#rowing machine reviews

[zakir352818]

MERACH Rowing Machine Foldable Seat Cushion

MERACH Rowing Machine: Unlock the ultimate fitness experience with the, crafted for those who prioritize health and efficiency. Distinguished by its whisper-quiet magnetic flywheel system, this rowing machine ensures a disturbance-free workout, allowing you to focus on crushing your fitness goals anytime.

[marylynch]

YOSUDA Magnetic/Water Rowing Machine 350 LB Weight Capacity - Foldable Rower for Home Use with LCD Monitor, Tablet Holder, and Comfortable Seat CushionLooking for the best Yosuda Magnetic Rowing Machine? This is the perfect machine for your home gym needs! It has a 350 LB weight capacity, an LCD monitor, a tablet holder, and a comfortable seat cushion. Check out this pin for more details #BestYosudaMagnetic #HomeGym #FoldableRower

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sweaty Palms 1

Warnings: this fic will include obsessive behaviour, possible non/ducbon, bullying, and other elements which may not be specifically triggered. Please be cautious in continuing on to the story.

Character: Curtis Everett

Summary: You start going to the gym to break old habits, but new things are scary.

Please reblog and leave some feedback, preferably in a reblog but you can always drop by my asks. I always love working in y'alls ideas with these AUs so I am so excited to hear from you.

As always, take care of yourself <3 be kind and be patient. Love you.

No tag lists. Please review my pinned and bio for guidelines.

You’ve never been to a gym before. You’ve never been to a lot of places. Crowds are not your forte, public places are your personal nightmare, and strangers make your nervous. Everything makes you nervous. 

You can’t hide forever. That’s the conclusion you’ve come to. It's not a very comfortable one for you but if you don’t change, you’re always going to feel like this. Heavy, deflated, lost. It’s hard to put into words the feeling. The world just seems to pass you by, it functions around you, and sometimes you almost believe you’re not really there. Like a ghost, you just watch it without effect. 

The extra fifteen dollars a month isn’t too much of a stretch. You can hold off on your Kindle addiction for the expense. That’s another thing, you need to start being smart, more practical with your money. 

Planning. That’s something you’re working on. You didn’t come without one. You wouldn’t make it past the door without a set of steps to follow. 

You stop by the front counter first. You ask the woman behind it about how to get into the gym. You bought a membership online. She brings up your profile and issues you a membership card, explaining how you can also download the app and register with your member number. You thank her and continue through. 

You walk along the first floor, the leg machines and the rowing machines being worked by the regulars. You find your way to the dressing room on the second floor and enter with your head down. You try not to look anywhere but where you need to. You find a stall and change, packing away your street clothes, then go out to find a locker to shove your stuff in. 

You emerge with your phone and your new smart watch strapped to your wrist. You glance at the face of it. Your heart rate is already elevated. You unlock your phone and tap the app you downloaded the day before. You flipped through the catalogue of beginners’ workouts but didn’t have any of the equipment to do it yourself. It’s cheaper to just come here. 

You go to one of the spaces laid with mats and stop before one of the racks of weights. You stare at your phone in exasperation. You don’t understand, you’re connected to the wifi but the app just won’t connect. You could try on your own but you really don’t know what you’re doing. 

Ugh, why did you even bother? This is just another failure. You try restarting the app and then your phone, aware of the activity around you. Does anyone notice how clueless you look? 

“Hit it or quit it, little girl,” a man startles you as he brushes by you and grabs a large set of dumbbells, the thirty on the side catching your eye. You shift out of the way and press your phone against your chest, the smooth fabric of your shirt causing it to vibrate as if you tapped the screen. “This isn’t the phone club, it’s a gym.” 

“Sorry, I...” 

“There’s a cafe across the street, you can go play candy crush there,” he scoffs, “seems more your speed.” 

“Must feel real big, huh?” A gritty voice nears from your other side, “real heavy lifting there, pushing around a woman.” 

“Huh?” The first man narrows his eyes as he grips the set of dumbbells at his sides and faces the other man.  

He’s taller than you, muscular but not too bulky. His head is shaved and a dark short beard lines his jaw. Similar hair peeks out from the top of his tee shirt and dusts his toned arms. He slips past you, inserting himself between you and the gym watchdog. 

“Bro,” the first guy sneers, “don’t even start with me. You think you can step up.” 

“I’m not stepping up,” the other man defies, “I’m telling you to mind your business. Take your weights and leave her alone.” 

“Pfft, this some sort of date? You know, this isn’t the Olive Garden--” 

The second man crosses his arms, his back to you as he postures at the other man. He’s silent as he stares him down. You can’t see his face but you can feel the tension roiling off of him. There’s a thick lull as both men stand in a deadlock. 

“Got something to say, bud,” the first guy drops the weights and they boom against the floor. You wince and step back, “go on, I could use the work out.” 

“I said it,” the second man utters flatly, unyielding as he looms like a wall between you. 

“Fucking loser,” the other spits back, “you’re really gonna fuck around for that? Have you seen the skin around her?.” 

The man doesn’t respond. He stays as he is, an unmoving sentinel. The other man growls in frustration. 

“Fucking chicken shit, why don’t you speak up, dude?” 

Still no answer. Just a glare. You clutch your phone against your chest, frozen in horror and confusion. You didn’t mean to start a fight. You hate confrontation. 

Suddenly, the man before you jerks as he’s grabbed by the large man. His back hits you slightly and you drop your phone as he latches onto the other man. Everything happens so fast. The man who came to your defence has the other man on his back on the mat in seconds, a knee on his chest as his fists clasp around the top of his tank top. He bends over him and snarls. 

“Christ, bro, get the fuck off of me,” the man on the floor shoves on his arm helplessly.  

You glance around and notice the audience forming around you. Oh no. You look back to the two men. You step forward and tap the closest man on the shoulder, the one who defended you. 

“Please,” you croak nervously, “I don’t wanna get in trouble.” 

He turns his head, glancing back at you with powder blue eyes made bright by the dark row of his lashes. He exhales and lets go of the other man. He stands and puts his arm out as if to keep your behind him. 

“You really want me to repeat myself?” He sneers down at the other man. 

The larger man pushes himself up and scowls, shaking his head and he turns to stalk off muttering, leaving behind his forgotten dumbbells. The other man bends to pick them up and returns them to the rack. You look down at your empty hands then search the floor. 

You reach for your phone but it’s plucked up before you. The man brings it up between you and holds it out. You take it with a thank you. 

“No problem,” he rasps. 

“I... you didn’t have to--” 

“That guy’s an—he's not nice,” he corrects himself and drags his hand over his mouth and chin, “I don’t like bullies.” 

“It’s my fault,” you shrug, “I was in the way. But er, thanks. I'm... I’m sorry.” 

You turn away and look back at your phone. The app isn’t working. It says it needs another update. 

“You need help with something?” The man asks. 

“I...” you peek at him over your shoulder, “yeah, I... I don’t... I don’t usually... it’s my first time.” 

He nods and hums as he steps closer. You face him and show him your phone. You’re jittery as it trembles in your grip. He’s a stranger. Your whole plan was to avoid those. 

“I got this app to help but it’s not working,” you frown. 

“Try the update?” He points his thick, long finger at the screen. 

You tap and keep the phone visible. The app shop comes up and the update button is grayed out. Underneath, italics read ‘this update is not available for this device’. You frown and bring the screen closer to your face. 

“It won’t let me,” you pout and flick your lashes, mortified. How are you this helpless? Why did you have to have a witness? Several. You look around, some eyes darting in your direction. 

“Hm, well, what are you trying to do? You said this is your first day?” He prompts, “I could... I could help out a little. If you need. I’m no trainer, I just do my own thing but I could try.” 

You bat your lashes up at him then look back at your phone. You don’t know what else to do. Your whole plan has fallen apart because your operating system is outdated. 

“I... I’m not very... athletic,” you explain, “so I can’t go very fast.” 

“That’s okay,” he assures you, “I can go slow.” 

“You don’t have to do that. I can figure it out.” 

“I know I don’t have to,” he shifts and peers over his shoulder, “but how about I stay close anyway,” he moves and you can see the guy from earlier staring daggers from a chest press, “just in case.” 

“Oh, I... I’m sorry,” you tuck your phone into the pocket of your leggings, “I made him mad.” 

“Let him be mad. Got nothing to do with you,” he turns back to you again, “I could take you through some stretches and basics; lunges, squats, stuff like that. As best I can.” 

“Erm, I guess... I don’t wanna be in the way,” you rub your neck. 

“Not in my way,” he says evenly, “lets grab some weights first.” 

He directs you to the rack and without a thought you go to it. He approaches beside you as you realise, you didn’t say yes, you didn’t agree to this, but you don’t know what else to do. 

“Start with some twos,” he advises, “and if you’re not getting a good burn, we can up it later.” 

“Oh, okay,” you grab the dumbbells with the large twos on the side. He grabs the twenties. You feel totally inadequate. 

“So let’s get out space,” he backs up and looks around the mat, “here should be good.” He bends and sets down his weights, "for now, let’s put these aside and start our stretches. You don’t wanna pull anything.” 

You nod and place your weights beside you. You stand and stare at him. He’s in good shape. Great shape. He makes you even more conscious of your neglect. You already feel breathless. 

“I’m Curtis by the way,” he steps forward and offers his hand. 

“Oh, uh,” you shake his hand and give your name. 

“Pretty,” he says as he squeezes before letting you go. His hand is huge compared to yours and the gap in your strength is obvious just in that small gesture. 

“Alright, easy, slow, arms out,” he extends arms, “roll your shoulders and your head, loosen up.” 

You watch him and hesitate to follow his direction. You hate that there’s so many people around. You don’t want to look stupid. You’re so ungainly and awkward.  

“Try not to think about it too much. We’re all just here to work out, right?” He says and you shy away, embarrassed that he noticed your discomfort. You raise your arms and start the stretches, “good, you’re doing good, angel. Make sure to breath, alright?” 

You roll your shoulders and head and blow out a breath. Your nerves are pinging all over and your muscles are shaky. This isn’t what you expected at all. Your plans fallen to pieces and yet, it’s not entirely a lost cause. 

“Arms up,” he guides you into the next exercise, “on your toes, reach as far as you can...” 

You obey, letting his voice guide you. His deep, calm timber is almost comforting. The even tenor is a stark contrast to chaotic nervously. You can get through this. 

[pridequest64]

The Tim Drake ship review.

Bernard Dowd: 0/10 (it’s personal don’t @me)

Cullen Row: 10/10 (Best Boy)

Superboy: 5/10 (It’s just the Vanilla of Ships)

Impulse: 4/10 (TimKon just makes more sense)

Lonnie Machin: 8/10 (Tim Loves Bad Boys)

Stephanie Brown: 3/10 (Platonic Best Friends)

Cassandra Cain: 3/10 (Need More context)

Cassie Sandsmark: 2/10 (It was one kiss)

Barbara Gordon: 0/10 (Worst thing Arkham did)

Ra’s Al Ghul: -♾️/♾️ (You Sick Freaks)

Dick, Bruce, Damien: -100/500 (Just Why?”

Jason: 11/10 (No further Comment)

Don’t Kill me please. Half of these are meant to be taken in jest.

[snapthistiger]

exercise 08142024

bike ride to the gym

8 x 10 incline sit ups

3 x 10 pec machine

3 x 10 lat raise

3 x 10 low row

30 minutes on the step mill

3 x 10 seated press

worked lifeguard job 8a to 2p

bike ride to Kroger, my Mom's primary doctor office, then home

the gym workers received mini Hershey bars

at work i watched swimmers for 5 hours and cleaned for 1 hour. my coworker and i listened to 70s rock and roll for about an hour and enjoyed reminiscing

talked to clerk at my Mom's primary doctor office about possibly getting a referral to another orthopedic doctor. still have not been able to get an appointment with the ortho doctor that the hospital referred to. clerk said she would get the nurse to review the information and see about a different referral

called the orthopedic doctor again and the clerk said the doctor is in surgery and will try to get me an appointment for tomorrow morning. hoping she calls. uuuggggggghhhhhh

top left = my bluetooth speaker

bottom = Halloween decorations at 530a this morning

hope you have a peaceful afternoon and evening..

[blazehedgehog]

Unlocked the second row of tracks in Ring Racers and the amount of fun I'm having with this game is very quickly evaporating. Everything hits SO HARD and tracks get SO COMPLEX and the AI rubberbands to catch up with you SO EASILY that I have reached a point of feeling completely overwhelmed by frustration at this game.

It's great that they have an "everything and the kitchen sink" approach to the tracks they include. Like no idea was ever considered bad or too outrageous or too complicated. But I also feel like there are tracks in this game (and even in SRB2 Kart before it) that would have been cut in a more mainstream product for being esoteric and too unfriendly to anyone but the development team.

I've blinked near bumper mines that launched me with such force it sent me backwards half a lap. On something like the Gumball Machine track a bumper mine will probably actually send you back an entire lap if you hit it just the right way. It doesn't even have to be a bumper mine, either. I got invincibility and tried to plow through someone with some shark missiles and it bounced me away about as strong as a bumper mine would have.

There are tracks where a "shortcut" will actually put you driving the wrong direction, like they expect you to blast through a speed barrier at top speed, and then figure out how to flip a U-Turn and still maintain the advantage of that shortcut.

And the entire Balloon Park track could have only been made by someone with a deeply black heart. I have never in my life ever seen a kart racer track that's trying to make you lose the race. Every single turn of that thing is a new, awful nightmare you have to figure out how to steer around while worrying about how if any of the eight other racers even so much as breathe on you then you're never going to recover.

Even the Crash Team Racing remake was more forgiving than this, and I hate that game and refused to play it once I finished my review.

I have never played any racing game that has made me feel more dejected and miserable than Dr. Robotnik's Ring Racers. Once you clear the first set of tracks and see the credits roll, it turns in to a playable headache. I feel like I swallowed a nuclear warhead playing this game tonight.

That's the last time I'm touching this thing until I hear about serious balance changes.

[the-disaster-in-waiting]

The Seamstress & The Baker (Peeta Mellark X Reader)

Peeta stood still as the woman circled him measuring, writing and looking over him gauging size predictions.

“I’m Peeta” He broke the silence, scared and alone from the only other person he’d known. Peeta tried to make nice with those Effie had called his ‘Style Team’ Portia had left him in what she’d called capable hands of (Y/N) to take the measurements and prepare him for Cinna and her grand entrance they’d planned.

“I know I saw the show Katniss put on. Seems like you will have to catch up” (Y/N) swaggered around the room filled with items used to create all the most incredible outfits for the tributes.

“Wha… What do you mean?”

“Katniss, she’s the caring heart that volunteered for her sister. What pray tell is your thing?” She’d sat in a chair at that point comfortably crossing one leg over another, writing more notes in her small notebook. As Peeta realized he was now free to step down from the podium and sit beside her in the accompanying chair he continued.

“I’m a baker”

“I do not think a cake will be enough to sway the watchers” She leant over, placing the notebook onto a coffee table leaning back and digging her back further into the chair comforting herself.

“What do you think then?” Peeta was leant over watching (Y/N) arms braced on his legs as his only support. (Y/N) sighed as she turned to the screen featuring Peeta and Katniss’ tribute selection in district 12.

“You are very sweet and the way you look at Katniss. Use that, use your love, don't hide it. Be the boy who loves a girl you will be fated to kill or be killed by”.

“I don’t know what you mean. I don't have a crush on Katniss. I just don’t wanna die”

“You are a very sweet boy Peeta. I wish I could be like you but unlike you living in the capitol shows you how bad this all is I mean look around-’ (Y/N) spread her arms pointing to the whole room ‘-this all just for some stupid blood hungry game, I was picked young because so many of the seamstress’ had to leave overwhelmed seeing so many die this isn't easy Peeta you need to make a choice do you play the game or let the game play you?”

-

Peeta gazed over all the viewers as Katniss and he were pulled by horse through a long lane waving to all he looked to Katniss her face stone, scared or maybe meek he couldn’t tell quite yet as he passed a row he could see (Y/N) she looked over Peeta clasping her hands together signaling something to him it took a minute to catch on.

“And then

What is that in the background?” The commentators reviewing the tributes' entrances stopped at a pair from district 12.

“Come on. They'll love it.” Peeta whispered to Katniss, grabbing her hand once again, hoisting them high above their heads for all to see as (Y/N) clapped her hands at Peeta’s gesture.

“Now see that! I love that.

Two young people, holding their hands up!

Saying; ‘I'm proud, I'm from District 12.

We will not be overlooked!’

I love that.

People are sure to be paying attention to them right now.”

-

“You did good Peeta” (Y/N) could tell when Peeta entered the room he carried himself lower than a capital citizen and not many of the other tributes walked around the seamstress quarters their stylists normally handled. (Y/N) wondered if some even knew where it was knowing that some of the higher districts would demand their measurements taken in their apartments not bothering to meander about a place they didn’t want to be.

“Thanks for the suggestion” He stood around awkwardly waiting for (Y/N) to turn and face him, her back all he could see as she bent over a sewing machine the sound of which had stopped the minute the door opened.

“What do you need, do any of the clothes not fit?” She turned to face him looking over his attire, a piece she’d made from Portia's suggestion designed to look as if lava had fallen onto him.

“No I’m all good” He moved to a chair near (Y/N) making himself comfortable before facing her again.

“The interviews are coming soon”

“Yes, do you know what you are saying yet? I’m sure Effie and Haymitch have prepared you?” She pulled up the suit she was making from Katniss’ measurements designed by the game stylists out of the sewing machine letting it fall in front of her giving a cursory check before putting it aside and putting all her focus on Peeta.

“No Haymitch said to just keep doing the loverboy act and Effie’s just happy I smile unlike Katniss.” (Y/N) giggled at Peeta’s comment.

“Katniss can be hard to read but like you she is scared and just coping with this how she can”

“So what do you think?” Peeta looked to (Y/N) as her head tilted.

“What do you mean?” She shook her head and started to read from her notebook on Peeta’s measurements and needs for his game suit. Peeta grabbed the book from her hands, putting it behind him where (Y/N) couldn't reach it.

“I mean the interviews the hand hold worked I thought maybe you’d have some more ideas” He held (Y/N) back from trying to grab her notebook from him. Exasperated by her failed attempts she slumped in the chair and sighed at Peetas annoying antics.

“Why should I help you if you will just steal my things?” She smirked at the game, a welcome distraction from the work she’d been put through by the other seamstress’ all had goals to complete their work even if it meant fighting each other to leave early.

“Because you care? Hopefully, you've helped so far?”

“Fine you are lucky I like you” She instead turned to clean her station making her mind up to come in early tomorrow instead of continuing now that the tribute was annoying her so.

“Drop the bomb”

“What bomb” noticing her cleaning her gave back the notebook. (Y/N) carefully packed it away in her bag as she shifted it onto her back.

“Tell them just who you are fighting in the arena, let them know the love story they can expect” She turned to stand and leave as Peeta followed her.

“Where are you going?” She turned to look at Peeta. He looked tired, scared but alone mostly. She could understand the feeling of displacement he must’ve felt she’d felt it so many times before.

“I have some things to finish for school. They cannot be left waiting but do not worry, I will be waiting for you after your interview”.

[houseofbrat]

Is there actually a #Wales Kid Number Four or is that a metaphor for something else? What am I missing here? I don’t understand. Stephen Colbert jokes on live TV that William knocked up her mistress. Is that it? Does Wales kid number 4 have a different mother? And is that what caused Kate’s nervous breakdown? What wrong decision did William make that he can’t admit to?

As I posted a few things on William's past this weekend, let's remember that William a) has a temper, b) has a big ego, and c) is thin-skinned.

William's reputation as being a "good" king-in-waiting solely rests on statements and pr games his mother played thirty years ago during the War of the Waleses. His cult of fans love him because he was hot twenty years ago; although, some still think he's hot now. I'll leave it to you to decide.

Anyhow, cut to September 2022 when William became the heir to the throne, The Duke of Cornwall, and The Prince of Wales. After that, William no longer had to depend on his father to bankroll him and his office. Before September 2022, William's (& Kate's) office reported up to Clarence House, office of the previous Prince of Wales, Charles.

Since then, William has proceeded to fuck plenty of things up, even though his über fans view everything with rose-colored glasses. Let's review some of those fuckups & weird shit:

There was the fuckup at Boston in 2022 when William issued a statement throwing his godmother under the bus when all he had to say was “This is an issue for Buckingham Palace.” Except he didn’t.

No foreign tours since becoming The Prince & Princess of Wales.

There was the bizarre photo op of Andrew being driven to church by William last August (2023), when everyone with a functional, long-term memory knows that William has never kowtowed to his father.

Kate’s stretch of wearing thirteen pantsuits in a row, ‘cause she was all about “the work.” Somehow, she didn’t go on a crusade about wearing pantsuits when she was only The Duchess of Cambridge.

Announcing Kate had “planned abdominal surgery” the day after said planned abdominal surgery. If it was “planned,” then wouldn’t they have said something at least the day of rather than the day after?

The entire pr fuck up of not having Kate photographed leaving The London Clinic after being discharged, which in turn led to more fuckups.

Then there’s the timeline of fuckery that’s happened from Christmas until 09 March 2024 that I collated before The 2024 Mother’s Day Photo Disaster.

William is an emotionally damaged, thin skinned, control freak with a privacy fetish.

Due to his natural, control-freak-plus-privacy-fetish state, he fucked up Kate's whole pr when she left the hospital. The entire controversy regarding "Where is Kate?" would never have even happened had he handled it properly.

All he had to do was allow her to be photographed leaving the hospital. She didn't even have to walk out of the hospital. He could have just driven her out the same way he himself was photographed leaving The London Clinic.

Except he didn't do that.

Because he's an emotionally damaged, thin skinned, control freak with a privacy fetish. Again, his über fans who view everything he does with rose-colored glasses because they're parked up his rectum, will write odes and songs as to how William "protected" Kate's "privacy."

Ah, yes, the same "privacy protecting" moves that have garnered comments like this from the UK press:

“I think the thing we’ve actually seen pretty consistently about Kensington Palace since the Prince of Wales took over as it were, isn’t actually–they aren’t very good at communicating with the public. They had that visit which didn’t go very well. They’re doing whatever’s going on with here. I think clearly there’s a problem.”

“The pr machine that can handle Megxit can surely handle the princess getting surgery, and it has–just as Stephen says–spun out into these wild, wild rumors. Most of which are pretty crazy, ultimately stemming from the fact that something doesn’t feel quite right about this in a story with multiple witnesses and no photos. But, you know, let’s see, maybe, in the next 12 hours some photos do emerge. That would be a fascinating development.”

Note that these two comments recognize the before and after William became the heir to the throne. For some reason, the Kensington Palace press office could handle the shitshow of Megxit in 2020 when they were under the auspices of Clarence House. Except today that is no longer the case.

Because the Kensington Palace of today is the one that helps The Daily Show write their script for the evening.

Because they've become an INTERNATIONAL JOKE!

And it's the current Kensington Palace that picked a fight with the British Army over Kate's picture at The Colonel's Review almost two weeks ago.

Because, again, William is an emotionally damaged, thin skinned, control freak with a privacy fetish.

William is a few fries short of a Happy Meal, one beer short of a six-pack, one egg short of an omlet, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, etc.

And yes, there is unquestionably more crazy shit coming our way after William goes on vacation for several weeks.

Again.

[adridoesstuff]

DJKT JCS review (Apr. 2nd 2024)

Here's a short review (for my standards) of just what happens onstage during the recently premiered production of Jesus Christ Superstar in Pilsen. Cut is for length.

The main cast for the show on the day were: Pavel Klimenda (Jesus of Nazareth), Dušan Kraus (Judas Iscariot), Charlotte Režná (Mary Magdalene), Pavel Klečka (Pontius Pilate), Jan Holík (King Herod), Jan Fraus (Caiaphas), Radim Flender (Annas), Jaroslav Panuška (First priest/Company), Lukáš Jindra (Second priest/Company), Roman Krebs (Third priest), Martin Holec (Peter), Jakub Gabriel Rajnoch (Simon Zealotes), Apolena Veldová (Virgin Mary/Jesus' Mother)

Pre-show: The show starts all the way in the theatre lobby, where instead of DJKT’s usual ads for other of their shows, all the TVs show footage of the Roman in-show propaganda posters, which are sometimes interrupted with footage of Jesus and Judas. Once you enter the auditorium, you can see the set fully exposed, lights running left and right through the first few rows, the fog machine softly running and all the screens onstage showing in-show Roman propaganda posters, all of them talk about the strength and glory of the empire, how the empire protects It’s inhabitants and preserves the empire’s culture. On the graffitti covered metal fence are tacked on a few scrunched up posters with Jesus on them. All throughout, you can hear a soft mechanical whirring in the background. As the lights dim, Jesus and Judas slowly come onstage, followed by the apostoles, from the right offstage door and observe the set and the propaganda. Jesus raises his hand in a sudden motion and the mechanical whirring in the background stops and the overture starts.

Overture: During the first notes of the overture, you can hear a few women offstage screaming for help, presumably from Roman guards. Jesus pulls out a tablet from the backpack he’s carrying and starts tapping into it. The propaganda posters start glitching as Jesus evidently starts hacking into the system and are soon replaced with slightly glitchy footage of Jesus, immaculately dressed and presented as the ideal savior, complete with soft rays of sunlight in the background. The apostles start setting up camera equipment and ringlights around Jesus, preparing to shoot more footage. One of them starts fixing Jesus’s hair with a can of hairspray and adjusting his clothes, so that he looks immaculate, just like the perfect savior of the world should look like and not a single hair is out of place. Judas only looks on disdainfully as he once in a while takes a hit from his vape pen. During the middle of the overture, a Roman guard comes in from the other side of the stage with two women and forces them to take down the posters with Jesus from the fence. Jesus once again starts intensely tapping into his tablet, choosing which footage of him gets shown onscreen until the footage shown is without a single glitch and Jesus looks proudly at the work he accomplished.

Heaven on Their Minds: Evidently fed up with Jesus’s entire spiel, Judas takes away his tablet, turns it off and yeets it onto the ground in frustration. Jesus and all the other apostles give him a look of „Bro, what is wrong with you“ before Jesus takes his tablet again and gets back to working on it. All through the number, Judas looks longingly at Jesus and looks like he’s trying to explain and reason with Jesus that his entire plan is getting out of hand and dangerous. Jesus just waves off Judas’s warnings and runs offstage.

What’s the Buzz: Jesus excitedly leads onstage two ensemble women, presumably as new members of his team. He is evidently still innocently really excited about using his built up infuence to change the world for the better. The metal fence is drawn away, revealing the squat/campsite of Jesus’s followers. Mary Magdalene is already waiting there for the group to return. Jesus whips off his coat and gratefully lays his head in Mary‘s lap and croons in delight as she cools off his forehead and cards through his hair.

Strange Thing, Mystifying: As Jesus is lounging, Judas is evidently very fed up with all the attention that is not being given to him, but to Mary. He kneels down to Jesus and tries to reason with him that so openly associating with Mary as a former sex worker will only harm the entire image and brand Jesus is presenting publically. Mary is very hurt by this. Jesus jumps up from Mary’s lap, upset that Judas dares to offend Mary and as he lectures his apostoles that only one who is innocent should throw rocks into those like Mary, Judas picks up a crushed can and wants to throw it into Mary, but one „wtf bro?“ look from Jesus stops him. It’s evident that already here, Jesus is slowly starting to lose hope whether his apostoles truly mean things as seriously as he does

Then, We Are Decided: The apostle gang along with Jesus, Judas and Mary settle down around their tents in the dim further stage. The only thing breaking the dimness is the soft blue light from Jesus’s tablet as he continues scrolling through it. Annas pushes onstage a wheelchair-bound Caiphas and helps him wash up as they scheme how to get rid of Jesus.

Everything’s Alright: Attention back on the group. Mary notices a medicine seller in the background and taking off her silver tassel necklace along with snatching some small thing from the camp, she sells them in trade for an ointment. She takes Jesus away from the main tent camp (much to Judas‘ exasperation), but he still isn’t paying full attention to her, so she takes away his tablet and makes him lay down onto a pillow made out of his coat and backpack, where she can rub the ointment into his face. Judas starts off on Mary for both unwisely spending the group’s money and for being jealous of all the attention Jesus gives her. Despite Mary’s continuous attempts to get Jesus to rest, his attention is constantly drawn elsewhere, either to longingly staring at Judas or to a poor crippled woman upstage, who he runs off to heal with his touch. In the end, Mary gets Jesus to settle down next to the tents, but he still keeps on tapping into his tablet even as the lights go dim.

This Jesus Must Die: Caiaphas and Annas along with the priests appear up on a construction overlooking the tent camp, where Jesus and everyone else rest. They are now dressed in their full uniform and plot their next step as the screens show what looks like security camera footage of the group arriving in the half devastated city

Hosanna: Jesus and co are chilling in front of their tents when excited crowd of Jesus’s followers approaches them and sings praises for him. They take Jesus up on their shoulders and carry him to a pile of old bottle crates and other old stuff to preach to them from higher up, but he kneels down to them. Amid the crowd throughout the entire play can be seen Jesus’s mother, who is an added silent role within the production. She looks on what is happening to her son, offers a distant emotional support to him, but never interferes.

Simon Zealotes: After Hosanna, Simon is evidently not content with how conventional and tame it was, so with the words „You call THIS a hosanna?“ he leads the apostles and Jesus’s followers in a wild and energetic dance, singing about how they want Jesus to make love to them. Simon looks like has the full intent of destroying property as he sings of how Jesus can easily rule over Rome thanks to his influence. Jesus still stands on the spot he was raised up to by his followers and watches them with slowly escalating horror on his face. At first, he looks like he thinks all of Simon’s talk is just fun and jokes, but he slowly starts realizing that Simon is earnest about what he says and that despite all his peaceful and calm intent with only the hope to help perhaps help as many people as he can has started turning against him and his followers have started to radicalize and there is no way to stop them

Poor Jerusalem: Jesus calms down the raging mob of his followers and reflects on how not a single of them will ever truly understand him and the pressure that being known and famous brings with it. Judas wants to offer him consolation, but Jesus walks sadly away.

Pilate’s Dream: Pilate’s bed, full of ornamental pillows, is raised up from under the stage and he wakes up with a sudden jolt and recounts his nightmare, as if slowly recounting it.

The Temple: The set is flooded with the ensemble offering their wares and dancing around. Into this wild scene arrives Jesus, closely followed by Judas, and is evidently horrified at the scene. Jesus pulls out his phone to document what is happening. Judas tries to reason with him, try to make him put down the phone and lead him away from the scene, but Jesus is firmly set on what he wants to do. He starts filming the sellers, running around the set to get each of them on video in detail before he yells them out. After everyone leaves, Jesus looks very guilty over what he did, both because he broke his principles of being the kindest person he can be, but also because this might hurt his reputation by not aligning with the persona he and his team created. Slowly, the sick people slither onstage from the shadows and beg Jesus to touch and heal/help them. Jesus tries to ignore them and emptily stares into the audience with a sad gaze, but as the pleas get more insistent and he realizes there is no way to Ignore them, but also no way to help all of them, he starts breaking down into tears and desperate screams. He runs away from the crowd far stage right after he yells at them to heal themselves and flops down onto the ground, evidently holding back tears and trying to hide them from anyone seeing them.

Everything’s Alright (reprise)/I Don’t Know How to Love Him: Mary, now with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, tries to console Jesus, but he only hollowly answers her as he continues being huddled in the corner of the stage, hugging his knees. Mary Is evidently conflicted about her emotions towards Jesus, because she does visibly care deeply for him, but sees that he might never reciprocate her feelings. But, she bursts out into dance and appears to find happiness that she can be near him and his friend, and that thanks to Jesus, she has found a more fulfilling version of herself.

Damned for All Time/Blood Money: Judas looks very reluctant over his decision, pacing left and right over the set and looks rather scared of Annas and Caiaphas as they crowd around him. Annas holds out a red pouch of money in offer to Judas and only very reluctantly, Judas, with an outstretched hand under the pouch, but not touching it, tells them where to find Jesus.

Entr’acte: Jesus has one of his apostoles bring onstage a plastic foot basin and a gas can with water. He leads an apostole and then Peter to the basin and washes their feet. He then approaches Mary and helps her take off her shoes and stockings, while a few of the apostoles hoot as Mary takes the stockings off, and also washes her feet. Then, he approaches Judas, gently helps him remove one of his shoes and washes one of his feet.

The Last Supper: Judas helps set up a makeshift dining table out of crates and a wide board. The apostles sit around it and Jesus sits at the head, breaking up a loaf of bread into twelve chunks with his hands as the apostles pour one another wine. However, as Jesus sees his apostles eagerly bite into the bread as soon as it’s handed to them, without stopping to pray or discuss, a wave of melancholy goes over him. He sees that he himself is the only person there who actually cares about helping people and the world. He leaves the table to collect his thoughts, but even then, he is followed by Peter with a voice recorder, who is trying to catch everything that could  be used for their campaign. He nervously paces around the set and throws off his coat as he says how he knows none of the apostles truly care for him, before quickly snatching up his tablet and to the protest of all the apostles deleting all files from it. When he says that he knows one of them will betray him, Judas steps forward, at first talking to Jesus very matter-of-fact-ly, as if he is trying to get this conversation over and done with as soon as possible, but he starts loosing his composure as the argument continues. Jesus is very hurt by the betrayer being Judas, seemingly berating himself for not realizing sooner that Judas would be the one to do this, and is trying to hold back tears all through their argument. Jesus tearfully yells at Judas to go away, but immediately clings to and embraces him. Judas embraces him in return and they sink to the ground, looking like they just want to stay in the embrace. Judas slowly separates himself and turns to leave, but as if trying to prove a point and justifying his decision, he paces around Jesus, who is still sitting slumped on the ground, eyes watery and unfocused. He tries to reason that Jesus was already hurling towards his demise and the broken state he’s now in is only a proof of that he Is not humankind’s savior, as if he’s trying to drive the knife deeper to mask that he doesn’t want to do this. Jesus once again brokenly yells at Judas to go and Judas reluctantly complies. The apostles lay down to sleep in their tents, leaving a broken Jesus alone onstage, who has been tearfully gazing in the direction Judas left.

Gethsemane: There are two stops intentionally included in the music. One as Jesus is about to start singing and the other before the first „Then I was inspired…“. Each time, the music stops as Jesus looks back towards where the orchestra is situated behind the set and he looks back almost in a plea that he doesn’t want to do this, that he doesn’t want to go through with the story and become a perhaps pointless victim all for wanting to help people. He starts almost pleading with God, but quickly turns spiteful and angsty over God deciding for him how his life will go. As he questions God what is the reason for him having to die, he climbs up the set structure, as If trying to get closer to him. Once he decides that he will do as God wants it and he will die, he screams in spite for God to watch on the destruction he’s about to cause. He ends the song bitterly resigned with tears in his eyes.

The Arrest: Judas arrives with guards in tow and approaches Jesus alone, talking to him in an almost mocking manner to mask his pain over what he’s about to do. The kiss is a gentle and brief one on the lips, as if Judas wants to get over with it as quickly as possible, but Jesus visibly leans into it with teary eyes. Jesus’s delivery of „Must you betray me with a kiss?“ with an emphasis not on the betrayl, but on the kiss and him putting a little pause before the kiss part, as it it’s hard to say out loud. The guards step forward and Jesus willingly offers them his hands to tie up. Peter tries to interfere and hits one of the guards on the head. Jesus immediately takes away his weapon while berating him and turning to the guard, he touches the wound to heal it. Annas and Caiaphas arrive. Through the scene, Judas has been trying to hide in the left corner of the stage, trying to look as if he had no part in this, until Annas directly thanks him for helping in arresting Jesus, upon which he frightfully departs.

Peter’s Denial: A few ensemble members are warming by a trashcan fire, when Peter goes by them, trying to hide his face with the hood of his yellow raincoat. He tries to play off the first denial with a smile and energy of „this Is just a stupid coincidence“, but his third denial is really angry and desperate. Mary appears at the back of the stage, worried over what Peter just did, but tries to comfort him when she sees how much it hurt him to deny knowing Jesus.

Pilate and Christ: The set changes to Pilate’s palace, complete with two green wall chandeliers made out of used bottles. Jesus is brought forth in front of Pilate, who is in his full opulent fur trimmed costume. For the questioning, Jesus is tied to the bars of a cage, which looks to be connected to electricity and made for torture via electroshocks, the guards bring forth. Mary and Peter can be seen in the background, being held back by guards. Jesus is unbound from the cage as Pilate sends him off to Herod.

King Herod’s Song: Into the earlier entry door of Pilate’s palace backs in a beaten up car with Herod sitting on the smashed in car hood. The entire song, Herod relishes in the destruction and chaos he’s causing and in traumatizing Jesus. Specifically, he pulls out the cut off head of John the Baptist from a fridge they have on set and throws it around with his minions like a ball, before rolling it onto the ground. Jesus immediately recognizes John in the head and breaks down onto the ground crying and whispering John’s name, as if trying to apologize to his spirit for being a contributing factor in why Herod executed him. Herod also very roughly slaps Jesus across the face before leaving.

Could We Start Again Please: The graffiti covered metal fence is drawn back over the set as Mary, Peter and the apostles come forth. Mary has her shawl drawn up over her hair and leads the group in a collective prayer, seemingly filling in Jesus’s place as the spiritual leader of the group. The motions the group pray with are similar to the way early Christians prayed, with both their hands raised to the sky. Mary is close to tears by the end of the number.

Judas’s Death: Judas runs onstage as the screens show footage of Jesus getting brutally beaten up by the guards, with repeated close ups on his bloodied and bruised face with tears pooling in his eyes. Judas looks very remorseful over what happened, but he tries to hold himself together all through the „I Don’t Know How To Love Him“ part. By the end of the number, he is bitterly and manically laughing up at God as he is about to hang himself. God might have had control over the narrative, but this way, Judas feels like he is taking his fate into his own hands.

Trial before Pilate: Jesus is once again brought forth, visibly weak and beaten up. Pilate circles him as a guard with a turned on phone walks in front of him and „livestreams“ the entire trial onto the big screens onstage. Mary can once again be seen in the background, being held back by the guards and looking on in worry. The crowd in the back part of the stage demands Pilate sentence Jesus to crucifiction, even when Jesus is visibly barely managing to stand and brutally beaten up. To calm the crowd, Pilate has Jesus flogged, where the guards drag him into the cage, tear away all his clothes and tie him to the bars facing away from the audience. With each hit, the lights in the room flicker. After 39 times of being hit, Mary manages to fight her way through the guards and as Jesus’s ties are loosened, she gives him a loin cloth to cover himself. As Jesus turns back towards the audience, his chest and face are visibly bloodied. Pilate tries to empathetically reason and come up with a way to somehow save him. Jesus barely, but chillingly whimpers the „Everything is fixed and you can’t change It“. The cross, which looks to be made of old iron, gets dragged onstage, with a blank cardboard plaque above the head. Pilate is handed a can of blue spray paint and paints on the Initials JC as he tells his verdict.

Superstar: A red cloth is placed around Jesus’s shoulders and a crown of thorns is forced onto his head as Judas, now wearing a red turban/headwrap instead of the previously gray one, and the soul girls, dressed as angels all in red and with giant wings, are rolled in onstage. Judas and the angels dance around and sing as the entire carrying of the cross Is recreated. Jesus falls under the cross three times, he is followed by a crowd of weeping women where he notices his mother, one of the apostles tries to help him carry the cross, he is offered a cloth to wipe his face into by Veronica. At one point, as Jesus is carrying the cross, Judas starts dancing in front of him and sort of leading him where he should go. During the final chorus, Jesus falls a third time, but away from the audience’s gaze.

Crucifiction: The cross is raised up, Jesus hanging on it with bright stage lights behind him. He whimpers on it, sometimes almost incoherently through the pain. He calls weakly his mother, who has to only watch from down below and can’t save him. All she can do is calm a weeping Mary in her arms. Jesus dies with a final whispered „Father, into your hands a commend my spirit“ and remains limply hanging on the cross.

John Nineteen:Forty-One: The cross is lowered and Peter with one other apostle take Jesus’s body off of the cross. They lay him into his mother’s arms in a pose similar to Pieta sculptures, so she can say her goodbye and then lay him on the ground, letting Mary say her goodbye. They cover up Jesus’s body with a sheet, but after they remove it after a few seconds, but Jesus’s body has disappeared. Everyone onstage lokes into the skies as they sing out the last notes.

[oftenwantedafton]

Craving - Vampire Dave Miller/William Afton/Springtrap x Female Urban Explorer Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Mature

Warnings for blood and violence

Summary - There is something hungry dwelling inside the depths of the pizzeria in the abandoned shopping mall; something that craves your blood to sustain it.

Also available on AO3

Past the withering potted plants and forgotten vending machines, deep in the abandoned shopping mall where the daylight filtering through the skylights can never reach, the pizzeria slumbers.

Unsheltered by security gates, the glass windows offer an unobstructed peak inside the restaurant. The illumination of your flashlight reveals a confetti patterned carpet just beyond cordoned welcome signs with the franchise’s popular animal mascots illustrated in cheerful splashes of primary colors.

You enter Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria cautiously, but the glass front doors ease open silently. There is the faintest scent of pizza from years ago, the greasy odor still impossibly lingering. Assuring yourself there are no trip hazards you continue forward, moving the light over the rows of tables and chairs. There are stained glass windows set into several of the booth’s wooden frames, one for each of the animatronics, each rendering a friendly caricature.

A row of crane machines line one wall filled with various stuffed animals. The prize counter houses bins of cheap metal security badges and plastic trinkets. A dusty roll of tickets perched on the corner has unwound in a long line, the printed bits of paper cascading down into a messy pile. A glint on the opposite side of the booth reveals a small pile of tokens in a shade somewhere between gold and bronze, etched with the image of Freddy Fazbear himself.

At the far end of the dining room are the stages, one larger platform and a smaller circular one nearby. You cautiously lift the heavy fabric of the star patterned curtains and nearly yell when you catch sight of a trio of animatronics. The brown bear is in the center, clutching a microphone in one paw. To his left is a large yellow chicken wearing a confetti printed bib holding a plate with a large pink cupcake. The final member of the group is a blue rabbit clutching a red electric guitar. Regaining your composure, you study them for awhile longer, deciding to leave the other curtain untouched for now.

The arcade machines are silent, the neon guide lights labeling the exits and restrooms long extinguished. The first hallway you reach leads to the kitchen area. The pots and pans and dishes are stacked neatly on the shelves. There are rows of folded pizza boxes and the stainless steel work surfaces are free of clutter. You exit and find yourself reaching areas that are labeled Storage and Maintenance. The janitorial closet unsurprisingly holds nothing of interest, but the maintenance area is far more intriguing.

Here there is the first real signs of chaos, though you quickly realize it’s not from any vandalism but rather the sheer volume of the objects themselves scattered on every surface, from shelves to counters to the floor. Much of it is foreign to you. There are pieces of metal and loops of wire, bits and pieces of things you think must be internal components of the animatronics themselves. You catch sight of steel limbs, sightless eyes, frightening rows of teeth. There is a headless torso housing a rib cage with sharp metal tips and a slumped costume tucked into one corner that sets your heart pounding when you mistake it intially for a corpse. The place feels different, more sinister than the rest of the locations you’ve explored thus far.

The next discovery is the manager’s office. A large steel desk and filing cabinet greets you. The calendar hanging on the wall is many years out of date. There is an old clunky looking rotary phone and a stack of folders. You flip through one briefly and realize it’s an employee’s resume and a performance review.

The final room you investigate is the security office.

The door does not open easily, resisting your initial efforts. It feels like shoving the lid of a coffin aside, the door grating unevenly along the floor, as if it has somehow shifted over time and no longer swings cleanly in its frame. It makes a terrible screeching sound and you pause mid motion, trying not to breathe too loudly.

The darkness of the revealed interior seems to swallow most of your flashlight’s beam. You can just make out stacks of blank monitors. The desk holds a switchboard and a red and white striped paper cup long forgotten by a previous guard. The walls are covered in children’s artwork done in crayons and pencils and watercolors. There are posters and operating instructions and decorations crafted from paper plates and construction paper that resemble the animatronics. It’s a strange combination of adult and child themed decor. You bump into the swivel desk chair when you turn away and the chair rolls back into the shadows until you hear it thud as it collides with something.

You move to retrieve it, having no desire to disturb anything as has always been your code during urban explorations, when you realize what it is the chair has struck.

In the increasingly faltering light you see a yellow rabbit mascot slouched against the wall. The head is dropped forward and you cannot see its features. The purple bow tie is frayed, the black buttons no longer shiny. The tip of one ear has been worn away, exposing the innards of the suit. The entire structure is decaying, fur and fabric vacant in places, revealing steel and wires.

You cannot say what makes you reach out to the slumped figure. It is as if you have no control over your own limbs, fingers seeking to touch the headpiece, catching on something sharp. You wince and jerk back, the flashlight’s ray bouncing unsteadily around the room before you drop it. Blood drips from your injury, the warm wetness sliding down your hand.

Slowly the yellow rabbit’s head lifts, the silver eyes sparking to life.

“More.” Its voice is like rusted cogs grinding together.

Frozen in terror, you make easy prey. Metal digits grab your wounded hand and drag it back towards its face. There is the sensation of cold metal and then something warm and wet inside the suit touches you and strokes across the blood trail. It’s licking you, lapping until it feels your pulse. You feel teeth graze the flesh above your veins and then fangs pierce that tender barrier. A mouth clamps down, sucking, and you finally find yourself able to attempt to escape, tugging against the rabbit figure’s grasp, but your efforts are futile. Its grip is like an iron manacle. You hear it growl warningly and you become subdued once more, passively letting it drink your blood.

You’re lightheaded when it releases you at last, surprised in your final conscious moments when its arms brace your body protectively before you collapse to the floor.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Lalo meeting reader at a night club and than fucking them and maybe he says something about their top scars

hiiiiii this is the perf prompt for me rn bc ive been hoeing around lately and i got IDEAZ

this ended up being really long (3,448 words 💀) so oopsie it's going on ao3 too :3

warning: choking, humiliation/degradation, mild transphobia, gloryhole, face slapping, facials, squirting

anatomical terms: pussy/cunt/hole, (t-)dick

The queer nightlife scene in Albuquerque left much to be desired.

There were very few gay bars located around the city, even less that were trans-friendly. Some were seedier than others, but you���d heard rave reviews via word of mouth about this one place. Generally clean, fair prices, friendly staff, but mainly that this was the place to go if you needed dick with minimal questions asked. Allegedly, the stalls in the bathroom had gloryholes cut between the partitions, and a closed stall usually meant that someone was game. It was a little dehumanizing, sure, but in all fairness the only thing you really needed from a partner was cock. You’d like a little more, but you'd take what you could get.

Unaware of what the etiquette was for a place like this, you figured it'd be suspicious to head straight for the back. So, you decided to have a few drinks at the bar. They were stronger than you expected, but maybe a little less inhibition would do you good. One drink to loosen you up turned into a few more to make your head spin. Eventually, you were sauced enough to go for it.

Your heart was racing as you entered the men's bathroom. It was bigger than you expected. For one thing, there were two long rows of stalls facing each other, leading to a separate area with sinks and vending machines. There were dim lights in each stall and above each sink and vending machine, mapping only essential landmarks in otherwise complete darkness. A few men much bigger than you were walking around. Some went from their stall to the sinks; some headed straight for the door. You kept your head down, not wanting to make eye contact and reveal yourself to a potential suitor.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for, in all honesty. You peered into every stall on the left. No holes. That must be the safe zone, for people who just needed to relieve themselves in privacy. Then, you peered into every stall on the right. Sure enough, the interior partitions each had a hole cut into them. That was the danger zone, for people who wanted to "relieve themselves" in a much different manner. You wanted danger, but not too much. You wanted to flirt with danger, not get drunk married to danger in Vegas and lose everything in your divorce with danger. Thus, you parked yourself in a stall on the end, that way you had only one side to watch.

You locked the door, hung your jacket on the hook, dropped your pants, and plopped yourself on the toilet. From there, all you had to do was wait. Wait like a sitting duck. Fitting, that's how you felt. To say your senses were heightened was an understatement. Every miniscule sound made you jump, and your heart stopped when the stall next to you closed. You could hear the stranger breathing next to you. They crouched down, probably to peer into the hole and check you out. You scurried up the back of the toilet, angling yourself away from exposure. Thankfully, the stranger took the hint and stood back up. You sighed in relief, relief that was cut short by the clinking of a belt. You could feel the tension brewing, pressure building and building, until you heard something slap against the hole in the wall. You didn’t have to look. You knew what it was.

Still, when you did turn to look, you liked what you saw. It was a fat, well-groomed, medium complexion, uncut cock, and it was already hard and leaking. You licked your lips and positioned yourself in front of it. You reached out and gave it a tentative pump, spreading the precum around with your thumb. The stranger pulled back a little, which made your breath hitch in your throat. No, c'mon, don't leave! You thought. You'd already come this far. You wasted no time taking it into your mouth. Safety be damned, a condom would've taken too much precious time, and you had none to waste.

You actually didn't mind sucking it raw. The cock certainly felt and tasted better without latex and stale lube in the way. Sweet glaze leaking from its slit, smooth and salty skin, a hint of aftershave, and just enough musk and sweat to activate your base instincts. The anonymity made more of a difference than you thought. You didn't have to worry about looking pretty, or whether or not the rest of your partner was as gorgeous as this one feature. You could just totally lose yourself, gagging, slurping, licking, softly moaning into them. All you needed to be was a wet, eager hole. You could do that. You could do that fairly well.

Your partner seemed to agree, letting out breathy sighs and grunts as you serviced them. At one point, they pushed on the wall that intercepted you two, trying to get themselves even deeper into your throat. They withdrew from the hole momentarily so they could stuff their balls through. You took the hint and ran your tongue along them, being rewarded with a deep groan. That was all the praise you needed. You figured this wouldn't be a place for small talk, or any talk for that matter. That's why it shocked you when the stranger knocked on the wall and asked,

"Sweetheart, can I come in?"

A rich, sultry voice with a slight accent caught you off guard. You tore yourself off and gasped, choking on your own spit. Drool pooled down your chin and onto your shirt as you coughed. You wondered if they could somehow hear your heartbeat. Adrenaline surged through you. What could you do? What were you supposed to do? Fight? No, they were probably bigger than you. Flight? You didn't exactly want to run, plus if you did, they could easily chase after you. The only remaining option was to freeze, but that wasn't a great choice either.

"It's okay. You don't have to." The stranger pulled his cock out of the hole and tucked it back in his pants. You let go of your breath when you heard the belt again. Okay, good, they weren't gonna force anything. Still, their next move surprised you. Two fingers snuck through the hole and tapped the partition. "I'm guessing this your first time doing this?"

"Yeah..." was all you said, but it was enough. It was enough to tell your partner that you were inexperienced, vulnerable, fresh meat.

The stranger chuckled. "Well, you're doing a great job. I really mean that." His voice was laced with more care than you'd expect to find a place like this, "And I'd like to do more, if you're willing, that is. I'd hate to not return the favor."

More? More than just sucking? More sounded like exactly what you needed right now. It also sounded like the dumbest thing you could possibly ask for. What was the plan for when he found out you didn't have a cock? You didn't have one, but maybe you didn't need one. Maybe he'd be into it. "Don't stick your dick in crazy" was a bit of street smarts you'd picked up over the past few years, but you'd never heard "Don't let crazy stick its dick in you". That was a good enough excuse.

"I mean, I'd like to. It's just... nerves. Sorry. I'm not really sure how this works."

Another laugh from the stranger, gentle, warm, and a little condescending. Fair enough, you were pretty clueless. "Oh, you sound cute. Tell you what. I'll come out and knock on your door. You let me in, and I'll show you how this works. We're gonna have some fun together, alright?"

As stupid as it probably was, it did sound fun. You stood up, pulled your pants back up, and took a deep breath, trying to sound as confident as possible. "Okay... okay, sure..." Nailed it.

Though you couldn't see it, you could hear your partner's smile in his next line. "Good boy."

Oh.

Oh fuck.

You barely had time to let that echo in your empty head before you had another sound intercepting it: a knock on the door. You fiddled with the lock, and cracked the door a tiny bit, taking your first glimpse at your partner. He was way hotter than you were expecting. Tall, dark, and handsome was not an exaggeration by any means. His more defining characteristics were a big bushy mustache and a single sliver streak in the front of his hair. Plus, his floral shirt was unbuttoned just a little more than it probably should've been, just enough to make you salivate.

He could see you through the opening you had made, and he leaned in to get a better look. When his eyes met yours, he smiled. "I was right. You are cute. Still wanna do this, pretty boy?"

Yes. Yes you did. You pushed the door open all the way, letting your partner size you up. His eyes trailed up and down your smaller, curvier form, and he stopped when he got to your spit-covered shirt.

"Oh, sweetheart, look at you! You made a mess of yourself. You were really getting into it, huh? That's adorable." He asked as he breached your enclosure and locked the door behind him. You blushed, and he quickly took note. "Aw, it's okay. Don't be shy, baby." He rested his hands on your hips and fiddled with the bottom of your shirt. "You did a really good job. I'm serious, y'know. Such a good little cocksucker."

Before you knew it was happening, he pulled your shirt off over your head. You panicked, "Wait, wait... I can explain."

Holding your shirt in his hands, your partner backed off to take in the sight of you. He was confused by your hesitation, until he saw your chest. The two thin scars across your pecs caught him by surprise. He squinted at them to get a better look in the low light.

"¿Qué chingado? (What the fuck?)" He stared for a moment until the realization hit. You could see the lightbulb go off in his head when it did. He was interested, more so than before. "Ohhh... Oh, ya veo. (Oh, I see.) You got something I don't, eh?" It wasn't really a question. He knew the answer.

You didn't expect him to know, but you were glad you didn't have to explain. "Y-Yeah..."

He hung your shirt on the hook and grabbed your hips again, pressing his body against yours. He wanted to know more. "You wanna tell me about it or you want me to see it for myself?"

His question went right over your head. All you could think about was how gorgeous he was, and how good his cock felt in your mouth. You spaced out thinking about how good it'd feel somewhere else. Luckily, you snapped out of it once you realized he'd gone quiet. "Sorry, what did you say?"

The stranger chuckled again and leaned down to brush some of your hair away from your ear, ensuring that his words made their mark. "You got an extra hole, don't you, chico?" His other hand snuck between your legs and squeezed your crotch. No bulge, just as he suspected. He snickered. "Is that why you were nervous? Don't be. I like it. Can you show me what I have to work with?" He tilted his head to kiss your neck, and rubbed his hand over your clothed pussy.

You whimpered and held onto his biceps. The stimulation he was giving you was somewhere on the border of "too much" and "no where near enough". Regardless, there were too many layers in the way. You sighed. "Yeah... Yeah, I can... I can do that, just... Just lemme..." Your voice trailed off as you nudged your partner off you and went for your own belt. You backed up against the wall, the most wiggle-room you could get in such a tight space, and dropped your pants and underwear to the floor.

Your partner wolf-whistled at the sight. "Oh, now that's a good boy. You like that?" He reached out to take hold of your neck. "You like showing off for me, huh? You like being a slut?"

"Ah... y-yes..." You whined and squirmed in his grasp. His other hand cupped your bare pussy, slipping some fingers in between your lips and tracing the length of your slit. You were already soaking wet, which only egged him on.

"Aw, how cute! Someone's excited! You do like being a slut! I figured. I mean..." He slid his fingers inside and his thumb stroked your t-dick. Before you could make a sound, he started to choke you. "Why else would you be here, huh?"

He fingered you roughly, wetness splashing against his hand, as he cut off the flow of oxygen to your brain. It allowed him to cloud your mind with desire, to take over your entire being.

He kept interrogating you. "I think I know why you're here. You came here because you needed cock, isn't that right? God didn't give you one, so now you have to go beg strangers for a taste of theirs? Is that it? Are you really that desperate?" He let go of your neck when your face started to change color. "Well, c'mon. Answer me, boy."

You stuttered, but at least you were honest. "Yes! Yes, ah, I need... I need cock... Please... Please, I want your cock, ah..." You stopped begging and your body stiffened. There was a slight problem in your approach. You made it known, "What, uh... What's your name?"

Your partner chortled, a more genuine laugh than his others had been. "Oh, te putito lindo... (Oh, you cute little whore...)" Once he composed himself, he pulled his hand away from your cunt and slid his wet fingers into your mouth. As you sucked him clean, he whispered in your ear again. "You can call me Lalo."

That got another pathetic sound out of you. When he felt that your work was sufficient, he pulled his fingers out. His hand flew to his pants, hastily pulling himself out again. He picked you up by your waist, wrapped your legs around him, and pushed you back into the stall divider. "So, what was that you said? You want what?"

You gripped the back of his shirt and begged once more. "I want your cock... I want your cock, Lalo... Please..."

"How do you want it?"

What? What the hell does that mean? Why was this guy making you solve riddles before fucking you? "W-What do you mean?" you stammered.

Lalo pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes locking with yours. You couldn't look away, let alone run away, and that's just how he liked it. "What I mean is, you want it in that special hole, yeah? You want me to fuck you like that, right? Like the little pussyboy you are?"

It was amazing how someone you had met less than 15 minutes ago could read you like a book. Not only that, but he had read you well enough to write a comprehensive book report about you and your deepest desires. You had never been so hot and bothered. You moaned desperately. "Oh my god, yes! Yes, please y- mmph!"

"Shh... shh... Cállate. Be quiet." Lalo had pressed his hand over your mouth to silence you. His voice was a dark whisper. "You gotta be quiet, okay? You don't want everyone in here to know what we're doing, do you? Or..." While he had you distracted, he used that as an opportunity to slip his cock inside you. "Maybe you do. Whore."

He started to rut his hips into you, fucking you up against the stall. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you mewled and moaned into the palm of his hand. It was good that he had thought to muzzle you, otherwise you'd probably be broadcasting yourself to the whole bar.

"That's it. There we go. I knew you'd like this." He took his hand off your mouth to slap you across the face, the shock and the sting making you squeak like a dog toy, something he found very amusing. "Haha! See? I knew it. Pussyboys like you are all the same. You're all sluts." He replaced his hand with his mouth, forcing his tongue onto yours, aiming to take you for all you were worth. He broke off to continue mocking you, though not before covering your mouth again. "That's okay, though. I like it. I like boys who know what they are. And you, my friend, are the perfect little cocksleeve. You know that, right?”

You couldn’t answer verbally, so instead, you answered physically. You nodded, and your walls contracted around him, spilling liquid pleasure with his every thrust.

Once he felt you leaking, he started laughing. “Oh, nene, ¿qué paso? (Oh, baby, what happened?) It feels too good? You’re just a hot mess, aren’t you?" His breath and his movements got more erratic, and he let out a few noises of his own. "Oh, you're perfect, chiquito. You're perfect for me. I should take you home and keep you for myself. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like being a little sex doll for me? God, I could spend the rest of my life in this tight little hole."

That honestly didn't sound half bad. Actually, it sounded fucking amazing. For now, at least. Maybe the post-nut clarity would change your mind and make you realize that no, you shouldn't indulge a stranger who literally just said he wants to keep you as a sex doll, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It surely seemed better than sucking off randos through a wall. You couldn't believe you hit the jackpot on your first night out.

Lalo couldn't believe that he hit the jackpot, too. He had come across the perfect little plaything: a sweet, naïve little boy with a needy little pussy and an insatiable craving for cock. He didn't even know he'd been looking for you until he found you, but now, there was no chance in hell he was letting you go. He already had you right where he wanted, and he thought that if he gave you what you wanted, you'd give him everything else that he wanted. He stopped for a second to reposition himself. Apparently, the new angle was even better. When he started back up, you were practically screaming into his hand. Whatever words and wails of pleasure were completely incoherent, but Lalo knew what they meant.

"Getting close, huh?" He had asked a rhetorical question, and you nodded to confirm his suspicions. "Good boy. Let it all out."

He clamped down on your mouth and slammed into you with all the energy he had, until you finally reached your peak. You clung onto him tightly, stifled sobbing as you squirted onto his pants. He gave you a moment to breathe, but then started right back up, teasing you all the while.

"Hey! You got me all messy! Dirty boy! Oh, you're lucky you're so cute." Lalo took his hand off your mouth so he could grab your waist, though instead of using it as leverage to fuck you even harder, he pulled out and set you on the floor. You were confused by this until he said, "I gotta get you back, though. Can't let you get away with that."

One hand gripped your hair, holding your limp body upright, and the other took care of his own need. The sight in front of you reminded you of how this encounter began: a dick in your face. Up close, yet a lot more personal. Lalo grunted and growled as he stroked himself, and groaned as he came all over your face. Some had gotten in your hair, some in your mouth, but you didn't care. It made you feel desirable.

When Lalo was done, he braced himself against the side of the stall, panting harder than he had in a while. The second he had enough air to speak, he did. "Carajo, chico. (Damn, kid.) You're the best I've had in a while."

He could tell you were out of it, mouth agape, head lulling from side to side, probably dizzy and discombobulated. But, that only made you seem more precious in his eyes. He smiled, knelt down to your level, grabbed your face, and kissed some of the cum off your lips. His next line was exactly what you wanted to hear.

"You're mine now."

[mofffun]

G-ROSSO Super Sentai stage show guide (7/2023)

Theatre G-Rosso is located within the theme park Tokyo Dome City. The theme park had a long history of Hero Shows running back to the 70s. The theatre was established in 2009 as a permanent indoor stage. There are 4 seasons each year with showings on weekends and holidays. Suidobashi station is a little closer than Korakuen/Kasuga subway. I visited it for the first time in July 2023.

Ticketing

Seats

Post-show activities

Merch

Review

TICKETING

G-rosso ticketing depends on which seasons really. Tickets should be plentiful for the first two seasons, especially S2/August when they show every day. S3 and S4 with the face actors might be harder but the show runs for 3 months too so it should be possible.

ticket types + availibility / show schedule

There are three classes of G-rosso tickets (single adult admission) :

Premium (¥2500): first 3 rows + special gift

General (¥1900): rest of the theatre

Free Seating (¥1500): same-day showings for the last 5 rows at the end of the theatre. cash only, vending machine at the door.

You can of course book online through a proxy (bypassing japanse phone verification) but I think you can save that fee especially if you're staying for more than a week in Japan. For S2, I was able to buy the last Premium ticket for the next day (Saturday), and there were enough general seats available. Can't say for sure the same applies to S3/4 with face actors. As a foreigner, the most convenient way is to buy a ticket is from the convenience store Family Mart. Find any store with the photocopier-looking machine and follow the instructions to choose the show times and pricing, pay with cash at the counter and the staff will print you a paper ticket. same go for photo ops and handshake.

(Free Seating vending machine, photo ops ticket)

CHOOSING A SEAT

The theatre is two stories high and you can see the seating plan here. I was in the third row mid-right. What surprised me was how close to the stage the first rows are, barely an arm's distance. At one point Kuwagata Ohger leaned on the railing of the first row. The actors would also walk up to interact with the audience.

I think if you want to enjoy the whole stage and not aiming at the special gift, you can skip the Premium ticket and get a few rows further back. Another recommended seat is Row L just between the two blocks. That's where Spider Kumonos descends UPSIDE DOWN from the sky right in front of your eyes.

If for some reason you g-rosso on a whim / sneaked it into the schedule, the free entry ticket is available only at the vending machine on-site with cash. It's designated to the last rows but staff aren't strict on you moving if the theatre is not crowded.

(view from middle block)

PHOTO OPS & HANDSHAKE

as you'd've seen in commercials, you can pay extra to take a photo (with red only!) (¥1100) and shake hands (with all six) of the heroes (¥600) after the show. The tickets for those are available prior online and in convenience stores too, but if you ask the staff, they'll let you buy one with cash on an old-fashioned vending machine. Since it's my first time attending G-rosso, I did the whole package with birthday perks (no id checked).

A new backstage tour is available since August. Lottery ticketing required.

(merch haul)

MERCH

The most iconic G-rosso exclusive merch is probably the hero hand light. I didn't really see a lot of kids holding it so I kinda forgot about it in the rush. the other true exclusive is a wooden plaque gashapon machine (¥300). There were booths for name badges for kids and you can get a bromide for ¥440. There was a cart selling DX toys and plushies. The special stuff is some toei online store acrylic stands, the muffler towel, cup and plate. Outside you'd find the food stall with collab items like popcorns and drinks with an original coaster.

(Collab menu with coasters, Exclusive wood plaque)

(kids play area, past hero show posters)

REVIEW

As a kid's show the japanese won't be too difficult but I was so captivated by the action I wasn't really listening to the words. The plot is easy enough to follow though, and the website says an English pamphlet is available for borrowing (but I forgot to ask). It feels so professional compared to park stage shows but so tangible compared to tv. They make good use of the space with an under-stage pit/trampoline and the high ceiling with platforms and wires. my eyes were busy darting when the action was in one corner and then next. childhood wonder!!

leaving the theatre is a row of gashapon machines and a kids' play area with all the DX toys (:( no adults) and when you go up the escalator, on the side of the theatre entrance is a wall of pass hero show posters!

(i barely have any coherent notes about this) the plot is there's a cicada MOTW and he is brainwashed to make the earth's temperature rise and make evil clones of the team. Rita, raised in the land of snow, is bad at heat and went to sit in a corner and covered their head with the mantle. When facing their/Gira's evil clone, they said 'i'll just cut down both of them'. My notes said 'someday Rita is even gonna plead innocence for the bugs'. six of them roll call together with jeramie!! i was watching papillon-sama's fight style the whole time. and there were trampolines and flips and cartwheels and white spider man falling from the sky while the digital background zooms in and out and legit tears when we started cheering for the heroes. it's an experience okay.

(outside the theatre)

[romancomicsnews]

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem amplifies the fun of the franchise - REVIEW

*Slight Spoilers for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Mutant Mayhem*

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles has been a franchise that has consistently been rebooted and I have never minded.

While the 2003 series was my initial Turtles introduction, the 2012 series really made me a fan. It had the right balance for me of brotherly affection, drama, stakes, and weird obscure villains.

While Rise of the TMNT wasn't exactly my taste, I can appreciate the animation, comedy, and going for a different new take. Plus my god is the Rise of TMNT movie good. I'm all for making really cool characters into animes now.

Going into this movie I had extremely high hopes. Not only has this franchise rarely disappointed, but it was produced by Seth Rogen, who has worked on shows like The Boys and Invincible, and directed by Jeff Rowe, who is not getting NEARLY enough credit for this movie. He was a writer on Gravity Falls and the co-director of one of my favorite animated movies: The Mitchells vs The Machines.

And I got to say, this movie does not disappoint.

The animation style is both impressive and at times disgusting in the best possible way. This is the first time I've felt New York feel grubby and grimy. Every shot looks wonderful, and that cannot be understated.

The hardest part of the Turtles is usually the brother dynamics. I feel like if not written or performed correctly, the Turtles can come off as buddies or even acquaintances. But this was not a problem here. The idea of having all four actors in the same room clearly paid off, as the four of them riffing and mocking each other were some of the highlights of the movie.

I do think coming out of this, some of these turtles will be the definitive versions of the characters. While Mikey and Raph have their charms, Micah Abbey as Donnie and Nicolas Cantu as Leo were stands out for me.

The idea of taking Donnie from the tech guy to more of a calculating nerdy weeb was genius. Donnie often is the guy who is most made fun of because he is nerd, and I think pivoting to him being a smart-ass and respected for his brain was a nice touch.

Leonardo as the goody two shoes dork who wants to lead so bad also worked for me. Leonardo can sometimes come off a sorta bully or arrogant for even trying to be the leader. Making him unsure but wanting to be a good leader makes him charming and more likeable.

Also among our heroes are Ayo Edebiri as April O'Neil and Jackie Chan as Master Splinter.

While April does not have as much to do as I would've liked, I think Edebiri is a nice addition and I'd be happy to see more of her. She has good chemistry with the brothers, although it did take me out of the movie to think of the age gap between Edebiri and Cantu.

Jackie Chan's Splinter may be my biggest problem with the film. While he is a passable Splinter and has plenty of laughs, he does not seem as fierce of a warrior as he has seemed in the past, nor as wise. I do not mind a flawed, anxiety ridden Splinter, but he should feel like he can take on the Turtles easily, and I don't think he can.

(Also, Jackie Chan is a bad father in real life and shouldn't disown his estranged daughter for being gay. Read all about it here!)

I'm not going to go to into the details of all the villains in the movie, as there are quite a few, but I really loved the inclusion of the vast TMNT universe, and their own fun takes on them. One of the benefits of having Seth Rogen as a creative is access to all his very talented friends. A highlight for me was Mondo Gecko, voiced by the great Paul Rudd.

The main antagonist of the film being Superfly was a rather interesting choice. While I was sure we were going to have a Jekyll and Hyde situation with Superfly and Stockman going in, the idea that it was his mutant son was a weird but fun choice. Clearly Ice Cube was having a lot of fun playing a villain. He gave me quite a few laughs and felt like a proper first villain for these turtles. I'm glad they didn't just jump into Shredder or Kraang.

While all the characters are fun and interesting, what I really love about this story is the central theme of acceptance. Having them all have the goal of being accepted by society felt natural, important, and very teen drama, which is fresh to the TMNT. They are often outsiders who don't really care about that, just protecting the city. Making that at the heart of the movie made me feel for them in a way I haven't before.

Leaving the movie where it does excites me for more movies and the upcoming show they have planned. I think this version of the turtles can last us a good 5-7 years, and will end up being as iconic as the ones that came before.

Not that there is a super high bar for TMNT films, but this is definitely my favorite. I think kids are going to love, TMNT fans are going to love it, and non TMNT fans are going to be pleasantly surprised.

I highly recommend you go see this movie, I know I am definitely going again soon.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to support me, you can:

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[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!

Find the Word Tag

My words: star, panic, weird, break

(Pulled from Mortal God book 2)

Your words: bitter, palace, stumble, rotten

(I'll tag @the-angriest-author @autism-purgatory @super-writer-gal @trippingpossum @steh-lar-uh-nuhs and anyone else who'd like to join!)

.

In Unity, 'night' earned its title only shakily. No stars could peer past the veil of foundry smoke, the moon only a hazy shadow of its full glory. Instead, streetlamps took the place of these celestial bodies, and as they were new to the world, they performed their duty with overzealous fervor. Artificial lights of every unnatural color reflected off of artificial clouds. Even the looming islands hanging overhead like leaden raindrops shed their own pools of illumination.

It... unnerved Vermir. The ancient woman had worked hard to reacquaint herself with the trappings of the times after five hundred years imprisoned at the bottom of the ocean. For the most part, things were wonderful now. Machines could make books in a fraction of the time it would take someone to copy one, medicine could treat anything from water in the lungs to a broken skull, and that was to say nothing of the leaps and strides taken in the field of magic.

Yet even still. Night should be dark, peaceful---a time for the mind to wander, free from the constraints of the day's duties. There was nothing quiet or peaceful about this place.

.

The third garment put the first two to shame. It was a floor-length skirt with a high waistline, two rows of buttons running down to hip level. The shape was pretty simple, all in all. It was the embroidery that made it something spectacular. A tapestry of pale wolves, dagger-billed cranes, bearded unicorns, and gauzy specters cavorted through a moonlit forest, tracks leaving lacy flowers in their wake. It looked rather more like an art piece than something a person would dare to wear. Mashal imagined it still smelled like lhara and manic panic.

.

So far as he could tell, the guard wasn't throwing the fight in the slightest. Sweat dripped from the man’s face as the Duchon stepped around his kick as casually as closing a door. Before he got his foot back down, they delivered a blistering crescent kick into the man’s other thigh.

The entire crowd winced, Mashal included. He remembered that pain. There was a nerve that ran along the upper leg and it looked like the Duchon had hit it right on the money.

However, they pulled back instead of closing in, allowing the guard to stagger back up. A bloody-knuckled grin crept onto the man’s face, answered by a graceful bow from the Duchon. The two tapped fists, then continued with the match.

"This is weird, right?" Mashal whispered to Cee'es. "I thought the Skysheerian nobility considered violence a base thing."

.

Mashal took a simulated breath and made to continue. "The localization rune, when run through a calido-- calidioorogenic cycle, will flip on its axis, pushing magic away from the Veil instead of pulling from it, creating a thin spot. If"---The man paused briefly to smother a yawn---"the cycle is repeated and the axis is flipped once more---"

Astra tapped her pen on the top of the tome, causing him to glance up. "Mark your spot, take a break."

"Huh?" One of Mashal's eyes flickered as he blinked, lending very much to his tired posture. "But you said this chapter is important?"

"It can wait. We've been here for four damn hours now," the witch said. She then pointed to the looming stacks and the valley-tunnels between them. "Go stretch your legs. I was fixin' to review my notes anyways, 'fore we get any further. I gotta brush up on all a' my Veil axes."

Mashal cocked his head. "How many are there?"

"Thirty-three," Astra answered without batting an eye.

"Well, in that case, I will gladly be taking my break." The man stood with a stretch, bronze plates all clinking softly together. "I'll be back in five."

[snapthistiger]

exercise 06122024

bike ride to the gym

8 x 10 incline sit ups

3 x 10 pec machine

3 x 10 lat raise

3 x 10 low row

30 minutes on the step mill

3 x 10 cable row

3 x 10 cable press

bike ride to my Mom's, the library, Kroger, then home

the gym workers received Hershey kisses and York mints

no work today. felt good to sleep to 530a instead of waking at 330a

my Mom was sleeping so didn't visit with her. i did talk to my sister for awhile. yesterday evening, i drafted my Mom's obituary so we don't have to worry about all the details when the time comes. my sisters will review and provide edits

picked up 2 more books for my Mom from the library. biography of Paul Newman and an Amish mystery

mowed behind the fence after lunch

top left = e bike outside Kroger

middle and bottom = my Mom's flowers

hope you have a peaceful afternoon and evening..

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed: Asteroid City

[The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

Asteroid City isn’t just the quintessential Wes Anderson film; it’s his mission statement. Hell, considering the flimsiness of the fourth wall—several monologues are delivered straight into the camera lens, giving the impression that they are addressed to the audience—it might even qualify as a manifesto.

In keeping with the director’s previous work, every shot of the eponymous desert town is meticulously composed, as perfect as a postcard—not necessarily symmetrical, but definitely immaculately balanced: the cabins at the local motor inn, the tables in the picnic area, and the stools at the counter of the cramped diner are all assembled in neat, orderly rows. This clean, harmonious visual style stands in stark contrast to the setting’s true nature; the frame can barely contain the chaos and absurdity careening through it: a high-speed police chase whizzes past on the single blacktop road more regularly than the solitary bus, mushroom clouds rise like gargantuan trees above the distant nuclear testing site, and an otherwise ordinary vending machine dispenses deeds for parcels of land the size of tennis courts.

The populace is likewise defined by disharmony, disorder, and imperfection. Critics often describe Anderson’s characters as “quirky,” but here, at least, they defy such reductive, dismissive labels. The protagonist (or the most prominent member of the expansive ensemble, to phrase it more accurately), Jason Schwartzman’s Augie Steenbeck, is deliciously complex beneath his surface-level eccentricities (blank stare, scruffy beard, humorously large pipe); while his profession as a war photographer allows him to impose some semblance of structure upon the inherent senselessness of the world, his interpersonal relationships suffer due to his inability to verbally express himself. Whenever he tries to inform his children that their mother succumbed to cancer weeks ago, for example, his mouth refuses to cooperate. “The timing is never right,” he defensively stammers when his father-in-law (an appropriately stern Tom Hanks) berates him for his hesitation; the images that his shutter captures may be permanently frozen, but beyond their borders, the hours tick by inexorably, leaving him in the dust.

Similarly, actress Midge Campbell’s (Scarlett Johansson, flexing her comedic muscles) career provides a safe environment in which to confront the abuse that she’s endured offscreen, thus empowering her to take control of her trauma. In an effort to encourage Augie to venture outside of his shell, she enlists his aid as a rehearsal partner; in the process of performing the supporting roles in her melodramas, the emotionally-repressed man gradually learns to properly articulate his grief, enabling him to finally mourn the loss of his wife.

The movie’s postmodern framing device further reinforces and enriches this recurring theme. The central action of the plot is presented as a televised production of a theatrical play, complete with Bryan Cranston as a host akin to Rod Serling; in scenes set behind-the-scenes—in cluttered, monochrome backstage areas—the cast grapples with the dense, cryptic, inscrutable material, struggling to rationalize its ambiguities and loose threads. Why does an alien steal a meteorite from a remote tourist attraction, only to unceremoniously return it days later? What exactly is the allegedly “metaphorical” extraterrestrial supposed to symbolize? And why does Augie intentionally burn his hand on a stove? Unfortunately, the solutions to these riddles remain infuriatingly elusive; like Nietzsche’s God, the author has long since passed on, taking any “objective” interpretation of the story to his grave.

This overarching search for meaning permeates every level of the metanarrative. After all, human beings—from Episcopalians to atheists, from schoolteachers to singing cowboys, from scientists to artists—naturally want to find some purpose in the vast, random, indifferent cosmos that they inhabit. But sometimes, concrete answers to life’s mysteries simply do not exist. Rather than becoming paralyzed with insecurity over the gaps in our knowledge, Anderson argues, we must embrace a degree of uncertainty in order to make progress. Curiosity, in other words, is a feature of our culture, not a bug.

Indeed, in philosophy, spirituality, and Asteroid City, the ultimate destination is rarely as significant as the journey.