#frank oz facts

[frankozfacts]

FRANK OZ FACT: Frank Oz’s favorite gatorade flavor is Blue

[thatsbelievable]

[muppet-facts]

Muppet Fact #902

The day of the Empire State Building shoot for Muppets Take Manhattan, the lights were tinted a light blue or teal, but production needed them to be white. So, the crew bribed a security guard to change the lights to white until they got the shots they needed.

Sources:

"27 Things I Learned from Frank Oz’s Muppets Take Manhattan Commentary." Joe Hennes. Tough Pigs. November 10, 2023.

Muppets Take Manhattan. 4K Ultra HD Blu-ray. 2023. Frank Oz's commentary. 2023.

[gayverlyearp]

The Shop in the Emerald City

Glinda Upland is celebrating her one year anniversary at Diggs's Dress Salon, and secretly excited by the new pen pal she is writing to about sorcery, when an unusual girl walks into the store and asks Mr. Diggs for a job. Inspired by The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

Rating: G

Word Count: 5,017

Shoutout to @localgaysian for reading this too, and always encouraging me

Read on Ao3

With a deep bong, bong, bong, the clock in Mr. Diggs's office struck the hour. Eight o’clock, time to open the store. Glinda and Mr. Diggs walked out onto the floor, passing racks of rolled up fabric waiting for custom orders while pre-made dresses hung brightly towards the front of the store. The accessories they offered–hats ranging from wide-brimmed monstrosities to the tiny pill box style that had to be pinned in place, gloves of silk and lace, select pieces of jewelry that Glinda had convinced Mr. Diggs to add to their stock as a necklace could really complete a look–were arranged under and behind the glass sales counter.

Glinda had a good feeling about the day. It was her one year anniversary at Diggs's Dress Salon, and Mr. Diggs had just announced that she was the store’s top saleswoman. She could be considered for a promotion soon, if she kept it up. Selling dresses and other items of beautification came naturally to Glinda, as she had spent her entire life conscious of her appearance, picking just the right colors, materials, and level of extravagation for every occasion. 

Selling dresses, though, was not her real passion. Not that she would ever reveal that to Mr. Diggs, or any of her colleagues. She had revealed her real passion to only one person: a new pen pal she had picked out from the classifieds in Oz Weekly. She hadn’t been looking for a pen pal. Glinda wrote letters to her family, updating them whenever she won an invitation to a party with the biggest names in the city–the Emerald City, it still thrilled her to be building her life at the center of Ozian society–or if there was a particularly notable customer at the shop, but otherwise she didn’t like to pour her heart onto the page or anything like that. But there was a word in that ad that drew Glinda in, and she had sent a letter the very next day: sorcery.

No time to ruminate on sorcery now though, the shop doors were unlocked and customers were starting to trickle in. 

An hour later, as Glinda led a middle aged woman with, as Mr. Diggs would say, a unique look through the racks of dresses–this woman was impossible to please–a young woman about Glinda’s age pushed open the door. The first thing Glinda noticed was that her skin was green. Based on the glances of other customers, they noticed this too, but as there was so much in the Emerald City that people hadn’t seen before, and so much green, they took her in, and went back to shopping. Glinda, however, continued to stare. The girl wore a black dress with tight sleeves that made way for voluminous, pointed shoulders, like two ravens keeping her company. It was so hideodeous Glinda couldn’t look away. Her face was quite pretty, if set in a serious expression. Glinda decided, if only she dressed differently, she’d be stunning. Perhaps that was why she had come into the shop. 

The girl walked over to Mr. Diggs, who stood behind the counter. The owner had such taste, and was a wizard at designing, but recently had been very caught up in the store’s financials. From her position by a rack, Glinda swore she overheard the girl ask Mr. Diggs if there were any available positions at the store. Really! A girl dressed like that, working in Diggs's Dress Salon. The very idea! Surely he wouldn’t hire her. He had Glinda already, and Fiyero, who could sway just about anyone to his ideas.

Suddenly, the girl appeared in front of her, interrupting her train of thought, flipping through the dresses,so fast that she could not possibly be giving each one any consideration. Maybe Glinda could help; she really did need some fashion advice.

“Excuse me–”

“Miss…Miss, what is your name?” Before Glinda could inquire if she could assist this girl–and make a sale, but really, it wasn’t about that–the woman next to her interrupted. “Do you know if this store carries anything like the dress you’re wearing? It is so striking!”

A trickle of cold ran down Glinda’s spine. What in Oz?

“Elphaba, my name is Elphaba,” the other girl replied. Elphaba. Glinda felt her face flush. Why was Miss Elphaba in her store, ruining her good day?

Elphaba stopped her search. “Here, Ma’am, what about this one? I assure you this lace at the top will…bring out…your eyes?” Judging by her halting speech, Elphaba had no experience in sales, and she had pulled out the most disgustifying dress in the store: black, of course, covered in curls of lace against a diamond pattern set asymmetrically across the bodice.

“Oh! Certainly!” the older woman replied, picking up the dress and looking at Elphaba with appreciation. “That’s just the thing!”

Where was the woman going to wear that dress, a funeral for a circus clown?

“Excellent choice. Let me walk you to the counter.”

Then that girl, Elphaba, walked away, guiding Glinda’s customer directly to Mr. Diggs. Glinda’s customer. That was supposed to be her up there, celebrating how good she was at this job, how close she was to promotion.

The ringing in her ears subsided just in time to hear Mr. Diggs say, “That was fantastic! I’d love to have you start as soon as tomorrow.”

The rest of that day passed by in a blur. 

The next morning, as she stood in front of the store waiting for Mr. Diggs to arrive with the key, Glinda’s stomach turned when she looked up from her fashion magazine and saw Elphaba walking up. Of course she was punctual; she had to make up for her terrible fashion sense somehow. The dress Elphaba wore was not any better than the one from the day before. 

Glinda was dressed in her signature pink, as she always was, a tasteful v-neck dress in satin with a full skirt. She had loved how it looked when she twirled in the mirror. Not that she would be twirling today.

Glinda had already brushed off the shop errand boy Master Biq–or was it Boq, she could never remember–sending him to pick up a pastry for her since she’d skipped breakfast. It was always the last thing in her morning routine, and thus, the one most often dropped when she was in a rush. Elphaba, with her simple braid and natural face, deep green eyes behind big round glasses, probably never had to worry about saving time to eat. 

“Good morning,” the other girl offered with a smile. “I’m Elphaba. Mr. Diggs hired me yesterday.”

Be welcoming, Glinda told herself. That’s what a future store manager would do. But Elphaba’s nearness was making the back of Glinda’s neck tingle, and what about what she had done yesterday, stealing Glinda’s customer right from under her?

“Oh, I know. I saw you,” was Glinda’s short reply. She tried to keep her tone neutral, but her irritation was probably apparent.

“And you are?” Elphaba was still looking at her expectantly. Couldn’t she take a hint? The tingle from the back of Glinda’s neck spread down her arms. She smoothed the magazine in her hand before answering.

“Glinda Upland. Of the upper Uplands,” she said. “Yesterday was the one year anniversary of my first day at Mr. Digg’s Dress Salon.”

Maybe that would help Elphaba recognize the error in how she had behaved.

“Oh, a year!” Elphaba enthused. “Congratulotions. Maybe you can help me learn the ropes. As you can probably tell, I don’t really know much about clothes.” Elphaba let out a little laugh. It was a pleasant sound. But to weasel her way into this job, when she had no interest in the business, it just wasn’t right. “I’m sure you know how hard it can be to get by in this city.” 

“Hm,” Glinda huffed. She supposed she did know, but she wasn’t going to tell Elphaba that.

Mr. Diggs arrived just then, thank Oz. Time to start work.

Once customers were buzzing around the bright racks exploding with tulle, satin, and sequins, some standing in the back taking measurements, still others checking how a hat might sit atop their head–one wide brim engulfed a woman’s small frame–Glinda breathed easier. She knew how to select the best looking items, how to talk up a customer as they looked in the mirror, and how to tactfully deliver the sale to Mr. Diggs and soak up her moment of success. 

If only Elphaba wasn’t here. Elphaba approached her a few times with questions about fabrics, cuts, and pairing jewelry, which Glinda answered, of course, but usually to the customer Elphaba was helping. It was just more efficient that way. And if she took credit for the sale, who could blame her? She was the one with the knowledge in this business. 

Customers still seemed drawn to Elphaba, especially if they came in looking for something a little bit more unusual. Every time Glinda saw Elphaba at the counter, she was always selling a dress that Glinda would have skipped over. Not that she was watching the other girl, but she couldn’t help but see her. The store wasn’t that large.

“Mr. Diggs, what convinced you to hire this Elphaba girl? She just doesn’t…well she doesn’t know anything about fashion,” Glinda cornered him in his office at the end of the day.

“Glinda, my dear,” he soothed. “I know she isn’t the person you’d expect to see in the store, but that’s just why I think we need her. The dress she sold yesterday was two seasons out of date and I was nearly writing it off as a loss before she came in. Same thing today. She’s actually quite good for business, so try to find it in you to be nice to her. Or at least leave her alone.”

Glinda huffed. Leave her alone? Maybe she could if Elphaba would stop talking to her. 

“Okay. I will do my best, Mr. Diggs.” She plastered on a smile. “For you, I’ll try to ignore her.”

Nestled into a big, pink, velvet chair in her flat that evening, cup of tea in hand, Glinda held the letter she had picked up from her post box on the way home. Her heart ticked a bit faster as she unsealed the envelope, anticipating the reply from her magical pen pal. The ad had asked to be anonymous and the mystery added to the excitement. Her eyes skipped over the page at first taking in phrases: able to control and levitate objects. Then she took a breath and read it from beginning to end.

Before she reached the bottom of the page, Glinda had goosebumps down her arms. Based on what Glinda knew about sorcery, the skill of levitation was quite advanced, and her pen pal had apparently developed it at a young age. This person–he, Glinda had decided her correspondent had to be a man–must be a powerful sorcerer. The thought thrilled her. 

She didn’t want to jump too far having only one letter from him, but she had already begun building a fantasy where she and this sorcerer fell in love, got married, and moved into a house with many closets. Glinda had gone on several dates in the past year, plenty of fancy dinners and big parties, but the men were always disappointing somehow. Their hands felt too rough on her shoulders, they tried to kiss her too soon, or when she did feel ready, and she did kiss them, the kisses felt mechanical and she itched for them to be over. With a man of magic though, the magical feeling she was supposed to feel would have to manifest. Magic did always light up her body like nothing else.

After a month at Diggs's Dress Salon, Elphaba was finally getting the hang of what was considered a party dress, a casual dress, a ball gown. She knew her fabrics. Usually she could even talk up details like embroidery or beading to convince a customer who was waffling. 

Elphaba had formed a fast friendship with Fiyero, a tall, handsome man who had a knack for saying just the right thing to everyone who walked through the door. She suspected that some customers came in just to spend some time with Fiyero, flirt and laugh, and he was happy to oblige them. He may not have made the most sales, but kept the mood of the store light and fun.

Glinda, on the other hand, was an effective saleswoman, knowledgeable, and always up on the most current trends. She was poised and energetic. Glinda was also undoubtedly the most beautiful woman Elphaba had ever seen: soft blonde curls, big brown eyes. If only she were nicer to Elphaba. She tried to learn from Glinda when she first came to the store, but Glinda had been determined to ignore her, except to butt in to correct something Elphaba said, like the skirt she had been calling knee length actually being below the knee. When Elphaba had argued that the length had to depend somewhat on how tall the person was, Glinda had insisted that there was a proper terminology to these things.

Mr. Diggs, for his part, was a creative man, an understanding boss, and always worrying about money. Elphaba could relate to that; it was why she had come to the dress shop seeking a job in the first place. What she hoped to do was save enough to study sorcery more seriously and find a way to make a difference in Oz. 

For years Elphaba had tried to hide her magic. Ever since she made a spoon fly at her nanny across the breakfast table, entirely by accident, her father had instructed her to control herself. Elphaba’s efforts only went so far. Her emotions seemed to snap something in the atmosphere, and objects always ended up in the air, then crashing back to earth. In Munchkinland, sorcery was seen as something ancient, and ancient history was left in the past. When Elphaba had arrived in the Emerald City, she had finally found reading material to help her understand how she could tap into herself, and focus that snap. Though it was all still theoretical.

At least now she had a friend who she could talk to about magic, even if it was only through anonymous letters. But her friend would only be anonymous for one more day. They had set a date to meet. At seven o’ clock the next day, Elphaba would walk into a little cafe wearing a silver starburst pin on her lapel and seek out her confidant who would be wearing the same.

Today, she just had to get through a few more hours. Then, tomorrow. 

As Elphaba was shelving endless boxes of sequins in the workshop closet, Glinda approached her. The tapping of her heels like a teacher’s yardstick on a desk made Elphaba’s scalp tingle. She was in trouble.

“Elphaba.”

“Yes, Glinda?” Elphaba exhaled.

“You know the display in the front window?” Glinda gestured back the way she had come. 

“I know the one.” Elphaba bit back a smile. Oh, this was no correction for misused fashion vocabulary. This Elphaba had done intentionally.

“Do you know why the mannequin is currently wearing a hideodeous tall, black, pointed hat?”

“I…don’t. I have no idea,” Elphaba lied. The smile escaped, and then a laugh.

“Elphaba! Please!” Glinda stared at her, seriously. “Think of the business!”

“I am. If I saw that hat, I might come into the store,” Elphaba argued. She had picked it because she knew Glinda would hate it, but it appealed to Elphaba. That part was true. She even thought about buying it from Mr. Diggs for her date–meeting–tomorrow. He had promised her a steep discount.

“Oh, it is your style, isn’t it,” Glinda conceded, surprising Elphaba. Then she continued. “Even so, I’m taking it down.” 

As she turned to leave, she muttered to herself, “When I’m a sorceress, I won’t be dealing with things like this.”

Elphaba’s face burned for a moment. Sorcery? 

“You…you practice sorcery?”

Glinda faltered, and spun back around. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to–Well, I know it’s a bit unfashionable now, but yes. It is my dream. I once took a vial of sand and turned it into a little glass swan.” As Glinda said it, she curved her hand like she was gingerly holding the precious bird. 

Glinda paused, tilting her head like she was considering her story. 

“At least it was supposed to be a swan, and it does have wings, if you look at it from a certain angle. It was my first—You don’t want to hear this,” she cut herself off. 

Elphaba stared. She was too shocked to respond, but she did want to hear this. Glinda was interested in sorcery, dreamed to make it her life, could alter the appearance of things, or tried to. Just like the person she wrote letters to twice a week. 

It couldn’t be her. 

Cold anxiety trickled through Elphaba’s stomach, followed by a strange warmth. She would have called it hope if it was anyone but Glinda. She felt the snap. 

A box suddenly dropped from the shelf behind her, scattering sequins across the floor.

“Did you…” Glinda started to ask but let the question drop, as she watched Elphaba kneel down and start picking up the tiny shiny pieces. Glinda’s mouth was stuck open in a little o.

“I must have left that one hanging too far over the edge,” Elphaba was quick to explain. If Glinda was the person she had exchanged letters with, and, who was she kidding, it had to be her, Elphaba did not want her to start to suspect Elphaba was writing to her. First, she had to figure out what she was going to do.

Glinda walked away and Elphaba worked to slow her breathing. Moments later, Glinda reappeared with a broom.

“Elphaba, get up from there, just sweep them up.” She put her hand on Elphaba’s shoulder as she handed off the broom. “It’s not your fault.”

Elphaba’s shoulder felt warm. Glinda took a breath as if to ask a question, then turned instead.

“Now, I’m going to remove that hat, which is your fault.”

Elphaba laughed to herself. Maybe it could be Glinda.

As she considered the possibility, Elphaba did her best to avoid Glinda the rest of the day, and the beginning of the next. 

Elphaba was placing the pointed hat that had so offended Glinda into a hatbox the next time Glinda was able to get near enough to talk to her. Glinda had never made her nervous before, but this time, Elphaba had to steady her hands against the cool glass of the display case beneath her.

“What are you doing with that horrendible hat?” Glinda asked. “If it ends up back in the window–”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Elphaba cut in. “I’m buying it myself, to wear on a date tonight.”

The idea of meeting Glinda at the cafe while wearing the hat so amused Elphaba that she had decided she would buy it after all. The look on Glinda’s face would be worth every cent.

Glinda pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. 

“I wouldn’t…recommend that,” was her controlled reply. She quickly moved on. “I have a date tonight too!” Glinda brightened as she began to talk about her own plans. “I think…” she covered her mouth and let out a small squeak of delight. “I think I might be meeting my husband tonight.” 

Husband? Elphaba flushed, turning the thought over in her mind that Glinda wanted to marry the person she was writing to. Of course, she would change her mind once she found out that person was Elphaba. Elphaba opened her mouth to set Glinda straight, but caught herself and closed it again before replying.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes!” Glinda confirmed in an excited stage whisper, then continued embellishing, “And he is a very powerful man. A sorcerer!”

“A sorcerer?” Elphaba smiled and placed a hand on top of Glinda’s, which rested atop the counter. “Well, Glinda, I wish you good luck.”

Glinda set her other hand on top of Elphaba’s and squeezed. “Oh, thank you Elphie!”

Then Glinda breezed away. When had she become Elphie? She stroked the brim of the hat just to have something to do with her hands.

Scattered couples and groups sat around the cafe chatting, filling the air with a hum of activity. Glinda fiddled with the starburst pin on her collar, wiped at the condensation collecting on her glass of water, pulled out the last letter she had received from her pen pal, confirming their meeting, her nerves pinging wildly. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Smoothing her hair, and taking a deep breath, Glinda tried to settle.

A familiar voice cut through her anxious fidgeting. “Hello Glinda, what a coincidence.” 

Glinda looked up to see Elphaba standing behind the chair that was set out for her date. On top of her head was that hat, the pointed top threatening. Glinda had tried to change Elphaba’s mind about it, but Elphaba was stubborn.

“Hello, Elphaba,” Glinda said, tempted to tell Elphaba to move immediately, but deciding that would be too rude, especially after they had a moment of bonding at the store. Glinda would be nice, interested in what Elphaba was doing. “Are you here for your date too?”

“Yes!” Elphaba smiled, excitable in a way Glinda had not seen her before. Her green eyes were bright. She removed her hat and sat down in the chair across from Glinda. “Have you seen Fiyero, by chance? I’m supposed to be meeting him.”

“Oh, you…and Fiyero?” Glinda asked incredulously. It was only after the words spilled out that she realized her heart was racing and she was gripping the napkin in her lap a little too tightly and she may have been a bit rude after all.

Elphaba laughed. “We’re just friends, Glinda. Don’t look so shocked.”

“I’m not…I’m not shocked, just…” Glinda tried to explain, but she wasn’t sure what was making her face hot and her head reel. More importantly, Elphaba was sitting where her date was supposed to be. “Elphie, please, I’m waiting on someone.”

“Waiting for someone,” Elphaba corrected with a smirk.

“That isn’t my point.” The girl was impossible. “I need that chair. If he shows up and sees me sitting with a friend, he’ll think I changed my mind and I’ll lose my chance.”

“Are we friends?” Elphaba leaned in to ask in a low voice. Glinda noticed the freckles scattered across Elphaba’s cheekbones. The back of Glinda’s neck tingled. Why did it feel like Elphaba was asking something else?

“I guess we are,” Glinda managed to reply. “Now, please, go wait for Fiyero somewhere else.”

“Okay, I’m going,” Elphaba said, finally. She rose and touched Glinda’s arm. “Good night, Glinda.”

Something in her longed for Elphaba to sit back down. But soon her pen pal would appear and she would forget all about that.

An hour passed. She never saw Fiyero, and Elphaba had apparently left once their conversation ended. Glinda repeated her routine–fiddling, wiping, checking the letter, then smoothing her hair–until finally she decided that the sorcerer, or whoever the person was who wrote her all those passionate letters about the practice of magic, was not going to come. Blinking back tears, she stood up and left.

The next day, Glinda was not herself at work, disengaged and obviously depressed. Elphaba asked her about how the date had gone, and not wanting to reveal that it had not happened at all, Glinda lied and said it had been nice, leaving out any details she might have to remember later.

When she left work, Glinda ran straight to the post office, and, yes, there in her box was a letter from her pen pal. She didn’t wait to get home to read it. Glinda ripped it open right there in the tiled hallway where all the post boxes were tucked away. It confirmed her fears. She was going to have to talk to Elphaba about this, first thing tomorrow. At least her pen pal had offered another date, if she were inclined to accept.

Walking into work in the morning, Glinda worked to slow her racing thoughts. She couldn’t just confront Elphaba as soon as she saw her. If they argued in public, it could hurt her reputation as top salesperson. Plus, Elphaba was the only person at the store who knew she was interested in sorcery, and she wanted to keep it that way.

A few hours into the day, there was a lull in activity, so Mr. Diggs sent Elphaba back to the workshop to check that the shelves were stocked and organized. Glinda followed her, and before Elphaba could start moving boxes, she started in.

“Elphaba, do you know what you did to me the other night?” Glinda asked with obvious irritation.

Elphaba leaned back against the shelves, oddly calm, a small smile on her face. “I only sat down for a few minutes, what could I have done? And you told me the date went well.”

Glinda squeaked out a sound of indignation. “Okay, I lied. My date never showed up, because of you.”

“How do you know it was because of me?”

“Here, I’ll read you the letter.” She pulled it out from a hidden pocket on the side of her dress.

“Oh, I like that,” Elphaba pointed at Glinda’s pocket, then brought the finger up to her lips, still smiling. Elphaba’s coolness was pushing Glinda to the end of her rope. She could feel her heart picking up speed and her neck getting hot and it wouldn’t do to get angry at work.

“Elphaba! Listen.” Glinda started to read. “I saw you sitting there with your pin, a gorgeous girl with golden curls and an adorable smile,” Glinda nodded along with the description of herself. “And at the same time I noticed across from you another beautiful young woman with a striking black hat.” Elphaba laughed behind her hand and Glinda glared at her, continuing. “I didn’t want to interrupt because it seemed like there was something between you.” 

“Beautiful young woman,” Elphaba repeated back. “I think I like your pen pal.”

Elphaba was simply infurifying and clearly wasn’t going to apologize. “At least we have another date set for tonight, so you didn’t totally ruin it. Fine, go ahead and get back to your boxes.” 

“Fine.”

Elphaba turned back to the shelf. Then, before Elphaba had touched a thing, a hat box from high above shot out over Glinda’s head and clattered to the ground behind her. In its wake, Glinda was filled with a static tingle. It was the same feeling she had with Elphaba in this room before, when a box of sequins had suddenly jumped to the ground. Elphaba had made an excuse and Glinda had wanted to believe it was just an accident, but she had felt the charge in her body then too. Glinda’s anger was gone, replaced with an electric pull to Elphaba.

“You…you did that.” Glinda said, pointing at Elphaba’s back, afraid to touch her. “You do magic too?”

Elphaba turned back around slowly. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, Elphie, we could have shared ideas–”

“We have,” Elphaba interrupted. From the pocket of her structured black jacket, Elphaba pulled out a silver starburst pin. A pin that matched Glinda’s. 

All Glinda could do was breathe while she looked from the pin to Elphaba’s open face. Glinda’s stomach swooped as it all caught up to her. There had never been a sorcerer. There had always been Elphaba.

“Why didn’t you tell me that, Elphie!” Glinda reached out to take hold of one of Elphaba’s lapels and smooth over the fabric with her thumb. She regarded Elphaba again, her green eyes and freckles, soft looking lips. A beautiful young woman. Sure, Elphaba had written the words about herself, but Glinda thought they were true.

“When I realized it was you, I wasn’t sure what to think, after how things were between us when I first started here,” Elphaba replied in a soft, serious voice. Glinda’s stomach churned remembering how she had acted.

“I was pretty awful to you, wasn’t I?” Glinda responded, dropping her hand from Elphaba’s jacket. “I am sorry. I was–”

“You don’t have to explain,” Elphaba cut in. She took Glinda’s hand in hers and continued. “I went to the cafe that night ready to tell you, but after you had mentioned marriage, and this man you were going to meet, when you told me to leave, I left. I was only going to disappoint you.”

“No, Elphie, no!” Glinda insisted, squeezing Elphaba’s hand, wanting to pull closer. Glinda considered the idea. She had believed she would fall in love with the sorcerer from her letters, so now that the sorcerer turned out to be a woman–turned out to be Elphaba–she could still possibly fall in love, couldn’t she?

“You wouldn’t disappoint me, you don’t,” Glinda said, quieter, stepping closer, bringing her hand up to Elpaba’s face.

“Does this mean we’re getting married?” Elphaba joked, putting her other hand on Glinda’s waist. Her hand felt warm there. That magic electric static filled Glinda again.

“Just kiss me first,” Glinda said.

Elphaba responded by leaning in and meeting Glinda’s mouth with hers. Elphaba’s lips were soft, and felt so good against hers. Glinda hummed a high sound of pleasure. They broke apart, both smiling.

“It’s probably not a good idea to make out in the workshop,” Elphaba reasoned.

Glinda risked a quick peck before replying, “Okay. But we’ll keep that date, at the cafe tonight, won’t we?”

Elphaba nodded. “We will.”

[brunhielda]

Am currently rereading “Wizard of Oz” in prep for running a high school musical based on said book.

Let me tell you, reading an introduction by someone who either did not know of or chose to completely ignore Baum’s feminist beliefs is absolutely WILD.

I finally had to stop when Mr. Barbarese said “Oz is a place where good dominates, but where you will also find that impossible contradiction, the good witch. This is by all evidence Frank Baum’s invention and arguably his lasting contribution to the representational vocabulary of Western Literature.”

EXCUSE you?!

Ignoring all feminist folktales in which women use what is traditionally “witchcraft” to save the day, only for it to be labeled something else because the woman is good, or even older tales in which “the witch” is a purely neutral character seen only as an agent of change- ok. Fine. Annoying and dismissive, but expected.

But to completely miss the work done by BAUM’S OWN MOTHER-IN-LAW, Matilda Gage, on the discussions around the word “witch” and how it was used to describe ANY woman of power to dehumanize her, whether she was in the right or no, the very essays that BAUM BASED HIS GOOD WITCH OFF OF- that was too far.

You do not get to mention the shift in public consciousness around the word “witch” without mentioning Matilda. No sir. You have lost all credibility.

I mean, he was already on thing ice for struggling to understand anything basic about Dorothy’s traveling companions- (he recognized the irony without understanding why it was there, like, huh?) but I was willing to look past it for the intriguing contrast and comparisons he was making between Oz, Wonderland, and Neverland. Then he tried to talk character archetypes again and just fell flat on his face.

Like- wow. Way to somehow say “this author had powerful female characters” while also completely leaving women out of the discussion. I just… how???!

This intro read like all my earliest academic essays- trying to prove a point while dismissing or ignoring anything that might refute or confuse the issue, leaving it full of complex academic jargon without much depth.

According to this text- J. T. Barbarese is “an authority on children’s literature, (and) teaches at Rutgers University in Camden New Jersey” as of the publication of this edition in 2005.

I now have some concerns for those who studied Children’s Literature at Rutgers in the early 2000s.

Can we just decide you need to be a woman or at least somewhat queer to try to analyze anything Ozian? Can we make that a ruling?

Sorry- obscure rant over. Please go on with your day. 🙏

[c-schroed]

A local cinema just had a lil musical retrospective, so finally...

If I had a nickel for every movie that features a young florist in an abusive relationship with a man who works in a medical profession...

I'd have two nickels.

[truckfreaks]

i have a theory. a muppet theory. kind of.

there are 2 types of ppl in this world.

u got your jim hensons and your frank oz..es.. oz's'es.

dont get it twisted. one is not better than the other. in fact we are INDISPENSABLE to one another.

anyway, get yourself someone who either a) takes you on wild, larger than life journeys or b) adds soul and unflappable straight-mannery to your crazy bullshit. inspire all the baby richard hunts out there. acquire a david goelz type who's always down for getting weird. together you'll be unstoppable.

[whimsycore]

I could write a 10 page essay on how much Wicked uses “Nice not Kind” and the Status Quo over needed Social Change

[mask131]

So... Wicked is coming back in style. And as such I need to make a little informative post.

Because since as early as my arrival onto the Internet, in the distant years of the late 2000s, a lot of people have been treating Wicked as some sort of "official" part of the Oz series. As part of the Oz canon or as THE "original" work everything else derives from (literaly, some people, probably kids, but did believe the MGM movie was made BASED on Wicked...) And as an Oz fan, that bothers me.

[Damn, ever since I watched Coco Peru's videos her voice echoes in my brain each time I say this line.]

So here's a few FACTS for you facts lovers.

The Wicked movie that is coming out right now (I was sold this as a series, turns out it is a movie duology?) is a cinematic adaptation of the stage musical Wicked created by Schwartz and Holzman, the Broadway classic and success of the 2000s (it was created in 2003).

Now, the Wicked musical everybody knows is itself an adaptation - and this fact is not as notorios, somehow? The Wicked musical is the adaptation of a novel released in 1995 by Gregory Maguire, called Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. A very loose and condensed adaptation to say the least - as the Wicked musical is basically a lighter and simplified take on a much darker, brooding and mature tale. Basically fans of the novel have accused the musical of being some sort of honeyed, sugary-sweet, highschool-romance-fanfic-AU, while those who enjoyed the musical and went to see the novel are often shocked at discovering their favorite musical is based on what is basically a "dark and edgy - let's shock them all" take on the Oz lore. (Some do like both however, apparently? But I rarely met them.)

A side-fact which will be relevant later, is that this novel was but the first of a full series of novel Oz wrote about a dark-and-adult fantasy reimagining of the land of Oz - there's Son of a Witch, A Lion Among Men, Out of Oz, and more.

However the real fact I want to point out is that Maguire's novel, from which the musical itself derives, is a "grimmification" (to take back TV Tropes terminology) of the 1939 MGM movie The Wizard of Oz. The movie everybody knows when it comes to Oz, but that everybody forgets is itself the adaptation of a book - the same way people forget the Wicked musical is adapted from a novel. The MGM movie is adapted from L. Frank Baum's famous 1900 classic for children The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - and a quite loose adaptation that reimagines a lot of elements and details.

Now, a lot of people present Maguire's novel as being based/inspired/a revisionist take on Baum's novel... And that's false. Maguire's Wicked novel is clearly dominated by and mainly influenced by the MGM movie, with only a few book elements and details sprinkled on top. Mind you, the sequels Maguire wrote do take more elements, characters and plot points from the various Oz books of Baum... But they stay mostly Maguire's personal fantasy world. Yes, Oz "books" in plural - because that's a fact people tend to not know either... L. Frank Baum didn't just write one book about the Land of Oz. He wrote FOURTEEN of them, an entire series, because it was his most popular sales, and his audience like his editor pressured him to produce more (in fact he got sick of Oz and tried to write other books, but since they failed he was forced to continue Oz novels to survive). Everybody forgot about the Oz series due to the massive success of the starter novel - but it has a lot of very famous sequels, such as The Marvelous Land of Oz or Ozma of Oz (the later was loosely adapted by Disney as the famous 80s nostalgic-cursed movie Return to Oz).

So... To return to my original point. The current Wicked movies are not directly linked in any way to Baum's novel. The Wicked musical was already as "canon" and as "linked" to the MGM movie as 2013's Oz The Great and Powerful by Disney was. As for Maguire's novel, due to its dark, mature, brooding and more complex worldbuilding nature, I can only compare it to the recent attempt at making a "Game of Thrones Oz" through the television series Emerald City.

The Wicked movies coming out are separated from Baum's novel at the fourth degree. Because they are the movie adaptation of a musical adaptation of a novel reinventing a movie adaptation of the original children book.

And I could go even FURTHER if you dare me to and claim the Wicked movies are at the 5TH DEGREE! Because a little-known-fact is that the MGM movie was not a direct adaptation of Baum's novel... But rather took a lot of cues and influence from the massively famous stage-extravaganza of 1902 The Wizard of Oz... A musical adaptation of Baum's novel, created and written by Baum himself, and that was actually more popular than the novel in the pre-World War II America. It was from this enormous Broadway success (my my, how the snake bites its tail - the 1902 Wizard of Oz was the musical Wicked of its time) that, for example, the movie took the idea of the Good Witch of the North killing the sleeping-poppies with snow.

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

As always, I have edits:

This will make more sense at the end.

I came across some theories about this song, and wanted to look at it in depth.

We are reading with the understanding that he may be referring to Eddie.

[A gentle piano and bassoon track begins playing.]

The sun is low, it’s cold and dark,— end of season, but could also be a reference to night and danger after dark

Just wind and snow, I must remark,

The bugs all head to slumberland,—interesting given the use of toyland, also the commercial about remderem/insomnia (some must sleep but Wally is in the opposite state. Too aware?), but could be a reference to death, like “the big sleep”

Some might find it sad, but I understand,—on face value, he will miss his friends, but knows that it is inevitable.

Even if I might not be able to see you,—can’t see Eddie because he is gone/buried

I know it’s for the best, I can’t keep you,—Eddie staying would lead to serious consequences for Eddie

It’s time for all of you to get some rest,—after what we saw Eddie go through, I bet he would be better in a different state

To tuck you all into your arthropod nests,—bug stuff; also Julie's hibernation?

At this point, those last few lines could refer to a sort of death for Eddie. Almost like frank can preserve him in some way by giving him a death in this universe. If we are talking puppet world, which we did see in commercials, most of Eddie’s anxiety happened in that state. So, can Frank give Eddie a suspended or death like state in one of the layers of reality and he is preserved in storybook world or our real world?

With one last check, that nothing is amiss,

I can see you safe into your chrysalis,—this reads that he will put Eddie into a different state of being that he can come back from. The coming back is my interpretation only at this point because I assume frank wouldn’t choose death for him or would for sure be hurt by Eddie’s death. Things would have to be very bad if true death is a better option for Eddie.

Also, it hearkens back to the horror butterfly image. Another also, caterpillar to butterfly, an insinuation of emedging into a new form. I don’t see allusions to Howdy in here, but I suppose it is possible that this could refer to more than one neighbor and Frank is taking them all out.

As you snuggle down into your dirt,—reference to being buried?

I want to assure you that I won’t be hurt.

This clarifies that it is a sleeping type state, not death. Ok, here is we’re Eddie’s Halloween costume comes in. Frankenstein, changed from the Scarecrow in earlier art (presumably from wizard of oz). Interesting thing about scarecrow vs. Frankenstein is that we see scarecrow taken apart during that film and Frankenstein is famously assembled from parts of different people. Interestinger is the fact that they are both afraid of fire. (I love that Young Frankenstein shows up more than the original in a search.)

Frankenstein (and scarecrow) are both put back together, but for Frankenstein it seems more of a new being, not just a reassembling. Frankenstein (aka frankenstein’s monster) is a thinking, speaking individual that was horrified at the situation he was in. Frankenstein in the book murders to punish his creator for the immorality of creating him and the resulting loneliness that the monster feels. As such, the choice is very interesting. If the puppets of welcome home come to be aware or sentient, I wonder how they would feel about Ronald Dorelaine or their situation?

If the movie version is the focus of Eddie’s costume choice, then he would be a potentially thinking and feeling being (he is afraid of fire), but without further evidence we don’t know his thoughts.

Scarecrow is a guy without a brain, with the power of speech, so a kind of opposite. I think they all end up just needing to be confident, which is why some shyster from the Midwest is able to help. This almost seems to be more in tune with Eddie's character--Eddie has a tendency to appear kind of ditsy, is constantly being dismissed by others. In the end, we find out he is actually smart but lacks confidence. I can see that being true for Eddie as well.

If I had to pick out a character for Frank, it would be the Tin Man. Poppy is the Cowardly Lion, Wally is Dorothy. Home is Home. There are more parallels here than I was expecting. Howdy is the Wizard, Julie can be Glenda, and the Wicked Witch...is kind of no one? Sally can be a flying monkey. She works my nerve. Also, the whole spying thing was done by the monkeys in the movie.

But now that I am thinking about it, this comparison makes a lot of sense, in terms of the complex relationships, as well as the levels of reality that you find in Wizard of Oz. A big event leads to a shift in the understanding of reality, and the lead finds themselves in a very colorful world that doesn't much resemble their own, but is very flashy, has songs, beloved characters, and a sense of danger. There are some things when thought about in the context of real life, or the black and white portion of Wizard of Oz, would be truly frightening.

Of course, Wizard of Oz shares a lot of parallels with Alice in Wonderland, which also seems somewhat related. In terms of source material, the Wizard of Oz is considered to be a parable that expresses the thoughts about US economic policy in the 1890's. This is a theory that you can read more about here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_interpretations_of_The_Wonderful_Wizard_of_Oz

It isn't super related, and not everyone believes that this is the case. However, it seems to be a very American type story, no matter what you believe, that touches on the experience of normal people while much larger forces lie and fuck around with everything.

As the holidays begin to approach,

I gently kiss, each and every roach,—kisses for Eddie. We have seen a realistic roach on the secret page with the mishmash of one script where Wally is deciding what to draw

I made sure to keep, my garden cozy,

So you can safely sleep, in fallen posies,—this whole stanza shows a desire to and promise of a quiet death and maybe even a maintained grave. I looked up posies to see where Eddie could potentially be buried. Posies refer to a nosegay, or small bouquet of flowers. It was a Victorian secret code thing, a way to declare love or even reject people based on flower and color. One that sticks with us in the form of red roses signifying love. On the map, there is a cluster of yellow flowers to the side of Frank’s house. Not sure this counts as his garden, since it is on the other side of the house. Julie has a group of flowers behind her house, but once again, not his garden. No fallen flowers that I can ID.

When googling posey, this is what comes up. I felt that there was a flower called a posey, and these do look like the big yellow flowers by Frank’s house. If any flowers fall in updates, I am going to assume someone is buried there.

There is also the ring around the roses rhyme, which could relate, but I don’t really see a correlation.

It’s time to get comfortable in your honeycomb,

take your winter intermission in your garden loam,—dirt, burying again

neatly nestled from the cold in roots and rhi-ya-zomes, — cozy dead

sleeping side by side under stately stones,—2 dead? Headstones is the link I make there--OK, now look at the pic! (I know, it's a reach.)

…And I’ll be inside of my home,—frank is staying to oversee something. It reads like calming the person who will die. This seems to bolster that arguments that I addressed in the post about bugs on the previous website, that Frank is working against, or at least parallel to Wally. With the bugs, the whispering to Eddie, and using his first name, I think it is reasonable to suggest that Frank is working against Wally and/or Home.

Another potential clue is the hidden video with the clothespins where 1 is upside down. I have theorized that it is a reference to Barnaby dying, but it could be Barnaby and Eddie. Only one clothespin is shown upside down though, so Barnaby or Eddie?

Regardless of how I feel you need to go away,

I’ll be the one to tell you, you just can’t stay,—he likes bugs but this is extreme of Frank, if he is talking about actual bugs

Thankfully I lack a sentimental sensibility,—true that, he generally seems calm.

I enjoy my Methodical Mundanity,—why is this capitalized? I looked and looked but I can’t find the origin of this phrase, though it came up a few times in random posts and articles. Clown does have a tendency to capitalize things that seem random. Me below is also capitalized. I listened as well, and I have to wonder why the singing is so bad? I don’t think the voice actors are bad at singing, seems like a deliberate choice to have reedy and unsteady vocals, pitch issues and pacing problems.

Where all that’s left is… Me.

So, this is a bit extreme for a song about hibernating bugs. I think that given our many references to bisecting or otherwise putting people into pieces (Eddie butterfly horror, frank in a pile of body parts, look I made a dog, and slinky Barnaby, now Frankenstein and Scarecrow) that we could be looking at death in a sense that works in one layer of reality. You disassemble a puppet, it is no longer a puppet. So what if Frank = Frankenstein and Eddie is Frankenstein’s monster? Frank can take him apart and put him back together in puppet reality?

If I had to guess, I am sticking with my working theory. Frank, as the smartest guy in the neighborhood, is the resistant force in the neighborhood. Wally/Home is/are the catalyst for the scary stuff. They are central to everything, physically and otherwise.

I have mentioned that in the last update, Sally and Poppy have the appearance of spies or managing Eddie. Given that Poppy doesn’t attend to party, I am anticipating that Eddie was isolated and watched by Sally during this planning period, where Wally and Barnaby walk the neighborhood to find out what Homewarming is. Given that it is said that Wally and Home instigated Homewarming, it is strange that everyone knows what it is except for Wally. It reads more as an attempt to achieve a goal, despite everyone knowing about the holiday. Even Julie is at the party, and she is supposed to be hibernating. Well, they don't say exactly when Julie hibernates (maybe there was something about her doing it after the holiday?) Anyway, Poppy isn't at Homewarming. She could be at home, but the book stating that they are all here seems like an attempt to cover up her absence. What is she doing? Snooping in the Post Office while Sally watches Eddie? Does Eddie want to go home for not feeling well or he has an idea of what is happening while he is gone?

Maybe Frank sees his boyfriend and comrade at arms about to get hit with something bad, so to preserve him and the opposition, he is going to disassemble him (cue Johnny 5) for protection.

In the past, Sonny (the Brazilian bird) was cast as the opposition to Wally, and included in a relationship with Frank. This work in particular comes to mind:

Clown has stated that they removed Sonny from the project due to the story changing from one with a hero, to one without, as that wasn't the story that they wanted to tell. What if, though, instead of Sonny being written out for the hero reason, there was another reason? What if we are seeing Frank taking on being the neighborhood's savior? He is just snarky enough to make it seem less like a hero situation and more because it was impacting his garden.

[frankozfacts]

FRANK OZ FACT: Frank Oz is a manifestation of God.

[the-patchwork-girl-of-oz]

I’m just sayin’, the fact that L Frank Baum was called the “Royal historian of Oz” and the books were supposedly him receiving info from Dorothy and recording it himself says a lot about the characters in his books who were “best friends”

[muppet-facts]

Muppet Fact #1176

Both Frank Oz and Jim Henson have been inducted as Disney Legends, an award which honors those that have made great contributions to the Walt Disney Company.

Henson was induced August 19, 2011, posthumously, and Oz was inducted August 11, 2024.

Sources:

Disney D23 Expo. “2011 Disney Legends Award Honorees to be Celebrated During D23 EXPO in Anaheim.” PR Newswire, June 30, 2018. https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/2011-disney-legends-award-honorees-to-be-celebrated-during-d23-expo-in-anaheim-123991334.html.

Francis, Katie. “2024 Disney Legends Announced Including Joe Rohde, Angela Bassett, Harrison Ford, and More - WDW News Today.” WDW News Today (blog), March 20, 2024. https://wdwnt.com/2024/03/2024-disney-legends-announced-including-joe-rohde-angela-bassett-harrison-ford-and-more/.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

So its 2am and I’m still on my ‘911 is using The Wizard of Oz theming to tell Eddie’s story’ soapbox and thought I’d talk about something I didn’t go into in my other 911/Wizard of oz post - the fact that Oz, the Emerald City, the wicked witch of the west and the Wizard are all an allegory for the Catholic Church and Christian faith more widely!

I’ve made quite a few posts about 911 playing into religious iconography and so I thought I’d add to that post count by talking about the (anti) religious theming in The Wizard of Oz more generally and how it relates to Eddie’s arc!

The Emerald city is designed to look like a Cathedral

The way the wizard of oz - both the books and the film, plays on religious imagery is similar to the way that C.S Lewis played on it in his Chronicles of Narnia series - but where C.S Lewis created a positive allegory that upheld religion and religious beliefs, Frank Baum was creating a more negative allegory- where religion does't provide the answers, but the individual person

Dorothy starts her journey in Kansas - in the real world, but finds herself in the technicolour world of Oz after a tornado transports her over the rainbow. The film, especially, plays on the idea of her having a head injury - causing her to have this vivid dream of this fantastical land - which is why we see the people of Kansas appear as characters in Oz.

Oz is clearly playing on the idea of heaven and hell and limbo. The wicked witch of the west represents the devil (lucifer) and her castle Hell. While the Emerald city represents the house of God (the church). Glinda is supposed to be an arch angel. Remember that lucifer is a fallen arch angel.

The wizard is a man from the same world as Dorothy and is meant to be viewed as a priest (most likely the pope) - priests being Gods representatives on earth

While the silver (book) or ruby (film) slippers are a representation of enlightenment.

Dorothy is searching for a way out of her ‘coma’ dream and so goes on a journey through Limbo to the house of god to try and get home- along the way the devil tries to stop her getting to the church and subsequently into heaven using the tricks at its disposal. The devil doesn’t succeed and Dorothy and her friends navigate their way to the emerald city and complete the tasks they think god has set for them so they may gain what they seek - to go home, brains, a heart, courage.

It is here that they discover the lies of the priest and once he is gone they all figure out they had what they sought all along - they are enlightened and didn’t actually need the priest or the house of god at all. From there Dorothy chooses to go home and awakes from her coma back in the real world - but retains the knowledge of what she dreamt in her coma.

The wizard of oz as a piece of media (in either book form or film form) is showing the audience that they hold their own power within them and it cannot be granted by outside forces.

The film chooses to show Oz the great and powerful in much the same way as the crucifix is displayed in a catholic church - praying to a false idol in search of what you seek

The wizard hiding behind his curtain is akin to the priest behind the confessional screen - offering absolution and healing etc, when he doesn’t actually possess the power to do so because he is just a man pedalling falsehoods and lies.

The residents of the emerald city in their monochromatic green colouring are an allegory for the members of the churches congregation - blindly following the edits and rules set out by the church in the hope of a happy and fulfilled life - but they are shown to be almost drone like - subjugated and controlled into mindless devotion in the same way people follow the churches teachings without questioning.

Dorothy and here friends never change though - they don’t start wearing green and blending in to the emerald city and they find out that they actually have the power to achieve their desires within them the entire time - as represented by the silver/ruby slippers.

the moral of the Wzard of Oz is ultimately that what we desire or want is within and it cannot be found externally by putting our faith in something outside of us like the church. - Dorothy and her friends always had the things they sought - they just had to figure that out for themselves.

This ties into Eddies entire journey perfectly.

Just because I couldn't write a post about Eddie and not have a picture of him!

Eddies Kansas pre the tornado is his childhood - before he was parentified/husbandified by Helena Diaz.

The tornado is Shannon - she provides him with the escape from his old life and sets him down in California (Oz).

There is a reason the Wizard of Oz theming is heavily coded toward him and his arrival on the show - it is the idea that he has landed in California (Oz) and on top of the wicked witch of the East (hence why we never see Eddie at the same level as the red shoes in the rubble) and has been following the yellow brick road the entire time.

Chris is waiting for Eddie on a yellow strip of flooring at the end of 203

Bobby (Glinda) who shares the catholic faith with Eddie, brings him to the 118 and helps guide him forward on his journey - providing advice and support as and when Eddie needs it, but always watching over him. (one could view Eddie leaving the 118 as the equivalent of the poppy field in the film - leaving his path briefly before returning to it when he wakes up in mayday 'god has spoken')

He has now reached the crux of matters - he has arrived at the Emerald city. It seems likely here that in 804 we will see him have his encounter with the Priest who like the wizard in Oz, will guide him towards a reckoning with his mother (the wicked witch of the west) in order to find his way to inner peace and who he is supposed to be. Once he has dealt with Helena he will discover that he won't find what he seeks in the church - but it will have provided him with something important that plays into the idea that he is a combination of all four characters who journey along the yellow brick road, as their individual traits all represent a part of himself Eddie needs to embrace in order to break free of the chains that have held him back his whole life.

The knowledge (scarecrow) of who he truly is that will also make him realise he already has what his heart (tin man) truly wants if he has the courage (lion) to go for it and that it will get him home (Dorothy) where he truly belongs - accepting himself as a queer man who is in love with his best friend and Chris's forgiveness and return to him in LA.

[senselessviolets]

“dream a little dream of me”

Roman Roy x Fem. Reader

Rating E

Word Count: 2.3k

AO3 Link

WARNINGS:

EXTREMELY dubious consent, somnophilia (reader is in and out of sleep), sleep/drunk sex (both Roman and Reader are drunk but Roman is more active/the one initiating during encounter), smut, alcohol, language, implied Roman eating disorder, erectile dysfunction mention, pervert!Roman, needy Roman, no uses of Y/N

Author's Notes:

A oneshot by @cum-a-calla opened my eyes recently and I realized “Roman + somno” might be my peanut butter & jelly. Like wow. What a concept.  Jokes aside, this fic is dark so PLEASE be wary of the warnings above. <3 

Summary:

Post-S4, Roman and Reader begin to date after working at Waystar Studios together. While they bond and flirt more and more, he continues to keep her at bay. One night, the two get extremely drunk at his apartment and suffice it to say—they both wind up getting what they want.

This was maybe your third or fourth time sleeping over. You honest to god never thought you’d make it this far. For all of his gross jokes and sexual provocations, Roman reviled intimacy.

It’s why when he first started to court you; you were so taken aback. You’d been around; you knew what the mumblings were about his ‘eccentricities’. You were the Director of Creative Affairs at the Waystar Studios L.A headquarters. A position you were remarkably young to have; your famous two-time Oscar-award-winning actress mother and prominent movie producer father having nothing to do with it at all.

Following the Gojo acquisition, Roman withdrew from executive operations, accepting the fact he no longer had a place there. That and he outright refused to be in the same room with Lukas Mattsson.

As such, he returned to the entertainment side of things (this time with no Frank to boss him around) and went back to living in L.A around the clock. Things hadn’t changed much in the three-year hiatus he had from working at Studios. 

Well, except for you. 

It was only in his absence that you got your job. You wondered had he been around during that time, if he would’ve made a stink over your dad pulling the strings and landing you the job. A practice that was completely foreign to him, no doubt. Of course with it being Roman, you knew with full certainty the answer—yes. Because who was he if not the world’s biggest hypocrite/walking contradiction?

You found this to be even more apparent after your first date. Roman made a point of booking the two of you a reservation for the most high-end, gourmet French restaurant in the city. Even though when the waiter came around to your secluded table with the 16 oz beef ribeye he’d ordered, Roman did no more than fidget with the garnish on the plate. 

While on that same date, though he’d surprised you at the beginning of the evening with an ornate bouquet of red roses and white orchids—he didn’t deign to even so much as hold your hand the rest of that night.

Three months later, you and Rome had exchanged a myriad of kisses and flirtatious squeezes around the office. The suggestive texts the two of you exchanged, making tempting offers and filthy propositions. All of that build-up only to result in chaste nights in at his flat, eating takeout and bitching about the latest tentpole flop your studio was in the midst of developing. It could be worse, you thought. To say your needs were being met, though, would be a lie.

Tonight was different. Tonight was heavy. 

The two of you had spent a good portion of the night sprawled out on the wooden floors of his living room, talking about nothing and downing a Japanese whisky neither of you could pronounce. The taste hadn’t left your mouths. You wondered if his would taste the same. 

After deciding to turn in for the night, you gradually make your way toward the master bedroom, stumbling over yourself. He stops you from colliding into the wall several times. You and Roman make the most obnoxious-sounding cackles as the both of you hap-heartedly flop onto his Hastens Superia bed. You let yourself fall deep into the cotton wool mattress, landing somewhere between sleep and a drunken haze.

You feel yourself be pried out of this state as a force slowly turns you so you’re on your back. You can tell by the faint outline of his fluffy hair that it’s him. In this lighting or lack thereof, you don’t really know for sure. You give a weak smile, maybe even whisper a small “hi”. He waits to proceed until the expression has fully faded from your face and the heaviness in your eyelids takes over. His lips made rough with the scratch from his beard, are forcefully pressed onto yours. Once again, you are ripped out of the peaceful purgatory between awareness and slumber you’d just been slipping into. It’s hard to not liven up at the wet sensation of his tongue slipping past your lips. 

Roman hadn’t ever kissed you like this.

Using your chin, he pries your mouth with his index finger so it's more open to him. Briefly, you consider gliding your tongue along his own, to reciprocate the motions, to achieve the taste you yourself so desperately craved. But you didn’t want him to stop. 

To get in his head like he had a tendency to. To sever himself from you yet again.

So you remain still. Pliant. His.

Meanwhile, his one free hand has wandered elsewhere. Roman’s fully straddling you at this point so you can feel a firmness in between his thighs that hadn’t been present before. The hand alternates from palming himself to cupping your bare mound. The chill of his fingers causes you to flinch. You suppose in the arduous journey to get to his bedroom, you must have lost your bottoms. You don’t entirely remember having ever taken them off yourself. 

It would remain a mystery.

The oversized white button-up blouse of yours has opened itself to Roman and his gaze. He moves the opposing sides of the fabric so they’re no longer covering your chest. Roman dives face first, smushing his face against the warm pillowy flesh of your breasts, inhaling deeply. He kneads them with his fingers and takes them into his mouth, sucking more gently than he wishes to. It’s clear Roman wishes not to disturb your ‘slumber’. 

He shows you a devotion other men had hardly shown you when you were fully awake. It was all a jumbled mess in your head. Due to the surrealness of the whole situation but also the liquor as well.

Instead of working his way downwards like most guys naturally would, Roman instead makes his way up to your neck, burrowing his head in the crook near your shoulder. He takes a deeper inhale of the tender flesh there. Eventually his nose prods into your hair which was strewn all over the pillow your head rests on. There were times at the office when you could’ve sworn he took a brief inhale of your hair when sneaking past you. You didn’t say anything. Even after you two had begun ‘dating’, you still didn’t question it.

While Roman halts his movements and lies on top of you, your mind drifts, thinking something to the effect of, ‘if he’s this much of a pervert when I’m asleep at night, what kind of disgusting shit does he get up to in the daytime behind my back’?

You have no time to dwell on the thought because something cold and slender traces your opening. Due to its tensility, you’re able to make out that its his finger that now fumbles around your entrance. There’s no foreplay, no crescendo because in an instant, Roman is inside of you. You can’t help but mumble a whimper at the sudden intrusion. He freezes, keeping the tip of his finger in you. When he sees you don’t stir and go back to sleep, he plunges what feels like his index finger deeper into you. So deep, you fear he’ll run out of space to fill. He stops just before it becomes too uncomfortable. Not that the interaction was all that pleasant. 

Mentally, you were aroused but physically, your body had yet to catch up.

“...not wet,” he says to himself. 

He withdraws his hand quickly, spitting multiple times on his now two fingers, and wedges them both inside of you. The lube of his saliva provides some slick but it’s still making you sore. 

“That better…? Hm…? Yeah…?” he coos, watching your emotionless face, “That what you need..?”

He smirks briefly when he sees your eyes flutter. 

“Oh…you dreamin’, baby? Hm, you dreaming about me?” Roman taunts, in a shrill soft voice, “You better be. You better fuckin’ be.”

You clench reflexively as he says it. Roman drags his lower teeth against the smooth skin of your arm as he continues to pump his fingers into you rapidly. Fast enough that your increasing wetness is audible in the still silence of his bedroom. Roman ceases all of his movements at once, letting out a sharp exhale. Gradually, he removes his fingers from your pussy and a moment passes before you begin to feel something warm and moist being smeared across your lips. You realize it's your own fluids. The notion makes your stomach flip.

Roman proceeds to lick it off your lips. His tongue becomes more and more greedy and taking the opportunity to drag along the sides of your full cheeks. You get the impression this is something he’d thought about doing before, if not entirely because of how slowly he does it. 

He’s fucking savoring it. 

‘This’ll be it. He’ll just continue to fuck around a little more and use it as spank bait later,’ you predict. 

The thought of Roman penetrating you with anything more than his fingers was truly unfathomable. There’d always been the rumor at work about him having ED (though the type of ED varied depending on who you were talking to) and needing the little blue pill to so much as jerk off. You never knew what to make of those claims. You disregarded them. But the stiffness that has been rutting against your hips and waist and thigh for the past half hour had you now wondering; ‘was he gonna go all the way?’.

A few more moments of nothingness pass. Then the metallic sound of a zipper being undone overwhelms your senses—the sonority soon replaced with dread. Even if he did position himself between your legs and bury himself fully inside of your unaroused cunt; ‘what would it really change?’ 

It wouldn’t suddenly make it ‘rape’.

 That ship had sailed several digits ago. 

You were on the pill if he decided to be lazy. You were clean and he had assured you many times he was as well—and you chose to believe him. The answer to your self-questioning was that it would simultaneously change ‘nothing’ and ‘everything’. 

So you brace yourself for his full weight on top of you once more along with the new sensation of being stretched open on his cock.

But it doesn’t come. 

Roman rolls off of you completely, laying adjacent to you on the mattress. There’s the rustling of fabric as he shimmies his slacks down his thighs. Roman’s hand flies to your wrist as he slides his dick into your relaxed grasp. Spitting into his palm and gliding the wet over the head of his cock, he begins to fuck your own fist in earnest. 

The most pitiful, squeaky boyish moans leave his lips and he pants them into your shoulder, hot from the heat of his breath.  

“F-f-fuck…oh f-ff…I…I fuckin’ need this, need this,” Roman whines into your hair, “Oh…oh…ohhh…needed this, need this, fuckin’ need this,”

His hips continue ramming into your hand at the same relentless pace. He’s clearly pent-up. Probably from the months of emotional anguish, familial turmoil, betrayal—with a dollop of grief on top. Small dabs of wetness is felt on your skin. At first, you think he’s drooling from arousal but you later realize those were tears. 

It doesn’t deter from his sheer desperation, his uninhibited need, all on display. 

You had been the one submitting yourself to him but somewhere along the way, the roles seemingly had become inverted. You hold back from biting your own lip. You had made it this far. You couldn’t fuck it up now. Not for him. If he stopped, you felt like you’d die a small death then and there. 

“Oh, please, my sweet. Sweet little thing, please be sweet. Please be good. Please take what you need. What you’ve earned,” you’d chant, if you were even capable of speech, “Please cum. Please cum now.”  

There’s no humanly possible way he could’ve heard your inner dialogue but his hips buck wildly and he unloads into your palm like he did. 

“Thank you, thank you, I needed it, I needed it, baby…oh, I fuckin’...I fuckin’ needed …,” he trails off.

His vibrating body eventually after a long while goes still. You’re able to unravel your hand off of his softening cock. The stickiness between your fingers is still lukewarm. If you had the strength or the agency, you might wipe it off with a Kleenex or onto the sheets or the perv in you may try to sneak a sniff or a lick. But you like him are beyond spent. He stays facing you, laying on his side, now sound asleep with a gentle snore. You remain on your back, shirt ripped open, naked from the lower half, face staring deep, deep into the void of the ceiling. 

It was this empty blackness—this dark—that you slowly felt yourself being compelled to. It’s where your darkest urges liked to dwell. The desires you never felt the courage to voice, even to those you trusted the most. It felt cliche to say you often saw Roman on the other side of this void. You got the impression it’s an island he’d marooned himself on for a long time. Every partner that tried to swim out to him sunk to the bottom of the ocean floor. And there they stayed in the depths of his subconscious. Submerged, sodden, drowned memory of a person that for years would continue to be buried by guilt. By shame. Fear. You refused to succumb to that same fate.

As you let the sleep overtake your tired limbs and melt into oblivion, you swear you see him in that void. Expressionless. He’s numb, like you. He’s scared, like you. He doesn’t know what he wants, much less what he needs. And neither do you. So in the meantime, you silently agree to meet him there in that void. In that black. Again and again. 

As long as you found each other in the end.

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[jazzcathaven]

Random fun film fact: The crow in It’s a Wonderful Life seen in the Building & Loan that Uncle Billy kept as a pet is the same crow that flew on Scarecrow’s arm in The Wizard of Oz whom he was unable to scare. His name was Jimmy and he was a raven who first appeared in You Can’t Take It With You directed by Frank Capra who went on to cast the bird in every subsequent movie he made.