#tiny broadway god

[nonbinary-arsonists]

read through the entirety of @bunnys-beetlejuice-blog's BJ Deetz AU last night. stayed up until 3am. Obslorsed. Will be drawing more.

[astroboots]

Omg please continue with the Miguel fang prompt!!! It’s too cruel to stop there!!!!!

HIDE AND SEEK

Summary: Miguel and you plays hide and seek.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Content: Hunter predator kink (I think that's what we're calling it?) anyway explicit. Miguel is a bit rough.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

It's all too easy to get lost in the crowd in a city as crowded as New York. You slip in among a throng of tourist standing around like a flock of pecking hens, their faces dipped down at their phones, huddled over google maps as they try to figure out how to get to Broadway as if it's not within goddamn walking distance, right down the street.

In a nervous habit, you fiddle with the watch on your wrist. Your eyes flick over the bright light that tells you it's 11:28pm.

Which means, there's still 32 minutes left.

God this is the slowest hour you've ever lived through in your life.

You squeeze yourself in the back, behind a woman with a large hat and larger sunglasses, even though it's evening and the sky is near black. The only things left illuminating the sky now is glaring shop signs, aggressive LED lights, and the mega-spectacular ads display that is brighter than the goddamn sun.

Peering over the madness of the crowd, you try to spot the familiar sight of his all too recognizable build looming over everyone else.

But there's nothing.

He's not here. You let out a long held in breath, your chest sagging with relief. Of course he wouldn't be here.

Times Square has over 300,000 visitors passing through every day. 300,000 sweaty, exhausted individuals drenched in perfume and deodorant that would make it impossible to pick up your scent. Thousands of people speaking all at once, over the angry noise of honking traffic that would make it impossible, even for him, to pick up the sound of your distinct footfall.

No, He won't be able to catch you here. That's why you came here after all.

You glance down at your watch again. 11:31.

Shit! How has only three minutes gone by?

Shaking your head, you look up at the sea of people.

You'd better get moving. Even in a crowd, if you stay still for too long, it won't be safe.

Walking briskly down the wide street, it's a struggle to squeeze through the ever moving crowd as the glaring lights change from makeup ads to theater marquees. You're peering over your shoulder with every three steps you take, constantly expecting the familiar sight of his messy curls to peek out a foot above the crowd.

He's so damn tall there's no fucking way you'll miss him if he's found you. You'll get plenty of advance warning, you reassure yourself as you continue to move forward.

Your eyes settle over your watch again.

11:46. Fuck you sideways.

You know you shouldn't keep checking it every two seconds like this, because all it serves to do, is to ratchet up your blood pressure so high you're going to need to start taking medication for it.

How is time moving so slow. You shake your head in exasperation, and for a fraction of a second you swear you see it.

A flash of unmissable dark navy glowing with red.

You freeze. Your back feels like ice, cold damp sweat breaking out along your spine. You snap your eyes back but there's nothing there now. Nothing but an anonymous crowd.

What the-- How could he have just disappeared into thin air?

He's 6 feet and fucking 9 inches. Taller than your refrigerator back in your tiny studio apartment. The top of his head beats out your fucking Christmas tree. If he was here, he'd be impossible to miss. You don't fucking miss a giraffe when you visit the Brooklyn Zoo, so why are you having such a fucking hard time spotting him? How the fuck does he move so inconspicuously?

Was it just your imagination?

You glance at your watch: 11:46. Gotta be kidding. Is time standing still now? Has it just decided to stop moving altogether?

You force yourself to step forward and ignore how your knees seems to cave at your own weight as you sink into the pavement with every step.

In the corner of your eyes you spot him. Clearly this time. Real. Not a figment of your imagination. He's only a few steps away from you. The familiar pair of glowing scarlet eyes fixed on you.

Oh fuck, shit. Shit! Your heart races at the sight, beating so hard you think you feel it in your lungs. You're already sprinting in the opposite direction without thought and the only thing guiding you is the pure impulse to escape.

You push through the crowd, sprinting forward without taking in your surroundings. All you care about is to get away as your gaze is fixed on your watch.

11:52. Eight more minutes. You just need to stay away for eight more minutes.

You keep running as the crowd seems to thin, and the colorful lights and noise of traffic fades away. Then you finally stop, catching your breath to look up at your surroundings.

It's empty and void of people. A large empty van is blocking the narrow alley from view of the main street, and there's an unlocked gate that you've come through.

On the other side from where you've come from there's a tall bricked up wall as far as the eye can see-- a dead end.

How the fuck did you manage to find the only deserted dead end alleyway in central New York?

Shit you need to get out of here, you won't be able to run away if you're trapped here.

You glance one more time at your watch.

11:57. Three minutes. 180 seconds. It's all you need and then you'll win.

You turn your heel back towards the gate. But it's too late.

The dim light of the alley is eaten up by a large and imposing shadow.

He's already here.

The familiar navy blue and the menacing red sprawled across his chest fills your vision, blocking your only path to escape. All you see is red eyes glowing so bright it lights up the dark alley with it.

"Time's up," he says, mouth curled into a mocking smile so wide that you can see his fangs peek out from his upper lip.

That's when you realize you are well and fully trapped like the helpless prey you are in his spider's web. You're right where he wants you.

God you're so damn stupid. You were safe in the crowd. But one sight of him had you spooked and running into the only alley to be found in all of New York.

Shit.

He'd planned this all along. The bastard's must've been the one who opened the gate. And you had ran in here like some scared witless rabbit straight into his trap.

You could try to escape him. Some vain, silly leftover pride in you, is adamant that you still have at least two whole minutes to get away.

He steps closer, and you can't help but instinctively step back as he does.

You know it's a game. Know that he would never hurt you, but that hungry and predatory red glow in his eyes has fear spiking along your spine all the same.

"Miguel, wai--"

The rest of your futile plea dies in your throat. His broad palm covers your mouth and jaw, and even your startled squeak is muffled into silence as he presses you up against the wall.

You whimper into his hand, but he doesn't relent. Doesn't ease up, even as he leans down and hushes you. Despite the soothing tone he uses with you, it isn't comforting at all. It drips with condescension as he press his lips to your bare throat.

"I'm gonna take my prize now, nena," he murmurs into your skin and because your brain is broken, with no sense for survival instincts, every part of you tingles at the amused threat in his voice.

"You promised remembered?" He reminds you.

And of course you do. It's hard not to, when the bastard's got you pinned against a brick wall in an abandoned alley like something out of a horror movie.

Fuck. He's taken this way too seriously. You don't know why you had suggested the world's dumbest hide and seek with this competitive and unreasonable man.

He presses you into the hard brick behind you, like there's anywhere left for you to go. And you can feel it. The proof of his excitement pressing up against your stomach, pinning you against the wall. He's hard.

Any residual resentment at your loss gives way for excitement when you feel his cock twitch and jerk against you.

The edge of his teeth rests on your bare shoulder as goosebumps breaks across your skin, and you feel dizzy. Anticipation swirls in your stomach with an intoxicating warmth.

You can't fucking breathe.

His hand snakes up your dress, wedging your panties to the side, until you can hear the fabric rip and tear. Shit, you're going to kill him for that.

The thick head of his cock presses in and stretches you open, as he forces his way inside of you, in time with his sharp and whetted fangs sinking into your flesh. Electricity pings across your nerves, sweet and euphoric and you feel drunk with it.

He's filling you, inch by hard and relentless inch, until you swear you can feel him lodged in your stomach. You feel so fucking full. Full of Miguel until nothing else fits anymore, but he doesn't stop.

His cock nudges along an impossibly deep spot inside you that has you losing orientation and makes the space around you spin, and he's still not fully inside.

White blinding pleasure streaks through your every nerve and crowds your vision, as he sinks you down further on him, until your vision goes blank. He's so fucking big. Always is no matter how many times you take him like this.

Pleasure pool with heat in your stomach as he holds you in place, impaled on the thickness of him.

Your limbs go boneless, unable to hold up your own weight, and for a moment you're not sure if that's the venom released to your bloodstream or just the effect he has on you. You only remain upright because he's propping you up with his body.

His mouth skims along your throat, dragging his teeth up until his fangs tease along the shell of your ear, with the threat of sharpness. The edge of them barely graze your skin, completely unlike the feral impatience he'd sunk into you with, as he whispers into your ear.

"Found you, Nena."

Dedication and credits: This piece is dedicated to @foxilayde for her completely deranged (and amazing) post that had me SALIVATING. Thank you for putting this brainworm into my head. I am shooketh.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

More half baked ideas idk what to do with

1. Danny is singing along to the instrumental version of a broadway musical song (I was thinking "the other side" from the greatest show on earth) in an old abandoned-ish theater he found while exploring the Infinite Realms.

He gets startled by a guy in a red domino mask when he starts singing the second person in the duet.

Danny: *surprised Pikachu face*

Danny: *Happily singing the duet with this guy with a red bat symbol on his chest. It probably means nothing. Probably*

Meanwhile RR watches from the shadows, recording everything for blackmail

2. Dick has been having a reoccurring nightmare about a boy who looks just like him wearing a white and black hazmat outfit.

The boy always screams in terror or pain as he falls into a Lazarus green void, hand outstretched as if he were reaching out for Dick to save him as he falls into oblivion. Then the large metal doors to an octagonal doorway slam shut, blocking Dicks view.

Dick wakes up in a cold sweat

3. Danny, as a civilian in Gotham, trusts his local vigilantes way too much. It may be a byproduct of him being a former vigilante himself, but if he has a problem he thinks a bat would like to know about, he tells them and is generally happy to vibe with them

Aka he leads Robin to injured/stuck animals that Danny himself -as a totally normal non-meta teen who totally has parents and a safe place to live- can't free/cure.

Hes an informant to Red Hood

Hes practically seducing Red Robin with new inventions

The Batgirls check up on him every so often for the tea and to raid his snacks

Oracle saw him using his powers and has decided to mentor him on the down low. They exchange favors often.

Ect.

Oh, and he's doing this all while "disguised" with an over-sized hoodie whose hood no one can see into the darkness of.

4. The League of Assassins think Danny is some type of god/miracle child and will do anything to get thier hands on him.

Danny thinks this would be fine if not for the stabby nature of the cult chasing him around. He doesn't want to be tortured for his sass. No thank you.

5. Danny finds a clone baby in a tube, and upon realizing it was braindead and had no soul he overshadowed the tiny body. He didn't really have much of a choice. He had taken massive damage in a fight against a monster in the IR and didn't really wanna find out how far his "die and resurrect self at will" powers went.

He did not expect to sleep for years and years in that tiny tube in that abandoned lab.

Aka one of Tims friends find a younger version of Tim sunning himself on a beach drinking lemonade

[ssa-neeks-prentiss]

Whumptober : Day One!

Notes: This can be read as gn reader but they are confused with a female and have hair long enough to cover their face.

Tw: Blood, mentions of last torture, character death.

Summary : What happens when you get kidnapped and they arrive a little too late?

Word Count : 1.2k

Your ears perked up at the sound of crunching above you. It sounded different to the steps of the.. You didn't even know what to call him. You didn't know who he was. But he acted as if you knew him. And he kept referring to you as Leila. That wasn't your name. But as the crunching steps disappeared, new ones followed. Steps you recognized. The steps of him. You would know them anywhere. It was always a habit, learning the sound of the steps to distinguish who it was behind you.

You shook those thoughts away as the thumps of his feet got louder and louder, coming up close behind. You were tired. So tired. Your skin and clothes and anything that belonged to you was stained with blood and dirt. And you could still feel the slaps.

He was in front of you now. You shut your eyes in hopes that it would delay just a little longer for someone to find you. Anyone. You prayed to a God you didn't believe in. Prayed to multiple. You didn't know which one to pray to. You just prayed that you would make it alive.

But those prayers were dashed against sharp rocks as you hear the click of the safety on a gun being take off. This was it. No use for praying. You were gonna die. Well, you knew you would at some point. But you didn't want it to be now. When the team was so close to finding you. But you were struggling to remember now. Struggling to remember who's footsteps had crunched against the snow earlier. All you could think of was him. The crunch of his steps. The feel of his hand against your cheek as the stinging pain begun. The sound of his laughter if you let out a cry of pain. The smell of his cheap cologne as he stepped closer to you. It was taking over your mind and it didn't leave room for anything else.

You racked your brain for something nice. Something that would make dying a tiny bit easier. Your mind flashed to the team. Of course it would. They were the family you never had. The one you would spend nights in your room wishing for. You had it and now it was all going to leave.

You thought of Hotch first, he was like a father to you now. His concerns for you when you were ill one time. That one time you saw him reading a trashy romance novel, you almost smiled at that, you had teased him ruthlessly for it, never thinking he was the type of person to read that kind of thing. You thought to the one time where Hotch invited the team to watch Romeo and Juliet on Broadway and you had a great time.

You then thought to Rossi. The little pastries you found on your desk after a hard case. The time where you were watching a movie with the team and after you saw Rossi crying and the excuse he made of allergies.

You wondered how they would feel when you passed. Would they cry? You hoped that they wouldn't. You knew they would. Tears stung your eyes as you imagined their reactions and the sound of Penny's sobs. Change of topic. Back to the team.

JJ. She was like a mother. When you were sick she would always check up on you via phone. And when you were rejected another time, she was the one who comforted you, the one who made you realize you were worth so much more than your ex crush gave you.

And Emily, oh sweet Emily. She would take it the hardest. You were like sisters. And she would lose you. She had already lost enough of her family. You thought back to when you had thought you lost her. That was when you realized how important she was. It was like a part of you was missing. But that part came back. You hoped that Emily would feel like that, her missing piece would be back. But you wouldn't be back. That piece of her would be gone forever.

You were going off topic. What was the guy doing? He was just stood there. No, think back to the team. He will kill you soon. Wait.. Will he make them watch? No. He wasn't that cruel.. Right..? Then it clicked. There was always one survivor. One witness. He wanted them to feel what it was like to lose someone. Your heart clenched. The team would watch you die. You hoped it would be in their arms. No that's selfish. But you were going to die so what's the point of being selfless? There was nothing and no one to be selfless for.

Off topic again, Penny. She would take it second hardest. No. Think of the good things. You thought to the shirt you had on. Penny had made it for you one time after a particularly bad case, at least you would die with something that reminded you of her. You hoped you would be able wear something she made to your funeral.

Spence. The boy you had watched grow and get better. The one who you helped after he got addicted. He was like a younger brother to you. You would listen to his rants. You wished that maybe you would be able to die listen to the soft lull of his voice. You think to the time you found out he was afraid of birds. He said something like 'they descended from dinosaurs! They're dangerous things!'

You think to Derek. The teasing between you, the play fights you had when you were both bored. You thought to the time when you found he coached a basketball team and you had mentioned you used to play, you were then dragged to each game he coached to be an assistant, not that you minded.

You finally thought to the team as a whole. You think of the late nights out. The monopoly games that made a screaming match. You remember the sounds of them screaming your name after you.. Wait. As you were hauled to your feet you realized. That wasn't a memory. You opened you eyes and in from of you was the team, minus Penny.

They all looked horrified and shocked. You offered them a small smile but as you felt the cool metal of the gun against your blood soaked skin your smile dropped. Right. You were going to die. You kept your gaze on the team. You didn't hear the unsub. You only saw the team. Nothing else mattered and as you felt the bullet pierce your skin you kept your eyes open. You heard their screams. You dropped as the guy ran. No one cared at that moment as some agents you didn't recognize rushed past them.

Nothing else mattered as you were scooped into Hotch's arms. You looked up and smiled. Nothing else mattered as you heard Spencer's voice as he ranted. It was a nervous mechanism. And it was something he needed right now. There was only one thing you needed to do before you let go. Oh how you wished they had come quicker. But you knew that wasn't gonna happen. It was a race against the clock.

"I.. I love you guys."

You uttered it out as a goodbye and their cries didn't register as you let go of the thread of life. They were a fast team. The fastest team you knew. They always won against every race against the clock. But, this race, the only race that mattered to them. They were too slow. They had lost this race against the clock.

[rose-of-oz]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐌*𝐀*𝐒*𝐇 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐒

❝ When Sophia had first signed up to be part of the USO, one of the many pretty girls singing and dancing on tiny stages to give the brave boys fighting in Korea some much-needed cheering up, she couldn't have imagined wanting to do anything else. After all, she'd been trying to get in as a chorus girl on Broadway for years, intent on pursuing her childhood dreams of dancing and singing under the blinding lights of the Great White Way, but as a poor kid from Washington Heights who was more often than not deemed too “exotic” for your average Broadway ensemble, she figured working in the USO would be the closest she could get. Besides, volunteering for her own kind of service overseas was also a perfect excuse to escape the recent breaking-off of her engagement and the whispers of her social circle surrounding her and her ex-fiancé, so she really couldn’t have imagined a better opportunity to have presented itself at that particular time.

But when, only a few months into Sophia’s USO tenure, the Army sends out a call for more nurses for their M*A*S*H units, she decides to do some good that doesn't involve singing the same old tired standards, putting the hours she'd spent watching her tía work as a nurse to good use by volunteering to become one herself. Granted, she doesn’t have one lick of actual practical experience beyond occasionally helping her tía with a home birth in tiny Washington Heights apartments, but Sophia likes to think that the same good memory that has allowed her to remember hundreds of song lyrics and dance steps has also allowed her to retain proper first aid techniques and which surgical instruments are the correct ones to hand to the surgeons when they ask for them. And either way, the Army is low on nurses and surprisingly willing to overlook a lack of an actual degree to get them - and so, after only a few months as a USO girl, newly minted Lieutenant Sophia Ramos breezes into the M*A*S*H encampment serving as her new home armed with her trademark collection of brightly-coloured dresses, red lipstick, and charming wit combined with a sharp tongue, feeling prepared to take on any challenge that this new profession might throw her way.

But nothing in the world could prepare her for what she experiences when she's assigned to the 4077th - two chaotic doctors who love nothing more than getting a rise out of their stuck-up bunkmate (whom Sophia befriends almost immediately), a bumbling commanding officer who usually leaves his psychic clerk to run the camp, a corpsman whose taste in dresses is almost as good as hers... and a sweet chaplain with cute glasses and a sweet smile, who brightens up Sophia's world in ways she'd never imagined could be done. Father Mulcahy is gentle, compassionate, and the perfect dose of calm to Sophia’s usual bright tornado, and despite the way Sophia has settled into the 4077th since arriving, becoming liked by everyone (except for one Frank Burns, but really, who cared what he thought) and even striking up an unlikely friendship with the camp’s strict-minded head nurse, all it ever takes is one late-night conversation or shy smile from the chaplain to unsettle her in a way she isn’t entirely sure she doesn’t like.

The Father - or Francis, as he eventually insists Sophia call him - is Sophia’s perfect man in so many ways: understanding, attentive, and unlike so many men she has met, sharing a disinterest in the kind of intimacy Sophia has never been willing to give. Yet due to their respective positions and the vows he made years ago, actually confessing how she feels to him feels all but impossible, especially when Sophia is convinced that the God she has also been raised to believe in will ever forgive her for the love she feels for a man He has already claimed.

Little does she know, Francis feels the exact same way about her, and has been having similar worries about what the Holy Father might think about these feelings. But eventually, attractions are confessed and the two enter into a secret, deeply loving and caring relationship… and eventually, they both have to wonder whether the two of them meeting and falling in love with each other, two stars passing in orbit at exactly the right time, was not part of God’s divine plan after all. ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic,

@artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand,

@ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @oneirataxia-girl,

@arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @gabbysdawsons, @dancingsunflowers-ocs,

@eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @manyfandomocs, @ocappreciationtag.

[babyhatesreality]

The Sinner and the Saint Ch 1

Pairing: Mafia!Boss Bucky x f! reader

A/N- Deep breath. Promised myself I would jump and publish this today, so here we go. This is a completely different story than any of the others I’ve written. Please read all warnings before proceeding- this is not the universe you’re used to me writing in if you’re familiar with my other stories. THIS IS NSFW, REPEAT, THIS IS NSFW. DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH ANY OF THE WARNINGS FOR THE CHAPTER OR THE STORY. It’s my first time publishing anything in this world, let’s see what happens. There is a lot of world-building in this chapter, just hang with me, okay? And for the record- I fully support anyone who chooses to use their body in whatever industry they choose. You do you, babe, and I love you for it.  

Warnings for this chapter: f! reader, reader is an exotic dancer, some slight angst, swearing, fake names. 

Story Warnings: Mafia Boss Bucky and all that comes with that, and a lot of smut, slow burn relationship. Reader has a pet name that she will primarily be referred to as through the story, but there will be a moment of Y/N. 

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. I DO NOT GIVE MY PERMISSION TO HAVE MY WORK COPIED, PRINTED OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. MINORS DNI- 18+ONLY. Likes, comments, and reblogs deeply appreciated from age appropriate readers. 

Chapter 1

Flash ‘em that sweet, seductive smile....and done. Music fades- thank god. 

The crowd went nuts. You turned like you were going to exit, stopping to slip your thumb along the side seam of the tiny black lace thong you were wearing- just about all you were left wearing at this point- and a downpour of dollar bills fluttered onto the stage as the roaring of the crowd grew. It technically wasn’t against the rules to make them THINK you were going to take the thong off- just as long as you didn’t actually do it- and it always got you more tips. C’est la vie. You fluttered your fingers over your shoulder as Rhodey announced your stage name again over the mic, and you made your exit to uproarious applause. 

You managed to suppress your eye roll until you were back behind the shimmery silver mylar curtain. Sprite the stage hand darted out to gather your clothes and tips as the lights dimmed over the runway you had just vacated. You snatched the robe you had left on the hook back there and quickly covered up. It had been just your luck to draw the short straw tonight and have to perform to “Cherry Pie” by Warrant. You used to like that song, but ever since you had to take this job, you’d come to hate it. All the women who worked here hated the song. They heard it every freaking shift. But there was something about it that just made their clients go feral. So every night, someone had to dance to it, and tonight had been your unlucky night. 

You stretched your neck from side to side, trying to keep the frustration inwards and off your face. You’d been told many times by the other girls that you wore your heart on your sleeve. You’d always been a highly emotional person, acting on your feelings first. So you worked doubly hard to keep up the smile while you were onstage. The girls who smiled and played nice always made more money. And god knows you needed that money. 

You had moved to New York City with the same big dreams every kid in the midwest had. You were going to be a professional dancer. Maybe in the ballet, maybe a Rockette, maybe on Broadway. You didn’t care where- you just wanted to dance. You’d thrown your life into training since the age of four, taking any and every class you possibly could. You’d placed top of your rank in competitions, gotten leads in your school recitals and musicals, even gotten a scholarship- nothing could stop you. Except the harsh realities of trying to be a working performer in New York. 

That’s how you ended up at Voulez Vous two weeks ago. They were advertising for specialty “dancers�� and you had been desperate, not having had a gig in at least a month with rent being very much due. Voulez Vous was the most upscale strip club in New York City. Much to your surprise, you’d loved it instantly. This place was fantastic. Clean, professional, positive work environment. A lot nicer than some of the other dancing gigs you’d gotten. Taking off your clothes wasn’t that big of a deal to you, especially after some of your...past extracurricular activities. And you still got to dance here- after a fashion. 

They treated each other wonderfully. Most of the other girls were friendly and sweet. Natasha Romanoff was the best boss you’d ever had; kind, loyal, but firm and no nonsense when she needed to be. The pay was incredible, not to mention the tips. It was the only way you were surviving in New York while still trying to go on as many auditions as possible. The late nights of your job made it a challenge, but you were determined. So you put on a carefully crafted and seductive smile every night, pretended you were onstage at Radio City Music Hall, and danced your heart out while dropping your clothes on the stage. So your dreams had to change a little; you could do this. 

But it didn’t change the fact that dancing to ‘Cherry Pie’ still SUCKED. 

Just as you angrily tied the sash of your robe, Gamora came up to you, a sympathetic smile on her face. She held out a bottle of water to you. “Thanks,” you said, trying to force the fake smile back on your face. Gamora and you had become close over the past two weeks- she was sarcastic and sweet, with a fierceness that you could only envy. 

She huffed a kind laugh at your attempt to hide your feelings about getting saddled with ‘Cherry Pie’. “Sorry that you ended up stuck with that song tonight, but girl, you KILLED it,” she said, taking off her own robe and hanging it on the hook yours had just recently occupied. “You have got to teach me that leg thing you do. They are losing their damn minds every time you pull that out.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s becoming my signature move,” you said, a little proudly, trying to keep up the smile. “I wasn’t sure where to throw it in- did it work on that high note part?”

“God, that was perfect timing. You nailed it, baby. And now, just think! You’re out of the drawing pool on that song for at least a week!”

That cheered you up instantly, causing you to actually smile. She grinned back. “Atta girl,” she said, gently slugging you on the shoulder. “Listen, rumor has it there’s a new round of dancer auditions over at Zemo Studios in a couple days. You should totally go.” Before you could say anything, Rhodey announced Gamora’s number. “Thank me later,” she hissed with a grin before bursting her way through the silver mylar curtain to loud cheers. 

You shook your head, but couldn’t help smiling. Gamora was always looking out for you, even on those days where you weren’t so great at looking after yourself. Sprite came hustling offstage, narrowly avoiding Gamora and handing you a wad of crumpled bills. “Here you go, Miss Angel,” she said with her typical mischievous grin. She looked like she was about twelve and straight out of Neverland, but Natasha had assured you she was overage and just incredibly genetically lucky. You smiled, peeled off a ten, and handed it to her. Sprite’s grin grew- you always tipped her well.

“Thank you Sprite,” you said quietly, then made your way back to the dressing rooms. You were so focused on turning the bills the correct way and putting them in monetary order that you nearly ran right into your boss. 

“Whoa,” Natasha said, grabbing you by the shoulders so you didn’t collide. You looked up quickly, nervous. “Where’s the fire, babe?”

“Oh shit, sorry Ms. Romanoff,” you gasped, both from the surprise and the immediate guilt welling up in you. You should have been watching where you were going, idiot, you hissed at yourself. You nearly plowed your boss over, moron. What if she thought you were intentionally being rude or disrespectful or-

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” Natasha laughed, trying to calm the panic on your face. She knew that you were still nervous after only being here two weeks. She rubbed your arms kindly. “And please- call me Natasha, okay? I promise it’s alright.”

“Right. Sorry. Again.”

“No problem. C’mere, I have something I need to tell you,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder to the dressing rooms. You tried not to be nervous- the boss wanting to talk to you mid shift never seemed like a good thing, but Natasha was cool as a cucumber, so it couldn’t be anything that bad, right? You followed the petite red head into the small dressing area. As soon as the door was closed, she immediately turned to face you. 

“Okay, I know you’re still new here, and I don’t want to freak you out, but...you’ve got a booking in the VIP Champagne Room. Right now.” 

Your heart stopped. Oh god. The Champagne Room. You knew the club had a whole section of them but you had never been booked in one yet. Your nerves went into overdrive and turned your veins to ice. 

Natasha took the wad of money out of your hand and sat you down in front of the dressing room mirror. She began delicately fixing your hair and your makeup from all the hair tossing and sweating you’d done during your number. 

“Trust me, honey, there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s not nearly as bad as what you’re thinking, okay? I know the guy, you’re going to be safe with him. Just...try to make a good impression, alright? He’s a frequent flyer around here. He does this with all the new girls. He likes to introduce himself, and talk to you a bit. He just wants to get to know you and make sure you’re doing okay. That’s it.”

“Uh huh,” you said faintly, staring at yourself in the mirror, trying to will the nerves away as she pulled you out of your seat, and draped a sheer lace wrap dress around your body. “Just...get to know me?” you asked quietly, hoping she’d understand what you were trying to imply. She stopped and faced you with a gentle smile, knowing you needed reassurance right now.

“The rules for the Champagne Room are always in place, no matter who it is,” Natasha said firmly, taking your ice cold hands in her warm ones. You vaguely noticed that her hands were a bit calloused- surprising on such a quiet, gentle person- but your brain was much more occupied with what she was saying. “They keep all their junk in their pants at all times. They are not allowed to touch without your consent. You can take anything- ANYTHING- you want to off, but only if YOU want to. They can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to do more while you’re in there, that’s your choice, and yours alone. But you are not required to. Consent is still alive and well in my clubs, and always will be, thank you very much,” she added with a little grumble at the end before letting you go and draping a fake diamond necklace around your neck.

You knew it was true. At least 3 people got tossed out every night for touching or trying to touch the performers. No one touched Natasha’s girls without their say-so. “And,” she added, as she touched up your lip gloss. “Fury will be right outside the door. If you need him, you just say the code word and he’s in the room with you immediately. But you won’t need him. Like I said, I know this guy. He wants to talk and that’s it. I swear. So just be your good girl self, and you’ll walk out of that room in one hour with more money than God.”

Before you were even close to ready, you found yourself outside the pale pink door marked ‘VIP’, Natasha whispering encouraging things in your ear that you barely heard. This was the most luxurious of the rooms in the place, so whoever it was definitely did have money, like Natasha said. You tried to remember that this was apparently a ‘thing’ for whoever this was, and tried to banish the self-hating thoughts about why anyone would pay so much money just to spend time with you. The fake diamond crusted Fuck-Me Heels you were wearing gave you confidence; fake confidence, but hell, you’d take anything you could get right now. You took a deep breath, reached out, and turned the gold door knob. You entered the room. 

And your heart began to beat in a way it never had before. 

Sitting on the expensive blue velvet chaise lounge, nursing a tumbler of bourbon, was the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your life. The deep, ocean blue eyes caught yours immediately. Neither one of you moved as you locked gazes. His dark brown hair was cut short, nearly buzzed on the sides, with just enough on top for you someone to run your their fingers through. There was no hint of stubble on his jaw (that could clearly cut glass- it was that defined), like he’d just shaved. He was wearing an off-white suit with a black shirt, patterned with gold. His left ankle was propped up on his right knee, patiently waiting. His black leather-gloved fingers were gracefully curled around his glass, and his eyes stayed locked on yours as he slowly brought it to his sculpted and expressive mouth. After a long sip, he set the glass down on a crystal coaster sitting on the table next to him. And he gave you a seductive smile.

“Good evening, Miss Angel,” he said. The timbre of his voice made you want to both melt and snap to attention, all at the same time. There was something so...intriguing about his tone. Dominant. The notes of his voice that said this wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with, but...something more too. Something deeper. Something that made you want to melt to your knees and  bow at his feet, but prove yourself too. It was the strangest dichotomy. And you couldn’t figure it out right now- you were too busy gaping at him. “And how are you tonight?”

Suddenly remembering that you were at work and here to do a job, you recovered your own seductive smile immediately, although it was nowhere as near panty-dropping as his was. “I’m wonderful, thank you,” you purred demurely, causing the corner of his mouth to pull up. Good. He wasn’t entirely immune to your charms either. “And how are you, Mr....?”

The gorgeous man brought a gloved finger up to his lips for a moment, rubbing them as if he was thinking. He looked over at his tumbler of bourbon. “Nick,” he finally said. 

“Just Nick?” you asked shyly, determined to stay on the right foot with this guy, no matter how mind-numbingly hot he was. He grinned as he stood up, and looked back at you. 

“Ol’ Nick, if you want the full name.”

“Ol’ Nick?” you repeated in disbelief. There was no way this man was what anyone could consider “old”. 

“Yup. Ol’ Nick. Like the devil. Figured since you were “Angel”, I’d give you a name that matched yours. A...worthy adversary, if you will,” he said, one eyebrow bobbing up in a challenging way. 

A challenge. Hm. That sparked something in you. 

“How kind of you,” you said, letting your eyes twinkle at his mischievously. “I love a worthy adversary.” The corners of his gorgeous lips pulled up even more, seeing that you were playing along. “So what can I do for you, Nick?”

To Be Continued....

Chapter 2

[musette22]

Oh Minnie they gotta do the play NOW! Realistically obviously not, but my lord I've been thinking about them showing up together with exactly how they both look NOW, Seb with the slightly curly hair and that green suit and Mr Professor Chris. Anything, any play, do Cinderella for all I care (although no, Anthony'd be pissed 😂)

Oh god, I KNOW 😩 They would genuinely explode Broadway though (and my tiny mind too), if they simultaneously tread the boards while looking the way they're looking right now.... But hey, it'd be worth it. Come on guyssss, do it for us 😩

LOLLL I forgot about Mackie and Cinderella, thanks for reminding me 😂 They really missed out on the opportunity to cast Anthony Mackie in the live action remake huh, smh

Credit and Redbubble link for this edit here

[cyndrastic]

can’t believe that my love of adult cartoons, inappropriate jokes, Alex Brightman, and g/t couples have got me hooked on Helluva Boss again. Like, I watched it up until probably “LooLoo Land” and then lost interest, but then i see these motherfuckers??

minor cw for spoilers for the rest of this, i don’t think i say anything spoiler-y but there’s gifs from the new episode

OH MY GOD THEYRE SO CUTE

and yes I’m counting this as g/t, Asmodeus is basically a mini giant you can argue with a wall. Ik in this ⬆️ gif they look similar in size but Fizzorolli (can’t spell it, not looking it up) literally sleeps on his chest like a cat?? and rides around on his shoulders at home??? peak g/t content right there folks. (if you don’t know: g/t stands for giant/tiny and it’s a term used for media where characters that interact are different sizes.)

love me a relationship where one guy can swing the other around like a ragdoll

also massive fan of the g/t tropes “chaotic gremlin tiny and their giant who just want them to calm down” and “giant who knows the tiny can handle themselves but can’t help but get really aggressive when the tiny is threatened” and guess what this ship has-

and the song where Asmodeus is introduced?? Oh my god oh my god. I looked up the VA immediately and it shocks me to know he hasn’t had the lead role in more things, cause his voice is angelic. I very rarely get chills when listening to things, but his very first line left me utterly speechless. He’s so good. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone’s singing voice as much in my life. It says a lot when you’re singing with a seasoned broadway professional and he’s (as much as I love the Beetlejuice voice) just not as enthralling.

Also just look at how much Asmodeus is worried when Fizz gets fucking decked look at his little baby carry-

i can’t with them they’re everything i’ve ever needed in a tv show relationship i will never get over this

[doobledabbadoo]

Since you like Mr. Grumpy, Mr. Happy, Mr. Bump, and Mr. Tickle, I’ll share you my headcanons on these four.

Mr. Grumpy 💙🐟

He attends to ballroom dancing class with Mr. Fussy as Mr. Fussy was the one to introduce him to this.

Even though he loves fishing and aquariums, he CAN’T eat crabs or lobsters as he’s allergic to them!

He secretly likes to bake macadamia cookies.

He’s a cat person.

He secretly needs reading glasses with tiny words.

Mr. Happy 💛☀️

He suffers from depression in his teen years and is slowly recovering.

His favourite genre of movies is action movies.

He has participated broadways in his younger years as he loves performing.

Mr. Happy’s biggest fear is the dark.

His biggest pet peeve is been asked the same question.

Mr. Bump 💙🚑

He love rats since he was a kid and his parents allow him to have pet rats.

His favourite hobby is sewing, despite he keeps pricking his finger by accident.

He and Miss Whoops both love to play hide b seek since they were kids.

He at one point dated Miss Calamity, but he’s now with Mr. Tickle.

Even though he gets hurt a lot, his immune system is VERY strong.

Mr. Tickle 🧡🪶

He’s allergic to bee and wasp stings.

His favourite colour is blue because he believes it’s his lucky colour.

Miss Hug is his twin sister and they both got adopted by two dads.

He gets very sick easily on roller coasters.

He actually finds tarantulas adorable.

OH MY GOD I LOVE THESE <333 brb incorporating some of this into my belief system /lh /hj

[anyon-else]

— broadway star w/ gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen, choso, toji fushiguro, nanami kento – main masterlist

— warnings: nsft (minors do not interact!), smut, oral, implied fem!reader for nanami

GOJO SATORU | the cheerleader but in an obnoxious way

during your performances, gojo is the loudest. person. there. it would be sweet if it wasn't so disruptive to the people around him. he doesn't care though. you're his star. how can anyone expect him to stay quiet and not give you the praise you deserve?

if you're in a comedy, you can hear him laughing over the crowd from your place on the stage. if it's a drama, any applause is nearly drowned out by his cheering.

he can't help it. he loves seeing you perform, and he's always just so proud of you. the way he expresses that is being the loudest motherfucker in the audience. he also has some of your lines memorized from when he runs them with you, and he'll mouth along with you and your costars without even realizing it.

when you do run lines, he's such a menace about it. if you get all of them right, he insists that you have to take a break for your reward. said reward is different every time—sometimes he'll massage your shoulders, sometimes he'll insist that you need to wind down with your head in his lap while you watch a shitty sitcom, but most times he ends up buried between your thighs (it's as much of a reward for him as it is for you).

he'll also come to your shows with a big bouquet of flowers that can barely fit with him in his tiny auditorium seat. he shoves them beneath the chair, and when you finally receive them, half of them are crumbled and missing most of their petals. you still love them though, and even the ruined ones are displayed proudly in a vase at home.

SUKUNA RYOMEN | a nuisance

when you first tell him what you do for a living, he is so annoying about it. he claims that it's a useless profession, and it doesn't add anything to your life other than idle entertainment. it would be hurtful if it had been said by anyone else, but he truly just didn't understand the appeal of live entertainment. or any modern entertainment, for that matter.

(that's not to say that he wouldn't light up anyone who said the same thing. only he's allowed to bully you about your job).

after a few months of dating, you finally convince him to come to one of your shows. lets say its a musical drama (think les mis, wicked, etc.) and he gets to hear you sing. My God. he'll never ever admit it, but he couldn't take his eyes off of you the entire show. he had no idea that you were so talented (mostly because he doesn't understand how prestigious broadway really is).

when you meet him after the show, you're almost giddy when he tells you that you did a good job (though it was half-hearted). he can see your excitement and tries to backtrack before you can accuse him of getting soft, claiming that he still thinks it's was a waste, but you saw him applauding at your curtain call with a small, fond smile on his face. you'd almost forgotten to stand to the side when you costar was called out, too fixated on the rare show of happiness on his face.

"thank you for coming," you whisper that night, head on his chest and hand tracing the tattoos on his shoulder, "i know you didn't want to."

he mutters something, and you lift your head and rest your chin on his chest, "what was that?"

"when's your next show?" he repeats, unable to meet your eyes as a light pink dusts his cheeks.

CHOSO | the cheerleader but in a sweet way

brings an appropriately sized bouquet and keeps it from getting crushed while he watchs the show.

literally has a lovesick smile on his face the entire time you're on stage, and he does get a little bit loud when it comes time for curtain call. he's just so proud of you, he can't help it.

will not stop telling you how talented you are and how beautiful you looked on stage. he'll ramble about specific parts of your performance, both to show you that he was paying close attention and because he's a closet theater nerd.

he sometimes comes to rehearsals, and you'll come sit with him when you're not in scenes and just lean your head on his shoulder while you both watch your costars perform. you'll lift your head and whisper little fun facts about the show in his ear while you watch. he has a hard time focusing completely on the information with you so close to him, but he does his very best.

will ask for a kiss before you go back on stage. does not care that it's embarrassing and he looks whipped out of his mind. it's because he is whipped out of his mind.

TOJI FUSHIGURO | old man

literally whips out his ancient flip phone the second you get on stage and starts recording even though you explicitly told him that it wasn't allowed.

nothing will stop him. he'll play dumb if someone tries to rat him out. he claims that he barely knows how to text on this "old piece of junk," much less use the camera.

he loves going back and watching the grainy videos on his itty bitty screen, especially when he's away for work and has to miss a show. even though you're approximately one centimeter long on his screen and it's nothing like the real thing, it always brings a smile to his face.

he also loves practicing lines with you. like gojo, he will get very distracted, but he just ends up turning it into some porn scene, changing the lines into something straight out of a shitty erotic novella.

"something just comes over me sometimes...i'm sorry, madame."

"i can think of a way you can make it up to me."

he's so cringe. you don't try to stop him when he manhandles you to the bed though.

NANAMI KENTO | the respectful one (kind of)

he also brings you flowers, but he makes sure not to be too noisy as he applauds you and your costars at the end of the show. he doesn't want to disturb the people around him, and he doesn't want to embarrass you.

however, he is so proud of you, and he makes sure you know it. he's also very clingy after your shows, constantly grabbing your hand and whispering that you did amazing in your ear until you get home (i feel like he's not very into pda, so this is as good as it gets).

his favorite part of your broadway career is the characters you play. sometimes you try to stay in character for parts of the day while you're at home as an exercise, and his guilty pleasure is you roleplaying certain characters in the bedroom LMAO.

he was so embarrassed to bring it up the first time, but you were playing roxie in chicago and he was obsessed. he couldn't help but ask that you stay in character while you were on your knees in front of him.

you got to bring home the dress that you wear for the song "roxie" and he literally cannot keep his hands off of you. he asked if you would wear it while he fucked you (which is lowkey the reason you brought it home). you could not walk the next morning.

[laundrybiscuits]

I've recently been tagged in a few WIP/"last thing you've written" type games, and…to be completely candid, I haven't been writing any kind of fic lately because I've become a little bit obsessed with analyzing the Broadway revival of Merrily We Roll Along.

Not for any particular purpose, I just saw it at the Hudson a little while back and have a lot of feelings about it! In my tiny scraps of spare time, I've been working on an essay about Merrily and inevitability that will probably end up rotting in my google docs*, because that's how I approach writing as a hobby.

There's just so much there, holy shit. I'm focusing particularly on "Franklin Shepard, Inc." because Radcliffe's Charley brings a frenetic, desperate vulnerability to the performance that reads so, so differently from earlier productions. Throughout the show, I was consistently blown away by the heavy lifting Radcliffe, Mendez, and Groff do in shifting the core tension from "art vs commerce" (fine but basic, and difficult to keep modern) to "how people prioritize different types of relationships in their lives."

In an effort to make this slightly less wildly off-topic for this blog: this has gotten me thinking about the way that platonic relationships are treated in narratives, particularly but not exclusively in fandom.

"Found family" is and has always been a popular trope, but I do think its current incarnation trades a lot on the underlying fantasy of relationship permanence. When we recategorize friendships as familial relationships, we're making a claim—whether or not it's justified—about the indelibility of those relationships.

That's not inherently bad (or, god forbid, problematic). I think it's very very natural, especially for those who don't necessarily have a lot of experience with the way adult friendships change over time. Why wouldn't you want something as precious and unique and amazing as a good friendship to stay with you forever?

Certain people can feel like pillars of your world, and it's fucking terrifying to think about that being yanked out from under you—or even worse, to think about your lives slowly shifting like geologic plates until suddenly you realize it's been weeks, then months, then years since you last really talked.

CHARLEY: We're not that kind of close any more, the way we used to be. And a friendship's like a garden. You have to water it and tend it and care about it. And you know what? I want it back.

It's a peculiar, particular kind of grief when it happens, because even though it's a fairly common human experience, it doesn't get socially acknowledged in the same way as e.g. a romantic breakup.

So yeah, it makes a lot of sense that found family is a popular trope in all kinds of media, not just fandom.

However...at this point, I've developed a knee-jerk wariness to the phrase "found family," because I've found it often correlates with a really flat, simplistic depiction of human relationships. In extreme cases, it simply recontextualizes a relationship within the socially acknowledged/acceptable framework of a stereotypical family unit.

This does a disservice to familial and nonfamilial relationships alike. Every family is different, so why do so many found families in media look the same?

(I was monologuing about this to my very patient girlfriend, and she pointed out that this also sets up a success/failure binary condition in relationships, where permanence is the arbiter of success in both romantic and nonromantic contexts. She is of course both beautiful and correct!)

I have friends with whom I can sometimes share a glance and know exactly what they're thinking. I even have a running joke with one friend about the sheer number of times we've said the same thing in unison over the last 15 years. I still need to be intentional about building those relationships, extending empathy when we differ, and carving out time to reconnect. Truly intimate long-term relationships of any kind involve disagreements, conflicting priorities, and negotiating and renegotiating boundaries.

Being "basically the same person" or "sharing a braincell" actually sounds super fucking lonely to me, personally, and it handily elides the difficult, essential process of keeping people in your life.

FRANK: Old friends let you go your own way. CHARLEY: Help you find your own way. MARY: Let you off when you're wrong. F: If you're wrong. C: When you're wrong. M: Right or wrong, the point is, old friends shouldn't care if you're wrong. F: Should, but not for too long. C: What's too long?

That's a more complicated and much more mature narrative to tell than "friendship will save the day!" Because it's not that common and there's not a deep bank of references to draw from, it takes a lot of effort and skill to depict well, and I don't blame creators for not wanting to let it suck up all the air in the room. However, I think it's important to acknowledge that platonic relationships can also be flanderised and flattened.

In the context of fandom, which has always traded heavily in Romance genre conventions, I would really like to see more thoughtful explorations of complicated nonromantic relationships. I'm not even talking about genfic here! I've actually been thinking about Stobin specifically because that relationship (rightly & understandably) tends to show up in any Steve-centric fic, including the vast ocean of Steddie fics, so it makes the issue slightly more visible than I've seen in other fandoms.

I'm not saying I want to see them fight, or not be friends, or not love each other fiercely and near-obsessively in the way that lonely teenagers can. I'm just saying I want them to be distinct individuals who view the world in very different ways, and choose each other anyway. They already have a complicated past; I know from personal experience that it's possible as a lesbian to be best friends with a guy who once made a little speech about how into you he was, but that little layer of history never quite goes away.

I don't want frictionless relationships in my life. I want people who will challenge me and whom I can challenge, in the context of love and trust. I want people in my life whom I have to work to understand, because my life is richer when I do. And sometimes, I want narratives that will reflect the grief of friendships that are no longer part of my life, despite the best efforts of everyone involved.

In Merrily, Charley sings, "Friendship's something you don't really lose—" but Radcliffe's thready, pleading delivery makes it all too clear: Charley already knows he's lying. The audience just needs to catch up.

*Other essays in that particular graveyard: understanding the cast of Peanuts through the lens of anomie, humor and subversive linguistic nationalism in 00s Singaporean TV, how to fix Miss Saigon. WHY am I this way.

[ashleywool]

ramblings on the intersection of science and faith

My MRI report came in yesterday.

I'm not gonna get too deep into the medical details until I've had a chance to discuss it in-depth with the professionals (which unfortunately probably won't be until Monday at the earliest), but I do have some things I need to say about it.

First: I'm okay. My life is not in danger. Making these discoveries now has undoubtedly saved me years of struggle that may well have gone on to endanger my life. Instead, I get to address the source of many ongoing issues and most likely cure them all. Don't get me wrong, it's a pretty big deal, but not a big scary deal.

Second: yes, I will need surgery. This has not been officially confirmed and its safety signed off on by a doctor, but from reading everything I can get my eyeballs on, I don't see any reason under the sun why surgery would not be the logical and urgent (but not like, emergency urgent) next step.

Again, I'm not gonna go too deep into the details until I understand it better and we have a game plan in place. But I have to talk a little bit about the feelings that are bubbling up around all of this.

My condition, and the particular way it has manifested, is exceedingly rare. I mentioned one of the tests I took to a doctor who had to be older than my parents, and he said, "I have not heard those words in that order since medical school." Of course, I know that just because something is rarely reported doesn't necessarily mean its existence is rare. But in my case, it seems like it's both.

I'm a Broadway actress with no medical background and I somehow figured out what was going on in my body even though it was ridiculously unlikely to be true. And now the doctors have no choice but to acknowledge these discoveries.

I would not have discovered any of these things if it hadn't been for the show closing when it did, my ovarian demon babies causing trouble when they did, having that surgery when I did, and having a chance conversation with a friend who just happened to be marrying a friend I've known since high school (and wouldn't have known if it hadn't been for our one shared chorus class)...any tiny alterations to that timeline could have led to a completely new timeline.

I miss our show every minute of every day. My heart misses it. My bank account misses it. But also, if the show was still running, I'd be physically struggling even more, and I would not have had the time and freedom to pursue the solutions. If the show was still running, and I was still pushing myself to continue with it, it might have caused irreparable (or at least excruciatingly-slow-to-repair) damage.

The sheer statistical likelihood of everything that's happened, everything happening, everything that is in my life right now, is staggeringly low. Practically impossible.

And so, once again I find myself saying, I can't not believe in God. I can't not believe that my life and my purpose were by design and by a Designer.

I could dig deep into arguments about the finer points of theology all day. I could happily lose myself in Bible study--not just the literal words, but the history and cultural context for all of it. I could "academic" my Christianity to death the same way I "academic" everything else in my life to death. By that logic, some would argue, I shouldn't even be a Christian. "Walk by faith and not by sight," and what have you.

But I believe--and this tends to ruffle feathers of Christians and atheists alike--that one must walk by faith only after sight is entirely exhausted. My faith is rooted in the question of what happens when the science stops sciencing. My faith is rooted in the question of, why would humans be driven by a sense of purpose and an impulse to know the answers, unless the answers were meant to be known to us? Even if the answers change nothing, even if our sated curiosity has no practical value, we delight in it.

I think walking by sight often and inevitably leads to faith. Digging deep into science and logic brings us closer to God, not farther away.

Discovering all the things I just discovered about my brain and my body has strengthened my commitment to all the things I feel called to do. And rectifying the situation will enable me to live out those callings with more energy and effectiveness than I've ever had.

I can't conceive of a reality in which that wasn't done on purpose.

Anyway. I'm working on a list of things I'm going to do once I'm on the other side of this, and I'm planting the seeds for them right now. Maybe I'll share it later. Maybe I won't. I guess you'll just have to wait and see.

[thesquirrelqueer]

BMC Archival Footage Notes

This is gonna be a long post so I’m gonna put it under the cut, like it says these are notes from me watching the Be More Chill Broadway archival footage at the New York Public Library, it’s mostly small things I noticed that I hadn’t before or things specific to this performance of the show or just random thoughts I had while watching it 

Basics

The footage is from August 8, 2019

I watched it on a CRT tv

There were multiple camera angles

It was high quality

There were credits in the beginning

Jason Tam was not listed with the main cast in the credits he was listed after the swings for some reason? There were no swings on so idk why it was like that

Act 1

I thought it had been cut but “girls! boys!” still exists

Mr. Reyes is in the theatre when Jeremy walks in before ILPR

Rich chases Jenna and tries to pull her hair when they enter after ILPR

Mr. Reyes: We are going to take a 5 minute break so that I can eat a hot pocket!      Jake, pointing: sick!

Jake to Rich as he leaves rehearsal: Yeah, see ya dude (it’s very quiet dialogue that I’d just never noticed)

Christine leans on the podium to try to look cool while she’s talking to Jake

Jake gives Christine a peace sign when he walks out at the end of that scene

Rich: he was so lonely SHHHHH the poor guy

Rich gets in Jeremy’s personal space and whispers in his ear on “speaks to you directly” and Jeremy does not like it

Michael is reading a magazine when the bed slides in for TPG

MITB plays under some of the dialogue in TPG

Scary Stockboy makes a lot of weird ass noises 

The SQUIP shoebox has a tiny bit of fog coming out of it

The SQUIP pill itself actually glows 

Jeremy kept drinking his Mountain Dew after Michael left as if he was hoping the SQUIP would activate if he drank more

Jake hides behind Christine when Jeremy’s SQUIP is activating 

The SQUIP voice was different than I’d ever heard it? It was weirdly deeper than usual and it threw me off

SQUIP: everything about you is so ✨tewwabowle✨

Jeremy has like a panic attack after the SQUIP says “everything about you makes me wanna die” (”oh god oh no oh no oh god”)

“this” when the SQUIP sang “she had a shirt just like this” was a lower than normal note

There’s a moon and sunrise projection in the background when Jeremy goes to sleep

Jake and Rich have a similar handshake to Michael and Jeremy

Jeremy does finger guns to Brooke on their “let’s sync up” 

Chloe kicked Christine’s backpack too far and it went off stage (not into the audience but the backstage area)

Jenna was very obviously filming Rich doing something weird with his belly button when the curtain opened 

Jeremy yeeted his script off stage when the SQUIP started controlling him for his Puck monologue 

Jenna got out her phone before Jeremy started his monologue because she was gonna film him failing and then he didn’t fail

Jenna fans Jeremy with her script after his monologue 

Me watching Christine give birth to the bowling ball: this woman is an Oscar nominee 

the SQUIP inspects the bowling ball baby when Jeremy is holding it

Jeremy sniffs his armpits when the SQUIP tells him “I’ve been activating your pheromones”

Christine had one had in her sweater sleeve during most of GTIKBI

They didn't show Jenna on the bleachers

Jake does a lot of small riffs during Upgrade

Usually spoken parts were sung very softly during LGW

After “optic nerve blocking on” Michael can been seen for a brief moment in the screens around the stage

Act 2

They play the SQUIP tango at the end of intermission

Mini dance battle dialogue I could make out Rich: Come on Jake!      Brooke: What?!

Jake: The keg’s right over there! Yo Chloe!

Chloe wipes her tears with her skirt during DYWH

Jake tells Brooke to hold him back when they find Chloe and Jeremy

Jenna bounces her leg when telling Michael to hurry up

Brooke walks by in the the background at the beginning of the GTIKBI (reprise) scene, sees Jeremy, then storms off

Whose bra is on the lamp in this scene???

Jeremy just screamed for his “say what's on your mind”

Christine looked happy and excited when Jeremy asked her out, like she was gonna say yes but then decided it wasn’t the right time

When the SQUIP comes back, a piece of the curtain got statically stuck to his costume

Jenna happy stims when Chloe says “Spit it out! Spit it out!”

Cheerleading choreography 

Mr. Heere: do you love him? *record scratch sound*

Chloe to Jake: you had it coming!       Jake, sadly: okay :(

Chloe doesn’t even say “come on” when she calls Brooke, she just slaps her leg and gesture for Brooke to go with her

The prop beaker flew too far and ended up backstage, Jeremy had to actually go off stage to retrieve it

there are 3 audible snaps after the line “when you improve the lives of all your peers”

Jenna looked so sad when she said “I would do anything to feel like I belong”

Scrolling text of green code on the screens around the stage near the end of TPC

“everything about you is going to be wonderful” instrumental plays under Jeremy trying to convince Christine to take a SQUIP

Mr. Reyes: I suppose you’ll be wanting your costume back *starts to cry as he runs off stage*

The SQUIP being lowered onto the stage during The Play seemed oddly fast

Michael mimics Jeremy’s weird position when he says “it’s a gesture, gesture matter!”

Michael does a little dance on “I just know it’s never gonna happen”

Jake just wanders around in the background holding the empty bottle of Mountain Dew Red

Christine: You’re the guy I am so kinda into      Jeremy: I am?

LGW plays as Jeremy breaks free from the SQUIP and gives Christine the Mountain Dew Red 

Michael’s jaw drops when he hears Rich say “totally bi now”

Rich does the 👉👌 hand gesture after “tell her that she excites you sexually”

Jake dabs and Jeremy dabs back at him

[innytoes]

25 and Willex (bonus points if the child/dog/friend is Reggie?) (If you're still taking prompts for this 😁)

Every year for Halloween, Willie went back to the group home where he'd stayed to volunteer to take the kids trick or treating. Not only was it a way of giving back - of assuaging the guilt he sometimes felt, wondering why Caleb had picked a chaotic, messy fourteen year old over any of the sweeter, smaller kids - but it was amazing fun too.

He got to dress up, run around with a bunch of kids, and also maybe keep a list of houses to come back and egg later, if they were weird or stuck up about 'those group home kids begging for candy'.

Besides, being 18 at the Hollywood Ghost Club on Halloween sucked. It wasn't even like he could use his fake ID, the bartenders all knew him. And Caleb was super strict about stuff like that during business hours. So he helped out at the group home, and then went to the staff party at the Club the day after, when they were closed and nobody cared too much about whether or not a certain son of the owner swiped a Bloodtini. Or skated off the railing. Or tried to dunk the green grilled cheeses in the chocolate fountain.

And okay, so maybe this year his costume was a little obscure, but he'd procrastinated getting anything, so he ended up raiding Caleb's old costumes from his 'I did other stuff on Broadway too you know' closet, and some of his own, and a trip to the dollar store, and he was pretty pleased with himself.

Except clearly someone recognised him.

"OH MY GOD, ZEKE ZILLIONS SPACE COWBOY?" someone across the street screamed, before dragging someone by the arm over to them.

"See, I told you he was a real character," Willie told the four nine year olds he was chaperoning. They rolled their eyes at him.

"Oh my god oh my god," A boy about his age said. He was dressed up as a zombie, though for some reason he was also carrying a wok. His friend was also a zombie, but had on a long pink wig, giant fake pearls, and a pink dress. He had great legs. "Zeke Zillions Space Cowboy was my absolute favourite cartoon as a kid. Can I please get a picture? Pretty please?"

"Sure can, Pard'ner," he said in his best Zeke Zillions impression, and the guy straight up went 'EEEEeee' like he was an early twothousands internet fangirl. After his friend took a bunch of pictures, he thanked the kids for their patience.

"By the way, number 42 is handing out full-sized candy bars," ZomBarbie said.

Throughout the night, every time they crossed paths (ZomBarbie and the Wokking Dead were accompanied by a witch, Kurt Cobain, and a tiny ghost buster), they'd wave at each other, as his fan shouted out a 'HI ZEKE!'. Eventually they ended up at the same house, waiting for the kids to get back.

"Sorry about Reggie," ZomBarbie said. "He's um, kind of a fanboy for that show. Like, writes-fanfiction-and-goes-to-obscure-fan-meet-ups kind of fan. I think you just made his year."

"That's okay, I'm glad someone remembers good old Zeke," Willie said. He was definitely going sleuthing on AO3 later. He wondered what the ships were. "The show meant a lot to me as a kid, what with the obvious queer-coding." Hopefully, a cute boy in a dress would understand that.

"Yeah," ZomBarbie said. "My parents didn't allow me to watch it. Too worried I'd turn out 'fruity'." He motioned to himself. "Clearly they succeeded," he said sarcastically.

"You do really pull off that dress, though," Willie said, waggling his eyebrows. His zombie friend went adorably flustered, from what he could tell under the zombie makeup.

Before he could flirt any more, the kids came back, complaining about how this house was handing out toothbrushes and toothpaste. "Can you put them on the list, Willie?" one of them, the girl dressed as Coraline, asked.

"Handing out toothbrushes is kind of dorky, but not an egg-able offense," Willie told her. "We reserve that for bigots and assholes."

"You have a list?" ZomBarbie asked, as they walked to the next house. His kids and the little Ghost Buster were comparing notes, it seemed, pointing at different houses.

"Yeah, lot of people in this fancy-pants neighbourhood don't take kindly to poor foster kids showing up," Willie said darkly.

"Carlos said something about that white house with the American Flag outside complaining about him going back to his own neighbourhood," the witch said darkly. "We live two blocks from here."

Willie glared, and made a note of it. "You wanna join me?" he asked, mostly to ZomBarbie, but quickly looking away at the rest of the group.

"My tía would kill me," the witch said, before smiling slyly. "But I'm sure Alex wouldn't mind going."

ZomBarbie spluttered a little, but managed to squeak out a little 'okay!'

Jackpot.

Behind him, he heard the guy's friend sigh happily. "And once again, Zeke Zillions saves the day, dispenses justice to evil doers, and captures hearts."

[sohemotional]

My Name Is No (You Need To Let It Go) - Brittana Fanfiction

Summary: Santana closed her eyes, pushing out her lips and tilting her head in anticipation of a kiss.

Then she sang to her, punctuating her sentences with small taps against Santana’s chest.

“My name is no. My sign is no. My number is no. You need to let it go. You need to let it go.”

Or

Santana is an egotistical celebrity who instantly falls head over heels in love with Brittany and tries anything to get her attention but the coy blonde keeps playing hard to get. Can she make Brittany fall for her too? Brittana RomCom AU

Rating: M

Read More On AO3

It all started one night at the club. 

Mercedes kept telling her in her disapproving, long-suffering way that she needed to actually get serious about women after she had caught the millionth scantily clad blonde damsel doing the walk of shame out of Santana’s penthouse apartment with mascara running down her face wearing yesterday’s clothes. 

Santana wasn’t planning on meeting the love of her life that night. She had just had a work week from hell, her label wasn't too impressed with her latest media scandal about that fight she had in the bar the other week - even though she totally won it - and there was talk about dropping her, she was slightly buzzed on tequila and she hadn’t slept with a girl in a month, which was a record for her but it also meant she was going out of her mind from sex deprivation. The Pussy Cat was exactly where she needed to be that Saturday night. 

Santana was hot, famous and rich, so every woman wanted her. At least that’s how she saw it. She had her TV career… okay maybe a stint or two on Bad Girls Club and her singing career… the losers who said her album flopped didn’t know what they were talking about. Clearly, she had made it. Sure, she didn't have some cheesy, super lame Broadway career like Rachel Berry and okay, maybe she was considerably less wealthy but who needed Broadway when she had all this? 

She knew Madison with the great legs from their previous monster truck rally hookup was waving at her flirtatiously from across the room and that platinum blonde, daisy duke-wearing redneck, Lindsey, was giving her the eye from the other side of the club. Santana knew she could get any of them in the backseat of her car but at the moment she was highly distracted.

There she was, dancing right there in the center of the room without a care in the world, as if no one was watching even though she had caught the attention of every man in the room and Santana. As if she wasn’t a divine moon goddess descended from Aphrodite herself. 

Santana gasped out loud, grabbing the front of Mercedes’ shirt and gesturing toward the ethereal nymph goddess. She couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. 

“That’s what I’m talking about! Do you see her?” 

“Who?” 

Mercedes was less than amused with Santana. 

“Her! What a woman!”

She was the hottest woman Santana had ever seen in her thirty something years of life. Santana couldn’t take her eyes off of her long, sexy legs in the tiny, pink mini dress she was wearing as the angelic blonde fairy shimmied and rolled her hips like she was being paid for it.

She heard Mercedes muttering something in the background about how she didn’t sign up to be her wingwoman but she didn’t pay any mind to that. Santana had tunnel vision. 

The Latina gaped at the blonde, dropping the glass she was holding as her eyes raked over the woman’s form. She was completely captivated by this woman who put all other women in the universe to shame. If she was a cartoon character there would be hearts popping out of her eyes and she would be drooling all over. She heard a million cheesy love songs playing in her head. 

For one thing, this blonde vixen was tall and had legs for days. Santana loved tall women. Santana could tell from those legs alone that this woman was a dancer… and God did Santana love dancers. She was drawn to them like a moth to a flame. 

It was difficult to even describe this level of sheer womanly beauty she was basking in. The woman’s legs were just unbelievably sexy, so perfectly toned but thick, just the way Santana liked it. 

Her striking, alabaster skin was so pale that she stood out from everyone else there with their obnoxious fake tans and her light blonde hair fell in soft, beachy waves.

There was nothing Santana loved more than long, pretty, flowing hair. Everything about this enchantress was so striking and feminine that Santana forgot about everything else as she watched her. Hell, she forgot her own name. 

When the bewitching blonde turned around slightly, Santana finally saw her face and let out an audible gasp again. She had these upturned, startlingly blue eyes that Santana could only describe as being feline and they glinted with playfulness. She had never seen eyes shaped like that before and they were just so seductive. 

Her features, right down to her enticing pink lips were so delicate and her body was so svelte but curvy in all the right areas. Her freckled skin looked unbelievably soft. All Santana could think about was getting her out of that tiny slip of a pink dress. 

Santana wasn’t a genius but if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was getting girls. She considered herself a master, actually. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she could make any hot bicurious, bisexual, or experimenting blonde babe within a ten mile radius fall for her. If this girl had any remote interest in other women, Santana would have her in bed within the next ten minutes, she was sure of that. 

She made up her mind that she was going to shoot her shot with this woman. She’d be a fool not to. 

She kept staring in Miss Sexy Blonde’s direction, making no secret of her interest in her and when the girl went to join her friends at a table, Santana made a point of having drinks sent to her, making sure to turn up the charm when she smirked in Sexy Blonde’s direction each time. Girls loved the Lopez smirk. 

She just continued talking to her friends and didn’t even seem to notice Santana at all though, shrugging each time a drink was brought to her. That was no problem. Santana loved a bit of a challenge. At least, she loved it when it came from this girl. 

The Latina waited to make her move, pretending not to be sneaking glances at her constantly. Blondie had to know she was the sexiest woman in the entire place. In the entire world, probably.

She noticed that the woman didn’t seem to have any boyfriend or girlfriend around… not that such things had ever stopped Santana before. 

As the night wore on, she made a point of laughing extra loud with her friends and acted like a lunatic, just to get the girl’s attention.

She ignored the way her friends were giving her strange looks. Again, the nymph-like, elfen goddess didn’t look her way even once. Santana’s smug smile dropped but she had a new plan. 

She eventually swaggered up to her, keeping her back straight, pushing out her chest and throwing her head back. If this was the animal kingdom, Santana would be strutting and displaying her feathers like a peacock to attract her mate but this was the best she had to offer.

If Blondie wanted some attention, she’d give her some. Santana searched her head for the best pick-up lines she could come up with. 

She knew she had game. These had totally worked on all of her hookups. 

“Hi. You’re gorgeous,” Santana came up behind her, making sure to pull out all the stops for this girl. When the girl turned to face her, Santana put on her megawatt, dimpled smile and she was sure her dark brown eyes were extra smouldering. No girl could ever resist the smoulder. “Dayum, Girl. Where’d you learn to dance like that? Who you dancing like that for looking all hot like that?”

The sexy blonde didn’t respond, continuing to twirl around in place with her dreamy expression. 

“What I want to know is, what time them legs open?” Santana drawled, unfazed when she ignored her the first time. She had to at least be impressed with this. 

“Oh, is that supposed to be a pick up line?” The girl quipped, those upturned, foxy eyes filled with mischief as she finally turned them on Santana. Even her voice was so sexy. She had this rich, preppy, untouchable mean girl vibe that was absolutely doing it for Santana as she stared right into her eyes. Santana was stunned speechless. 

Oh I’ve got her attention. 

The dark-haired woman swallowed nervously and clenched her thighs together, suddenly wondering if she maybe bit off more than she could chew.

She was practically throbbing now just from that sassy comeback and the way the girl tossed her blonde waves back as she smirked at Santana confidently and seemed to see right through her with that laser blue gaze. Keep it together, Lopez. 

“So, you know, I’m on top of things. Would you like to be one of them?” Santana waggled her eyebrows, moving closer. “Ooo is it hot in here or is it just you?”

That earned her a snort and an eyeroll. Oh yeah, this was going so well. She was picking up signals from this woman that her intuition had been right. Miss Homecoming Queen was definitely into her. 

“Ooo, I’m in trouble,” Santana made sure to keep her voice low and raspy. Girls liked that. Yeah, she was nervous as hell but she had to act confident. Santana’s eyebrows rose when her Barbie goddess came a little closer and poked her finger into her chest. “Oh, that’s how it is, huh? What’s your name, Pretty Girl?”

Oh fuck yeah. This was really happening! Sexy Blonde was finally invading her personal space. She kept looking at Santana, her eyes trailing over her toned body, with a little impish sideways smirk as if she liked what she was seeing and Santana was suddenly thankful to her lucky stars that she had chosen her sexy black dress that night. She knew she looked hot.  

Oh yeah… she’s definitely checking me out.

Then that shimmery sapphire gaze met hers and it was as if time stopped. Santana tried to maintain her composure because it wasn’t exactly cool to admit you were practically about to come just from a girl looking into your eyes but she was getting so overwhelmed, the room suddenly feeling about one hundred degrees hotter. 

The tall blonde beckoned her to come closer as if there was something she wanted to tell her and Santana couldn’t keep her eyes off her lips. She was so curious about this girl. 

Santana could hardly handle being in the presence of this much pure unadulterated estrogen without short circuiting. 

If this was how she was feeling when the girl was barely touching her, she wondered how she’d feel when she actually got the blonde into her bed. 

She was so sure she was about to get a kiss from the leggy goddess as she leaned in really close and felt her hot breath against her neck. She felt goosebumps rise on her skin, shivering slightly.

There was some perfume the woman was wearing, or maybe it was her natural scent that was so sugary and light, in this intoxicating way. It was driving Santana insane. Santana closed her eyes, pushing out her lips and tilting her head in anticipation of a kiss.

Then she sang to her, punctuating her sentences with small taps against Santana’s chest. 

“My name is no. My sign is no. My number is no. You need to let it go. You need to let it go.” 

There was the sound of girlish giggling and Santana realized she was laughing at her. So it was pretty embarrassing to be left hanging as the blonde didn’t give her anything more and she pulled away. She just left her there hanging like a loser with a duck face and no kisses. 

At first, Santana was so turned on and entranced by that adorable singing voice that she didn’t quite register what she had just said in that sultry voice of hers. She thought she should have been offended but hell, she could hardly even breathe or think straight after that. Even that giggle was the most seductive sound she had ever heard. 

Santana was so confused about how this woman was rejecting her with her words yet giving her “Fuck Me” eyes at the same time and fluttering her long lashes. It all made her head spin. 

Let it go? That only made Santana want her way more. 

So that wasn’t really expected but it was somehow the hottest thing in the world that Miss Sexy Blonde was giving her come hither eyes yet turning her down in such a sassy way. This woman was so sneaky. She knew how hot she was and the effect she was having on Santana. 

There was no way she could be looking at her like that with those eyes and then expect her to not chase her. If the little minx wanted someone to chase her, Santana would be more than happy to.

Long years ago, her first ever girlfriend’s father had chased her out of his pickup truck with a shotgun when he found her hooking up with said daughter in the back of said pickup truck. After that, nothing could scare her. 

“Oh, she’s spicy,” Santana smirked, undeterred and following the girl the entire time as she spun herself further into the room. “Such a little tease. I like that in a woman. You want me to work for it, huh? C’mon, Babe. I know you want this.”

Temperature by Sean Paul began to play and Santana grinned. 

“Oh, this is my song!” She announced excitedly. 

Santana began to dance up beside the girl, wanting to show her that she had some moves too and could more than keep up with her, even if she wasn’t some professional dancer like she was. The girl didn’t seem too impressed with her body rolls, however and she was chuckling as Santana danced aggressively beside her as if she was strung out on cocaine. 

“You’re cocky,” The girl said flatly. “That’s how you dance?” 

Santana could hear the smirk in that cute, sassy, preppy girl voice as she said all that without even looking in her direction. 

“You like that, huh, Babe?” Santana took that as a compliment. So yeah, she got carried away again but in her defence, the sexiest woman in all of existence was dancing literally right beside her. Santana slipped her arms around her waist, whispering into her ear in a smoky voice. “You want all up on this, don’t you? I’ll make you feel so good, Princess. Trust me, I’ll make you scream my name.”

That comment definitely made the girl blush and Santana was proud. She looked adorable with those flushed cheeks. 

“Is that so?” She said coyly, batting her eyelashes. 

“You bet. I think we should get to know each other better. Preferably with way less clothes on.”

“Hmm, oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The sexy mean girl scoffed in that little soft-spoken voice, rolling her pretty eyes as she sniffed. “What else?

“Roses are red, violets are fine. You be a six and I’ll be a nine.” 

She could tell Brittany was trying not to laugh.

“Mm hm. Is that all?”

“Fuck yeah. What else could you want? Girl, I’d do you right here if I could. Your ass is so amazing,” Santana moved closer to her, grinding against her to emphasize her point and heard the blonde gasp. “Just imagine it, you and me tangled up in my silk sheets. Let me take you home, Babe.”

So maybe she was being crude but girls liked that. At least the girls Santana ended up in bed with liked it but Brittany had her jaw dropped, her pale cheeks still flushed and rolled her eyes as Santana shifted closer. 

“Nuh uh. I don’t think so.”

Santana wasn’t sure how the girl managed to do it but in a series of super fast, cat-like maneuvers and agility, she slipped out of her arms and Santana yelped as she fell back on her ass hard after losing balance. This girl was deceptively innocent looking. 

Everyone was staring at her and yeah, it was pretty embarrassing. Mercedes was laughing at her. 

She was also reeling from getting kneed right in the crotch. It was then that she discovered that even for girls, that really hurt. 

“Oops! My bad!” The woman exclaimed, cupping her hand over her mouth, although she didn’t sound remotely apologetic. She was doing that sexy giggle again, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. 

Santana was lost in a daze, her whole world transformed. The more the hot chick rejected her, the sexier she became in Santana’s eyes. Santana had never been so horny. There was just one thought going through her mind. 

Oh she might not know it yet but that’s wifey right there!

“Whoa, wait,” Santana limped up to her when she saw her grab her little purse and leave, struggling to move due to her now aching groin. She had never felt so desperate for a girl in her life. “What’s your name?”

“You need to let it go,” The girl flipped her long hair back with sass but then the corners of her lips curved upward as Santana leaned up against the wall, trying to play it cool. “It’s Brittany.” 

Cute… Even her name is so adorable and perfect for her. 

Then she walked away, swaying her hips.

“That’s the one,” Santana murmured in a dreamy voice as Mercedes shook her head in disbelief and looked to the heavens as if she was praying for help. “I want her, Mercedes.” 

“Girl, you’re insane.” 

Santana was going to make this sexy, Viking goddess of a woman fall for her if it was the last thing she did. 

Read More On AO3

[bumblingest-bee]

god nothing makes me angrier than the fact that when they inevitably bring phantom of the opera back to broadway it'll be scaled down with a tiny orchestra to cut production costs like they've done in london. i miss you majestic theatre. i miss you 27-piece orchestra. i miss you proscenium sculptures. i miss you floating angel statue. i want to rip out and eat cameron mackintosh's heart in the marketplace