#[so i'm just going pick away at some stuff]

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 12

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (Next chapter switches to Explicit)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,652 of 32,210

Start | Prev

AO3 Link

"What happened?" he asks, pulling me to my feet. "What's wrong?"

My legs shake and I try to catch my breath, feeling my nails weakly trying to grip the tweed of his jacket. "It's the conductor," I say. "Not the same guy."

The Wizard exhales a laugh at this. "Yes," he says. "We've been changing out conductors at every stop. Did you think it was the same man shoveling coal for the past three days?"

"N-No... but-"

"Look," he says, "why don't you get some rest? You’re tired from- What were you doing? Running?” He gives me a funny look as he tries to rearrange my wind-swept hair. “We've got a ways until we get to Rouncible."

The words he's saying seem right, but there's just something I can't shake about the conductor. I don't say anything as he takes my hand. I glance back at the Frottica station passing by as he helps me up the steps and back into the living compartment.

"I know that this week has been stressful and all, but I really need you to keep it together." He wraps the woolen blanket from the first night around me and guides me to sit in one of the chairs. "The cold can do funny things to the brain. You're... uh... It's going to be alright, okay?"

I nod my head once, staring out the window as we pick up a good and decent speed. Maybe now was the time to get religious. Maybe if I prayed hard enough then this whole war would be over and I would be free to go. A divine intervention.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry I snapped at you," he says.

"S'okay," I say, staring out the window. A light snow has started to fall, adding to the already heaping piles of the stuff that corridor the rail.

"We still haven't heard from Morrible, and she might be able to convince the Lord-Mayor to talk some sense into Thropp. That letter, it was only the first from days ago."

"Can you-" I stop, hesitating to ask. "Can we just sit together?"

To that, he doesn't say anything. The matching chair is dragged back over from the bedside. He sits down in it, holding my hand as I watch the snow fall, every flake a silent prayer that I would be able to see Fileah alive again.

______________________________________________

The light snow has turned to pellets of ice, giving the illusion that the roof of the train is being pelted with handfuls of rice. It’s been two, maybe three hours, and the sun has begun to paint the horizon in bruising shades of purple and indigo. The Wizard's hand is still in mine, keeping true to my request, even if I'm not really present. My gaze has been fixed on the pines that start as dark green blots of ink when they appear along the brass edge of the window, only to grow great and monstrous in size. It's the only place I can look. There was no way back, and the sooner I accepted my fate, the sooner I could plan my next move. Maybe there would be someone at the war council who pitied me enough to smuggle me back.

I've come to accept that my brain concocted the fear of the conductor as a way to stop me from leaving him. As we sit in silence, free from any pressure of time, I can see how ridiculous the idea is. The Wizard doesn't need someone to look after him. He is the Wizard of Oz, a grown man, more than capable of taking care of himself, capable of governing our great land even. I don't need him, and he doesn't need me. The next time I get the chance to get away, I won't hesitate.

I watch as the trees start to curve, cutting off the white path ahead. My free hand grips the wooden chair arm as I anticipate the slowdown that will lurch me. There wasn't always a warning – when I had spent that day out in the hallway I had taken to always having a free hand on the railing, especially with my nose in my book – but when there was, it was nice to know so I could stabilize myself. I wait, watching as the trees draw closer, but the slowdown doesn't come.

"Hey," I say, shaking the Wizard's hand. He had fallen asleep with the gentle rocking of the train but still managed to keep his hand in mine. "Hey!" I shake his shoulder.

He sputters to life, looking around. "Hmm? What? What’s going on?"

I say, "Something's wrong."

"Not the conductor business again. I told you-"

"No," I cut him off, "it's not that. The train. It's going too fast."

"Well the train is going to go fast," he replies. "That's what trains do."

I push up from my seat, pointing to the window. "No... No, look at the curve." The tree cutoff is even closer now.

The Wizard blinks sleepily as he cranes himself to get a better look. "I don't-"

A panic seizes me and I can feel my heart beat through every joint in my body as I pull him from the chair. "We need to- We need to-"

He must finally see the curve coming closer and closer, feel the way the train is not halting, because his muscles become taut under my grip. "It's not slowing," he mumbles.

I pull him one last time and this time, he comes away from the chair without effort. Our bodies tangle as we head for the exit, limbs both reaching for the door. He hugs me to his side, pressing my limbs against him as he throws open the door to the hallway.

"Something was wrong," he says. "You were right... God, you were right."

I slap my hands against his chest as he's carrying me down to the hallway. "Stop! We can't just go out there with no coats."

"Doll," he interrupts, "now is not the time to be worrying about co-"

I push out of his grasp, flying back into the living compartment to grab our coats. The thick wools in hand, he yanks me back out into the hallway and drags me down to the entrance steps. He throws open the door to the outside and the howling wind becomes deafening. The ice pellets that had sounded so gentle on the roof of the car are now flying past in a blinding wall of glass, the glitter of the snow along the tracks a deadly glimmer of shards that does not slow.

"We're-" the Wizard swallows, "We're going to have to jump."

I am doing nothing more than standing, but my heart can’t tell. "On the count of three," I squeak.

"One, two." I can't finish it.

"Three," he says.

We jump from the train in a dive and my stomach drops for the brief moment that we're flying from the car. The icy ground knocks the wind from me as we roll in the snow, tumbling to a stop. Everything hurts, and I can hear the Wizard groaning in pain. I try my best to push myself up, but yelp as my right wrist recoils from the blinding agony. Quickly, I'm cradling the injury to my chest.

"We have to-" I cough, surely drowned out by the thundering of the wheels. I try again, shouting as loud as my breathless lungs will allow me, "We have to get out of here!"

The train is still careening forward. I don’t want to be around when the wrought iron time bomb derailed and exploded.

"No-" the Wizard says, clutching his woolen coat to his chest. "Just five minutes, alright?"

I test my other arm, and satisfied with no pain, I push myself up. He's wallowing in the snow, swooped hair laden with wetness and fresh flake, eyes screwed shut in denial. I grab hold of him with my good arm, trying to ignore how the snow was already soaking into my clothes.

"Get up," I grit. "Come on, you can't just give up and die now. Get up."

"No-" the Wizard groans. "No this isn't such a bad way to go." The sun is now fully below the horizon and I know if we don't put as much distance between us and the train as possible, if it doesn't kill us, the lack of shelter will, and that will be impossible to find in the darkness.

I drop his arm and slap him across the face. That causes him to open his eyes. "It's not just you out here, asshole," I croak. My vocal cords are fried from the attempted screaming. "I'm not going to let you fucking die. Now, come on." I fall to the side of him, tugging his arm to at least get him onto his side.

The train is at the curve now, and my eyes cannot be torn away from the horror that unfolds. The terrible iron beast is jerked easily off of the track, like it were a toy in the hands of a child, sliding on its side as it twists and tumbles and turns. BANG! The sound is deafening, cracking through my bones and making me slam my sore wrist against my ear as a hundred yards away the locomotive explodes in a terrible bubbling cloud of fire infected with black vines of smoke. Parts of the engine sail sky-high as they are shot from the wreck like fireworks. My eyes trace the trajectory of one particularly misshapen piece.

"Move!" I scream, scrambling to my feet to drag the Wizard backward. I can’t drag him more than a few feet, but it's enough for the scrap of metal to miss him by inches. His chest rises and falls as he claws at my arm, scrambling to his feet away from the burning metal.

We stand there for only a moment, watching as the great roaring fire consumes what remains of the train we had occupied together for the last three days. I don't say anything, simply heading off to where I think south-east is. There was a cabin back that way I had spotted while I stared out the window not five minutes earlier, trying to forget that I had gone back for a man who didn't need saving.

___________________________________________________

The sun has fully set by now, a high and white moon rising in its place, lending a ghostly jade glow to all of the trees. We stop every few minutes as our boots fall through the powdery mix shielded by a thin crust of ice, the cold making even the easiest task of walking utterly exhausting.

I stay beside him, not trusting him to not give up and collapse back into the snow again. If I could, I would shoulder him, but both of our arms are gripped so tight to our bodies, trying to keep what little heat remains in us as the cold sucks the warmth from our faces and causes our noses to run.

It's when I'm ready to give up and let the icy mountain air steal the last of my warmth that I spy the house. It would be generous to call it a house, the moonbeams picking out the old and weathered boards that make up the shack. It can't be more than one room. I couldn't care less, letting myself bolt for it. Anything to get some kind of warmth back into me.

The Wizard calls out to me, but I ignore him. I'm sure he's worried that I'll trip and fall. If I do, I'll just drag myself to the house with the one good hand I have left. The front door is twenty feet away when I hear the growl that turns into a half-human yell. I turn to see the wild cat, his fur a shaggy sand that blended in well enough with the snow that you might miss the black tufts on his ears or the marigold eyes that are now trained on me. He must have been watching us from the thicket of trees to the left.

"Bleeding," he growls. "So far away and bleeding." An Animal, I think.

"Please," I breathe, trying to catch my breath in the thin air. "You don't want to eat me." I slowly walk backward, hoping that I'll get to the cabin and I can then shut the door on him. My eyes, flick to the Wizard and he's too far away. There's no way he'll make it to the cabin before the wild cat gets me.

"Not much to eat up here," he growls. "You, your friend..." He's struggling to form the words and I wonder how long he's been away from humans and society. "Food... month..."

"I can get you food," I say, backing up further. The lynx steps forward with each step I take back. The Wizard is closer, but not close enough. "You could feast like a king."

"Haven't eaten in days," he says. "Better to eat now..."

My legs hit the porch and I tumble, falling onto the rickety structure. The snow is so cold that it burns my hands as I crawl backward, belly up and ripe to be ripped open. I just need to get to the door. The Animal's shoulders are thrown up now, limbs bent and ready to pounce.

"Please," I whisper, knowing that it will do nothing. Maybe it is a prayer to Lurline that my death will be quick and painless under her watchful eye.

The animal yells and leaps but the blood-curdling scream is cut off by an explosion. The lynx tumbles to the side as if a supernatural entity had smacked it away. For a moment, I think Lurline has answered my prayers, and then I see the Wizard draw closer.

He is staggering in the snow, arm outstretched to the animal. The moonlight glints off something in his palm. It's shiny and silver and there is smoke rising from it. I'm not sure what to make of it as I watch the lynx attempt to rise from the snow bank it had been flung into. A second crack of thunder echoes through the valley and the lynx slumps. Blood melts the lifeless snow around him, staining it red with life.

Puffs of steam obscure the horror and I realize just how hard I had been breathing, the wool lapels of my coat rising and falling quickly like billows. I scramble to my feet, throwing myself against the side of the cabin. I want to scream, but I don't know why; the danger is gone. Tears are already wetting my cheeks as I realize how close I was to having my guts spilled into the snow.

The Wizard finally catches up to me, climbing the snow-covered steps to the porch. He's out of breath as he cups my face in his hands. "Are you alright? It didn't get you, did it?" he asks.

"Y-You." My teeth are clacking together, the cold thoroughly ravaging me. "You saved my life."

There are tears in his eyes as he brushes a thumb against my wet cheek. "Yes," his voice breaks. "Of course..." There is nothing else to say. No words can express the sentiment as he presses his lips to my forehead. A kiss, a promise of protection.

As he pulls away I can feel all of the layers of ice I had built up against him, the ideas I had told myself over and over to try and force them to be my reality, shatter and crack. He has nothing to say about saving my life because it has always been a given, even in the ballroom when he took my hand to run and took me on the train with him.

I stand there in the silence of the snow and moonlight and kiss him.

[sleekervae]

Flickers | the projectionist (johnny) x reader

Masterlist

A/N: had this idea knocking around in my head for a few days. And while still not clear on his real name in the movie, I'm going with Johnny for simplicity sake.

Pairing: the projectionist (johnny) x fem!reader

Summary: late night at the cinema and a salacious book has poor johnny in a bind for his colleague.

Warnings: erotic writing, heavy smut, oral, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 4,436

Johnny first met Sophie on the tail end of a smoky September evening, the air thick with the scent of roasted peanuts from the vendor outside the theater. She was leaning against the wall near the alley, cigarette perched between her fingers, looking every bit like she belonged in one of those French pictures he sometimes screened after hours. Her boss—a producer Johnny had worked with before—had sent her ahead to fetch some reels, but it was clear from the way she moved, slow and deliberate, that Sophie wasn’t the type to rush.

She was all sharp cheekbones and sharper wit, her dark hair pinned back haphazardly as though she’d stopped caring halfway through the task. When she introduced herself, her tone was low and indifferent, like she wasn’t used to people looking twice at her. Johnny had glanced down at her shoes—simple flats, scuffed at the edges—and wondered if she realized how much attention her quiet presence commanded.

At first, they only spoke in passing, exchanging a few words while Sophie handled errands for her boss. But over time, she lingered. She’d stay after picking up reels or dropping off schedules, watching him from the doorway as he adjusted the projector.

“I didn’t think anyone still cared about this old junk,” she remarked once, arms crossed, her voice carrying a trace of amusement.

Johnny looked up from splicing a reel, the dim light catching on her pale skin. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure it runs smooth. Besides, this junk’s how I pay rent.”

She laughed—a low, throaty sound—and it hit him harder than he expected.

It wasn’t long before she started coming around on her own time, sitting in the empty theater while he threaded film for the midnight show. She’d sit near the back, legs crossed, watching the flickering images with an intensity that made him uneasy in the best way. One night, she waited until the credits rolled to ask him:

“You ever think about what’s not on the screen? The stuff they won’t show?”

It was an odd question, but Sophie was full of those. Her curiosity was sharp and relentless, poking at ideas most people shied away from. Johnny didn’t know what to say, so she filled the silence herself, telling him about the scripts she was working on.

“They’re not normal,” she admitted, the word slipping out like a taunt. “Producers don’t like ‘em. Too weird. Too… honest.”

She wouldn’t let him read them at first, claiming they weren’t ready. But she couldn’t resist teasing him with snippets. A line of dialogue here, a provocative idea there. The more she shared, the more Johnny’s imagination took off. Her writing was raw, full of heat and longing that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with desire.

It wasn’t just her words that got under his skin. It was the way she said them—leaning close, her voice barely above a whisper, like she was sharing a secret too dangerous for anyone else to hear. Her eyes would linger on him, searching for a reaction, and he’d have to fight the urge to shift under her gaze.

Johnny wasn’t sure when he started picturing her in the scenarios she described, but once the idea took root, it spread fast. He’d catch himself watching her hands as she gestured, wondering what they’d feel like on his skin. He started noticing the curve of her lips when she spoke, the slight rasp in her voice that made everything she said sound like a proposition.

He told himself it was just curiosity—admiration for her creativity, maybe—but the truth sat heavier in his chest. Johnny was down bad for Sophie, the way she embraced the messy, carnal parts of human nature without apology. She made him feel like a character in one of her stories, teetering on the edge of something raw and thrilling.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see how far she’d let him fall.

It was one of those late nights where the air in the projection room felt heavy, the low hum of the machines lulling them into an easy rhythm. Sophie had perched herself in the chair in the corner, legs crossed, cigarette forgotten between her fingers.

“You really want to read it?” she asked, her voice a little too casual.

Johnny didn’t look up from the reel he was inspecting, though his hands faltered for half a beat. “Been asking you for weeks, haven’t I?”

Sophie smirked, but there was something sharper underneath it, like she was testing him. She reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly folded stack of pages, bound with a frayed ribbon.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if it messes with your head,” she said, tossing it onto the counter.

He wiped his hands on his trousers before picking it up, the weight of her work feeling heavier than it should’ve. The title scrawled across the top in her loopy handwriting read Flickers.

Johnny picked the script off the counter, his fingers brushing the ribbon binding it together. The room felt warmer now, Sophie’s proximity a heavy presence that made it harder to focus. He flipped through the pages until he landed on a scene near the middle—words catching his eye like fireflies in the dark.

He cleared his throat, half for himself and half to test the waters. “Mind if I…”

Sophie raised a brow, but there was a softness to her smirk. “Go ahead... If you dare.”

The challenge in her voice spurred him on, and he began to read.

“'Paul's hands traced the curves of her body, firm and possessive. His voice was a husky whisper in her ear as he demanded, "Tell me how much you want me." Lucille gasped, her body responding eagerly, guiding his hands to where she needed him most.'

“'His grip tightened around her as he felt her body molding to his touch, her warmth enveloping him. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, and she shivered beneath him in response. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him as he traced patterns over her stomach and sides with his fingers. The softness of her skin sent shockwaves of desire through him, and he growled low in his throat. His hands found their way up to cup her breasts, kneading them gently before pulling on her nipples through the fabric of her shirt. Lucille threw her head back with a soft moan, the sound echoing in the room. Her scent was intoxicating—a mix of sweet perfume and primal need.”

Johnny paused, his voice trailing off as he glanced up. Sophie had turned her face away, her dark lashes casting shadows against her cheeks. But she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended to be—he caught the faintest curve of her lips, a smile threatening to give her away.

“Keep going,” she said softly, her tone lacking the teasing edge it usually carried.

Johnny swallowed, taking a seat in the chair beside her, “You sure?”

Her eyes flicked to his, holding his gaze for just a moment too long. “I’m sure.”

He returned to the page, his voice lower now, threading through the quiet tension between them.

“‘You like watching me unravel,’ Paul murmured, his hands tightening on her waist. ‘Does it make you feel powerful?’

“She smiled—a wicked, knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine. ‘It makes me feel alive.’

“With one swift motion, Paul pulled back Lucille's bustier, revealing supple curves that seemed endless in the dim light. He ran his hands along the smooth expanse of skin, tracing patterns that made her gasp and squirm beneath him. His lips followed suit, kissing and nipping along her collarbone and down towards her breasts. They stood tall and proud under his admiring gaze, begging for attention. With a soft sigh, he bent down to capture one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently at first before increasing the pressure. Lucille cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back off the bed.”

Johnny stopped again, unable to ignore the way Sophie shifted closer to him, her knee brushing against his thigh. “This is… something else,” he murmured, not realizing he’d said it out loud.

Sophie finally turned to him, her cheeks flushed but her smile unshaken. “You like it?”

He let out a low laugh, setting the script down but keeping his eyes on her. “I think you’re trying to get me in trouble.”

She bit her lip, that wicked, knowing smile from the page mirrored on her face now. “Or maybe I just know what I want,” she said, her voice quiet but sure, “Keep going,” she urged.

The room suddenly felt claustrophobic as the scene unfold. His heart raced as Paul buried himself between Lucille's legs, read how she moaned and screamed for him, their encounter brimming with unbridled desire. Every word and gesture built to a tantalizing climax, sending Johnny's mind reeling with fantasies. But it wasn't Paul or Lucille anymore; it was him and Sophie. Her seductive smirk and intense gaze held him spellbound, igniting a fire within him that he could not resist.

“You write like this all the time?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Only when I feel inspired,” Sophie replied, standing now. She stepped closer, her movements deliberate, as though testing just how far she could push him. “What do you think?”

“I think…” He set the pages down, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Her lips curled into a grin. “Do I?”

The silence between them thickened, charged with all the things Johnny wasn’t saying. The way her scripts had lodged themselves in his brain, filling the quiet moments with flashes of heat. The way she seemed to know, without him ever admitting it, how badly he wanted her.

Sophie closed the distance between them, stopping just short of touching him. “If you’re too shy to finish, I can always act it out for you,” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny’s breath hitched. He couldn’t tell if she was joking, but the way her eyes lingered on his lips told him she wasn’t.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned, though his voice lacked conviction.

Sophie smirked, leaning in until her mouth was inches from his. “Who says I can’t?”

And that was it—whatever thin thread of control Johnny had been clinging to snapped. He closed the gap, his hands gripping her waist as their mouths collided. She tasted like smoke and something sweeter, her body pressing into his as though daring him to take more.

The pages of her script fluttered to the floor, forgotten, as Johnny pulled her into his lap, her legs falling on either side of him. Sophie’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her breath hitching against his lips. She didn’t hold back—her movements were confident, commanding, like she’d been waiting for this moment as much as he had.

For Johnny, it wasn’t just about the heat of the moment. It was the way Sophie unraveled him, her words and presence stripping him bare until there was nothing left but want. She made him feel like he was part of her story, and for once, he didn’t care if it had a happy ending.

The room was awash with raw desire and urgency as Johnny's hands fumbled to undo the intricate clasps of Sophie's bustier, the fabric falling away to reveal the soft curve of her skin. Sophie's nails grazed down his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as she leaned in to capture his lips hungrily. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as Johnny tore off her dress in a rush, his movements desperate and primal.

Sophie gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch as he explored every inch of her exposed skin. Her hands were everywhere at once, tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with a fervor that matched his own. The air crackled with electricity between them, passion igniting like a wildfire that threatened to consume them whole.

Their kiss deepened, becoming a symphony of need and longing that echoed through the room. Johnny's hands roamed over Sophie's body, memorizing every curve and

dip, every smooth plane and luscious valley that lay beneath the surface. He traced her spine with reverence, his fingers dancing down the small of her back and around to cup her hip, pulling her against him in a desperate plea for contact.

Sophie whimpered into his mouth, her own hands finding their way beneath his shirt, tracing the muscular lines of his abdomen as she felt the heat radiating off of him. The fire between them was building, growing in intensity until it threatened to consume them both in its fervor. She couldn't remember ever feeling this way before – so alive, so consumed by a need that seemed to pulse through her very veins.

And then Johnny's lips were on her neck, trailing kisses down to where her pulse raced wildly beneath the surface. And despite herself, Sophie's knees began to weaken. His teeth gently nipped at the tender skin of her shoulder, sending shivers of desire coursing through her veins. She could feel the heat from his body seeping into hers, warming her to her very core. And as much as she tried to fight it, it was impossible to deny the sheer power that he held over her in this moment.

The room was spinning with a mix of lust and adrenaline, the two of them lost in a whirlwind of passion that threatened to consume them both. Johnny's breath was hot against her skin, his lips trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone until he finally reached the delicate curve of her breasts.

She gasped as he took one in his mouth, sucking gently on the taut nipple while running his hands down over her hips and towards the sway of her backside. Sophie moaned softly into his hair, her hands fisting in his shirt as she arched her back, the pleasure coursing through her. This was beyond anything she'd ever experienced, anything she could write—a fire burning bright within her that only he could fan into flames.

As his lips moved from one breast to the other, Sophie's breath became ragged, her body trembling with need. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer still. She felt like she was dancing on the edge of something dangerous and exhilarating, and she was powerless to resist it.

Johnny's hands trailed down her back, tracing the curve of her hips before sliding beneath her, lifting her onto the chair. She let out a soft gasp as he settled her onto the wooden frame, his strong arms supporting her weight. The room was filled with a heavy silence punctuated only by their ragged breathing and the sound of fabric rustling as they tore at each other's clothes.

With an unspoken demand, Johnny lifted her gently and placed her on the small wooden table in the corner of the room. Her breath hitched as she realized how exposed she was, how vulnerable she felt. But in that moment, she didn't want to be anywhere else. She wanted him to take her, to claim her with a passion and intensity that was like nothing she'd ever known.

Johnny pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hands firm but tender as they settled on her thighs. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

Sophie blinked, her lips parted in protest, but he silenced her with a smirk that promised he wasn’t going far. He strode to the projection room door, turning the lock with a decisive click that echoed through the space.

“No interruptions,” he said, more to himself than her, before his eyes flicked back to her.

Sophie was still perched on the table, her legs slightly apart, the hem of her skirt riding dangerously high. She looked at him with a mix of confidence and vulnerability, her breath shallow as he crossed the room again.

“And here — I thought you changed your mind,” she teased, though her voice wavered slightly.

Johnny’s grin deepened, his eyes dark and intent as he stepped closer. His hands settled on her waist, drawing her toward the edge of the table with an easy confidence. “Couldn’t have that,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Not when you look at me like that.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his words a whispered promise against her skin. “Not when I’ve been dying to know how far you’ll let me go.”

Her gasp turned into a moan as his hands slid down, tracing the curve of her hips before tugging her closer. Sophie gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, as Johnny’s mouth moved to her neck, his stubble rough against her soft skin.

“Johnny…” she whispered, her voice breathless and pleading.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower. “You don’t want anyone hearing us, do you?”

He continued, his touch feather-light as he traced the delicate line of her stomach, her skin quivering beneath his fingers. Sophie bit her lip, her eyes closing as he marveled at the way her body arched towards him.

As she felt his fingers slide under the hem of her undergarments, she caught her breath in a sharp gasp. He looked up at her from where he knelt, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of fear. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts.

Sophie nodded, an array of emotions playing across her face as she met his gaze. "Yes," she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear. She wanted this; she needed this.

Johnny's eyes locked onto hers for a moment longer before they flicked lower, the heat of desire still smouldering in their depth. He took a shuddering breath, his hands steady as he pulled her underwear down, revealing the most intimate part of her. For a moment, he simply looked, drinking in the sight of her before him.

Sophie's heart threatened to burst from her chest, the sight of Johnny looking at her like that making her feel powerful and delicate all at once. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull him closer and reassure him that she was alright. But she also craved the touch of his skin against hers, the warmth of his body enveloping hers in passion's embrace.

With a deep inhale, Johnny let his fingers brush against the sensitive skin before him. Sophie let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering shut as waves of pleasure washed over her. His touch was gentle yet firm, as if he were caressing a delicate flower with utmost care. She felt herself growing warmer, her body trembling with anticipation.

Johnny's eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze making her heart flutter. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he placed soft kisses along her inner thigh. Sophie let out a shaky sigh, her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly as she felt the world around her fade away.

There was something magical about this moment, something that she knew would stay with her for eternity. Johnny's experience and passion were intertwined with her own desires, creating a symphony of touch and emotion. His hands traced delicate patterns on her skin, sending shivers down her spine and causing a fire to ignite within her core.

As his lips brushed against her folds, Sophie's breath hitched. The room was filled with the sounds of pleasure and need, of their bodies speaking volumes without a single word being spoken. She could feel Johnny's warmth at her entrance, the anticipation of what was to come making her tremble with excitement.

Johnny then descended upon Sophie's slick, wet pussy like a starved animal. His tongue delved into her folds, tasting her sweet nectar, as his lips wrapped around her clit and sucked gently. Sophie's back arched out as a moan escaped her lips. Her fingers threaded through Johnny's hair, pulling him closer as he devoured her.

His tongue darted in and out of her pussy, fucking her with it like a little cock. He teased her entrance, tasting her sweet juices before plunging deeper. Sophie's hips bucked as she ground herself against his face, desperate for more. Her moans grew louder as her pleasure built, her breath hitching with every flick of Johnny's tongue against her clit.

Her legs trembled as she felt her orgasm building. Johnny's skilled tongue worked her into a frenzy, his fingers digging into her thighs as he held her in place. She could feel herself on the edge, ready to tumble over into pure ecstasy. With one final flick of his tongue, Sophie came undone.

Her orgasm tore through her like a tidal wave. Sophie's eyes rolled back into her head as she cried out in pleasure. Johnny continued to lick and suck at her pussy, drawing out every last shiver and shudder of her orgasm. When Sophie finally came down from her high, Johnny looked up at her with a smug smile on his face.

"Good girl," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You taste so fucking sweet."

Sophie could only blush and pant in response, still reeling from the most intense orgasm of her life. Johnny's mouth on her pussy had been filthy and depraved, but she couldn't get enough. She knew she'd be begging for more in no time.

With a smile that promised more, Johnny stood and pulled his pants down, his impressive erection bobbing in front of them. Sophie smiled up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. She reached out to him, her fingers tracing the length of his cock.

"Take me," she whispered, her voice full of desire. "I’m all yours, Johnny."

Johnny positioned himself at Sophie's entrance and slowly pushed inside. She gasped at the sensation of him filling her up, stretching her tight hole until she was overflowing with him. He began to move, his body slamming into hers with a rhythm that matched their hearts' desires.

Sophie's eyes fluttered closed as she felt Johnny's cock pound against her insides. She met every stroke with a moan or a whimper, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held onto him for dear life. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies colliding—skin slapping against skin, breaths becoming ragged gasps for air.

The air in the room was thick, their bodies entwined in a rhythm that left no room for restraint. Johnny's movements were deliberate yet teasing, each thrust pulling a gasp from Sophie's lips. His mouth found her ear, his breath hot and unrelenting as he whispered.

"Is this how you pictured it?" he murmured, his tone laced with a wicked edge. "When you wrote those words—was it me you imagined, Sophie?"

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she tried to find balance amidst the chaos he was unleashing on her. She couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe beyond the sensation of him inside her.

"You’ve got a filthy imagination," Johnny continued, his voice dripping with mock admonishment, though his thrusts deepened with every word. "I read every line, you know. Every single detail. Do you squirm when you write it? Did you get this wet just thinking about it?"

Sophie’s moan was all the response he needed, her head falling back as she clung to him, desperate for more. Her body betrayed her, arching into his touch, meeting every movement with equal fervor.

He chuckled, low and rough, his teeth grazing her neck. "Thought so. You’re squeezing me like you never want me to stop." His hand slid to her thigh, lifting it higher to anchor her against him. "So tell me, Sophie—am I better than your story?"

Her breath hitched, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed with heat. “Y-you’re better,” she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper, “So fucking better.”

"That’s what I thought," Johnny growled, his lips crashing against hers as he drove them both closer to the edge. Sophie arched her back as he reached between them to rub circles on her clit with his thumb.

"Come for me again," he commanded, nibbling at her ear while still teasing her clit. With a cry, Sophie obeyed, her body shuddering with pleasure. Her walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he continued to move inside her.

Never had she felt so alive, so desired. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex as their bodies moved as one, lost in the haze of desire and passion. Johnny's lips found hers once more, their tongues tangling in a messy dance of lust and love.

He pulled out at the last moment, his come splattering against her swollen clit. She cried out in ecstasy as he filled her up again, painting her insides with his release. And then they collapsed together in a heap on the table, their breathing ragged and heavy as they came down from their high.

Sophie couldn't believe it—she'd never felt anything like this before. This raw, unrestrained passion that burned bright between them. As she looked into Johnny's eyes, she knew that whatever words she’d written couldn’t truly capture the essence of their connection. Not like this.

Their bodies, slick with sweat and desire, lay entwined, hearts pounding in sync with the fading echoes of their passionate embrace. As their breaths slowly returned to normal, Sophie traced her fingers through the damp hair on Johnny's chest, marveling at the man before her. He was more than just a character in her story; he was real, and he had brought her words to life in a way she never thought possible.

Johnny turned his head towards her hand and captured it in his, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "That was... incredible," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears of overwhelming emotion. "You truly are a wordsmith, Sophie."

She smiled, the corners of her lips turning up in a knowing grin. "I can't take all the credit. You helped bring the idea to life."

He chuckled softly and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Well then, let's write another chapter, shall we?"

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Cia's Wonderful Day Out, part 2

Part 1

Ciaran swung his coat on, reattached his watch, and opened his umbrella as he stepped into the brisk autumn. Even with his coverings and face paint, the setting sun stung his skin. He set a brisk pace down the street, unwilling to waste any more of his day.

Mr Na would not be happy that he missed his shift, of course, but he would understand. Someone, likely Jill, would have recorded down that episode, or at least written down the recipe. What he needed now was a good, strong drink and some blood to wash it down.

So he went to The Bar. There were many bars in Luxatia— for the city of light needed its shadows —but only one would scratch that itch. Home turf of the vampires and Fae. The Bar. It was just what he needed to unwind after a long week.

Unfortunately for Ciaran, this was just not his day. In fact, it was not his day, week, or year. That honour belonged to a young man who had just finished his foolproof illusory spell and made a great deal of money off it. 

Right at the center of the bar, chattering excitedly, was his nemesis. Or the person who would have been his nemesis if he had one. Shorter than him by several heads, bouncing up and down on her seat, beaming like a miniature sun, was Hash. Sitting in his spot, as usual. 

“Get out of my seat,” he growled. “I've had a bad day and you're about to make it worse.”

Hash looked at him with wide, sad eyes. “Oh dear,” she said. “Ya alright, darlin'? What happened?” Hopping off her seat, she gestured for the bartender to come over.

“One shot of spirit mead, Anise,” Ciaran told him. “The strongest you've got. And please, just go away, Hash. I'm not in the mood for your antics right now.”

“Alrigh',” she said dubiously. “I'll go get Davie, shall I? He'll cheer ya right up. See you ‘round, Cia.”

“Stop calling me Cia,” he replied, but she was already gone. 

“Damned shifters,” he grumbled to nobody in particular. “Sit in your seat, piss all over your bathroom, set fire to your apartment. What's next: gonna find that bitch fucking my wife? Not that I have one anymore. And that's thanks to her too.”

Anise slid over a drink. “You should cut Hash a break. I don't know what happened ‘tween you, but he's a good sort.”

“He's a fucking bitch, is what he is. Everyone acts like he's such a fucking sweetheart, but-” Ciaran shook his head and down a drink. “There's fewer people than there usually are. Exorcists combed the place again?”

Anise's mandibles twitched. They rubbed their lower arms together. “You could say that, yeah. But it was more one really, really drunk exorcist.”

“Oh god. What did they do?”

“She. And she managed to get shitfaced, pick a fight, and give some poor sap the worst beating of his life.” Shaking their head, they held up the bottle of mead. “Some more, Ciaran? It does the soul good. You looked like hell walking into this place.”

“You only say it does the soul good because that's the most expensive stuff on the menu,” he replied, handing over his empty cup nonetheless. “And yes, I felt like hell. Idiot exorcists decided to pin the blame for some bank robbery on me.”

Tagging: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr,

@possiblyeldritch @tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn,

@ramwritblr @vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west,

@differentnighttale @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms,

@abiteofhoney @drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3, @bookwormclover, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @aalinaaaaaa

@the-letterbox-archives, @gioiaalbanoart (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[numberonetacostan]

I went through an overthinking train and realized more tacomic stuff (please share you thoughts I am insane rn)

and she finishes with a ''not neccessarily teamwork prevails.'' she picked up mic was probably seeking out for reassurance but she didn't understood what she wanted reassurance on, like she definitely looked at her like that because she picked up mic was being oddly...'pushy' about getting her to promise her this. And I assume with her understanding of mic she comprehended she needed reassurance even if she didn't know for what

this part especially kills me because THIS is the moment of realization she has that mic is seeking out for some reassurance, maybe she interpreted as ''she is scared or at least nervous for what will happen, but its okay we are together she doesn't have to be''

I think that's why she said ''teamwork prevails'' I feel she may have interpreted it as mic maybe also being scared? or perhaps nervous about going into the ship in the first place or what could happen if taco used violence but taco reassures her and it feels like a way to say its okay I'm here nothing bad will happen to us (lets remember they thought this was cobs.) she probably understood this as mic being afraid of what could happen if taco uses violence against him and so that's why she doesn't promise anything like nah its okay we can take him together teamwork prevails above all. She was basically telling her she'll protect her. And hey maybe I am overthinking but it makes the line ''teamwork prevails'' make a lot more of sense, she wasn't saying it because, she was saying it because she misunderstood what mic wanted. She thought mic was perhaps nervous or scared and so she reassured her for another thing, tacomic fallout really is just a bunch of misunderstandings mixed with miscommunication that didn't end up well.

Hi Kiara!!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in some analysis!!!! :) I just watched the episode back, so let's get analysing!!

It's important to also factor the events of the scene prior to their conversation in which they finish the rocket and Test Tube takes off!! All the remaining contestants worked together to make it, and it feels good!! Mic feels happy after they've finished working, and even gives it a little "huh", because that's not really how she feels after working on one of Taco's plans. She feels bad about hurting other people when she works with Taco for her own benefit, but here she worked with everyone to help someone else. With the doubts Knife already planted in her head about Taco's intentions, Mic really does desperately want reassurance from Taco! That she's not being strung along, that Taco won't make her do things she's not willing to do, that she can work with Taco and get that same sense of belonging and accomplishment.

Taco does seem to pick up on Mic being unusually firm with her about not being violent, a precursor to Mic cutting things off, and she does put her gun away in this moment, even if she rolls her eyes about doing so. But Taco isn't picking up on why Mic is being firm. She doesn't realize that Knife has gotten in Mic's head, nor does she realize how her plans and their partnership as a whole have been weighing on Mic. Taco thinks they're on the same page, and that what Mic wants is to win. And she tries to give Mic that!! She tries to give Mic victory, and recognition in the same way she had wanted, but in doing so she proved in Mic's eyes that she was just using her and didn't actually care about what Mic wanted at all.

"Teamwork prevails" is so very much because it's Taco's way of saying, in a way, that they're partners. That she's not going to abandon Mic, that she sees her as an equal, because they're a team. But the thing is, Taco is more focused on the prevailing part of that, while Mic is focused (and wants Taco to be focused on) the teamwork part. Tacomic fallout really is so based on misunderstandings and miscommunication. I don't think we will, but in whatever ii content they're making next I hope we get to see the following conversations that Mic and Taco are going to have about this incident, in which they can really clear things up because they understand each other's intent. Taco didn't get to give Mic a longer apology due to the... events of that day, but I think she'll end up giving a longer one after one of these talks. Maybe pull a feelings letter out of her shell to give to Mic to help her explain her thoughts and feelings without need to be verbalizing them in the moment? (<- projecting)

[And no worries abt the small text!!^^]

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

I know this is probably a rhetorical question but I wanted to break down every interaction they've had in the show so I'm going to take this as an excuse to do it xD

Although I've rewatched and analysed these scenes for this, I haven't done a complete rewatch with this in mind so I can't guarantee that I won't have missed stuff. If anyone notices anything I've missed please feel free to add it!

Their first direct interaction is Morty saying he’ll forgive her for abandoning them if she lets him fly her ship (to which she agrees saying that she was just going to give him space cigarettes) in Star Mort Rickturn of the Jerri. This reminds me of the way Morty sometimes manipulates Rick to get things (e.g. to take Jerry on an adventure, to let him pick the adventure, to make him the video game style place saving device, to get Rick to buy him the sex robot), which makes sense since Space Beth 'cosplay[s] as [her] shitty father in his 30s'. Morty tends to be more honest/direct with Home Beth, even when he's upset with her (e.g. in A Rickconvenient Mort). It's also interesting that he went straight for the abandonment thing since he knows that had such a big impact on Beth. I wonder if he does have some negative feelings towards her for leaving? After all, he did witness Home Beth telling Rick that she relates to her family and not to Space Beth since Space Beth abandoned them all. He might be angry on Home Beth's behalf the same way he was in The Wedding Squanchers.

This one is more about Rick and Space Beth but Morty does join in on the argument about her trying to talk to them/use a good line in Solaricks. I can't think of an equivalent time he's done this with Home Beth, but he has similar reactions to Xenon Bloom, Jerry, and Rick when they make jokes in times of crisis. Also, I never noticed his thumbs down before but it's killing me lmao. It's one of those subtle moments of Morty's intelligence - he knows that Space Beth can't hear them so gives her an obvious visual signal, whereas Rick continues to try and speak. Of course, they both attempt to speak to her afterwards, but they are both dumbasses after all (affectionate). Can't win 'em all.

Interestingly, both Beths say Morty’s name and hug him when he and Rick return from the Prime dimension - there’s no real difference between their reactions. Home Beth seems more... surprised? Sheepish? Maybe because of her jealousy surrounding Summer's admiration of Space Beth she wasn't expecting Morty to hug her as well? I'm not sure exactly what emotion Space Beth's face means here. Maybe she's proud of him? Either way, she obviously does still love him and was worried about him.

In Bethic Twinstinct, Space Beth tells Morty ‘back off, little man’ when he says that she and Home Beth need to tell Jerry about their relationship. He's the only one who tells them directly what to do (Rick tells them to go ahead but that everyone knows and Summer just says that Jerry is oblivious), so that could be why, but I still find it interesting that she targets him specifically. Space Beth hasn't had a lot of the development Home Beth has with Morty but the most prominent example that comes to mind is A Rickconvenient Mort. That episode was not only a big moment for Home Beth trying to protect Morty and actually being there for him at the end, but it also showed her that Morty does know more than she gives him credit for about how people perceive him specifically. Morty's other outburst to Beth in The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy is about how Beth's actions affect Summer and we do see a marked difference in how Space Beth treats Summer and Morty. Space Beth realised that Summer's feelings matter and that she's not just a hormonal/irrational teenager, but she never had that moment with Morty, which makes sense with her patronising tone with him here. Since Beth blamed Diane for driving Rick away and got pregnant as a teenager, I can see why she would view teenagers as irrational/their feelings not really mattering. After all, she comes to understand both Diane and Rick's actions/choices a lot more in the series, and becoming a parent so young has been very hard on her. However, Home Beth has not only chosen the kids and Jerry, but is going to therapy, so she has a different view on this to Space Beth, who can just blame her teenage mistakes on her past self rather than her current self.

Space Beth is present in the Time and Tide montage in Fear No Mort but she’s more enthusiastic about Summer’s wedding and more restrained with him going to college (whereas Home Beth hugs him). I find it interesting that Space Beth and Jerry are grouped together in the graduation scene - they're both standing to the side while Home Beth and Summer hug Morty and join him in the photo. This does make sense when you consider that Jerry and pre-S4 Beth were most responsible for letting Rick hurt Morty, whereas Home Beth is putting in more effort now. Morty is also very protective of Summer and Beth in S1-S3 in particular so I wonder if they appreciate this and feel closer to him than Jerry and Space Beth do? I can't think of a time where Morty has been protective of Jerry specifically, and Space Beth is not only a lot more assertive but probably hasn't considered/realised how much Morty cares for his family and therefore doesn't appreciate it in the way that Summer and Home Beth do. This one is interesting since it's inside Morty's mind so it gives us a good idea of how Morty expects his parents to act. He knows that Jerry and Space Beth would be there physically, but lack an emotional connection.

I know we didn't see them interact onscreen but Space Beth did get Morty the Pooplickian Gamepod. It could've been a gift for both him and Summer, but it’s only Morty who’s present as he’s setting it up in the intro. Also, while Summer does join Rick and Morty while they're playing it before she starts using it as an escape, she's much more critical and disinterested. Even if it was intended as a joint present, it's definitely more up Morty's street and Space Beth would've known that.

Space Beth is also the one who says ‘bored of your toy already?’ when Morty and Rickbot return to the living room after they left with the light sabre. She is being patronising again, but it does show her understanding of Morty's interests - she's surprised that he would spend so little time with his new light sabre.

This isn't an interaction, but I find it interesting that Morty specifies that he and Summer have 'two badass moms now'. Even after everything, he still loves his mom - no matter which version of her. This reminds me of him telling Ethan that Beth is a good mom in The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy. He really does look up to Beth.

There's not a great deal to analyse about this line but it is a direct interaction between the two of them so I thought I should include it. Again, we have the framing of Jerry and Space Beth together and Summer, Morty and Home Beth together. In this scene, it matches their attitudes - while Space Beth and Jerry take an interest in the events, they're much more detached emotionally from the situation. Everyone else is standing while they remain sitting, showing a lack if care or urgency.

In conclusion, Morty loves Space Beth and thinks she's cool, but she still views him as a child and is emotionally distant, and he's aware of this. She also has a much more obvious favourite child, as we saw in Morty's Mindblowers, whereas Home Beth doesn't show as much favouritism. In many ways, Space Beth is S1-S3 Beth, whereas Home Beth is S4-present. However, that's not true, they're both S1-S3 Beth, and I wonder if Morty would find that fact hard to reconcile? With Rick, it's much more obvious that he is both the good and the bad moments/parts of himself since it's just him. With the two Beths, you can almost convince yourself that they couldn't have become the other. I wonder if it would hurt Morty to spend more time with Space Beth and be reminded of how his mom used to be, how she still is sometimes. Would he appreciate Home Beth's efforts more? Would he begin to resent Space Beth for not doing the same?

I would love a Space Beth and Morty episode. I think Home Beth is generally still very oblivious to what Morty goes through (look how shocked she is in The Jerrick Trap that Morty is selling drugs). However, Space Beth has spent enough time out in the galaxy that she must have a better grasp on the sorts of adventures Rick is taking Morty on. I also feel like she has a lot more resentment towards Rick, or at least is a lot more guarded towards him than Home Beth is, so it would be an interesting way to explore Morty’s feelings towards Rick to have them both angry at him - especially if Morty does run away. We’d also get to see more of Space Beth’s development and feelings towards Morty, which I think would be something cool to explore.

We could even have a conflict between the Beths where Home Beth is angry at Space Beth for taking Morty somewhere dangerous or letting him do something inappropriate but Space Beth points out that he does it (and much worse) all the time with Rick.

Honestly though, I mainly just want to see Morty and Space Beth having a cool adventure.

[sunsetsover]

to be so real i wasn't nearly as enthused abt this episode as i thought i would be and i think it's bc like. everyone except bison got on my nerves lowkey. like i know why he did it but kant spiking bison's drink pissed me off. style was doing too much following fadel to that loss support group and then joining in and making a spectacle of himself. and fadel is just wayyyyyyy too controlling over bison to the point that it's invasive and patronising. like poor bison just wants to have a hot boyfriend and live his life WITHOUT killing people but he's being manipulated from just about every angle. like man please just let that boy live 😭

[icewindandboringhorror]

Lineup of all of the characters that appear long enough to need a visual representation of them in the game lol

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Trying out that "no buy 2025" I've seen people talking about and recalling how much I saved in november after the hurricane blew up my car and starting to feel confident

[pseudospectre]

Do you love this skull? And the old internet? And attribution? You might like this :)

[queencvbra]

I am. So so scared about that they're doing with Tory this season lol.

[hirazuki]

Okay, see, the thing about your story ending on a negative/dystopian/'despite everything that's happened nothing has changed in society' note and doing so successfully? It needs to have been set up for that in the first place, and it needs to be done in an intentional manner.

I have nothing against works that reinforce how cruel/meaningless/pointless/etc. the world is -- I enjoy a fair few! -- but the works themselves need to be some sort of commentary about it; the plot might be demonstrative of the futility of everything, but the story never should. It should take that and build on it and use it to make a statement, underscore a point, etc. to its readers. Having everything carry on business-as-usual without acknowledging it, especially in a genre that's generally meant to conclude on optimistic, uplifting, and hopeful notes, comes off as callous and in direct opposition with the values it extols.

Plus, the story itself should never be futile because, then, well, it never mattered as a work and it makes no difference if you've read it or not. Which... that's just a badly written story lmao.

[youremyonlyhope]

I'm not a "new musical theatre style music" person. Never have been.

Even when I was doing voice lessons, I'd steer towards the golden age or jazzy musical theatre songs. My voice teacher would have to drag me kicking and screaming towards adding anything new musical theatre to my repertoire. For a while, the most modern song in my book was I Know The Truth from Aida, and I wouldn't count that as new musical theatre style since I mean more the Pasek&Paul or Joe Iconis type.

And now I have an audition coming up for a small production of a show in that style and I'm supposed to sing a song in a similar style. And I'm looking at all my sheet music like... let me do some Cole Porter... or Gershwin... at least Sondheim please...

[kittlyns]

Gotta say, nothing will ever motivate you to throw literally everything away quite like finding a bed bug @ 12:30am on a Sunday night

[hellflcmes]

Okay, I'm home from work and I have Monday off as it's a federal holiday. So my plan is to do some blog maintenance on here and on Hawks as well as finally reach out to peeps about that Mains Call I did. However, my brain is a little mush right now so I'm just going relax a little before I have to go out to eat for my mom's bday. When I get back I'll start to tackle things.

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Star Control II - Helix

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: SCII

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: SCII

Thursday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Helix

Friday:

2:30 PM: Just Desserts (vent)

Saturday:

2:30 PM: Just Desserts (vent?)

Sunday:

2:30 PM: Just Desserts (probably vent)

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)