Hi there! It's Your Shining Light ✨ You can call me Light :) (she/her)
I love to read, write, draw, listen to music, get lost in my thoughts, yap about things I'm passionate about, and being creative in general!
On this blog I mainly post about my passions, have the occasional yap session, and whatever else I feel like doing at the moment. Like I said, I love to write, and I post fics from time to time, both on here and on ao3. My name there is YourShiningLight :)
This blog is ANTI AI, ANTI CENSORSHIP, AND PRO BEING WHOEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO BE AND WRITING WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO WRITE. Just wanted to clear that up ;) I am also a really big fan of not harrasing anyone for who they are or what they write <3
Fanfic masterlist:
I will try to update as I post new fics :)
Ranger's Apprentice & The Brotherband Chronicles:
Took an Arrow to the Knee (The Side, Actually): Halt & Crowley are out on a mission to catch a dangerous group of bandits, it goes wrong. The last two chapters contain Craltine, a ship I would die defending 😌
From Crown Prince to Ranger (WIP): a series consisting of 3 parts in which I explore Halt's childhood, his time with Pritchard and how his past might have affected him throughout his life
Ranger Gathering 2025: All the fics I wrote for the Ranger Gathering 2025, organised into a series. Mostly RA, but also includes 4 BB fics.
The Dragon Prince:
The Moon and His Heart: a fluffy fic between Ethari and Runaan
Some 'personal' tags I use from time to time:
light answers asks: used for posts in which I answer an ask
light yaps: used for posts in which I yap about anything (could be fandom related, could also be about anything else)
celebrating queerness: I'm using this one (when I remember to, this is also a tag I implemented only recently so you won't see it that much yet) on my own posts (so normally not on reblogs) about anything queer. Mostly it's for when I yap about queer characters/ships, or when I yap about being queer <3 Cause for me yapping about anything queer is part of celebrating who I am :)
light reblogs handy things: I use this on post reblogs in which handy resources/tips/recipes/information/… are listed, mainly so they’re easier to find later on
light holds a vent session: for when I’m venting about (mostly personal) stuff. So if you don’t like to see those posts you can filter them out :)
Other tags will be added when I think of them or when I start to use a new one
If there's anything else you wanted to know about me, feel free to ask!
international crowley angst day time . in true unmanaged adhd fashion I forgot to write until just now umm I'm sorry it's short I have an event to attend I WILL WRITE A LONGER VERSION SOON
Crowley never wanted to be commandant. He didn't feel worthy of his title as a ranger, let alone the commandant. He'd tried to refuse it, tried to push it onto someone else, because he didn't deserve it. When their group had run into Samdash, they hadn't given him a chance to speak, to pass the title on. They'd instinctively defended him.
He wished they hadn't.
Flipping through the next report, Crowley clenched his teeth. Samdash still wasn't pleased that they'd kept him as commandant, and every report was full of malice. This time, it was egotistically bragging about how Samdash had ended a burglaring spree. He read through the items stolen and returned, noticing the distinct lack of mention of the items that never got returned unless you compared the two lists. The final pages were a summary of the incident, and... unnecessarily comparing it to a previous incident in Hogarth. From when Crowley was the ranger there. He chewed his lip as he read through the failings and shortcomings Samdash listed, sighing and closing the folder.
Truthfully? Crowley agreed with him. He wanted to resign, to give the title to Samdash and reclaim his placement in Hogarth, but, as the paper listed, all he was good at was paperwork. He couldn't handle assignments as optimally as everyone else, and always managed to screw them up. It was for the best he was resigned to paperwork. Nobody could get hurt because of his incompetence this way.
As much as he'd like to forget, Crowley still remembered that incident. The way he'd failed to catch someone as planned and it costed a townsman his life. Crowley still remembered the horror and confusion in his eyes as the knife protruded from his chest. He remembered how much faith the man had in him. The worst of it all? He remembered the look of betrayal.
Crowley poured the last of the coffee into the two mugs, only able to fill them halfway this round. Making sure that Halt could see his face, he grabbed the coffee jar and made an exaggerated face of disgust as he poured a couple spoonfuls into one of the cups for his friend.
“Its not going to kill you, you know,” Halt said from the couch.
“It could if I drank it,” Crowley replied. “It’s practically poison.” He picked up the mugs and brought them over, setting them down on the coffee table in front of him and took a seat on his couch next to his friend.
“Well, good thing it’s not for you then.”
The two friends sat in comfortable silence, but as comfortable as it was, Crowley was searching for something to talk about. Halt had only been visiting Castle Araluen for three days, and the next morning he would be going back to Redmont. It was so rare when he got to see his friend and he wanted to make the most of him.
He looked at Halt as he thought, and caught sight of the light but still visible scar that ran across his right cheek, hidden just underneath his beard. Halt had told him that he had gotten it from some bandits, but nothing more than that. Crowley was interested to hear the full story.
“Where did you get that scar from?” Crowley asked, pointing at his face.
Halt swiped his hand away as he replied shortly, “Some bandits cut me. I thought I told you that already.”
“You have,” Crowley conceded. “But you haven’t told me what actually happened. Who did it? Why did they do it? What were you doing in the first place? I want to know the actual story. You’ve told me all your other scar stories in full. Even the stupid ones.”
Halt didn’t reply at first, instead looked down into his mug. Crowley wasn’t sure if he was imagining things or not, but he could have sworn for a split second something unusual flashed in Halt’s eyes. Hurt.
“Was it not a good experience?” Crowley asked carefully. Halt shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t think getting cut by a blade is ever a ‘good experience'."
“I meant was it worse than the others. Did something else happen? Something you don’t want to talk about?” Crowley usually wasn’t this upfront when it came to personal things. Most of the time, when he could sense someone, specifically Halt, didn’t want to talk about something, he would just not say anything more on the matter and move on. But he sensed there was something more to this. And knowing Halt’s tendencies to keep everything bottled up, he thought it would be healthier if just for once, if Halt shared his burdens.
Halt was quiet for a long while, and Crowley began to doubt if he would say anything else at all, but finally, he spoke.
“It wasn’t a bandit. It wasn’t from anyone like that. He wasn’t even a criminal but God knows how many crimes he’s committed." Halt’s voice was quieter than normal as he talked. Whatever the truth was was clearly a heavy one, and one Halt had kept with no one but himself for probably years.
“Who was it?” Crowley asked, equally as quiet.
“My father.”
Crowley gave a barely audible gasp. Every now and then Halt had shared little tidbits about his father, and he didn’t seem like the greatest guy, but this. This was not what he had expected.
“What happened?”
“We were having dinner, and apparently someone earlier in the day had told him that I was calling myself a boy and that everyone else had pretty much accepted it. He hadn't, and I knew he wouldn't, which is why I never told him. But he knew then, and asked me about it during dinner. He started screaming at me, telling me I was delusional and his daughter and I would always be his disappointing daughter and nothing else. I yelled back at him, and we got into a pretty big fight. Then he must have just snapped, and he picked up a knife and cut me with it.”
Crowley was speechless. Speechless and outraged. How anyone could be so cruel to do that to another innocent human being was beyond him. How anyone could be so evil to do that to their own son was something he guessed only the Devil himself could answer.
“That’s not all,” Halt continued and Crowley dreaded what he was about to hear. “Afterwards, everyone went quiet, and my mum was about to do something I think, but he quickly said that he was sorry and that he didn’t mean to do it, and that he would take me somewhere more private to make sure I was alright and apologise properly.”
Crowley clenched his fists at his side in rage and fear for what was coming next. He had a feeling he knew.
“He did take me to a more private area, but when he got there he immediately began beating me. He was yelling worse than before and calling me slurs, and then he just left me there, pretty much knocked out. I ran away that night, and ended up catching a boat here, so in a way I guess it worked out.” His pathetic attempt at a joke fell flat, just as Halt expected.
Crowley was staring at him, a deep sadness for his friend in his blue and hazel eyes.
Halt didn’t tell him about Ferris, didn’t even mention to him that he had another sibling other than Cailtyn, whom he had talked about before. Crowley was the person Halt trusted the most. Multiple times he had put his life into Crowley’s hands and came out alive, just as he knew he would. He knew Crowley wouldn’t tell anyone about what he learned, and if Halt asked him to he would never bring it up again. He would trust Crowley with the knowledge of Ferris, just as he had trusted him with the knowledge of his father, but he just wasn’t ready to share that story yet. Perhaps one day.
Crowley didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what he could say. He didn’t think a simple, ‘I'm sorry’ would have any effect on Halt. Halt knew he was sorry for him, and expressing that through words wouldn’t change anything. But he didn’t want to just sit there in dumb silence. Surely he had to say something.
Halt seemed to sense his dilemma, and answered it for him.
“You don't need to say anything,” he told him quietly. He knew how much Crowley cared for him, even if it took him a while to accept that. And he knew that Crowley was probably wanting nothing more than to punch his father straight in the face.
“Do you know if he’s still alive?” Crowley asked, confirming Halt’s suspicions.
Halt shook his head. “He died shortly after I left, and thank God for that. He was pretty sick at the time but apparently still well enough to be an abusive piece of shit.”
The last few words were spoken between gritted teeth, and Crowley sensed Halt had a long-harboured resentment and rage towards his father, which was boiling up again now that he was talking about it, and he couldn’t blame him. He moved closer to Halt, and took his hand in his own, holding it tightly.
“At least he’s gone now,” Crowley said, words soft. “He can’t hurt you anymore. No one can.”
Halt didn’t say anything, but Crowley felt him lean closer into him. He put his arm around Halt’s shoulder, slowly at first, wondering if Halt was going to shove him away, but he didn't move, and let Crowley hold him.
They stayed like for a few more minutes, before pulling apart and finding something else and more light hearted to talk about. The rest of the night went on with nothing to bring the mood back down, but Crowley would never forget what he learned that night, and he prayed that Halt’s father was rotting in Hell, right where he belonged.
alright i haven’t pre-written anything for this gathering so we’re rawdogging it, hope u enjoy! happy gathering!!!
—
The camp had finally gone quiet sometime after midnight.
Not fully silent -- desert camps never were. Somewhere beyond the ring of dying fires, Selethen’s guards traded shifts, horses stamped occasionally in the sand, and the canvas tents rustled softly in the warm night wind.
But the chaos had ended.
They were alive.
That alone still felt faintly improbable to the group.
Gilan sat near the edge of the firelight with a waterskin dangling loosely from one hand, watching the embers collapse inward on themselves. Across from him, Halt leaned back against a saddle, cloak pooled around his shoulders; his eyes were closed as though he were asleep, and he appeared outwardly relaxed in the way only Rangers ever managed after having been almost publicly beheaded.
Horace and Evanlyn had long since gone to sleep, and Selethen quickly followed suit, yawning as he headed to the larger tent set up for him near the edge of the camp.
And Will--
Will had vanished nearly an hour ago after ensuring every last detail of the camp had been settled.
Of course, he had.
Gilan shook his head faintly into his drink as he thought of the young boy.
“Your apprentice,” he muttered, knowing his former mentor wasn't actually sleeping.
Halt’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
“My apprentice,” he agreed, his eyes still closed.
For a while, they simply sat there in companionable quiet.
Then Gilan finally asked the question that had been bothering him since the moment the cavalry had appeared over the dunes.
“What if he hadn’t made it?”
Halt opened his eyes now, looking up at him, appearing mildly puzzled at the inquiry. As if the question itself didn’t entirely make sense.
Gilan huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s exactly the look I expected.”
“Well, you do make a habit of asking odd questions,” Halt replied.
“We were prisoners in the middle of the desert,” Gilan said. “Outnumbered. Disarmed. You were quite literally at death's door,” He paused. “And you never panicked. Not once.”
Halt shrugged one shoulder.
“There wasn’t much point to that.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Halt's lips pursed at that.
The fire cracked softly between them.
Gilan studied him for a moment before saying quietly, “You knew he’d come.”
This time, Halt did not answer immediately.
His gaze drifted toward the dark edge of camp, toward the endless desert beyond it.
“I knew,” he said at last, “that if Will was alive and free, he would come for us.”
The certainty in his voice settled heavily into the silence.
Gilan felt something strange twist in his chest at the detection of it.
Because Halt did not speak that way lightly. About anything. About any one, for that matter.
“You trusted him with all our lives,” Gilan said quietly.
Halt’s expression remained calm.
“Yes.”
Gilan let out a slow breath through his nose.
“That’s… a great deal of trust. Especially coming from you, and especially considering you were ready to knock me unconscious the other week for suggesting you trust him with his own life.”
Halt’s eyes flicked toward him again, faint amusement buried somewhere beneath the exhaustion.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“No, I think you know exactly what it means.”
That earned him a small nod.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Halt said, quieter this time, “ I trusted him long before this.”
The firelight shifted across the hard lines of his face.
“But this was the first time I quite literally handed him my life.”
Something about hearing the words aloud struck Gilan harder than he expected. Because Rangers trusted carefully. Completely, once earned --but carefully.
And Halt trusted almost no one completely, not fate, kings, plans.
There are a few exceptions, of course; Crowley, Arald, and himself, perhaps.
Yet the ranger had sat in chains in the desert and remained calm because somewhere out there, he knew his 20-year-old apprentice was coming to rescue them.
Gilan suddenly understood something that had been slowly forming for years without him ever quite naming it.
This had stopped being a simple apprentice and master relationship long ago.
Somewhere between Redmont and Skandia and all the years since, something else had grown in its place. Family, perhaps. Not by blood, but something deeper for the lack of it.
And strangely, the realization brought no jealousy at all.
It could have, once. Years ago, perhaps, when he was younger and more uncertain and still craved Halt’s approval like a plant craves sunlight.
But sitting here now, watching the exhausted certainty in Halt’s face, Gilan found himself feeling only an immense, quiet gratitude.
For Will.
And for Halt.
For the fact that somehow the universe had seen fit to throw a malcontented orphan boy into an irritable ranger's path all those years ago. And in those years, something grew between them that perhaps the universe had planned for all along.
Halt broke the silence first.
“There’s a sense of destiny about that boy,” he said quietly.
Gilan smiled faintly.
“You really believe that.”
Halt’s gaze lingered on the fire.
“Well, I don’t believe in destiny, I never have,” he said.
Then, he swallowed, and after a pause:
“But I do believe in Will.”
The words settled deep. And suddenly Gilan understood why Will would follow Halt anywhere on earth.
Why a half-starved castle orphan had looked at this grim, impossible Ranger and decided, with all the terrifying certainty only children possessed, there. That's who will care for me.
The sound of shifting sand interrupted the silence.
Both Rangers looked up automatically.
Will stood several yards away at the edge of the firelight, very still.
Ah.
He’d heard.
Judging by the faint look of horror on his face, perhaps more than initially anticipated.
For one terrible moment, Will looked absurdly young again.
Not the confident young man who had manipulated desert tribes into an army and stormed across the dunes to rescue them.
Not the boy who had faced Temujai cavalry and Skandian warriors and Kalkara.
Just a startled child who had accidentally overheard something far too large for him to hold properly.
Gilan watched the realization hit him in real time.
Halt trusted him.
Not merely as a student or subordinate.
But no, he trusted him completely.
The expression on Will’s face turned dangerously bright around the eyes.
Well.
That simply would not do.
Before Gilan could say anything, Will cleared his throat abruptly and looked vaguely like a man preparing to flee the continent.
“I was--” he started, then stopped. “Selethen wanted--”
“No he didn’t,” Halt said calmly.
Will blinked.
“…No,” he admitted weakly.
Silence.
Gilan very carefully looked away before the poor idiot died of embarrassment.
Will shifted awkwardly in the sand.
“You really just said that?”
Halt raised an eyebrow.
“Which part?”
“That you--” Will visibly struggled through the sentence. “That you trusted me with your life.”
“You’re offended?”
“No!” Will said immediately, sounding appalled. “No, I just--”
He stopped again, words failing him entirely.
Gilan hid a smile behind his waterskin.
Because there it was again — that strange contradiction that was uniquely Will.
The boy could talk leaders into alliances and command armies without blinking.
But one sincere expression of affection and he unraveled instantly.
Halt, meanwhile, regarded him with the same steady look he had worn since Will was fifteen years old and covered in mud outside his cabin.
“You came back for us,” Halt said simply.
As though that explained everything.
To Halt, perhaps it did.
Will swallowed hard enough that Gilan noticed it even in the dim firelight.
Something raw flickered briefly across his face -- so quick most people would have missed it.
But Rangers noticed things.
And Gilan suddenly realized, with startling clarity, the ghost of the child Will had once been. Small, alone, unwanted for so long that love itself seemed to catch him off guard. Perhaps because he never learned what it felt like until now.
Halt saw it too.
His voice softened almost imperceptibly.
“I knew you would.”
That did it.
Will looked down immediately, scrubbing a hand across his face in the world’s least subtle attempt to recover himself.
“Right,” he muttered hoarsely. “Well. Good.”
Then, because he was Will:
“The army helped.”
Gilan barked out a laugh.
Halt’s mouth twitched.
“A small army,” Will added defensively.
“You assembled cavalry in a foreign desert nation in under three days,” Gilan informed him. “That stops qualifying as small.”
Will pointed vaguely at him. “See, that’s exactly the sort of unrealistic expectation that becomes a problem later.”
And there he was again. The tension broke like a snapped bowstring.
Gilan laughed harder, and even Halt finally let out the quiet huff of amusement he usually tried to disguise.
Will looked between them, still embarrassed, still suspiciously bright-eyed, but smiling now despite himself.
And Gilan thought, not for the first time, that meeting Will had truly changed all of their lives forever.
It took years, few near death accidents and hundreds of comfortable in silent evenings for Halt to trust enough to tell Crowley anything about the past. When he did, it was like the first breath he ever took. Painful at first but bringing the overwhelming relief. And with every other word made it easier and easier.
Put your 4 favourite characters from 4 pieces of media as options and let your tumblr pals decide which one most suits your vibe then tag 4 people
Jamie Tartt {Ted Lasso}
Blitzø {Helluva Boss}
Evan 'Buck' Buckley {9-1-1}
Izzy Hands {OFMD}
Voting ended onJun 21, 2024
Not me having some kinda type...
Who shall I tag? I think I wanna tagggggg... @mybugsmybugsmybugs @mexicangela @lunar-years @biscuitboxpink but no pressure!! I just thought it would be fun!
It was painful to choose specific characters! So many beautiful characters were tossed aside! Abandoned! Why must I always have a million favorite characters!? WHY!? It's like choosing between children!
Anyway, peoples: @lost-my-gender-in-the-war @honestly-idk-anymory
I don't really know anyone else who hasn't already been tagged so yeah :P
Thanks for the tags @iwillneverwork and @brandyestchristi
which fictional human is meeeee
Buck Wild (Ice Age)
Pigeon Toady (Storks)
The Twins (HTTYD)
Crowley Meratyn (Rangers Apprentice)
Voting ended onJun 1
@ppickles4 @your-shining-light @starryrants @meadow-roses @that-one-enby-ranger-2000 sorry if you've already been tagged. That just means you're well-loved!
[Image ID: the meme of Jason Momoa sneaking up on Henry Cavill. Cavill is labelled "a perfectly nice lunch scene at Jenny's restaurant" and Momoa is labelled "He's my brother". /end]
one day i will be normal about this twist. but it is not this day.
biggg fan of characters who look big and tough and stoic but only because they're internally thinking "fuckk what do i say how do i make friends. they didn't teach me this in sword school."
I was 12 when the first of my siblings was born, so I have very vivid memories of the way my mother was excluded from a lot of spaces because people find children annoying.
If you think "children should not be allowed in this space," you HAVE TO reckon with the fact that you are now excluding parents (and very often women specifically) who don't have access to childcare. You are isolating people who are poor, or rural, or single parents, or any number of other factors that might prevent someone from having on-demand childcare. You are cutting them off from being able to exist in public. You are denying parents and children the ability to fully participate in society.
My mom spent several years only leaving the house to buy groceries or take me to school, and even then, people would still come up to her to complain TO HER FACE about how she shouldn't bring a crying toddler to Walmart. Entitled strangers would literally try and demand that my mom leave and come back without the kids.
"Why can't your husband watch them?" Because he was at work, usually working extreme amounts of overtime so we didn't get evicted, because landlords don't like it when you stop paying rent.
"Why can't you send them to daycare?" Because that costs money.
"Why can't your teenager stay home with them and babysit?" Because I also deserved to be able to leave the house for something other than school, and taking me to the grocery store was how my mom taught me to manage a household budget, shop sales, and meal plan.
"Don't bring your kid in public if you can't CONTROL them and make them stop crying!" Kids cry when they're upset, and being dragged around a store is upsetting! Don't be an asshole! Children are human beings who are still learning how the world works, and they don't have a lot of agency. You'd cry, too.
"Spank them until they learn to stop crying!" That's just straight-up child abuse, Jesus Christ.
What the fuck was our family supposed to do? Never go to the grocery store? Starve because strangers couldn't handle a toddler existing in public?
I am incredibly fucking disturbed at the way this post has brought people out of the woodwork who really want to tell me all about how hitting kids isn't actually abuse, how they think babies are the spawn of Satan, and how being confined to the home is an acceptable punishment for women who dare to have children. People have told me all about how they think children should be banned from airplanes, that I'm being inconsiderate to childfree people, that allowing crying babies in public is ableist against people with sensory issues (I have those, too, and so do many children, which is often WHY THEY ARE CRYING, jackass), and that people who have children are "irresponsible" and "selfish."
I have blocked multiple people who went on tirades about how I'm a "horrible breeder" who is "contributing to overpopulation" and how I and my "spawn" deserve to be trapped at home. (I am infertile and my foster kid is an adult now, so I don't know what breeding and spawn they think they're talking about.)
One person asked if I was posting ragebait for fun because "this isn't a real issue." Several have asked if this "really happens" and told me that my "experience isn't universal." (There are multiple parents in the comments who have agreed with me and talked about how hard it is to navigate the world with their kids.)
Children are an oppressed class who are treated like absolute vermin. Parents are given absolutely no support in caring for them. Good parents are set at a disadvantage even when they have all the best intentions, struggling parents aren't given resources to improve their situation or get community assistance, and blatantly abusive parents don't get caught because hitting and screaming and controlling are considered perfectly normal ways to treat a child. Communities would rather shut kids away where they can be ignored and forgotten and mistreated, all for the sin of "being annoying in public."
Youth liberation is vital, regardless of whether you, personally, like kids. You cannot ban children from public. You cannot shut children away in isolation and expect them to grow into happy, healthy, well-adjusted adults who can function in our society. You do not get to demand children be removed from every corner of public life all for your personal comfort.
I think ao3 is literally the only site where no censorship means no censorship. you can post the most vile things on there — things that will get taken down on any other platforms — and ao3 will protect you, your works, and your rights to create whatever you want, however you want.
and no, this isn’t me saying “write that messed up, disgusting thing” because while, yes, write it if it’s what you want (I myself enjoy writing dark fics, something I believe would be considered “vile” to a lot of people), this is me saying in a world of censorship and capitalism, ao3 really is a treasure.
According to the CDC, in 10 percent of those drownings, the adult will actually watch the child do it, having no idea it is happening. Drowning does not look like drowning—Dr. Pia, in an article in the Coast Guard’s On Scene magazine, described the Instinctive Drowning Response like this:
“Except in rare circumstances, drowning people are physiologically unable to call out for help. The respiratory system was designed for breathing. Speech is the secondary or overlaid function. Breathing must be fulfilled before speech occurs.
Drowning people’s mouths alternately sink below and reappear above the surface of the water. The mouths of drowning people are not above the surface of the water long enough for them to exhale, inhale, and call out for help. When the drowning people’s mouths are above the surface, they exhale and inhale quickly as their mouths start to sink below the surface of the water.
Drowning people cannot wave for help. Nature instinctively forces them to extend their arms laterally and press down on the water’s surface. Pressing down on the surface of the water permits drowning people to leverage their bodies so they can lift their mouths out of the water to breathe.
Throughout the Instinctive Drowning Response, drowning people cannot voluntarily control their arm movements. Physiologically, drowning people who are struggling on the surface of the water cannot stop drowning and perform voluntary movements such as waving for help, moving toward a rescuer, or reaching out for a piece of rescue equipment.
From beginning to end of the Instinctive Drowning Response people’s bodies remain upright in the water, with no evidence of a supporting kick. Unless rescued by a trained lifeguard, these drowning people can only struggle on the surface of the water from 20 to 60 seconds before submersion occurs.”
This doesn’t mean that a person that is yelling for help and thrashing isn’t in real trouble—they are experiencing aquatic distress. Not always present before the Instinctive Drowning Response, aquatic distress doesn’t last long—but unlike true drowning, these victims can still assist in their own rescue. They can grab lifelines, throw rings, etc.
Look for these other signs of drowning when persons are in the water:
Head low in the water, mouth at water level
Head tilted back with mouth open
Eyes glassy and empty, unable to focus
Eyes closed
Hair over forehead or eyes
Not using legs—vertical
Hyperventilating or gasping
Trying to swim in a particular direction but not making headway
Trying to roll over on the back
Appear to be climbing an invisible ladder
So if a crew member falls overboard and everything looks OK—don’t be too sure. Sometimes the most common indication that someone is drowning is that they don’t look like they’re drowning. They may just look like they are treading water and looking up at the deck. One way to be sure? Ask them, “Are you all right?” If they can answer at all—they probably are. If they return a blank stare, you may have less than 30 seconds to get to them. And parents—children playing in the water make noise. When they get quiet, you get to them and find out why.
Can I just say thank you to OP for putting such a detailed description on this?
I’ve been a lifeguard for 6 years now and of all the saves I’ve done, maybe two or three had people drowning in the stereotypical thrashing style. And even those, like the save I made last weekend, it was exactly like OP describes where the person’s head is going in and out of the water but it isn’t long enough to get any air. Mostly you recognize drowning by the look on someone’s face. If someone looks wide eyed and terrified or confused, chances are they’re drowning. That look of “oh shit” is pretty easily recognizable. And even if you can’t tell for sure: GO AFTER THEM ANYWAY. I’ve done “saves” where a kid was pretending to drown and I mistook it for real drowning, but that’s preferable to a kid ACTUALLY drowning.
Also please remember that even strong swimmers can drown if they have a medical emergency, get cramps, or get too tired. If your friend knows how to swim but they’re acting funny get them to land. And even if someone can respond when you ask them if they need help, if they say they do need help? GO HELP THEM.
However . If the victim is a stranger, I can’t recommend trying to get them. Lifeguards literally train to escape “attacks,” because people who are drowning can freak the fuck out and grab you and make YOU drown as well. If you do go in after someone, take hold of them from the back and talk to them the whole time. IF YOU ARE GRABBED: duck down into the water as low as you can get. The person is panicking and won’t want to go under water and should release you. Shove up at their hands and push them away from you as you duck under. Don’t die trying to save someone else.
Please guys, read and memorize this post. Not all places have lifeguards. Being able to recognize drowning is such an important skill to have and you can save someone’s life.
In a water park once, I was suddenly grabbed by a child and he dragged me under the water without warning. I was going to get angry with him when I resurfaced because I thought he was being an ass, until I looked at him go back in and out hyperventilating the entire time. I grabbed him under his arms and began trying to drag him out while screaming for the lifeguard.
When the lifeguard got us both out, a woman came running down and accused me of harming him and said he had been completely fine in the water. That there was no reason to drag him out of there. The lifeguard had to explain to her that her son had been drowning, to which her response was to say that she didn’t hear him call for help.
[ID: Text above a simple graphic of someone ‘swimming’ says, “Drowning in real life looks nothing like in the movies, and in fact many parents watch their children drown, having no idea that it’s happening.” Credits to OP’s account is at the bottom of the photo. /End ID]
I feel like I'm in somewhat of a niche position as a Blorbo Enjoyer who wants to see The Guy tortured horrifically, but also wants healing and fluff with the same level of intensity and seriousness
The connecting thread is like, the deep acknowledgement of what the Character went through and the compassion and comfort. I want to get down and dirty with the awful nasty heinous shit Blorbo experiences to empathize, and then the healing is soooooo cathartic
