#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.

[kingofthewilderwest]

We need to start questioning the conflation of "maturity" with "increased stakes."

It's not to say higher stakes is always a bad choice. The first half of the How to Train Your Dragon book series has an endearingly whimsical, child-like feel. Hiccup's issues in the first half of book one are an obnoxious, cat-sized Toothless pooping in his helmet. The movie adaptation might have made the book and its counterpart distant cousins, but it was a thoughtful move to alter concepts to the appropriately theatrical: books and movies aren't the same medium. Hiccup riding alone on Toothless, exchanging fire blasts with a mountain-sized dragon, and losing his leg came off as well-done storytelling.

Hiccup staring at a prosthetic never happened in the book. He didn't lose his leg in his encounter with the Green Death. It was, as the creative powers behind the movie said, a result of the increased stakes. They didn't do this just to be more dramatic; they did it because it seemed that, based on how their narrative was going, this made sense. And this was a soft, quiet, shocking, breath-taking scene that instilled how good the movie handled its stakes. It gave us a reflective reaction to consequences that audiences might not have expected. This movie understood timing, pauses, quietness, narrative arc, poignance, reflection, emotion, love, and heart.

We know about the conflation of live action as "more mature" than animation. But a medium doesn't change maturity levels. We all know that's bogus, and many analyses have been given on that. Disney live actions add extraneous gunk, down to Gaston having a past relationship with war (so I've heard, from the people who actually watched the movie), and Disney giving us the sad scoop on why Belle's mom isn't around. Furthermore, lots of times, when I see the conversion of animation to live action, I notice creators feel a need to "raise the stakes" -- in line with the erroneous view of "giving maturity."

But "higher stakes" often means inserting action in place of mindful interaction. I feel today's Hollywood movies, in their treatment of "action," don't let movies pause and breathe anymore - ergo, they don't let us think. Isn't it more juvenile to actively avoid thought in favor of "hey look I made the building go boom"? There may be less "stakes" in introspection and mindful dialogue, but that's what gives it its maturity. That's how we went from Iron Man 1, with its grounded treatment of war and abuse, to the mindless high spectacle MCU is today.

Snappy one-liners or moments that clap at contemporary issues don't substitute for maturity. What can make a story mature is characters grappling with issues in a natural narrative through-line. A snappy one-liner is its own form of speedy spectacle.

We know about the conflation of "gore and sex" with "mature audiences." I believe they're right that graphic sex and gore is designed for adults. But that doesn't make it mature, and that doesn't make it the only way to target a medium for adults.

"Realisticness" isn't maturity. Per above regarding animation: realistic visuals are nothing. And if you think that putting more Debbie Downer material into your adaptation makes it more adult, you have to ask yourself why the themes that spoke to people's souls got muddled in its midst. We weren't mature enough to interact with the most subtle, nuanced, and impacting voice of the story. But hey! Look! There's more corpses, I guess!

It's not the visuals, it's not the events. It's not the "things." It's not the basic insertion of the external. Get past the superficial, get past the top layer of presentation. It's the mind. It's the ability to think. It's the ability to be still. It's the ability to be interested and attentive when something is slow or quotidian, because we can understand why that is important for narrative growth or arcs or themes or commentary on the human condition. It's the ability to know when and when not to include something. It's the ability to make resonant impact. It's the ability to be deep with your emotions or your themes. It's the ability to take what you have and grow it in a way by which we can derive something deeper.

Maturity is critical thought and well-conducted, appropriate responses to content of any kind.

As DeBlois tells Empire, the move to live-action brings a different emphasis to How To Train Your Dragon; a new heft, both physically and emotionally. “It’s so dialed-up in terms of stakes — having a fully credible, photo-real dragon stomping around trying to kill him,” the director says.

And maybe that DeBlois quote is taken out of context. Maybe there's more going on than that one sentence conveys. Maybe Empire is making their own erroneous assumptions. But "so dialed-up in terms of stakes," isn't, on its own, a good appeal. The animated movie already dialed things up - and knew when to include or not include something. A live-action that imitates the visuals of the animated movie exactly, as if no independent thought has been done to its unique adaptation, to the pros and cons of the medium, to what a independently-presented story needs and doesn't need... It has to make you wonder: how many conflations of "maturity" are going on?

How long are we going to keep making our own conflations?

[violet-moonstone]

once more defending my love, book!elphaba thropp

reading reviews of wicked and im seeing people say they hate book elphaba because she's "unlikable"

so many people love the feel good vibes of the musical while not seeing that they sound exactly like people who would have shunned elphaba at shiz for not being pleasant enough and making them feel unsettled instead of putting them at ease

I'm saying this because I find that people are often much more charitable towards fictional characters than real people -- and people IRL who have Elphaba's severe, unwavering personality and unwillingness to conform often face the same social stigma she did, no green skin required. Like yes, Elphaba was an outcast because she had green skin, but I don't think the green skin is the point of the novel. I think her being green is a visual manifestation of being so at odds with what you're "supposed" to be that people demonize you for it. Book Elphaba is queer and hinted to be intersex. I read her as neurodivergent, so this all tracks to me, and considering that other forms of oppression and stigmatization are very important themes in the narrative, I think the green-ness simply emphasizes to the other ways in which she's marginalized.

Trying not to go into the Wicked rant that I tend to do every few months but I feel it coming on

I'm all here for critiques of the novel, because it certainly has flaws, and I understand why people don't enjoy it -- but there is something funny to me about people wanting a narrative about looking beneath the surface to find true value but hating the version of that story that requires the most compassion to appreciate. Like the musical is fun and well-made but it does not require any effort to like musical Elphaba because she's conventionally attractive woman who's feisty and kinda quirky...oh and she's also green. And her being green matters more to the other characters than to us. We don't care that she's green (because we already know it would be wrong to judge her based on that) and the musical gives us no other reasons to judge her, so we don't really have to process any complex emotions.

(Sidenote, I think if book Elphaba were still green but more conventionally attractive, bubbly, and less political, she would not have been as much of an outcast -- at least not in her later adolescence. Her green-ness could have been a novelty or spectacle that she used to her advantage if she made up for it by being more palatable in other ways. Of course, she would never do this, because that's simply not Elphaba. She could never twist herself to be anything other than who she is, even out of social self-preservation.)

Book Elphaba is so much more prickly and unpleasant --and hell, so was I at the height of my social ineptitude and feeling like there was something so so wrong with me (because why for the love of God couldn't I just fit in and act the way the cool kids my age did).

Her unpleasantness and seriousness and insistence on talking about important things that make people uncomfortable are her green-ness imo. Those are the things that affect how we as the reader experience her, and we must experience her strangeness as well.

And while I understand that if the moral of the story is essentially "don't judge a book by its cover" then yes, you can tell a thematically sound story about a girl who is actually pretty cool but just happens to be green and talk about how she's ostracized simply because she looks different. That's a perfectly fine story -- but I think it can go much further -- because it's not only wrong to marginalize people who look different, it's also wrong to marginalize those who are internally different. Difference is persecuted whether its visual or behavioural.

Even if Elphaba weren't green, there are inherent aspects of who she is that prevent her from conforming to the ideal, both in her world and ours. And I think valuing her with all of those things in mind is a lot more rewarding than simply liking her despite the fact that she's green.

Anyway I love Elphaba Thropp and I don't think her being more palatable would have made the story better — it simply would have made it more popular, and I think on that at least, fans of both the book and musical should be able to agree is not an inherently better thing.

...

OK one last point, I saw someone saw they prefer the musical because it has more "girl power" meanwhile the book feels "obviously written by a man" and I just...dear god what a surface level take

Yes Gregory Maguire is a man (oh, the horror!), but he wrote the women in Wicked as people, without hand wringing about if they're likeable or pleasant enough. They are flawed and raw and not just there to make the audience feel warm and fuzzy. He writes about sexuality without making women feel like sexual objects -- I suspect because he also writes about the sexuality of his male characters (the women aren't just in the story to turn us on) and he himself is gay, so there may be less male-gaze going on than with a lot of men who write fantasy. Yes, characters are described in sexual ways, but this happens regardless of gender.

[antivivziepopparade]

Just noticed something wrong...

I finally watched Wicked (the movie) and I just realized something.

Vivziepop focuses on how a musical feels, but not how it makes us think. She thinks about the spectacle, the glamour, when in reality what matters most is that the music tell a story.

So far we got:

All of Stolas's songs, which are just emotional fluff that doesnt even have a story connection EXCEPT for mastermind. They just come out of nowhere to be "OH WOE IS STOLAS!" and nothing else. :/

Loser Baby, which just throws insults at Angel Dust and "empowering" visuals to look like theyre "bonding" when in reality Husk is just calling Angel a "whiny bitch!" for being a sa victim. (Gross!)

Loo Loo Land, once again, for spectacle and nothing else storywise despite easily having explained Blitz's backstory with RoboFizz a bit more or AT LEAST him threatning Blitz somehow.

-and besides that, I cant even name a song that has actual plot relevance besides Charlie's intro song and MAYBE Respectless.

Its honestly an insult to musicals. Really, it really is.

Musicals are so much more than "WOW! This looks and sounds cool!"

They tell a story.

Viv just wants the "WOW!" factor, not the story relevance or interesting storytelling as much as the actually decent musicals such as Cats or Wicked. Saying this all as a theater kid.

[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)

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The anticipation builds as studios release new movie trailers, often showcasing the top talents in the industry. The art of creating a compelling trailer has become a skill in itself, as filmmakers and marketing teams work diligently to distill the essence of a movie into a short, enticing clip. Whether it’s the heart-pounding action of a superhero flick or the emotional depth of a biographical drama, these clips are designed to hook audiences and keep them talking.

Every film genre has its unique traits that shine through in new movie trailers. For instance, horror films employ eerie soundscapes and unexpected jump scares, while romantic comedies highlight heartfelt moments and witty dialogue. The best trailers leave viewers wanting more, teasing just enough to spark curiosity without giving away key plot points.

Moreover, latest movie trailers are a great way to gauge audience reactions. Fans often flock to social media platforms to share their thoughts and predictions, creating a buzz that can significantly impact a film's opening weekend. Additionally, trailers can also offer retroactive enjoyment, as audiences revisit them after watching the film to appreciate the marketing and artistry involved in their creation.

With numerous film festivals and award shows showcasing new movie trailers, the excitement only amplifies. Events like San Diego Comic-Con and the Sundance Film Festival are just a few examples where audiences are treated to exclusive previews of highly anticipated films. These moments not only build hype but also reflect the creativity and diversity of storytelling in contemporary cinema.

In conclusion, new movie trailers serve as a vital connection between filmmakers and audiences. They encapsulate the essence of what’s to come, setting the stage for cinematic experiences that captivate viewers around the globe.

New Movie Trailers 2024

As we step into 2024, the excitement for upcoming films is at an all-time high. New movie trailers are being released at a brisk pace, teasing audiences with glimpses of thrilling plots, stunning visuals, and star-studded casts. Below are some of the most anticipated new movie trailers 2024 that have already caught the attention of film enthusiasts.

1. Action-Packed Blockbusters: This year promises a wave of adrenaline-pumping action films. One of the standout new movie trailers showcases the return of a beloved franchise, with high-octane sequences that leave viewers at the edge of their seats. Expect epic battles, mind-bending stunts, and heart-stopping suspense.

2. Exciting Adaptations: Fans of literature and comics will not be disappointed, as several new movie trailers reveal adaptations of popular books and graphic novels. The trailers give us a sneak peek into how filmmakers are bringing these stories to life, with stunning visuals and captivating performances that honor the source material.

3. Thought-Provoking Dramas: 2024 also promises to deliver a slate of new movie trailers that focus on compelling narratives and character-driven stories. These films address contemporary issues and human experiences, showcasing talented actors in powerful roles that are sure to leave a lasting impression.

4. Family-Friendly Flicks: There’s something for everyone in the upcoming year, with new movie trailers featuring animated films and family comedies. These trailers highlight the creativity and humor that make them perfect for audiences of all ages, filled with endearing characters and heartwarming stories.

5. Highly Anticipated Sequels: Fans of franchise films will be delighted to see the new movie trailers for sequels that expand on beloved stories. With returning characters and fresh plotlines, these films promise to deliver the nostalgia and excitement that fans crave.

In conclusion, 2024 is shaping up to be a remarkable year for cinema, with a variety of new movie trailers set to ignite the passion of moviegoers around the globe. Stay tuned as more trailers drop and the release dates approach, because this year is sure to be unforgettable!

Latest Movie Trailers

As movie lovers know, the excitement for a new release often begins with the unveiling of its trailer. The latest movie trailers give us a glimpse into upcoming films that promise to captivate audiences and spark conversations. With a wide array of genres, these trailers highlight the creativity and talent of filmmakers, showcasing their unique storytelling approaches.

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.

One of the most exciting aspects of latest movie trailers is seeing our favorite actors and directors return to the forefront of cinematic storytelling. Not only do the trailers highlight their impressive performances, but they also give insight into the dedicated craftsmanship behind the scenes. Whether it's a gripping suspense thriller or a light-hearted comedy, the trailers are carefully crafted to deliver maximum impact and entice audiences.

In addition to the theatrical trailers, some films also offer teaser trailers, creating an air of mystery and anticipation. These short clips foster an engaging conversation among fans, fueling speculation about plot details and character arcs. Social media platforms have become a hub for sharing these insights, leading to a vibrant fan community eager to discuss the nuances observed in the latest clips.

As we venture further into 2024, the influx of new movie trailers continues to build excitement for the upcoming releases. Movies such as Ghostbusters: Afterlife 2 and The Marvels are generating significant hype, with trailers that showcase not just the actors but also the innovative special effects that cinema has to offer. This wave of new trailers keeps audiences engaged and eager for more.

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.

[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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[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!!

[nepheia]

04 ∙ why i say this album is xiao zhan in a bottle

[ ✼ part 4 of the self is not me, but us series ]

you're probably tired of hearing me talk about loops like chels why r u so obsessed???

the common meaning associated with 'loop' is to put something on repeat, right? at first glance, that sounds totally out of alignment with xz, who has said very strongly before that he wouldn't go back for anything. 

but consider: to loop also means to start again.

and xiao zhan has begun again many, many times before.

he started again at the age of 25, when he debuted as a singer. he started again after what happened in 2020, rising from the ashes to chart the rest of his career. 

he starts again in every single film he makes and every single stage he performs. every role is a clean slate, where he has to walk out of his previous characters to live the life of new ones. but more than that, he starts again because he approaches each project with the same kind of beginner's sincerity that has endeared him to so many — sincerity for the art form, sincerity to learn, sincerity for doing the work and doing it right.

i also really loved how connection was shown differently in the narrative storytelling element (the circular loop) vs. the visual storytelling element, the linear tree bridging the three different title tracks:

the whole illustration has a sense of upward direction and looks like a journey, just like the album listens and reads and tells like a journey. the journey of xz through different junctures of his life:

xz was thrust very abruptly into the clutches of fame as a relatively late industry newcomer / when cql blew up, and into the eye of the storm in 2020. it would've been an entirely human reaction to constantly be battling the chaotic din of emotions, a bloody war within the mind (us). a crushing sort of sadness (restoration). constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering when the other shoe will drop, a fear of being a spectacle and an almost despondent resignation (all the same).

but he, the incredible and bright person that he is, refocuses on the self (glimmering). rises above the noise, takes the time to sift through his own thoughts and really ponder his place in the world (confessions of a night walker). what matters most to him, where he wants to go, and ultimately what he can and wants to do (drifting).

he makes peace with the fact that he might have to start again, but he's stronger and wiser and more resolute for it (return to zero). he charts his course (lighthouse), looks ahead (don't look back), and — well, comes back with his star burning even brighter than before.

of course, this is only my opinion, and i would never claim to speak for him in any way, but seeing all this become creative inspiration for his music almost feels like catharsis. i am so grateful — and quite frankly a little surprised — that xz decided to be this vulnerable with the first proper collection of music he's ever put out. i'm glad it's not only laden with positive messages. it's not a sugarcoated, polished look at a celebrity. it's all the many parts that make a person: the best and brightest, the dark and desolate, and everything in between.

it's like he's finally ready to speak about the story, and finally ready to let it go.

he's set to only go forward now, to go upwards, and — in his favourite words — to be 越来越好 (better and better). he's taking the lessons with him but closing that chapter in his life, with

❝ a goodnight left for my past ❞ 🌙

ZHANZHAN YOU MUST ONLY LIVE WELL FROM NOW ON OK!!!!!!!!!!! ;_;

⋆

←  prev ┊ part 3: the dark whimsicality of drifting: a visual analysis →  next ┊ part 5: whenceforth do the night walkers go? screens as a means of travel

[thereasonsimbroke]

Season 2 of #Arcane: #LeagueOfLegends falls short of its predecessor, suffering from recycled ideas and superficial execution. Although the animation remains stunning, the narrative is weakened by substantial borrowing from stronger works like Watchmen and Batman: The Animated Series.

A critical misstep is the absence of #Silco, whose complex role in Season 1 added depth. Without him, conflicts are reduced to clichés, and brushed-over plot points, like the tension between Piltover and Zaun, go unresolved. The series relies too much on visual spectacle, with forced romances and unearned dramatic moments overshadowing coherent storytelling. What once focused on character-driven arcs now feels disjointed and derivative, undermining emotional stakes.

[randomnessofthehighestorder]

My ranking of Arcane S1 soundtrack

Because why the hell not?

(I don’t know if this counts as spoilers because season one was 3 years ago, but for newer viewers, I’ll put the cut here, just in case)

Snakes - ok, I am a sucker for punk rock, and this song, every time I hear it, makes me headbang and bounce. I always go back to it and loop it, it’s just that good! Also, Vi and Jayce kicked ass against those Chemtanks! It kinda went a bit far when Jayce shot that Chembaron’s kid… 😬

Dynasties and Dystopia - another scene I had on loop because of the song. Such a bop! And that scene in the bridge with Ekko and Jinx, absolute art. He may not have had his Z-Drive back then, but he used time and memory to his advantage. That’s our Boy Saviour!

Misfit Toys - the Firelights get their own anthem and mini MV. The lyrics perfectly layout their vibe and message. And that intro scene! I had that on loop because it was just so cool!

Playground - this song is hauntingly beautiful, and perfect for Act 1 Undercity. A place of mystery, commerce and underlying corruption. Bea Miller did a great job… 👏

Enemy - a synonymous classic. Great for the intro, great for the scene in Ep 5 and great MV. When people think of Arcane, they think of this song.

What Could Have Been - what a way to end the season. Sting knocked it out of the park!

Dirty Little Animals - what a way to reintroduce the Undercity after the death of the Hound of the Underground. Silco really changed everything. On the bright side, this rave music goes hard…

When Everything Went Wrong - a groovy country song to an awesome bar fight between the Undercity’s best fighters? Yes, yes and yes!

Our Love - after season 2, this song hits different. But in Ep 2 of season 1, this was a very groovy Motown song to a very moody ending…

Guns for Hire - the scene with the flare was so full of emotion. I almost cried… Woodkid knows how to tug our heartstrings.

Goodbye - man, I felt Powder’s sadness and anger through that one look. She definitely needed that hug…

Looking back, season 1 had less songs than season 2, which is fair, since it was just a low key greek tragedy style story, so it was focused more on the dialogue and themes, while season 2 was an all visual Shakespearean tragedy style story focused on feelings and spectacle…

Overall, this was a great soundtrack! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️