#National Screening Mechanism

[crossdreamers]

Hormone therapy reduces depression in trans and nonbinary adults, new study shows

LGBTQ Nation highlights a new study on the mental health benefits of gender-affirming hormone therapy (GAHT) for transgender, nonbinary, and gender-diverse (TGD) adults.

The study, conducted on 3,592 patients over a two-year span, found that GAHT significantly reduced depressive symptoms in individuals experiencing moderate-to-severe depression.

The research emphasizes the biopsychosocial mechanisms of GAHT, including physiological changes, relief from gender dysphoria, and improved gender congruence, which collectively enhance social functioning and mental health outcomes.

Unlike previous studies, this research analyzed a large, culturally diverse sample, considering sociodemographic characteristics and accessibility to care.

The study underscores the importance of universal depression screening for TGD individuals, ensuring diagnosis, treatment, and follow-up. It challenges political efforts to discredit gender-affirming care, noting the growing restrictions fueled by anti-trans policies. The researchers advocate for accessible GAHT integrated into gender-affirming primary care as a vital mental health intervention.

Science paper: "Gender-Affirming Hormone Therapy and Depressive Symptoms Among Transgender Adults"

[seulgisqt]

𝐏𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 — alexia putellas

alexia putellas x golfer!fem!reader

(a/n: had this in the drafts for months whilst uni was taking me out, inspired by literally watching one tournament and I thought of football?? well yes!)

word count: 1559

genre: fluff

summary: their meet-cute begins with a missed golf rule and ends with exchanged numbers and quiet smiles

Alexia wasn’t entirely sure why she said yes.

Well, she knew why. It was for charity. Something about raising awareness for girls’ sports and increasing visibility for women athletes. She was all for it. But as she stood on the edge of the green in all-black casuals, looking vaguely lost with a cold water bottle clutched between both hands, she couldn’t help but think: This isn’t my turf.

She didn’t even like golf.

The silence was unnerving. No roaring crowds. No studs on the grass. Just polite claps, murmurs, and the distant mechanical hum of cameras and golf carts.

Here, your concentration was unwavering.

The sun blazed high in the azure sky above the Marbella golf course, its golden rays bathing the immaculately trimmed fairways in a warm, inviting glow. Despite the heat radiating from the ground, you felt a cool, calmness enveloping you. Your gaze was locked on the bright white dimpled ball nestled in the emerald grass, and your feet planted firmly on the lush turf, a sense of stability grounding you. With each measured breath, you felt the rhythm of the game pulsing through you.

Then came the moment: you executed a flawless swing. The club connected with the ball with a resounding crack, a sound that echoed in the stillness of the course. The ball rocketed off the tee, soaring high into the sky before gliding straight down the fairway, drawing appreciative applause from the onlookers who had gathered to witness your skill.

It was your third tournament win this season. You were on top of your game, and nothing distracted you—not the pressure, not the cameras, not even the occasional celebrity faces appearing along the ropes to watch. 

But today…there was a distraction. Or rather, someone unexpected.

You spotted her near the 12th green. She was impossible to miss, not because she was a household name—though she certainly was—but rather because of the air of uncertainty about her. Clad in a stylish outfit that seemed almost too casual for the prestigious surroundings, she wore oversized sunglasses that suggested she preferred to blend into the crowd. Yet, no amount of disguise could mask her presence. 

It was the way she carried herself that caught your attention. She appeared somewhat lost, her posture a bit too rigid, like a traveller navigating an unfamiliar landscape, searching for a place to belong. 

Alexia Putellas. 

The captain of FC Barcelona Femení. A revered icon of the national team. She was nothing short of football royalty, yet here she was, mingling among the spectators as just another guest of one of the tournament’s sponsors.

As you glanced in her direction, your eyes met for a fleeting moment—a mere accident—and in that instant, she quickly diverted her gaze, a hint of embarrassment flickering across her face, as if she had been caught in a private moment she wasn't meant to share.

That small interaction brought a smile to your lips.

After the exhilarating round of play, with the excitement of interviews and the celebratory flash of trophy photos still fresh in your mind, you strolled back towards the players’ lounge. The atmosphere was alive with chatter and laughter, yet you weren’t expecting to cross paths with her again. As you rounded the corner near the refreshments table—the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air—there she was. 

She stood there, seemingly lost in her own world, a tiny paper cup of steaming espresso cradled delicately in her hands. The rich aroma of the coffee curled around her, but her focus was solely on the glowing screen of her phone, her brow slightly furrowed as if seeking an escape route from the thrumming energy of the crowd. The soft glow illuminated her features, highlighting her intensity and the cascade of hair that framed her face. In that charged moment, the bustling lounge faded away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of possibility, igniting a surge of anticipation within you.

“You look like someone who just googled ‘golf rules for beginners,’” you remarked, noticing her slightly bewildered expression as she studied the course.

Alexia was taken aback for a moment but then a slow smile crept across her face, illuminating her features. “Guilty as charged. I didn’t realise it would be this tranquil out here.”

“There’s not much in the way of crowd noise where we play,” you replied, leaning casually against the edge of a wooden table, which looked like it had seen many rounds of golf discussions. “We’re more about suffering in silence.”

She chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You were amazing, by the way. That last putt you made, was absolutely ice cold.”

You smiled, a little proud of the compliment. “Thanks. You’re not too shabby either, judging from what I’ve seen on the field.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow and smirked playfully. “So, you’ve been watching me play, huh?”

“More than once,” you admitted with a wink. “I’m a fan of Barça.”

As the realisation hit her, a faint blush crept onto her cheeks, contrasting beautifully with her sun-kissed skin. “Oh, I’m sorry! I should’ve introduced myself properly. I’m Alexia.”

“I know, I’m—” you replied, a smile growing on your lips.

“I know who you are. It’s just…” Her grin turned a touch sheepish, and she bit her lip in a lighthearted way. “I might’ve caught a few highlights last night, trying to wrap my head around what I was getting into today.”

Her admission caught you off guard, prompting a genuine laugh. “And? Did that help at all?”

“Not really. I still can’t wrap my head around why there are five distinct types of clubs,” she said, a hint of confusion in her voice.

“Well, I could certainly break it down for you,” you replied, a playful glint in your eye. “But I can't promise that my explanation will be the most thrilling of narratives.”

“Lay it on me,” she challenged, her curiosity piqued.

You found yourself comfortably settled on a rustic wooden bench, positioned on the sun-drenched patio just outside the lounge. The gentle warmth of the breeze playfully caressed your hair, momentarily distracting you as you endeavoured to articulate the nuances of golf's various clubs—hybrids, irons, woods, wedges, and putters—with the precision of an athlete and just the right sprinkling of metaphors to elicit laughter from her. She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, hanging on your every word. Occasionally, she would interject with thought-provoking questions that compelled you to reconsider the familiar concepts you had long taken for granted.

It was oddly refreshing.

Eventually, your conversation meandered, slipping away from golf and into everything else. Favourite training meals. Worst weather you’ve ever played in. Alexia’s obsession with peanut butter and oat bowls. Your childhood fear of putting in front of strangers. Her tendency to watch motivational videos at 3am before matches. Your inability to sleep before big tournaments.

Then, in a moment of playful teasing, she nudged you gently with her shoulder and asked, “Does this happen every time you win? You charm footballers with golf analogies?”

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow, a grin creeping onto your face. “Only the ones who seem ready to bolt after we reach the fifth hole.” 

“Well, lucky for me, I hung around,” she smiled, brimming with warmth. Before you realised it, the words tumbled out unguarded: “Me too.”

There was a quiet beat between you then. Comfortable. Curious.

Alexia tilted her head. “Hey, can I ask something kind of weird?”

“Sure.”

“What do golfers do when they’re not competing? I mean, are you always training?”

You thought about it. “Not always. Sometimes we try not to be golfers at all. Go for walks. Cook. Watch sports we don’t understand.”

“Football?” she teased.

“Exactly.”

Her grin widened, revealing a hint of excitement. “Well, if you ever want an insider's tour of Camp Nou, count me in. I promise to provide excellent commentary.” 

“Is that so?” you asked, feigning seriousness.

“Oh yes,” the Spaniard asserted with a mock gravitas. “You’ll get the full experience—very professional. Expect plenty of jokes and absolutely zero accuracy in what I say!”

“I’d like that,” you replied, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Good,” she said, her voice dropping to a soft, inviting tone that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. “Because I’d love to see you again. Away from the golf course. Somewhere with a bit more energy, maybe.”

You feigned deep contemplation, smiling mischievously. “Hmm, but what if my only skill is being effortlessly cool and graceful out on the green?”

“Oh, you can manage to be awkward too,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I promise, I’ll still like you all the same.”

The following morning brought a delightful surprise—a text from her featuring a whimsical picture of a shiny golf ball perched inside a steaming cup of coffee, with the caption: I think I’ve finally figured out what a hole-in-one means.

A broad smile spread across your face as you gazed at the screen, your fingers quickly flying over the keyboard to reply: Keep that up, and I might just consider letting you caddy for me on my next game.

And in that lighthearted exchange, something quietly significant flickered to life between you—perhaps it was unexpected, but it felt precisely right, as if it had fallen into place just when it was meant to.

[lanaroff]

House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 5

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warning: Angst, Pills

You leaned against the wall of you darkened room, staring at the screen in front of you. Your hands, which once trembled with purpose, were now steady, almost mechanical. You had to do this. There was no other choice. Not anymore. Fury's orders were always absolute, even when they made you feel like you were losing yourself.

The mission briefing was succinct—no details were given beyond the basic information. Just a name: InterCorp, a tech company that had once been a key ally to S.H.I.E.L.D. A company that had funded many of their operations during the height of their war against Hydra, helped with technology upgrades, and assisted in various missions across the globe. They had been instrumental in the fight against the very enemies that you had vowed to destroy. But now, InterCorp had somehow become a target, labeled as a liability by Fury. A threat to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s image, or worse, a threat to national security.

Your heart twisted as the cold, sterile words on the screen flashed in front of you: "Eliminate all key members. Do not leave anyone alive. No witnesses."

Your throat tightened as memories flooded your mind. InterCorp wasn't just another faceless corporation. You had worked with them those the first years you started to work for Fury. Before Wanda, before all the mess that your life had become. Fury wanted you to infiltrate, to become one of them, so you did. You had fought alongside the people in that organization. You had made friends there—friends who had helped you when you were at your lowest, when S.H.I.E.L.D. was just a shadow of what it had once been. And now... now, you were supposed to destroy them. Wipe them out without hesitation.

The faint sound of footsteps outside your door brought you out of your reverie. A knock echoed softly. You barely registered it before the door opened slightly, revealing the shadowy figure of Nick Fury. His single eye gleamed in the dim light, unwavering as he took in your silent form.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice low, unreadable.

You didn't respond immediately. The silence between them stretched on, heavy with unspoken words. Fury wasn't a man who needed small talk; he was a man of action. But for a brief moment, just a brief moment, you saw something flicker behind his eyes. Something cold.

"I don't have a choice," you finally muttered, your voice breaking slightly, betraying your inner conflict. "Do I?"

Fury's expression remained impassive, as always. He took a step into the room, his large frame casting a shadow over you.

"You've never had a choice, Y/N," Fury said, his voice gruff, but with a hint of something almost—comforting? Or was it control? "You know how this works."

You nodded slowly, your gaze dropping to the floor. Of course, you knew. You knew all too well. Fury had never given you a choice. 

"What's the play?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Fury's jaw clenched, and he took another step closer. "I'll get you in. You'll take them out. That's all you need to know."

You nodded, swallowing hard, the weight of the mission pressing down on your chest like a boulder. You didn't ask questions anymore. Fury had taught you not to.

As you followed him down the hallway of the compound, your mind raced. InterCorp had been more than just a funding source for S.H.I.E.L.D. They had been part of the team. The same team you had fought for. The same team you had once believed in. The same team that had helped dismantle Hydra.

But Fury had decided they were expendable. They had become a threat to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operations, a risk that had to be eliminated, regardless of the relationships that had been built over the years. They were collateral damage now.

The mission was already set in motion. Fury had made sure of that. There would be no turning back. No questions asked.

They reached the hangar, where a jet stood ready for their departure. You felt your stomach twist. You had never been a stranger to taking down enemies, but this... this was different. This wasn't some nameless target. These were people who had helped you, who had trusted you, who had fought beside you. And now she was supposed to kill them.

"Get in," Fury's voice cut through her thoughts, and without another word, you climbed into the jet.

The silence inside was deafening. you closed your eyes, leaning back in your seat, trying to focus on the task at hand. There was no room for hesitation. There was no room for regret.

But then, just as the jet began to lift off, a thought lingered at the edge of your mind. Was this the mission? Was this what Fury had been preparing you for all these years—breaking you down until you no longer saw the difference between friend and foe? Were you just a weapon now? A tool with no purpose beyond executing orders?

Your hands clenched into fists. You had to push that thought away. You had to.

When they arrived at the base, Fury's instructions were clear. In and out. No mercy. You knew the targets—high-ranking officials in InterCorp. The mission brief was simple: eliminate the heads of the organization, leave no trace, no survivors. You knew what you had to do, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

As you made your way through the building, taking out guards, eliminating obstacles, you could feel it—the crushing weight of every step. The memories of your time with InterCorp flashed in front of your eyes with each passing moment. You could almost hear their voices, their laughter, their trust in you.

And then there they were—the leaders of the company, the very people you had once called colleagues. Even if it was all fake. They didn't even know you were there, didn't even realize their end was coming. But you knew. And you had to end it.

The first shot rang out, and then the second. Your hand was steady, but your heart was shattering.

Fury's orders were always final, but this—this was something you could never forgive yourself for. And deep down, you knew this wasn't the last time you would be asked to betray those you cared about.

Later that night, back at the compound, you entered your room, shutting the door behind you. The mission was complete. The targets were eliminated. And yet, you felt more broken than ever.

Fury had been right, in a way. You had never had a choice. And now, there was no going back.

———

You stared at the small vial of medication on your bedside table. It was something Fury had given you for the pain, for the nightmares. The nightmares of the faces you had seen on that mission. The faces of the people you had once worked with, now gone.

Your heart raced as you reached for it. But then, just before you could swallow the pills, the door to your room opened without warning.

Standing in the doorway was Natasha Romanoff, her expression unreadable, but the concern in her eyes unmistakable.

"Y/N..." Natasha's voice was barely above a whisper.

You froze. For the first time in a long time, you felt seen. You felt exposed.

But even as Natasha stepped closer, you couldn't bring herself to explain. You couldn't let anyone in, not even Natasha—especially not Natasha. Fury had made sure of that.

"I'm fine," You said, your voice trembling, but you quickly masked it with a cold, indifferent tone. "I have work to do."

Natasha didn't move, didn't back down. Instead, she just stared at you—saying everything without words.

You stared at the small vial of pills in your hand, your thumb tracing the edge of the glass. You could hear Natasha's voice behind you, but it felt distant, muffled by the storm raging in your chest.

"You can't keep doing this, Y/N," Natasha said softly, her voice laced with concern, but there was no escaping the conviction in her tone. "You're not fine. Whatever this is, you're not okay. We can talk about it, but you have to let someone in."

Your gaze remained fixed on the vial. You didn't have an answer. You didn't have anything left to say. The silence between them stretched thin, but Natasha wasn't backing down.

"Y/N," Natasha continued, her voice growing firmer. "I've seen you shut everyone out. I've seen the way you've been looking at the team. Hell, I've seen the way you look at me. You're not even the same person anymore. You were gone for five years, and you came back like a completely different person. What happened?"

Your grip tightened around the glass vial, your knuckles turning white. You didn't want to do this. You didn't want to talk about it. But Natasha kept pushing, her persistence like a needle that kept piercing through the walls you had carefully built.

"I don't need to talk," You said, your voice colder than you intended. "There's nothing to talk about."

But Natasha wasn't backing off.

"Yes, there is. There's everything to talk about," she pressed, her eyes unwavering. "I've been watching you, Y/N. I've seen the way you've been spiraling, and I know something's wrong. You're not just 'fine.' This isn't just about some mission, is it? This is about you. You're carrying something—something heavy. And you're trying to shoulder it alone. But you don't have to."

You felt the weight of those words sink into your chest. You were suffocating under the pressure. Your fingers trembled, and for the first time in a long while, you didn't feel in control.

"I'm fine," you lied, your voice unsteady. "Just let it go, Natasha."

"No," Natasha's voice was sharp, a hard edge to it now. "I'm not letting it go. Not until you tell me what's going on. You used to trust me. We used to be able to talk about everything. What happened to that, huh? Why can't you let me in?"

Your head snapped up, your eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and desperation. "Because I'm dangerous, Natasha," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "You don't understand what I've done. What I've become. If I told you, you wouldn't look at me the same way. You wouldn't look at me at all."

"You don't know that. You're not the same person you were before, but you don't have to be alone in this," Natasha argued, her voice quieter now, but still intense. "Please, talk to me."

Your mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts, memories, and pain. You had tried to bury it all—the truth, the guilt, the shame. But it was rising to the surface, threatening to choke you.

"I don't want to talk," you snapped, your voice rising with a sudden outburst. "I don't want anyone's pity, and I don't want anyone's judgment. I've made my choices, and I have to live with them."

You turned quickly, your frustration boiling over. Without a second glance at Natasha, you walked toward the exit of the compound, your footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. You couldn't stay here anymore. You couldn't face anyone—not yet. The weight of everything was too much to bear.

But Natasha didn't stop. She followed, her voice trailing behind, insistent. "Y/N, don't do this. Please. I know you. You're not this person. You don't have to keep running. You can talk to me."

As they passed through the common area, heading toward the exit, your steps faltered. The weight of Natasha's words pressed against you, and for a moment, it felt like your legs couldn't move forward.

“Y/N!” She said.

“Drop it Natasha!”

“Why are you so afraid?!” Nat screamed. “Y/N!”

But then, without warning, the floodgates opened.

"I'm Hydra Natasha. Is that what you want to hear? I work for them. I have been working for them for the past 10 years.!” You snapped, your voice breaking. Your words hung in the air, loud and raw.

The room fell dead silent. Everyone who had been sitting around the table, ready for dinner, froze. Tony, Steve, Wanda, Sam, Bucky—all of them. They turned to look at you, stunned into silence by the words that had just escaped your lips.

Bucky's eyes narrowed in confusion and disbelief. He opened his mouth, his voice strained. "What do you mean you're Hydra?"

You stood still, your body stiff with the weight of their gazes, their shock. You could feel the eyes of your teammates, your friends, burning into you, each one processing the words in their own way.

You took a deep breath and spoke, your voice shaking but steady. "I am a part of Hydra. I joined them. My parents died in an explosion when I was a kid—collateral damage, they called it. The government couldn't care less. So, I joined Hydra. To take them down. To make them pay for what they did to my family."

There was a pause—a long one. No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone in the room was frozen in shock, grappling with the weight of your revelation.

Tony was the first to break the silence, his voice cutting through the tension. "And that's it? That's why you've been acting like this? You were a kid when it happened, Y/N. You're not a part of Hydra anymore. Why the hell is Fury pushing you like this? What's he making you do?"

"I... I did more than just join Hydra," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "During a mission... I was ordered to take down a building. There was a daycare inside. I didn't know... but Fury's daughter was there. She was only three. And I... I killed her. I didn't know, but I killed her."

Your eyes welled with tears as you choked on the words, but you forced herself to keep going.

"I betrayed my country. I betrayed all of you. And I've been doing off-the-books missions for Fury ever since. He's been using me as his puppet. I do what he tells me to, no questions asked. Because I owe it to him.”

“Why?” Asked Sam.

“Because he didn’t kill me. He should have, but he didn’t. And as you see… i’m not stuck on a hole either. But there’s a price to pay, and this is mine.” You said trying to convince yourself that it was all justified.

Steve's expression darkened, and he stepped forward, his fists clenched. "So you work for the same damn organization we've been trying to stop? You've been killing people for them? And all this time, you didn't tell us?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. The rage inside you flared, but so did the guilt.

"I didn't have a choice, Steve," you snapped, stepping forward. "I didn't have a choice. And you—you of all people have no right to judge me for doing what I had to. You betrayed your country too, remember? You broke records, broke the rules, to find Bucky! You weren't exactly playing by the book either."

The room went silent again, Steve's expression tightening with the weight of your words.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, the anger, guilt, and pain mixing in a cocktail too bitter to swallow. You couldn't stay there anymore. You couldn't stand looking at them like this.

Wanda stood frozen in the doorway, her heart beating painfully in her chest as your words crashed over the room. Every sentence, every revelation, felt like a weight pressing down on her ribs, suffocating her. The truth was out now. You had been Hydra. You had betrayed them all.

But there was something more to it—something that twisted deep inside Wanda's gut. The girl she loved, the one who had been the light in her life through all the darkness, had been holding this secret alone. You had carried this burden, this guilt, this pain, without saying a word. And Wanda hadn't known.

As the words tumbled out of your mouth, Wanda felt as though her heart was being torn from her chest. Every word felt like a dagger, each one driving deeper into her skin, into her soul. She wanted to reach out, to stop you, to tell you that you didn't have to carry it all alone anymore. But Wanda couldn't speak. She couldn't find the words.

The revelation that you had been part of Hydra was earth-shattering. That wasn't the part that crushed Wanda. It was the part where you spoke about killing Fury's daughter, the innocent three-year-old girl who had been nothing but a casualty in a war that was never hers to fight. Wanda watched as your voice cracked, watched as the weight of your own actions pushed you to the brink of breaking.

You were broken already, weren’t you?

Wanda's chest tightened, and her hand instinctively reached for her heart, as if trying to hold it together. Her mind flashed to the times she had spent with you—the quiet conversations, the late-night talks, the moments where you two had laughed and shared your deepest fears. All of those moments felt so distant now, like they belonged to someone else.

But the worst part was the guilt that gnawed at Wanda. She had seen the changes in you, had felt the distance growing between you two. But she never questioned it, never pushed you to talk. Wanda had thought she was giving you space. She had assumed that it was just a phase—something that would pass, that you would eventually open up and everything would be okay again.

But it wasn't okay.

And Wanda had been so blind.

She should've known. She should've noticed the signs—the way you avoided them, the way she pushed everyone away. How could she have missed it? How could she have missed the person she loved falling apart in front of her?

Wanda closed her eyes, feeling the tears she had been holding back for so long finally beginning to sting her eyes. The guilt was overwhelming. She could've been there for you. She should've been there for you. She should've seen the pain behind your eyes, heard the silent pleas for help that were there, if only Wanda had looked closely enough.

But she hadn't. And now, you were breaking into a thousand pieces in front of them, and Wanda had no idea how to put you back together.

Everyone else in the room was silent, their faces pale, shocked. Bucky's eyes were wide, as if he couldn't comprehend the truth that was standing before him. Steve's expression was tense, his jaw clenched in frustration. Tony's face was unreadable, but Wanda could see the hurt in his eyes. He had lost you too.

And then there was Sam, who stood off to the side, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes dark with disbelief. They were all hurting, but no one was hurting more than Wanda.

She had known you like no one else. You had shared your vulnerabilities, your secrets, your dreams. Wanda had trusted you. She had trusted you with her heart. And now, to know that you had been carrying such a heavy burden—alone, in silence, out of fear or shame—felt like a betrayal.

But it wasn't a betrayal. Not from you.

Wanda's chest tightened as she realized that you had been forced into this situation. You had been used. You had been manipulated by Fury, just like she had been manipulated by Hydra. But Wanda hadn't been there for you. She hadn't seen what Fury had done to you, what he had turned you into.

When you left, the room seemed to collapse around Wanda. The silence was deafening, and she found herself unable to move, unable to speak. All she could do was stand there, frozen, watching the woman she loved walk away, your back turned, leaving everyone behind.

"Are we just going to let her walk away like that?" Tony's voice cut through the stillness.

"I..." Wanda's voice faltered as she tried to speak, but no words came out. She felt like her throat was closing, like the tears were choking her. "I... I should've seen it. I should've known. I... I didn't—"

Bucky's voice was soft, almost mournful. "None of us saw it, Wanda. Don't blame yourself."

But she couldn't stop. She couldn't stop the guilt that was pouring in like a flood. She had promised you that you two would get through things together. She had promised you she would be there. And now, she felt like a stranger to the woman she loved. The woman who was falling apart.

Wanda's hand flew to her mouth as the sobs wracked her body. She wanted to run after you, to pull you back, to hold you, to make you understand that you weren't alone. But deep down, Wanda knew that you didn't want anyone to come after you—not yet.

The team stood around her, looking at the door where you had disappeared, but Wanda felt completely alone. There was so much left unsaid between both of you, and Wanda wasn't sure if you would ever let her back in again.

The weight of everything—the lies, the secrets, the betrayal—pressed down on her chest until it was hard to breathe. She had lost you. Maybe not physically, but emotionally, she had lost you. And no amount of apologies or explanations would ever fix that.

In the end, Wanda had failed you. And now, all she could do was wait—wait and hope that you would come back, that you would find the strength to face the truth, to face yourself.

But deep down, Wanda knew that it was never going to be that easy.

Tag list: @seventeen-x @womenarehotsstuff @redhoodte @ayrtonwilbury @justyourwritter69 @casquinhaa @womenarehotsstuff @justarandomreaderxoxo @yelldontwhisper @raven-ss

[transmutationisms]

in addition to being prone to an obvious naturalistic fallacy, the oft-repeated claim that various supplements / herbs / botanicals are being somehow suppressed by pharmaceutical interests seeking to protect their own profits ('they would rather sell you a pill') belies a clear misunderstanding of the relationship between 'industrial' pharmacology and plant matter. bioprospecting, the search for plants and molecular components of plants that can be developed into commercial products, has been one of the economic motivations and rationalisations for european colonialism and imperialism since the so-called 'age of exploration'. state-funded bioprospectors specifically sought 'exotic' plants that could be imported to europe and sold as food or materia medica—often both, as in the cases of coffee or chocolate—or, even better, cultivated in 'economic' botanical gardens attached to universities, medical schools, or royal palaces and scientific institutions.

this fundamental attitude toward the knowledge systems and medical practices of colonised people—the position, characterising eg much 'ethnobotany', that such knowledge is a resource for imperialist powers and pharmaceutical manufacturers to mine and profit from—is not some kind of bygone historical relic. for example, since the 1880s companies including pfizer, bristol-myers squibb, and unilever have sought to create pharmaceuticals from african medicinal plants, such as strophanthus, cryptolepis, and grains of paradise. in india, state-created databases of valuable 'traditional' medicines have appeared partly in response to a revival of bioprospecting since the 1980s, in an increasingly bureaucratised form characterised by profit-sharing agreements between scientists and local communities that has nonetheless been referred to as "biocapitalism". a 1990 paper published in the proceedings of the novartis foundation symposium (then the ciba foundation symposium) spelled out this form of epistemic colonialism quite bluntly:

Ethnobotany, ethnomedicine, folk medicine and traditional medicine can provide information that is useful as a 'pre-screen' to select plants for experimental pharmacological studies.

there is no inherent oppositional relationship between pharmaceutical industry and 'natural' or plant-based cures. there are of course plenty of examples of bioprospecting that failed to translate into consumer markets: ginseng, introduced to europe in the 17th century through the mercantile system and the east india company, found only limited success in european pharmacology. and there are cases in which knowledge with potential market value has actually been suppressed for other reasons: the peacock flower, used as an abortifacient in the west indies, was 'discovered' by colonial bioprospectors in the 18th century; the plant itself moved easily to europe, but knowledge of its use in reproductive medicine became the subject of a "culturally cultivated ignorance," resulting from a combination of funding priorities, national policies, colonial trade patterns, gender politics, and the functioning of scientific institutions. this form of knowledge suppression was never the result of a conflict wherein bioprospectors or pharmacists viewed the peacock flower as a threat to their own profits; on the contrary, they essentially sacrificed potential financial benefits as a result of the political and social factors that made abortifacient knowledge 'unknowable' in certain state and commercial contexts.

exploitation of plant matter in pharmacology is not a frictionless or infallible process. but the sort of conspiratorial thinking that attempts to position plant therapeutics and 'big pharma' as oppositional or competitive forces is an ahistorical and opportunistic example of appealing to nominally anti-capitalist rhetoric without any deeper understanding of the actual mechanisms of capitalism and colonialism at play. this is of course true whether or not the person making such claims has any personal financial stake in them, though it is of course also true that, often, they do hold such stakes.

[bucket-hat-lando]

Bad memories come to haunt us (MV)

Pairing max x fem reader 🌿

Tw max panic attack

Max was on top of his game this season winning almost all the races so far and now they were in Saudi Arabia. This weekend is different though his dad was here.

Max was getting ready to get in the car with y/n by his side as she is every weekend Max turns to y/n after the national anthem and gives her a deep kiss y/n saying “I love you see you at the top of the podium after.” She laughs as he shakes his head

Now with y/n sitting in the garage along with the mechanics and engineers she watches the screen intensely and she can’t help but feel nervous for him as she knows he wants to impress his dad. Everything was going well max was leading with ten laps left until Checo did a surprise move and tried to overtake him misjudging their closeness.

Max is now going towards the wall the whole time everything going in slow motion until Max was met with the wall .

Y/n can’t take her eyes off the screen seeing max in the wall but her stare was broken by hearing Jos fist hit the table making the garage go silent as max comes on the radio “sorry guys he was just too close “. Y/n can hear the labored breathing and she knows what that means panic attack is coming and fast.

As he comes to a stop in the pit lane she is immediately waiting by the team. Max gets out helmet still on and rushes towards her hiding his face in her neck. She automatically starts soothing him whispering in his ear “ it’s ok love it’s ok. “ in through your nose out through your mouth she says quietly rubbing his back.

“Let’s go to your drivers room away from the prying eyes.” He nods in her neck as she leads him to the room shutting the door and crouching in front of him. Max is losing it he took his helmet off luckily but his breath is still shallow y/n is coaching him through deep breaths “ dad is gonna be so mad.” Max mumbled “ I just wanted to impress him.”

Y/n hearing him say this immediately interjects “Max don’t go there it wasn’t your fault he has no reason to be mad.” she says to him stroking his back looking into his teary eyes it takes a few more deep breaths and reassurance from y/n before he finally calmed down and now with the adrenaline gone he was exhausted laying down on the couch cuddling y/n enjoying the silence and before he drifts off he whispers in y/n ear “ thank you i don’t know how I would’ve gotten through that without you i love you.” He drifts off but not without hearing y/n say “anything for you maxie.”

Done!

Happy super-bowl Sunday everyone 🧡

Send request

[tumblingxelian]

Near Uniquely RWBY - Main Characters

I was chatting with my sibling the other day and we were joking about the fact in 90% of the media I consume I generally don't like the main characters.

Not in the sense I necessarily hate them, but I generally don't find them to be the most interesting, engaging or enjoyable person on screen or page. Instead I tend to gravitate towards secondary or minor characters and even minor antagonists before any of the big names.

Some of this is rooted in my often rooting for what tends to feel more like a real underdog or characters that feel like they got dealt a bad hand by the author unfairly. But its also that in a lot of media the main characters tend to immediately, slowly or quickly go into personality lockdown.

Becoming less a personality and more the embodiment of expected tropes and themes, or they lose their unique edge or circumstances because the plot demands one benefits or personality changes be heaped on them to keep the tone and story going.

Some examples of this would include say:

Ichigo from Bleach, with him and his supporting cast being very unique and super interesting during the initial arc. But as Soul Society came in, he became a much more standard Shounen determinator a the expense of his personality and his supporting casts were largely watered down & left behind.

Or how in Naruto or Dragon Ball the whole underdog/hard worker aspect of the characters felt undercut by legacy power ups and an endless wellspring of natural talent, alien biology, ETC.

I know these are just two examples, but they cover the general gist of what I mean.

So, what makes RWBY different?

Well, off the cuff, is simply that the four main characters are women.

I've often felt simply putting anyone other than a cis-het guy into the main character slot of say, a battle Shounen, or Isekai stands a good chance of making it more interesting by default. Even if the author does nothing with it the audience reaction would be different because the MC would be an exception to the norms.

In that vein, while one can call RWBY some sort of Shounen or adventure fantasy or magical girl show the main four are unique in how they manifest on screen at the very start. From how they participate in action, to how said action is structured and framed and the kind of adventures and topics they tackle.

But being unique alone is not enough, that would simply make it more interesting than the bog standard but what elevates RWBY is the execution and exploration of such elements and its characters.

Going into every aspect would be difficult, but in light of what I said above would be how each of the main four are initially presented as familiar archetypes, only to subvert or deconstruct them.

Ruby is a peppy goth who just wants to be normal but has inborn powers from her mysteriously vanished mother and serves as a beacon of optimism to others.

Except Ruby's version of normal still involved fighting death monsters with a sniper rifle scythe and she is actually one of the more ruthless characters. Her peppy persona obscures that she can have a pretty vicious temper when pushed and has displayed strong bloodknight tendencies.

Her unrelenting optimism and desire to fix the world is a complex mix of true beliefs, coping mechanism for trauma and her grappling with positions forced on her against her will. Her inborn power is potentially useful but also not that much of a game breaker outside specific contexts & said power sure as hell didn't save her mom.

Weiss Schnee is the Tsundere heiress of a powerful family, with a haughty attitude that hides her loneliness.

Except the "Tsundere" is more of a defense mechanism born of coming from an abusive home where every member of her family manifested a different trauma response. Freeze (Mother), flight (Sister), Fight (Weiss) Fawn (Brother).

Despite her upbringing & some projected trauma, she's far from ignorant as to the worst excesses of her nation early on, and her journey was more about overcoming the impacts her abuser had on her and finding a family in her team that let her be safe enough to let down her walls. Also despite being "The ice queen" she's actually one of the characters least inclined towards more ruthless actions and is extremely empathic.

Blake Belladonna is a mysterious and silent rougish woman, something of a shrinking violet even, but she carries with her a wounded heart thanks to her old flame, the edgy Adam Taurus.

Or more accurately, Blake is the daughter of activists and politicians who represent the worlds main discriminated against minority. She spent her youth on the road as a protestor and where even her father could be nearly killed by a lynch mob. She was targeted & groomed by a man who claimed to want to fight the same injustice she did but who was only interested in using the movement to grow his own power.

Her initial aloof-ness was a trauma response to having spent years under his thumb and overcoming him and the idea she had to 'save' him was one of the main corner stone so her character. Also, despite the "Revolutionary fighter" backstory she like Weiss is much less inclined towards ruthlessness than her team in large part because her past experience with it.

Yang Xiao Long, introduced as the fun loving big sister of Ruby & boisterous bruiser of the team who loves to party & flirt.

Except no, Yang was parentified as a child and forced to raise her own sister as their family unit fell apart. Her "Party girl" persona was outright framed as judging a book by its cover in her own trailer and something she put on or took off as she needed.

She became disabled over the course of the series run as well as entered a Sapphic romance with her partner Blake. Unlike the stereotype of characters with her design, Yang is actually an excellent student, fighter and engineer/mechanic. Plus much like her sister she tends to be of the more ruthless and pragmatic persuasion despite being from the "Normal" background.

Character Conclusion

So, all the characters break out of their initial archetypes, which already makes them more interesting. What's more, these sorts of characters just being oput together and made the main characters rather than circling a dude is in of itself unique.

But there are other aspects of the writing which endear me to how it handles the main characters and what keeps them interesting.

Anger & Violence

See, while in various media women do express anger at times it is still often far less so than men. What's more, often women's anger tends to be presented in... Less flattering lights.

With the anger obscuring fragility while in a man it conveys strength. Or implying a sort of hysteria rather than an appropriate or controlled response. Or worst of all being demonized in general unless its rooted in or coming from traditionally feminine places.

The same tends to be true when it comes to violence with a lot of media either trying to find some way to make women in battle less... Brutal than their male counterparts. (More more like fanservice) Along with rarely letting women fight men, unless they are a special exception to the norm.

RWBY does not do this.

The main characters, hell, all the women in the series express a multitude of different forms of anger and violence. They battle men, they battle each other, they battle monsters all with no distinction nor fanservice shot in sight.

What's more though is that said anger and violence are not presented as, for lack of better words, wrong. The writers don't draw overt attention to this fact, they don't hang a big sign up saying "Girls can fight & shout too" or the like.

They just present these women with a range of emotions, motives and actions that are treated according to what fits the theme of the show rather than hewing closer to gendered lines.

This isn't to say anger & violence are lionized, but more that the experience and usage of them is not demonized or undermined because of the characters gender.

I suppose what I am saying is that CRWBY by and large lack double standards when it comes to exploring these things that I see so often in other media. The women in the main cast, among the villains, both sides respective allies and beyond can be flawed, or angry or do both good and terrible things.

But the writers are always treating everyone's pain as equally valid regardless of gender or situation. Which means that the situations that cause anger exist within a tone of respect that forms the depiction and framing of anger itself.

Which is just something I really enjoy.

Thanks for reading!

[spoonfulofmilo]

Could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader? With him being the team principal for Merc, it was expected that she would also support the team and she did. But, she was and still a tifosi at heart and everyone knows it. So when Carlos wins the Australian GP and Charles P2, she sang her heart out during the national anthem was being played. He could see how much she loved the team and he wouldn't want her to stop supporting it. Because he always knew, whatever happened she would stick by his side no matter what. Just something fluff and sweet. Thanks!! :)))

okay, this is short, but the bachelor fic is really long, but im trying to empty my inbox while writing it, so, a little short :)

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

toto wolff x female!wife!tifosi!reader

“And um, while we’re on light hearted topics, moving on from Carlos’ miraculous recovery, i do just want to bring up Y/N Wolff, was at today’s race, obviously horrible race for Mercedes, and we really did think she would be quite upset by it, but um, she was later spotted in the Ferrari crowd.��� Damon Hill said, trying to avoid getting trampled in the Australian paddock

“Yeah, it was a little odd, we did ask a couple of Mercedes mechanics that we ran into, and they all seemed to know what we were talking about and they all had these knowing smiles, and Shov even quoted Seb saying ‘everyone is a ferrari fan. Even if they say they are not, they are a ferrari fan’ so very odd things going on in the Mercedes garage.” Paul di Resta mentioned

“Let’s um, let’s cut to the footage so you know what we’re talking about.” Damon Hill pointed at the screen.

The Sky broadcast cut to a past shot from the podium. The shot was pretty simple, Y/N standing in her Mercedes shirt, standing out in the sea of red and orange shirts. The anthem and the Italian engineers made it difficult to hear, but her body language and the fact that she was mouthing the words to the Italian National Anthem, with her arm around Fred’s shoulder, swaying side to side.

The camera then panned to Toto, who had an adorable look on his face. It had obviously been a horrible weekend for Mercedes, but he had a grin on his face as he watched Y/N cheering for ferrari. Multiple mechanics were calling out his names as he gazed at his wife looking at the ferrari boys.

“Damn he’s whipped, i think that’s what all the kids are saying these days.” Paul di Resta said

“And speak of the man himself, hey Toto. Got time for a chat?” Damon Hill called out to the tall Austrian, as he walked past. Toto nodded and grabbed a microphone.

“Toto, we obviously saw your wife celebrating the ferrari 1-2, should we be concerned that she is leaving you to join Lewis at Ferrari?” Paul di Resta asked

“No, not at all, whatever happens, I have faith that my wife will stick by my side no matter what. I also don’t think she finds the guys with no hair attractive, so better luck next time Fred.” Toto shrugged before wandering off, probably to find his wife.

--

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @pear-1206

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

From this past April. Posting now as several studies have come out recently blaming the increase in children needing visual aids or new lens prescriptions on "screen time during lockdown." Covid is a VASCULAR DISEASE. If it can bleed, covid can harm it.

The blood-retinal barrier is designed to protect our vision from infections by preventing microbial pathogens from reaching the retina where they could trigger an inflammatory response with potential vision loss. But researchers at the University of Missouri School of Medicine have discovered the virus that causes COVID-19 can breach this protective retinal barrier with potential long-term consequences in the eye.

Pawan Kumar Singh, PhD, an assistant professor of ophthalmology, leads a team researching new ways to prevent and treat ocular infectious diseases. Using a humanized ACE2 mice model, the team found that SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19, can infect the inside of the eyes even when the virus doesn’t enter the body through the surface of the eyes. Instead, they found that when viruses enter the body through inhalation, it not only infects organs like lungs, but also reaches highly protected organs like eyes through the blood-retinal barrier by infecting the cells lining this barrier.

“This finding is important as we increase our understanding of the long-term effects of SARS-CoV-2 infection,” said Singh. “Earlier, researchers were primarily focused on the ocular surface exposure of the virus. However, our findings reveal that SARS-CoV-2 not only reaches the eye during systemic infection but induces a hyperinflammatory response in the retina and causes cell death in the blood-retinal barrier. The longer viral remnants remain in the eye, the risk of damage to the retina and visual function increases.”

Singh also discovered that extended presence of SARS-CoV-2 spike antigen can cause retinal microaneurysm, retinal artery and vein occlusion, and vascular leakage.

“For those who have been diagnosed with COVID-19, we recommend you ask your ophthalmologist to check for signs of pathological changes to the retina,” Singh said. “Even those who were asymptomatic could suffer from damage in the eyes over time because of COVID-19 associated complications.”

While viruses and bacteria have been found to breach the blood-retinal-barrier in immunocompromised people, this research is the first to suggest that the virus that causes COVID-19 could breach the barrier even in otherwise healthy individuals, leading to an infection that manifests inside the eye itself. Immunocompromised patients or those with hypertension or diabetes may experience worse outcomes if they remain undiagnosed for COVID-19 associated ocular symptoms.

“Now that we know the risk of COVID-19 to the retina, our goal is to better understand the cellular and molecular mechanisms of how this virus breaches the blood-retinal barrier and associated pathological consequences in hopes of informing development of therapies to prevent and treat COVID-19 induced eye complications before a patient’s vision is compromised,” Singh said.

This groundbreaking study entitled “SARS-CoV-2 infects cells lining the blood-retinal barrier and induces a hyperinflammatory immune response in the retina via systemic exposure” was recently published in PLOS Pathogens. In addition to Singh, the research team from the University of Missouri School of Medicine included Vaishnavi Balendiran, MD, vitreoretinal surgery fellow; Monu Monu and Faraz Ahmad, post-doctoral fellows in the Department of Ophthalmology; and Rachel M. Olson, PhD, Chief Scientific Officer, Laboratory for Infectious Disease Research at the College of Veterinary Medicine.

This research was supported through fundings from the University of Missouri and the National Institutes of Health (NIH)/National Eye Institute (NEI) grant R01EY032495.

Study link: journals.plos.org/plospathogens/article?id=10.1371/journal.ppat.1012156

[mariacallous]

Zuckerberg’s aesthetic evolution coincides with Meta’s rollbacks on content moderation, a move that aligns him with the political right. His embrace of high-status signifiers (luxury mechanical watches, gold chains, a hardened MMA physique) signals alignment with a particular brand of alpha masculinity that is scarily rife among the elite. Moreover, his media appointed “tech bro glow-up” reflects a deeper truth about power: The extraordinary privilege of wealthy men to rewrite their own narratives, shedding past identities at will. Reinvention, in this context, isn’t just self-expression, it’s an assertion of dominance.

Just watch the reaction as a beaming Musk appears as a surprise guest, streamed in on huge video screens to the far-right Alternative for Germany national election campaign launch in January. “You have to make a decision," said the AfD's Maximilian Krah. "Do you want to have the party of [Chancellor] Olaf Scholz and all those eunuchs? Or are you on our side, with Elon Musk and Donald Trump? Which side has more sex appeal?”

If history teaches us anything, it’s this: When the richest men in the world start dressing like emperors, the rest of us should pay attention. Because power, when it rebrands itself, is rarely just about aesthetics. It’s a warning.

Silicon Valley’s Macho Makeover Was a Warning, Not a Trend: A spate of tech-titan glow-ups has won plaudits from fashion pundits and trend-watchers, but everyone missed that they were dressing for the job they really wanted.

[trickphotography2]

Santa's North Island Delivery Service

Stuck at work, Bradley is missing his daughter's first Christmas Eve. But when the squadron decides to turn the hanger into Santa's Workshop, the pilot is able to sneak away to spend a little time with his girls. (Inspired by a true story; Rooster x Reader Christmas fluff)

Word count: 2.4K

Ao3 | Masterlist

-------------------------------------------------------

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw was officially having the worst Christmas Eve. Not only was he stuck at work doing absolutely nothing, he was missing his daughter’s first Christmas Eve. 

With his boots kicked onto his desk, he leaned back in his chair and scrolled through the photos you’d sent him throughout the night. At eight months old, Bennett was too young to really know what was going on, but it didn’t make it suck any less. He wanted to see her lying under the tree, colored lights reflecting in her eyes. (He’d already set that picture as his home screen.)

“Hey, Lieutenant?” A knock on his door drew his attention, and he looked up to see Petty Officer Second Class Wagner, one of the head mechanics, standing there. 

“Yeah?” Rooster said, sitting up. Even though he outranked the enlisted man, Wagner was one of the most respected non-commissioned officers in the squadron. To cheer up the men stuck working the night shift, he’d organized a movie night after doing a Christmas movie bracket throughout the week - National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation had barely edged out Die Hard. 

“You got anything at home that needs to be assembled before going under the tree?” 

“Huh?” 

“Any gifts for the kiddo that need to be put together? We’re getting a list of stops together for the trucks.” Rooster gave him a confused look, which made the man chuckle. “We’re bored, so we figured we’d set up some presents for everyone’s kids in the hangar. The first group of guys are heading out now to get stuff, and then we’ll swap.”

“Oh, uh… yeah, I think there’s a couple things. Let me check with my girlfriend.” With a nod, Wagner left, leaving Rooster to stare at his phone. After a moment, he called you.

“Hey, babe,” you said, answering on the third ring. He could hear babbling in the background.

“Hey. Have you started getting things together to go under the tree?”

“Not yet. We’re just finishing up bath time, and then we’re gonna get cookies out for Santa and go to bed, aren’t we, Benny girl?” 

“Any chance you can hold off for about an hour?” Bradley asked, unable to keep from smiling at the sound of his daughter giggling. 

“Are you getting off work early?” It was hard to miss the sound of hope and excitement in your voice, and he hated to dash it.

“No, but I’m gonna run home and pick up some stuff.” You hummed.

“Okay. I’ll try and keep her up. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Alright, love you.”

“Love you too.” Hanging up the call, Bradley dropped his head and tapped the phone against his forehead. It was only your second Christmas together and the first as parents, and he was already missing things. You’d assured him it was okay and that you understood that his job sometimes meant spending time apart, but he hated it. 

“You’re a mean one, Benny Grinch,” you sang, gently bouncing your daughter as she howled. Letting your head fall back, you blew out a long breath. The crying fit couldn’t last forever. 

Though overly tired, she was fighting against going to sleep. It was a nightly battle, but one that Bradley usually helped to fight. You’d learned early on that he had what you lovingly called the Sleeper Hold - the minute Benny was tucked into her father’s arms, her eyes would start to close. Shifting her onto your shoulder, you glanced at your watch and sighed. As much as you wanted to wait to finish the bedtime routine until Bradley got home, it was getting late. “Alright, sweetie,” you cooed, grabbing your water bottle and retreating to the nursery. “Let’s get settled in.”

With the white noise machine and night light on, you settled into the rocking chair and lifted your shirt. Benny rooted for a moment before latching onto your nipple, making you inhale sharply at the pinch. Digging your toes into the carpet, you gently rocked back and forth, holding your daughter’s gaze as she ate. “Merry Christmas, Bennett,” you whispered, stroking her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she grunted. You closed your eyes, comforted by the warm weight of your daughter in your arms and the tugging at your breast.

“Hey.” The soft, raspy voice roused you from the trance you’d fallen into, and you lifted your head to see Bradley standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” you replied sleepily. His long legs ate up the space between you until he was beside you, leaning down to press his lips to your forehead. The familiar scratch of his mustache had your eyes fluttering closed again. 

“She done?” Bradley asked, a large hand coming down to cup your daughter’s head. 

“Should be soon.” At his touch, Benny startled from her doze, suckling hard and squirming. 

“You need anything?” 

“The sleeper hold in a minute to finish her off.” In the dim lighting, you saw Bradley grin before he leaned down again to brush his lips against yours. 

“I can do that.” As if on cue, Bennett released your breast, her breath a soft pant against your tender skin. Without a word, Bradley took her and settled her on his shoulder, patting her back. “Hey, Benny, were you good for mommy tonight?” He paced the nursery as you reached for one of the breast pads and cleaned up. When a loud burp sounded, you heard him chuckle. “That’s my girl.” 

You took a moment to appreciate the sight before you - your boyfriend in his tight khaki uniform cooing to your daughter as she rubbed her face into his shoulder to fight sleep. “How long do you have before you have to head back?”

“I’ve got about thirty minutes,” Bradley replied, turning on his heel to face you while pacing the room. “Benny girl, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner Santa comes.”

“I’m not sure she’s old enough for that bribery to work yet.” His grin blinded as he kissed the back of her head, lightly bouncing her. 

“Gonna be fun when she is. We’ll track him with NORAD and everything.” Shaking your head, you stood and kissed both of their cheeks.

“You get her down, and I’ll start pulling out the gifts.”

“Put aside anything that needs to be put together or wrapped, and I’ll take it to the hanger. Apparently, that’s what we’re gonna do for the rest of the shift.” With a mocking salute, you left the nursery to the sound of him humming a lullaby. 

Ten minutes later, Bradley crept out of the nursery with the baby monitor in hand and joined you in grabbing the presents stashed around the house. The Daggers had dropped off their gifts throughout the week, and your family had mailed theirs. The craftsman that you’d helped Bradley purchase when he moved to North Island didn’t have the best hiding spots - it wasn’t exactly something he needed when you’d been his real estate agent - but with Benny so little, it was a problem for the future. “I think we may have overdone it,” you sighed, setting an unwrapped toy on the couch. The floor by the tree was already covered with wrapped presents.

“Nope, just enough,” Bradley chuckled, opening his arms. With a scoff, you stepped into his embrace, smiling as he swayed you. A dark spot decorated his shoulder, and you gently wiped away your daughter’s drool. “Gotta spoil my girls.”

“I really hope you kept to our budget for each other.” When he stayed silent, you pulled away and cocked an eyebrow. “Bradley Bradshaw, you stayed within the budget, right?” 

“I stayed within our Christmas budget,” he answered, his hands gliding down your back to cup your ass as his mustache tickled your throat. “Love you, baby.” 

“I love you too. Now, help me get all of this stuff under the tree. Did you want to do her stocking?” 

There was a whoop, and Bradley turned to see three guys crouched on the hanger floor cheering as they played with a racetrack. Another corner had been designated as the bike assembly space, an array of tools spread on the ground. One of the card tables had been dragged out from the break room, and it was covered with popcorn and an assortment of cookies. 

Unsure of where to go, Bradley walked towards a few other officers standing in the corner. “Hey, Rooster,” Captain “Taco” Bell said as he neared. “We were just talking about ordering pizza for everyone. Would you throw in?” 

“Yeah. Does anyone know if there’s a system here, or does it just go wherever?” 

“Wagner’s in charge,” Payback shrugged, nodding towards the NCO helping assemble a kitchen playset. “You got stuff for Benny?” 

“Just a few things. Brought some of the smaller stuff to wrap, too.” The two men quickly went to the Bronco to unload the gifts. Setting them in a pile with a couple of rolls of wrapping paper, they quickly assembled the play sets. A few other guys drifted by, helping to slot the plastic pieces together or offering to help wrap. Boxes piled up on one end of the hanger, and a sign-up sheet for folks who had larger gifts at the house that needed to be assembled was passed around. It looked like at least six families were getting swingsets or trampolines. Bradley idly wondered about setting up a swing in the backyard in the summer. In the meantime, he assembled the small slide that would be perfect for the living room.

The pizza arrived around 10:00PM, and there was a quick break. As they sat around the hangar, the Santa letter exchange happened. Wagner supplied blank papers with a printed Christmas border, and the parents swapped letters for others to write the replies. “This saved my ass one year,” Wagner shared. “My middle daughter was starting to question Santa, and boom - different handwriting. Got her for at least another year.” 

Around midnight, the squadron split into three sections - one to stay back and clean up the hanger, and two to deliver gifts and set up the presents. Bradley packed up his gifts and put them into the back of the Bronco. He was joined by three guys to set up a trampoline. Aided by headlamps, they were able to get it done in about an hour with only a few pinched fingers in the process, which was worth it to test it out. 

A trampoline was added to the Christmas list when Benny was a bit older. 

After touching base with Wagner, they headed to the second house to set up another trampoline before returning to the hangar. The third team left to assemble a swingset while they settled in to watch Die Hard for their last two hours on shift. 

Tucked away in his office, Bradley set about wrapping his last present. 

“Benny girl, look here!” you cooed, trying to get your daughter to look as you snapped pictures. Sitting in her father’s lap, she slapped the present in front of her and shrieked. Bradley laughed, quickly shifting his hold to wipe the drool from his wrist onto his sweatpants before retrieving his cup of coffee. Even with just two hours of sleep, he wasn’t willing to push back Christmas morning. After taking a sip, he set the mug down and took Benny’s hand, sliding it under the paper seam. Her hand flew up, ripping the paper.

“Good girl!” he chuckled, helping her tear the rest away to reveal stacking cups. It took about an hour to get through the presents, trading off the baby to get pictures. 

A small stack of presents surrounded you as Bradley opened his new electric razor. “Thanks, baby,” he said, crawling across the living room floor to kiss you. With one hand on Benny’s stomach to keep her upright in your lap, you cupped his cheek and ran your thumb along his scars.

“You’re welcome, babe. Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas.” Pushing onto his feet, he quickly shoved the wrapping paper into the trash bag and ran a hand through his hair. “That looks like almost everything.”

“Unless Santa left something somewhere in the back of a closet, it looks like we got it all.” 

“Hang on,” Bradley said, reaching around the back of the tree and retrieving a small box. “Looks like we missed one.” Holding it up, he glanced at the gift tag. “To Mommy, from Bennett.” 

“What?” Grinning, he sat down across from you and offered you the box, holding out his arms for the baby. A quick glance confirmed it was Bradley’s handwriting on the tag. “What’d you get me, Benny?” you asked, smiling as your daughter laughed when her father tickled her. Lifting it to your ear, you shook it gently and heard it rattle. Tearing away the paper, you laughed at the kid’s jewelry box. The ballerina twirled when you opened it to reveal a bunch of plastic necklaces, rings, and bracelets. “Oooh, fancy! I know what I’m wearing today,” you laughed, quickly putting on a pair of clip-on earrings and a necklace. 

“There’s a note,” Bradley said, leaning down to press his lips to Benny’s head. He looked a bit nervous.

And there was. Buried under the plastic was a folded-up piece of paper. Your mouth fell open when you read it.

I couldn’t get you jewelry this year, but Daddy could.

With wide eyes, you looked up to see Bradley grinning at you. “Open the drawer.” 

Slowly, you pulled the handle to reveal a diamond ring. “Bradley?”

“Will you marry me?” 

Later, when Bennett was asleep and the baby monitor was tossed onto the couch, Bradley watched the Christmas tree lights dance across your face as he took you apart slowly, savoring your taste. The ring sparkled on your finger when you pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans as you shook apart under him, thighs bracketing his ears. 

Kissing his way up your body, Bradley paused to suck on a tender nipple, groaning when your nails raked his scalp. The tree shook when he continued his ascent, knocking the lower branches as he tried to reach your lips. “Fuck.” 

Laughing, you lifted your head to meet his gaze and wiped your thumb along his mustache, feeling your arousal coating the coarse hair. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

“Merry Christmas, Mama. Now get out from under the tree so I can unwrap my present in bed and fuck you properly.” 

-------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: This was inspired by my dad and his squadron when we were stationed in Japan. He had to work overnight Christmas Eve and they ended up making a run to everyone's house on base to pick up gifts that needed to be set up. I definitely believed in Santa for another year when I didn't recognize the handwriting on the letter the Christmas morning.

The jewelry box and note are also pulled from real life. Dad went remote for a year (he was over in Korea and we were stateside) to ensure that we got orders to Florida, and came back just in time for Christmas. My sisters and I got mom the fake jewelry (we were all in high school/college) while Dad got Mom a new necklace.

Thank you for reading my (late) self-indulgent Christmas fic! I hope you enjoyed it, and my first foray into writing Rooster. And a major thank you to @mamachasesmayhem for encouraging me to write this, even if she's just dipping her toes into Bradley and would have preferred it to be Jake 😂

[anyalovesu]

hi!! i just wanted to say i loved your jungwon fic did you like her in the morning its so good! esp cause i love niki too like you literally had me crying at midnight. i was wondering if you had any plans on a part 2? you dont have to but i kinda had an idea of making it based on the song paths by niki and it will be in jungwons pov? maybe the reader became a famous figure skater and maybe an olympian and jungwon watches her from the screen thinking of what could’ve been. like maybe ae-cha and won’s relationship didn’t end well and jungwon regrets everything but hes so late. you can choose between a happy ending or not but this is just an idea! thank you sm again cause i really needed a cry

𝓟aths

—Wherein Jungwon's and Y/N's paths cross again in a common friend’s wedding.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

genre : angst ; hurt/comfort ( ??? )

pairings : jungwon x ex!reader ; sunghoon x fiancee!reader

wc : 2k+ words

cw :

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ oc(s) is mentioned ( ae-cha and miyeong )

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ non-idol!au ; gamedev!jungwon , olympic figureskater!reader

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ jungwon is still slightly an ass , but he gets over it and gets his shit together

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ y/n is still weirdly very nice for her own good

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ( ft. ning ning from aespa , riwoo from bnd ; heeseung & jake from en- )

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ not proofread ( yet )

song : paths - niki ( buzz , 2024 )

part 1 : here

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The sound of his mechanical keyboard clicking filled their office as he groaned in frustration trying to figure out what went wrong with the game they were developing. It wasn’t much help that almost everyone in their department was yapping about the Winter Olympics and how the country’s figure skating pair representatives came from the same university as their game development head. 

Jungwon was fully aware of your endeavors, you won several national titles with Sunghoon in the past year and it was no secret to anyone that your chemistry has evolved your partnership into a beautiful relationship. You were the country’s favorite couple at the moment, you and Sunghoon were on the news everywhere when you both were announced to be selected to compete for the Winter Olympics in Italy.

Of course, Jungwon was happy for you. As he should. You did nothing to stand in his way of his success. If anything, you have always been supportive of his game development dream—there was even a point in time where you’d stay up all night, looking for the best companies he could bag a great internship program for. But it was rendered short lived after he made his decisions. 

Him and Ae-cha managed to stay together for the next two years of their lives after what happened. After graduating, they went and bought a house together and even got engaged at some point. Jungwon was on top of the world and over the moon when all of those things laid themselves before his eyes… but life happened.

Things didn’t work out too well for the both of them with Jungwon being absorbed into this project, and Ae-cha being too busy with her community service as she began to work her way into competing for the Miss Universe title which then started to take a toll on their relationship, as Ae-cha is determined to win her title first before getting married. They used to fight so much about not having time and not being able to give their part of the relationship anymore—maybe that comes along with the fact that they have drifted far apart while they chased for the dreams that they were well aware that the other had. But one time, the fight got so bad that the both of them came into the point of questioning whether it was still right to stay in that horrid situation. They were as bad as being broken up anyway with the both of them barely seeing each other because of how busy they got. 

It wasn’t like they didn’t notice that they were drifting far apart from each other. They knew. They most definitely knew. But were they strong enough to face the truth that their relationship that came at the cost of someone else’s peace was going to waste? Were they brave enough to accept that after you forgave the both of them for breaking your heart, they were going to break each other’s next? No.

So for the love of everything good, they tried to make it work.

“Oh my God! They won!” Riwoo jumps from his seat, raising his phone proudly showing everyone the competition live stream, as if he was the one who won the title. “Gold! Jungwon! Your schoolmate won gold with Park Sunghoon!”

Jungwon decided to pick up his phone and check his social media accounts to see how the competition turned out. And there it was,

Milano-Cortina 2026: Park Sunghoon, Y/N L/N Receives Gold Medals in Artistic Pairs Figure Skating.

He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that you have finally reached your ultimate dream of competing in the Olympics and won gold for that matter. He knew you’ve always been passionate about skating, it just wasn’t something he was interested in back then. Even so, he was busy supporting Ae-cha to realize that he’s neglected you in the process. He has been unfair. He has been cruel to you and up until now that he and Ae-cha have gone their separate ways, the guilt still keeps him awake at night, like a monster in his closet when he was a kid waiting until all the nightlights are turned off before it jumps and mauls him.

It feels unfair and delusional of him to feel the need to reconnect, especially when she’s asked to never show his face to her again when the both of you last spoke, which was the day he picked up his belongings from your apartment. Either way, you were happy with Sunghoon and even after everything that happened, he still loved Ae-cha very much. Every insecurity about Ae-cha that you confessed two years ago is coming back to bite him in the ass because everytime he looks at Sunghoon, he just knows… that Sunghoon is everything he will never be.

“Holy shit, man! Park Sunghoon is proposing!”  Ning Ning rises in glee coming over to Riwoo to hit his arm repeatedly out of excitement. “Holy shit that is so cute!”

“Did she say yes?” Jungwon blurted out, making everyone’s eyes turn to him, suddenly curious as to why all of a sudden Jungwon was interested in what was going on in the competition. 

Of course they didn’t know you were Jungwon’s ex-girlfriend. None of them went to the same university so, without a doubt they would not know if he didn't bring it up. Plus, not letting them know would be for the best, as it could possibly taint Ae-cha’s rapidly rising career. It was for the better that they didn’t know. You guys agreed to keep your relationship private when you were together anyway, so it was no big deal that it remained private even when you guys broke up. 

“Of course, Y/N said yes!” Ning ning chimes at him. “They’ve been so in love since they were like competing against each other!”

Wrong. You loved Jungwon first. Before there was Sunghoon, Jungwon loved you first. He was there before him. Which was a stupid thing to think about because technically, Sunghoon was there before him. Sunghoon, albeit only being seen by you as a competitor or a partner, only exclusively saw you as a friend and you, the same for him.

Not that it still matters though. He fumbled and Sunghoon was there to make sure he wouldn’t make the same mistake as Jungwon did. So there he was on international TV, proposing to the love of his life, after they both just reached their dreams of winning the Olympics. 

“Good for them,” he lied. 

He could’ve had that. As enraging as it sounds, he once dreamed of marrying you too. He once imagined living in a house with tall fences and having dogs and a kid probably. However, as life happened, he began to see that world more clearly with Ae-cha. Now apparently, life happens in the most mysterious and fucked up ways, because everything fell apart and he lost Ae-cha in the process of it. 

Real love was an active thing to do and along with making good decisions, Jungwon has failed to do it. It wasn’t as easy as relaxing and sleeping next to them—it’s a constant thing to do that you continue feeling even when you get tired or even when you’re going through your lonely nights. 

Jungwon gets it now. And while he still has Ae-cha’s name written all over his heart,  it’s already too late.

Even Ae-cha has made her peace with all of these. And he should actively strive to do that too.

So, when Jungwon receives an email inviting him to a common friend’s wedding, he contemplates whether he has the stomach to be there even if the groom was his friend after finding out that you were going to be the bride’s maid of honor.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

It confused Jungwon as to why he didn’t feel uncomfortable in the presence of both his ex-girlfriend and his ex-fiancee in the same room as him. Maybe it really comes to a point where if most of the people involved have already had their peace with what happened, it doesn’t feel that hard to deal with anymore. 

“Jungwon!” It surprised him that Sunghoon was the first one to greet him. He had this light aura to him, Jungwon didn’t feel judged that he even showed up after everything that happened. Even you and Ae-cha were speaking. You seemed to be having a wonderful conversation with the bride as you guys danced with the bride on the dance floor.

“Hey man,” Jake, the groom, smiled at him, patting him on the back.

Two years have gone and past, and seeing all these, most of their college friends being around enjoying the night made him realize that he was the only one left to not accept how things happened—the only one left to not have peace with what was already in the past. He was bitter, even though he absolutely had no right to because he was the one making his problems in the first place. 

“I heard about the game,” Heeseung asks him, seemingly interested. “How’s that going?”

“Well,” he replies, completely avoiding looking behind him where the girls were having the time of their lives. “Still has a few more months before we send it out to some for beta testing. Congratulations on the wedding, Jake, by the way.”

“Miyeong and Y/N have been stressing about it for months now,” Jake chuckled at him, glancing at his wife fondly as she laughed, holding on to Y/N for support. “They were really trying to sort everything out before Y/N goes to compete in Italy.”

“Congrats on that too,” he turns to pat Sunghoon’s back “And your engagement.”

“Thanks man,” Sunghoon grinned at him. 

Jungwon could not feel but be left out. Most of the people around here have accomplished so much in two years since graduating, may it be in their home lives or their careers. While here he is, dwelling on the bitterness of him being stuck in his game development project that’s progressing slower than he expected, after him and Ae-cha called the wedding off. He couldn’t help but feel insecure.

“What happened to you and Ae-cha anyway?” Heeseung blurts out. “You were going so well.”

‘Doing so well’ was such a big fat lie. Everything was crumbling behind that facade and they had to keep it that way for Ae-cha’s image. 

“Ae-cha realized she doesn’t want to get married until she’s won her title,” he explained calmly. “We’re fine though. We’re still friends.”

“I’m sorry man,” and there it goes.

He didn’t want their conversation to turn into a mini pity party for him. They’re supposed to be celebrating the union of two important people in their lives that are too disgustingly in love with each other—not pitying him for his failed love life. He manages to excuse himself to get some fresh air and enjoy some silence after all the small talk he had to do with a bunch of acquaintances that he met during the reception.

On the other hand, you spot him sitting alone outside. You contemplated at first whether you should approach him or just leave him be. After all, you didn’t want to stir the pot and cause trouble over something that has already been peaceful for years now. 

“It would mean a lot if you could explain to him that you meant your forgiveness,” Ae-cha hummed next to her. “If that’s okay with you.”

Minutes ago, you found out about the called off engagement along with the whys and hows of the way things played out. As much as you hated to admit it, even from afar, you had caused the both of them to feel guilty for how you left things. Despite Ae-cha explaining that it was completely on them, you knew deep inside that Jungwon took it to heart that you never wanted to see him anymore. And yes, maybe at the time you said it, you really meant it to the bottom of your heart. You were desperate to find comfort and peace as soon as possible after it happened before your eyes. You did what you have to do and you’re glad that you did. But now that you’re older and wiser, you suppose it shouldn’t hurt to help someone find peace in it too, right?

“That's okay with you?” you glance up t Sunghoon’s tall figure now standing behind you.

“Doll, I already have our last names engraved on that ring on your finger,” he chuckled, always so confident, “I’m fine with it. I trust you, jagi.”

“Alright, let me get a drink first.”

You walked right up to him, with two glasses of Manhattan cocktail in your hand and settled next to him. 

“You should be inside there getting wasted with your brothers,” you chuckled at him, handing him the drink. “Moping around here isn’t going to give you the peace that you’re looking for.”

“I thought time would give me that peace,” he mumbled honestly. “Lousy motherfucker never gave me anything.”

“Sorry,” you blurted out. “I shut you and Ae-cha out of my life as soon as I could.”

“You were hurt,” he replied. “You had every right to do that.”

“I’m sorry because it affected you more than I thought it would. I didn’t say I regret doing it,” you laughed lightly, looking up at the clear sky, though the stars were blurry from all the light pollution coming from the hotel’s ballroom. “Leaving things behind sometimes gives you more comfort than you think it would.”

“Cha and I hurt you so much, Y/N. How can you just forgive that?”

“Well I’m not hurt about it anymore, Jungwon,” you sigh heavily. “I’m okay. You should be okay with it too because if not, you’d be dwelling over nothing and that’s going to hurt you more in the long run. It’s all in the past, Won. You still have the future to write however the fuck you want.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because the sooner you accept how things turned out the easier it will be for you. And it has been two years, Jungwon. I’m okay now. I’m getting married. I’ve forgiven you and Ae-cha a very long time ago. It’s about time you forgive yourself too.” Your voice was soft and understanding. For the record, it has always been like that. The only time he ever heard you raise your voice was the last time you guys spoke and it broke his heart to realize that he had caused that. “You’re never going to learn how to love Ae-cha unless you let go of what’s already said and done. You can do better. You can be a better person. The mistakes that you made when you didn’t know better doesn’t have to be who you are for the rest of your life.”

“It’s too late,” he replied, remembering that even if he does end up forgiving himself, Ae-cha has already called off the wedding.

“Ae-cha is literally just waiting for you to get your shit together, you dumbass,” you snort. If he wasn’t certain whether you were intoxicated a while ago, he’s sure as hell that you are now. “It’s hurting Ae-cha to see you dwell on it for so long that she had to step back for the meantime. Why else would she have agreed to your proposal if she didn’t want to marry you? For as far as I know she only said she didn’t want to get married until she got her Miss Universe title—which I’m sure as hell with your woman’s incredible brain and beauty, she will get as soon as she steps in that stage. She never said she didn’t want to marry you! She wants to be with you even when you’re a complete fucking airhead and could not take context clues for the life of you.”

“I’m still here,”  he replies. “I never left.”

“Which is the fucking problem, Yang Jungwon,” she rolled her eyes. “Get your ass up and get your girl back because I did not just leave my dapper, handsome, wonderful, great of a fuck, Olympic gold medalist soon-to-be husband just for you to sit here and act like a kicked puppy. Chug that shit down and get Ae-cha back you blithering idiot.”

The playful harshness in your tone managed to get through his lonely facade and made him laugh. He chugs Manhattan down and looks back at you.

“I’m glad our paths crossed again, Y/N.”

“That, I am glad for too,” you smile at him putting up your fist as he does the same to bump it with you. “Ae-cha deserves better. You can be a better person for Ae-cha, Jungwon.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Jungwon.”

—end.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

masterlist

a/n : i could not stop myself from writing this right away :') i enjoyed buzz so much and paths is another one of my favorites ( + heirloom pain lol ) i hope anon does not mind that i changed the plot a little bit hehe i tried to stick to it a as much as i could <3

( i'd appreciate your feedback and notes sm ! you can leave a note here or send it ur feedback here if you'd like ! )

thank u !

xo, anya ୨୧

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

Couch surfer in his 30s. Oscar winner in his 40s. Why the whole world wants Taika

**Notes: This is very long post!**

Good Weekend

In his 30s, he was sleeping on couches. By his 40s, he’d directed a Kiwi classic, taken a Marvel movie to billion-dollar success, and won an Oscar. Meet Taika Waititi, king of the oddball – and one of New Zealand’s most original creative exports.

Taika Waititi: “Be a nice person and live a good life. And just don’t be an arsehole.”

The good news? Taika Waititi is still alive. I wasn’t sure. The screen we were speaking through jolted savagely a few minutes ago, with a cacophonous bang and a confused yelp, then radio silence. Now the Kiwi ­ filmmaker is back, grinning like a loon: “I just broke the f---ing table, bro!”

Come again? “I just smashed this f---ing table and glass flew everywhere. It’s one of those old annoying colonial tables. It goes like this – see that?” Waititi says, holding up a folding furniture leg. “I hit the mechanism and it wasn’t locked. Anyway …”

I’m glad he’s fine. The stuff he’s been saying from his London hotel room could incur biblical wrath. We’re talking about his latest project, Next Goal Wins, a movie about the American Samoa soccer team’s quest to score a solitary goal, 10 years after suffering the worst loss in the game’s international history – a 31-0 ­ignominy to Australia – but our chat strays into ­spirituality, then faith, then religion.

“I don’t personally believe in a big guy sitting on a cloud judging everyone, but that’s just me,” Waititi says, deadpan. “Because I’m a grown-up.”

This is the way his interview answers often unfold. Waititi addresses your topic – dogma turns good people bad, he says, yet belief itself is worth lauding – but bookends every response with a conspiratorial nudge, wink, joke or poke. “Regardless of whether it’s some guy living on a cloud, or some other deity that you’ve made up – and they’re all made up – the message across the board is the same, and it’s important: Be a nice person, and live a good life. And just don’t be an arsehole!”

Not being an arsehole seems to have served Waititi, 48, well. Once a national treasure and indie darling (through the quirky tenderness of his breakout New Zealand films Boy in 2010 and Hunt for the Wilderpeople in 2016), Waititi then became a star of both the global box office (through his 2017 entry into the Marvel Universe, Thor: Ragnarok, which grossed more than $1.3 billion worldwide) and then the Academy Awards (winning the 2020 best adapted screenplay Oscar for his subversive Holocaust dramedy JoJo Rabbit, in which he played an imaginary Hitler).

Waititi playing Adolf Hitler in the 2019 movie JoJo Rabbit. (Alamy)

A handsome devil with undeniable roguish charm, Waititi also slid seamlessly into style-icon status (attending this year’s Met Gala shirtless, in a floor-length gunmetal-grey Atelier Prabal Gurung wrap coat, with pendulous pearl necklaces), as well as becoming his own brand (releasing an eponymous line of canned ­coffee drinks) and bona fide Hollywood A-lister (he was introduced to his second wife, British singer Rita Ora, by actor Robert Pattinson at a barbecue).

Putting that platform to use, Waititi is an Indigenous pioneer and mentor, too, co-creating the critically acclaimed TV series Reservation Dogs, while co-founding the Piki Films production company, committed to promoting the next generation of storytellers – a mission that might sound all weighty and worthy, yet Waititi’s new wave of First Nations work is never earnest, always mixing hurt with heart and howling humour.

Waititi with wife Rita Ora at the 2023 Met Gala in May. (Getty Images)

Makes sense. Waititi is a byproduct of “the weirdest coupling ever” – his late Maori father from the Te Whanau-a-Apanui tribe was an artist, farmer and “Satan’s Slaves” bikie gang founder, while his Wellington schoolteacher mum descended from Russian Jews, although he’s not devout about her faith. (“No, I don’t practise,” he confirms. “I’m just good at everything, straight away.”)

He’s remained loyally tethered to his ­origin story, too – and to a cadre of creative Kiwi mates, including actors Jemaine Clement and Rhys Darby – never forgetting that not long before the actor/writer/producer/director was an industry maven, he was a penniless painter/photographer/ musician/comedian.

With no set title and no fixed address, he’s seemingly happy to be everything, everywhere (to everyone) all at once. “‘The universe’ is bandied around a lot these days, but I do believe in the kind of connective tissue of the universe, and the energy that – scientifically – we are made up of a bunch of atoms that are bouncing around off each other, and some of the atoms are just squished together a bit tighter than others,” he says, smiling. “We’re all made of the same stardust, and that’s pretty special.”

-----------------------------------------------

We’ve caught Waititi in a somewhat relaxed moment, right before the screen actors’ and media artists’ strike ends. He’s ­sensitive to the struggle but doesn’t deny enjoying the break. “I spent a lot of time thinking about writing, and not writing, and having a nice ­holiday,” he tells Good Weekend. “Honestly, it was a good chance just to recombobulate.”

Waititi, at right, with Hunt for the Wilderpeople actors, from left, Sam Neill, Rhys Darby and Julian Dennison. (Getty Images)

It’s mid-October, and he’s just headed to Paris to watch his beloved All Blacks in the Rugby World Cup. He’s deeply obsessed with the game, and sport in general. “Humans spend all of our time knowing what’s going to happen with our day. There’s no surprises ­any more. We’ve become quite stagnant. And I think that’s why people love sport, because of the air of unpredictability,” he says. “It’s the last great arena entertainment.”

The main filmic touchstone for Next Goal Wins (which premieres in Australian cinemas on New Year’s Day) would be Cool Runnings (1993), the unlikely true story of a Jamaican bobsled team, but Waititi also draws from genre classics such as Any Given Sunday and Rocky, sampling trusted tropes like the musical training montage. (His best one is set to Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears.)

Filming in Hawaii was an uplifting experience for the self-­described Polynesian Jew. “It wasn’t about death, or people being cruel to each other. Thematically, it was this simple idea, of getting a small win, and winning the game wasn’t even their goal – their goal was to get a goal,” he says. “It was a really sweet backbone.”

Waititi understands this because, growing up, he was as much an athlete as a nerd, fooling around with softball and soccer before discovering rugby league, then union. “There’s something about doing exercise when you don’t know you’re doing exercise,” he enthuses. “It’s all about the fun of throwing a ball around and trying to achieve something together.” (Whenever Waititi is in Auckland he joins his mates in a long-running weekend game of touch rugby. “And then throughout the week I work out every day. Obviously. I mean, look at me.”)

Auckland is where his kids live, too, so he spends as much time there as possible. Waititi met his first wife, producer Chelsea Winstanley, on the set of Boy in 2010, and they had two daughters, Matewa Kiritapu, 8, and his firstborn, Te Kainga O’Te Hinekahu, 11. (The latter is a derivative of his grandmother’s name, but he jokes with American friends that it means “Resurrection of Tupac” or “Mazda RX7″) Waititi and Winstanley split in about 2018, and he married the pop star Ora in 2022.

He offers a novel method for balancing work with parenthood … “Look, you just abandon them, and know that the experience will make them harder individuals later on in life. And it’s their problem,” he says. “I’m going to give them all of the things that they need, and I’m going to leave behind a decent bank ­account for their therapy, and they will be just like me, and the cycle will continue.”

Jokes aside – I think he’s joking – school holidays are always his, and he brings the girls onto the set of every movie he makes. “They know enough not to get in the way or touch anything that looks like it could kill you, and they know to be respectful and quiet when they need to. But they’re just very comfortable around filmmakers, which I’m really happy about, because eventually I hope they will get into the ­industry. One more year,” he laughs, “then they can leave school and come work for Dad.”

Theirs is certainly a different childhood than his. Growing up, he was a product of two worlds. His given names, for instance, were based on his appearance at birth: “Taika David” if he looked Maori (after his Maori grandfather) and “David Taika” if he looked Pakeha (after his white grandfather). His parents split when he was five, so he bounced between his dad’s place in Waihau Bay, where he went by the surname Waititi, and his mum, eight hours drive away in Wellington, where he went by Cohen (the last name on his birth ­certificate and passport).

Waititi was precocious, even charismatic. His mother Robin once told Radio New Zealand that people always wanted to know him, even as an infant: “I’d be on a bus with him, and he was that kind of baby who smiled at people, and next thing you know they’re saying, ‘Can I hold your baby?’ He’s always been a charmer to the public eye.”

He describes himself as a cool, sporty, good-looking nerd, raised on whatever pop culture screened on the two TV channels New Zealand offered in the early 1980s, from M*A*S*H and Taxi to Eddie Murphy and Michael Jackson. He was well-read, too. When punished by his mum, he would likely be forced to analyse a set of William Blake poems.

He puts on a whimpering voice to describe their finances – “We didn’t have much monneeey” – explaining how his mum spent her days in the classroom but also worked in pubs, where he would sit sipping a raspberry lemonade, doodling drawings and writing stories. She took in ­ironing and cleaned houses; he would help out, learning valuable lessons he imparts to his kids. “And to random people who come to my house,” he says. “I’ll say, ‘Here’s a novel idea, wash this dish,’ but people don’t know how to do anything these days.”

“Every single character I’ve ever written has been based on someone I’ve known or met or a story I’ve stolen from someone.” - Taika Waititi

He loved entertaining others, clearly, but also himself, recording little improvised radio plays on a tape deck – his own offbeat versions of ET and Indiana Jones and Star Wars. “Great free stuff where you don’t have any idea what the story is as you’re doing it,” he says. “You’re just sort of making it up and enjoying the ­freedom of playing god in this world where you can make people and characters do whatever you want.”

His other sphere of influence lay in Raukokore, the tiny town where his father lived. Although Boy is not autobiographical, it’s deeply personal insofar as it’s filmed in the house where he grew up, and where he lived a life similar to that portrayed in the story, surrounded by his recurring archetypes: warm grandmothers and worldly kids; staunch, stoic mums; and silly, stunted men. “Every single character I’ve ever written has been based on someone I’ve known or met,” he says, “or a story I’ve stolen from someone.”

He grew to love drawing and painting, obsessed early on with reproducing the Sistine Chapel. During a 2011 TED Talk on creativity, Waititi describes his odd subject matter, from swastikas and fawns to a picture of an old lady going for a walk … upon a sword … with Robocop. “My father was an outsider artist, even though he wouldn’t know what that meant,” Waititi told the audience in Doha. “I love the naive. I love people who can see things through an innocent viewpoint. It’s inspiring.”

After winning Best Adapted Screenplay Academy Award for JoJo Rabbit in 2020. (Getty Images)

It was an interesting time in New Zealand, too – a coming-of-age decade in which the Maori were rediscovering their culture. His area was poor, “but only ­financially,” he says. “It’s very rich in terms of the ­people and the culture.” He learned kapa haka – the songs, dances and chants performed by competing tribes at cultural events, or to honour people at funerals and graduations – weddings, parties, ­anything. “Man, any excuse,” he explains. “A big part of doing them is to uplift your spirits.”

Photography was a passion, so I ask what he shot. “Just my penis. I sent them to people, but we didn’t have phones, so I would print them out, post them. One of the first dick pics,” he says. Actually, his lens was trained on regular people. He watches us still – in airports, ­restaurants. “Other times late at night, from a tree. Whatever it takes to get the story. You know that.”

He went to the Wellington state school Onslow College and did plays like Androcles and the Lion, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Crucible. His crew of arty students eventually ended up on stage at Bats Theatre in the city, where they would perform haphazard comedy shows for years.

“Taika was always rebellious and wild in his comedy, which I loved,” says his high school mate Jackie van Beek, who became a longtime collaborator, including working with Waititi on a Tourism New Zealand campaign this year. “I remember he went through a phase of turning up in bars around town wearing wigs, and you’d try and sit down and have a drink with him but he’d be doing some weird character that would invariably turn up in some show down the track.”

He met more like-minded peers at Victoria University, including Jemaine Clement (who’d later become co-creator of Flight of the Conchords). During a 2019 chat with actor Elijah Wood, Waititi ­describes he and Clement clocking one another from opposite sides of the library one day: a pair of Maoris experiencing hate at first sight, based on a mutual suspicion of cultural appropriation. (Clement was wearing a traditional tapa cloth Samoan shirt, and Waititi was like: “This motherf---er’s not Samoan.” Meanwhile, Waititi was wearing a Rastafarian beanie, and Clement was like, “This ­motherf---er’s not Jamaican.”)

With Jemaine Clement in 2014. (Getty Images)

But they eventually bonded over Blackadder and Fawlty Towers, and especially Kenny Everett, and did comedy shows together everywhere from Edinburgh to Melbourne. Waititi was almost itinerant, spending months at a time busking, or living in a commune in Berlin. He acted in a few small films, and then – while playing a stripper on a bad TV show – realised he wanted to try life behind the camera. “I became tired of being told what to do and ordered around,” he told Wellington’s Dominion Post in 2004. “I remember sitting around in the green room in my G-string ­thinking, ‘Why am I doing this? Just helping someone else to realise their dream.’ ”

He did two strong short films, then directed his first feature – Eagle vs Shark (2007) – when he was 32. He brought his mates along (Clement, starring with Waititi’s then-girlfriend Loren Horsley), setting something of a pattern in his career: hiring friends instead of constantly navigating new working relationships. “If you look at things I’m doing,” he tells me, “there’s ­always a few common denominators.”

Sam Neill says Waititi is the exemplar of a new New Zealand humour. “The basis of it is this: we’re just a little bit crap at things.”

This gang of collaborators shares a common Kiwi vibe, too, which his longtime friend, actor Rhys Darby, once coined “the comedy of the mundane”. Their new TV show, Our Flag Means Death, for example, leans heavily into the mundanity of pirate life – what happens on those long days at sea when the crew aren’t unsheathing swords from scabbards or burying treasure.

Waititi plays pirate captain Blackbeard, centre, in Our Flag Means Death, with Rhys Darby, left, and Rory Kinnear. (Google Images)

Sam Neill, who first met Waititi when starring in Hunt for the Wilderpeople, says Waititi is the exemplar of a new New Zealand humour. “And I think the basis of it is this,” says Neill. “We’re just a little bit crap at things, and that in itself is funny.” After all, Neill asks, what is What We Do in The Shadows (2014) if not a film (then later a TV show) about a bunch of vampires who are pretty crap at being vampires, ­living in a pretty crappy house, not quite getting busted by crappy local cops? “New Zealand often gets named as the least corrupt country in the world, and I think it’s just that we would be pretty crap at being corrupt,” Neill says. “We don’t have the capacity for it.”

Waititi’s whimsy also spurns the dominant on-screen oeuvre of his homeland – the so-called “cinema of ­unease” exemplified by the brutality of Once Were Warriors (1994) and the emotional peril of The Piano (1993). Waititi still explores pathos and pain, but through laughter and weirdness. “Taika feels to me like an ­antidote to that dark aspect, and a gift somehow,” Neill says. “And I’m grateful for that.”

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Something happened to Taika Waititi when he was about 11 – something he doesn’t go into with Good Weekend, but which he considered a betrayal by the adults in his life. He ­mentioned it only recently – not the ­moment itself, but the lesson he learnt: “That you cannot and must not rely on grown-ups to help you – you’re basically in the world alone, and you’re gonna die alone, and you’ve just gotta make it all for yourself,” he told Irish podcast host James Brown. “I basically never forgave people in positions of responsibility.”

What does that mean in his work? First, his finest films tend to reflect the clarity of mind possessed by children, and the unseen worlds they create – fantasies conjured up as a way to understand or overcome. (His mum once summed up the main ­message of Boy: “The ­unconditional love you get from your children, and how many of us waste that, and don’t know what we’ve got.”)

Second, he’s suited to movie-making – “Russian roulette with art” – because he’s drawn to disruptive force and chaos. And that in turn produces creative defiance: allowing him to reinvigorate the Marvel Universe by making superheroes fallible, or tell a Holocaust story by making fun of Hitler. “Whenever I have to deal with someone who’s a boss, or in charge, I challenge them,” he told Brown, “and I really do take whatever they say with a pinch of salt.”

It’s no surprise then that Waititi was comfortable leaping from independent films to the vast complexity of Hollywood blockbusters. He loves the challenge of coordinating a thousand interlocking parts, requiring an army of experts in vocations as diverse as construction, sound, art, performance and logistics. “I delegate a lot,” he says, “and share the load with a lot of people.”

“This is a cool concept, being able to ­afford whatever I want, as opposed to sleeping on couches until I was 35.” - Taika Waititi

But the buck stops with him. Time magazine named Waititi one of its Most Influential 100 People of 2022. “You can tell that a film was made by Taika Waititi the same way you can tell a piece was painted by Picasso,” wrote Sacha Baron Cohen. Compassionate but comic. Satirical but watchable. Rockstar but auteur. “Actually, sorry, but this guy’s really starting to piss me off,” Cohen concluded. “Can someone else write this piece?”

Directing Chris Hemsworth in 2017 in Thor: Ragnarok, which grossed more than $1.3 billion at the box office. (Alamy)

I’m curious to know how he stays grounded amid such adulation. Coming into the game late, he says, helped immensely. After all, Waititi was 40 by the time he left New Zealand to do Thor: Ragnarok. “If you let things go to your head, then it means you’ve struggled to find out who you are,” he says. “But I’ve always felt very comfortable with who I am.” Hollywood access and acclaim – and the pay cheques – don’t erase memories of poverty, either. “It’s more like, ‘Oh, this is a cool concept, being able to ­afford whatever I want, as opposed to sleeping on couches until I was 35.’ ” Small towns and strong tribes keep him in check, too. “You know you can’t piss around and be a fool, because you’re going to embarrass your family,” he says. “Hasn’t stopped me, though.”

Sam Neill says there was never any doubt Waititi would be able to steer a major movie with energy and imagination. “It’s no accident that the whole world wants Taika,” he says. “But his seductiveness comes with its own dangers. You can spread yourself a bit thin. The temptation will be to do more, more, more. That’ll be interesting to watch.”

Indeed, I find myself vicariously stressed out over the list of potential projects in Waititi’s future. A Roald Dahl animated series for Netflix. An Apple TV show based on the 1981 film Time Bandits. A sequel to What We Do In The Shadows. A reboot of Flash Gordon. A gonzo horror comedy, The Auteur, starring Jude Law. Adapting a cult graphic novel, The Incal, as a feature. A streaming series based on the novel Interior Chinatown. A film based on a Kazuo Ishiguro bestseller. Plus bringing to life the wildly popular Akira comic books. Oh, and for good measure, a new instalment of Star Wars, which he’s already warned the world will be … different.

“It’s going to change things,” he told Good Morning America. “It’s going to change what you guys know and expect.”

Did I say I was stressed for Waititi? I meant physically sick.

“Well…” he qualifies, “some of those things I’m just producing, so I come up with an idea or someone comes to me with an idea, and I shape how ‘it’s this kind of show’ and ‘here’s how we can get it made.’ It’s easier for me to have a part in those things and feel like I’ve had a meaningful role in the creative process, but also not having to do what I’ve always done, which is trying to control everything.”

In the 2014 mockumentary horror film What We Do in the Shadows, which he co-directed with Jemaine Clement. (Alamy)

What about moving away from the niche New Zealand settings he represented so well in his early work? How does he stay connected to his roots? “I think you just need to know where you’re from,” he says, “and just don’t forget that.”

They certainly haven’t forgotten him.

Jasmin McSweeney sits in her office at the New Zealand Film Commission in Wellington, surrounded by promotional posters Waititi signed for her two decades ago, when she was tasked with promoting his nascent talent. Now the organisation’s marketing chief, she talks to me after visiting the heart of thriving “Wellywood”, overseeing the traditional karakia prayer on the set of a new movie starring Geoffrey Rush.

Waititi isn’t the first great Kiwi filmmaker – dual Oscar-winner Jane Campion and blockbuster king Peter Jackson come to mind – yet his particular ascendance, she says, has spurred unparalleled enthusiasm. “Taika gave everyone here confidence. He always says, ‘Don’t sit around waiting for people to say, you can do this.’ Just do it, because he just did it. That’s the Taika effect.”

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Taika David Waititi is known for wearing everything from technicolour dreamcoats to pineapple print rompers, and today he’s wearing a roomy teal and white Isabel Marant jumper. The mohair garment has the same wispy frizz as his hair, which curls like a wave of grey steel wool, and connects with a shorn salty beard.

A stylish silver fox, it wouldn’t surprise anyone if he suddenly announced he was launching a fashion label. He’s definitely a commercial animal, to the point of directing television commercials for Coke and Amazon, along with a fabulous 2023 spot for Belvedere vodka starring Daniel Craig. He also joined forces with a beverage company in Finland (where “taika” means “magic”) to release his coffee drinks. Announcing the partnership on social media, he flagged that he would be doing more of this kind of stuff, too (“Soz not soz”).

Waititi has long been sick of reverent portrayals of Indigenous people talking to spirits.

There’s substance behind the swank. Fashion is a creative outlet but he’s also bought sewing machines in the past with the intention of designing and making clothes, and comes from a family of tailors. “I learnt how to sew a button on when I was very young,” he says. “I learnt how to fix holes or patches in your clothes, and darn things.”

And while he gallivants around the globe watching Wimbledon or modelling for Hermès at New York Fashion Week, all that glamour belies a depth of purpose, particularly when it comes to Indigenous representation.

There’s a moment in his new movie where a Samoan player realises that their Dutch coach, played by Michael Fassbender, is emotionally struggling, and he offers a lament for white people: “They need us.” I can’t help but think Waititi meant something more by that line – maybe that First Nations people have ­wisdom to offer if others will just listen?

“Weeelllll, a little bit …” he says – but from his intonation, and what he says next, I’m dead wrong. Waititi has long been sick of reverent ­portrayals of Indigenous people talking to kehua (spirits), or riding a ghost waka (phantom canoe), or playing a flute on a mountain. “Always the boring characters,” he says. “They’ve got no real contemporary relationship with the world, because they’re always living in the past in their spiritual ways.”

A scene from Next Goal Wins, filmed earlier this year. (Alamy)

He’s part of a vanguard consciously poking fun at those stereotypes. Another is the Navajo writer and director Billy Luther, who met Waititi at Sundance Film Festival back in 2003, along with Reservation Dogs co-creator Sterlin Harjo. “We were this group of outsiders trying to make films, when nobody was really biting,” says Luther. “It was a different time. The really cool thing about it now is we’re all working. We persevered. We didn’t give up. We slept on each other’s couches and hung out. It’s like family.”

Waititi has power now, and is known for using Indigenous interns wherever possible (“because there weren’t those opportunities when I was growing up”), making important introductions, offering feedback on scripts, and lending his name to projects through executive producer credits, too, which he did for Luther’s new feature film, Frybread Face and Me (2023).

He called Luther back from the set of Thor: Love and Thunder (2022) to offer advice on working with child actors – “Don’t box them into the characters you’ve ­created,” he said, “let them naturally figure it out on their own” – but it’s definitely harder to get Waititi on the phone these days. “He’s a little bitch,” Luther says, laughing. “Nah, there’s nothing like him. He’s a genius. You just knew he was going to be something. I just knew it. He’s my brother.“

I’ve been asked to explicitly avoid political questions in this interview, probably because Waititi tends to back so many causes, from child poverty and teenage suicide to a campaign protesting offshore gas and oil exploration near his tribal lands. But it’s hard to ignore his recent Instagram post, sharing a viral video about the Voice to Parliament referendum starring Indigenous Aussie rapper Adam Briggs. After all, we speak only two days after the proposal is defeated. “Yeah, sad to say but, Australia, you really shat the bed on that one,” Waititi says, pausing. “But go see my movie!”

About that movie – the early reviews aren’t great. IndieWire called it a misfire, too wrapped in its quirks to develop its arcs, with Waititi’s directorial voice drowning out his characters, while The Guardian called it “a shoddily made and strikingly unfunny attempt to tell an interesting story in an uninteresting way”. I want to know how he moves past that kind of criticism. “For a start, I never read reviews,” he says, concerned only with the opinion of people who paid for admission, never professional appraisals. “It’s not important to me. I know I’m good at what I do.”

Criticism that Indigenous concepts weren’t sufficiently explained in Next Goal Wins gets his back up a little, though. The film’s protagonist, Jaiyah Saelua, the first transgender football player in a FIFA World Cup qualifying match, is fa’afafine – an American Samoan identifier for someone with fluid genders – but there wasn’t much exposition of this concept in the film. “That’s not my job,” Waititi says. “It’s not a movie where I have to explain every facet of Samoan culture to an audience. Our job is to retain our culture, and present a story that’s inherently Polynesian, and if you don’t like it, you can go and watch any number of those other movies out there, 99 per cent of which are terrible.”

*notes: (there is video clip in the article)

Waititi sounds momentarily cranky, but he’s mostly unflappable and hilarious. He’s the kind of guy who prefers “Correctumundo bro!” to “Yes”. When our video connection is too laggy, he plays up to it by periodically pretending to be frozen, sitting perfectly still, mouth open, his big shifting eyeballs the only giveaway.

He’s at his best on set. Saelua sat next to him in Honolulu while filming the joyous soccer sequences. “He’s so chill. He just let the actors do their thing, giving them creative freedom, barely interjecting unless it was something important. His style matches the vibe of the Pacific people. We’re a very funny people. We like to laugh. He just fit perfectly.”

People do seem to love working alongside him, citing his ability to make productions fresh and unpredictable and funny. Chris Hemsworth once said that Waititi’s favourite gag is to “forget” that his microphone is switched on, so he can go on a pantomime rant for all to hear – usually about his disastrous Australian lead actor – only to “remember” that he’s wired and the whole crew is listening.

“I wouldn’t know about that, because I don’t listen to what other people say about anything – I’ve told you this,” Waititi says. “I just try to have fun when there’s time to have fun. And when you do that, and you bring people together, they’re more willing to go the extra mile for you, and they’re more willing to believe in the thing that you’re trying to do.”

Yes, he plays music between takes, and dances out of his director’s chair, but it’s really all about relaxing amid the immense pressure and intense privilege of making movies. “Do you know how hard it is just to get anything financed or green-lit, then getting a crew, ­getting producers to put all the pieces together, and then making it to set?” Waititi asks. “It’s a real gift, even to be working, and I feel like I have to remind ­people of that: enjoy this moment.”

Source: The Age

By: Konrad Marshall (December 1, 2023)

[tagamantra]

Turning The Wheel

For SUNDANG RPG, I wanted to write a different kind of turn-based system. I stand on the shoulders of giants: PbtA’s Conversation-As-Procedure and “No Combat Minigame.” My goal was to make a battle system that had the free flowing, no-minigame feel of a PbtA/FitD game, but had a bit more structure to satisfy the action-heads.

One of the bigger inspirations for revolutionizing the turn-system is my obsession with The Raid: Redemption and The Raid 2, two seminal Silat films that have some of the best action sequences and choreographies in all of cinema. To me, it stands among Police Story 2 and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon as the current peak of cinematic action.

A few things to lay down to help center the thought-processes I had:

I am of a theater-academic background. My fascination and hyperfixation on RPGs stems wholly from the Role-Playing aspect. My friend group loves to extract stories and narratives from gameplay loops, but we want to Role-Play In A World first and foremost.

Therefore, I value the Role-Playing Experience above everything else. This is no doubt colored and informed by what RPGs I began with: Vampire: The Masquerade and Mage: the Ascension. RPGs are world-portals to me, ways to experience, interact, and interrogate realities.

I don’t consider Mechanics to be separate from the “Fiction”. I might even deem a game’s rules to be the “Infrafiction,” the Fiction underneath everything else that arises from a game. The Fiction that demands to be told. The specter that suffuses every rules interaction.

Tangent: This idea was first spurred on because of idle daydreams while playing and finishing my current run of Final Fantasy XII. For those that don’t know, Final Fantasy XII has the ADB or Active Dimension Battle System (which is funny because ADB is also the acronym for Asia Development Bank, one of the major enemies of National Industrialization in the Philippines). ADB is the evolution of the popular ATB battle system or the Active Time Battle System. It’s called ADB because you aren’t squared off into a different screen when you enter combat. Instead, you go into combat as you’re exploring the world. Combat and Dungeon segregation barriers are effectively destroyed. This is actually one of the reasons why I love FFXII so much, and so much of what FFXII worked is what I also love from its CRPG contemporaries such as Star Wars: The Knights of the Old Republic and Dragon Age: Origins. (It’s also very similar to the Combat System found in Xenoblade!)

So for SUNDANG, I had the following goals for combat and turn “order”:

Non-Minigame Combat, or Nondivided Combat Mechanics from the rest of the world/Conversation, taking inspiration from ADB.

No “Turns” just continuous “Action.”

Never-Not-Your-Turn vibe.

Skill-Based Combat.

Brutal, dangerous combat. Skull-cracking, bone-twisting, blood-drawing. Thrilling in the sense that a Horror movie is. A horror movie with wuxia protagonists.

The Action

Action Economy is when, on your turn, you have a number of “Actions” that you can do, and you cannot do anything beyond the number of actions (of course you can do anything which you can justify as an action). This will define not just how your character moves in combat, but how they think of themselves throughout their progression. The most common form of Action Economy is “Move + Action” as seen in most d20 games, especially D&D 5e.

One of the very first things that I’ve had to unattach myself from is the Action Economy. One thing I noticed while developing SUNDANG was that every aspect of the game mechanics felt like it had to justify itself within the Action Economy. This was problematic to me for 2 aspects:

It centered combat completely. Since Action Economy only really mattered in combat, every little trinket that I had to write suddenly had to have some sort of interaction that could be done when you pressed the “Interact” action during combat.

It required “mechanization.” One of the major ideas I had for SUNDANG was to provide a mechanical base that centered on the gamization of the “fluff” without the designer having had a hand in it. If something said “This is a mallet, useful for evening out dinks and repairing machineries” it should be able to be used for that without having to interact with a subsystem. Through this, we annihilate barriers between “fluff” and mechanics, creating a more “immersive” world-space that is more conducive to Role-Playing.

While nothing is wrong with something requiring mechanization, I want it to be as invisible as possible, hence why the mechanical base of SUNDANG is built for such an experience: at creating an immersive interactive world.

One of my problems with Action Economy is that combat becomes about Action Economy. This is a problem that you can see so deeply within some of my favorite games: Final Fantasy Tactics, Tactics Ogre, and Final Fantasy XII all have Speed Stats that are affected by Weight, etc. Since having more “turns” is infinitely valuable in a game about getting more chances to reduce an opponent’s HP to 0, Speed-generating strats dominated those games’ upper mechanical ceiling.

While I think that’s cool, it’s not what I wanted to do with SUNDANG. It makes strange mechanical repercussions, dominations of certain strategies and therefore a larger gap between what is used and what is not used. I don’t want to make a game where you have to “solve” it through buildcrafting. I wanted to make a game where you can express yourself in.

So, away with the Action Economy. What do you do on the turn now?

The Turn

“On your turn, you can do X and Y.” This is the basic assumption in most RPGs. In OSR and NSR games this is the common assumption as well. Move + Action is elegant, simple, and gets things moving along. It gets the system out of the way so people can keep focusing on the fiction.

More importantly, the Turn splits combat into every acting character within the current situation, context, or scene. Gives everyone a chance to act. Pins everything down into spacetime.

For SUNDANG, this was not the vibe I wanted to give off. It felt too spartan, in a way. I wanted people to be constantly moving, constantly turning. More importantly, as the RPG is a player-facing medium, I want there to be the vibe of “never-not-your-turn.” This is a problem I face with much of my past RPGs and with other combat-heavy RPGs.

You take your turn and then you sit back and wait for your next one. If you’re invested in the game, you watch as the situation and gamestate changes. If not, you wait until someone calls you out and then you ask what has happened and what has changed. In all honesty, my position is that this is not a bad game design quirk. In fact, if you design around it, it could be a good quirk. Being able to do something while it’s not your turn helps a lot with Attention Deficiencies, for example.

But this isn’t something I wanted to do with SUNDANG. I wanted it to be Never-Not-Your-Turn.

So I stole a bit from Fire Emblem. There, in Fire Emblem, a “Turn” isn’t a single character’s turn to move, but rather, an advancement of the combat time-space. You often have objectives where you have to “Rout Enemy In 40 Turns” or something along those lines.

So I revolutionized how I thought about Turns. What if Turns weren’t each individual being’s turn, but an entire group of people’s turns? Now this is phase-based or side-based initiative, common (and good! I actually love side-based initiative) in OSR games. It’s very wargame-y and, honestly, conducive to strategy. But that’s not what I wanted to do here.

So I turned the Wheel again. What if Turns were chunks of time in a combat? What if turns were just Rounds? Often, the existence of a combat minigame is so that people can “zoom-in” into the action, because this is a matter of life or death! You can get killed here! Hence why we zoom in, stop time, focus on the details because the details means the difference between kill or be killed.

So I focused on that aspect.

Turn The Wheel

In PbtA, one of the major schools of RPG Design that I profess to have arisen from, combat doesn’t have a “Turn System” or a “Combat System.” Instead, it flows naturally from the conversation. It is contiguous to the rest of the system, not requiring special attention. What you can do in normal roleplaying, you can do in combat! That’s what that meant. When you sequester combat away into a new set of rules, you implicitly change the game unless you explicitly design for it to be a microcosm of the game’s already existing rules. Due to this change, I believe the mindset then becomes that you have to play the game according to this new set of rules unless you’re particularly good at improv-ing or are some form of designer/GM yourself.

I wanted that. So SUNDANG’s “turn system” has no Action Economy, no Initiative, no Reaction (no Reactionaries!) When you want to do something, do it. But it will most likely require a roll, and it will change the state of the situation.Everything has an equal amount of appropriate consequences. This is already how PbtA “combat” goes, since it’s not separate from the Conversation, the combat is also a conversation. You do something, the world does something, you react to that, then the world reacts to that, and so on.

I therefore fused the “Turns as divisions of action space-time” and “Combat-as-Conversation.”

A lot of this clicked after listening to a Robert Kurvitz interview about how he wanted to do Skill-Based Combat Scenes. Which aligned with what I wanted to do. Check it out!

For arguments of space, such as movement rates, the normal movement rate is 5 tails (roughly, 25 feet) per second. One can then infer how much a character can move in a single Turn through that as well as the modifying, environmental factors (harsh terrain, labyrinths, and so on). This allows it to be played on a Grid with the Grid as a space-representer, with shifting distance-scales for each grid square. The more interesting consequence is that, when you move, what about the world that's actively trying against you? That will then necessitate a Check, making even movement volatile and situation-changing. 

Turn-Based Combat: Never-Not-Your-Turn

First off the bat, this conception of Turn-Based Combat arises also from Clocks and Skill Challenges. The difference is largely the Presentation, mentality, and structure.

Additionally, SUNDANG’s Skill System is integral to this conception of combat. SUNDANG is a 24-Skill System inspired by the likes of Artesia: Adventures in the Known World and Runequest, where the majority of the Skills are not even combat-focused Skills, which color a player’s expectations for how combat could go (why be chained to the 3-4 Combat Skills when you can potentially agitate your Creativity to try and use the rest of them?)

So in SUNDANG, Turn-Based Combat is as follows:

If you enter into a situation wherein life-or-death is in the details, set up a 4-, 6-, or 8-segmented circle, known as The Wheel. Segment it according to the time you have left.

Find something within the world to be the temporal anchor, the World-Time. It could be the moving train, the skyskiff (that you might or might not be on at that moment!) plummeting into city streets, the wheels of a horse-carriage heading into a crash, the juggernaut battering ram barreling through enemy trenches. You can use this to lengthen the timescale of a battle. A day-long duel between two masters might have the Sun as their World-Time.

Turn 1 begins when you point at one segment and say it does. During a Turn, all the relevant PCs must do something.When they do something, the world then does something back. As always, this is just the conversation. When a PC goes and swordstrikes a pirate captain, the pirate captain will probably swordstrike back (dealing damage if that’s the PC’s consequence or threatening damage if not). Keep the conversation going.

When all the PCs have done something, mark out that segment of the Wheel. Turn to the next one adjacent to it, and say “Turn 2.” This is called Turning The Wheel. When you Turn The Wheel, before the PCs do anything, describe how the temporal anchor moves forward in time, and ascertain the consequences of that happening:

The skyskiff breaks through the high-rises. (Now there are potential people watching, now there are potential casualties, and so on.)

The horse carriage bumps against a tree and barrels closer to the cliff. (The carriage might have chunks broken off, some combatants might be knocked off, and so on.)

The Sun begins to sink into the horizon. (Dark becomes to impair vision, a nocturnal sea predator might breach soon, and so on.)

The juggernaut battering ram flies over enemy heads and moves closer to the city walls (there might be some warriors firing projectiles at you now, and so on.)

Finally, when all the segments are filled, a Revolution happens. Something Big. Throw away that Wheel. The situation changes. It has to. That’s the only real thing in this world.

The skyskiff crashes into the city plaza.

The horse carriage flies off the cliff.

The Sun sinks completely into the sea, ushering darkness.

The battering ram slams into the city walls and breaks it open.

Often, this change in situation ends Violence. You have to deal with the consequences now. In SUNDANG, you get XP for surviving Violence, not winning it. But SUNDANG is also a wuxia-western-silat game of wandering justicemakers and hotshot swordsmen. If this happens, set up another Wheel and choose another world-time.

You somehow survive the crash, and now must fight in the city plaza amongst hundreds of watchers.

The horse carriage plummets into a jade jungle, and you must fight upon its descending carcass.

The Moon rises now, as the fight continues on.

The King’s Man-At-Arms now charge toward the juggernaut to swarm and destroy it, with you still inside it.

The Violence continues. Deal with the consequences of your actions. Look forward to another Revolution.

If this piqued your interest, SUNDANG is currently out on my Patreon and I'm running pseudo-playtests of it on the Patreon Discord!

[corpish]

NEW ASK GAME BUT IT’S JUST ICEBREAKER QUESTIONS I KEEP IN MY NOTES APP

Which to you is more accurately the opposite of fire: water, no fire, or some third thing?

You’re a monkey in Harry Harlow’s experiment. Which mother are you choosing: cloth mother or wire mother?

If you could project anything anonymously onto a large Times Square ad screen, what would you project?

Would you rather be a late night host or daytime host?

Does a nameless horse make you more nervous or less nervous than a named horse?

If you could build a tennis court of any one surface, which surface should that be?

If you could design the flag for a nation, what color or colors would predominate?

If it might be fairly said that you have hopes and fears, would you say you have more hopes than fears, or more fears than hopes?

Between an automobile mechanic and a clinical psychologist, which is worth more to you per hour?

What in your view is the ideal complexion for a cow?

Are you able to envision what you and your life could look like when you’re elderly?

If asked, could you define the words casserole and custard?

Provided you were given assurances that you would not be harmed by associating with or being in the presence of either, would you rather spend time with a serial killer or a political exile?

If asked, could you correctly state whether a bog or a fen is more acidic or alkaline than the other?

Do you know the distinctions, empirical or theoretical, between moss and lichen?

If we somehow went back in time, would you have the slightest idea of how to reinvent the radio?

Do you prefer plush or feather pillows?

How many pull-ups can you do?

If it weren’t required that the photos be publicized in any way, would you do a professional nude photoshoot?

Have you thought about who and what will go in your will?

What’s a word, phrase, or acronym you’ve had to search up on Urban Dictionary?

Do you put a line through your 7s and/or Zs?

How do you take your medicine: take the pill and then drink or drink the drink and then take the pill?

If you were on a date with yourself, what quality about yourself would you struggle with in a conversation?

What niche political topic or cause are you passionate about?

Have you ever considered being a sperm or egg donor?

If you were to do an Actors on Actors-inspired interview with someone from your own life, with whom would you want to do it?

Do you consider it reasonable or shady to forget a friend’s birthday?

Where do you draw the line for your Close Friends story on Instagram?

If you were on the Bachelor/Bachelorette what would you plan for your hometown date?

What’s your earliest memory of stanning your favorite music artist?

What contribution to society do you feel like you should be recognized for?

[primnroses]

Hello, do you have a post explaining technology in the naruto universe? It seems to be inconsistent.

It is pretty inconsistent and I think it's not used properly for the amount of technological advances they've made because in Boruto it becomes bogus. I'm gonna give you some examples but a lot of these are used 24/7 so I'm just gonna use one image.

Konoha, as well as the rest of villages (Kumogakure is said to be the most advanced technologically), have everyday life technology that we use in the real world. Pretty much everything is mechanized in Boruto's shinobi world.

1. TELEVISION AND LIVE STREAMING, AND SUBSEQUENTLY, CAMERAS:

Both Kakashi's Team 7 and Team Minato took team pictures, which means the predecessor of their modern cameras existed at least since the era of the Third Hokage, early term.

Naruto chapter 16.

They've been using television screens to broadcast live images from the Chūnin Exams back when Team 7 were genin. Gaara even looks at the television, which means there are also cameras, obviously, because they mention videotape. They also have VCR.

Naruto chapter 58.

Sasuke had a television at home, so all those interview programs that Naruto got invited too in Boruto were also a thing at least twenty years before it all. Later, everybody has a television at home, Naruto and Sakura have some more modern plasma screens.

Not to mention Konoha has screens all over their plaza in Boruto.

Naruto chapter 181 and Naruto Gaiden chapter 1.

Livestreaming wasn't just a Konoha thing, every single nation had televisions, cameras and they powered them using some special batteries as well. they also have those satellite dishes on top of buildings for broadcast.

Naruto chapter 488.

The livestreaming is actually pretty useful for daimyō conferences and emergency Gokage Summits.

The Last: Naruto the Movie and Boruto chapter 57.

2. COMPUTERS, TABLETS AND VIDEOGAMES:

I don't think I need to delve into this one too much because it's clear that in Boruto people now work using desktop computers and laptops everyday. Naruto has a laptop, the Scientific Ninja Tools obviously have multiple computers, many of Konoha's teams and departments also use laptops, Boruto has a desktop in his room, etc.

Naruto chapter 700 and Boruto episode 219.

They also have tablets and even videogame consoles have also become available in modern Konoha.

Boruto episode 211 and Boruto: Naruto the Movie.

Of course, since Naruto, there have been several machines used for health and recovery and DNA machines, etc. Or machines to facilitate mind reading as well.

3. TELEPHONES, INSTANT COMMUNICATION AND RADIO:

Phones and landlines became available after Naruto became Hokage and they're used pretty much all the time. Apparently mobile phones also exist but the information is very ambiguous because I don't recall ever seeing one, though Naruto mentions Sasuke has one depending on the translation.

Naruto Gaiden chapter 2.

Wireless radio are also very commonly used in Naruto during missions and they even evolved during the 2 year timeskip. They cover at least 1km from the shinobi's position.

Naruto chapters 9 and 263.

They have become kinda obsolete in Boruto for no reason, but they were used at least in Boruto: Naruto the Movie and the early chapters of Boruto.

It's mentioned that it's not reliable for long distance communication, but the new device is at least covering more area since Konohamaru is somewhere in the Land of Fire talking to Konoha.

I don't recall them ever using it again, which is bogus because the new radio is very modern and small so it's easy to carry even without realizing, so I don't know why everybody in Konoha don't use it if they want to forego the landlines.

Boruto chapter 16.

Konoha, as well as the Allied Shinobi Forces, used special Chakra Communication Devices or telepathy devices for mass distance communication with machines of all sizes.

The Intelligence Division and Yin users (mental energy which is the base of mind related techniques) used it to share messages from across countries to eighty thousand shinobi, as the different divisions were scattered everywhere in the Land of Lightning and other countries.

Naruto chapter 521.

I talk more about it here since this is one of the most used technological devices in Konoha.

Naruto chapter 520.

Konoha also uses a more modern version of this device in their Barrier Team to notify people of intruders. They also use computers, screens and all technology mentioned above.

Similar to the wireless radios, I don't understand why Konoha hasn't made a smaller version of this for everybody to use if they want to forego telephones.

Boruto chapter 81.

Despite the technology, Sasuke still uses his hawks for example, or Naruto sends shinobi to other villages to dispatch more confidential information. Also, I'm not sure why they haven't made more practical and smaller devices for shinobi to use or why they decided to stop using some technology.

Now the shinobi gauntlet is another story because I don't understand why they're trying to sell it as some groundbreaking invention when it's just ninjutsu sealed inside scrolls. Fūinjutsu is used to seal anything, chakra, objects, ninjutsu, even life forms.

I know they are used to seal hiden jutsu as well but it's still nonsensical because Jiraiya can even seal Amaterasu inside scrolls, and Amaterasu is a Kekkei Genkai so it can't be imitated.

[galaxygirl-katie27]

Rio/Merag Redesign

Click for better quality!

More notes about the Redesign under the cut!

-Okay, first of all- BURN SCRAS. Queen was so long in the hospital after her fire accident, completely wrapped in bandages and there is literally nothing showing?? No, girl is a survivor and it shows. If the writers decide to put her in the hospital for like 75% of her screen time, then at least show the consequences that came out of it. She also can’t completely open her left eye anymore. It’s not blind, she just can’t completely open it.

-She also has PTSD from the incident and is afraid of fire ever since. She can stand it with loved ones around, but she‘ll never go alone near a fire again, because it gives her major flashbacks. (Rio isn‘t the only barian with PTSD. Honestly I think all of them have it, some more so than others for different reasons.)

-She is also officially a jock girl. We saw her rock every sport possible at school. I think in my redesign, she wouldn’t be in the drama club, but in a sports club, like football or basketball (probably even being captain). And for those wondering what her shirt says, it says „Heartland Academy“. The 48 actually being related to her star Merak.

-Although she is a confident queen, she still has some demons to deal with and isn’t really comfortable with showing ALL her scars (hence the sport leggings under her shorts). It actually took her a lot of time to go out again after being released from the hospital. But with the help of her family, especially Ryouga and Durbe and her friends, she‘s slowly healing.

-I also headcanon her as a lesbian. I confess to being a Rio x Anna shipper. Especially after seeing prompts and fanart of them bonding over burn and explosion scars. Love me some mechanic and jock lesbians.

-I think the Greek nationality explains itself, since she‘s Ryouga‘s twin. So if you want my reasoning for that, check out my Ryouga/Nasch redesign.

-Of course she has the sibling ring and the friendship bracelet with Ryouga and Durbe.

-Now to Merag. I tried to make her look like her barian form and also using lighter colours for her, since I used darker ones for Nasch. Also gave her the tiara she has in her barian form, because she is ROYALTY.

-I also gave Merag actually short hair and a long veil, to kinda give the illusion of long hair, because back then it was unusual for women to wear short hair. But she wanted it short, because she also practises sword fighting. Durbe was teaching her in private. She‘s actually better than Nasch at it and always kicks his ass in (sword) duels. This could also be a reason, why Rio is so frustrated at losing to Ryouga in card game duels. Because her soul was so used to winning against him.

-SHE‘S AN ORACLE. She was bestowed the gift of foresight by Apollo. She gets visions of the future. It’s mostly why she became head priestess. She also got them way less, when being reborn, because she and her soul had to get used to regularly getting future visions again. They could be big visions, like enemy‘s approaching or just small things. Like in the middle of doing something she suddenly spaces out before saying: „Oh my Abyss, Vector is going to fall down on the parking lot in 10 minutes, I gotta see that-“