateboardu, maluje a nebo se dívá na filmy. Má také staršího bratra a starší sestru. Povahově je dost introvertní na první pohled, ale jinak je velice milá a je z ní opravdu skvělá kamarádka.

Facebook: Lee Dain

[knize-strachkvas]

dneska jsme na vlastní kůži zkusily, kolik učitelek potřebujete na vyměnění žárovky. neměnily jsme žárovku, ale montovaly jsme novou dětskou kuchyňku. odpověď je tři btw. dvě učitelky a školnice (plus náhodný tatínek co byl ve špatné chvíli na špatném místě a dostal do ruky šroubovák)

[pepikhipik]

Legenda českého horolezectví

Josef Smítka

(Joska Smítka, Josef Smítko, Josef Smitko) je symbolem českého pískovcového horolezectví. Jeho prvovýstupy ze 40. let minulého století jsou dodnes považovány za pískařskou maturitu. V Českém ráji nastavil nové lezecké standardy, posunul bezpečnost, zvýšil obtížnost a ukázal cestu několika následujícím horolezeckým generacím. Zároveň byl hrubián, asociál a děvkař, bez špetky tolerance k ostatním.

Tyto vlastnosti Joskovi Smítkovi pomohly dostat se na lezeckou špičku své doby, ale zároveň ho zničily v osobním životě. Jak to u mnoha nejlepších horolezců bývá...

Joska Smítka vylezl 108 prvovýstupů v Českém ráji, dostal se až na stupeň obtížnosti VIIc a velmi zlepšil smyčkovací techniku.

Tvrdě vyžadoval čisté lezení, neboli bez pomoci jistících prostředků. Stabilní jištění, tehdy výhradně kruhy, zasazoval do skály v duchu hesla, že čím méně je v cestě železa, tím je krásnější. Jakoby mimochodem tím přispěl k ochraně přírody v době, kdy o něčem takovém mluvilo jen pár vědců a milovníků přírody. Horolezecká metodika mu zase může být vděčná, že vytříbil jištění pomocí smyček, které používal k omotávání skalních výčnělků, provazování skalních hodin a také ke vkládání uzlů do spár. Byl si vědom, že měkký český pískovec vydrží jen málo a skoby nebo jiná kovová jištení by ho rychle zničila.

Přispěl také k zavedení bezpečného usazování kruhů do skály, které se používalo do konce tisíciletí a dodnes to není nic špatného. Horolezci ve Smítkově době temovali kovové kruhy do skály jen dřevem, Smítka je ucpal olovem a zacementoval. Dnes se technologie změnila v tom, že kruhy se vlepují do skály vysokopevnostním lepidlem.

Z jeho metodických poznámek a také z praxe, kdy Joska Smítka okolo sebe soustředil dychtivé puberťáky a všechno je naučil, čerpat v 50. letech František Kutta - hvězda horolezecké metodiky, na níž se lezci odvolovávali až do začátku 80. let minulého století.

Život Josky Smítky byl neuspořádaný, hrubý a radikálně levicový, ačkoliv pocházel z usedlé turnovské rodiny, která neměla nouzi o peníze. Pro ilustraci uveďme, že jeho tatínek byl první občan Turnova, který si pořídil automobil. Joska sám silně holdoval alkoholu, ženám a cigaretám, kdykoliv k tomu měl příležitost.

Narodil se 21. prosince 1919 v Turnově a jeho život ukončila kulka popravčí čety v Terezíně 27. března 1945.

Rodný dům jedináčka v rodině Josefova a Marie Smítkových dodnes stojí v Komenského ulici v turnovské čtvrti Hruštice. Otec byl telegrafistou Československé pošty a jeho syn měl nastoupit na jeho místo. Proto vystudoval na telegrafního mechanika v Pardubicích a posléze i průmyslovou školu. Jenže pak vyslyšel volání vládní akce nazvané 1000 pilotů republice a roku 1936 absolvoval se stal nejmladším pilotem v Československu.

Jeho leteckou kariéru ukončila nezvedenost, když se roku 1938 pokusil ukrást letadlo a přeletět s ním do ciziny. Tehdy byl poprvé zadržen policií a odsouzen do vězení.

Od roku 1937 boxoval a zároveň lezl po skalách. Na oboje byl však čas jen v neděli, a proto se rozhodl pouze lézt. Jeho revírem byl Český ráj a především Skalní město na Hruboskalsku. Nic jiného mu také nezbývalo, protože na výjezdy do Vysokých Tater, Alp nebo dokonce někam ještě dál, neměl dost peněz, času, vybavení a ani znalostí. Zda by se k tomu dostal na vrcholové úrovni po 2. světové válce, kterou nepřežil, je velkou otázkou, o které dodnes horolezeci spekulují.

V lezení ho kupodivu podporovala maminka, která ho nejen zásobovala jídlem, ale také jistila.

Když němečtí nacisté roku 1939 okleštili Československou republiku, zabrali Sudety a odtrhlo se fašistické Slovensko, přesunuli se bohatší městští horolezci mezi chudší lezce z venkova. V Českém ráji se na pár let unikátně promísily nejen sociální vrstvy, ale také lezecké generace a horolezecké zkušenosti v jedné miniaturní oblasti.

Joska toho využil plnou měrou nejen ke sbírání poznatků od zkušenějších horolezců, ale také k souložení s jejich ženami a milenkami. Nejznámější byl jeho románek se spisovatelkou Vlastou Štáflovou, ale souběžně také s Blážou Karasovou a šuškalo se o mnoha dalších ženách.

V pískovcovém lezení byl tak ponořený, že opouštěl práci, která ho živila, utíkal ze zaměstnání a krátil čas, který v něm trávil. Zároveň se od dětství nezbavil sprostoty a výtržnictví, která se dala malému děcku odpustit, ale dospělému mladíkovi těžko.

Roku 1944 byl odveden k totálnímu nasazení jako dělník do Německa. Po týdnu práce utekl. Při návratu domů byl v Praze zatčen na nádraží českou policií. Eskorta ho odvezla rovnou na Pracovní úřad. Při výslechu požádal o odchod na toaletu. Stráž sice čekala za dveřmi, ale on vlezl do světlíku a komínovou technikou, kterou měl dobře zažitou ze Skaláku, slezl ze třetího patra do přízemí a utekl.

Z Prahy do Sedmihorek dojel na kole a tam se od léta ukrýval. Zařídil si jakž takž pohodlný bivak v jeskyni na Slunečné věži.

Jenže bouřlivákovi nic neříkala konspirace, a tak nadále lezl s mnoha známými ve skalách, chodil do Turnova a do Železného Brodu do kina, večer chodíval domů a zřejmě mu nedocházelo, čeho jsou nacisté schopni s podporou české policie.

Během války zemřela maminka Marie. Nejspíš spáchala sebevraždu kvůli tomu, že jeho otec chodil s padesátiletou bezdětnou učitelkou hry na klavír Marií Lamplovou. Marie Lamplová - Smítková pak Joskovi poskytovala jídlo a přístřeší, kdykoliv přišel domů.

Na podzim 1944 byla vyzrazena jeskyně pod Janovou vyhlídkou vyzrazena. Horolezci Karel Chlum a Bohumil Habr byli zatčeni za to, že nenastoupil na totální nasazení. Smítka se zatím zachránil skokem ze skalního okna do šestimetrové hloubky. Četníci po něm sice stříleli, ale nezasáhli ho.

V prosinci 1944 Smítka onemocněl zánětem středního ucha, který doprovázela horečka. Navíc uhodily silné mrazy. Naposledy nocoval ve Smítkově jeskyni na Slunečné. Ve dvě hodiny ráno 29. prosince se vrátil domů. Četníkům ho někdo udal. Kdo to byl, není známo, ale z náznaků pamětníků to byl nejspíš někdo z horolezců, kterým už pil krev svojí hrubostí a také neopatrností vůči nacistickému aparátu, jenž tehdy již utahoval šrouby přes snesitelnou míru.

Dům v Komenského ulici v Turnově čeští četníci přepadli, prohledali a zajali Josefa Smítku staršího. Ten jim na místě prozradil, že jeho syn se ukrývá v podkroví za komínem. Zatčení provedl Jan Šabatka (Jan Šabaka), který vlastnil v Turnově na Károvsku hospodu. jenž stojí na křižovatce dodnes.

Když zatčeného nemocného Smítku vedli přes náměstí, četníkům se vysmekl a utekl. Doběhl ovšem jen na lávku přes Stebénku u dnešního Kulturního centra a tam byl znovu chycen.

Během prosince byli zatčeni další horolezci, kteří se ukrývali ve skalách, a se kterými se Smítka dobře znal – Václav Chlum, Vladimír Procházka a Erich Schwarzbach. Jejich vinou bylo především, že naivně připravovali vykolejení vlaku u sychrovského tunelu a roznášeli antifašistické letáky.

Horolezce převezli do věznice Valdice u Jičína, kde stojí toto zařízení ještě dnes. Po výsleších byli na jaře roku 1945 posláni běžným osobním vlakem do koncentračního tábora Terezín. Eskorta je nespoutala. Horolezci údajně plánovali, že vyskočí za jízdy z vlaku a utečou do Prachovských skal. Ačkoliv byla otevřená okna a dozorci laxní, zatčení horolezci váhali tak dlouho, až promeškali příležitost k útěku. Jak to bylo, však víme jen od Vladimíra Chrousta Procházky. Z jiných zdrojů tuto cestu ověřenou nemáme.

Do koncentračního tábora Terezín se dostali všichni s označením Rückkehr unerwünscht (návrat nežádoucí), což byl rozsudek smrti, o kterém nevěděli.

Brzy ráno 27. března 1945 byl Joska Smítka, Václav Chlum, Karel Chlum a Erich Schwarzbach zastřeleni v Malé pevnosti. Vladimíru Procházkovi neznámo kdo označení v jeho průvodních dokladech vymazal. Nebyl popraven, dožil se osvobození a přežil i tyfovou epidemii v Terezíně, kterou zastavili až vojenští lékaři Rudé armády. Tento fakt založil ke spekulacím, zda Chroust Josku a ostatní kamarády neudal, nebo aspoň nemluvil během výslechů víc, než bylo nutné.

Autor: Kuba Turek Zdroj: Horydoly cz | https://www.horydoly.cz/horolezci/joska-smitka-smitko-piskar-telem-i-dusi.html

[tradicnirodina]

„Všichni se radují, všichni tleskají..., ale...“

Pokud „transgender muž“ čeká dítě, tak to jistě není muž, ale stále ještě žena. Rozhodně biologicky. Hormonálně procházet přeměnou z ženy na muže je možná velké štěstí pro budoucí - maminku nebo tatínka?

ALE: nejdou do plodu dítěte enormní dávky mužských hormonů, které jeho nositel/ka i během těhotenství požívá? Samozřejmě ano. Nelze si taktéž nepovšimnout odřezaných ženských prsou. Dobře, dítě je na světě.

ALE: pokud má maminka/tatínek? odřezaná prsa, čím to dítě nakojí? Aha, vlastně existuje umělá výživa, argumentují mnozí. Žena se rozhodla tedy projít změnou pohlaví na muže. Copak ale muži rodí děti?! Samozřejmě, že nerodí. Přijala tedy žena, která se rozhodla mít dítě, stoprocentně mužskou identitu? Zjevně nikoliv. ALE žijeme v době, kdy jeden den může být člověk ženou, druhý den mužem tak, jak se zrovna cítím.

KAM SE POTOM VYTRATIL NEJLEPŠÍ ZÁJEM DÍTĚTE? NA TO SE UŽ NIKDO BOHUŽEL NEPTÁ...

Žena, která se rozhodne ponechat si ženské pohlavní orgány, nikdy mužem nebude. Vždy zůstane ženou

[orioniupiter]

deník, listopad 2099

11. 11. 2099, chlapecké ložnice, Nebelvírské společenské prostory

Jestli tenhle zápisník někdo objeví nejen že neodjedu domů na Vánoce, ale už nikdy -- celá moje exitsence by tím byla natolik ohrožená, že bych musel změnit identitu.

Matka mi poslala sovu a s ní i několik galeonů, prý kdyby náhodou. Asi si myslí že tu máme nějaký bufet nebo bar nebo něco. Což není pravda je tu jenom kuchině, kde jsou domácí skřítkové a kdykoliv tam přijdeme, tak nám dají oč požádáme. Taky mi řekla ať jim pošlu nějaký hezký obrázek, aby jej mohla poslat strýcovi a tetičce do Francie. Tak jsem si řekl že nakreslím něco doopravdy hezkého. V pohyblivých kresbách už se zlepšuji!

Začíná být pěkne chladno. Mně to nevadí, ale na chodbách začíná být taky zima a v knihovně taky takže si tam vždy musím brát svetr. Občas tam se mnou chodí Chip, se kterým bydlím. Max se začal hodně přátelit s zmijozelskými a Tibby taky, ale já se spustřeídm na studium. Což je správný, otec by byl se mnou spokojený určitě. Pan profesor Shrewd sice tvrdí že neumím psát a chce mě za to proměnit v lotroskop ale, napsal jsem matce prosbu zda by mi nepořídila Pravopisný slovník a potom mu ukážu. Santi mi zatím pomáhá opravovat chyby. Pan Amaro umí podle mě uvařit méně lektvarů než já. Já teda ještě žádný nezkoušel, protože nemám suroviny. Ty má právě Amaro ale nesmí mi dát ty které bych potřeboval, má je všechny ve spíži. Můžu se tam samozřejmě vloupat ale to bych měl průšvih.

Teta Salome mi poslala několik mudlovských románů, které má u sebe v knihovně. Má jí obrovskou a v létě jsme si o nich právě povídali. Byl jsem docela nahněvanej, když mi je poslala, protože otec s matkou tvrdí, že umění a litaretura bez kouzel je jako koště bez ocasních proutků, ale v knihovně toho moc takového není tak jsem to začal číst a rodičům to nepovím. Jmenuje se to Pán prstenů a je to hustý, tak jsem tětičce poslal děkovný dopis. Taky už konečně vím jak připravit sluneční lektvar a štve mě že v hodinách lektvarů vaříme tak málo často. Ale snad naši profesoři vědí, co dělají. Otec mi vždy vyprávěl historky ze studií v Kruvalu a pochopil jsem že tam byli mnohem přísnější. Naštěstí se ale učím sám, takže snad toho budu umět dostatek.

Už za tři týdny mi bude dvanáct a matka mi zakázala si přát své vlastní koště, že jsem prí příliš mladý. Snažil jsem se útočit na city, ale neprošlo to, i když otec by mi je už nejraději pořídil, abych mohl trénovat i v Macclesfieldu.

Já jsem si začal takhle zapisovat protože jsem v létě našel deník mého dědečka a došlo mi, že psát si deník se může hodit. Třeba když bych objevil nový lektvar nebo nové kouzlo, tak by to tady potom našly. Nebo kdyby vyšetřovali nějakou podivnou událost u který bych bil. Do Bradavic brzy zavítají studenti z cizích škol kvůli Merlinovu poháru, okamžitě jsem tu novinu musel napsat otci protože je velice významné že jsme byli taky nominováni. Třeba budeme za hrdiny. Tedy, asi budou vibírat jen pár a asi starších, ale na tom nezáleží.

Dnes odpoledne jsem si šel udělat pár náčrtků kašny na nádvoří (protože je to moc pěkné dílo!) a potkal jsem Maxe, který měl nějaký mudlovský míč a pozval mě na sportovní kroužek který dělají s Tiberiem. Asi se tam půjdu podívat, prý budou hrát mudlovské i kouzelnické hry, ale otec se to nesmí dozvědět, neboť by si určitě myslel, že do Bradavic mudlovské hry nepatří. Já jsem nad tím přemýšlel, protože Maxwell říkal, že jeho maminka je mudla a tatínek není, ale maminka o nich ví a funguje to, ale jak to že jim to nevadí? Že mají v rodině mudlu?

[tired-demonspawn]

dnes/včera jsem zjistil že můj tatínek v maturitním ročníku psal kritickou úvahu na konec seriálu návštěvníci; že je píčovina že CML všechno vymejšlí a nemá funkci co kontroluje že neni nakřivo když je to pro něj problém

[bila-magie]

Miroslav Matoušek: První rok života

Miroslav Matoušek byl lékařem - pediatrem, který ze své praxe velmi dobře věděl, kolik bludných mýtů a omylů čeká na cestě čerstvých rodičů. Nelze „vychytat“ všechny, ale ozřejmit mnohé z nich chtěl. Vždyť celý ten proces péče o potomka může být šťastným obdobím hned od prvních společných chvil – už v prvním roce života děťátka. Proto mu to nedalo a napsal tuto užitečnou knihu.

Kniha je psána formou otázek a odpovědí. Rodič, který neví, jak situaci s děťátkem zvládnout, se na ni ptá a dostává odpověď od zkušeného pediatra.

Začíná hned příchodem z porodnice, kdy je opravdu maminka s děťátkem sama a život jí přináší situace, o kterých se jí ani nesnilo. A řešení? Inu přirozeně - nikde. Vždy, když se dostanu do problémů, není nikdo zkušený a moudrý při mně, aby poradil právě v mé situaci. V době prvních tří týdnů se nastavuje režim děťátka, dává se základ dalšího přirozeného fungování. Základ všeho. A základy jsou důležité nejen při stavbě domu, ale také při úspěšném rodičovství. Je důležité, dávat děťátku to co potřebuje, ale také dbát o zdraví a potřeby maminky. Nebude-li maminka v pořádku, jak může být v pořádku miminko?

Každé děťátko má střed svého vesmíru ve své mamince. Proto je důležité, aby maminka byla klidná a sebejistá. Ve všem, co s děťátkem dělá. Děťátko je pro ni zrcadlem, v jakém je stavu. Pokud je děťátko nespokojené, je důležité podívat se do svého nitra, jestli jsem v pořádku. Ale i udělat si krátkou rekapitulaci, co jsem s ním v poslední hodině - dvou - dělala a jestli je dostatečně syté, není v mokrých plenkách, jestli ho nebolí bříško.

Po zvládnutí těch prvních tří týdnů, nastavení frekvence krmení a spánku, chození ven, život pokračuje a přináší jiné výzvy pro rodiče, neboť zde už přichází čas na to, aby se opravdu do péče o děťátko zapojoval i tatínek. Je dobré ho začít zvát k přebalování, a jiným jemným dotekem s miminkem, aby se rozvíjel i vztah mezi nimi dvěma. Dnes je to věru tak, že otcové se rádi realizují se svými dětmi, proto je dobré, aby věděli toho o dětském světě co nejvíce. Vždyť jsou dost časté případy, kdy se situace vyvine tak, že maminka musí do práce a otec jde na svou „otcovskou dovolenou“. Mnohdy se jí ujímá způsobem, o kterém se mamince ani nezdálo, ale chytrá maminka sleduje, co se děje a nechává se v některých případech inspirovat přístupem svého partnera - otce děťátka.

Takže, začti se maminko a také tatínku a nechte se laskavě vést tímto užitečným průvodcem v prvním roce života děťátka.

Tuto knihu doporučujeme každému člověku, který je rodičem.