#gender reveal backdrop

[acecelebrations]

Welcome a new member in the family with happiness and grandeur

Thomas Jefferson, though is no more, his descendants are very much alive. That means, a part of his blood is still amongst us! The power of that emotion for a parent is huge…

Read more: https://topnewsblog.info/welcome-a-new-member-in-the-family-with-happiness-and-grandeur/

[irisbleufic]

REVIEW

Gatsby: An American Myth (Welch, Chavkin, Bartlett, Majok, & Tayeh; American Repertory Theater)

Something that most adaptations of Gatsby get wrong, whether film or stage, is the treatment of characters as archetypes rather than individuals. Symbolism drowns out most genuine attempts at capturing emotional connections and conflicts of personality. They forget that this story is not only a failure of the so-called American Dream; first and foremost, it’s a tragedy of failed roles and relationships. Almost every one of the players is attempting to be someone they are not, and even as they reach for what they believe they should want, they reveal with increasing fervor what they actually want. This is the heart of what makes Welch’s new adaptation so devastatingly, disarmingly unique, so true to its source.

The set design is literal wreckage. Crushed and warped automobile chassis scaffold the moving staircases, and concealed trap doors. The backdrop shows no clear incorporation of the infamous Eckleburg billboard; rather, it is made up of a dotted grid resembling headlights. These play out effects ranging from a downpour to camera flashes to, briefly and only once, a pair of eyes that make no effort to hide behind the owlish frames of glasses. The only thing infusing this jagged framework with meaning is the people who move through it.

The lighting design works with the set’s incongruences, deepening or excavating shadows as needed. The brightness, when it flares, is blinding. Jewel tones either enhance or diminish a costuming scheme that is composed of either very pale or very dark shades, no in between. And whether it’s the post-apocalyptic black and gray cabaret garb of the ensemble or the wealthy protagonists’ pale suits or the gunmetal and gray denizens of the wasteland, everyone’s trouser and skirt hems are conspicuously rimed with reddish dust. The visual effects are nearly impossible to describe without sounding like I had some kind of desperate fever dream.

So far, I realize that these descriptions of the set and lighting design sound like this production is about to fall into the trap of overplaying symbolism, but please bear with me. With all of that established, I can focus on what’s truly extraordinary here, what’s meant to and does shine unhindered. The acting, musicianship and vocals are all so precise that it was hard for me to believe this show is still in previews. It feels Broadway ready, West End ready, major international tours ready. If I was the production crew, I’d turn this loose on a massive scale from the get-go without a second thought.

Much like with Hadestown, the musicians are not down in an orchestra pit. They’re characters in their own right, present on the stage from start to finish on tiered risers that run up from the center on each side from one of the catwalks. I’m sure Chavkin’s involvement as director has everything to do with why this show feels so much like, moves so much like Hadestown. The company is on an equally small scale, about 23 - 25 people including the principals.

Costuming among the ensemble is delightfully gender agnostic. I mention a cabaret aesthetic earlier in this review, and I’m not kidding. If you had shown me the ensemble costume designs without showing me the principals’ designs, I would have assumed I was looking at a Cabaret revival. They’re the most talented dancers I’ve seen occupy one stage in more than a decade. The choreography relies on movements in eerie unison for a significant portion of the show, but not without allowance for individual flair within those constraints. The guy sitting next to me, when I spoke to him at the intermission, said he works as a choreographer in regional theater, and he’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t agree more; the dancing is singular, and as impressive as the musicianship is, the dancing and unusual body movement are maybe the greatest achievements of this show on the living, breathing end of things. I could have watched the dancers for those three hours without any dialogue or vocal intervention and still understood the story. That takes so much fucking doing.

As for the principal cast, they’re constantly among the ensemble; when I say these are all triple threats in the purest sense of that terminology, I really mean it. You always expect a few of the principals to be less dance and movement focused, more polished on the acting and singing side, but this show gives you terrifying proficiency from every angle. Even the guy playing Meyer Wolfsheim is at the center of what I think is the most memorable dance number in the piece. I’ve just never seen such versatile principals all in one production. What’s even more extraordinary is that I had never heard of or previously seen any of them, and that takes some doing given how much live theater I’ve consumed in several decades of life.

Ironically, the musical composition is the one aspect of this production on which I’ll be spending the least time. I need not tell you why Welch and Bartlett were perfect for this job. They understood the assignment, and then some. There’s not a single weak number among the track listings, and I desperately hope they release a recording soon. The standout numbers all have something in common: they showcase Soleia Pfeiffer as Myrtle Wilson. You can tell that’s the role where Welch sank most of the sound that’s considered her signature style. I don’t even need to describe it; you already know what I’m talking about. What’s impressive otherwise is the restraint, the lack of over-reliance on that signature style.

The principals are fucking perfect. I’ve kept this review tautly professional without meaning to thus far, but from here on out is where I start bleeding feels all over the post. If you don’t already know who my blorbos are due to my writing history with a Gatsby-related novel (The Pursued and the Pursuing, 2021), you’re going to know by the time you’re done reading this. You’re going to know exactly who I love and why, who I hate and why, who I ship and why. But you’ll also know that I approach all three of those elements from a place of enjoying every moment of those characters, even the ones I hate. Nobody’s performance put me off or struck the wrong tone when taken in context of the novel and how the tragedy of how their relationships play out.

For a long time, I’ve been saying that there are certain support roles, certain sidekicks, that make or break the higher-profile person to whose side they’re stuck, ride or die, until the bitter end. Horatio is a great example that I’ve ranted about before; if your Hamlet production has a lackluster Horatio, then it doesn’t matter how good the Hamlet is. You have nothing if you don’t have the binary star system at the heart of that harrowing universe. I’ve seen other adaptations of Gatsby consistently fall apart because Nick Carraway is treated like the kind of voyeur who doesn’t matter, the kind of voyeur who serves as the audience’s eyes and ears, and nothing else. Anyway, this is all to say: Ben Levi Ross as Nick might be the most compelling argument I can make for the fact that the creative team behind this show understood the assignment. He’s awkward, warm, sincere, and reactive in all of the ways you need Nick to be. He’s not a passive observer; he’s in the middle of everything, and he knows it. There’s a self-deprecating response he makes when one character, Jordan if I’m not mistaken, quips that maybe he’s the reason for Gatsby’s parties for all he knows. “Maybe I am,” he says, and the tongue-in-cheekness belies a gutting meta-sincerity. We believe Daisy is the point, Gatsby believes Daisy is the point, but what’s borne out every breathtaking moment of this production is that Nick is the point. He always was. He’s also given his due as a gay man in context of the story for the first time ever. I might make some folks mad when I say Nick has always been gay; I’m going to point you to Myrtle’s apartment party and the hookup with Mr. McKee as textual evidence in the novel. The kiss with McKee, the hookup with McKee, is unapologetically here. His lack of belonging everywhere else he’s ever been, because he is gay, is unapologetically here. One of the most memorable numbers in the show hinges on the hope feels at being able to be himself in New York. Queer fans of Gatsby have been waiting a long time for this. Anyone who’s read the text closely and understood him has been waiting a long time for this. I’ve been waiting several decades as a reader, and I would’ve waited forever to have Nick so fully, lovingly realized.

One of the other things that Gatsby adaptations have persistently gotten wrong is the titular character himself. The invention of Jay Gatsby hides the underlying James Gatz, makes it feel as if that old self is truly subsumed, as if it never mattered. But Isaac Powell gives us a Jay who’s exactly as he should be, who can’t hide beneath his own attempt at artifice and reinvention worth a goddamn. He’s young (as young as Nick; they’re 32 and 30 respectively both in the novel and here), painfully earnest, and just barely keeping a handle on the criminal shit he’s had to do in order to get where he is. When he says old sport to Nick, it’s not an affectation; when he says it to Tom, it becomes a biting insult. This is a Jay who knows where and why he’s vulnerable; he latches onto Nick like a not because he sees a man close to Daisy that he can exploit, but because he sees another young man who’s equally vulnerable, equally an outsider, equally haunted by the things they had to do in the war. From the moment they meet, they are almost always touching—a hand on the shoulder, on the back, getting in social harm’s way for each other, eyes seeking each other without cease in the most crowded of settings. When Jay takes Nick to lunch to meet Wolfsheim (who has in this production taken on the function of Dan Cody as well), it’s not to have somebody else vouch for the artifice of who Jay Gatsby is. It’s taking Nick to meet his fucking father-figure, and all of the messy, sincere “if you hurt my boy, I’ll kill you” sentiment that Wolfsheim aims at Nick was the moment I knew just how much the Nick’s loss by the end was going to hurt. Jay’s love for Daisy is a ghost of itself, even if as painfully earnest as everything else about him. Meanwhile, his attachment to Nick is so disarmingly genuine from the start that you understand the true tragedy you’re about to watch untold: these men who need each other, maybe even were made for each other, each prove unable to step outside their parallel distractions from what they truly are to each other. Jay’s interactions with Daisy and Nick’s interactions with several male and/or gender ambiguous members of the ensemble have something in common, which is a shocking level of physicality. This show had an intimacy coordinator; that’s the level of no holds barred we’re talking about. When you look at Tom and Myrtle, you can see why that was merited, too.

Speaking of Tom (Cory Jeacoma), the treatment of him here is every bit as scary as it should be. There’s no attempt to make him palatable, unlike what I’ve seen done with him in other adaptations. He towers over everyone else in the cast, I mean everyone, to a physical degree that’s uncomfortable. The way his wife, lover, and friends all flinch when he gets too close to them speaks volumes to the fact that he’s an abuser in every sense of the term. Even Nick, the prodigal college friend from Yale, is on eggshells around him (which, by the hotel blowup at the end of the show, becomes a sneering, reckless contempt, one of the driving forces that drives Nick to put himself between Jay and Tom whenever real harm is on the table). At the same time, this is a Tom who sincerely loves his wife and was only ever using Myrtle as a fling. You can tell he never meant any of the promises he made Myrtle. When Daisy tells him she didn’t stop the car on purpose, it’s as if his wife’s unapologetic act of manslaughter (“It was her or me!”) is the thing that wins him back. They aren’t careless people; they are people who consciously choose, day in and day out, to use others until they’re bored or done with them. The ruthlessness of Tom and Daisy as a couple is impressive, played up to a level that I feel more adaptations should do without fear of exaggerating the text.

As mentioned above, Daisy (Charlotte MacInnes) is no delicate, nervous creature who can’t help her actions under duress. She knows what she’s doing every bit as much as Tom knows what he’s doing. They use people, hurt people because they get bored and restless and enjoy it. I respect a Daisy who’s in control of her actions every step of the way even if I don’t like her; it’s better than trying to depict her as weak and at the mercy of the men around her. She’s a pragmatist and a survivor. So many of her songs are about choices and being conscious of those choices. She is a person you should fear every bit as much as you fear her husband, and even Jordan knows she’s not safe in Daisy’s orbit.

As Jordan, Eleri Ward is one of the neatest personalities on stage. Like Tom, she’s noticeably taller than most, which gives her a commanding physical presence. She has no romantic interest in anyone; I fucking love that this production show her and Nick bonding on the basis of being queer and tired of everyone else’s shit. This is a more likable, relatable Jordan than I’ve seen in the past. This is a Jordan whose relationship to Gatsby is much more familiar and warm, much more akin to the friendship she forms with Nick. In fact, the queer-and-tired vibes that roll off several of the principals in this production are palpable.

Myrtle and Wilson (Matthew Amira) aren’t always played as effective foils for Daisy and Tom, but here? They unquestionably are. They do actually love each other in spite of the things they’ve done to hurt each other, and it’s a constant dance of daring each other, challenging each other. The most memorable duet in the entire show is between them, during Act II. The confrontation is positively electric. These are two people with deep, complicated history. Of all the couples in the show, they feel the most real, the most alive. It makes the loss of Myrtle so much more wrenching; she’s not just a plot device emblematic of the bad choices they’ve all been making. She’s not shallow or frivolous or anything like that. She’s a shrewd woman with complex motivations, and for the first time ever I find myself loving her and caring what happens to her. She’s thrust even further into the action in that one of her part time gigs is working as a maid at Gatsby’s parties, a conceit that works shockingly well and hastens the devastating consequences of her affair with Tom.

I’ve made mention of Meyer Wolfsheim’s (Adam Grupper) uniquely enhanced role previously, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment on him again. This is a man who does, in fact, seem to give a shit about Jay above and beyond using him as a tool in his criminal empire. It’s not necessarily a healthy father-son dynamic, but Wolfsheim is usually played as ruthless, opportunistic, inhumanly calculating. Here, he’s a charming, but unquestionably dangerous man moved by a young soldier’s plight. He seems conflicted between his love for Jay and his need to have Jay continue to hold the party line within their business relationship. Wolfsheim is deeply conflicted about Jay in a way that I haven’t seen any Wolfsheim be played previously. And, as I mentioned earlier, the actor has a showstopper of a song and dance number. That may be the #1 “I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take it!” moment for me in this show. And I say “may be” only because the moment that truly stopped my heart, will stay with me until everything else fades from memory, is perhaps only understandable in the context of my engagement with the text of Gatsby as a writer of transformative works.

Daisy’s and Tom’s daughter, Pam Buchanan doesn’t always appear in adaptations because she’s a toddler. Even in the novel, she a throwaway mention plus a single scene near the end where the nanny brings her out to meet Jay and Nick. She’s most often left as a throwaway mention without even grave of the scene where she appears. The scene in the novel, however brief, is memorable—and has been captured in all its fragile beauty for the first time in this adaptation. Jay and Nick both pay bewildered, wondering attention to this kid when she’s brought out. Jay drops to his knees and takes her hand when she greets him while Nick looks on in a moment of singular focus on both of them. The child who plays Pam here has a spark, an expressiveness that made me choke up even though she’s only on stage for a few minutes, if that. The tableau is one in which you can feel the shock of reality, however brief, touch on these men—Daisy’s and Tom’s reckless actions may yet do harm to someone who’s barely even begun to live her life, but who is just conscious enough to be a participant in it. They recognize that they, like this child, are probably in for a word of ruin—and that they have let it go on for so long that there’s now nothing they can do about it. For me, the deepest tragedy was watching Nick and Jay throw off that moment of heartbroken, horrified recognition prompted by Pam and return to the parts they’d decided to play out until the moment one of their hearts stopped.

Speaking of grief, of Nick’s grief since he’s the one who loses so much: there is only one person who loses more, and that’s Mr. Gatz, Jay’s father. They preserve his arrival at the house when Nick is the only person who stays around to carry out Jay’s funeral and burial. And when he arrives, the visceral shock of seeing his dark skin, braids, and beaded elements of Native regalia in juxtaposition with his otherwise period-typical Western garb underscore the tragedy of what young Jay was running away from, of what he never quite succeeded in erasing from himself. The burial scene shows Nick reverently bringing several of Jay’s folded shirts from the house and handing them down into the grave to Mr. Gatz, who places them reverently as possessions to accompany his son into thereafter. The cultural ramifications are all at once understated and devastating. Nick has moments with each of Jay’s father figures that are among the most complex and moving in the show. The program does not make clear the name of the ensemble member who takes on this most memorable of all Mr. Gatz appearances, and this erasure in and of itself is both unfortunate and telling. This is a world that never belonged to the majority of those who inhabit it, and Nick realizes it with heartbroken clarity after having this final interaction. Even though he’s an outsider, he’s part of a world that has erased and betrayed the man he loved so much at every turn.

The closing number, “We Beat On,” felt like it needed something more, but it utilized the final line of the novel to a deeply moving effect. The lights go down suddenly as the last word is sung; it feels like the song is half finished. When the lights came up, Nick and Jay were center stage in each other’s embrace, just withdrawing from each other as the entire company transitioned into final bows. That’s how I’ll remember them, always: touching even when they’ve already lost each other, borne ceaselessly back into each other’s arms. If Nick is Orpheus, then I have no doubt that he, too, will tell this story again and again until someday, somewhere, something gives.

[aventurineswife]

Hi! Another beloved parenting request (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Basically the reader and the character(Aventurine, Sampo, Childe And dr.Ratio) have a 4 year old son who one night has a nightmare and asks both of them if they can sleep with them in the middle, In short the child sleeps with both parents. Take all the time you want with this, I mean it all! (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♪

-💤🩵 anon

Safe Between Us

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Childe x Reader, Fluff, Domestic Life, Parenting, Comfort/Wholesome Moments, Nightmare Comfort, Soft Relationships, Family Bonding, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Mentions of Nightmares (non-graphic), Mild Emotional Vulnerability, References to Past Trauma.

A/N: Someone's a bit obsessed with a certain hydro character here ahem ahem, can't blame you if I'm obsessed with a certain gambler here ahem ahem 🧍‍♀️ also Renny is used for gender neutral term of parent since it would've been weird if the child called you parent

The quiet hum of the city outside your window was a faint backdrop to the stillness of the room. You were beginning to drift off to sleep when you heard the sound of small, hurried footsteps padding down the hall. Moments later, a little voice called out, trembling with fear.

“Papa? Mama/Dada/Renny?”

You sat up immediately, your heart clenching. Your four-year-old son stood at the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions, his eyes brimming with tears. Clutching a small stuffed peacock—Aventurine's ironic gift—he sniffled.

“I had a bad dream,” he whispered. “Can I sleep with you and Papa?”

Aventurine, who had been lounging on the bed, glanced at the child. His ever-present enigmatic smile softened. “A nightmare, hmm? Well, dreams are just gambles in our sleep, aren’t they? Sometimes you win, sometimes you don’t. But tonight,” he said, patting the bed, “you’ve hit the jackpot, little man.”

You rolled your eyes at his theatrical explanation but moved aside to make room. Your son climbed into the bed, nestling himself between the two of you. Aventurine adjusted the covers with an exaggerated flourish, ensuring his boy was snug and warm.

“Tell me what scared you,” Aventurine said softly, his voice losing its usual playful edge. He reached out, brushing a few stray locks from your son’s forehead.

“There were… monsters,” your son murmured, curling against your side. “And they wanted to take me away.”

Aventurine’s smile grew tight for a moment—a rare crack in his facade. “No one’s taking you anywhere,” he promised, his tone firmer now. “Not while your parents are here.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to your son’s temple. Aventurine mirrored your gesture, his gaze meeting yours briefly. It was in these quiet, vulnerable moments that his guarded mask slipped entirely, revealing the man beneath.

As the three of you lay there, the child’s breathing grew steady, his fears banished by the warmth and love surrounding him. Aventurine murmured a soft, “Goodnight,” his hand lingering protectively on your son’s back. For once, there was no gamble, no risk—just family.

The air was cool, and the soft glow of the moon filtered through the curtains as you and Sampo settled into bed. His mischievous grin, as usual, hadn’t faltered even after a long day. But the peace of the evening was soon interrupted by the sound of your son crying out from his room.

Both you and Sampo bolted upright, exchanging a quick glance before hurrying down the hall. You found your four-year-old sitting up in his bed, his eyes wide with fear and tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Hey there, champ,” Sampo said, crouching beside him. “What’s got you so spooked?”

“I—I had a bad dream,” your son stammered, his small hands clutching the blanket. “Can I sleep with you and Mama/Papa/Renny?”

Sampo’s playful grin softened. “Of course you can. What kind of dad would I be if I said no to my favorite little guy?”

Carrying your son back to your bedroom, Sampo made a show of fluffing the pillows and tucking him in. “Alright, bud,” he said as your son settled between the two of you, “you’re in the safest spot in the world now—between two top-tier protectors.”

“Papa,” your son whispered as he clung to your arm, “are you sure the monsters can’t find me here?”

“Monsters?” Sampo chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Not a chance. Besides, if they tried, I’d outsmart them in a heartbeat. You’ve got a merchant dad, remember? I’d sell them some fake monster repellent and send them running!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. But it worked—your son giggled, the fear melting from his face. Soon, he was fast asleep, snuggled between you and Sampo.

Sampo leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple. “See? Problem solved. My charms work on everyone.”

The house was silent save for the rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the shore outside. You were just drifting off to sleep when a tiny knock came at the bedroom door.

“Come in,” Childe called, sitting up immediately. The door creaked open to reveal your four-year-old son, clutching his blanket tightly.

“Papa… Mama/Dada/Renny… I had a bad dream,” he said, his voice shaky. “Can I sleep with you?”

Childe was out of bed in an instant, kneeling to scoop the boy into his arms. “Of course, little one,” he said, his tone soft and reassuring. “Nightmares can’t hurt you when we’re here.”

Your son nestled against Childe’s chest as he carried him back to the bed. As the child crawled into the space between you, Childe tucked the blankets securely around him. “What was the dream about?” he asked, brushing his fingers through your son’s hair.

“There were… shadows,” your son whispered. “And they tried to take me away.”

Childe’s jaw tightened briefly, but his voice remained calm. “Shadows, huh? Well, they don’t stand a chance against us. Your parent and I are the strongest team there is.”

He glanced at you, his eyes softening as he reached over to take your hand. “We’ve got him, right?”

You nodded, smiling. “Always.”

Your son’s breathing slowed as he relaxed, lulled by the warmth and safety of your embrace. Childe watched him for a moment, his hand resting protectively on the boy’s back. “I’ll never let anything happen to him,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

The soft glow of the night lamp illuminated your room when the faint sound of sniffles reached your ears. Moments later, your four-year-old son appeared at the doorway, his small frame trembling.

“Mommy/Daddy/Renny… Daddy… I had a bad dream,” he said, clutching his blanket. “Can I sleep with you?”

Ratio adjusted his glasses, his intense eyes softening as he looked at the child. “A nightmare?” he murmured, rising to kneel before him. “Dreams are merely the mind’s way of sorting chaos. Let’s bring some order to this, shall we?”

You smiled as Ratio scooped the boy into his arms, his scholarly tone transforming into something gentle and warm. “Come,” he said, settling the child between you. “There is no safer place than here.”

As your son curled up, Ratio placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Tell me what frightened you,” he urged.

“There were big, scary shapes,” your son whispered, his voice muffled against your chest. “And they were chasing me.”

Ratio nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, shadows. A product of fear and imagination,” he explained. “But fear loses its power in the presence of love and knowledge.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered closed as you and Ratio soothed him with quiet reassurances. “Sleep now, my little prodigy,” Ratio whispered, his hand lingering protectively on the boy’s back. “Your dreams will find clarity, and we will always be here to guide you.”

[pen-and-umbra]

Ever Crisis's intriguing development could have far-reaching consequences for the Remake's finale. With it, the circulating theory about Sephiroth assuming a new role just got a boost.

I had suspicions that Ever Crisis was being clever with its storytelling. This was the first scene that caught my attention.

Glenn's team briefly touches upon how secrets as well as childhood memories end up in the Lifestream. The focus on Sephiroth's adolescence in the title makes this detail quite telling.

In later chapters, Sephiroth's cherished necklace, holding a picture of his mother, is also cast into the Lifestream. In a possibly related context, Lifestream Black indicates that OG Jenovaroth discarded his human memories, including those of childhood and friends, to retain independence in the Lifestream and prevent assimilation by the Planet. By discarding these additional memories and linking himself to Cloud, he furthered his agenda in Advent Children. These memories also make their way into the Lifestream.

Previously, the relationship between these tidbits and EoC!Sephiroth was speculative.

Players have observed stark contrast in Sephiroth at the Edge of Creation: his livelier expressions and defensive fighting style against Cloud, reminiscent of past battles with Angeal and Genesis in the VR simulator. Notably, the distinction in pronoun usage was emphasized: masculine 'ore' instead of Jenovaroth's gender-neutral 'watashi,' reflecting the symbiotic relationship between post-Nibelheim Sephiroth's body and Jenova cells that Jenovaroth fixes his lower body with. Drawing from these observations, some fans have theorized that EoC!Sephiroth showed a stronger connection to his human side. With Ever Crisis' latest chapter, that inference is no longer theoretical. Sephiroth at the Edge of Creation mysteriously possesses human memories.

Now, Edge of Creation can be thought of as a smaller-scale pocket dimension, akin to Destiny's Crossroads. Fascinatingly enough, its emergence is accompanied by colorful glow effects, not too unlike the effects of branching universes introduced in FFVII Rebirth.

It appears to be stranded between two universes, as represented by the two separate nebulae in the backdrop. According to developers (courtesy to aitaikimochi translated Ultimania bits), one of them alludes to Sephiroth's winged appearance and was intended to evoke imagery of his menacing presence. I can only imagine it referred to his Safer Sephiroth form.

The red one, on the other hand, displays some parallels to Jenova's monstrous appearance (courtesy to u/nzivvo pointing that out). Thus, EoC! Sephiroth is stuck between “Sephiroth's menacing presence” and “Jenova” figuratively.

And yet, EoC!Sephiroth indicates a desire NOT to vanish/end [presumably as a result of worlds merging?]. As he does so, he glances at "Sephiroth's menacing presence" nebula

So who is EoC!Sephiroth? Various interpretations align with the newly introduced lore. It could be Sephiroth who regained his human senses sometime down the line — a singularity-like dimension appears to exist beyond time-space and is connected to all points in time, just like Destiny's Crossroads. It could be a fragment of his spirit—his human memories, hopes and dreams creating an 'alternate world' within the Lifestream. It could be Sephiroth from some other “world”—perhaps, a timeline where he never went insane and never took a dive at Nibelheim. At any rate, he seems to be trapped in that bubble dimension, which is also destined to disappear [become part of another world] one day, a fate he seemingly opposes. Interestingly, in Aerith's "dream world," it is revealed that she was hiding in one of the worlds that was purportedly "ending" or "embracing its fate [to be merged/vanish]”.

Such circumstances share uncanny similarity to the ones EoC!Sephiroth is facing. Therefore, it's possible that EoC! Sephiroth isn't sealed/trapped by external force per se, but is concealing his presence. For what purpose? That remains to be seen. Peculiarly, FFVII Remake Ultimania provides different entries for Sephiroth we encounter at the end of Midgar’s highway and Sephiroth we talk to at the Edge of Creation.

Moving on. From a storytelling standpoint, it's deliberate that at the Edge of Creation he contemplates his journey to becoming who he is, what values he held and at what cost. His monologue about the cycle of hatred is particularly memorable.

Not only does the scene emphasize his caution when it comes to violence that he ostensibly came to develop after being part of Glenn's team, but also his lack of enthusiasm for it. Notably, he offers the enemy soldiers to stand down, not resorting to combat from the get-go. The monologue further conveys the desire to end the cycle of hatred.

So maybe asking Cloud to lend him strength wasn't a ploy or a trick after all, if EoC!Sephiroth is a being entirely distinct from Jenovaroth, one that remembers that once upon a time he strove to end the cycle of hatred and vengeance.

👋 @pen-and-umbra

[drrden]

Leon Kennedy x Gender Neutral! Reader - The story is on Wattpad too.

Summary: Two rival agents are tasked to go undercover together to retrieve information on a security breach. The mission will span over a few months, in which they have to share an apartment and pretend to be a couple.

Tags: Enemies To Lovers, Slowburn, Forced Proximity, Fake Dating.

Chapter One - Animosity. 3008 Words.

Abundantly, the rainfall patters against the shrouded windows, the humidity a testament to the drizzly, somewhat melancholic weather outside the conference room, wherein there's an all too familiar stillness in the air. Government files are orderly dispersed across the mahogany table, itemizing information regarding the content of the forthcoming assignment shared between none other than Leon Kennedy and yourself. Cursing inwardly to yourself about the whole ordeal, you figure there's no point in letting your mutual animosity with one another get in the way of securing major information, which is the objective of said classified mission. What an uncomfortably warm room you find yourself confined within, the aura almost smothering - and you're sure that you can't be the only one capable of acknowledging such a fact. The sound of the clock ticking acts as a backdrop to the almost entirely taciturn space, as the two of you stand in distant proximity, refusing to avert your gaze from the queerly placed lectern, seeming as if it had been taken directly from a University classroom. It seems ridiculous, two grown adults behaving as if they were youths in detention because of one another; the strangely nostalgic feeling of wanting to be anywhere else but with your peer at the moment. Yet, here the two of you are, anticipating the arrival of your superior, who'll be mapping out the prospects of your job. Two seasoned agents, one arguably more accomplished than the other, obliged to work alongside each other, irrespective of whatever preceding conflict. Just at the pinnacle moment where you believed you could almost drown in the silence, in strides your higher-up, who greets the two of you with a knowing look, her emerald eyes narrowing as she approaches the lectern. "So," Emma begins with a stale tone to her voice, suspecting this debriefing won't be going swimmingly, "The two of you have been paired together for a mission that all major personnel here at USSTRATCOM believe will span over a significant amount of time." Leaving a brief pause for you and your adversary to process the uninvited information, revealing the two of you have the misfortune of seeing a lot more of each other. A knot forms in your stomach and it both churns and twists, a sharp inhale of breath following as you picture having to spend time with such an individual who's so aloof with you. Leon, however, doesn't offer such an outward expression of his discomfort, instead his jaw tenses and his brows furrow, not being one to give you the satisfaction of a reaction. Sighing audibly, Emma resumes with her description of what you're tasked to endure alongside Leon, "This isn't one of those operations where you can simply go out and take down a B.O.W., you're doing a series of infiltrations into what we expect to be numerous facilities, all in regards to cyber attacks against the United States. The only problem is that they seem to be from within." Rather than stomaching a hasty, elementary intel mission built upon the foundations of pure stealth, you're expected to endure a lengthy endeavor beside Leon, since it's the safest option. It's to be approached with disquiet, as one small oversight can tarnish the mission, as losing information isn't something that can be easily resolved by calling in for backup like you would with a B.O.W. if it was deemed fit. No, this is a two-person mission and it's going to remain that way to the conclusion. Detecting the apprehension, she motions to the two folders on the table, both of which contain the same information, a more in-depth insight into the delegation. 

Swiping up a folder before Leon can get to one first, you challenge Emma on the partner selection, "Out of all the agents working for America, how did Leon and I being paired come to fruition, exactly?" Admittedly, the word choices are sugar-coated to a degree, despite the fact you're never hesitant to critique your stoic colleague, even as he stands beside you. The brunette pinches the bridge of her nose and turns her back to you, shaking her head as if you had just told her that the sky is blue, "Professional agents should be able to work together regardless of their relationship. If you have a problem with such basic standards as this, then you may want to reconsider your line of work." Just the mere implication of her statement makes your spine shudder, soon opting for the decision to keep your job, and therefore quiet. Taking the opportunity to read through the file, you feel Leon's shoulder bump against you as he reaches for his paperwork - and you figure that it was done intentionally. Huffing, you begin to skim through the information. The two agents are expected to be together on this assignment for up to five months, potentially even more depending on the complexity of retrieving the information, and the extent of what they uncover. Since the mission is based far away from where either of them lives, they've both been temporarily rehomed in a two-bedroom apartment which they are expected to share; no exceptions will be made in regards to booking a hotel to live separately. Our main goal is to find out what technology was used in the latest Government security breach, as many incline that the suspects are related to Umbrella in some form. There's much more information that you read, and it forces you to realize the gravity of the situation, and how vital it is in the security of the country, especially if Umbrella is somehow engaged with it. Swallowing your pride for the sake of appeasing Emma's expectations, you stiffly turn to face Leon, gazing up at him apprehensively through your eyelashes. "...Guess that makes us partners then, huh?" You quip, in an attempt to make light of the strained predicament, to which Leon replies with a curt nod, azure eyes staring down into yours vacuously - until he extends a hand. "I guess it does, partner." Mild amusement glimmers within his eyes as he feels your fingers grudgingly intertwine with his, and he offers a firm shake, calloused hand enveloping yours as he squeezes a little too tight. Surely, there's no such thing as being overtly eager if it's for the sake of a job? After all, if the two of you don't act civil in front of Emma, she might supersede the two of you and force you into doing paperwork on an overtime shift instead.  As if either of the two of you would wish to face a punishment so severe as a result of your immaturity. Retracting your hand the second it's respectable to do so, you wipe it on the leg of your trousers, shooting Leon an alerting glower. The corner of his mouth twitches and you can almost swear you perceive a ghost of a smirk gracing his lips, yet it vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared. Waving a hand dismissively, Emma straightens her blazer and turns to you for the final time, warning laced in her words, "Whatever you do, don't let the enmity between the two of you complicate things. Your jobs, and likely the safety of the country, are in your hands, agents." 

Holding some semblance of common sense, you seize the opening and exit the room, clutching the file and holding it close to your chest - a permanent reminder that you'll have to give up so much just for the contents of a mere folder. Gnawing on your bottom lip, your pace increases as you maneuver your way through the labyrinth of hallways, intent on taking the opportunity of spending your last nights in your city appropriately. By executing the best means you can to shroud the fact that there's an underlying sense of impending doom, whether that be from repercussions of the mission or the inclination that you may be driven to insanity just having to share a home with Leon Kennedy of all people for an undisclosed length of time. It's harsh and biting as you step out into the glacial evening, thick sums of fog already obscuring a good volume of the stretch, as if some snobbish poet is enforcing pathetic fallacy into your everyday life. Perhaps your fate is already predetermined, maybe by some miracle chance your partner will be swapped at the last minute, preferably to someone like Casey who you cross paths with mainly in the break room, since your offices are at opposite ends of the hall. Despite your heavily limited interactions, she'd be a much better option than Leon, who doesn't exactly set a high bar for standards in the ideal mission partner. Not only has the rain been persistent, but it steadily increases with the more time you spend outside, which seems to be the staple in defining your day as the worst one you've had in a significant amount of time. Walking for such a lengthy amount of time is an ideal way of clearing your mind of any lingering thoughts that overstay their welcome too long, such as how living with Leon will work. Within the file, it cited that the two of you must go out and spend time with one another as if you were a couple, so as not to draw any unwanted attention from the opposition, lest they unveil your true identities and have you terminated. Nothing has been specified in terms of what you're expected to do, meaning the two of you will eventually have to sit down and navigate the topic yourselves, setting boundaries and coming up with ways to appear as a happy couple who're healthily obsessed with one another. After all, the apartment is situated in an unscrupulous area of the city, there's bound to be means of surveilling people who've recently moved into the area. Internally, you recoil at the consideration of having to address the person you detest most in the workplace with terms of endearment such as 'babe' and 'sweetheart' - no, thank you. With haste, you shake the thoughts from your mind and focus on the current task at hand; managing to get a place on any form of public transport at five in the afternoon. Exactly at the post-work traffic rush, with a good chunk of the city having been occupants in regular, everyday office jobs that are open between the hours of nine in the morning and five in the afternoon. Or, rather, evening, depending on the perception of each individual. All that you know is, right now? You're aiming to get home as swiftly as possible to satisfy your quench for familiarity before getting sent off to an unexplored municipality. A foreboding sentiment lingers permanently in the back of your mind regardless of all of these falsely assured affirmations, since hazardous missions and temperamental rivals don't tend to mix well together all too well. 

Rubbing his face with his worn palm, Leon keeps his eyes firmly closed and expression tight, leaning back in the chair behind his desk, sounding a familiar creaking noise as he does so. Leon's a calm man, a self-proclaimed remarkably calm man - who maintains his composure and facade of nonchalance to his best ability. Yet, the mere concept of having to be away for months on end without closure for when he'll be able to arrive home doesn't come across as particularly appealing to him even in the slightest. Not a glimmer of content within all the thoughts rearing at the forefront of his conscience at this moment in time, having faced enough strain today with the unending stream of paperwork following his last mission in rural Spain. That one certainly took a toll on him, having been confronted by conflicting thoughts following the rash appearance of Ada, who he had presumed dead all that time ago back in Raccoon City. The mindlessness of the villagers who inhabited the village reminded him of the familiar state of those driven with bloodlust in the ruined city in which he had intended to be a police officer. An endless cycle of helplessness, the harsh reality of knowing not everyone can be saved in a situation, regardless of how many times he reassures himself that it can be different. Plagued by guilt and a complexity based upon being a survivor, often brooding to himself why he was one of the few who was lucky enough to survive the bloodbath, the extensive loss of life and humanity across such a short period. No matter how much he tries to mask it in front of others, Leon's deeply troubled by the events and will forever remain so, unwilling to reach out and seek help from anyone. He just doesn't have the time to, nor the energy. Speaking about the past cannot alter it, only eating as a looming reminder of all the things that he could have done differently, what could have been avoided as to better the outcome of said events. The guilt is immense despite the impossibility of a single rookie cop saving an entire city on his postponed first day, stopping a virus from overthrowing the place and tarnishing it. Just recalling the events is bad enough, let alone vocalizing his experience and reliving it all again as if it were six years ago, before he was forced into a metamorphosis of personality and being; unable to recognize himself at his lowest points. Preferring to claim that he's changed, despite the disagreement of Ada who believes otherwise, still seeing him as a naive young man. But who is he to trust her, of all people, considering the betrayal and deceptive nature of the woman - is Ada even her real name or just an alias for anonymity? Though he acts unphased, it's given him an apprehensive take on trusting others, only bestowing his conviction upon a set number of people who he's closest to. After all, any of his colleagues could secretly be a double agent, with leniency towards whoever the opposition is - meaning it isn't always the best option to allow people to get too close to him. Adamant on refusing to be taken advantage of again to unknowingly help the wrong people, regardless of how detached it may make him come across at times; usually something he does with the people who he can't help but want to trust the most, despite any misconceptions he leads them to believe.

Polar opposites is the most suitable definition for the dynamic between the two of you, having been acquaintances when you first joined USSTRATCOM back in 2002, meaning there's been an entire two years for the both of you to harbor resentment for one another. Some people aren't meant to find one another appealing or tolerate them, and that can be handled with efficiency if they aren't regularly in each other's company. Quite simply, that's a prevalent issue in regards to you and Leon, who shares an office with you and two other agents who he tends to forget the names of at times. Just isn't the type to mix his personal affairs and his job, since it's taxing on his mental well-being, so it's better to try not to let anything from work be involved in his personal life to the greatest extent that he can manage to do so. Despite not being overtly cocky or anything involving overconfidence, the broad differentiation in experience as agents is one of the reasons the two of you have never seemed to have a moment where you realize that you can cooperate with one another to some degree and overlook your past conflict. Perhaps it's just the case of right job, wrong time, on your behalf, since the two of you would've been in similar levels of inexperience if you joined all the way back in 1998 when Leon had been forced into doing so. Facing grueling training, which you were lucky enough to get the good end of, since they must have made it a lot more intense in the following years after Leon's initial inauguration into working for the Government. It's not that he's completely unapproachable, or a guy who's entirely miserable, it's you don't get along all that greatly. You've heard of him being kind hearted towards others, such as the President's daughter, Ashley Graham, when Leon saved her from Los Illuminados the other month. Some may argue that his kindness can be solely due to the fact that the poor girl was completely unsettled and frightened for her life, and that she isn't accustomed to seeing such heinous violence. Maybe, during the mission, he felt like she was a little sister to him, considering the age gap between the two is over five years. There's some people who he knows he has to look after, and others that he knows are perfectly capable of holding their own and being secure in their skills. Despite this, with you, it's uncertain what to expect now that the two of you will be pursuing a mission together that isn't with at least two other people. This isn't a typical mission, either, it isn't short nor filled to the brim with action and set obstacles to face. It's more lengthy and slow paced, unfamiliar territory for the two of you to navigate the best you can, without giving into the urge of bickering like an old married couple. There's a concerning amount of unresolved conflict when it comes to you and Leon, having many arguments left open which are simmering in the backdrop of each interaction, anticipation building for the subjects of disagreement to come to the surface once more. Maybe the two of you will finally be able to talk out your differences, as not to put the task at hand at risk. Then again, when it comes to you and Leon Scott Kennedy, things are never quite as they initially present themselves as being. Regardless of how this ends, it's going to be a long next few months.

[herstoryheaven]

Oscar Piastri x Reader: Romance Between The Lines

Prompt: You and Oscar spend an afternoon in a cozy bookstore, picking out books for each other to read. You find a quiet corner to start reading, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and each other’s company.

Reader: Gender Neutral

Word count: 570

Average reading time: 2 min 5 sec

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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Oscar guided you through the endless aisles of the bookstore, his hand securely holding yours. The store's intimate ambiance, filled with the smell of aged paper and soft classical music, set the perfect backdrop for a quiet afternoon with your boyfriend.

After browsing through the shelves and selecting books that spoke to both of your tastes, Oscar led you to a cozy corner of the bookstore adorned with plush armchairs and a small, round table. He had a special plan in mind. With a playful glint in his eye, he revealed a classic romance novel he thought you both would enjoy.

“I figured we could share this one,” Oscar said, his voice soft and inviting. “I’ve heard it’s a perfect blend of passion and tenderness.”

You smiled up at him, feeling a rush of affection. “That sounds wonderful, Oscar. I’m excited to read it.”

Oscar gently guided you into his lap as you both settled into the chair. The closeness felt natural and comforting. He opened the book, and you nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer.

He began to read aloud, his voice a soothing melody that seemed to vibrate through you. The warmth of his chest against your back and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat created a sense of perfect contentment. As the story unfolded, his fingers occasionally brushed against your arm or played with a strand of your hair.

Every so often, Oscar would pause to press a gentle kiss to your temple or cheek, his touch tender and loving. You could feel the affection in each kiss, each one a soft promise of his feelings for you. Each touch was a reminder of the love you shared.

The story drew you both into its romantic embrace, and you found yourself glancing up at Oscar, catching the way his eyes sparkled with passion and delight. His gaze met yours, and in those moments, words were unnecessary. His eyes spoke volumes of his love and admiration.

When the story reached a particular moment, Oscar’s voice became a whisper, his words filled with emotion. You turned slightly to face him, your lips just inches from his. His eyes locked onto yours, and the connection between you was undeniable. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently against yours. The kiss was soft and lingering, filled with the warmth of the shared experience.

When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with a deep, tender affection. “I love these quiet moments with you,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “It makes everything more special.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with emotion. “I feel the same way, Oscar. Being here with you, sharing this... it’s perfect.”

Oscar’s hands gently caressed your face as he leaned in for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you, lost in the romance of both the story and each other.

As the final pages turned, Oscar closed the book with a contented sigh, still holding you close. “That was amazing,” he murmured, his voice a tender caress. “I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend this time.”

You nestled closer into his embrace, savoring the closeness and the lingering warmth of his kisses. “Neither could I,” you whispered back, your voice full of love and gratitude.

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[thatlotuscookie]

I know I have a lot of a lot of people about this question but how do you feel about the League of villains staying at reader’s families Haunted Mansion (like the Disney movie haunted mansion with Eddie Murphy?) since Halloween is coming up just thought it would be fun? 😄

✧･ﾟ: a/n : ooh, I love that idea! The League of Villains in a haunted mansion sounds like a perfect mix of spooky and fun, especially with Halloween coming up! :33 I can just imagine all the chaos they’d bring. Thanks for the suggestion. HAHA imagine trick or treating/pumpkin carving w them, that would be funny. enjoy!!

✧ Title: ✧ Haunted Mansion Shenanigans ✧ ✧ Characters: Shigaraki, Dabi, Kurogiri, Toga, Reader (Gender Neutral), theres also a bit of Dabi x Reader loll i got carried away w my fav villain udwoq ✧ Genre: Halloween, Fluff, Humor ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: It's Halloween season, and your family's old mansion becomes the perfect backdrop for a gathering of the League of Villains. ✧ Content Warnings: None really, ig Horror elements?? LMAO. Language✧ WC: 3007 words // 17k chars

It was Halloween season, and the air was thick with the scent of fallen leaves and impending chills. Your family's old mansion, inherited from a long line of eccentric relatives, stood at the edge of town. With its creaking wooden floors, ornate chandeliers, and walls lined with portraits that seemed to follow you, it was the perfect setting for a gathering of the League of Villains.

As you prepared for their arrival, a mixture of excitement and anxiety bubbled in your chest. You loved your friends, but bringing the League of Villains into your family’s home felt like a recipe for chaos. Still, the thought of sharing your favorite Halloween traditions with them filled you with warmth.

When the League finally arrived, they stepped through the heavy, creaking doors, eyes wide with curiosity. Dabi strolled in first, his usual aloof demeanor overshadowed by a hint of intrigue. “Nice place you got here,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the grand foyer.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, got character,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

Kurogiri floated in next, his foggy form swirling around him. “A most peculiar ambiance,” he remarked, glancing around with an approving nod.

Toga bounced in, her energy infectious. “This place is perfect for a spooky party! Look at those portraits! I wonder if they’ll move!” She dashed to one of the paintings, peering closely, her wide grin revealing her excitement.

“Focus, Toga,” Shigaraki grumbled, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “We’re not here to play with ghosts.”

“Aw, come on! Where’s your sense of fun?” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Fun? You mean destruction?” he shot back, though even he couldn’t help the slight curve of his lips as he watched Toga.

As the evening wore on, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting eerie shadows throughout the mansion. You had set up a movie marathon featuring classic horror films, and the group settled in the grand living room, surrounded by dim lighting and flickering candles.

“Why do you even like this stuff?” Dabi asked, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed.

“It’s tradition! Plus, it’s fun to be scared,” you replied, trying to convince him. “A little thrill never hurt anyone, right?”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further. Instead, he let his gaze wander, catching snippets of the movie. You could see a flicker of interest behind his usual disinterest.

The first film began, a classic slasher flick. Toga was immediately glued to the screen, gasping and laughing at every jump scare. “This is amazing!” she squealed, eyes shining with excitement.

Kurogiri sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the screen, occasionally glancing at Toga, who was completely absorbed in the film. Shigaraki, on the other hand, seemed utterly uninterested. He lounged on the couch, his fingers tapping impatiently on his thigh.

“Why are we watching this junk?” he mumbled, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Can’t we just destroy something?”

“Shut up, Shigaraki! This is Halloween! You’re supposed to enjoy it,” you chided, though you couldn’t hide your smile.

As the movie progressed, Dabi found himself relaxing more, despite his attempts to remain cool and aloof. He leaned back against the couch, seemingly unfazed, but you caught the way his eyes flickered towards you now and then. A small part of him was invested, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

By the time the first movie ended, the atmosphere had shifted. Laughter and playful banter filled the air, and you felt a warm sense of belonging with your friends.

“Alright, next movie!” you declared, rifling through the stack of DVDs.

But before you could decide, Dabi’s voice broke through the chatter. “I need a drink. Anyone want anything?” He stood up, stretching lazily.

“I’ll take some snacks!” Toga exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Same,” Shigaraki said, a hint of excitement creeping into his otherwise bored tone.

As Dabi headed to the kitchen, you followed, hoping to lighten the mood further. “You know, I’m glad you came. I thought you’d all back out.”

“Why would we do that?” he replied, leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on you. “This is actually kinda… nice.”

His admission caught you off guard. Dabi, usually so guarded, was letting his walls down, even if just a little. You felt your cheeks warm, and you quickly diverted your gaze to the snacks.

“So, uh, what do you think of the mansion?” you asked, trying to maintain a casual tone.

“It’s creepy,” he replied, his expression serious. “But not in a bad way. I get why you like it.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that.”

Dabi met your gaze, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere outside faded away. You could sense a shift between you, something unspoken but lingering in the air. Just as you were about to say more, Toga burst into the kitchen, her energy disrupting the moment.

“Did you guys find the ghost yet?” she joked, peering around the kitchen as if expecting to see a spectral figure.

“No ghost here,” Dabi replied, smirking. “Just us. Boring.”

“Boring? I don’t think so! This place is amazing!” Toga insisted, grabbing a handful of chips and munching loudly.

With snacks in hand, you all returned to the living room. As the second movie started—a classic ghost story—you settled back into your spot, trying to ignore the electric tension that had formed between you and Dabi.

The film had just begun when the lights flickered ominously, casting strange shadows around the room. A low rumble of thunder echoed outside, and the power flickered momentarily.

“Great, just what we need,” Shigaraki grumbled, his annoyance apparent.

Toga laughed nervously. “It’s just part of the ambiance, right?”

As if on cue, the power went out completely, plunging the room into darkness. A collective gasp echoed, followed by a burst of laughter from Toga.

“Okay, this is officially spooky!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with thrill.

“Great. Now we’re in a horror movie,” Shigaraki deadpanned, his eyes glinting in the faint light from the candles.

Dabi, however, seemed unfazed. He pulled out his phone, using its light to illuminate the room. “Guess we’ll have to make our own fun.”

“Like what?” you asked, trying to keep the mood light despite the darkness.

“Ghost stories?” he suggested, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

You felt a rush of adrenaline. “Sure! But we can’t just tell any ghost story. It has to be about this mansion!”

Everyone agreed, and the circle formed as you took turns sharing your scariest tales. As you began recounting a particularly chilling story about a lost spirit who haunted the very halls of your mansion, you noticed Dabi leaning closer, his interest piqued.

As the night wore on, the stories became more elaborate, filled with exaggerated details and laughter. You could see Toga getting more animated, while Shigaraki leaned back, pretending to be disinterested but clearly entertained.

Then, suddenly, the lights flickered back on, illuminating the room once more. Dabi leaned back, arms crossed, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Boring,” he declared, earning a round of groans from everyone.

But the mood had shifted again. With the stories lingering in the air, you could feel the energy around you change, becoming more intimate. Dabi’s gaze occasionally flicked to you, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through your chest.

“Alright, who’s ready for the next movie?” you announced, trying to steer everyone back to the fun.

“I say we watch something scary!” Toga suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah, something that’ll actually make us jump,” Shigaraki added, his tone sarcastic.

You rummaged through the movies, finally settling on a psychological thriller. As the film started, you felt Dabi settle beside you on the couch, his body heat radiating against you. The tension between you two felt electric, every small movement of his heightening your awareness.

Halfway through the movie, as a particularly tense scene unfolded, Dabi suddenly leaned closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. It felt comforting, safe. You could feel your heart race, and you glanced sideways at him. He didn’t seem to notice your gaze, his focus entirely on the screen, though you caught a glimpse of a rare softness in his expression.

The film continued, tension building as characters faced impossible choices, and you found yourself drawn into it all—Dabi’s presence beside you, the stories you’d shared, the camaraderie you all had found in this spooky setting.

Just when you thought the night couldn’t get any better, Toga suddenly let out a squeal as a jump scare lit up the screen. Dabi’s grip tightened instinctively, pulling you closer as you stifled a laugh.

You could feel Dabi's heart beating steadily beside you, and his warmth enveloped you like a soft blanket. You tried to focus on the movie, but the moment was charged with a different kind of tension, one that sent butterflies swirling in your stomach. Every so often, you'd catch him glancing at you, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

As the plot twisted and turned, the movie's atmosphere grew heavier, filled with dread and suspense. The tension among the group mirrored that of the film, but you could also feel the underlying connection between you and Dabi deepening. When the characters on screen faced peril, you couldn’t help but lean slightly into him, seeking comfort.

"Hey, what's wrong? You scared?" he teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You shot him a playful glare. "Maybe a little. It's just… it's a creepy movie!"

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “It’s just a movie, you know. You’re not actually gonna get haunted.” His voice dropped slightly, almost conspiratorial. “Unless you count me as the real ghost here.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Right, a ghost with a fiery personality.”

As the film reached its climax, with suspenseful music heightening the tension, the room was filled with gasps and shouts. Toga was on the edge of her seat, clutching the edge of the couch, while Shigaraki let out an exasperated sigh, trying to act indifferent. But you could tell he was just as engaged, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes.

When the movie finally reached its conclusion, and the credits began to roll, everyone erupted into a discussion about their favorite parts. You were still riding the adrenaline from the film when Dabi leaned back, stretching his arms behind you in a casual yet deliberate manner. His presence enveloped you, leaving no space between your bodies.

“Alright, who’s next to pick a movie?” you asked, trying to keep the energy going.

“I wanna watch something funny now! I need to lighten the mood after that horror fest,” Toga exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat.

Shigaraki shrugged. “Whatever. Just don’t pick something stupid.”

With the lights flickering, you rummaged through the stack of movies again, finally landing on a classic comedy. As you set it up, Dabi shifted slightly, allowing you to feel the warmth of his arm against yours.

As the film played, laughter filled the room, and the energy shifted once more. Toga was in fits of giggles, clutching her stomach as she laughed at the antics on screen, while Shigaraki rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed but trying to hide the small smirk on his face.

Dabi, however, had grown quieter. You glanced at him, noticing how he seemed to be lost in thought. His usual laid-back demeanor was replaced by a contemplative expression.

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked softly, not wanting to disrupt the laughter around you.

He turned his head, locking eyes with you, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. “Just… thinking,” he replied, his voice low.

“About what?” you pressed gently, curious about what went through his mind.

“Just how this is… different,” he admitted, glancing back at the screen but clearly not focused on the movie anymore. “Not bad different, just… different.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through your chest. “I’m glad you’re here, Dabi. It means a lot.”

He met your gaze again, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background—the laughter, the movie, the eerie ambiance of the mansion. “Yeah, well… I guess I didn’t mind it,” he replied, his tone softer than usual.

Before you could respond, Toga suddenly leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, but who’s brave enough to explore the mansion? I want to find ghosts!”

“Oh, come on!” Shigaraki groaned. “You’re not serious.”

“Yes! Let’s do it!” Toga insisted, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I’ll go,” you said, catching Dabi’s gaze. “I could use some more adventure, and who knows what we might find?”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes again, clearly not wanting to miss out on anything. “Fine. Just don’t scream and make us all look like idiots.”

With that, the group rallied together, ready for exploration. You could feel the thrill in the air as you made your way through the mansion, guided by the flickering glow of candles.

As you wandered the hallways, the portraits seemed to watch your every move. Dabi stayed close to you, his presence grounding amidst the uncertainty. Occasionally, he’d brush against you, his warmth radiating through the chilly air.

You paused in front of a particularly imposing portrait of an ancestor, the eyes seeming to follow you. “This one gives me the creeps,” you muttered.

“Creeped out by a painting?” Dabi teased, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You turned to him, a mock-serious expression on your face. “It’s not just any painting! It’s a haunted one!”

“Right. And I’m a ghost,” he replied, smirking.

You both shared a laugh, and for a moment, the tension of the night melted away.

As you ventured deeper into the mansion, you heard a creak from upstairs. “Did you hear that?” Toga whispered, her eyes wide.

“Yeah. Let’s check it out,” you suggested, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

As you made your way up the grand staircase, the floorboards creaked beneath your feet. Dabi followed closely behind, and you could sense his protectiveness. As you reached the top, the hallway was dimly lit, with shadows dancing along the walls.

“Okay, we’re here,” you whispered. “What now?”

“Now we listen,” Shigaraki said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

The silence was almost deafening, filled only with the faint sounds of the wind outside. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the hallway, causing the candles to flicker wildly. Toga jumped, grabbing onto your arm tightly.

“Okay, that was creepy,” she squeaked.

Just then, Dabi stepped forward, his expression serious. “Stay close,” he murmured, moving to stand slightly in front of you.

As you wandered down the hall, you passed a door slightly ajar. “What’s in there?” you asked, motioning towards it.

“Let’s find out,” Dabi said, nudging the door open with a flick of his wrist. The room inside was dusty, filled with old furniture and cobwebs. A single window was cracked open, letting in a breeze that made the sheer curtains flutter.

Toga peered in, her curiosity piqued. “Ooh, spooky! Let’s look around!” she exclaimed, stepping inside.

As the group explored, you felt Dabi’s presence close behind you. His warmth was comforting, grounding you amid the eerie ambiance of the room.

Suddenly, Toga let out a small squeal, pointing at a rusted old mirror. “Guys, look! It’s a magic mirror! I bet it shows your future!”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t hide the amusement in his tone. “Or it just reflects your face.”

Dabi stepped forward, looking at the mirror with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, right. I don’t believe in that stuff.”

You moved closer, the mirror reflecting your curious expression. “What if it really does show something? What’s the harm in looking?”

As you stepped in front of the mirror, you caught a glimpse of your reflection, but something felt different. For a fleeting moment, you thought you saw a flicker of a shadow behind you in the glass.

“Did you see that?” you gasped, spinning around.

“See what?” Dabi asked, looking around.

You pointed back at the mirror. “I swear I saw something! It was—”

Before you could finish, the mirror suddenly shattered, glass exploding outward, causing everyone to jump back in surprise.

“Holy—!” Shigaraki shouted, pulling Toga closer as he braced himself.

Dabi instinctively stepped in front of you, his body shielding you from the broken shards. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern etched across his features.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your heart racing. “But that was creepy!”

Toga laughed nervously, glancing between you and Dabi. “That was the coolest thing ever! It’s like a horror movie!”

“More like a disaster waiting to happen,” Shigaraki muttered, looking unimpressed.

Dabi’s grip on you tightened for a moment, his eyes scanning the room. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his tone serious.

You nodded in agreement, and the group hurried back into the hallway, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Once back in the main area, the tension shifted. The excitement of exploring the mansion and the spooky atmosphere heightened your awareness of Dabi’s presence beside you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, a safe harbor in the chaotic night.

As you settled back in the living room, you glanced over at Dabi. He seemed different now, his usual aloofness replaced by a genuine curiosity.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked softly, trying to gauge his thoughts.

“Yeah, just… a lot happening,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But it’s not bad. Just different, like I said.”

You smiled, appreciating his honesty. “I’m glad you’re here. It makes all of this more fun.”

His gaze met yours, and in that moment, you felt an unspoken connection, a shared understanding of the night’s unpredictability.

“Yeah,” he agreed, a hint of a smile breaking through. “Guess I don’t mind being your ghost tonight.”

[sunshinegat0r]

This one is completely self-indulgent for me to make myself feel better. Recovering from surgery is hard, and it’s okay to cry about it and let yourself feel shitty! And then pour all your feelings into a comfort fic with your fave and toss it into the void! I promise it’s softer than the content warnings make it seem. I've been staring at this all weekend and I'm ready to let it go. :)

Scars ~ Zoro x GN!Reader

CW: Body dysphoria, discussion of medical issues, surgery, illness, scarring. Reader is GN but one gendered term is used at the end (girl). WC: 1,859

Music played softly in the room you and Zoro shared on the Sunny, the phonograph giving it a fuzzy quality. It was a subtle backdrop to your sniffles as you cried quietly on the bed, a stuffed animal clutched tightly to your chest, tears dripping steadily onto its plush head. Other items littered the modest room, gifts from your friends and crew mates to distract or help you through the recovery process. The phonograph was from Brook, the plush from Nami - Robin had, of course, given you plenty of books to read in bed. Sanji kept you well-supplied with soft foods, easy to swallow, whenever you had enough appetite to eat them. Usopp and Franky had even teamed up to build an attachment for your bed that adjusted the angle of the mattress so you could easily sit up. All of these physical signs of their love helped make the bedroom feel less like a prison and more like a safe nest during the weeks since your surgery.

Although staying cooped up anywhere for so long would doubtless be a drain on your mental health. There wasn’t a porthole in the room so you weren’t even sure what time of day it was. Since you could hear muffled shouts through the thick wood of the deck above, you assumed it was daytime - Luffy was probably up to something, maybe pulling Usopp and Chopper into his antics. You thought it had been long enough since your last attempt at a meal that Sanji would be sending something down - hopefully with Zoro, you weren’t feeling strong enough to face anyone else right now.

Sure enough, the bedroom door soon swung open, revealing a shirtless green-haired man balancing a tray of food on one hand. You dragged your gaze up to meet his. The feelings that skipped through your heart were relief… and a little bit of guilt and shame. That he had to see you this way. That you couldn’t get it together and relieve some of the burdens in your relationship he had taken on while you were recovering from the surgery.

Not that he would ever voice any complaints about your situation. Zoro gave you everything you asked for and more with a tender stoicism that you tried to ground yourself with. He was there when you woke up coughing in the middle of the night, bringing you ice chips. He massaged your calf muscles, sore after spending weeks in bed. He even tried to keep the rest of the Strawhats from pestering you too much - although you knew they were just worried about you (you think he even growled at Brook once when the musician wouldn’t leave you alone).

Now, Zoro took in your dull stare and disheveled state, slipping into the room and gently closing the door behind him. Frowning, he crossed the small space quickly and set the tray onto your crowded bedside table. Your lover crouched in front of you, taking hold of your hands, pulling them towards him. This loosened your grip on the stuffed toy and it fell to the side, bouncing onto the floor, revealing your chest and neck.

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt anywhere?” Zoro asked you briskly but not unkindly. His eye danced across your body, checking for any bleeding or other abnormalities. Chopper had told him a few things to look out for in these next few weeks, but he didn’t see any signs of them. Finding none he relaxed slightly and met your gaze as you shook your head the tiniest amount.

Slowly you raised your head to stare at the wall behind him, straightening your bruised and scarred neck, baring it to the swordsman. It looked different than the last time he had checked on you, more pink and somewhat cleaner.

You cleared your throat, cheeks red with embarrassment, and in a small voice told him, “The glue was starting to peel a lot, so I started picking at a corner, and then… I couldn’t help myself once it started, and I peeled the whole thing off. Chopper said it would start to flake off around now anyways…” You couldn’t make yourself look at his expression. Closed your eyes as you spoke. “It didn’t hurt, but when I looked in the mirror afterwards, I- I had gotten so used to seeing it the way it was. And now it looks so different, and-” Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, thick and fast. You felt ridiculous. Zoro’s grip on you tightened, his thumbs starting to rub soothing circles on the back of your hands.

You took a deep breath, unable to stop crying but trying to steady yourself. “It’s so much more raised than I was expecting it to be, so much more… obvious,” you whispered. “My skin feels weird and it’s just freaking me out, and once I started crying, I just… I just-”

“Shhh,” Zoro hushed you gently, rising from the floor and gathering you into his arms as your tears turned into sobs once again. He didn’t say anything beyond making comforting noises and hums, letting you feel them rumble through his chest. His arms were strong around you, his body emitting a steady warmth that seeped into your cold limbs, warming you to your core. He let you cry yourself out, releasing all of your panic, sorrow, frustration from the past few weeks. Frustration with how slow the recovery process was. With how it felt like every time you took a couple steps forward, you took even more back again. At how you sometimes felt like a stranger in your own body. Zoro held you as you hiccuped your way through all of your emotions, providing a solid sense of stability for you to anchor yourself. One arm always remained firmly around you but the other slowly trailed caresses down your back, sending distracting and calming sensations through your body.

Finally your tears subsided and you lifted your head from his chest, heavy and exhausted. “Hey,” he whispered as his brown eye met your puffy ones.

“Hi,” you mumbled back, indulging in a long blink when he leaned in to press a loving kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry I’m being such a baby about this-”

Zoro sternly says your name, exasperated. “You just had major surgery not even one month ago. Your body is healing, but your mind has to heal too. You need to give it the time it needs.”

“You’re one to talk,” you mutter. “How many times has Chopper said the exact same thing to you? And how many times have you listened?”

Zoro grinned at you, the expression lifting your mood more than anything else. “Don’t act like we’re the same,” he teased. “Besides, I give my body exactly enough time to heal before I start training again.”

“Bullshit!” you squawk indignantly, slapping a hand weakly against his chest. He chuckled at your protest but didn’t argue back. With your hand on his bare skin, you let him distract you from your malaise a little more. “…Where’s your shirt?”

He grunted, nodding his head to the side table. You saw a rumpled shirt you hadn’t noticed before next to the tray of food he had brought in. “Luffy was pigging out, as usual, and spilled a whole plate on me. I was going to work out after I checked on you anyways, figured I didn’t need it.”

You deflated at the thought of being left alone again so soon. The soothing tones from the phonograph wended their way to your ears, filtering through now that you had calmed down somewhat. You looked up at the swordsman, hesitant but hopeful. “Zoro… Would you dance with me? Please?”

And how could he resist when you asked so sweetly? Wetness still clung to your lashes and, despite the redness, your eyes sparkled when you looked at him. He couldn’t believe you thought yourself weak when, when Zoro looked at you, he saw the strongest person he’d ever met. The path from illness to diagnosis to treatment to, finally, recovery, had been such a whirlwind. And yet you’d still found moments to smile and laugh, to comfort him when his own paranoia got the best of him, when he struggled with being unable to protect you from your disease. When he felt that he wasn’t strong enough.

Unable to deny you anything, Zoro slowly stood from the bed, pulling you with him, never letting you leave the circle of his arms. The music drifted from one song to another, perfect for swaying together. Nimble on his feet during a fight, Zoro was all lefts when it came to dancing anything more complicated than a shuffle. You didn’t mind in this moment, too pleasantly surprised that he agreed without protest and tired from crying to move much yourself.

Your arms wrapped around his waist and you laid your head back against his chest, fitting in neatly right under his chin. You could hear his heart beating steadily, a metronome in your ear, and tried to match yours to it. He rested his head on top of yours and lazily started to sway with you. His grip was firm and protective, holding you close. The bedside lamp glowed with a cozy yellow light that made everything fuzzy - perfectly matched to the phonograph’s crackle. The world seemed to be slowing down to give you a chance to breathe.

His golden earrings chimed softly as he spoke, keeping his chin planted on the crown of your head. “Thought you’d trust my word when it comes to stuff like this. I’ve got plenty of experience with scars.” His tone was teasing, but it did give you pause.

With your face directly on his pectoral it was hard not to look at the giant scar that roped across his body. You brought your hand around to trace curious fingertips along it. Zoro wasn’t exactly one for any type of special skincare, so his scars all went untreated once the bandages were removed. No skin strips to lower them, no creams to make them more subtle or blend with his skin. And he had so many of them - his chest, of course, and his eye, but also scattered across his arms and legs. Each one was a story that he had survived. That he had succeeded in protecting what was important to him, and come out stronger for it.

Zoro continued to rock you as your fingers roamed. He could feel when you finally gathered your tumbling thoughts, your body tensing and relaxing as you let out a long breath of air.

“Well, at least it’s not on my back,” you finally stated, voice wobbling, halfway between joking and serious.

The swordsman raised an eyebrow at that before a laugh burst out of him, startling you from his chest. He cupped your cheek with one large hand, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. It’s like his smile transferred from him to you because you were wearing a slight grin when he pulled away. Zoro knocked his forehead against yours, still smiling proudly as he murmured, “That’s my girl.”

Tag List: @zoros-sheath

[hallohartje]

quick notes on the Eat Your Young video

there are two stages and two audiences. one for adults, and one for children. the adult's stage is a classic stage while the children's stage is closer to a puppet show/pantomime.

when something is lost in the adult's stage, it begins to appear in the children's. when hozier's arm is lost in war, his hand appears in the children's stage as a fist clenching and unclenching. when ivanna's arm is lost as she imitates the statue of venus, her hand starts doing shadow play for the children's

the loss of arms and limbs is due to a form of gendered violence. men are harmed in war, women are harmed by the need for achieving a form of idealized perfection. this is recreated by their dressing up of the young child, and then later slapping away the doll in his hands

harming the child results in the son going down a path of violence and war. he dresses in the soldier's uniform like his father. he attacks the other toys on the bed spread. ivanna covers his arms, showing that even without going to war, the poison of violence has already infected the child. they metaphorically consume the child shortly after.

interestingly, only the child's hand makes it to the child's stage. the hand attacks the puppets representing hozier and ivanna. he pulls away their costumes, showing hozier's puppet butcher costume. he kills them as a form of revenge.

as the puppets fall, the black backdrop of the stage behind the adult's also falls. it's revealed that hozier and ivanna are also being puppeted by string.

the child, having been consumed on the adult's stage, opens up a colorful fridge. the children run away screaming. on the adult's stage, you can see a bloody hook hanging behind hozier and ivanna. it gleams red as the adult audience stands up and applauds.

the juxtaposition of the two audiences, the transference of symbols from one stage to the other, suggests that the child has left a message for other children that the adults also received. but where the adults clap and see this as a performance, the children run away because they see the adult's play for what it is: a terrible feast where they are to be consumed by war and generational violence.

anyway stan hozier. his mind.

[monster-slut-memoirs]

{{ MINORS DNI -- Monster Fucker Smut }}

Incubus On Order

FOUR

"Now that you mention it, Master, you're not what I expected either..."  Faz's taps his plump lips, puzzled. Sending out his left hand, he swirls it into the air, and in a poof of black smoke, a tablet appears in it. Tapping a purple finger over the touchscreen at lightning speed, he assesses his 'data'.

"Sam Wallace. 34. Divorced. Heterosexual." Faz reels off. Then turns the touchscreen for you to view and scrolls through a collection of your top most watched porn videos and erotica reading list and finishes with a list of 'bedroom preferences', and honestly? All seems accurate and in order. Except for one thing—your profile picture—it is from your long-unused fakebook account. It contains a picture of your 2012 skiing trip to Andorra—a photo of your now ex-husband posing on the slope before a stunning Alpine backdrop. 

"Did you think I was going to be a bloke?" You ask. 

"Bloke?" 

"A man? With a cock?"

"Oh, we don't categorise by gender or sex." Faz quickly defends, though it's easy to see through the PC lie. "...We're not supposed to anyway..."

It becomes glaringly apparent that the tech department from Faz's agency had wholly misread your data. 

Sure, you read a lot of BL webcomics. Your favoured porno was a gang bang with a gaggle of slender younger men that maybe looked a little bit like Faz. The name you went by since the age of fourteen was unisex, Sam and not your given name, Samantha, and your profile pictures had historically always been of your ex-beloved, who was a man in his early 40s. 

"How can I send you back? There seems to have been a big misunderstanding." 

"Uhm... Fill the progress bar." 

Placing your face into your hands, you groan. "How are we supposed to do that?" 

"Oh, I just have to make you cum until you're spent," Faz says with an astounding amount of casual confidence. 

"And how are you going to do that?" You ask, unenthused. 

"My oral scores are pretty impressive if I say so myself," Faz smirks, placing a hand on his androgynous-shaped hip. "Oh, and this." With another plume of black smoke, the tablet vanished. It frees Faz's hands, and in one swift tug at the front of his black thong, it effortlessly falls away to reveal his package in all its glory.

You blink. Your teeth champing due to the speed at which you pick up your gawping bottom lip. 

"You like them like this, right?" He asks, confidently displaying his cock, and turns his hip to give you a better view of the profile. 

Unsurprisingly, it was purple but with a blushing magenta helmet, glistening with precum. Down the left side pulses a juicy-looking vein. As for girth, from the root to its head, it's consistent and undoubtedly thick enough for a pleasing fill. His balls don't sag too much, but they do appear rather full. You gulp, unable to keep the thought of burying this cock down your throat to empty them. Its length was also... perfect, if not a little more than you were accustomed to. Likely, a satisfactory seven inches. It was flooring how perfect a cock Faz was blessed with. It was what you liked in the most textbook way imaginable. 

Now you squeeze your thighs together, wondering what he can do with it…

<<<THREE | FIVE >>>

[denisearef]

Falcon and the Winter Solider (2021)

"The Falcon and The Winter Soldier" picks up the narrative immediately after the events of "Avengers: Endgame." The series navigates the post-Captain America era, with Sam Wilson (Falcon) grappling with the decision of accepting or rejecting the iconic shield. Simultaneously, a new government-appointed Captain America, John Walker, enters the scene. Against the backdrop of global conspiracies involving the Flag Smashers and the mysterious Power Broker, the storyline weaves together the struggles of identity, legacy, and responsibility. Within this narrative, the series tackles themes of racism, socio-economic disparity, and the quest for justice, elevating it beyond the confines of traditional superhero storytelling.

How do structural mythology, cultural studies, and cultural history reflect the series’ world and world-building around superheroes?

Structurally, the series follows the archetypal hero's journey, exploring the burdens and responsibilities that come with wielding superhuman abilities, particularly in the context of the iconic Captain America shield. This mythological framework serves as a foundation for the characters' development and the overarching narrative.

In terms of cultural studies, the show delves into contemporary societal issues, addressing systemic racism, socio-economic disparities, and displacement. The decision-making around Sam Wilson's acceptance of the Captain America role reflects a nuanced exploration of racial identity and societal expectations, contributing to a broader discourse on representation within the superhero genre.

Cultural history is interwoven into the narrative, notably through the aftermath of significant events like the Blip. The series reflects on the impact of these events, shaping the characters' identities and motivations. By grounding the superhero narrative in historical context, it adds layers of complexity to the world-building, making it more reflective of real-world dynamics.

In what ways are the superheroes and their abilities informed by their racial, gender, sexual, and cultural identities?

The series places a magnifying glass on the racial identity of its lead character, Sam Wilson, as he grapples with the legacy of the Captain America shield. Sam's hesitation to assume the role immediately isn't solely rooted in self-doubt but reflects a profound awareness of the racial implications of becoming the symbol of American heroism. The show captures the struggle of a Black man reconciling with the expectations placed on him in a society that has historically excluded and marginalized people of color.

In what ways do costumes and concealing identities further separate the superheroes from normal society? How necessary is it for the superheroes to hide their true identities to successfully achieve their goals?

In "The Falcon and The Winter Soldier," costumes and concealed identities play an important role in delineating the boundary between superheroes and normal society. A prime example is Sam's adoption of the Captain America mantle. When he initially decides not to take up the shield, he grapples not only with the weight of the responsibility, but also with the racial implications of becoming the symbol of American heroism. The iconic Captain America costume, with its patriotic colors and distinctive shield, is not just a uniform; it carries profound symbolic weight. Sam's eventual acceptance of the costume is not just a personal decision, but a statement about the transformative power of symbols and the role costumes play in defining superhero identities.

Practical necessity comes to the forefront for the character of Karli, the leader of the Flag Smashers. Her adoption of a mask aligns with the group's anti-establishment stance, but it also serves the purpose of protecting her identity from their enemies.

The series also addresses the consequences of revealing identities. John Walker, the government-appointed Captain America, faces backlash when his identity is exposed after a controversial incident. The lack of anonymity intensifies the scrutiny on his actions, showcasing the vulnerability that comes with a public persona.

How do the economic, political, and social events that occurred during the series’ creation and broadcast cultivate and inform the superheroes’ decisions and actions?

"The Falcon and The Winter Soldier" unfolds against the backdrop of real-world events, resonating with the racial justice movements of its time. The series discusses police brutality, racial profiling, and the struggles of marginalized communities, drawing explicit parallels to the Black Lives Matter movement.

How do the superheroes question themselves, each other, and their obligations and duties to the people around them?

Throughout the show, Sam questions whether he, as a Black man, can truly embody the symbol of a nation that has historically marginalized people of color. Sam's introspection goes beyond the physical demands of heroism, extending into the realm of identity, representation, and personal sacrifice.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, engages in a profound self-examination as he grapples with his dark past and seeks redemption. His internal conflict revolves around reconciling the actions he was forced to commit as a mind-controlled assassin.

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: ashley moore.

full name: euridyce meilyr de argavieso whitmore. ( the maternal surname is linked to spanish roots, with the mother herself being spanish ).

nickname(s) / goes by: riddy, for everyone. meimei, for grandparents. diddy, for close friends.liry, for parents and siblings.

pronouns & gender: cis woman, she / her.

sexuality: pansexual, demiromantic

birth date: march 10, 1998. pisces sun, cancer rising and tauros moon.

birth place: merrock, maine.

arrival to merrock: she's local.

housing: the coast & pier.

occupation: financial analyst and ceo of harmonia retreat & spa.

work place: working remotely as a financial analyst for a boston-based investment firm.

family: living members.

relationship status: dating.

PERSONALITY

euridyce 'riddy' whitmore's a character shaped by an intrinsic duality, a product of a childhood filled with abandonment and suffocating expectations. this duality forms the layers of her complex personality, making her both a figure of strength and fragility. resilient & determined: from a young age, euridyce learned to rely on her own strength. her mother's abandonment left her with a sense of emptiness, but it also planted the seed of resilience. she developed a fierce determination to rise above expectations and the family legacy, choosing to excel in her studies and career as a way of finding her own worth. reserved & reflective: euridyce is introspective, often preferring the silence of solitude to the chaos of social interactions. she has a natural inclination for deep analysis, both of herself and the world around her. this makes her a keen observer, able to pick up on nuances that others might easily overlook. this introspection distances her from crowds but also shields her from revealing her vulnerabilities. independent, yet craving connection: despite her independence, there is a part of euridyce that yearns for genuine connection, for a sense of belonging she never found in her family. this desire manifests in her pursuit of validation, both in her career and personal relationships. however, her fear of being abandoned again prevents her from fully opening up to others, creating an emotional barrier that is difficult to breach. perfectionist & ambitious: euridyce carries an almost insatiable ambition, always striving for perfection in everything she does. this pursuit, however, is not just for herself but an attempt to prove, primarily to herself, that she is worthy of the whitmore legacy, even as she chooses to build her own. she throws herself into her goals, sometimes at the cost of her own peace and well-being, never satisfied with “good enough.” insecure & longing for acceptance: beneath this facade of self-sufficiency lies a deep insecurity. euridyce constantly questions her worth, both as a member of the whitmore family and as an individual. while she seeks success and independence, she is haunted by the idea that she will never be enough, neither for herself nor for others.

WRITTEN BY: Ethel / Theo (she/her & they/them), GMT-3.

BACKGROUND / BIO

euridyce meilyr de argavieso whitmore was born on the 10th of march, at that precise moment when winter yields to spring, in the small, melancholic town of Merrock, Maine. Merrock, a place where the salty sea air meets dense forests, where past and present intertwine, was the backdrop of her silent and fragmented childhood.

the daughter of giunone de argavieso, a vibrant spaniard whose hands crafted fabrics into creations that enchanted the fashion world, and remington whitmore, the prodigal son of merrock, heir to an empire built upon the waves of the atlantic. the whitmore dynasty, with its long-standing tradition in the naval industry and maritime trade, had its roots firmly planted in the era of great sailing ships, expanding over the centuries to dominate global logistics, maritime transport, and luxury yacht construction. however, the power and wealth amassed by the family did not translate into harmony within the walls of the whitmore mansion.

euridyce, or riddy, as she preferred to be called, was the fifth of six siblings, a girl who grew up observing the disintegration of her home. the fights between her parents echoed through the corridors of the house, doors slamming shut, and her siblings fleeing to the streets of merrock, seeking peace away from the domestic chaos. when giunone left, without saying goodbye, leaving behind her children and husband, euridyce was nearly six years old, a birthday that was never celebrated. her mother’s departure left a deep mark on her, a scar that never truly healed.

as the years passed, the whitmore siblings grew distant from one another, each seeking refuge as far away from that cold house as possible. remington, the father, was not a malevolent presence, but his absence was a burden just as heavy. he was always immersed in his empire, in the responsibilities of a legacy that left the upbringing of his children to his own mother, the stern and distant grandma whitmore. euridyce never felt part of that world, as if she were a dissonant element, something that didn’t fit into the grand tapestry of the whitmore family. Her siblings were unique, brilliant in their own way, while she... she was just euridyce.

in high school, riddy found solace in her studies, an escape from the reality that surrounded her. determined to escape merrock and prove her worth, she dedicated herself intensely to her books, accumulating credits and honours, avoiding the parties and typical adolescent gatherings. her reward came in the form of a scholarship to harvard business school, a ticket to the world she had always dreamed of. at 18, she moved to boston, reinventing herself with every step.

at university, euridyce excelled as an exemplary student, graduating with a bachelor of arts (A.B.) in economics at 22. she became involved in various extracurricular activities, including harvard undergraduate women in business, the harvard financial analysts club, and the harvard innovation lab, along with summer internships in investment banking and strategic consulting. although less than five hours from merrock, riddy only occasionally returned to her hometown, giving in to her grandmother’s pleas of longing but never allowing it to interfere with her academic journey.

determined to go further, euridyce continued with an MBA at HBS, specialising in general management with an emphasis on entrepreneurship. she actively participated in the HBS entrepreneurs and the venture capital & private equity club, undertaking summer internships in a startup and a venture capital fund. her capstone project, a prelude to her own company, marked the pinnacle of her education.

returning to merrock, euridyce was ready to start her own business, determined to break away from her father’s empire, rejecting any financial help from the family. now, a young woman forged by the adversities of her childhood and the rigorous demands of academia, she was prepared to write her own destiny, far from the shadows that had always followed her.

[shabdforwriting]

Six Pressing Social Issues to Consider for a Novel in 2024-25

These six social issues are indeed timely and thought-provoking themes that could shape a novel in 2024-25:

1. Mental Health Awareness

Mental health has become a critical conversation point in modern society, yet it remains stigmatized in many areas. Exploring characters grappling with anxiety, depression, PTSD, or the fallout from trauma can resonate deeply with readers. A narrative could focus on the struggle for self-acceptance or finding a support system, while challenging societal norms that misunderstand mental health struggles. It could also tackle themes like the impact of social media on self-esteem or how access to mental health resources varies across communities.

2. Racial and Social Inequality

Issues of systemic racism and social inequality remain at the forefront, from policing and justice systems to educational and employment opportunities. A story centered around these themes could explore the daily realities of those marginalized by society and the fight for justice and equality. Such a novel could delve into the emotional toll of discrimination, the intergenerational effects of inequality, or the power and pitfalls of grassroots activism, drawing attention to the deep-rooted biases that still shape much of the world.

3. Climate Change and Environmental Justice

Climate change is not only an environmental crisis but also a social one, as it disproportionately affects marginalized communities. An engaging narrative could tackle the displacement caused by rising sea levels, the struggle of communities to adapt, or the clashes between environmental activists and corporate interests. This theme can explore how the fight for a sustainable future intersects with issues of poverty, indigenous rights, and the politics of climate denial, highlighting the urgency of global action against climate disaster.

4. Technology and Privacy

As technology advances, concerns about data privacy, digital surveillance, and the ethical implications of AI continue to grow. A story set against the backdrop of a tech-dominated society could explore the loss of personal freedoms, the effects of constant surveillance, or the emotional consequences of living in a hyper-connected world. It could also delve into themes like cybercrime, misinformation, or the blurred lines between reality and virtual spaces, posing questions about what privacy means in an era where data is currency.

5. Economic Disparity and Class Struggle

Economic inequality continues to widen, fueling discussions about the distribution of wealth, the power of corporations, and the reality of working-class life. A novel could highlight the struggles of individuals in low-income communities, the impact of economic downturns, or the emotional toll of labor exploitation. It might follow characters grappling with precarious jobs, the gig economy, or the impossible balance of making ends meet. Exploring these challenges can reveal the human cost behind economic policies and bring attention to the fight for fair wages and social safety nets.

6. Gender Identity and Representation

As conversations around gender expand, exploring themes of identity, expression, and the struggles for recognition becomes increasingly important. A novel can delve into the experiences of transgender, non-binary, or gender nonconforming characters, focusing on their journeys of self-discovery and acceptance. It can also examine societal barriers like discrimination, transphobia, or the challenges of accessing healthcare. By offering authentic representation, such a story can foster empathy, challenge stereotypes, and celebrate the diversity of human identity.

Each of these themes offers rich ground for character-driven stories that reflect the complexities of modern life, allowing a writer to create a narrative that is both compelling and relevant.

Source -

[godlovesdykes]

spoiler thoughts

hm. robin is a great character and i love that he sucks and takes the easy way out and doesn’t stick to his ideals (until he does). enjoyed him very much. his doppelgänger moments could have been played for more tension/horror. his parricide foreshadows him taking down the phallic structure of imperial power.

the other three have so little going on. until the bg chapters you don’t know who they are. ramy is the most fleshed out, and i appreciate killing him off because it gives the girls a chance to be characterized. before the hermes reveal, though, the main four and their relationships just feel like YA tropes. got to put in the found family and the hints of gay romance.

i did not like the treatment of letty. the idea of a white feminist liberal character is great, and her betrayal works well, but why is she hysterical and froufy and motivated by love for a man. she is the one female character who gets any personality before the last act and that personality is “sexist stereotype”. and ofc people are calling her a bitch in the tag.

and poor victoire has nothing at all until the end! i get that she’s ignored by letty, at least, and having letty not mention her once in her backstory chapter was poignant. but there is so much potential in her revealed in the VERY LAST CHAPTER. like sure, you can tell me that robin relies on her. but i don’t see it played out.

an excellent way to give the women more characterization would have been to examine their relationship to crossdressing. letty is coming from high society and victoire from indentured servitude. how does each of them feel about giving up her gender? why don’t they react when they have to cut their hair before canton? what does it mean for them to start wearing skirts again in their upper years? how does victoire feel being dolled up for the ball? having letty do her hair? what do they wear in summertime? what about the fact that 1830s men’s fashion has an hourglass waist? do they stay corseted?*

WHERE IS THE RELIGION. i appreciated ramy’s prayers and dietary restrictions, but i wanted more. how dows he feel about the christian worldview that would undoubtedly be taught even in translation and language classes? where is victoire’s folk catholicism? i want more religion in every book, but this would have been a great one for it. how was silver work affected by the septuagint? the vulgate? the reformation?

and finally: the footnotes. the footnote explaining griffin’s cohort was so unnecessary. write that into the story or leave it as a tragic loose end. don’t try to do both. the newspaper footnote about the bridge collapse, however, was very effective and made me gasp.

in summary, i suppose, i wanted a historical novel and didn’t get it. the era is simply a backdrop to the story. the plot is compelling, but the characters weak. i really enjoyed the final act, especially the barricades and solidarity with the strikers. i don’t have much to say on the anticolonial aspect that hasn’t already been said. would recommend, would not read again.

* please enjoy my favourite 1830s crossdressing images, both by gavarni:

[oscarisaacasimov]

"Eat Your Young" music video & meaning

Performing Gender Roles & History Andrew & Ivanna are acting in a play within a video, emphasizing that gender is performative, not only for each other but for the audience who politely applauds. The play starts with an old-fashioned wardrobe, the man and the woman putting on the appearance of what society wants them to be. The man goes off to war as a soldier, and they both look bored in their roles - there is no excitement, fear, or sadness. The time period for the outfits seems to be WWI, just over 100 years ago. Hundreds of thousands of Irish men enlisted in this war, facing the horror of the trenches, as well as violence from anti-English countrymen when they returned home.

The woman looks to older ideals of female beauty; the Venus de Milo was carved nearly 2000 years old and the legends of Venus are older still. She is portrayed by a Ukranian actress, reminding us of the most notable war of the present day. (This video seems to reflect themes from Swan Upon Leda as well.)

The play ends, Andrew & Ivanna bow, and resume their 21st century personas. As modern people who understand the problem of gender roles, and the futility of an endless cycle of violence, they want to believe they are leaving the roles and the problems of the play behind them.

But Eat Your Young is a song for the current times. Our "advanced" society is not peaceful, but has merely outsourced the violence of resource extraction, human abuse and animal slaughter. That meat hook still hangs over head and no one is safe. Hands and Affection The man loses an arm and a leg in the war. The woman loses both her arms trying to fit the ideal of Venus de Milo. This represents a loss of their humanity, and of the power to choose another role for themselves. The man is disabled and will have trouble working in the early 1900s. The woman has chosen a form where she can't do much beyond sit still and look pretty. (As a side note, the staging of missing limbs with black cloth against the black backdrop was minimal but effective.)

Before the war, the couple exchanged mutual affection of foreheads resting together. Now when the woman offers affection the man rejects it angrily. When the man offers a kiss, the woman accepts it coldly.

When the son is born, the man awkwardly and formally shakes his hand. There is no affection from either parent. Blind adherence to gender roles has destroyed the heart of this family.

The Children In Hozier's words "the adults lose something and the children watch what has been lost become visible." Seated back to back in the theater, the adults witness the man and the woman act out familiar patterns, while the children look to the future and are horrified by violence which is not yet normal to them.

On the children's puppet stage, they see disembodied hands appear - hands that are powerful but free of gender roles or adornments. The adults caught a glimpse of the man as a butcher, but the child's hand reveals the butcher is the man-puppet's true nature beneath his soldier outfit. The woman-puppet is beating her family with a stick. On the adult's stage, the son is lost. He's sent into the world without being loved, even forbidden to the pretend love of a toy doll, only capable of violence and destruction. Perhaps he has even died at a young age, a boy miner in the early 20th century. Quicker and easier to just eat him. He does not attend the curtain call.

As the adults ignore the meat hook dripping blood, "what has been lost" appears on the children's stage: something in a meat locker so horrifying that the children in the audience scream and run away. The adults behave in the theater no matter what they see, but the children offer a glimmer of hope - each generation is a new chance to end the cycle. Final Thought: Hozier is an incredible artist and gentle soul to stage a maimed war veteran, domestic abuse, cannibalism, and harm to children, all depicted in non-graphic ways.