#kind of want to make it cohesive though

[arainesque]

should I drop a selection of my 20 pins of george + dogs

[getosugurusbangs]

what if i said i actually love too weird to live, too rare to die and think it’s underrated. what then.

[gothsuguru]

getting an iced pumpkin chai in the morning and then my personal goal is to spend the whole day writing and i hope i can come back to this post tomorrow and rb w how much progress i’ve made!!!

[cryptids]

ok I know Danzo and Jiraiya are always at the top of everyone's worst Naruto character lists, but I actually think its unfair to put them on the same level because they are the worst in completely different ways......... like Danzo was horrible and responsible for so many atrocities, but he was written to be that way and we're supposed to see him as a bad person. Meanwhile Jiraiya is written as a hero and all of the shit he does that makes him the worst is just excused or ignored by the narrative. like his creepy behaviour towards women is played off as jokes, his unecessary harshness with Naruto on several occasions then not teaching him literally anything during the 3yr gap is just totally ignored, stealing money from Naruto just gets immediately forgotten about and he doesn't even act like it's something to apologise for (and not even promising to pay him back when it was his entire savings?? girl...). Like Jiraiya is so annoying because none of his flaws are ever addressed and bc the writing expects us to like him, when he's just super unlikeable to everyone except like a handful of people lmao. Meanwhile Danzo's crimes are far worse, but he's actually a well written villain imo and all the hatred people feel for him is the intended response we're supposed to be having

[wyrmalien]

beast taking shape

[ragingbookdragon]

It comes as somewhat a surprise when the others realize that something has obviously happened between their resident Lieutenant and Private, as she’s quick to fall silent whenever he appears, and even more so make herself scare when she can when he’s around. It’s only the third time that Soap sees it that he says something, because if he doesn’t no one else will, and where’s the fun in that?

He watches her duck her head and leave the break room, Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost sitting alone at the breakfast table conversing over soggy cereal and cooling tea; Soap pushes a piece of bacon on his plate and asks, “Trouble in paradise, Lt?” the corner of his mouth arches with a slight grin when he hears the warning grunt come from Ghost.

“No.”

“Seems like it,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d ya do? Tell her ta fuck off?”

“Drop it, MacTavish,” Ghost warns darkly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

This time, Gaz jumps in. “C’mon, Lt., it’s obvious that something’s wrong. I mean, she won’t even look at you, let alone say anything unless you speak first.”

“An’ she’s callin’ ‘im ‘sir.’” Soap adds, pointing at him. “Christ, Lt., ya musta done a number on ‘er. Poor Puffin. So sweet and kind. Broke ‘er heart ya did.”

Price can tell that Ghost is close to snapping at the both of them but gets to it before he does. “Soap, Gaz, go catalogue our inventory for the mission next week.”

“Aw, but we already d—” Soap falls silent when Price shoots him a look and quietly grumbles to himself as he grabs his plate and cup, Gaz following in suit.

It’s only until the two soldiers are alone that Price asks, “What did happen, Simon?”

Ghost lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much told ‘er to fuck off.”

Price watches quietly as Ghost begins rattling to himself—he’s never really had to ask the man to explain himself. All he’s gotta do is prompt him to do so and Ghost does the rest.

“I just got mad. She’s always ‘round and practically up my arse, and I got caught up and instead of ‘andlin’ it properly, I shoved my fucking foot in my mouth and scalped her.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I meant to be gentler but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It just kept comin’ out. And now she fuckin’ hates me.”

He pulls his hand down and looks up at Price with a scowl—the man is smiling at him, but it’s that stupid smile that means more than Ghost wants to admit it does.

“Quit that.”

“You care about her,” Price murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, though his admonish is still harsh. “And instead of telling her how you felt like a grown adult, you took the ten-year-old way out and decided to be a cunt to her.”

“I didn’t mean to be such a cunt.”

“But the fact of the matter is that you did, and you’ve screwed up team fluidity and cohesion.” He looks at him. “You know a team divided—”

“Can’t stand,” Ghost finishes with an even worse scowl. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He looks away. “I just don’t know how to even start tryin’ to fix it.”

“Well, apologizing might be a good start,” Price rumbles with a grin. “She’s a good kid, Simon. Her heart’s in the right place, even if it’s a bit much at times. Shows she cares. More than most do in our line of work. She’s a rare one.”

“I know,” he admits in a much, much softer tone. “I just don’t want her to lose that doin’ this.” His eyes meet Price’s, and they hold such a misery. “Look at us, Price,” he mutters, gesturing between them. “Middle age, unmarried, no kids, too fucked up for anything like that. She doesn’t…” he clenches his jaw. “She deserves a better path, a safer path, than this life. She deserves to go out and have a life where she comes home to a family.”

“That’s not your choice to make, son,” he replies gently, but there’s a firmness to it. “If this is what she wants to do, then she will. We can’t make her get out of service.”

Ghost growls low in his throat. “She has so much more potential than being cannon fodder. She could do somethin’ with her life. Somethin’ good. Somethin’ that won’t have her dying face down in the sand with a bullet wound in the back.”

Price simply watches him.

“But she’s so fuckin’ stupid. She wants to be here. She wants to spend whatever time she has dodgin’ bullets and wakin’ up every night in sweat ‘cause she can’t escape the dreams. No one wants to do this. We don’t want to do this. We do this because we have to. But her? She’s happy here.” He lowers his voice, it’s as if he’s in disbelief. “She’s happy here.” He looks at Price. “Why? Why is she so happy here?”

It's another long moment before Price speaks.

“You hear, son, but you don’t listen.” He moves the cup on the saucer. “She bounced around homes growing up, scraped by on the skin of her teeth. She has no one. But here, she has something. She has people who care for her, if nothing else, they won’t let her die alone.”

“Oh what? So, it’s found family bullshit?” Ghost spits. “If she dies, at least the team would mourn her?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?” he replies, and Ghost falls silent. “People like Gaz, Soap, and myself are different than you and she are, Simon. We have homes. We’ve had families that have loved us, that do love us. But you two? Simon, you’ve made a home where you’ve had to. Made a family out of people you’ve bled for, would gladly bleed for. You’ve made something that’s yours. You made a family for yourself. And so did she. She’s made us her family. The one she never had the privilege to call her own.”

Price lets out a quiet hum, and pats his thighs, standing up and pushing his chair in.

“Think on what I’ve said, son. And if nothing else, apologize and leave it at that. Put the ball in her court and let her make the next move.”

As he walks off, he hears, “And if she doesn’t want it?”

He tosses a knowing look over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll take it.” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Takes an awful strong woman to care about a man like you.”

[spurbleu]

lassitude ✩︎‧︎⁎︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. the first time you are vulnerable with Ken Sato, you are half asleep. and for the first time, he is willing.

warnings: none, split pov

a/n: sorry for my lengthy absence, it got extremely busy for me lmao. i dont really like this- but i feel like i cant do much to make it better so here it is

word count: 1.7k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

The mumble of the morning stirred you from the pockets of your mattress. It was barely noticeable- the shift of the comforter- cool early air pooling between the hairs on your arm. The faint creak of the floorboards, (never good at keeping secrets) the spruce mumbling an Irish goodbye.

It would be a lie to say you didn’t see it coming. The sight of him.

Skin relearning to stretch over shoulder blades, peeking through your lashes in familiar foresight. The way his hands searched for his clothes through the birth of daylight- its first breaths placid against the bedsheets.

It all felt too beautiful- the apathy. Buried in lithe, lifeless blankets rather than the rhythm of his pulse, the plush of his embrace. The sudden emptiness of morning’s coffin, quilt seams ripped by the assumption that a goodbye wasn’t necessary.

Ironic- for how lonely the man seemed to be, he looked lethargic in the act of leaving. Near comfortable as he dressed, relief from the reclusive slump of his posture breaching a harsh breath that left the gaps of his teeth.

You were more awake now- enough to question why you cared.

He made it easy- cleaned up half the mess, took the other half out the door. And when it was time to ruin it again, he did it with kindness- gentleness in his absence. There was nothing you should’ve resented- he was doing you a favor. But you found yourself hating it more.

You knew it wasn’t a superiority complex- you were near equals as you slept next to each other. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you, because you knew within the next 12 hours, he’d be back again, pale in the face of his own affair.

Confounding. The principle that if he knew he was going to come back, why leave at all?

It struck you then- the putrid smell of your own confusion. The anger you held in the bed of your heart, fueled by the weak and needy creature of your own vulnerability. Its chubby hands wringing the veins that curled around your ribs. It spoke for you.

“Ken.”

It was weaker than you thought it would be- no louder than a whisper. At first, I didn’t even sound like his name- only a pathetic mumble that spelled out his silhouette. It became a bit more tangible, louder, when he turned to face you.

“Good morning.”

He slung his bag over the dip of his shoulder, dressed in the clothes from last night. They were wrinkled now, creased in the same shape as your bed, your floor, your home. It was hauntingly poetic- how he seemed to carry you with him in the quietest of ways.

A crease formed under the base of his lips- a smile. Still dry in early hours- complimenting the tanned sections of his jaw- spring kisses breaking the occasional sallow of his face. It was small, but under the shadow of his tousled hair, it looked near blinding.

(But that was Ken for you, wasn’t it? Blinding. Bright in the ways that make the air in your nose cold- fresh. Humane.)

“…Do you…need something?”

Fuck.

You should’ve followed the script. Typewriter font, black indifference, pretending to be asleep when he crept out the door. Feigning casual when reading the ‘text later’ note he’d leave on the counter of your kitchen, next to a day old, crushed protein bar (although, it would always be your favorite flavor).

But instead, you sat curled into the headboard of your bed, sheets protecting your fluttering gut as sleep fogged the more cohesive thoughts. It peeled back, though, the sensitive ones.

You wanted him to stay.

Although it felt like the first time you had admitted it to yourself, you found the blemish of your confession everywhere.

The pucker of your carpet beneath his socks. The indent on the left of your mattress- matching the round of his shoulder. The cool breath that escaped your lungs- collapsing against the rim of your heart.

And in the brevity of nerve, the one that spoke his name with so little foundation before, you answered him.

“Stay.”

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

It’s the tilt in your voice that curves under his adam’s apple in a slow gulp- dry. The softer tones blooming under your tongue, coloring your bottom lip in a nude pink- stainless and genuine. Your lash line drooping into a word that looked foreign to the valley of your cheekbones.

Please.

He mirrored you. The slow breath that hollowed ribs, the sharper edges of his shoulders bending to the will of your own. Even his smile began to falter into the same wary, desperate line that creased the corners of your cheeks.

The effortless effect you had on him.

He knew it was happening, somewhere in the canyon of his bone. Mind disconnected from the marrow, as the better parts of him seemed to reflect every vice of yours. Although it was maddening, conscious clawing at the cushion of his skull, he had learned to embrace it.

Held it as he cradled you- bow of your spine splitting his chest in two- revealing the plusher parts of him, affection safely shadowed by the midnight and your snore. (He’d never admit it to you, but he sleeps better in your bed than he does his own. Although Mina suggests it’s about the company rather than the mattress).

Similar to your aftertaste, he was familiar with your vulnerability- a lot worse at hiding it than you might think.

The haphazard stack of protein bar wrappers in the trash (ashamed to say he counted, once. You’ve eaten every single one he’s given you). The grip on his sweatshirt when you pull him through your door- flushed fingertips eager on the cool metal of its zipper. Even while you sleep your body betrays, burrowing yourself into him as if somehow, you’ll leave a mark (equally ashamed, but just a bit more hopeful, he wants you to).

Selfishly, he loved it. How much you made him feel wanted- needed, even. How the cage of your chest opened for him, his nails the shape of a key as he dug into the softer parts of you. Grime dyeing cuticles red, and he’s convinced that if he asked to crawl within you, you’d let him.

Reluctantly, if so. Looking away, pink on your cheeks, spurred by the flash of his teeth. Unwilling to admit he had asked you before you could have offered.

A begrudging devotion.

He swallowed it, syrup sweet against the cast of his teeth.

“You want me to…stay?”

He let his bag drop to the floor, relishing that as he took a step closer, knees to the bed, the center of your throat bobbed. Contrast to your bold request, a shyness in the creases under your eyes and mouth. It reeked of yearning, and made an illness bloom on Ken’s tonsils.

You nodded slowly as he came to lay next to you. If he listened more closely and focused less on the cross of your arms, he would have heard your heart pulsing a morse that sounded dangerously, sweetly, like his name.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Classical, predictable, the way his smirk warmed the edges of his lips.

“Because you never do…” anxious- eyes searching excuses for the lack of a real answer- “…and the protein bars are getting old.”

A genuine laugh furrowed the flesh beneath his collar bone, morning voice still breaking from the aridity of unuse. “What if I left an apple this time?”

You leaned into his chest, pulling the covers to your shoulder. God, did you look good like this. Tucked into him, a little wanting, a little kind. “You’re so boring. If you’re going to leave, at least give me something good.”

Ken placed a hand to his wounded heart. “Boring? Since when is your favorite flavor of healthy boring?”

You sank back onto the mattress, and he followed you, now facing you with his hands folded under his cheek, squishing his dopey smile. Although he didn’t know it- he looked beyond childish- silly in all respects. But that’s what you liked about him, wasn’t it?

“Since the last 200 times.” You exaggerated, imitating him as you leaned on your own hands.

He searched you- not dissimilar to the way he accesses another player. The gate of their shoulder, the click of their jaw- or that slight competitive crinkle that tugged the corners of their lashes- angered by his run before he even hit the ball.

Being in the sport for so long, he had become accustomed to observing others- even from afar. Off the field, he’d find himself looking between the normalcy of strangers under the dark tint of his sunglasses. Envious- to live in blissful ignorance at their own open, bleeding hand.

He supposed that’s why he liked you. Equally as guilty of your own susceptibility- heart on your wrist. But goodness- even this close to you, he couldn’t read the glass over your eyes. As if you were those paintings behind velvet ropes- details clear from a distance, but fogged when you stand too close. Imperfections visible- but never telling.

(did Michelangelo find the Sistine Chapel just as beautiful from the floor as he did from his ladder?)

He hummed, a hand coming to trace the spring freckles that appeared on the plain of your cheek. His heart purred as he watched it bloom, every circle he drew spurring ripples of pink. He was so charmed- to see exactly what he did to you- so closely.

“Alright,” his hand drifted to the strands of hair that covered your ears, tucking it to see just a little more of your blush, “no more protein bars.”

You sighed against his face- and for a moment he was reminded how he had been there- on your lips. The stench of his own fervor- honey sweet between the cracks of its clay.

“Thank god- I was really getting sick of them.”

In his arms, you both dipped into a lullaby of silence, the sunrise cradling the fragile parts of your embrace. Those pockets of insecurity- the questions of why you asked for him to stay, and why he did. The looming assumption that this made you more than what you had been before- made you something, made it different.

You could have spent hours there, steeping in the change- elementary kids too scared to admit they ‘like-liked’ each other. Instead, you both fell asleep again.

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

When you awoke- you were alone.

Once you slipped out of bed, it was well past 11. Your light feet and sweltering head brought you to the kitchen counter- where you found a plate of eggs, toast, coffee, and a note.

----

Home Soon.

-Ken

ps. hope this is better than the protein bars.

[dunmeshistash]

G'day, I hope you are doing well.

Ever since I finished the story of Dungeon Meshi (all supplementary material included) I've been writing down bullet points on characters in addition to in-depth synopses as a way to tidy up my rather busy mind. To this end I've also greatly enjoyed reading other folks' interpretations of particular characters, as it gives me further insight into aspects of that character I may have glossed over.

However, there's one character I'm struggling to write a cohesive synopsis about, that being none other than 'miss enigma' herself, Falin Touden. I get that her whole shtick is that she's kind of a mystery, but I find myself drawing a lot of blanks when it comes to her as a character, and while I have nailed down some important bullet points, there are a lot of different interpretations on her, all of which starkly contrast one another. Though perhaps it's just the wording. Hard to say.

It could very well be that I'm being too dense i.e. perceiving "Falin is willing to risk killing others to save her friends." and "Falin, in the heat of the moment, when faced with certain death, was willing to face the prospect of harming potential passersby in a final Hail Mary to get her friends to safety." as entirely different observations. I have a hard time with those kinds of things.

With this being a hub for all sorts of observations, interpretations and cool trivia, I was wondering if you'd perhaps be willing to share how you yourself perceive Falin as a character, so I can compare notes and perhaps gain a more proper understanding of her as a character as a result. I know this question is very broad and kind of vague, but if you could spare the time I'd be most grateful.

Other than that, I wish you an excellent day.

Hello!!! I love Falin!!!!!

She *is* a mystery, we mostly know Falin through the perception other characters have of her instead of a direct deep look onto who she is, which I find very interesting. I think the best post I've seen about her (which as usual I can't remember where edit: someone linked it thank uu) I think called her perceived altruism/love "selfish" and I've been thinking about that ever since.

In that sense the way she cares so much about the comfort of people around her might be a way to keep *her own* comfort because she doesn't want to see other people suffer.

This girly died and came back to life from bones and the first thoughts she has is that she caused trouble for her loved ones

She probably has felt this way since she was a child, "because of her" that her family was torn apart "because of her" that Laios left, her mom was sick, her father had to send her away. (wasn't actually her fault but she might think it is)

I imagine ever since then Falin has done her best to not cause trouble and to make the people she loves happy, everything we know about her and the things she was doing was always for the people she loved, that's why I enjoy the post canon comic where Toshiro asks her hand in marriage again so much. The first time she considers accepting just because "might as well" while for the second time she finally wants to live for herself.

I think Falin herself has lost who she "really is" by trying to accommodate everyone around her and that's probably part of why we ourselves don't really know her, so much so that the most cynical character is uncomfortable around her (probably cause he notices Falin is "hiding" something)

I think Falin is quite the melancholic character to be honest, someone who has lost herself in self sacrifice and who is only now learning how to live for herself doing what she wants.

Both the teleportation scene and the bit about healing show "cracks" in the selfless front she puts out tbh. By context I don't think what she did was only due to "desperation of the moment" she says out loud "Even if I end up hurting others I want you and my brother to live on". She weighted out how much suffering she might cause and decided she wanted to save them anyway, and I'm sure in that calculation she knew that they would suffer because of her sacrifice too.

Falin is saving them for herself, I'm not great with words so this is all over the place and maybe sounds a little negative about Falin but the thing is, you cannot live your life for other people, you can't sacrifice yourself for other people's happiness, you shouldn't erase your own presence so others are happier and I think Falin is starting to learn that by the end.

I'd probably keep rambling without getting anywhere and missing a lot of more meaningful moments but I'll stop here, if anyone has recs for Falin analysis please share!

[pupkashi]

rookie f1 racer satoru gojo decides the best way to kick off race weekend is going to a coffee shop

a/n: hi friends ! here is the first one shot for my f1 racer!gojo au :3 i am so beyond excited to start these, they won’t be a cohesive series & can be read alone! i will make an au masterlist though :] please enjoy and let me know what yall think !! if there’s any ideas or requests yall have for this series send them in !! reblogs very appreciated <3 ok that is all bye bye ! <3 also both gojo and reader are early 20s since i have him in his rookie season

word count - 3,444

masterlist

LIGHTS OUT & AWAY WE GO !

there’s not many people out during usual work hours, kids are in school, adults are at work, and the world is a little quieter. it’s something satoru had grown to love. between all the cameras reporters, he just wanted some peace, and no one knew peace quite like coffee shops.

satoru sauntered into the building, it was unassuming enough, a few people scattered throughout the establishment, all too engrossed in their own work to look up. he doubted he’d get recognized by anyone in here.

he orders and gets his drink and pastry fairly quickly, sitting by the window and watching the world pass by him. life seemed to move in slow motion, the leisurely paces of someone walking their dog making him relax a bit.

“hey! is it cool if i use this outlet?” the voice makes him jump a bit, turning around to face whoever it was speaking.

you smile softly at him, hoping he would be kind enough to just let you charge your laptop. you figured he’d be attractive, his hair’s an eye catching bright white color, contrasting to the black shirt and sunglasses he had on. you caught a glimpse of his blue eyes as he looks at you, nodding before clearing his throat.

“yeah go ahead,” he returns the smile, motioning for you to plug in your charger.

“I’ll just leave it here to charge, i don’t wanna bother” you state, quickly plugging in your laptop before moving to walk away.

“you can sit if you wanna, it’s no problem” he rushes out quickly, hoping it was enough to make you stay. his breath caught in his throat as you turned to look at him.

“are you sure?” he nods quickly, “yeah no worries! I’m not doing much of anything right now,” he grins, regaining his composure and taking a sip of his drink.

it’s quiet between the two of you before you speak up, “you like Mercedes?” satoru feels his blood go cold, looking at you with a confused expression. you gesture to his shirt, “you’ve got their merch on” you laugh.

“oh! yeah they’re pretty cool,” he nods, watching as you smile and nod, focusing on your screen again.

“i didn’t know they had merch like that,” you admit, “maybe it’s just ‘cause im not super into cars.” satoru feels relief wash over him, his shoulders subtly relaxing before he’s looking at you again.

“it’s their f1 team merch” he says, “i work for them, actually.” his hearts beating a bit faster as you make eye contact with him, looking up from your laptop.

“oh? that’s so cool! you’re a mechanic or-?” your head cocks a bit to the side, smiling when the man across from you breaks into a wide grin.

satoru debates going along with your idea, but he can’t bring himself to lie to you, not when you’re eyes are shining at him.

“i actually race for them, im a driver” he corrects you gently, your eyes widen a bit and you cover your mouth as it opens.

“oh my god I’m so sorry! i don’t know a thing about formula one” you laugh nervously, “i knew there was something going on with all the extra fuss in the city but i had no idea what.”

he smiles at you and waves off your apology, “don’t worry! it was nice having someone to talk to that’s not yelling at me to sign something” he cringes a bit at the way the words rolled off his tongue, but you still smile at him, going back to working on whatever was it was you were doing on your laptop.

“one of my friends is actually getting into f1 i think, is there someone named,” you trail off as you think of the other mans name, “i think it’s Charlie? charles? one of those two” you laugh nervously, satoru’s ears perk up at the name.

“charles leclerc?” He asks, your eyes light up, “yeah that one! he’s a racer right?” satoru nods at you.

“yeah he races for ferrari,” you nod along to his words, realizing you hadn’t caught his name yet.

“what was your name, just so i know who to root for when people ask my favorite driver” you grin, a twinkle in your eye that makes his stomach flip.

“I’m satoru, satoru gojo” he reaches his hand across the table for you to shake, you can’t stop the soft chuckle that leaves your lips as your hands connect, a firm shake against his much larger, warmer and calloused hands.

a comfortable silence falls between the two of you as satoru finishes his drink off and you continue to focus on your laptop. satoru can’t help but continue to look your way, thinking you were absolutely breathtaking.

you on the other hand, had your heart beating against your rib cage as you pulled up your messaging app on your laptop and quickly texted your best friend.

I HAD TO PLUG IN MY CHARGER BUT THE ONLY OUTLET WAS NEXT TO THIS SUPER HOT GUY AND I ENDED UP SITTING IN THE BOOTH W HIM AND WERE TALKING AND HES AN F1 DRIVER ???? DID I MENTION HES HOT AS FUCK??

you wait a couple minutes, your friend has yet to reply as your leg bounced under the table.

“what are you working on? if i may ask” the question makes you immediately close your messages and go back to your google document, looking blankly at the paper in front of you.

“it’s some busy work for a class im in, required by the university” you shrug, “was getting through it pretty quickly until my laptop died on me” the snowy haired man smiled at you, laughing softly as he pulls his phone out.

satoru scrolls aimlessly on his socials, nothing seemed as interesting as you did, sitting practically across from him engrossed in your work. the two of you made easy conversation for the next hour or so, not realizing how much time had passed since youd sat down.

you’d tried to get up and leave after you turned in your assignment and laptop was charged, giving him privacy you imagined he yearned for. but satoru was quick to tell you to stay, “you don’t have to go! it’s nice talking to you” he says, “like a breath of fresh air.”

and so you sit back down, the two of you falling into place as if you were old friends, people who’d known each other in years past and were catching up. you didn’t ask about his job or his career, asking about him and what his favorite color was, his favorite season and if he actually liked his coffee as sweet as it has smelled.

you kept reminding yourself this was gonna be a one off thing, he’d leave and you’d part ways, never talking again as you inevitably turned on an f1 race, seeing the pretty man on your tv screen and imagining what could’ve been if you were a bit braver.

it had been nearly three hours since you’d sat at his booth when his phone starts buzzing, quickly answering the call from his manager. his small smile turns to a faint pout as they tell him to head to the paddock for free practice in a couple hours, sighing and telling them he’d be on his way shortly.

you feel disappointed as you hear the words, not wanting the bubble you were in to burst, wanting to stay seated across from the attractive man for as long as you could.

“I’m gonna head out, have to go work” he jokes, his smile widens when you laugh, “i hope you pass your exam thursday,” he’s doing everything in his power to linger around, trying to figure out a way to spend more time with you.

you laugh softly and nod your head, “it’s open note so hopefully it’s not too bad, but good luck at your race! I’m sure you’ll do great.”

satoru’s bright blue eyes light up at your words, you could almost see the lightbulb forming atop his head, making you furrow your brows slightly in confusion.

“why don’t you come? to the race this weekend? are you busy?” the words tumble out his mouth in an unorganized jumble of excitement, he’s beaming at you with his bangs in his eyes, sunglasses barely balancing on the tip of his nose.

“oh i couldn’t, those tickets must be so expensive and i don’t wanna bother-” satoru is cutting you off with furrowed brows and a bewildered expression his face.

“you think I’d make you pay? don’t be silly,” he grins, “I’ll get you some good seats and maybe we can meet up after the race?” he can hear his heart beating in his ears. was he being insane? a little bit. did he care? not at all.

you bite your lip for a second, it’s not like you had an insane amount of work, plus the most attractive man you’d ever laid eyes on was asking you out to some crazy sporting event you’d only heard of in passing.

“okay yeah, i think i could squeeze it in my schedule” you grin, watching as the man across from you smile at you. he’s quick to ask for your information, immediately sending it off to whoever it was needed it and was informing you of all you needed to know.

“I told them to give you an extra ticket so you can bring a friend so you’re not too lonely waiting for me” the words make your face and ears heat up, trying to remain composed in front of him.

“well i guess I’ll see you sunday then?” the words make your stomach flip, wondering how he’d look like with his gear on.

“see you sunday” he smiles at you, waving goodbye as his phone buzzes for a second time, hurrying out of the coffee shop with his whole body buzzing from excitement.

you don’t fully process the entire interaction until you’re sitting in your apartment, phone lighting up from a new email.

Mercedes F1 team PR

Good afternoon! We are elated to send you two tickets to invite you to this weekends Grand Prix race! Below you will find all the information…

you open it quickly, reading the entire thing twice before you’re rolling onto your back and giggling uncontrollably, giddy beyond belief to see satoru again. your fingers itch to look him up, deciding against it and locking your phone as you try to continue on with your day.

sunday arrives quicker than you thought it would, your friend following you into the circuit as you try to figure out where to go next, looking around helplessly as you look down at your phone and at the map provided.

“are we supposed to go down there?” your friend points, both of you staring at each other blankly. the two of you wait for a second before looking around once more, taking a leap of faith and walking with confidence where you think you had to be.

your friend is much braver than you are, flagging down someone in a staff shirt and showing them the ticket, they’re quick to lead the two of you in the opposite direction, making you and your friend hold back laughter until you’re finally seated.

satoru was anxiously looking around, he wasn’t exactly sure where they had seated you, but he’d requested you be close to the garage, wanting to say hello before the race.

“you’re a lot more antsy than usual” the deep voice makes him look away from his phone. nanami kento, right hand man to Toto Wolff and next in line to take over the team principal position.

“I’ve got an important guest I’ve gotta impress” satoru replies quickly, putting his phone away and walking towards kento, “I’m gonna rack in some points today” he winks, making the blonde roll his eyes.

soon enough satoru is seated in the car and on the grid, mind completely focused on the race ahead, taking deep breaths as the red lights appear.

you couldn’t help but watch some race clips last night, figuring you should know some basics and not show up completely clueless. the videos, however, didn’t prepare you for how fast the cars truly were, engines sending vibrations to your chest and stands shaking as they raced by.

“and gojo overtakes hamilton! the rookie had a terrible qualifying yesterday, but seems as though he’s back in the game today” the announcers words blare through the speakers, chest blooming with pride as they talked up satoru.

you’re focused on the primarily black car, watching as he zooms past the stands at unbelievable speeds. your heart racing as he passes other drivers, cheering when he successfully overtook them.

satoru continues to climb up the ranks, cinching a position on podium; second place, sandwiched between verstappen and leclerc. he’s hopping out of the car and celebrating with his team, squeezing kento a bit tighter than the rest. his blue eyes are focused on the crowd as he waits his turn for the post race interview, trying to catch sight of you, mind racing as he wonders if you even came.

he smiles at charles as he passes him, walking up to the interviewer and answering the questions with generic answers ‘I’m beyond excited for the rest of the season’ and ‘I’m looking forward to the day i win my first Grand Prix’ along with thanking his support system and team before kindly thanking the interviewer and heading to the winners room before the podium ceremony.

satoru’s messy hair is covered by the Mercedes hat, taking it off and ruffling it a bit, sighing when he scans the crowd one last time and doesn’t make you out, turning around and closing the door behind him.

you only make it to the floor area moments after charles walks out, slightly out of breath as they call out satoru’s name.

the snowy haired racer is waving to the crowd, a semblance of a smile on his face as he stands on the podium, eyes still searching the crowd in one last feeble attempt to spot you.

satoru feels his heart skip a beat and face turn even redder as he locks eyes with you, a much more genuine smile on his face when he gives you a little wave.

you’re heart races as you make eye contact with the driver, adoring the way his cheeks flushed and skin looked honey like under the rays of the sunset. you smile and clap as he raises the trophy, pointing directly at the trophy then at you.

this one’s for you

maybe you’re a hopeless romantic, or maybe he’s just too hot and charming to not fall for, but you feel your heart giving in and walls crumbling as he shakes the large champagne bottle, dousing the other two until all three of them were dripping with champagne.

satoru finds you in the garage after 20 minutes, thanking his manager a hundred times over before walking up to you. his race suit only on from the waist down, black fireproof sticking to his body perfectly and snowy white hair tousled and wet from a mixture of champagne and sweat.

“you came” he says, making you nod and smile at him sweetly.

“why wouldn’t i? my favorite driver invited me” you reply.

satoru rolls his eyes and snickers, “im the only driver you know,” he watched you grin up at him sheepishly, “still you’re my favorite!”

“you did really good out there by the way” the words make him smile wider, biting his lip softly.

“yeah?” he asks, you nod your head, far too nervous to trust your voice as he looks at you, head too scrambled to figure out the emotion painted on his face as he looks at you. “good enough that you’d consider going on a date with me?”

it seems like it’s just the two of you in the busy garage as you smile up at him, tilting your head as you nod, “yeah I’d consider it.”

you think he looks almost angelic under the fluorescent lights in the garage, his white hair looks like a halo as you look up at him, pretty blue eyes a stark contrast against his fair skin and black uniform.

satoru thinks you look unbelievable, hair falling perfectly and voice sweet as honey as you talk to him, a saccharine smile on your lips just for him, the thought makes his knees buckle and brain stutter. he doesn’t care how whipped he looks as he takes you in, relishing in the moment before he speaks up.

“I’ll be off the clock next time,” he jokes, loving the way your giggles sounded. it feels like a relief off his shoulders, grinning widely as the two of you continued to talk.

“I’ve gotta get out of this uniform, but I’ll text you?” he looks down, biting his bottom lip as he fights a smile before looking back up at you, hoping you’d get the hint and give him your number.

you smile at him and tilt your head, “is that your way of asking for my number?” satoru blushes, smiling at you shyly and nodding his head, you can’t help but giggle as you grab a piece of paper and pen from the table besides you, scribbling your number and a smiley face. “here, don’t lose it.”

satoru grins, “i don’t lose.”

the sky is dark by the time you exit the garage, biting your lip and fighting back a smile as you meet up with your friend, finally heading home for the night. gushing about the interaction, reliving every moment and squealing at the memories.

when was the last time you’d felt this way? when was the last time you’d let your guard down so quickly for someone?

it was strange. the way your heart leapt when you saw him, the way your face flushed when he spoke to you and the way you felt so comfortable with him.

“maybe he’s your soulmate” you friend wiggled their brows at you, teasing you as you roll your eyes.

“or he’s putting up a front and he’s like every other guy” you shoot back, biting your lip. he felt, different. genuine.

“you don’t have to be so pessimistic! you never know he could be the man you spend your life with” they shrug their shoulders, smiling when you fall silent and hum.

you’re showered and in bed when your phone vibrates, a new text message from an unknown number.

satoru had spent an hour drafting the text, deleting it and typing it out again, removing and adding emojis until he forgot what he was even trying to say, starting over and groaning. when was the last time he was this nervous to text someone?

he can’t recall ever wanting to spend more time with someone the way he does with you. the though of love at first sight crosses his mind, making his face burn and dimples pop as he smiles.

hi it’s satoru ! thanks for coming to the race tonight , i hope i can see you again :)

his heart pounds against his chest as the three little dots appear on his screen, holding his breath when they disappear and reappear time and time again.

you continued to delete your text, trying to figure out how to word your text before finally biting the bullet and pressing send, heart racing as it says delivered, then read within the minute.

thanks for inviting me ! it was a lot of fun,, I’d love to see you again also :3

satoru squealed at the text, biting his lip before replying back, giggling at your every text and replying as fast as he could. the two of you texting back and forth until your eyes were too heavy to keep open, wishing him a goodnight. satoru was already pinching himself to stay awake, somewhat thankful you were also tired as he wished you goodnight, setting his phone down and falling asleep moment later, the faintest of smiles painted on his lips.

you grinned as you locked your phone, setting it down and biting your lip before squealing into your pillow. he wanted to see you again. you didn’t fight off the smile on your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, slowly falling asleep, then all at once, dreams filled with blue eyes and white hair and expensive, fast cars.

there’s no better place to find a lover than at a coffee shop on race weekend.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @sadmonke @lovelylixie

[burst-of-iridescent]

The Choice of Compassion: A Scene Analysis of Aang vs Zuko

should aang have killed ozai?

the age old question. the discourse secondary only to the infamous kat.aang vs zutara ship war. the argument that's been raging for sixteen long, long years and inspired dozens upon dozens of thinkpieces on either side.

so naturally, i'm here to add one more that no one asked for.

now, this debate keeps getting mischaracterized as The Side That Respects Pacifism vs The Side That Wants A Preteen To Commit Brutal Murder when, for the most part, i don't think anyone is really staking their life on the homicide hill. the real issue most people take with aang's arc in the finale isn't him sparing ozai, but rather the deus ex-machina mechanism through which he's able to do so. i agree with that, but i would also take it further to argue that the real problem is that aang's ending is not thematically and narratively consistent with the rest of his arc as set up in the show.

to illustrate this, let's take a look at another scene that plays with similar themes: zuko choosing to save zhao in the siege of the north.

the basics of both scenes are the same: both boys choose, against all logic and common sense, to spare someone who would never show them the same mercy. when it comes down to compassion versus violence, they choose compassion, even at risk to themselves.

but where the siege of the north differs from sozin's comet is that zuko choosing to save zhao is thematically consistent with his arc in season 1, and aligns with where it will go in seasons 2 and 3.

zuko's journey throughout the show is one of rediscovery. he has to find his way back to who he used to be, before his family and his nation warped his perception of right and wrong, and forced him into believing he had to become someone he didn't want to be. it's clear as early as the storm episode that zuko is fundamentally kind, and the person he is now is as a result of being indoctrinated in a culture that perverted violence and cruelty into honour and strength.

in trying to save zhao, the personification of the fire nation's worst qualities and most twisted teachings, zuko turns against the values he's been raised with most of his life and instead chooses to remain true to himself and what he believes is right. it's a triumphant moment because it's zuko returning to the heart of who he is, and who he's truly supposed to be.

and even though his decision may be logically unsound (why risk yourself trying to save someone who tried to kill you?) you don't see anyone complaining that zuko shouldn't have tried at all, because his choice here is a direct - even if brief - resolution to the internal conflict the show has previously established for his character. the narrative consistency of the set-up and payoff allows the audience to recognize the thematic cohesion of this moment in zuko's arc - which is what makes it so powerful and satisfying.

so, the question is: does the same apply to aang's choice not to kill ozai?

the argument supporting aang's decision is usually something as follows: "aang sparing ozai is his way of remaining true to his people and making sure they aren't forgotten. it's a powerful symbol of how he's keeping their culture and beliefs alive even though the fire nation tried to wipe them out."

now that's not a bad argument, in theory. the problem, though, is that if this is the resolution of aang's arc, it has to be a direct response to a conflict established in said arc... and remaining true to air nomad values is not a struggle the show ever set up for aang until the finale.

not once in any of the previous seasons does aang seem to be forgetting his people's ideals, or losing his identity through assimilation, or struggling to reconcile his air nomad beliefs with the ideas he's encountering in this new, changed world. there isn't a long-term, sustained arc about him being worried or concerned about air nomad culture dying out completely, or about taking on the burden of keeping it alive. in fact, the only episode that does reckon with this theme in any capacity - the northern air temple - seems to push the opposite message: that aang should move on and adapt to this changing world instead of remaining mired in the past, and protecting the culture of a people long gone.

(note: i don't like how the NAT episode handled this theme, but for the purposes of this post, we will take it as it was written.)

both zuko and aang are characters whose arcs revolve around change, but if zuko's arc is about moving back to who he truly is, then aang's arc is about moving forward. it's about going from the last airbender to the avatar - about drawing wisdom from different places, about immersing himself in the practices, beliefs and cultures of the other nations, and learning to value them as he values his own.

it's the classic want vs need: what aang wants is to be nothing more than a goofy, peaceful airbender but what he needs is to become a fully-realized avatar, the embodiment of four nations in one. and this conflict is established and re-established repeatedly over three seasons, most especially in his struggle to learn earthbending and firebending, both of which called for him to adopt new perspectives and beliefs contrary to his own.

this is why aang refusing to kill ozai feels so narratively unfulfilling, because it's the complete antithesis of what the show established for aang's narrative over three seasons. the plot point of his absolute pacifism not only comes out of left field (where was this problem when he was going to battle ozai during the eclipse?), it's also incongruous with the depiction of other air nomads in the series (both yangchen and gyatso don't seem to practice absolute pacifism) and with where aang's own arc appeared to be leading.

additionally, it also conflicts with the thematic clash that the aang vs ozai fight is supposed to represent: what was meant to be balance and harmony vs dominance and supremacy now turns into... air nomad beliefs vs fire nation beliefs, which runs contrary to the fundamental message of the entire show. not exactly what you want for the final battle between your protagonist and antagonist!

all of this is not to say that aang should have gone turbo avatar state on ozai and singlehandedly yeeted him into the spirit world. but there were a dozen other ways to handle ozai's end: give him a disney death, let aang learn energybending of his own accord and incapacitate him the way katara took down azula, or - my personal favourite - bring in the spirits in a neat parallel to the book 1 finale, and have ozai's death be a consequence of the imbalance he propagated in the world (i've always felt the avatar being the spirit bridge was a plotline that kinda got shafted in book three, and bringing back someone like koh, for instance, would've slapped).

the point is that for the resolution of aang's arc to be thematically consistent with the established narrative (the validity of this narrative, and whether it should have been different, is another point entirely, but it cannot be denied that this is what the show chose to go with), he needed to place the values and beliefs of the other nations on equal footing with his own, and win because of this willingness to draw from all nations instead of relying solely on his own.

ultimately, remaining true to his compassionate, peaceful nature is not a struggle in aang's narrative the way that it is in zuko's, which is why him choosing to spare ozai doesn't have anywhere near the emotional resonance or satisfaction of zuko reaching out to zhao. meanwhile, the conflict that does characterize aang's arc - being forced to become the avatar - never comes to a meaningful resolution the way that zuko's does. rather, it's thrown out the window in favour of a last minute plot point that robs aang of both agency and development, and destroys the thematic cohesion of his narrative for nothing.

[titania-sleeps]

ARGHHH i can't choose!! i love all house husband though!!

i'm glad you do hehe... i devise and plot deviously just for them bc they deserve it. i do wonder if people enjoy meaner readers vs. loving readers; I'll release both eventually but the two of them have such a different dynamic. the normal sub house husband is a bit more assertive and a brat, while the inadequate one just really really wants you to love him and only him... but in like a pathetic way.

here's a little snippet of what i had for them (i think the initial draft for both dated around 2022...)! as a note, my ideas may seem to blend in w some of my other works simply bc i didn't bother making them too distinct from each other, but i'll edit it to become more cohesive when i post in full in the future :D

warning: mild nsfw, dom reader (implied afab), minors DNI pls

Submissive House Husband Yandere x Independent Strong Reader

He is undone by you, a knot slipping apart. Seams unraveling, hair untangling, his entire vessel breathing erratically. Your nails grazing his skin erupt whispers of flames, dancing and swimming to his face. You thumb his cheek, tenderly and softly. You are never tender with him, at least not to such an extent.

His excitement grows, but he fears to open his eyes. He fears that if he opens his eyes, he will peer too far into your thoughts. And he knows that you are not thinking of him, even when you let your kind lips leave little love marks on his face.

"Why won't you look at me?" you ask, your voice like a pleasant temptation to his ears. It slithers slyly into his brain, and like a command, his eyes flutter open.

"Good," you purr. A praise. He cannot stop the shy grin from stamping itself onto his lips.

"You don't..." he pauses, wondering if he should continue. You stop and look at him, giving him your full attention. Shying under your gaze, he mutters, "You don't do this to anyone else... right?"

Your laugh echoes back at him, as though mocking him, but it is not unkind. Your thumb presses against his upper lip. "No. You are my husband, are you not?"

His face lights up in bright pink. How could he doubt you? Oh no, you look disappointed. Frantically, he nods his head.

"Yes, I am yours," he responds quickly. You hum in satisfaction, leaning in for a gentle peck. But you leave too soon, much too soon.

Hungry for the saccharine taste of your lips, he wraps his arms around your neck and brings you in closer. Closer and closer, so that the lining of your lip becomes a perfect match with his. So close, to the point that your tongue is melted into his, and your needy flesh encase upon another.

He seeks for you with the vigor of a beast, no longer quite the same timid house pet he once was. As you pull away for a breath of air, he whines. Just a moment without your lips is painful for him.

The eyes that peer down on him are now focused, like a trained sniper on their target. His body shivers; now your attention is wholly on him. Now you are looking at him.

You are truly divine. You are a goddess sent from above to smite him for his sins, for loving you far too much. He can only beg by your feet, day by day, pleading for a single audience with you. He just wants to please you, to become something that relieves you from strife and suffering. And to think that his goddess is now looking at him, just him! Only him!

The sound of silk slipping off jolts him from his daze. His eyes trail the discarded piece of clothing; a snake slithering its way up to an iridescent apple. The soft gleam of your skin meets his own eyes, and the sight breathes life into his fingers.

"Not yet," you say, a wonderful smile presented to him on your countenance.

[To be continued...]

Inadequate Submissive House Husband Yandere x Loving Reader

His wife is everything he has ever wanted in his life. You are beautiful and kind; forgiving whenever he makes a mistake and even patient she he does. And he always does. You are so lovely, he cannot help but want to be with you forever and ever and ever and ever and ever—

But he can't. He knows he can't, and it hurts so much, because he knows that he is useless. Deep down, he has already realized that you are only keeping him around because you pity him, not because you love him.

He wants to do better for you, but his abilities are limited to very little. He wishes that his love is enough to satiate you, but he is far too well aware of your disappointment in him. If he is lucky, you will not divorce him in the next year or two.

♡♡♡

Oh, your sweet, foolish husband. Always so patient, always so soft. Demure mannerisms and shy mumbles cloud his true worth. He may bumble and stumble about like a newborn doe on two legs, but his demeanor and intellect are worth far more. Yet only you are allowed to know this, and it is something you intend to keep locked up in your little treasure box of secrets.

Although he should most definitely refrain from doing housework.

[To be continued...]

ty for reading if you made it this far!!

-> masterlist

[uninformedartist]

😐 GRANT ME STRENGTH

Screenshot from Showtoonz

She saw many MANY people seeing how obviously one sided their "relationship" is and made this tweet, emphasising BOTH made mistakes.

Nah Vivienne, the only mistake Blitz made in their "relationship"... was nothing, ha WAS NOTHING.

Stolas though, lets see. Made that contract during a time Blitz's life was in danger, Blitz reluctantly agreed to it. The contact in question was ALWAYS about sex & fulfilling Stolas's desires. Blitz's business, livelihood, employees, family was on the line. Stolas's contract put Blitz's under & I say it again economic duress & the contract in its nature is cohesive rape. Blitz had no say on the details of the contract he just agreed because his life was in danger & his business was on the line when it was initiated.

Stolas then in many instances throughout so1 degraded Blitz. Touching Blitz without his consent, making sexual remarks & vances on Blitz that made Blitz visibly uncomfortable, gave him the pet name "Blitzy" a name Blitz on multiple occasions was verbal on denouncing. He used Blitz as an ash tray in one bedroom scene, called Blitz an impish plaything, referred to him, his employees and daughter as little creatures. He abuses the imp staff that works for him, using them as some kind of stress toy. Read a flipping book called "imps in the sheets" in front of his family, fetishising imps and so much bloody more.

So piss off Vivienne that people are seeing your racist, rapist elitist bird boy for exactly what he is. No manipulative tears from Stolas can change what YOU wrote him as. Like you wrote him as the most trash of a character & now want to change the game by writing him as a sad uwu birdy who is actually done wrong by cos the imp he exploited yelled at him, the imp he kept chained to him metaphorical in this contract. Blitz in his hallucinations literally viewed Stolas like a sort of slave owner, having him in chains by Stolas.

...Do I need to even mention that Stolas in his human is white as hell & Blitz is brown on account of how his twin sister looks in her human disguise.

So no it ain't clear that BOTH made mistakes, piss off with that. It genuinely boggles my mind she sees nothing wrong with how much of a piece of shit Stolas is & how Blitz is the only victim in this situation.

But then I remember the kind of person Vivienne Medrano really is... all I'm gonna say.

Credit to versosikastrikerexcuser, they got a really good blog post on all the shit Stolas has done:

[markrosewater]

Hey Mark, I just wanted to say you've always seemed like a really cool guy. I've played magic for over 4/5ths of my life, since the early 2000s when I was only five years old, I even met most of my long time friends through it. But I think I finally feel alienated enough by it to drop it entirely.

I always enjoyed every aspect of this game, from the deckbuilding, to the flavor, to the color pie and the possibilities it presented. I loved the fantasy of it, of planeswalkers and wizards, dragons and castles.

Universes Beyond really was the end of it, all the way back then. When i heard the announcements I was terrified, I knew where it would lead even then. I loved the world of Magic, and it feels silly to say about a card game but I truly felt immersed in the world when I played, even with the different planes, everything cohered to an internal set of rules that seemed unbreakable.

For a while I continued, our local scene created a variant format that banned Universes Beyond cards so I was able to ignore them, but then came Neon Dynasty. It felt strange to me, like it was breaking what I had come to expect out of the game. Most people disagreed, said it was still Magic enough, but I wondered just how far it would be pushed before Magic lost any identity of its own, anything that separated it from Fortnite or any other crossover soup known entirely for the things it borrows rather than the things it is.

When I saw the first spoilers for Duskmourn, I think that was the straw that broke the camel's back. When I play at the table with my friends, I enjoy the fact that all the cards feel like part of one larger universe. And when I see cards with televisions and smartphones in them, with modern clothing and internet references, I just can't fit them together in my mind. It seems like a cool world, much like a lot of the crossovers are cool worlds, but I play Magic for well... Magic. If I wanted to play Fallout or Warhammer 40k, or watch Insidious or Walking Dead, then I would. But when I play Magic, I want to see magic.

And it's canon, just as canon as Innistrad or Alara. We can't excise it like we can Universes Beyond, and if we can't, then what's even the point of trying to "protect the tone" with those bans? What tone are we protecting, that's already been shattered from within?

More and more it feels like the game just isn't for me, doesn't want the kind of player that feels strongly about cohesion and immersion. And that's fine, it doesn't have to cater to me, and the current approach seems to bring in more people than it drives away. But it still just makes me sad, on a deep personal level, to give up on what has been such a major part of my life.

In all likelihood, I'm an outlier, and you could easily say that Magic getting even broader in what it covers is only a positive thing. Take my critiques only as the lamentations of a single person. But when you can put anything in a piece of media, when there's no unifying idea of what is and isn't possible, then it just starts to feel meaningless.

I'm sorry, I know you'll probably never read this, I mostly just needed to get it off my chest- and you're the closest thing to a human face Magic the Gathering has. Thank you for all the work you've put into it over the years, and I'm sorry that I can't enjoy it anymore.

Thanks for writing. From a big picture, Magic excels at creating variety and does poorly at consistency. The core idea of a trading card game is we make lots and lots of pieces you can play with and then you, the player, customize your game as you see fit. History has shown us, the wider we spread the potential of what Magic can be, the more people find something they enjoy and are attracted to the game.

Think of it this way. Each player has a different sense of what Magic is to them. There's no cutoff point where we make the majority of players happy. In fact, for many players, it's the ever-expanding quality to the game that they enjoy most.

This does mean though that we might make choices that don't connect with what you personally enjoy, and I respect that. If Magic isn't providing what you want out of it, that's okay. My only recommendation is don't get rid of your cards. Many Magic players rotate in and out of the game, and the number one complaint I hear from players who rotate back in is them having gotten rid of everything when they rotated out.

Magic might not be what you need right now, but maybe a few years from now you've changed in ways which makes it something you will enjoy. Or maybe Magic will evolve in a way that speaks to you. The only constant I know is you and Magic will both change. Just leave yourself the possibility of reconnecting.

Thanks for playing all these years, and I hope to see you again.

[lurkingshan]

My mind has been spinning and spinning around episodes 3 and 4, and I have so many feelings about them that I have been struggling to decide what I want to write about. One of @bengiyo's questions is about the different feel of this part of the story in the transition from page to screen, including the overall kdramafication effect, and I felt that most keenly where Hyung was concerned.

Let's start with the obvious: Hyung is not supposed to be this young and hot. But then, Young is not supposed to look like Nam Yoon Su, so I guess we can let that one go. More than that, though, I think episode 3 went out of its way to make Yeong Su a more appealing love interest than he ever seemed to be in the novel, and that had a clear purpose: to make the comedown in episode 4 so much worse.

Episode 3 used the familiar trappings of romance dramas to help us understand why Go Yeong was so drawn to this man despite some of his rough edges. They had interesting dates with good conversations. They shared an umbrella in the rain. They kissed sexily outside. They danced together in Yeong Su's (much nicer than described in the book) apartment. I may or may not have actually said OH MY GOD out loud when they were moving together to that old song; it was intoxicating in exactly the way early attraction is. Instead of viewing Hyung through the bitter recollections of Young's memory already knowing he's a bastard, we experienced him the way Go Yeong did when he was first catching his interest, and it was easy to see why he would latch onto this man as a balm and a distraction while he was going through a very hard time with his mother's illness.

Which means it hurt so much worse when Go Yeong emerged from that initial haze in episode 4 and realized who Yeong Su really was. He got a hard look at the deep internalized homophobia Yeong Su was carrying and projecting onto him, and it was not pleasant, nor was the way it echoed across his experiences with his mother.

Another interesting change made in the adaptation was to increase the severity of Hyung's crime; where in the novel he only searched and read articles on the evils of homosexuality, in the show he wrote the damn article while Go Yeong slept in his bed. A much larger betrayal and blow for Young. And this makes sense for the screen version, IMO; the romance is deeper and therefore so must be the fracture. Everything is just a bit bigger and more dramatic to amplify the themes of the story and to help the audience understand why this might drive Go Yeong to such a low moment without the benefit of his internal monologue to connect all the dots.

I was reflecting on these changes and how they affected the tone when I read @solitaryandwandering's thoughts, because I was intrigued by her reception of these episodes as darker, where for me, with the (much) more depressing novel version in my head, they felt lighter than expected. Which is kind of a wild thing to say about a section of the story that includes Young's suicide attempt, but context is everything! The T-aras, of course, also contribute to how different this section feels. In the book, Young is presented as so isolated and alone with this relationship, but in the show he has friends who know and care and try to help and show up for him in his low moment to make sure he is not alone. It makes such a difference to the bleakness of it all, and also makes the story feel more cohesive across the different parts in a way the book intentionally does not.

I think ultimately the adaptation choices made here were smart, and I continue to be impressed with how thoughtful Sang Young Park has been with his different visions for his story in each medium.

[tavolgisvist]

Michael Lindsay-Hogg

about Let It Be and our lads

I showed the final cut to them and we all had dinner afterwards. Then we went down to a discotheque underneath the restaurant. Ringo was jiving 'til two in the morning, Paul said he liked the movie…It was all a very good experience until they broke up, which was only two months after they'd seen the picture ready to go.

And then, of course, there was so much going on to do with the breakup. First it was legal issues, but then legal issues became personal issues. By that point, Let It Be was kind of a little character in the corner saying, "Oh, remember me? Remember me?" They were not interested in it anymore, which they had been up until that point. There was just so much going on. … I didn't want the Beatles to lose their momentum. So when Paul came to me after the concert idea was off and said, “Should we stop filming?” And I said, “Well, no.” I thought, “Well, here's a chance to maybe do the documentary of the Beatles, which nobody has done before." Nobody had ever filmed them rehearsing. I didn't want to lose the chance, or risk the chance of their attention span going on to something else. So I was glad we stayed with them. … The Beatles were psychologically so interesting, having been together for such a long time. When they stopped touring in 1966, I think that had a very big effect on them because the other big bands kept touring. It makes bands more cohesive because they're stuck with each other. They're in a hotel room in Minneapolis and they can't leave the hotel because the crowd outside won't let them. So what are they going to do? They go down to the coffee shop, go get some breakfast and go back to their room. Nowadays they probably play video games, but back then they’d write a song. That's partly what changed for the Beatles, because they stopped touring and then they stopped living so closely and intimately with each other as they had in Liverpool, or performing in the Red Light District in Hamburg. Back then they were in the same hotel room, And then they stopped and they had to start to think, “What is my life?” I was always kind of aware in Let It Be that that's the point I got them at. I'd worked with them in ‘66, but by the time we were doing ‘69 they were asking the question that often people do ask: “What is my life and where am I? “ Even though they were so successful and so talented — they kind of had taken over the world — it still was the same questions: “Who am I, where am I, what am I doing?” … To get them on the roof was hard enough with the eleven cameras and the [camera crew] in the road and the two way mirror [with a camera] in the foyer [to film the police arrival]. But they got up there. And it was not a slam dunk even five minutes before we were supposed to be on the roof. There was still a sense of, “Well, do we want to do this…” I expected them to play the songs, but I didn't expect them to have so much joy in doing the songs. When I saw it the other night again, it's just so sweet. The way they look at each other, the way John looks over at Paul, and Paul and John. You know, they went to school together. They started writing songs when they were 16. And George embraced his part as the lead guitar player. You look at them and you go, “That's good, isn't it?” And that's the thing which is so miraculous about the picture: I didn't do it, they did it. The connection between them is so potent at the end that it almost breaks your heart to see…

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg, May 2024, interview with Jordan Runtagh for People)

Q: There’s the infamous “argument,” between Paul and George, which now looks really tame. А: Well, that’s very interesting you say that, because whenever they saw it, they never mentioned the argument. They never said, ‘Boy, what are people going to think?” Once we turned it into a documentary, Paul said, “If you find there are things that we say to each other that show, ‘This is who we are now, it’s not the way it was a few years ago,’ let’s put them in.’ So that went in. But that’s really what you could look at as an artistic discussion between musicians. It’s the same in the theater, the same kind of things the actors say when they talk about a scene. “Are you really going to say the line that way? You can’t say it like that.’ ‘But if you say it like this, I can’t have my reply the way I want to do it.” And so that’s exactly like that. So for them it was business as usual. Q: Why did it look so shocking to people? А: It was shocking because they still thought of the Beatles as the mop-tops. People still saw them as the Ed Sullivan Beatles, the way they were when they started. People thought they were so cute and adorable. Well, they weren’t cute and adorable. They were four tough kids from Liverpool who’d learned their craft playing in hotel-cum-brothels in Hamburg. I mean, they were tough. They grew up in Liverpool, which was a tough city. It’s like growing up in Detroit or somewhere. Somewhere, that toughness always comes out. But when people went to see Let It Be, the Beatles had just broken up, and so people were watching the movie trying to discover the reasons why they’d broken up, looking for things that weren’t there, because it was such a big issue for a lot of people. Especially in America, because the Beatles represented so much here: President Kennedy in November ’63, all that grief, then the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, February ’64, and all the grief is overcome by joy. Everyone in America thought they were so cute, wearing badges that said “I love Paul” or “I love Ringo.” This is when they were 22, 23, 24 years old. But then they did change. That’s what you see in Let It Be—the boys we have known are becoming men. People hadn’t seen the men yet. They didn’t know the men. And that’s what I think Let It Be does show.

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg, May 2024, interview with Rob Sheffield for Rolling Stones)

"Because the Beatles had been portrayed as the moptops, that they were just f***ing adorable. In real life, they were tough. This just goes back to where they came from. Liverpool is a tough town. I wouldn't particularly want to run into Paul McCartney in a dark alley, if he didn't like me."

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg, May 2024, interview with Brian Hiatt for Rolling Stones)

As the TV concert had been cancelled, Michael felt he needed a new ending. ‘So I said, “Why don’t we do a concert on the roof?” Since then everyone has claimed credit for it*, including the ladies who cooked lunch!’ Before the event, he installed a two-way mirror in the lobby downstairs. ‘I did it in case the police showed up. I knew some people would complain about the noise and as an American who didn’t really have a work permit, I was afraid of being deported,’ he admits. As it turned out, he had bigger problems. In the anteroom underneath the roof, Paul was raring to go. ‘Ringo said, “It’s really cold up there” [he ended up wearing his wife Maureen’s coat while drumming] and George said, “What’s the point?” John hadn’t said anything yet and there was a pause where the whole thing was in the balance,’ says Michael. ‘Finally, John said, “F*** it, let’s do it” and they all walked up the ladder, onto the roof and into history.’

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg, June 2020, Lina Das for The Weekend Magazine)

Q: You’ve said the rough cut had more of John and Yoko but that the other three members “didn’t want to have a lot of the dirty laundry” in there… A: I would not now call it ‘dirty laundry’. I would say that The Beatles didn’t want distraction. <…> Q: There’s one scene where Paul and George are arguing about what George is going to play… A: They never asked for that to be taken out of the movie… I think that, for them, that was a normal exchange between two musical artists who are thinking what’s best for the song. <…> Q: Who do you think was most invested in keeping the band together? A: Paul had the idea that they should maybe do a concert and the others more or less agreed. I mean, he’s a very strong personality. He’s incredibly smart… And I could completely see how that would focus them all. It seemed like a really good idea. So I would say Paul was the one who wanted that and it made a lot of sense. So that’s my answer to that question. Q: When George quit and then came back, he suggested moving to The Beatles’ Apple HQ to finish the album… A: Yes, he said, ‘let’s not worry about performing [the planned concert] and let’s just get out of Twickenham.’

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg, May 2024, interview with Alex Flood for NME)

“There are moments of great sweetness,” he said. “No matter where you put the camera, no matter how you edited it, they loved each other. Anybody who sees ‘Let It Be’ again will find that.” … The film was a victim of bad timing, in his view. By the time of its May 1970 premiere, the Beatles had broken up. Traumatized fans saw it as “a breakup movie: ‘Mom and Dad are getting divorced!’” he said. … He has preserved much of what he went through with the Beatles in diaries, which he has kept since the “Ready Steady Go!” years. … He thumbed through the pages and landed on January 30, the blustery day in London when the Beatles played in public for the last time. As captured by Mr. Lindsay-Hogg and his team, their swan-song performance was the climax of both “Let It Be” and “Get Back.” The diary page was blank, except for one word scribbled in black ballpoint pen. Roof. “The busier you are,” Mr. Lindsay-Hogg said, “the less you write down.”

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg, July 2022, interview with Alex Williams for The New York Times)

*Jan 7th

gif by @sgt-paul

Also Jan 7th Paul's 'colossal' idea about ideal end of their show

@crepesuzette2023, your tag 'Michael Lindsay Hogg would not like to run into him in a dark alley when he was in a bad mood!' reminds me I forgot to publish this :)

[malakaie]

had some feelings to write out – for/about @tommyend, no pressure at all to respond

I started watching wrestling – specifically, AEW – in late October 2023. It’s been just over a year since I started watching, and I didn’t expect it to consume as much of my brain-space as it has. When I started watching, I didn’t really know who anyone was. I had heard a few names – Randy Orton, CM Punk, Jade Cargill, Roman Reigns – but had no real concept of the landscape I was entering or what it would mean to get invested.

Truthfully, it was a little overwhelming, and there was more I didn’t understand than I did. In those first few weeks, I received one very helpful piece of advice: don’t try to understand everything. Find a wrestler or two whose vibe you like and stick with them – the rest will click into place eventually, or it won’t, and either way is fine.

And so I did. I think it was around the lead-up to Full Gear 2023 that I started really paying attention. There was something about what House of Black was doing that was different from anything else I was seeing. I could understand just enough to recognise talented athletes when I saw them, but I wasn’t quite plugged in enough to the overall wrestling “ecosystem” that that was enough on its own to get my attention. Now that I understand more of what I’m looking at, it’s easier to understand what I’m meant to be impressed by – it’s easier now to have that moment of, holy shit, how did they do that?

But I didn’t understand yet. I’d been watching wrestling for about a month and was still finding my footing. What I saw, and latched onto, in House of Black was a group of four impressive performers that I could tell were in love with the art of what they were doing. Everything was done with intent – the way they entered the ring, the different but cohesive styles with which each member of the House wrestled, the gear they wore, the ever-evolving paint on Malakai’s face, the evolution and growth of Julia’s character.

It was both the moment that I finally, properly understood that professional wrestling was also theatre—and, I think, the moment that I was magnetised. It felt like a faction that was made for me: a band of storytellers who wanted to take my hand and show me what wrestling could be and was and is, and had the creativity and cohesiveness and physical talent to pull it off.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t lost anymore, desperately trying to catch up to understanding something that everyone around me already seemed to know. I had a guide of some sort, and one that resonated: I’ve been reading since I was 3, writing stories since I was 11, have always been a little “strange,” drawn to creative types and niche hobbies and other people that don’t have many friends. And here was someone who not only felt like me, sounded like me, but was wanted and loved and succeeding. A stranger to me, in the way that performers and public figures always are, but I felt like it was going to be okay. If Malakai could make it—though I didn’t and don’t know him personally, I had no way of knowing if he was ever afraid, or if he doubted himself—then maybe I could, too.

The more I watched and the more I learned, the more true that became. I’ve been depressed and anxious most of my adult life. I have scoliosis that is likely to get worse as I get older, and causes me pain multiple times a week, if not every day. Hearing someone whose work I admired be open about his mental health—especially when sports industries have typically not been kind to people, perhaps especially men, who are vulnerable in that way—and be honest when he’s in pain shook something loose in me that I hadn’t quite realised was stuck and frozen in shame. It’s okay that I’m afraid. It’s okay that I have days where my brain is trying to consume itself. It’s okay that I’m in pain. Did I get out of bed today? Have I been outside? Have I eaten? Have I done something to be kind to myself—or, failing that, kind to someone else? Have I done something creative today?

I started my “gender journey,” for lack of a better phrase, in 2018. There was a lot, a lot, of messing around with pronouns, labels. I didn’t know what I was, only that “just a girl” didn’t feel quite right anymore. And then I felt like I was lying, because, well—I was fine being a girl when I was ten, and thirteen, and sixteen, so why was it suddenly different at 25? Sometimes I still feel like I’m lying. The generation above me often still holds an image of trans people that requires them to have always been miserable, always been “pretending.” A few months ago my mother suggested it was fine if my idea of being feminine had expanded, but she didn’t really believe I was trans, because I’d never been unhappy as a girl child, and besides that I looked like a “clone” of the small handful of other transmasc and nonbinary people she’s met. I must be a pod person. (Newsflash, mom: This is just what queer people look like, a lot of the time. I cut and dyed my hair and got one singular tattoo. How terrible.)

She didn’t ask me how I feel when people call me she, or her—it makes me feel horribly small and unreal, by now—and in fairness to her, I didn’t quite defend myself either. I cringed and shrunk and asked for time to think about it, when what I wanted to say is yes, I know I haven’t had the history you expect to see from me, but this is who I am, and I’m not telling you that I was never a girl. I’m telling you that girl isn’t the place where I stop.

But I was scared, and I felt cornered, and I didn’t say any of that.

What I did have, though, was an artist and a performer and a storyteller who did things with his expression, his clothing, how he presented himself to the world that was like a lightbulb going on. The confidence of a man who told stories with the way that he looked, and who used feminine symbols to do it. He wasn’t any less masculine—but it was an embracing of both that cemented who he was, and I thought: holy shit. I can do that. Our identities are not the same, and I’m not too keen on speculating about the identities of public figures that I don’t know in any event—but it’s reassuring, motivating even, to be able to regularly see someone comfortably expressing his gender (because, yes, cis presentation is gender expression too) in a way that makes sense to him and incorporates the feminine and resonates through his art without doubt or reservation or compromise. This is who we are. Take it or leave it.

I don’t know what’s coming next for any of us. AEW looks like such a different place—in a good way—from when I started watching, and the world is looking pretty scary these days, but I’m still here. The art that got me interested in wrestling in the first place is still here, and I have my theories—unsubstantiated, so far—about where Malakai and House of Black are taking their story, but regardless of theories I’ve been so fortunate to watch them continue to grow and evolve over the past year. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I know the love for the story and the art is real.

I don’t know you personally, Malakai, and I don’t want to claim to, no matter how many scraps I’ve gathered together from interviews and how much of the backlog of matches I’ve done my best to watch so I can understand where you’ve come from and where you’re going next. But your work and your love for your craft has moved me, and I’m glad I stayed alive when it was hard so I could be around to see it when it mattered.