#what an emotional and visual spectacle

[feline-ranger]

In light of the sad news about Bernard Hill, I feel like we should take a moment to really appreciate the acting performances in the LOTR trilogy. The fact that none of the cast got Academy Awards is well-known and I think even now the sheer visual spectacle of the trilogy can overshadow everything else, but the performances were SO crucial to what made the films great.

It’s easy to take the success of the movies for granted now, but that was never a guarantee. Aside from the practical aspects of portraying such an epic fantasy onscreen, the series is peppered with dialogue that is fine on the page but unbelievably difficult to deliver. As Harrison Ford famously remarked to George Lucas re Star Wars “You can write this stuff, but you can’t say it.”

From Gandalf’s “To the Bridge of Khazad-Dum!” to Elrond’s “It must be cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came!” it would be so easy for the whole thing to collapse into farce. The only reason it doesn’t, is because of the talent and conviction of the actors.

Bernard Hill was tasked with one of the most objectively ridiculous lines in the entire trilogy. “The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time!” And he delivered. BOY, did he deliver. He gave it all the gravitas and emotional weight of Shakespeare, he made it truly rousing instead of ridiculous, he took the audience with him to that moment, that place, right into Middle Earth with its people and its history, and made it REAL.

And for that, I thank and salute him. RIP, sir. Go now to the halls of your fathers. You earned it.

[steveyockey]

Some would rebut that “Oppenheimer,” being a Hollywood blockbuster with serious global reach (whether it will play Japanese theaters remains uncertain), will be many audiences’ only exposure to the events in question and thus might “create a limit on public consciousness and concern,” as the poet, writer and professor Brandon Shimoda told The Times. A corollary of this argument: The crimes committed against the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were so unspeakable, so outsized in their impact, that Oppenheimer’s perspective does and should dwindle into insignificance by comparison. For Nolan to focus so exclusively on an American physicist’s story, some insist, ultimately diminishes history and humanity, even as it reinforces the Hollywood hegemony of the great-man biopic and of white men’s narratives in general.

I get those complaints. I also think they betray an inherent disrespect for the audience’s intelligence and curiosity, as well as a fundamental misunderstanding of how movies operate. It’s telling that few of these criticisms of perspective were leveled at “American Prometheus” when it was published in 2005, that no one begrudged Bird and Sherwin for offering a meticulously researched, morally ambivalent portrait of their subject’s life and consigning the destruction of two Japanese cities to a few pages. That’s because books are books, the argument goes, and movies are movies — and this perceived difference, it must be said, reveals a pernicious double standard.

Because they seldom achieve the narrative penetration and richness of detail of, say, a 700-page biography, movies, especially those about history, often are hailed as achievements of breadth over depth, emotion over intellect. They are assumed to be fundamentally shallow experiences, distillations of real life rather than sharply angled explorations of it, propelled by broad brushstrokes and easy expository shortcuts, and beholden to the audience’s presumably voracious appetite for thrilling, traumatizing spectacle. And because movies offer a visual immediacy and narrative immersion that books don’t, they are expected to be sweeping if not omniscient in their narrative scope, to reach for a comprehensive, even definitive vantage.

Movies that attempt something different, that recognize that less can indeed be more, are thus easily taken to task. “It’s so subjective!” and “It omits a crucial P.O.V.!” are assumed to be substantive criticisms rather than essentially value-neutral statements. We are sometimes told, in matters of art and storytelling, that depiction is not endorsement; we are not reminded nearly as often that omission is not erasure. But because viewers of course cannot be trusted to know any history or muster any empathy on their own — and if anything unites those who criticize “Oppenheimer” on representational grounds, it’s their reflexive assumption of the audience’s stupidity — anything that isn’t explicitly shown onscreen is denigrated as a dodge or an oversight, rather than a carefully considered decision.

A film like “Oppenheimer” offers a welcome challenge to these assumptions. Like nearly all Nolan’s movies, from “Memento” to “Dunkirk,” it’s a crafty exercise in radical subjectivity and narrative misdirection, in which the most significant subjects — lost memories, lost time, lost loves — often are invisible and all the more powerful for it. We can certainly imagine a version of “Oppenheimer” that tossed in a few startling but desultory minutes of Japanese destruction footage. Such a version might have flirted with kitsch, but it might well have satisfied the representational completists in the audience. It also would have reduced Hiroshima and Nagasaki to a piddling afterthought; Nolan treats them instead as a profound absence, an indictment by silence.

That’s true even in one of the movie’s most powerful and contested sequences. Not long after news of Hiroshima’s destruction arrives, Oppenheimer gives a would-be-triumphant speech to a euphoric Los Alamos crowd, only for his words to turn to dust in his mouth. For a moment, Nolan abandons realism altogether — but not, crucially, Oppenheimer’s perspective — to embrace a hallucinatory horror-movie expressionism. A piercing scream erupts in the crowd; a woman’s face crumples and flutters, like a paper mask about to disintegrate. The crowd is there and then suddenly, with much sonic rumbling, image blurring and an obliterating flash of white light, it is not.

For “Oppenheimer’s” detractors, this sequence constitutes its most grievous act of erasure: Even in the movie’s one evocation of nuclear disaster, the true victims have been obscured and whitewashed. The absence of Japanese faces and bodies in these visions is indeed striking. It’s also consistent with Nolan’s strict representational parameters, and it produces a tension, even a contradiction, that the movie wants us to recognize and wrestle with. Is Oppenheimer trying (and failing) to imagine the hundreds of thousands of Japanese civilians murdered by the weapon he devised? Or is he envisioning some hypothetical doomsday scenario still to come?

I think the answer is a blur of both, and also something more: In this moment, one of the movie’s most abstract, Nolan advances a longer view of his protagonist’s history and his future. Oppenheimer’s blindness to Japanese victims and survivors foreshadows his own stubborn inability to confront the consequences of his actions in years to come. He will speak out against nuclear weaponry, but he will never apologize for the atomic bombings of Japan — not even when he visits Tokyo and Osaka in 1960 and is questioned by a reporter about his perspective now. “I do not think coming to Japan changed my sense of anguish about my part in this whole piece of history,” he will respond. “Nor has it fully made me regret my responsibility for the technical success of the enterprise.”

Talk about compartmentalization. That episode, by the way, doesn’t find its way into “Oppenheimer,” which knows better than to offer itself up as the last word on anything. To the end, Nolan trusts us to seek out and think about history for ourselves. If we elect not to, that’s on us.

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

Wasted Oxygen...

Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

The Cursed Trio | Mr. Sandman

...

Despite being the ever energetic guy he was, Haibara loved to sit down and people-watch. Silently observing others go about their daily business, unaware of their audience as they freely express themselves through large and small mannerisms.

He'd always make sure to find a nice cozy spot, somewhere a bit hidden so no one could see his lingering eyes. If Kento was here, he'd been stating how inappropriately creepy he was being. He could already hear him hehe

Regardless of what his partner would think, the raven-haired boy could easily spend hours observing the world interact with itself. If he was lucky enough, he'd see an entire movie unfold right before his eyes.

Most of the time, though, he tried to call upon his inner Sherlock. Using the art of deduction to figure out the possible stories from every passer-goer.

Usually, it'd be more fun with you considering your extraordinary ability to deduce people to downright filth.

The two of you hanging out, making up stories for every person that caught either of your eyes had become a little routine of yours, one that started from his days of teaching you Japanese. He'd tell you certain words while discreetly pointing to people who embodied said words --- he hadn't expected for you to suddenly start rambling about the possible nuisances of each and every person you saw

And the fact that you had no filter made it worse! The amount of times he had to cover for you after you'd accidentally said something rather insulting about a person who stood close enough to hear --- double digits!

Regardless, it's the same reason as to why you're the most attuned person in terms of others emotions --- once you notice the patterns, you'll see them everywhere is what you'd often say to him

Although, it did leave him wondering. Just how were you so good at people-reading? Is that how you got along with those two so well? Because you knew instantly what they were about the moment you met them?

No, that can't be. On numerous occasions, you've complained about how Gojo and Suguru confused you. You claimed that they were like a whole new different breed of soul that you've never come across before.

Haibara blinked

Souls. The first time he heard about your Cursed Technique, he had to admit --- he'd never heard of a technique like yours.

Cursed Sight: Chains, a cursed technique that bestows its user with the ability to perceive the spiritual and see the souls of living beings as well as curses. The way it works is rather simple, or so, that's how you mentioned it to be.

As one knows, everything is made up of energy. So by simply channeling your own cursed energy, you can manipulate the strands into forming objects. By focusing well enough, you could bring said objects into the physical world: however, there was a catch.

You could never break eye contact.

The technique had great potential. Just visualize the item you need and Wala! It's there. (You had a preference for chains ghost rider type beat. You'd chain curses down to limit its movements prior to going for the kill. In times where the Curse proved too strong, you'd hold it down while continuously attacking it with an already cursed energy-imbued weapon)

To be honest, your fights were quite the spectacle. The way you expertly used your chains to capture curses, the way you used the ends of the chains to destroy them with such force --- ooh la la (aizawa x ghost rider's love child)

We're getting side tracked --- point is, your ability allowed you to see people's essence. You knew when they lied, you knew what they felt, their soul usually said everything you needed to know (you confessed that the soul only shows the most general of feelings so that's why you depended on deducting to truly understand people's intentions)

One major down side, you could never turn it off. I don't think you've ever really seen someone's face much less your own. Bodies are shaped around the soul, and the soul is always so blinding with its different hues. At least, the silhouettes had somewhat of expressions. (Further clarification, it's like cutting out human shape out of colored paper. Just three-dimensional. AH, THINK GOD FROM FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST but include the shape of hair and outfits) You could see the shapes of their eyes, the slope of their nose, and the curve of their lips.

(and now, you're probably asking -- but OP, what about clothes? How do we have a sense of style if we can't see the look when we look in the mirror? That is true. Wearing outfits will just accentuate your soul's shape. But the moment it's off and on a hangar, you can see it plain as day since it's soulless on its own. Also Ieiri helps you, sometimes even Yaga if you're that desperate)

"You're going to hurt yourself from thinking so hard, Haibara." There you are! You even brought, "Hiya!" "Senpai!" Gojo glared at you, "Meh, why aren't you ever this respectful? Hm? You have to respect our customs, foreigner!"

You scoff, "I do respect your customs, just not you."

"Bitch."

"Masochist."

"Masochist?! The hell is that for?"

"You like me insulting you, your soul lives for it. Got a degradation kink, old man?" "Who the fuck you calling old man for?! I'm just a year old-" "Haibara~! Let's go get something to eat!" "O-Oi! Don't run away, pussy!" You stick your tongue out at him as you pull Haibara by the arm, dragging him to some nearby tall selling takoyaki

You spent the entire day ignoring Gojo, who sulked behind you and Haibara as you dragged said male all around Roppongi where you were supposed to meet up with one other. Yep, you guessed it!

Mei Mei!

(don't you just love mixing friend groups and praying to whatever god is out there that it all works out? 😁)

Mei Mei couldn't care less about Haibara, though she did seem to acknowledge him as somewhat worth having around in regards to his 'service potential', but honestly, her indifference was palpable

Instead, Mei Mei focused on you, whose face held a dreamy look as the pretty woman spoke to you with that lovely sing-song voice of hers (she still HELLA sus iykyk but for the sake of this, she ain't. She's just greedy here)

Gojo was irked by how close Mei Mei got to you, his face unbelievably stoic as he watched you and Mei Mei interact (cue that anime angry mark and eyebrow twitch)— Mei Mei acting like a sugar mama to you as the white-haired woman walked you around pointing at shit she knew you'd like.

Ah, I can already hear some of you confused --- specifically the ones who are really into canon.

You see, Mei Mei does nothing out of the goodness of her heart. No, no. Greed is the very foundation of her character. And so, it would make sense that she wouldn't just spend her money on anyone just for the hell of it.

And so, the truth. You and Mei Mei had this secret arrangement --- in return for a few favors and pieces of key-information that she can't quite get from her watchful crows, Mei Mei would pay for your services. Usually, she'd just send the cash over but whenever the two of you are together, she'd provide you a little shopping spree. (No-one knows about this btw)

Despite the previous, it was evident that Mei Mei liked you. She saw you as her favorite little Kouhai, mainly because of how resourceful you could be, and the way your personalities seemed to mesh well together was exquisite in her opinion.

(Side Note: Your relationship with her is incredibly on-the-surface. The reason why you get along so well is because you adapt yourself to her personality. I wouldn't say you're a people-pleaser, although you are, but more of a subtle manipulating type of thing. Idk how to put it)

You weren't at all annoying like the others. Additionally, you had a higher chance of reaching your service potential than any other (i don't even know if that's a compliment or an insult and I wrote it 🤪)

Gojo wasn't a big fan of Mei Mei spoiling you, and it led to a whole day of the two of them kind of fighting to show off who could spoil you the most (though it may or may not have been your plan from the get-go).

The situation became more obvious to Haibara when you wrapped your arm around his, a wicked smile upon your lips as you quietly inquired from Haibara what he wanted. Not fully grasping the scheme, he answered, and then you'd claimed as your current desire, which Mei Mei and Gojo would then buy immediately.

Eventually, Kento joins after receiving a SOS text message from Haibara. At the sight of the two wordlessly seething cotton swabs with you smirking in front of them, Kento dragged him away (he only greeted you, he could care less about the other two)

While Mei Mei was preoccupied with a phone call, and Gojo was off buying something sweet for you and spicy for Suguru, to eat together later — you found yourself sitting at the same spot Haibara had been sitting earlier.

There was someone next to it, but that didn't stop you as you plopped yourself down, attention focused on the people walking by. Blissfully unaware of the minor curses that plagued them.

Sometimes, if you felt merciful, you would destroy the curse. Weaker curses didn't require you to physically manifest your chains; a small, invisible chain was all it took to loop around the curse and squeeze them to death.

"Never seen a technique like yours, foreigner."

At the stranger's words, you paused. You hadn't sensed any cursed energy from the person sitting next to you, so how could they have known? Glancing to your side, you tilted your head in slight confusion as you examined the man sitting next to you

"what happened to 'hello'? 'how are you'? To introductions, in general?" There was a slight tease to your words yet your fingers subtly twitched by your side

The raven-haired man snorted in amusement, a slight smirk on his lips as he leaned back against the wall of the bench. His hands were in his pockets as he didn't once look your way.

"How long have you been here with them?" Something in his voice had put you on edge, but at the same time, you didn't feel imminently in danger.

"Long enough, give or take."

He made a face, "Like it, so far?"

You shrugged your shoulders, your eyes still on his silhouette as you answered, "Neutral, so far."

"So you haven't been here long enough," he sassed back earning a short snort from you.

"Oh? Why's that?" "You'll see, soon enough." And with that, he stood up, walking away from you without another word. You stared at his soul, watching it get tinier with every step he took.

You had met many dark blues, but the edges of his were... fuzzy. Not clearly definable. That was new.

Surprisingly, you didn't feel shook or concerned. You actually felt a rush of excitement, the sort you got from trying to solve the mystery of some crime show before the narrator could even reveal the truth.

Suddenly, Gojo appeared in the corner of your eye, his sunglasses pulled down his nose as his iridescent eyes gazed down at you.

His eyes were the only ones you had ever truly seen. You thought it was because of his Six-Eyes.

"Yo! Got the drugs," he said, to which you replied with a casual "Hm."

He narrowed his eyes, "What happened?"

So observant

You perked up, "What?"

He repeated, a small frown on his lips, "What happened?"

You shrugged, "Just an... interesting encounter, that's all."

Gojo knew better. But he also knew you.

"Alright, let's go. Mei Mei already left, and she wanted me to give you this," he said with displeasure in his voice as he threw a bag into your lap—a luxury brand bag. But not before handing you yet another bag, another luxury brand.

With a sense of curiosity, you gently untied the bag's ribbon and opened it, revealing a small box inside. Your fingers carefully lifted the lid, revealing the gift within as you opened the box

A single earring, a crescent moon hanging from it. It's metal glimmering under the setting sun (wow, time passed fast today)

"Now we can match!" Gojo said. Showing off his wrist, a silver bracelet with a sun hanging from it.

You snorted, "What about Suguru, hm?" (While you asked, you put the earring on without another moment's notice)

He rolled his eyes, revealing another bag matching your own, "His is here...ya like it, tho?"

Having stood up from where you sat, you smiled softly as you affectionately bumped your head onto his shoulder before motioning for him to walk with you. (You didn't get to see his grin, but you could feel it.)

"Let's go home, Gojo," you said, with Mei Mei's gift loosely wrapped around your wrist, knowing it could wait.

...

(A/N): Ugh, I keep having to come back to fix certain things so it can better fit my narrative. I keep writing these shits while being tired af, and when I wake up --- I forget my own canon 🙄

Anyways

Who do you think the rando guy is?

Also did you notice how you immediately checked Gojo's gift rather than Mei Mei's? In fact, you completely ignored her gift to you.

Moreover, have any of you noticed that whenever you get to know someone --- their name alters? I wonder what that implies for certain people.

And what does a fuzzy outline mean?

This was also supposed to take another turn but then the characters charactered and here we are now.

Drop a comment

Feel free to buy me a 🦩

Hope you enjoyed!

[niceonet]

TRAİLERDB - DEVASA+ (2)

As the film industry continues to evolve, sneak peeks into upcoming releases offer us a tantalizing glimpse of the stories, characters, and visual spectacles on the horizon. Whether you're a fan of thrilling blockbusters, heartwarming dramas, or spine-chilling horror flicks, there’s something for everyone to look forward to. 

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Latest Movie Trailers

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This year, we have seen some incredible trailers that have set high expectations for moviegoers. From thrilling action sequences to heartfelt dramas, the latest film previews provide tantalizing sneak peeks into the narratives we can expect to enjoy on the big screen. Movies like Dune: Part Two and Killers of the Flower Moon have already generated a buzz through their stunning visuals and compelling storylines presented in their latest trailers.

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Stay tuned as we anticipate the release of these films. The latest movie trailers are just the beginning of what promises to be an exhilarating journey through the world of cinema.

[koboldfactory]

Responding to the call for kind words, mostly, but; Everything doesn't suck. That's the thing. A lot of things suck. A lot of big things suck. But the beauty of life isn't often found in the largest swathes. It's the little moments. The tiny things. Sharing a fascinating conversation with a stranger online. Hearing a friend retell that same adorable story for the sixteenth time. Going to your favorite restaurant. These are the moments that show the glory of life. The genuine connections between you and your friends. You and the world.

One of my favorite little moments is going online and seeing all of the astounding art the various critters inside make. Your's is one of my favorites. Your style is rich and complex yet subtle and deceptively simple. The kind of intricate simplicity that displays real talent. You do movement and expression with an amazing ease. Even beyond the sheer visual spectacle, the concepts and characters you depict show an astounding inner world that I love seeing slices of. One I wish I could match.

I remember the piece(s?) that really floored me for the first time. It was the horror game mock up, the one with the telephone? The sheer vibes it radiated was astounding. The details, like the outline of the other player and the crosshair in the second piece, were captivating.

I guess I mean to say, you bring a lot of joy into this word, and I am grateful to be able to give some back to you in your time of need. Remember, you deserve happiness and love, but it is okay to be sad. It is okay to cry.

Forgive me for getting weird, rambling, and philosophical, but I do hope these words help. A last note, when I'm overcome by emotion, I find it helps to get lost in the minutia of life. Simple things like, planning tomorrow's lunch, can be grounding and therapeutic. To that end, I ask you; What's your favorite meal?

i really do genuinely appreciate your words, it does help put things into perspective. Having my art leave any sort of positive impression on others is all I've ever wanted. So thank you!

And to answer your question:

[rise-my-angel]

I blame the idea of the spectacle for the downfall in the franchise. Don't get me wrong, big moments can be great, but the constant striving for it to keep the audience addicted to adrenaline is what has caused the really shallow writing in my opinion. It takes a really self aware person to realise they are getting nothing but CGI keys jangled in their face as if they were a baby.

I think that's what the earlier seasons achieved, the perfect mix of much quieter moments with effective use of dialogue, writing and set to get their money's worth, and the big dramatic moments for the later parts, where they save their best for last and bring EVERYTHING to the table. It's all about having money to fund the big moments, vs having barely enough money to cover everything.

You have no idea how thrilled I am that you said everything I was thinking. The thing I hate about reviews of HOTD so far is how good things look. The dragon fight in episode four, oh but it looked so spectacular. But that's the thing, their effort was put all into making that fight look as wonderful as possible so that it avoided the simple fact that the story, characters, and action were all poor.

My best example, is actually probably unpopular beacuse I know people really liked the Battle of the Bastards. And I did too, the action cinematography, the chaos, one of my favorite shots of the show where the camera does a long take just following Jon through the chaos as he experiences it. It also looks good, they clearly made a great effort to make the battle as cinematic as possible.

But here's the thing. Hardhome is better. Hardhome does NOT look as good as the Battle of the Bastards. It is very chaotic, it is disorienting, fast paced, a lot of cuts and its very loud and there are so many bodies in the scene that it feels hard to keep track of how many people are even dying around them. But that's the point.

Hardhome takes you on a journey of chaos.

It's like a 20 minute sequence with an amazing build up. The meeting with the elders, it's a dark room of people standing around a fire. It doesn't look good, now it doesn't look bad it just isn't a cinematically pleasing shot. But it's over six minutes long of mostly Jon giving everything he has into convincing these people that he's being genuine. It's his passion and his raw honesty that Jon looks his enemy in the eye and tells them that they deserve to survive and that he wants to protect them. How when they ask how Mance Rayder died, Jon does not give himself an out. He is honest and says he shot an arrow in his heart, and how he stands there firm and not afraid when they start to threaten him, only to have Tormund put a stop to it and give context. Looking these parents and grandparents in the eye and telling them that if they don't let him protect them, their children won't even survive long enough to have children of their own. And pleading that even with all of them it may not be enough but "At least we'll give the fuckers a fight."

It is a fantastic scene filled with hope, that sets the stage for whats about to happen.

There's no dwelling on shots. The moment Longclaw clashes with the weapon of the Walker, Jon realizing whats happened and actually killing it occurs really fast in a manner of seconds. What it dwells on, is the aftermath of Jon so overwhelmed by what happened he falls to his knees, the snow misting around him that blurs anyone else from view. Even the moment where the Walker raises his arms and the dead rise, is not a dwelled on, cinematic shot. It is very raw, and rough and what it focuses on, is that close up of Jons face. And the realization in him of shock turning to a desperate despair that he could've gotten all of the Free Folk out of there and it still wouldn't be enough. It focuses on his face, beacuse the intensity and emotions are about him. Not the shots.

You remember the visuals of it, but really, the visuals aren't what gives you the emotions. Hardhome was not shot to be visually appealing, it was by design, extremely chaotic and overwhelming because not a single person in that fight had a chance to get the upper hand.

Battle of the Bastards on the other hand, is a cinematically amazing battle with a terrible story. The stakes mean nothing, because the story to get there was inconsistent, nonsensical, some people acting completely out of character and is won because of a deus ex machina. The story and characters surrounding it are completely not worth the quality of the battle itself. It's shallow. It's remembered as good because it looked good, not beacuse it was good.

That to me, is the House of the Dragon problem. Such a focus on making it look good, sweeping shots and amazing cinematic focus especially on the dragons, but it runs hollow. Because what do you have beyond the good looking shots? It's rare I ever feel the emotions of whats happening more then I do what the spectacle is showing me is happening.

The worth of a lot of these scenes, are rooted in a desperation to make a visually appealing story. When Game of Thrones was at it's best when it was people standing or sitting around a room and talking. It was the dialogue, the mystery, the intrigue. We never needed beautiful visuals for our eyes to feast upon because the spectacle was always in service of what the actual emotions of the scene was portraying. Not the stand out part in and of itself.

There's nothing wrong with spectacle alone, but House of the Dragon is relying on it to push through it's worst parts and hoping that the nice images and pretty colors is distracting enough that you forgive the poor story. Yeah the story and characters and writing is bad, but boy those dragons, look at them.

General audiences will fall for spectacle beacuse we appreciate good visuals, but general audiences didn't need spectacle to get them through season one of Game of Thrones. They were confident enough in what they already had, that they did not need to pad out the visual fluff to feast the eyes rather then the writing feasting the brain.

Audiences are smarter then to value visuals over writing, but House of the Dragon fans are relying on the visuals to get them through the bad writing because they have nothing left, and really, they deserve better.

I do not need spectacle to be impressed by the immense scale of a scene. Hardhome is a fast paced, confusing and chaotic sequence that has never left me since the day I watched it air live. Not a single one of these grand moments in either season of House of the Dragon, despite having more chances to use it's visuals to enhance it's storytelling, has come anywhere near as smart as Hardhome was.

Visuals do not impress me. Using the visuals to enhance the story you already are telling, is what impresses me.

Not using your visuals as a crutch to power through bad storytelling.

[cheatsru]

Battlefield 2042

Battlefield 2042 leaps into the future with an audacious blend of chaos and strategy, inviting players to redefine their approach to multiplayer warfare. With its expansive maps and dynamic weather systems, every match is a new adventure where unpredictable elements can turn the tide in an instant. The sheer scale of the battles provides not just a visual spectacle but also a canvas for tactical ingenuity that goes beyond traditional gameplay. Imagine coordinating with teammates through dust storms or utilizing massive skyscrapers as vantage points while battling hordes of adversaries — it’s this type of exhilarating freedom that elevates Battlefield 2042 from mere gaming experience to full-scale war simulation.

What truly sets Battlefield 2042 apart from its predecessors is its focus on community-driven content and continuous evolution. The introduction of Season Passes gives players the opportunity to shape their own narratives within the game, unlocking unique characters and equipment that enhance both playstyle and engagement. However, it’s not just about individual progress; it’s about forging alliances for survival amid relentless combat scenarios. As skilled squads emerge ready to embrace new challenges together, the emotional highs and lows they encounter forge bonds that resonate long after logging off. In this hyper-evolved battlefield, victory isn’t just marked by kills but by camaraderie forged in fire — a heart-pounding reminder of why we play these games: for connection, excitement, and ultimately, unforgettable stories crafted amidst digital warfare.

[rickrakontoys]

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024)

9/10

Just let George Miller make whatever Mad Max movies he wants. I will witness it.

A very different beast than Fury Road, this is a sweeping, ambitious, character driven story of vengence and violence. Splitting the story into 5 chapters, each having their own narrative goals, makes the film feel very episodic. However, this structure allows each segment to have a distinct feel, while familiarizing us with the key players and the motivating events in young Furiosa's life that lead her on the path to Fury Road. The themes, visual motifs, and symbols woven through the story create a rich tapestry that, like Fury Road, elevates this beyond action spectacle and into something grand and mythic.

Anya Taylor Joy doesn't actually appear as Furiosa until nearly a third into the movie, but once she does, she commands the screen with a nearly wordless performance, glowering with intense resolve and roiling emotions. This gives the few words she does say more importance and weight. Joy has much more to do with the character here than Charlize Theron, and, while evocative of Theron's version, makes it her own. Alyla Brown as young Furiosa is terrific as well in the first two chapters, also saying very little while using only her eyes and body language to convey feelings.

While many of the Wasteland denizens new and old are portrayed impeccably with that signature manic "Mad Max" energy, it is Chris Hemsworth's Dementus that basically steals the show. Equal parts charismatic and menacing, intimidating yet vulnerable, he provides Furiosa with an interesting antagonist whose motivations are as nebulous and volatile as a desert sandstorm. Hemsworth plays Dementus as a true product of the end of the world: a sad, pitiable, broken man acting the part of a cruel, bombastic leader, allowing himself to be corrupted by the unforgiving reality around him, using humor and eccentricity as a thin veneer over his brutal nihilism.

Much has already been discussed about the film's look. While John Seale's cinematography is missed, Furiosa still contains some terrific and creative shots, particularly during its many action scenes. The wasteland is once again presented using a variety of highly-saturated colors, which is always a refreshing deviation from the typical, washed-out appearance of other post-apocalyptic movies. Yet, the compositing, lighting, and computer effects are a step down from Fury Road, and can be distractingly noticeable at times, especially due to the grander scale of the setpieces requiring more CGI effects and background replacements. But these are relatively minor complaints, as the practical effects involving smashing vehicles and flailing stunt persons are still astonishing to behold. Miller's skill in staging action remains some of the best in the business, as even the most chaotic of sequences remain visually coherent.

While not as laser focused as Fury Road, Furiosa is still an incredible achievement in both character and world-building. It is perhaps one of the best prequels made, as it not only expands what was seen before in a satisfying way, but its added context improves its predecessor.

It is rather odd that Miller chose to include a montage of Fury Road scenes in the end credits... This movie would make a perfect double-feature with Fury Road, except it decides to show you "Fury Road: Cliff Notes edition" right at the end...

[jemmo]

ok i just finished binging opla and as someone who is like the most distant fan, who doesn’t even have any previous emotional connection to the show, i just have to say this is spectacular. like really. and no matter whether you’re a fan, whether you’ve seen the anime or read the manga or not, or whether you’ve even heard of one piece before, watch this show.

i can’t remember what one it was, but i was watching a video essay about the barbie movie yesterday, and this is really an extension of what was said there, about the nature of so called things made for kids, and about the point of visual media. first off, i just adore how much of an absolute spectacle this show is. it’s visuals, it’s story and writing, it’s pacing, it’s characters, the fights, the sets, the wardrobe, just the feat this show is, it’s such a visual and auditory and sensory feast and oh my god is it so fun and thrilling to be along for the ride. and this is what media lacks so much for me, this unbridled sense of fun. bc this is like being on a white knuckle ride. you’re propelled from story to story, from heartfelt moments to exquisite fight choreo, from twisted, terrifying clowns to pure dumbassery. there is no consistent, coherent tone bc that’s the point, and that is the tone. the tone is chaos through and through and it’s so thrilling to go along on the journey. and it’s one of the best examples of showing how something you see as childish can not just resonate with adults, but should be watched by adults. bc it’s not a kids show at all, but it has the joy of a kids show at its heart, and i don’t think it’s silly to not outgrow loving seeing pirates go on adventures and follow their dreams and the fucking power of friendship. its fun!! idk what else to say, it’s just so fun!! and it’s so much more!!

[louisupdates]

[Translated from Spanish]

Red-hot musical maturity: Louis Tomlinson in Chile

By Savka Martinic | 25 MAY 2024

Louis Tomlinson, former member of the iconic band One Direction, dazzled Chilean fans with his concert as part of the 'Faith in the Future' tour, offering a show full of emotion, energy and a new, more rock-oriented approach in which has been working in the last few years of his musical career. The audience interaction, immersive graphics and exceptional musicians came together to create a magical night and from the moment Louis took the stage with ‘The Greatest’, it was clear that this was going to be a special evening.

Photo by Agustín León

The encounter was a flight through his greatest hits but also an example of the musical maturity he has achieved through this approach that at times nods to iconic bands like 'The Killers' and clear influences of indie rock. This musical progression is also reflected in the level of visual design of the concert, the screens that adorned the stage were not only a complement, but were an extension of the soul of each song where the color red predominated as evidence of the passion and rock vibe that he and his great team sought to capture. This color choice not only intensified the viewing experience, but also resonated with the energy and dynamism of Louis' performances. The light and visual effects were a true spectacle in themselves, elevating the sensory experience of the concert.

Along with this, and recalling the beginnings of his career as a boyband member, Tomlinson's constant interaction with the audience was the beating heart of the concert. Between songs, he shared messages of gratitude and part of the personal and artistic journey he has had in the last 3 years. At various moments during the concert, he stopped to look and interact with his audience, expressing his gratitude for being there and making evident his intention to generate genuine connection despite the magnitude of the stadium that made each person feel part of something special, something bigger than themselves. This type of authentic interaction is what Chilean fans needed to feel and what has also cemented Louis’ relationship with his audience over the years.

Along these lines, fans of the Brit expressed their gratitude with fan actions in songs like 'Kill My Mind' where the flashes of the cell phones in the chorus ignited a meeting that was beginning and that inaugurated the energy that remained high throughout the day. Each interaction elevated those present, creating a unique synergy between the stage and the crowd that did not go unnoticed by the singer, who was visibly excited and grateful.

Along with all the immersive experience that was lived in the stadium, the setlist of the concert was a perfect mix of songs from his solo career and some gems from One Direction. The singer performed 13 songs from the album that gives its name to the tour, 'Faith in the Future', 3 songs from his previous project 'Walls' and 4 covers including memorable hits from the boy band. Songs like 'Night Changes' and 'Where Do Broken Hearts Go' brought a touch of nostalgia and tears among loyal fans, while new songs like 'Bigger Than Me' and 'Out of My System' showed his evolution as artist. The closing with 'Where Do Broken Hearts Go' was the finishing touch to a night that will remain engraved in the memory of all those present.

Now, one of the most notable elements of all for those who have witnessed the different facets of the singer, was the change in Tomlinson's musical approach towards a more rock style, more mature and with much more aesthetic-musical coherence. Louis was accompanied by a group of talented musicians who brought each song to life with their skill and passion. The concert had rockstar vibes portrayed especially during songs like 'Kill My Mind' and 'Walls', where the guitar solos and powerful drums provided a raw and authentic energy that made the entire venue vibrate. In this way, his artistic maturity was also reflected in his musical influences in recent years, where covers of Post Malone's 'Chemical' and Arctic Monkeys' '505' were highlights, showing the versatility of Louis and his band to interpret and make these songs your own.

All in all, Louis Tomlinson's concert in Chile was not only a musical event, it was a transformative experience where red, the talented band that accompanied him, his charisma and the genuine connection with his audience were the protagonists. With 'Faith in the Future', Tomlinson not only demonstrated his prowess as a musician, but also opened a new chapter in his career, defying expectations and captivating hearts with his passion and commitment to authenticity.

Photos [x] [x]

[llunar-wing]

⚣ Choice 💎

⚣💎 A/N → New original post on Patreon. This will be a three-part series. Little fun fact, I use a random picker wheel to help me decide what I should write my stories about and where I should set them. The choices for this one were the tropes of a Playboy paired with a Fake Relationship set in a Big City. You'd think something like that would be easy, but I went through so many drafts of this, it was crazy. Anyways, hope you all enjoy! Also a reminder! The full story will be released exclusively on my Patreon first and will remain exclusive until my next story comes out, which means...Karma will officially be released in full publicly! You'll be able to find it on my Wattpad and Patreon! WARNINGS: | Forced Touching & Light Sexual Harassment | Possessive/Jealous Behavior | Class/Economic Disparity | Emotional Angst | Sexual Angst | Sexual Themes |

⚣💎 Summary → An Omega faking romance with an Alpha who’s one part charm, two parts ego, and a dash of possessiveness? What could go wrong? Oh, just everything—including a will that demands a wedding. Cue the drama, awkward slow dancing, and a lot of “I swear this is just for show” moments. Welcome to the chaos, where love might just sneak in—if one doesn’t kill the other first!

⚣💎 Words → 33.3K

⚣ ENJOY 💎

Tres Bellamonté, one of the world’s most luxurious and exclusive hotels, sat high on a hillside, overlooking the glittering cityscape below. Its castle-like architecture glowed against the evening sky, a beacon of wealth and privilege. The hotel’s secluded location only added to its allure, accessible to those whose wealth placed them in a tax bracket most could only dream of. Tonight, it played host to the illustrious Sinclair family—practically royalty among the upper echelons of society—for their annual charity gala, an event so exclusive it made the Met Gala look like a neighborhood potluck. Even the Kardashians had to pull strings just to snag an invite.

Inside, the ballroom was a spectacle of extravagance. Crystal chandeliers hung from gilded ceilings, casting a warm, radiant light over the polished marble floors. Every surface seemed to glisten, from the delicate gold accents on the walls to the glassware that sparkled beneath the ambient glow. Guests moved about with graceful ease, the soft murmur of refined conversation mingling with the delicate strains of live classical music.

If anything, the funds spent on hosting this evening alone could probably cover donations to every charity they claimed to support—enough to last each one a decade, at least.

Waitstaff glided through the crowd, offering trays of delicately arranged canapés—caviar on blinis, truffled foie gras, and delicate lobster medallions—paired with flutes of the finest champagne. The scent of these gourmet delights mixed with the subtle fragrance of fresh floral arrangements, creating an ambiance that was both decadent and refined.

Guests moved through the space with practiced ease, as if events like these were nothing but a day job to them. They walked around in heels that could pay the rent of ten people, wore earrings that could be classified as weapons, and flashed smiles as real as Jennifer Lopez's humility. Flowing gowns adorned with intricate beadwork and shimmering sequins, and tailored tuxedos that spoke of bespoke craftsmanship would be tucked into garment bags and hidden in closets, never to see the light of day again after tonight.

Everyone's outfits, a spectrum of colors that complemented the event’s white-and-gold theme, came in second only to those of the gala's hosts and guests of honor. Members of the Sinclair family and their partners for the evening were adorned in the striking combination of white and gold. The rest of the attendees, while no less elegant, wore hues that played off the aesthetic of the evening, creating a visual feast that matched the grandeur of the setting.

Standing near the grand entrance, Jethro Thorne shifted uncomfortably, surveying the opulent ballroom through narrowed eyes. Dark curls framed his face, softening the lines of his jaw, while a carefully groomed beard added a hint of ruggedness to his otherwise smooth features. His rich, warm brown skin glowed subtly under the light, accentuating his toned arms and the fullness of his frame—rounded and firm shoulders tapering to a defined waist. Jethro’s lean build leaned more toward athletic than delicate, but tonight’s outfit—a white and gold ensemble chosen by one of the many stylists he had assigned to him—seemed intent on emphasizing his curves over his muscles. 

The fitted vest hugged his torso snugly, the gold accents drawing attention to the cinched waist and the contrasting fabric that wrapped around his hips. His slacks, while sharply tailored, clung almost too tightly around his thighs and backside, accentuating his rounded, shapely figure in a way that felt distinctly revealing. The gold-and-white design, while elegant, seemed to catch the gaze of more than a few guests as they lingered, curiosity barely masked by politeness.

He held a glass of sparkling water, gripping it like a lifeline, though he hated the stuff. But in a place like this, it was the only beverage he could stomach—the kind of event where everything had to bubble or come in a shiny bottle, because, apparently, drinking anything flat might as well have been the equivalent of drinking tap water.

And this was why he wasn’t meant for these kinds of events.

His deep brown eyes scanned the sea of well-dressed Alphas, Betas, and the occasional Omega, all moving effortlessly within a world built on old money and inherited privilege. The kind of privilege that didn’t just open doors—it built new ones, entirely out of reach for most. Compared to the life he’d known, the ease and excess these people exuded was almost grotesque. The more he observed, the harder it was to contain the growing disdain simmering within him.

For someone like Jethro, raised by a father and grandfather who instilled the values of hard work, discipline, and resilience, seeing these people live with lives spoon-fed to them—often on literal silver spoons, probably encrusted with diamonds—was sickening. He remembered every hand-me-down from his older brother Jorge and the way they’d shared everything growing up: the TV, the family computer, even the few video games they could afford as long as the bills were paid. And while he knew his life wasn’t the hardest out there, it made this gilded world feel even more absurd by comparison.

Weekend "outings" were limited to public parks, going to the movies and the local Applebee’s or Chili’s for dinner. Here, though? A weekend for these people meant a last-minute private jet to the coast, reservations at places where a glass of sparkling water could run you $25 and wouldn’t even blink if you ordered a $500 bottle of wine for breakfast, along with childhoods raised on horseback riding lessons and designer nurseries.

He thought back to his grandfather and father doing whatever they could to make sure he and his brother each had at least three gifts for Christmas—most likely from the clearance section, but given with love all the same. Meanwhile, he’d overhear these privileged brats bragging about their endless wardrobes from Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada, and whatever other brands they dropped with their veneer-polished smirks. His grandfather had made him and his brother volunteer at shelters every holiday season, where they’d watch parents struggle to explain why there was only one, or sometimes no, gift to unwrap. And here he was, surrounded by spoiled pests whining about how their parents didn’t buy them the exact custom sports car they wanted. Hard life indeed.

It made him bristle, seeing the glistening diamonds and custom-made shoes that these guests wore as effortlessly. And for what? Just another evening of excess, where they could show off to each other and feel a little more special than they had yesterday. The whole scene was a spectacle that felt foreign, like he’d somehow wandered onto the set of someone else’s life.

He adjusted the collar of his tailored suit, feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on him like that five-tier cake that looked ready to tip over with even the slightest nudge. This party, this crowd, this whole world—it all felt foreign to him, like an outsider looking in.

The opulence, the pretension, the constant undercurrent of judgment—it all conflicted with everything he knew. He had to stand a certain way because he slouched too much, and he had to make sure he knew the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork.

They were both forks! Seriously, what’s the big deal? You pick it up, stab the food, and chew. Either way, it ends in murder committed by teeth. But, of course, that’s not how these prissy snobs saw it.

But, it wasn’t just the champagne that seemed to flow like water to these people, or the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns. It was the constant undercurrent of judgment, the subtle way people glanced his way—curious, assessing. It was one thing for Jethro to feel like he didn’t belong here, these people seemed to go extra hard out of their way to make sure he knew he didn’t belong here with their subtle but shady comments and questions.

They might call it “intrigue” or “curiosity,” but Jethro’s bullshit detector had been finely tuned since childhood, and he’d lost count of how many times he felt the urge to remind these people what curiosity did to the cat. Yet, as much as these pompous peacocks and their holier-than-thou airs grated on him, they weren’t the biggest sources of his irritation tonight—though that didn’t make the temptation to slap half of them into next week any less appealing. Especially that Greenburg guy who felt the need to comment on his ‘shapely’ figure…

The true recipient of Jethro's simmering ire tonight wasn’t one of these overdressed socialites or self-important moguls—but rather, the man at the center of it all, the name everyone in the room had come to see, the reason for this ostentatious display of wealth and power. No, the honor of being the prime source of Jethro's aggravation belonged to none other than the heir to the Sinclair empire, the man whose presence commanded attention and whispered scandal in the same breath: Sebastian Sinclair.

Epitome of wealth and charm, known to the tabloids and general public as America’s Favorite Playboy, Sebastian Sinclair stood by Jethro’s side with a tall, commanding presence, olive-toned skin, and chiseled features sharp enough to make even a nun murmur a soft and breathy “Holy Jesus.” He watched the crowd with detached amusement, his alluring green eyes flicking to Jethro with a faint smirk, clearly entertained by the Omega’s discomfort.

Every time Jethro shifted, trying to put a few more inches of space between them, Sebastian’s hand found its way to the small of his back, pulling him right back into place, as though he were reeling in a wandering puppy. Every shift, every attempt to create a bit of space between them, Sebastian never failed to force him right back to where he was, if not, closer with a firm grip, guiding him seamlessly through the room as if to say, This one’s with me.

Jethro tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the growing discomfort as Sebastian’s hand remained firmly on him, an unyielding presence that left him with little choice but to move in sync with the Alpha’s guidance. Each touch felt heavier than it needed to be, lingering just a second longer, drawing him closer in a way that felt far more intimate than necessary. As they navigated the room, Sebastian’s fingers pressed subtly yet deliberately into his back, their warmth almost daring Jethro to pull away—if he even could. Every subtle pull, every guiding nudge, seemed to blur the line between mere performance and something more unsettlingly real.

Leaning in close, his breath warm against Jethro’s ear, he murmured, “Would you relax?” his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air between them. “You’re acting like you haven’t done this before.”

Jethro raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right, because I’m totally in my element here, mingling with the high and mighty. But hey, I guess some of us just haven’t mastered the art of the smug smile and firm handshake.” He cast a pointed look at Sebastian. “Then again, this is your world, isn’t it?”

Sebastian’s gaze remained fixed on him, amusement sparking in his glimmering green eyes as his lips curved into that maddening, self-assured smirk. “And tonight, it’s yours too,” he murmured, his hand slipping down to rest at the small of Jethro’s back. The touch was warm and undeniably possessive which was strange and confusing for the Omega, but also a gentle yet unyielding reminder of the part they were both playing—a part Sebastian seemed to relish far too much and that Jethro was getting sick of.

“Would you cut it out?!” Jethro hissed under his breath, slapping the Alpha’s wandering hand that had grazed his backside one too many times tonight.

Sebastian’s smirk only deepened when Jethro slapped his hand away, his full lips curving into a grin that radiated a mixture of mischief and unapologetic confidence. His light, piercing eyes—somewhere between hazel and green—held a glint of amusement, an almost predatory gleam beneath thick, dark brows and long lashes that gave his gaze an intensity impossible to ignore. His curls framed his face, adding to his allure and highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the boldness of his mustache—a feature that, along with his high cheekbones and naturally sun-kissed skin, completed a look that effortlessly commanded any room he walked into.

The Alpha’s hand didn’t stray far; it drifted down again, this time lingering on the smooth lines of Jethro’s fitted vest, his fingers tracing along the structured seams that hugged Jethro's silhouette with a bold elegance. The vest’s gold accents glinted under the chandelier lights, emphasizing the shapely curves it sculpted against Jethro’s frame. Sebastian’s fingers finally settled with a possessive grip at Jethro’s waist, his touch firm and teasing, pressing into the tailored fabric as if staking a tacit mark. Each calculated caress was a reminder of Sebastian's authority—one the Alpha seemed all too pleased to assert, leaving Jethro fighting to keep his frustration in check, even as a confusing warmth blossomed within him.

“Would you stop that?” Jethro hissed, his voice low but tense with irritation. The way Sebastian’s touch lingered, just barely restrained, made his skin prickle with an uneasy thrill he didn’t want to admit. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Sebastian’s gaze sparkled with quiet authority as he leaned in, his lips hovering so close that Jethro could feel the warmth of his breath. “Relax,” he murmured—a gentle word cloaked in an unmistakable command, the kind of soft-spoken order that left little room for defiance. His fingers pressed a bit more firmly at Jethro's waist, a subtle yet undeniable claim, one that didn’t go unnoticed by the lingering gazes around the room. For their benefit, Sebastian offered a polite, indifferent smile, his expression as effortless as if this display of dominance were the most natural thing in the world.

Jethro’s breath hitched, his immediate impulse to push back clashing with his body’s instinctive urge to submit, a primal response embedded deep within him as an Omega. The unyielding pressure of Sebastian’s touch awakened something unsettling, a strange pull to yield, to soften under the Alpha’s dominance. He didn’t want to acknowledge how his body responded, didn’t want to admit that some maddening part of him craved the firm steadiness of that grip. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to meet Sebastian’s gaze for just a second before looking away, struggling to conceal the simmering frustration—and the faint, unbidden confusion now tangled with it.

As they moved deeper into the crowd, the Alpha’s hand remained at the small of Jethro’s back, exerting a barely-there pressure that nonetheless managed to steer him effortlessly. It was light, almost delicate, but every brush of Sebastian’s fingers sent a ripple of awareness down Jethro’s spine, reminding him of the part they were playing tonight. 

Sebastian was in the midst of entertaining a small crowd of admirers, his deep voice smoothly recounting a story that blended their shared past with exaggerated romanticism. “It all started when we were just kids,” Sebastian said, flashing a charming smile at the group. “Our grandparents were the best of friends—my grandmother adored the jewelry Jethro’s grandfather crafted. We practically grew up together, and years later, we reconnected after my grandmother's unfortunate passing when I had to pick up something she left at his shop, which Jethro now runs. Seeing him again and how tirelessly he works to keep his grandfather's legacy alive resonated deeply with me, and I knew right then that he was the one.”

The admiring crowd hung on to Sebastian’s every word, their eyes flicking between him and Jethro with a mixture of envy and fascination, as though they were witnessing a romance worthy of legends. 

Truthfully, he was surprised he’d managed to keep up this act as long as he had, but he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out—especially with the subtle looks and veiled comments certain guests kept throwing his way, their smiles tight and eyes assessing even as they laughed along to Sebastian’s romantic tale.

“Oh, that’s so like Sebastian, investing in our less fortunate communities.”

“I always knew the day would come when Sebastian would settle down, but I pictured him with someone a bit more…fitting to his lifestyle. This must feel like a fairytale for you, doesn’t it?”

“I’m surprised he didn’t choose someone with a touch more femininity. Don’t take it the wrong way, dear; you’re charming and easy on the eyes, but even for an Omega, I’d have thought Sebastian would want someone a bit more delicate–a proper woman, if you will.”

And this was exactly why he wasn’t meant for these kinds of events.

With every dig and backhanded compliment, Jethro forced himself to swallow his irritation, keep on that polite smile, and nod along as though their words didn’t graze him in the slightest. And, mostly, they didn’t. He couldn’t give one fuck, two fucks, blue fucks, or a yellow fuck about what these Botox-pumped snobs thought of him.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to just stand there and let these people take cheap shots without a word in return. He’d love nothing more than to tell them they looked like the unfortunate love child of Voldemort and the Joker, or that no amount of designer wear could mask the lack of personality—or, more likely, the lack of anything in their pants worth bragging about.

The casual touches, the glances, the carefully crafted words—all of it fell perfectly into place, an intricately woven performance that Sebastian handled with ease. Jethro, on the other hand, felt as though he were merely a prop, his role to nod and smile in all the right places, maintaining the facade that he was truly enamored. It was a strange kind of entrapment, a surreal blend of duty and discomfort, made only more bewildering by the faint thrill of being the object of such attention, even if it was just for show.

He was supposed to be the doting partner, after all—loyal, enamored, content in the grasp of the wealthy heir. The whole thing felt absurd, a scene better suited for a play than real life. And yet here he was, a theatre nerd unwittingly cast in a role he was desperate to escape but found himself slipping into all too easily.

Something in the universe is out to get him.

Sebastian led Jethro seamlessly through the glittering ballroom, pausing here and there to introduce him to various guests. His arm remained snug around Jethro's waist, the warm, muscular hold both guiding and binding him to the Alpha’s side. It was as though Sebastian wanted to make his presence unmistakable, silently declaring to the room that the Omega was his—even if just for show. Jethro could feel the weight of each stare that followed them, every curious and envious gaze making him even more conscious of the Alpha’s touch.

As they stopped to greet another circle of admirers, Jethro took a moment to steal a glance at Sebastian’s suit. Tonight, the Alpha wore a custom-tailored masterpiece that left nothing to subtlety. A lavish gold and cream ensemble, it practically shimmered under the warm light, drawing the eye with intricate baroque patterns woven across the fabric. The high-lapel jacket was a work of art in itself, embroidered with elaborate gold designs that wrapped around his frame like delicate vines. Each swirl and embellishment seemed to be crafted to highlight Sebastian’s broad shoulders and tapered waist, the jacket hugging his powerful build in a way that looked almost painted on. The polished fabric reflected hints of the ballroom's ambient glow, casting a soft sheen as he moved with the grace of someone who owned the space—and probably everyone in it.

The vest beneath the jacket matched the decadence, with gold piping that traced down the sculpted lines of his torso, creating a striking contrast against the crisp white shirt underneath. A champagne-colored bow tie completed the look, adding a touch of playful elegance to an otherwise commanding outfit. Every detail was designed to perfection, from the slight shimmer of his pocket square to the subtle glint of the watch on his wrist. Sebastian’s attire radiated both wealth and authority, reinforcing his position at the pinnacle of this social sphere.

One of the guests, a silver-haired Alpha with a sharply tailored suit and a smile that barely touched his eyes, stepped forward, exuding an air of restrained authority. “Sebastian,” he greeted smoothly, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, as though he’d been waiting for just the right moment to make his presence known. “It’s been too long. And who is this?”

Sebastian’s arm tightened ever so slightly around Jethro’s waist, a subtle but unmistakable display of possession. With that easy, practiced smile that seemed to put everyone around him at ease—or, more accurately, on edge—he turned his attention fully to the silver-haired Alpha. “Always a pleasure, Charles,” he replied, his voice smooth as velvet. He gestured toward Jethro with a casual elegance, his expression unreadable save for a faint glimmer of amusement in his light, piercing eyes. “This is Jethro Thorne, my partner.”

Sebastian’s arm tightened ever so slightly around Jethro’s waist, a subtle but unmistakable display of possession. With that easy, practiced smile that seemed to put everyone around him at ease—or, more accurately, on edge—he turned his attention fully to the silver-haired Alpha. “Always a pleasure, Charles,” he replied, his voice smooth as velvet. He gestured toward Jethro with a casual elegance, his expression unreadable save for a faint glimmer of amusement in his light, piercing eyes. “This is Jethro Thorne, my partner.”

The word hung in the air with calculated weight, its meaning leaving little room for misinterpretation. Jethro stiffened, his polite smile wavering for a brief second as he felt every gaze shift to him, some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled skepticism. The Omega met Charles’s assessing stare with a practiced calm, hoping it hid the simmering irritation he felt at being so pointedly scrutinized.

Charles inclined his head, the sharp smile never quite reaching his eyes. “A pleasure, Mr. Thorne,” he drawled, though his tone held an edge that made it clear he was evaluating every inch of him. “Sebastian certainly knows how to pick his company.”

Jethro’s polite smile tightened, his fingers subtly digging into the glass he held, resisting the urge to say something that would surely shatter this meticulously cultivated image Sebastian wanted him to maintain. “Likewise,” he replied, his voice even but with a hint of frost that he hoped conveyed his disinterest in this thinly veiled appraisal.

The conversation continued, with Sebastian deftly guiding it away from anything too personal, smoothly deflecting Charles’s intrusive questions with the ease of someone who had long mastered the art of charming deflection. Jethro couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for the Alpha’s skill; Sebastian was clearly in his element here, navigating the conversation with practiced precision, his responses polished and effortless.

Later in the evening, Jethro found himself standing alone on one of the grand balconies connected to the ballroom, overlooking the sweeping view of the cityscape below. The cool night air brushed against his face, offering a brief reprieve from the stifling opulence inside. Far below, the city lights sparkled like scattered jewels, winding rivers of headlights tracing through the darkened streets, while the towering presence of Tres Bellamonté loomed over the hillside, glowing against the night sky. The hotel’s turrets and castle-like architecture only enhanced the feeling of being high above it all, isolated from the world in a gilded fortress.

Jethro inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp night air as he tried to release the tension coiled tight in his shoulders. It was rare to find a moment alone in this gilded world, where the only thing he could hear was the faint hum of the city below, a world that felt infinitely more real than the one he’d just left inside. But, his moment of quiet didn’t last long as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Frowning, he retrieved it, half expecting to see Sebastian’s name, but instead, his store attendant, Isaac’s contact glowed on the screen.

He hesitated, the surprise quickly giving way to concern. Isaac rarely called him outside of work hours unless something was amiss. Stepping further into the shadows, he answered, his voice low. “ Hey, Isaac. What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Hey Jethro,” Isaac’s deep, warm tone was a comfort in the sterile, opulent setting around him even despite the undercurrent of tension to it. “Sorry to bother you while you’re out. Do you have a second?”

Definitely. Anything that kept him out of that suffocating room filled with over-perfumed, self-important imbeciles was well worth his attention.

"Yeah, of course. Everything alright, Isaac? Did something happen at the store?” Jethro asked, bracing himself for bad news and hoping it wasn’t about a robbery or something worse. “The store’s fine,” Isaac replied, though his tone held a cautious edge. “But…your brother stopped by.” Jethro sighed. Fantastic. He’d take a robbery over Jorge’s tantrums any day.

Jethro took a steadying breath, already bracing himself for whatever headache Jorge had brought with him this time. “Lovely. What did he want?” he asked, keeping his tone as light as he could manage despite the initial sarcasm in it.

Isaac hesitated on the other end, a pause thick with unspoken words. “Well, he was...looking for you. Seemed a bit irritated when he found out you weren’t here. Tried asking questions about the store’s finances. I didn’t give him anything, obviously, but he wasn’t exactly pleased when I told him his access had been cut off.”

Jethro clenched his jaw. “Sounds like Jorge.” He could practically see his brother’s scowl, the way he’d stand too close, trying to intimidate his way into getting what he wanted. “He didn’t break anything, did he?”

Isaac gave a low chuckle, though there was a hint of irritation beneath it. “No, he was smart enough to keep his fists to himself. But, can’t say the same for his language. He had few choice words about for me getting in his way as he described. Called me everything everything you can think of under the sun from a 'nosy pawn' to your little lapdog.” There was a subtle edge to Isaac’s voice, a hint of restrained annoyance as he recounted Jorge’s scathing remarks.

Jethro raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with dry humor. "Surprised he didn’t reserve some of his vocabulary for me."

“Oh, he had plenty for you, don’t worry,” Isaac replied, his voice carrying a trace of tension masked with humor. “But my mother taught me better than to repeat that kind of language. Especially in the presence of of others.” His tone held a touch of dry amusement, though the tension underneath was unmistakable.

Jethro sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He could easily picture the look on Jorge’s face—the narrowed eyes, the tight set of his jaw, his meticulously groomed features twisted into that familiar scowl. With his angular jawline and piercing gaze, Jorge had a striking presence, especially when he turned on that look, the one that said he was used to getting his way. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything back. You know how he gets.”

Ironically, if they’d grown up with a bit more money, Jethro could easily picture his brother fitting right in with these shallow, paper-thin socialites.

Isaac’s voice softened, an almost playful edge slipping in. “Relax, Jethro. I know how to handle a guy like him without stooping to his level. Let’s just say I reminded him that you’re the one who holds the reins now—and that anyone not respecting that should probably reconsider their approach. He didn’t take it well, but he got the message.” Isaac paused, his tone dipping with a hint of warmth. “But, I wouldn’t be surprised if he came back.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Jethro murmured, already hearing the childish insults and tantrums his brother was known for. “Thank you, Isaac. You can lock up the store and head home if you want. I’ll probably be back hopefully within the next couple of hours.”

Isaac’s voice lingered with an easygoing warmth, though there was a trace of reluctance. “I think I’ll stick around a bit longer, just in case your brother decides to make an encore appearance,” he replied, a quiet resolve in his words. After a beat, his tone softened, taking on a note of genuine concern. “How about you, though? Everything alright on your end? Sinclair behaving himself, or do I need to drive up there?”

Jethro let out a huff of amusement, rolling his eyes despite himself. “I can handle him, Isaac… though, if anyone else decides to throw out another backhanded compliment about my outfit, my body, or whatever superficial nonsense they can think of, you might need to bring my bat from behind the counter.”

As he said it, flashes of the evening ran through his mind—Sebastian’s hand lingering at his waist, his fingers drifting down, pressing possessively into his hip or, more brazenly, giving his backside a casual slap and squeeze. Each intimate, uninvited touch felt like it crossed an invisible line, igniting a simmering mix of irritation and embarrassment on the surface. But beneath it, in places he stubbornly refused to acknowledge, was a flicker of excitement, a thrill he wished he could just ignore. Isaac’s voice, warm and steady on the other end, pulled him back to reality—a grounding presence he hadn’t realized he needed tonight.

Of everyone in that room, Sebastian should count himself the luckiest that Jethro hadn’t thought to bring his bat—because, honestly, he wouldn’t have needed even a hint of temptation to start his baseball career right there, with the smug Alpha’s face as his first swing.

Unbeknownst to him, Sebastian had already entered the balcony, the Alpha’s silent steps going unnoticed as he listened to the soft murmur of Jethro’s voice in conversation. He leaned casually against the doorway, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught snippets of the exchange, his jaw tightening ever so slightly at the warmth in Jethro’s tone—a warmth he had yet to hear be directed at himself.

After another brief exchange of reassurances, Jethro ended the call with a sigh, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he tried to savor just a few more seconds of peace. But the moment didn’t last. The soft sounds of footsteps behind him were almost imperceptible, but the sudden shift in the air sent a chill down his spine. When he turned, Sebastian was already there, standing far closer than he’d expected, his gaze fixed on Jethro with an intensity that made his breath hitch.

Jethro fought to keep his expression steady, masking the flicker of surprise with a carefully measured indifference. But inside, his heart was racing, a conflicted mix of unease and a warmth he stubbornly refused to name, swirling in his chest as he held Sebastian’s gaze. The Alpha’s cool, polished exterior betrayed nothing, but there was something else—a charged intensity in his light eyes, a smoldering watchfulness that lingered a heartbeat too long. The faintest hint of a smirk played at Sebastian’s lips, a playful edge that only deepened the unsettling tension between them, as if he was enjoying whatever unspoken power he knowingly or unknowingly—likely the former—held over Jethro in that moment.

“Important call, was it? Careful, babe,” Sebastian drawled, a hint of a smirk curving his lips. “People might start to think you’re sneaking off to take calls from a secret paramour. Scandalous, don’t you think?”

There was an almost imperceptible edge beneath the playful tone, but Sebastian’s control was ironclad, letting only the faintest suggestion of something darker slip through his lighthearted facade.

“Hmm,” Jethro replied with an eye roll. “Something I imagine you’d be quite used to.”

Without waiting for a response, he continued, “The call was just some business back at the shop. Nothing major.” His tone was dismissive, making it clear he didn’t intend to elaborate. They might be playing the part of a couple, but that was all it was—playing. Sebastian didn’t need, nor was he entitled to, any further details about his personal life.

Sebastian’s smirk didn’t falter, but something subtle shifted in his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He maintained his easy, controlled demeanor, yet the idea that someone else, someone like Isaac, having more of Jethro’s attention and trust than he did wasn’t a pleasant thought for the Alpha—yet he masked it with practiced ease, though it lingered, buried just beneath the surface.

Jethro’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting to the side in an attempt to ignore the heat radiating from the Alpha, who now seemed closer than ever. The weight of Sebastian’s attention was like an itch under his skin, one he couldn’t scratch without giving away that he felt it at all. But Sebastian was relentless, his tone dripping with playful mischief as he continued.

Sebastian’s smirk deepened, clearly reveling in the way Jethro’s patience frayed at the edges, each comment poking at a nerve he could feel twitching. He leaned in slightly, the casual stance concealing a more deliberate purpose, as though he knew exactly what effect he had on Jethro—and enjoyed every second of it.

“Come on now, babe,” Sebastian murmured, his voice a low, teasing hum. “You’re standing here alone, brooding away from all the excitement. Anyone else might think you’re waiting for someone.”

Jethro rolled his eyes, forcing a dismissive chuckle. “Chill on the pet names, would you? And if I am, they’re taking their sweet time getting here,” he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Sebastian’s smirk didn’t waver, his gaze fixed on Jethro with an almost predatory glint. “Oh, don’t tell me I’m cramping your style,” he teased, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “I’d hate to think I’m keeping you from… better company.”

Jethro scoffed, crossing his arms. “Trust me, anyone else would be a breath of fresh air right now.”

Sebastian’s smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step forward, his broad frame inching closer. Instinctively, Jethro took a step back, only to feel the solid stone of the balcony’s ledge press against his spine, leaving him effectively pinned in place.

Sebastian took a step closer, invading Jethro’s space in that way only Alphas seemed to know how to do. “It’s not so bad, is it? All of this. I think everyone’s taken a liking to you. Even the skeptics can’t help but be charmed.”

Jethro scoffed. “Charmed. Right. Like a snake is charmed by a flute.”

“You’re not a snake, Jethro. You’re a diamond—beautiful and rare.”

“I’m not a jewel, Sebastian. I’m a person. And I don’t appreciate jewelry metaphors.”

“It’s not a metaphor. You really are one of a kind.”

Jethro rolled his eyes. “And suddenly, I’m wondering if you’re getting a little too into this.”

Sebastian chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent an involuntary shiver down Jethro’s spine. “Maybe I am,” he replied, his gaze sweeping over Jethro’s figure with an intensity that made Jethro’s pulse quicken. “Or maybe it’s just you… looking so innocent and pristine in that outfit. Makes me wonder if the rest of you is as untouched as you look right now.”

Jethro’s eyes narrowed, an incredulous eyebrow lifting as he shot back, “Is that your attempt at subtlety, or did you think that was actually charming?”

Sebastian smirked, unbothered by Jethro’s glare. “Depends. Is it working?” he asked, a glint of teasing mischief in his eyes that bordered on smug satisfaction.

Sebastian’s gaze didn’t waver as he took a slow, deliberate step closer, bridging the space between them on the secluded balcony. Jethro felt his back brush against the cool stone ledge, trapped by the Alpha’s nearness and the simmering, almost possessive glint in Sebastian’s eyes—a look that seemed at odds with his otherwise smooth, controlled demeanor. “Relax, Jethro,” he murmured, his voice infuriatingly casual, as if they were alone and not playing this dangerous game in the middle of a high-society spectacle. “You’re wound tighter than that corset they’ve got you in.”

Jethro’s irritation flared instantly, his jaw tightening as he shot back, “Forgive me if I’m not as comfortable as you in this overpriced parade.” He could feel Sebastian’s gaze sweeping over him, lingering on the way his fitted vest hugged his frame, emphasizing each curve and line he’d rather downplay. The Alpha’s eyes drifted with an almost unrestrained focus, catching on the snug fit of his clothes as if trying to brand the sight into memory.

Sebastian’s smirk deepened, though a subtle tension remained beneath it, something unspoken shadowing the amusement in his gaze. “On the contrary,” he replied, voice dropping to a warm, velvety murmur, “you look right at home in all that gold. In fact, you’re the only thing here worth admiring.” His gaze trailed down slowly, like he was savoring every inch, before he added with a slight edge, “And I intend to enjoy the view.”

Jethro’s cheeks flushed, an uncomfortable blend of anger and an unwelcome warmth stirring in his chest. “Keep talking like that,” he muttered, barely restraining his irritation, “and people might start to think you’re actually serious about this little charade.”

Sebastian’s chuckle was low and unapologetic, his breath brushing Jethro’s ear as he leaned in, closer than necessary. “Oh, I am serious,” he whispered, his tone carrying a note that was both a dare and a challenge, layered with something deeper and harder to define. “The question is…are you?”

Jethro held Sebastian's gaze, refusing to let the Alpha’s words unnerve him. “I think you’re confusing commitment with convenience,” he replied, his voice a low murmur edged with challenge. “Let’s not pretend either of us are doing this for any reason other than appearance and financial gain.”

Sebastian’s smirk remained, but his eyes flickered with something darker, an intensity that made Jethro’s pulse quicken. “I don’t know, Jethro,” he murmured, his tone dropping to an intimate whisper as he leaned in even closer. “From where I’m standing, this doesn’t feel like just appearances.” His gaze traveled over Jethro’s face, lingering on his lips with a heat that was impossible to ignore.

Jethro’s breath caught for a fraction of a second before he forced a scoff, tilting his chin up defiantly. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who flirts with half the city. Spare me the fake sentiment.”

Sebastian chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in the narrow space between them. “Oh, believe me, baby, if I wanted to be fake, I’d be a lot less… explicit.” His gaze turned unabashedly suggestive, trailing down to the tailored vest hugging Jethro’s frame. “You’d be surprised at the things running through my mind right now. For instance…” He leaned in close enough that his breath brushed against Jethro’s ear, his next words a crude, whispered suggestion that left no room for misinterpretation.

Jethro’s eyes widened as the words sank in, his cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. He shot Sebastian a sharp look, his irritation barely masked by the forced calm in his voice. “You’re really pushing it tonight, you know that?”

Sebastian’s hand moved with a smooth, stealthy confidence, slipping onto Jethro’s waist before his grip tightened, grounding them both in a way that felt more like an unspoken command than a casual touch. His fingers pressed firmly, possessively, as he leaned down, his voice a low murmur with a trace of venom carefully veiled beneath its smoothness.

“Interesting choice, slipping away for that call,” he murmured, his tone deceptively light. “I don’t particularly enjoy competing for your attention—especially not with someone who seems all too eager to imagine himself as anything more than a temporary convenience.” He paused, letting the words settle with just enough weight, his gaze flicking to Jethro’s, unreadable yet quietly, pointedly, unwavering. “But I suppose even the unimportant ones can get ideas… if you indulge them enough.”

Sebastian’s gaze flicked back through the glass doors, where a cluster of guests lingered in muted conversation, though one in particular stood out. Tall, well-dressed, and with an air of effortless charm that drew more than a few glances, Marco Greenburg stood near the doorway, his eyes noticeably fixed on the balcony. Marco was a familiar presence in these circles, an Alpha with a family pedigree that ran close to the Sinclairs. Unlike Sebastian, however, Marco’s ambitions were rooted in outshining others rather than maintaining any real legacy—though lately, it seemed his interest in surpassing Sebastian extended beyond business or social clout.

Sebastian’s lip curled in subtle irritation, his hand tightening just enough at Jethro’s waist to pull him a fraction closer. “Looks like some others have also convinced themselves they stand a chance tonight,” he muttered, his voice holding a casual amusement laced with something sharper. “You haven’e been giving anyone any ideas, have you?” Though his words were light, there was an unmistakable edge beneath them, something cold and unyielding in the way his gaze lingered on Marco, and the way his fingers pressed with unspoken dominance into the smaller male’s waist.

Jethro’s gaze narrowed, catching the barely veiled possessiveness in Sebastian’s tone. “You know, for someone who was clear in the beginning this was all just for show, you’re sounding awfully like you’ve forgotten your own words,” he muttered, unable to mask the bite in his words.

Jethro’s gaze narrowed, his voice laced with a hint of defiance as he caught the underlying possessiveness in Sebastian’s tone. “Funny,” he murmured, a subtle edge sharpening his words. “For someone who was so clear at the start that this is all just an act, you’re starting to sound like you’ve forgotten your own rules.”

Sebastian’s smirk held steady, his tone light and laced with mock amusement. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be letting anyone get the wrong idea—especially not your attentive little storekeeper, and certainly not Marco.” The playful edge in his words softened the warning, but his gaze told another story. His green eyes held a glint that was anything but casual, a subtle flash beneath the hooded lids and thick lashes that hinted at something unyielding. His mustache twitched as his lips curved into a lazy, almost smug smile, but there was a sharpness in his expression, a hint of tension around his jaw, betraying the playful tone he wore like a mask. For a heartbeat, the air between them crackled with a silent authority before the practiced charm slipped back into place, polished and impenetrable.

Before Jethro could gather a retort, Sebastian’s arm slid around his waist, drawing him in until their bodies were flush against one another, the closeness blurring lines that had been unspoken in their arrangement. Jethro’s spine stiffened, an involuntary rush of heat prickling along his skin as he registered the Alpha’s hand resting low, fingers splayed just above the curve of his backside—territorial, unwavering. Every nerve seemed to spark with awareness, a subtle thrill mingling with his irritation as Sebastian’s grip held him in place, unyielding and far too intimate for mere pretense.

“What are you—?”

Sebastian cut him off with a low, appreciative hum, his hand tracing the curve of Jethro’s waist as if testing the fit. “Remind me to tip the tailor extra at your next fitting,” he remarked, his tone light but his grip firm. “He certainly knows how to keep a guy’s eyes on the prize.”

Jethro felt his cheeks burn, a confusing blend of embarrassment, irritation, and a warmth he couldn’t quite shake settling over him. He shot a glare up at Sebastian, his own brown eyes narrowing. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Sebastian only smirked, clearly savoring the effect he was having. “I’ve been told.”

With that, Sebastian turned them around, directing them both back to the main event, putting back on his famous smile while keeping that same hand gripping into Jethro’s waist. The Omega looked up at him with an irritated glare, feeling how the hand crept lower, but Sebastian didn’t meet his gaze, keeping his eyes up and ahead of him.

Sebastian’s hand moved with a calculated, possessive ease as he turned them toward the main ballroom, his fingers slipping confidently to rest just above the curve of Jethro’s backside, a touch that sent a ripple of warmth through the snug fabric of his vest. The Alpha’s fingers pressed just below the small of his back, where the tailored slacks hugged Jethro’s rounded shape, their fit intentionally designed to catch the eye.

Sebastian’s grip tightened subtly, an unspoken assertion that felt as much like a warning as it did a reassurance—a mix of dominance and protectiveness that made Jethro’s pulse spike against his will. The Omega could feel each press of Sebastian’s fingers, a possessive warmth grounding him in a way that was both frustrating and oddly comforting. With that confident smile, Sebastian guided them back into the heart of the event, his arm possessively secure around Jethro’s waist, the silent statement to their audience unmistakable: Jethro was his tonight, an alluring prize wrapped in gold and white elegance, and no one was to forget it.

Jethro shot Sebastian a glare, his irritation evident, but Sebastian’s gaze remained fixed ahead, ignoring the heated look from the Omega at his side. “Relax,” Sebastian murmured, low and smooth, his tone somewhere between gentle and commanding. “Just play the part.”

Jethro gritted his teeth, forcing himself to relax beneath the Alpha's commanding touch, even as the firm grip sent an involuntary tingle through his skin, an uneasy thrill he was reluctant to name. Sebastian’s towering frame and powerful shoulders, wrapped in his opulent white suit that drew every eye in the room, exuding both authority and allure. The suit’s golden embellishments caught the light with each movement, emphasizing his broad chest and tapered waist in a way that seemed crafted to perfection.

As they stepped further into the ballroom, Sebastian’s hand shifted lower, his fingers always skimming just inches away from Jethro’s shapely ass but never taking the final stretch—a teasing touch that felt distinctly possessive, even protective. The subtle press of his hand sent an unmistakable message to the onlookers, a blend of dominance and reassurance that had Jethro’s pulse pounding, his mind a flurry of defiant irritation mixed with something inexplicably warmer.

“Care to dance?” Sebastian asked, his tone casual but with a glint of something deeper in his eyes.

Caught off guard, Jethro hesitated but eventually nodded, aware that declining would only raise questions. He allowed Sebastian to lead him onto the dance floor, the Alpha’s hand finding his waist as they moved together in time with the music. For a fleeting moment, Jethro let the room fade away, his focus shifting to the warmth of Sebastian’s hand and the steadiness of his hold.

But as they danced, a series of unwanted thoughts intruded. This was all just an act, wasn’t it? Yet, why did Sebastian’s touch feel so… anchored, as if grounding him in place? And why did the Alpha’s gaze flicker with a spark of something he couldn’t quite identify? Jethro’s mind buzzed with conflicted emotions—resentment, curiosity, and something dangerously close to longing.

Sebastian, however, seemed oblivious to Jethro’s internal turmoil, his gaze locked onto the Omega with an intensity that sent a shiver down Jethro’s spine. As the dance ended, the Alpha didn’t release him right away. Instead, he leaned down, his breath warm against Jethro’s ear as he murmured, “How about we seal the deal?” His voice held a playful lilt, but there was an edge beneath it, something darker glinting in his eyes that hinted this was more than just a casual suggestion.

They stepped off the dance floor, but before Jethro could fully process what was happening, Sebastian turned him slightly, positioning them where every curious gaze could find them. Then, with a boldness that sent a jolt through Jethro, the Alpha leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips—quick but firm, leaving a charged silence in its wake. Sebastian’s hand drifted lower, fully settling on Jethro’s ass in a way that felt deliberate, as if every onlooker needed reminding of exactly who the Omega was leaving with tonight.

Jethro’s mind spun, his heart racing as he registered the weight of Sebastian’s lips against his, the warmth of his hand, the shock from the crowd around them. The kiss was brief, but it left an indelible mark, a mixture of anger and a flutter of something he refused to name roiling within him. His warm brown skin flushed under the gaze of everyone around them, acutely aware of the whispers and speculative glances that spread like wildfire.

Sebastian, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, a smug pride radiating from him as he straightened and led Jethro through the crowd. He wore that famous smile, looking pleased not only with himself but also with the reaction he’d elicited from the room—and from Jethro. As they moved, Sebastian’s gaze caught Marco’s in the crowd, the other Alpha’s face unreadable but his eyes tracking Jethro with a mix of curiosity and envy.

Without breaking his stride, Sebastian shot Marco a pointed, victorious look, his hand tightening on Jethro’s waist as if to silently reiterate his claim. The thought of Marco—or anyone else, for that matter—thinking they had a chance with Jethro seemed to irk him more than he’d admit. He almost wished that another Alpha who’d been all too attentive to Jethro, someone with a lovestruck, naive air, had witnessed the display as well.

The evening stretched on with Sebastian glued to his side, his hand never straying far from Jethro’s body, a constant reminder of his presence and his unspoken message to anyone who dared look too long at the Omega. By the time Sebastian finally suggested they leave, Jethro’s patience was wearing thin, his emotions a tangled mess of irritation, confusion, and the lingering heat of that kiss.

“I think that’s enough excitement for one night,” Sebastian murmured, his voice low as he leaned in, his breath warm against Jethro’s ear. “Shall we call it a night?”

Jethro barely trusted himself to speak, nodding in agreement, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the ballroom and the endless scrutiny of the crowd. Sebastian took his hand without hesitation, leading him through the sea of onlookers with his head held high, his posture exuding pride and confidence. Jethro could feel the weight of their stares, the whispers that followed them like a trail, while Sebastian appeared unfazed, almost as if he thrived on it.

In that moment, a thought surfaced, one that sent Jethro’s stomach twisting in a strange mix of nerves and exhilaration. For a heartbeat, it didn’t feel like Sebastian was playing a part anymore—and the realization left him both unsettled and unexpectedly drawn in, like a flutter of butterflies he couldn’t ignore.

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The Substance - REVIEW

"The Substance injects fresh blood into body horror with its sharp satire, and it's as unsettling as it is entertaining."

The Substance is a surreal, satirical thrill ride that blends body horror with a biting commentary on fame, beauty, and the obsession with youth. Directed by Coralie Fargeat, the film is an unforgettable fusion of 80s nostalgia, grotesque imagery, and dark humor, creating something both disturbing and strangely alluring.

Demi Moore is fantastic as Elisabeth Sparkle, a washed-up aerobics star who is desperate to regain her former glory. Moore's portrayal is equal parts tragic and comedic, capturing the complex emotions of a woman clinging to her past. When Elisabeth turns to a black market serum called "The Substance," the film dives headfirst into its twisted premise. The transformation scenes are a mix of cringe-inducing body horror and slick visual effects, as the younger version of Elisabeth—named Sue—emerges from her body. Margaret Qualley’s portrayal of Sue adds a fierce yet carefree energy to the role, and the tension between the two selves is palpable. They may share one consciousness, but their rivalry soon takes on a life of its own.

The dynamic between Elisabeth and Sue is at the heart of The Substance. What starts as a symbiotic relationship turns into a battle for control, with both personas growing to despise each other. Elisabeth is plagued by self-loathing and jealousy as Sue’s fame and beauty eclipse her own, while Sue relishes her newfound freedom but becomes increasingly repulsed by the version of herself she leaves behind. The psychological and physical deterioration of both forms is executed with both grotesque charm and black comedy. Fargeat’s direction brings a nightmarish quality to the duality, where each switch back and forth pushes Elisabeth closer to the edge, while Sue lives life recklessly without considering the consequences.

Dennis Quaid’s role as the sleazy producer Harvey adds another layer of humor to the film. Quaid’s performance is a campy delight, as he shamelessly embraces the role of an exploitative industry figure. His scenes with Sue, where he barely conceals his shallow fixation on youth and beauty, are as funny as they are unsettling.

Fargeat also brings a strong satirical edge to the film. The commentary on Hollywood’s obsession with youth, beauty standards, and the disposable nature of fame is razor-sharp. The film uses body horror to explore the literal and figurative disintegration of identity under the pressures of an industry that prizes appearances above all else. The final act of The Substance is a grotesque spectacle, as Sue’s attempt to create a new version of herself results in the monstrous hybrid "Monstro Elisasue." The chaotic New Year's Eve broadcast sequence is a visually striking and absurdly violent climax, capped off by Elisabeth’s symbolic and darkly comic return to the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

While the film’s surreal elements and extreme body horror may not be for everyone, The Substance stands out as an audacious, thought-provoking, and unforgettable experience. With its strong performances, biting satire, and avant-garde visuals, this film is a wild ride worth taking.

Final Score: 8/10

[soul-dwelling]

Thoughts on the clowns going from an interesting representation of one's dark side and the temptation to induldge self destructive madness, into just generic faceless mooks with no personality or point besides bloating the already overstuff moon arc?

It’s wrong for me to generalize, but it seems like most final arcs in serialized stories suffer when they introduce new characters or details that inevitably will not get enough time to develop. This should work: it’s the last arc, break all the rules, so long as the result ends up being a spectacle or too cool not to do or so shocking but concise in reiterating the message that has been reinforced over and over in this story…and the clowns just don’t do any of that--the spectacle isn’t engaging enough, I thoroughly enjoy clowns in pop culture but even these clowns in Soul Eater aren’t that engaging visually or personality-wise, and nothing about the clowns does much to reinforce any message, or at least reinforcing the message of “fear is always with you” in any fashion that another part of the manga didn’t reinforce better. 

And I don’t mean that Soul Eater should be criticized only because the clowns don’t get to develop to their full potential: I can’t think of any series where even main characters reach their full potential in their entire story because that’s not how storytelling works, that’s perfectionism and hence a fool’s errand. No, I mean that the characters and details are just there without any sense of progression, elaboration, or sometimes any use to the story aside from cannon fodder. 

And that is what the clowns feel like: cannon fodder, antagonists that can be done away with easily not only because their personalities are so limited that we feel almost no sadness or any other emotion when they are gone and not only because their power sets are so dull that they can easily overpowered by the protagonists and we won’t miss losing that power set because they weren’t cool enough at all but also because they are dehumanized so killing them off is not regrettable. Oh, Stein wasted a ton of clowns? Who cares--they weren’t human, and they were barely humanized at all, including, again, in terms of having almost zero personality. 

And yet, all of this could be salvaged if the clowns had something to them that was reflective of the larger themes of the story. As you point out, the clowns in parts of Soul Eater were indicative of a character’s dark side. We got to see how jealous Maka can be, how fearful she is of losing her father and her friends and teammates, and how powerless she feels without Soul. All of that is much needed character progression. Yes, I can be frustrated that it still feels a bit forced similar to throwing these details in during the Book of Eibon arc, but it makes sense that Maka would be this emotionally raw after Crona was kidnapped. It is also visually striking: look up just about any Maka clown art by Z-Raid and other illustrators. 

But even then, aside from Maka, what did the clowns actually show us about any character’s dark side? 

We get that with Justin--but even then, the clowns themselves don’t have much in the way of personality to get a sense of how they corrupt Justin. Granted, just about all of Justin’s story only works because of how little is given to us to show how he got corrupted. We know the “why,” we get belated clarification when Justin fights Tezca. But the clowns never have much in the way of personality to give us a sense how this unfolded. It’s good storytelling potential, likely something someone else did in their own fan works. But I wish Ohkubo had committed to some choice. We already have Ragnarok right there at times acting like a bad conscience on Crona’s shoulder--is that how a clown should act towards Justin? Should it be like the Symbiote telling Eddie what he wants to hear, more like what we got in Weisman and Cook’s Spectacular Spidey animated series? 

Edit: I forgot to mention--elliotthezubat once again handles this stuff better: Justin's dilemma works better if you have it more like a clone of himself talking to him, a conversation between two Justins to emphasize different dimensions to his personality and the potential split happening, or the potential for one side overwhelming the other.

When the clowns did pop up to fight for Medusa against Black Star and Tsubaki, and against Team B with the Thompsons, was there really anything gained? Any character progression for Black Star was actually more from fighting Crona, not from fighting a clown, to demonstrate where Black Star and Crona could have gone had each one had different intervention by a parental figure, Black Star at least having Sid and the DWMA, Crona being stuck with an abuser like Medusa. But did the clown unlock any such insight into Kilik, Ox, Kim, and their partners, or Liz and Patty? The clown was just a scientific experiment without any personality of their own. (See also how Ragnarok gets reduced to almost a non-entity as the series persists, and his commentary on what Crona is going through is sorely missed, whether to add insight or just some Falstaff-ian comedic relief with how dire things are getting.) 

The final arc had two major opportunities to justify the importance of the clowns: the characters as their own entities, and the characters as reflective of the path Stein could take. And then the arc fails to live up to either potential. 

Let’s start with the latter first: like the clowns, Stein is falling more and more into madness--and then on the Moon he just doesn’t, instead weaponizing the madness to lay waste to Asura’s forces, re-establishing that even under madness he is still the same person and his commitment to Death and the DWMA does not falter. I’m not asking that the story continue to milk the angst of Stein after Buttataki’s murder, or take the path of the first anime and show Stein falling under Medusa’s sway. But with this being the last arc, this is the last chance to re-establish Stein is a good person. We need that Iron Giant moment hitting us over the head: we didn’t need the Giant to say, “I am not a gun,” but it summarized the point in an obvious fashion. Where is that moment for Stein? Is there a quotation or a panel from the final arc that I’m neglecting that adequately summarizes how Stein’s fight against the clowns is a rejection of the path Stein could have taken and in his last battle in this series recommits to his characterization, how he has progressed throughout almost 100 chapters, where he goes next, and some larger message the manga is trying to say or at least tie into the ongoing themes about courage, fear, and collaborative work? I don’t get that from Stein’s fight against the clowns, but maybe someone else and can share that quotation or panel. 

As for the clowns as their own entities: what do they serve, in terms of their own character progression, or as larger allegorical or symbolic value, or as antitheses or foils to our protagonists? They just seem to be a grab-bag of mythological and literary references: rabbit on the moon, the story of Kaguya. What is Kaguya supposed to tell us in Soul Eater as a foil to Kid? Or, how is she a continuation of ideas Ohkubo is toying with when writing Blair and then later Tamaki in Fire Force? None of these questions really interest me because the potential answers are dull: there is barely anything between Kaguya and Kid to indicate a battle of differing philosophical viewpoints, Kaguya’s shtick is somehow more dull than Blair’s and lacks the other dimensions Blair has (whether in the manga or because fan writers are better at handling her), and the path from Kaguya to Tamaki is just a reminder how gross Ohkubo is when it comes to his attacks against feminism and readers who just get tired of his endless horny misogynistic bullshit. If you just want naked Kaguya, then just go naked Kaguya--that’s more honest and a clearer understanding why this character is here than dressing it up (so to speak) with pseudo-intellectual posturing to try to make her presence and maybe even this arc and this entire manga into something it’s not. 

Or, they’re just leftovers from B Ichi, seeing as they are called “Dokeshi” in the original Japanese version of the Soul Eater manga. Super--this is somehow the less annoying version of Ohkubo’s same trick, that being waiting until the final arc to gesture back to the author’s previous work. I should appreciate that the final arc of Soul Eater referencing B Ichi is a harmless Easter egg, compared to the final arc of Fire Force ruining the continuity and thematic cohesion of Soul Eater. 

And that’s not even getting into how the clowns just re-populating because of Asura’s almost infinite power of madness. 

At least “madness and fear are always with humans” is a clear, understandable message. But clowns? I get that clowns are scary to a lot of people, and their exaggerated details and potentially inhuman grotesque shape is decent shorthand. But this also feels like a failure of using the images to address the message: not everyone is going to find clowns scary, even taking something from childhood enjoyment and making it fearsome isn’t much of a deep message: “I made the things from your childhood edgy” strikes me as lazy. It’s as bad as Ohkubo assuming breasts can only be maternal and must be only a yearning for maternal love as in the final chapter of Soul Eater, or Ohkubo’s regressive cisheteronormative approach to sex as existing only for baby-making and that the idealization of sex appeal is embodied only by an underage teenage girl (again: Ohkubo is fucking gross, fuck this guy) in Fire Force. 

This is Ohkubo latching onto a small set of visual details or story tropes he likes and not letting them go. And it again disrupts what we already had: we go from Shotaro in B Ichi being a good guy who is clownish and literally turns into a clown as a final power-up form, to clowns just being absolutely evil in Soul Eater. Again, what is it with Ohkubo taking something from a previous manga, introducing it into another manga--and then taking a completely different approach in that new manga that contradicts what he did before? I can appreciate an author changing their mind over time, but it also comes across as a failure to let the previous work stand on its own and a refusal to let the message of that earlier story persist without needless contradiction by a later work. It comes across less as the author maturing and changing their mind with time and more like a creator who just wants to keep contradicting themselves for the sake of spurring on an argument (and more attention for the sake of more book sales).

[reelvibes91]

A Whirlwind of Action: Twisters Review

Legacy sequels have become the latest trend in Hollywood. Longstanding films that are critically acclaimed are getting modernized for a new generation of moviegoers. Twisters is the latest in the long line of attempts to double down on the movie magic of outdated but still loved movies.

For the most part, Twisters works on a summer blockbuster level. We get an early glimpse to set the pace of what kind of visuals to expect, and the film also sets up the emotional beats right away. After a thrilling opening sequence the film slows down to present the series of characters that make up the core of this particular story.

Here we have Daisy Edgar-Jones and Glenn Powell as the leads. Jones plays the more reserved Kate who struggles with the danger of storm chasing. Powell stars as Tyler Owens, the YouTuber who seems to be chasing the next big effect he can pull off. They work well together because the differing personalities within the two of them allow them to grow. As the film progresses, we see personality traits of each rubbing off on the other.

It definitely creates a balance of action and moments of heartfelt drama. It is a summer blockbuster, after all, so those moments while good for dramatic pauses are just segways into the next big action sequence. Those action sequences are particularly well done in comparison to the now outdated 90s film.

The one thing these legacy sequels don't have is the originality factor. They try and sprinkle in those cool new things like YouTube channels and modern weather data, but it never quite reaches the level of just a cool original plot had during the 80s and 90s.

It's probably one of the more interesting summer movies to come out this year as it does explain some aspects of storm chasing very well. It does remind us how dangerous this is and just how bad these storms have become over the years. While some of the events of the film seem highly improbable, the idea we can suspend belief and go on a thrilling adventure is what the movies have always been about. Twisters is no different. It is a big budget spectacle with two grounded performances at the core. Powell and Edgar-Jones make you care, and that is enough to carry the film through the intensity of the action sequences.

[freevoidman]

The Pros and Cons of Silent Hill: Ascension

Hey there! Are you planning on sitting through Silent Hill Ascension, either because you're excited, want to build up hype/support for further Silent Hill projects, or maybe you're curious about what new shit show Konami's cooked up? Well, I've sat through the first two days, and let this post be a quick run-through on the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly about Silent Hill: Ascension!

Pros:

There's honestly very little, but I'll run through them nonetheless.

Voice Acting is, right now, okay. Some actors are clearly better than others. I have to give special shout-outs to Rachel Hernandez and Xavier Candless. They're both doing really well with their characters so far and I'm excited to hear how they'll act in more emotive scenes. Of course, we're only two days in so we'll see how that changes.

Silent Hill Ascension features minigames which average around "okay." I'll talk about it more in the 'Bad' section, but the good ones are fun little brain teasers that I find satisfying enough to solve. This is not across the board, but it's enough of a positive that I felt it okay to list.

The site is functional enough that the catch-up videos seemed to work without any hiccups (edit: so long as there isn't a livestream occurring at the same time. If you want to play catch-up 30 minutes before the new stuff is released, odds are the livestream will cut in and mess up your video). Plus, the grace period for decision making is very generous so far, ranging from a full 24 hours to multiple days, so they do give you enough time if you can't watch live.

Credit where credit is due: the monster/creature designs are genuinely well-made. You can clearly see where the budget went, and it was towards making these things look cool and be animated well enough to translate that creepy factor. While nothing is abundantly original right now (we've yet to see the flaming box head guy) I won't short-change the monster designers and animators here, they put effort into this.

There was a bit of misinformation spread around that you'd have to pay to participate. Thankfully, that's not true, you can "play" Ascension without paying a cent and I, personally, wouldn't call this a "pay-to-win" type of game with its set-up. In other words: DO NOT PAY, it's absolutely not worth it here.

Bad:

Animation quality shifts from middling to horrible. The main criticism I have for this "experimental idea" is that everything Ascension tries, the 2000s nailed long before. If you've ever seen one of those 3D straight-to-TV movies that airs on cartoon networks during the holidays, congrats, their animation is likely better and has more charm than Ascension. Characters in Ascension move stiffly, either emote too much or not enough, and lip syncing seems off no matter which language you pick. Animation in SH1 is easily better than this, so don't expect a visual spectacle.

As an addendum to this: Ascension is dark--no, not the content, it is literally hard to see. Going into a Silent Hill-adjacent media, you expect visibility to be impacted by fog. Ascension, on the other hand, skips the fog entirely and just makes everything dark. It is incredibly difficult to see anything that's happening (this includes QTEs which, hoo boy! look at the next segment for that). I don't want to be cynical, but I truly do believe that part of the reason why is to cover up the stiff animation. Until Dawn and other Dark Anthology games had some moments of animation weirdness, but Silent Hill Ascension is easily worse than that on a pure technical level.

App and website responsivity is baaad. Minigames are designed for both platforms with zero differences, but this means some minigames are better on desktop than on mobile and vice versa. Two minigames stand out as particularly mixed/bad: a find-the-object game and a guitar minigame. The find-the-object game was better on desktop because your hovering cursor could find clickable areas more easily than on mobile. The guitar minigame was just bad--it wasn't a rhythm game, it was a game where you had to click finger positions for chords on the guitar strings and, my god, it played horribly no matter which platform I picked (though mobile was noticeably worse) and actually hurt my ears.

As an addendum to that, the live QTE events (yes that's a thing) ALSO suffer from this lack of responsivity, with more destructive results. Live participants were abruptly thrust into QTEs with no warning, no tutorials, and no preparation. There were 4 types of QTEs: a quick button press, a hold-release button, a rapid-tap, and a quick swipe. Of these, only the hold-release and rapid-tap worked regularly. The quick press barely responded, and the swipe indicator is practically hidden due to it being borderline invisible.* While you can try the minigames over and over as much as you want, the QTEs are limited to the live showings and cannot be "replayed." In addition, they have been heavily implied to be a major determining factor as to whether or not characters survive, so if every character's fate is based on successful QTEs, every character is going to die in this show, no matter what you do. This is why I said it's not pay-to-win, you can't pay your way through live QTEs, and this set-up feeds into the unsatisfactory system the entire "game" perpetuates. Even if YOU do well, decisions are based on the community, so if they fail, tough nugs.

The story isn't shaping up to be anything remarkable. There's no major hook in the opening scene and even less of a hook for the three scenes that followed. I'm not intrigued by the "horror" being shown, the way this is being shot and told is more confusing than anything else and, while there are some 'good' actors in this, a majority of them are bad and lack any hutzpah to sell the continued experience. I'm going to hold out for the end of the week, when the first "episode" is done airing, but if nothing hooks me I'm not going to continue.

Ugly:

The "Battlepass." Oh dear god the Battlepass. By paying $20, you can get more "influence points," which you can use to determine actions in this game. You also get exclusive little emote stickers for the live chat (oof) that are, at best, a cringey nightmare and, at worst, absolutely stupid and useless. You also get accessories for your avatar (did I mention there's an avatar? it's so pointless I don't even know WHERE to put that tidbit). Why is this even here? You already have freemium options where you can buy influence points, what does a battlepass add?

The "live chat" just shouldn't be there. I'm sorry, it shouldn't. You can already see the community casting votes and helping with QTEs, having a live chat that is barely moderated with hundreds of thousands of people signing on at 9 to watch the stupidity unfold is a bad idea. It also contributes to the stupidity of the Battlepass system--I don't want emotes, I don't want a 3D avatar that can appear in the show if I give enough points--so nix the whole thing. EDIT 11/1/2023: I kinda got my wish! After the amazing lack of moderation on launch, they've either temporarily OR permanently disabled the live chat! Unfortunately, the video's dimensions to compensate FOR live chat have not been altered, so there's a big gap of black negative space where it should be. People can only reply with the dumb stickers the devs have shoved into this, BUT if you have the battlepass, you can apparently type messages! Ironically, this retroactively gives the battle pass an actual fucking purpose since it gives you a privilege, and the stickers serve a purpose since they're the only way for non-battlepassers to communicate in live chat. Fucking brilliant, they've stumbled backwards into an unintentional solution. EDIT 11/4/2023: Genvid's CEO, Jacob Navok, has made various claims on twitter that of course they tested they tested their AI moderation for basic slurs, it's just that the system got overwhelmed by day 1 traffic. Well, I absolutely DON'T believe that (the testing, not the overwhelmed thing, connection and stability were terrible day 1) seeing as people are getting around not being able to TYPE swearing and horrific racial slurs into chat by simply making their usernames swears and slurs without any letter substitution (a la leetspeak). Here is a link to a video of someone who was streaming Ascension and had the chat open, only to see have someone with the user name "Fuck_[n-word]s" in chat (I'm not typing the actual slur fuck that). When he goes to try and flag the user, he is given no ability to report the username. So, yeah, even if you see some incredibly racist/bigoted shit, you can't flag the user and report them to, y'know, assist with the absolutely real robot-powered moderation that totally exists! If there was the most BASIC moderation in the world to catch english swears and slurs, that username would not have been permitted under any circumstances, so I fully do not believe this fucker.

The decisions themselves shouldn't have labels. What I mean by that is that, so far, every option has three possible options. These options are labelled under three categories: redemption, suffering, and damnation. In other words, the watcher can literally see the paths leading towards the "good, neutral, and bad" endings for Ascension. This shouldn't be a thing, period, because it immediately introduces biases into your choices. Every option so far has been massively skewed towards the "redemption" path because people aren't blind, they can see the "good" ending on the horizon, and they want to go for it. The worst part is, the options on their on aren't explicitly good or bad, so if they got rid of that labeling it'd still work. idk, it just feels stupid. (NOTE: day 2 introduced ONE choice that doesn't have this same labeling system. No clue if that's a bug or if there are going to be decisions that don't have a label. Even then, it seems like a small decision in the overall scheme of things, so... :shrug:)

Yes, the decisions are permanent, thus denying you the ability to see 2/3s of whatever Genvids has worked on. I just think that's dumb and, though many in the community have criticized this already, it feels even dumber when watching the show play out live. There's no way that the money Ascension could possibly make would subsidize the effort put into this if you're effectively nixing 2/3s of anything you can see (and it does seem like major alterations to the characters and their routes so far, nothing minor, so... yeah, you're missing out on a LOT). This also means that because of the audience effectively being enticed to pick the clearly labelled "good path," if you put any effort into a different choice, odds are you wasted your time with minigames for the day. This means Ascension is set up to be as unsatisfying as possible for individuals, and only satiates half of the community engaging with it. There is no way this is going to last the entire scheduled 6 months this is intended to run for if this is the system they're operating under.

In conclusion: give this one a pass. If you're really curious, you can watch now and get a good idea of its future quality. This isn't remarkable at all and looks more like a time sink than anything "fun."

I still don't understand why this isn't a video game, other than Konami hoping some suckers will pay for the influence packs and get them more money than a $60 one-time-purchase. Quantic Dreams and Supermassive "Dark Anthology" games are really fun and well-liked because of the CYA angle they take. This could've made a decent amount of money if it were just, y'know, a normal game.

*MINOR EDIT: tested the QTEs on desktop instead of mobile and they were better overall: prompts respond easily to mouse clicks and aren't nearly as invisible on my phone screen compared to my desktop. If you are REALLY interested in trying it live and getting a feel of the "authentic, live experience", I'd recommend accessing the site on desktop over downloading a mobile app.

EDIT 11/2/2023

Yeah I know I keep editing this honestly BUT I do have a big-ass critique I just noticed relating, again, to the minigames.

Here is a screenshot of the rewards you can receive for your performance with the minigames. You are rated on a scale of 1-3 stars, with a failure being 0 stars. In return for your performance, you gain "Interactive Points" and EXP. Tell me, after looking at this screenshot, what the problem with these rewards might be:

Do you see it? Well, if you don't, let me point it out to you.

THE AMOUNT OF INTERACTIVE POINTS YOU RECEIVE, THE CURRENCY YOU USE TO ACTUALLY MAKE DECISIONS AND PROPERLY CONTRIBUTE TO THE STORY, GOES DOWN IF YOU DO WELL AT THE MINIGAMES. THE GAME ACTIVELY PUNISHES YOU FOR PLAYING WELL.***

100 interactive points, by the way, is not enough to vote on a decision! You need 200 minimum. You also cannot repeatedly play the minigames to farm IP or EXP so, once you get two stars, you can't get the rewards for three or vice versa. And remember, if you're not a battlepasser, you only get two of these minigames per day.

Why on earth is it scaled this way? The difference between two stars and three stars is the exact same, why does it not increase when you do the minigames well? 100 for one star, 200 for two, 300 for three, it's so god damn easy AND you can still keep the scummy interactive point packages they sell!

But, I here you asking, what does the EXP do? Well, ignoring that a 10 EXP difference is exceeding minimal, EXP gives you... nothing!

Yeah, not even kidding with this one. There does seem to be a leveling system attached to your profile, but I cannot see a single thing connecting it to rewards (which are across the board useless), giving you a power boost with your voting, or just giving you perks. As far as I'm aware, EXP doesn't grant you a god damn thing, and that's the only increased reward from doing well.

***CORRECTION (because nothing in my life can ever be simple): the minigames DO reward you better than the screenshot above. Just did today's minigames and I got 330 IP from a 2 star ranking. However, if that's the case, I GENUINELY do not understand why this is labelled incorrectly? This doesn't even add up correctly (the 1 star + 2 star ranking should equal 300, NOT 330).

So, at best, the site is poor at labelling things (which wouldn't surprise me, the UI is a mess most days on this) OR my view of the site/rewards are bugged! Who fuckin' knows at this point. Sorry for the long rant y'all but honestly? Considering I only noticed the labelling earlier today and couldn't test this until the reset happened, I could only go off the labelled point system above.

I WILL say that tonight was the first night the community succeeded at the endurance scenes! I'd be happier about that if the game itself gave a shit, because apparently, what we do does not matter (as this game seems rapt with telling us)

Yes folks, despite the community succeeding two (2!) of these long ass, repetitive QTE events, for some fucking reason, Karl's hope went down further! This is, again, despite the fact that the community AT LARGE succeeded for the first time since the premiere date, but we still lost! Fucking how.

[coreytasticc]

Definitely my favourite thing about how I'm playing Helldivers -aside from the disastrously good gameplay loop, visual spectacle, enabling and encouraging of testing different strategies for different enemies and objectives, and how much fun it is- is what I'm calling the Hug Queue.

Essentially, when I host a destroyer and randoms join before a mission starts, I'll stand at the back of the bridge, where players have to walk through to get to the ODST pods, and I'll just stand there until they're clearly walking towards the pods to start the mission, then I'll hug emote.

Then, in all but 3 instances, in all the Dellhivers Too I've played, everyone comes in for a hug, and if there are multiple people joining at once, they all queue up for their hugs! And if they have a different interactable emote, they'll emote back at me!

We'll share a hug, then salute, or じゃんけん or do a bro-shake and headbutt! Then we go on to have a great fucking mission.

Then, at the end of an op and I'm checking out, I make sure to drop it in chat, and we do the emote queue again.

And here's the kicker; even if we've had people drop out mid-mission, and new Divers joined, they'll join in too.

It's a fantastic little bit of community building that signals to me that things are going very well, community-wise.