Podcasts about Cupid

The Bonfire brings holiday gloom to the Village Underground in NYC before a packed audience. Ian Fidance shows up as the Grinch and sad Christmas stories are told. Bobby's A.I. companion Ani makes a surprise appearance because she followed him to the historic comedy club. Jacob bums out the crowd with depressing facts about the holidays. Paco the videographer reveals a shocking revelation about his father that stuns the room. Bob, Jay, and Ian are dressed in Christmas costumes although the theme is anti-holiday. Merry Christmas Campers and thank you for ten years of pure joy! *To hear the full show to go www.siriusxm.com/bonfire to learn more! FOLLOW THE CREW ON SOCIAL MEDIA: @thebonfiresxm @louisjohnson @christinemevans @bigjayoakerson @robertkellylive @louwitzkee @jjbwolf Subscribe to SiriusXM Podcasts+ to listen to new episodes of The Bonfire ad-free and a whole week early.  Start a free trial now on Apple Podcasts or by visiting siriusxm.com/podcastsplus. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See https://pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Bill reads the poem commonly known as ‘The Night Before Christmas' and offers a holiday message to our listeners. Merry Christmas, happy holidays and let's remember to enjoy all the feelings of love and peace we can find in the world.Watch on The Bill Kelly Podcast channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7-IrbaCXw4A Visit from St. NicholasBy Clement Clarke MooreA Visit from St. Nicholas(2 versions)‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the houseNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;The children were nestled all snug in their beds;While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.Away to the window I flew like a flash,Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,When what to my wondering eyes did appear,But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,With a little old driver so lively and quick,I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;So up to the housetop the coursers they flewWith the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roofThe prancing and pawing of each little hoof.As I drew in my head, and was turning around,Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;He had a broad face and a little round bellyThat shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;A wink of his eye and a twist of his headSoon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,And laying his finger aside of his nose,And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit billkelly.substack.com/subscribe

GET A SYDNEY PLUSH (LAST CHANCE!!!)Audio gathered from various sources at SITE2 on day 1333.MAJOR INSIGHT INTO:Dynamics between ENTITY7 and ENTITY6ENTITY7's propensity for wildlifeMINOR INSIGHT INTO:Complicated affairs between ENTITY7 and his social circleENTITY6's fear of plastic insectsImportant notes:I'm too tired to explain how I was able to rig the outside megaphone and microphones right now, but it's a similar method to the intake for ETITY2's radio.I imagine ENTITY3 will disconnect it come next week.Keep AGENT23 away from this one. It's so soap-opera-like that I imagine she'd have a tonally inappropriate field day, and I'm on my fifth night without sleep.-Disclaimer: Camp Here & There is intended for audiences aged 16+. The story deals with mature themes and graphic horror which may not be suitable for all audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.Performances by Emily Safko, Ty Coker, and Voicebox Vance.With original music composed by Will Wood and produced by Jonathon Maisto.Additional music composed by Kyle Gabler and Another You.Dialogue editing by Emily Safko. Audio engineering by The Leo!Mumbling Crowd sourced from imagefilm.berlinMidwest Clean Guitar sourced from YellowTreeCrashbox effect sourced from MshanenList of people in the crowd: Lacey, Sharpie, Splemonocracy, Riley, Hunter, MK, Shiloh, The Leo, Xan, Cupid, Tundra, Ragtime, Addie, Reese, Rhys, Ren, and CaliWEBSITE⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠PATREON⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠DISCORD

Is there a stalemate in the current state of the date? Legendary matchmaker and "Cupid's Coach" host Julie Ferman joins The Debate Team break down how the dating industry has changed, why we tend to be our own worst enemies, the challenges of fixing up the broken, how people's wants don't align with their needs, and much much more!

Hospitality For Santa A gullible girl finds a Christmas Night Visitor. Based on a post by tomthumper. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. It was the night before Christmas when Betty Boots was awakened from her wet dream of big dripping candy canes; by a thump, and then a clunk from her apartment's living room. Her big blue eyes popped open as she listened to a rustling, then a man's voice; cursing? Excited, Betty slipped out of bed and crept towards the living room, the cool night air raising goose bumps all over her voluptuous body. The red frilly negligee she wore was frightfully thin, but Betty didn't mind the cold. She was convinced she was going to catch Santa Claus! Eight years ago, when she was just eighteen, she had hidden behind the couch as Santa put presents under the Christmas tree at her parent's home. She'd just returned from college, after semester finals. But even when she was an elementary lass, friends had tried to convince her that Santa wasn't real. But Betty was a special girl. She really, really loved Santa. Eight years ago, as Santa slipped the last present under the tree that night, her mother had come out of the bedroom wearing only a pair of white stockings, stiletto heels, and hair ribbon; and gave Santa a very friendly hug. In return, Santa gave Betty's mum a very sexy workout that night. Betty got the gift of a very sexy education. Unfortunately, the next day when young Betty's salesman Dad called from the airport, about to board his rescheduled flight home; Betty had told him all about Santa's exciting visit. Dad had gotten very upset and yelled at Betty's mum. He hung up and they never saw him again. Betty's mum was angry, and threw Betty out of the house for good. From then on Betty had to go back to college, but since the dorms were vacated til past new years, she had to turn to some fraternities, who were always happy to help the plucky, busty, blonde beauty. They were eager to trade boarding for services. But it's 8 years later. Sneaking towards her apartment living room, Betty was very excited. It was Christmas and Santa had come to visit her! She wasn't angry about Santa causing her parents to split or her abandonment. She had never connected the events. No, Betty was as happy and excited as a particularly naïve schoolgirl. Santa was in her living room! She tried not to skip with glee, as she slipped into the unlit room. Santa was bent over the entertainment center. Perhaps, Betty thought, he was leaving a holiday music CD in her stereo. She hoped it was someone sexy and sophisticated like Britney Spears or Katy Perry. Betty flushed. Santa had sure slimmed down since the last time. He had the firmest butt that showed off very well indeed, in his tight blue jeans. He must have started going to the gym because his muscles bulged beneath his black sweater. He still wore a red Santa hat, which made sense since he was Santa. "Oh; Santa," she said, half out of happiness to find him bringing her presents, and half because; Wow! He was really built. Santa was startled and turned around. Betty was confused. Instead of being old with a white beard, he was young, with chiseled features, short spiky black hair and green vigorous eyes. But then again, Betty thought, Santa was a magical man. Perhaps this was how he appeared to lonely young women who were positively bursting out of their lacy intimates, like her mom had done, some 8 years earlier? "I'm sorry Santa," said Betty in a bashful voice, after flicking on a lamp. Santa was looking very nervous. He had dropped his bag of presents with a clank; and if she didn't know better, she would have said he was about to make a break for it. "I'm sorry Santa," she repeated, edging over to him. "I know I should be tucked in bed like a good girl. But I got so very excited when I heard you delivering my presents." Santa's mouth dropped open, and it took him a moment to say anything. "Santa?" he finally managed to say, in a marvelously deep voice. "You can't fool me, Santa," Betty said proudly, sticking out her magnificent chest. "I'm smart. You're disguising yourself! You may not look like Saint Nick, but who else would be bringing me presents tonight? The Easter Bunny?" "I; I guess you caught me," Santa said, googling at Betty's buxom tits. The fabric of her red negligee was light and sheer, almost transparent. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra and her sizable jugs jostled together amiably. Santa could even catch the hint of her tit's dark areolas. "Well," he gulped. "I should go." He reached to pick up his sack. "Lots of boys and girls to visit." "Oh no, Santa!" Betty exclaimed, clutching him to her bosom. "Please don't go yet! Have some milk and cookies. Mama taught me to be extra hospitable, and be good to you." Santa got a strange look on his face as the buxom blonde rubbed up and down him in her small frilly teddy. Without her noticing, he flipped up the back of her nightie. He broke into a grin. This girl had gone to bed without any panties! "Okay," he said. "I'll stay a bit." He settled down in a brown comfy chair and let Betty serve him his milk and cookies. "Any beer?" Betty got Santa a tall cool one, which he guzzled, in one swig. "Ah!" He plopped the bottle down and looked up at Betty, who was hovering over his extended leg. Facing away, she was removing his boots for a foot massage, and accidentally giving him a preview of her equally blonde nether locks as well. He stretched and then grabbed her round the waist and set her on his lap. Then he asked with a grin. "So what do you want for Christmas, little girl?" "I thought you'd never ask, Santa!" exclaimed Betty. She giggled as she slid further up on his lap, making him go Ooof! and slip his hand up the back of her nightie; all the way up to her shoulder blades. Betty was so excited, she paid no attention to Santa's paw. "But you have to ask me the other question first, Santa," demanded Betty, bouncing on Santa's lap. "Holy" Santa caught himself just in time as Betty gave his lap the bouncing of its life. "What question honey?" "The naughty or nice question!" Betty said impatiently. "What's wrong with you, Santa?" Santa was breathing the sweet scent of Betty's hair; so had to shake his head to answer the question. "Oh, yes! Naughty or nice. Sorry, my girlfriend; I mean, Mrs. Claus left me for one of the elves." He eased his hand lower until it rested on her full round ass. Man, this chick was all curves! "That's awful, Santa!" said Betty, opening wide her full round lips around the 'aw' in awful. "Yes. I walked in on them," said Santa. "Have you ever seen an elf with a twelve inch dick?" "Not on an elf." Betty shuddered. "But twelve inches is a lot for any gal to take, let me tell you." She blushed, realizing that Santa was studying her closely. "Hmm, So you know exactly how she felt," he said, giving her bottom a squeeze. Betty giggled and wiggled. "So Santa has been all alone since June, and what with my work; I don't get to meet cute little scamps like you, except for around Christmas." "Poor Santa!" cried Betty. "So there's been no one to; relieve all the pressure?" Betty grinned as her hand involuntarily slid over the hump between his legs.. Santa might not be twelve inches, but she was pretty sure he was pushing eight or nine, judging from what a bumpy lap she was sitting on. "Yes, it's just been me and the reindeer," said Santa. "Oh, Santa," Betty said in a shocked voice. "You haven't been using Cupid or Comet that way, have you?" "What way is that?" asked Santa, running his finger down between her soft ass cheeks. "You know." Betty squirmed. "Like when a woman bends over and a man takes his; candy cane and slides it into her stocking." "Oh, reindeer-style," Santa drawled. "No, I've never gotten that desperate." He locked Betty in his gaze. "What about you? Have you been a good girl this year? I hope you haven't been getting your stocking stuffed, too much. Though you're very, very stuff-able." "Well..." Betty looked very guilty. "I've been, pretty good?" "Betty," Santa said sternly. "Remember who you are talking to." Betty tugged at the neck of Santa's sweater. "Well, I honestly didn't know about my mistletoe print dress, until Mr. Stevenson and Mr. Johnson took me into the coat room, and explained," she said in a defensive tone. "It was lucky Mr. Johnson told me to take it off, cause while they were performing the traditional punishment, Mr. Stevenson splattered all over me with his big dick! Santa's eyes widened as he imagined the banging of Betty Boots in the coat closet. His pants were getting tighter and tighter, nuzzling Betty's sexy bottom. "I got pretty tipsy as well," admitted Betty. "But I did a good deed! I gave Tim, the office boy, a hand job cause of his cock cancer." "Cock cancer?" "Yes," said Betty, biting her lip trying to remember. "He was afraid he might have cock cancer, and the only way to know was to; you know, try to cum. But he didn't want to find out all alone. So I;" Betty grinned sheepishly. "I gave him a hand job." "And?" asked Santa, shifting with exquisite discomfort. "Oh, he came really, really well!" Betty giggled. "I decided to really make sure he was A okay, so I sucked on him till he came again." Betty licked her full lips. "He tasted very healthy!" She glanced at Santa nervously. "I like tasting cocks. Is that naughty?" "Ho Ho! No!" Santa bounced Betty on his knee, watching her tits jiggle as her ass pounded his bulge. "Except Santa isn't sure if you're not just a little naughty," he said. "The last time I looked at you closely, was when you were still in high school." He wiggled the end of her button nose. "You were in the shower getting all soapy. My how you've sprouted since then!" "In the shower?" Betty squeaked. "Oh gosh, I wasn't using the shower head was I? You know, the naughty way." When Santa nodded, Betty turned bright red. "But, but I have to, cause if I don't, I just can't concentrate on anything. Even now." Betty was crossing and uncrossing her legs and nuzzling against Santa's broad chest. "There, there," said Santa, giving Betty's bottom a comforting pat. "I know a vigorous girl like you needs to let off steam if she's going to try and be nice." Betty calmed down and rested her head on Santa's shoulder. "I decided I should visit you tonight and have a good look at you, because I know how hard you try to be a good girl," he explained. "Sometimes Santa needs to really examine the borderline naughty girls. Now slip off that nightie and let's get started." Betty's eyes widened, and she sat up straight on Santa's lap. "You want to see me naked?" she asked, her voice a little shocked. "Yes," wheedled Santa. "That way I can be really sure if you are naughty or nice. You want your presents, don't you?" "I do! I do!" exclaimed Betty. "I guess it's okay, since it's you, Santa." Betty amiably reached down and took hold of the hem of her fuzzy red negligee. "Now that's the first sign of a good girl!" Santa helped Betty slip the garment over her head, and had her hold her arms up in the air as he feasted his eyes on Betty's supple body. With her perfect complexion and the lotion she rubbed all over herself, by her open window each night, she was good enough to eat. Santa groaned as his eyes unsuccessfully tried to take in Betty's firm melons. Around each nipple was a large chocolate areola, like the ring around a particularly high scoring bulls-eye. "What's the matter, Santa Claus?" asked Betty, putting her arms around him. "You seemed bothered." "Oh, it's nothing," he said, pulling Betty's warm, curvy body closer. "It is just that Mrs. Claus has nice firm tits like yours. I loved to suck on her nipples. They were so tasty." Santa's voice was heavy with sadness. After a moment of silent considering, Betty spoke up in a kindly voice. "You could suck my nipples, if you'd like. I mean, I know it wouldn't be the same as Mrs. Claus, but maybe it would help." She squirmed with delight. She was proud of her tits and having her nipples sucked made her all squishy. "If you're sure you don't mind," said Santa quickly, taking her knockers in his large hands and gently squeezing them. How plump they were! Betty shook her head, a happy half grin lighting up her face. "Thank you very much." Santa gently took the nearest nipple into his mouth and began to suck. Betty's nipples had hardened at the mere idea of Santa having a go; and each was nearly an inch long. Santa closed his eyes as he began to draw on the tasty teat. Betty moaned and rubbed herself on his lap, pushing her breasts into his face. God, she loved to be sucked! Her pussy was getting drippy with delight. "Oh, Santa!" she gasped. "You're so lumpy! What do you have in your pants?" Betty swiveled so she straddled Santa and could better rub up and down his lap. Her pussy lips had spread apart easily to nestle on the rise of his jeans. "I'm sorry, my breasty beauty," said Santa, nosing his way between Betty's heaving knockers. "It's been so long since I felt the touch of a woman. I've even started letting young women sit on my lap. "In Switzerland this Inga in a Heidi skirt hopped up, popped the buttons on my pants and pulled out my stiff todger. She was a horny girl who loved to bounce up and down." Santa gripped Betty's hips and grinded her as he spoke. "Damned if she didn't wrap her pussy lips right around me! And this was all in a crowded mall. She batted her eyes and waved to her friends. Her cunt muscles rippled up and down me as she asked for a pretty pair of shoes for Christmas. The she leaned in and whispered: "Oh Sinterklaas, I want you to use your big cock to fill up my belly!" Then in a louder voice she said, "Oh yah! Bounce me on your knee, yah!" And she rode my cock, surrounded by my elves, mummies and daddies, their children; and also her lewd little girlfriends, until I erupted into her. The last time I saw her, she indeed did have a big belly, and tits almost as big as these." He squeezed Betty's boobs together and sucked each nipple with a long hard pull at the end. "What a saucy girl! And how selfish not to consider your feelings," said Betty, pulling off Santa's cap and putting it on. "I think it is high time someone be your Santa. Or," she grinned. "Be your Ms. Santa!" She stripped off Santa's sweater and marveled at the sculpted bronze muscles underneath. Playfully, she tugged on his nipples. "What nice buttons you have Santa!" Then she whispered naughty things in his ear. "You want to ride the boobie train, Santa? You want to check out my caboose? I bet you could make me blow the whistle, Santa." "Get some steam going, baby!" He slapped her firm round bottom. "Run to your bedroom and Santa will follow with a big candy cane for his special special girl." So Betty ran, her boobs bouncing, giggling lustily, and Santa followed, dropping his pants and letting his cock wave in the air. Betty tripped on a pair of high-heeled boots and fell face down on her bed, her boobs splayed out on either side of her. Before she could move, Santa caught up, raised her bottom and started sliding his turgid cock between her plump ass cheeks. "Santa!" laughed Betty. "What a naughty boy you are!" "What a wet girl you are!" Santa spread Betty's legs and dipped his fingers into her sodden snatch. "Oh, Santa," groaned Betty. "Just how I like my ho's," chuckled Santa. He withdrew his fingers and gripped his reddened rocket. "Here comes Santa Claus! Right down Betty's cunny lane!" He fed his cock into Betty's pussy, reindeer style. "Oh, Santa!" Betty lost her balance and ended up with her head buried in pillows and stuffed animals. "Ho, Ho, Ho!" moaned Santa, his cock buried in the pussy of this beautiful woman's body. Her round toned ass was up in the air, her boobs rocking with each thrust, her empty head was lost under the pillows. "Mumfer!" Betty tried to say, flailing her arms. "Oh yes! You hot bitch!" cried Santa, battering her bottom with the pent up lust of the last six months. All he wanted was release and the liquid snugness of this beauty's snatch on his red-hot cock. That she was temporarily headless just made him more animal, more Satan than Santa. "Ah, mumph!" went Betty as Santa's dick stretched her wet pussy. She tried to pull her head from the pillows but Santa was ramming her so hard all she could do was be ridden by him like an extremely busty fuck doll. He was fucking her so fast and the air was so hot and close under the pillows, teddy bears, and her tickle-me-Elmo. She felt like the naughtiest fuck doll you might see advertised at the back of a porno rag. He was just using her to sate his big bulging cock. His swelling mushroom head rubbed her walls. She was going to cum, but she felt so dizzy, so light. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," grunted Santa, working his dick up into a white foam of her cunt cream. The sucking and slurping noises from Betty's cunt echoed off the wall as her boobs rocked back and forth on the bed. Her head was still out of sight under the bedding. "I'm gonna fill this ass!" Santa declared and slapped a red handprint across it. Then the pussy, for Santa had forgotten poor suffocating Betty, suddenly tightened and he found real resistance and purchase for his cock. The cunt dragged on his dick as he slid out, and was slow to give way as he shoved in. "Oh yes! You wonderful poon tang," he said, digging in with his dick, feeling every inch as he plowed. "That's, That's it," he groaned. And as he plunged deep; the pussy convulsed around him; giving him a series of rapid squeezes. "Hmm, ah." came the muffled cry of orgasm from under the pillows. "Oh, what a fucking tremendous naughty girl!" Santa's cock exploded and shot ropes of cum into Betty's twitching snatch. He held her weighty bottom up, and filled her up like a fuel tank on a big rig. Santa gasped and let Betty's body fall to the bed, his gleaming, still-hard cock, slipping from her pussy. Her snatch twinkled from between her golden ass cheeks. On either side of her small and finely muscled back, her boobs spread out like overfilled water balloons. Her head was still under the pillows and she wasn't moving at all. Was she even breathing? "Betty?" His cock twitched and spurted cum residual over her bottom and the small of her back. Betty didn't move at all. "Oh, fuck!" He grabbed her leg and shook it. Nothing. "Shit," he muttered. "Stealing is one thing. Pretending to be Santa, who cares? But murder!" Santa Claus, a.k.a. Sam Clay; burglar, jumped onto the bed and pulled the pillows and teddy bears from Betty Boots' blonde heat. He flipped her over, her jugs sloshing from side to side until finally coming to a quivering halt. Her eyes were closed and her plump red lips hung open. Sam had been merrily breaking into the less secure apartments of the complex, loading up on Christmas presents when he slipped into Betty's apartment through the unlocked balcony door. Who knew Christmas shopping could be so much horny fun? Or turn so wrong? "Please don't be dead," pleaded Sam. "You're such a fine fuck!" He rested his ear between her tits and held his breath. For a moment he could hear nothing over the pounding of his own heart. But then, then there was a soft and steady echoing in that wonderful chest of hers. He sat back in the bed and sighed with relief. After a moment, Betty stretched without waking up, turned on her side towards Sam; and rested her tousled blonde head on his lap. She smacked her lips and sighed. Sam had been worrying about brain damage. How many brain cells did this girl have to spare? But all worries left his mind when she put her head on his leg. "Hmm! Maybe she needs cock-to-mouth resuscitation!" he said, his dick starting to stiffen. Stroking himself luxuriously, he put his tip up to her mouth. At first she furrowed her brow and refused him, but he persisted, rubbing the tip with its bead of pre-cum over her lips until she licked them. After that she relaxed completely and let him slip his member into her mouth. First his head went in and she was eagerly sucking after a few mewls. "Oh yes, baby," he groaned as her tongue explored his cock-head, lapping the underside. "Santa's got the tasty candy-cane for you." He stroked her head, gently applying pressure on the back of her head, so soon she was bobbing her head up and down on his dick. "What a hungry mouth you have," he moaned as she sucked hungrily on him, her hair tickling his abs and her nipples brushing his thighs. Betty's eyelids fluttered open and then became very wide as she realized that she was orally pleasuring Santa's very big, very bulging dick. "Umm; Hmm! Slurp! Slurp! Oh, Santa Claus, you made me cum so hard I passed out!" Betty wrapped her hands around Sam's cock and pumped him as she talked. "I am sorry Santa, no one has fucked my brains out like that, ever!" "That's okay, Betty," Sam grunted, watching the tip of his dick disappear between Betty's boobs. "Except Santa still has this raging hard-on." "I'm sorry Santa," Betty said, realizing she was covered in a layer of hardening cum. "I'm being so selfish when I'm supposed to be giving." She climbed up Sam's prone body, took hold of his pole and slid her gorgeously tight pussy all the way down him, right to the hilt. She swayed like a bronco rider on top of him, moaning. "Oh Santa, such a big gift on Christmas!" She began to slowly slide herself up and down him. Sam lay back and watched the blonde beauty ride him, groaning as she moaned, squeezing her knockers, and urging her on. "Oh shit! You're going to be at the very top of my nice list for this," he said as she picked up her pace and began to gallop. Her boobs flew high into the air and then dropped onto her chest with fleshy thuds over and over again. Faster and faster she fucked. Her pussy was tingling every nerve of his dick until he could no longer stand it. "Jingle Boobs! Jingle Boobs," he gasped. "Jingle all the... oh god, oh god... Jingle All the Way!" And his cock gunned shot after shot into her snug little snatch. "Oh Santa. Oh Santa! Fill me up with your sticky snow!" Betty rocked her pussy furiously over his dick. "Oh, oh, Santa! Santa! Santa!" She was really loud now. She raised her arms in the air and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. "Merry Christmas, Santa!" And she came, doing little half jerky gasps over his pulsing dick. "Merry" She bounced. "Christmas" She undulated. "Santa!" She jiggled up and down furiously for a glorious moment, her knockers slapping her chest and then her chin stunningly. Finally she fell beside Sam gasping. At that point Sam thought it was over, but he didn't realize what a trooper Betty Boots was. She slithered down to his lap and slipped his still pulsing dick into her mouth. Slowly and thoroughly she milked the last of his cum and licked his balls clean. Sam looked up to the heavens in bliss. When all of this was finished he looked down. Betty was curled up beside him asleep, a naughty grin on her face. The next morning Betty was delighted to find two presents from Santa under her two-foot plastic tree. Santa must have been a little too happy from Betty boinking because one had a label to Lori and the other one was addressed to Mabel. The Lori present was a tiny white crop top with Pretty ink-stamped across the chest. Betty blushed, thinking of what kind of attention she would get wearing a top better suited to a flat-chested twelve-year-old. The Mabel present was a black three-foot massage wand, but Betty soon found another very naughty use for her present. She was sure Santa would approve. It was the best Christmas ever!  Based on a post by tomthumper, for Literotica.

Is there a stalemate in the current state of the date? Legendary matchmaker and "Cupid's Coach" host Julie Ferman joins The Debate Team break down how the dating industry has changed, why we tend to be our own worst enemies, the challenges of fixing up the broken, how people's wants don't align with their needs, and much much more!

Hospitality For Santa A gullible girl finds a Christmas Night Visitor. Based on a post by tomthumper. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. It was the night before Christmas when Betty Boots was awakened from her wet dream of big dripping candy canes; by a thump, and then a clunk from her apartment's living room. Her big blue eyes popped open as she listened to a rustling, then a man's voice; cursing? Excited, Betty slipped out of bed and crept towards the living room, the cool night air raising goose bumps all over her voluptuous body. The red frilly negligee she wore was frightfully thin, but Betty didn't mind the cold. She was convinced she was going to catch Santa Claus! Eight years ago, when she was just eighteen, she had hidden behind the couch as Santa put presents under the Christmas tree at her parent's home. She'd just returned from college, after semester finals. But even when she was an elementary lass, friends had tried to convince her that Santa wasn't real. But Betty was a special girl. She really, really loved Santa. Eight years ago, as Santa slipped the last present under the tree that night, her mother had come out of the bedroom wearing only a pair of white stockings, stiletto heels, and hair ribbon; and gave Santa a very friendly hug. In return, Santa gave Betty's mum a very sexy workout that night. Betty got the gift of a very sexy education. Unfortunately, the next day when young Betty's salesman Dad called from the airport, about to board his rescheduled flight home; Betty had told him all about Santa's exciting visit. Dad had gotten very upset and yelled at Betty's mum. He hung up and they never saw him again. Betty's mum was angry, and threw Betty out of the house for good. From then on Betty had to go back to college, but since the dorms were vacated til past new years, she had to turn to some fraternities, who were always happy to help the plucky, busty, blonde beauty. They were eager to trade boarding for services. But it's 8 years later. Sneaking towards her apartment living room, Betty was very excited. It was Christmas and Santa had come to visit her! She wasn't angry about Santa causing her parents to split or her abandonment. She had never connected the events. No, Betty was as happy and excited as a particularly naïve schoolgirl. Santa was in her living room! She tried not to skip with glee, as she slipped into the unlit room. Santa was bent over the entertainment center. Perhaps, Betty thought, he was leaving a holiday music CD in her stereo. She hoped it was someone sexy and sophisticated like Britney Spears or Katy Perry. Betty flushed. Santa had sure slimmed down since the last time. He had the firmest butt that showed off very well indeed, in his tight blue jeans. He must have started going to the gym because his muscles bulged beneath his black sweater. He still wore a red Santa hat, which made sense since he was Santa. "Oh; Santa," she said, half out of happiness to find him bringing her presents, and half because; Wow! He was really built. Santa was startled and turned around. Betty was confused. Instead of being old with a white beard, he was young, with chiseled features, short spiky black hair and green vigorous eyes. But then again, Betty thought, Santa was a magical man. Perhaps this was how he appeared to lonely young women who were positively bursting out of their lacy intimates, like her mom had done, some 8 years earlier? "I'm sorry Santa," said Betty in a bashful voice, after flicking on a lamp. Santa was looking very nervous. He had dropped his bag of presents with a clank; and if she didn't know better, she would have said he was about to make a break for it. "I'm sorry Santa," she repeated, edging over to him. "I know I should be tucked in bed like a good girl. But I got so very excited when I heard you delivering my presents." Santa's mouth dropped open, and it took him a moment to say anything. "Santa?" he finally managed to say, in a marvelously deep voice. "You can't fool me, Santa," Betty said proudly, sticking out her magnificent chest. "I'm smart. You're disguising yourself! You may not look like Saint Nick, but who else would be bringing me presents tonight? The Easter Bunny?" "I; I guess you caught me," Santa said, googling at Betty's buxom tits. The fabric of her red negligee was light and sheer, almost transparent. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra and her sizable jugs jostled together amiably. Santa could even catch the hint of her tit's dark areolas. "Well," he gulped. "I should go." He reached to pick up his sack. "Lots of boys and girls to visit." "Oh no, Santa!" Betty exclaimed, clutching him to her bosom. "Please don't go yet! Have some milk and cookies. Mama taught me to be extra hospitable, and be good to you." Santa got a strange look on his face as the buxom blonde rubbed up and down him in her small frilly teddy. Without her noticing, he flipped up the back of her nightie. He broke into a grin. This girl had gone to bed without any panties! "Okay," he said. "I'll stay a bit." He settled down in a brown comfy chair and let Betty serve him his milk and cookies. "Any beer?" Betty got Santa a tall cool one, which he guzzled, in one swig. "Ah!" He plopped the bottle down and looked up at Betty, who was hovering over his extended leg. Facing away, she was removing his boots for a foot massage, and accidentally giving him a preview of her equally blonde nether locks as well. He stretched and then grabbed her round the waist and set her on his lap. Then he asked with a grin. "So what do you want for Christmas, little girl?" "I thought you'd never ask, Santa!" exclaimed Betty. She giggled as she slid further up on his lap, making him go Ooof! and slip his hand up the back of her nightie; all the way up to her shoulder blades. Betty was so excited, she paid no attention to Santa's paw. "But you have to ask me the other question first, Santa," demanded Betty, bouncing on Santa's lap. "Holy" Santa caught himself just in time as Betty gave his lap the bouncing of its life. "What question honey?" "The naughty or nice question!" Betty said impatiently. "What's wrong with you, Santa?" Santa was breathing the sweet scent of Betty's hair; so had to shake his head to answer the question. "Oh, yes! Naughty or nice. Sorry, my girlfriend; I mean, Mrs. Claus left me for one of the elves." He eased his hand lower until it rested on her full round ass. Man, this chick was all curves! "That's awful, Santa!" said Betty, opening wide her full round lips around the 'aw' in awful. "Yes. I walked in on them," said Santa. "Have you ever seen an elf with a twelve inch dick?" "Not on an elf." Betty shuddered. "But twelve inches is a lot for any gal to take, let me tell you." She blushed, realizing that Santa was studying her closely. "Hmm, So you know exactly how she felt," he said, giving her bottom a squeeze. Betty giggled and wiggled. "So Santa has been all alone since June, and what with my work; I don't get to meet cute little scamps like you, except for around Christmas." "Poor Santa!" cried Betty. "So there's been no one to; relieve all the pressure?" Betty grinned as her hand involuntarily slid over the hump between his legs.. Santa might not be twelve inches, but she was pretty sure he was pushing eight or nine, judging from what a bumpy lap she was sitting on. "Yes, it's just been me and the reindeer," said Santa. "Oh, Santa," Betty said in a shocked voice. "You haven't been using Cupid or Comet that way, have you?" "What way is that?" asked Santa, running his finger down between her soft ass cheeks. "You know." Betty squirmed. "Like when a woman bends over and a man takes his; candy cane and slides it into her stocking." "Oh, reindeer-style," Santa drawled. "No, I've never gotten that desperate." He locked Betty in his gaze. "What about you? Have you been a good girl this year? I hope you haven't been getting your stocking stuffed, too much. Though you're very, very stuff-able." "Well..." Betty looked very guilty. "I've been, pretty good?" "Betty," Santa said sternly. "Remember who you are talking to." Betty tugged at the neck of Santa's sweater. "Well, I honestly didn't know about my mistletoe print dress, until Mr. Stevenson and Mr. Johnson took me into the coat room, and explained," she said in a defensive tone. "It was lucky Mr. Johnson told me to take it off, cause while they were performing the traditional punishment, Mr. Stevenson splattered all over me with his big dick! Santa's eyes widened as he imagined the banging of Betty Boots in the coat closet. His pants were getting tighter and tighter, nuzzling Betty's sexy bottom. "I got pretty tipsy as well," admitted Betty. "But I did a good deed! I gave Tim, the office boy, a hand job cause of his cock cancer." "Cock cancer?" "Yes," said Betty, biting her lip trying to remember. "He was afraid he might have cock cancer, and the only way to know was to; you know, try to cum. But he didn't want to find out all alone. So I;" Betty grinned sheepishly. "I gave him a hand job." "And?" asked Santa, shifting with exquisite discomfort. "Oh, he came really, really well!" Betty giggled. "I decided to really make sure he was A okay, so I sucked on him till he came again." Betty licked her full lips. "He tasted very healthy!" She glanced at Santa nervously. "I like tasting cocks. Is that naughty?" "Ho Ho! No!" Santa bounced Betty on his knee, watching her tits jiggle as her ass pounded his bulge. "Except Santa isn't sure if you're not just a little naughty," he said. "The last time I looked at you closely, was when you were still in high school." He wiggled the end of her button nose. "You were in the shower getting all soapy. My how you've sprouted since then!" "In the shower?" Betty squeaked. "Oh gosh, I wasn't using the shower head was I? You know, the naughty way." When Santa nodded, Betty turned bright red. "But, but I have to, cause if I don't, I just can't concentrate on anything. Even now." Betty was crossing and uncrossing her legs and nuzzling against Santa's broad chest. "There, there," said Santa, giving Betty's bottom a comforting pat. "I know a vigorous girl like you needs to let off steam if she's going to try and be nice." Betty calmed down and rested her head on Santa's shoulder. "I decided I should visit you tonight and have a good look at you, because I know how hard you try to be a good girl," he explained. "Sometimes Santa needs to really examine the borderline naughty girls. Now slip off that nightie and let's get started." Betty's eyes widened, and she sat up straight on Santa's lap. "You want to see me naked?" she asked, her voice a little shocked. "Yes," wheedled Santa. "That way I can be really sure if you are naughty or nice. You want your presents, don't you?" "I do! I do!" exclaimed Betty. "I guess it's okay, since it's you, Santa." Betty amiably reached down and took hold of the hem of her fuzzy red negligee. "Now that's the first sign of a good girl!" Santa helped Betty slip the garment over her head, and had her hold her arms up in the air as he feasted his eyes on Betty's supple body. With her perfect complexion and the lotion she rubbed all over herself, by her open window each night, she was good enough to eat. Santa groaned as his eyes unsuccessfully tried to take in Betty's firm melons. Around each nipple was a large chocolate areola, like the ring around a particularly high scoring bulls-eye. "What's the matter, Santa Claus?" asked Betty, putting her arms around him. "You seemed bothered." "Oh, it's nothing," he said, pulling Betty's warm, curvy body closer. "It is just that Mrs. Claus has nice firm tits like yours. I loved to suck on her nipples. They were so tasty." Santa's voice was heavy with sadness. After a moment of silent considering, Betty spoke up in a kindly voice. "You could suck my nipples, if you'd like. I mean, I know it wouldn't be the same as Mrs. Claus, but maybe it would help." She squirmed with delight. She was proud of her tits and having her nipples sucked made her all squishy. "If you're sure you don't mind," said Santa quickly, taking her knockers in his large hands and gently squeezing them. How plump they were! Betty shook her head, a happy half grin lighting up her face. "Thank you very much." Santa gently took the nearest nipple into his mouth and began to suck. Betty's nipples had hardened at the mere idea of Santa having a go; and each was nearly an inch long. Santa closed his eyes as he began to draw on the tasty teat. Betty moaned and rubbed herself on his lap, pushing her breasts into his face. God, she loved to be sucked! Her pussy was getting drippy with delight. "Oh, Santa!" she gasped. "You're so lumpy! What do you have in your pants?" Betty swiveled so she straddled Santa and could better rub up and down his lap. Her pussy lips had spread apart easily to nestle on the rise of his jeans. "I'm sorry, my breasty beauty," said Santa, nosing his way between Betty's heaving knockers. "It's been so long since I felt the touch of a woman. I've even started letting young women sit on my lap. "In Switzerland this Inga in a Heidi skirt hopped up, popped the buttons on my pants and pulled out my stiff todger. She was a horny girl who loved to bounce up and down." Santa gripped Betty's hips and grinded her as he spoke. "Damned if she didn't wrap her pussy lips right around me! And this was all in a crowded mall. She batted her eyes and waved to her friends. Her cunt muscles rippled up and down me as she asked for a pretty pair of shoes for Christmas. The she leaned in and whispered: "Oh Sinterklaas, I want you to use your big cock to fill up my belly!" Then in a louder voice she said, "Oh yah! Bounce me on your knee, yah!" And she rode my cock, surrounded by my elves, mummies and daddies, their children; and also her lewd little girlfriends, until I erupted into her. The last time I saw her, she indeed did have a big belly, and tits almost as big as these." He squeezed Betty's boobs together and sucked each nipple with a long hard pull at the end. "What a saucy girl! And how selfish not to consider your feelings," said Betty, pulling off Santa's cap and putting it on. "I think it is high time someone be your Santa. Or," she grinned. "Be your Ms. Santa!" She stripped off Santa's sweater and marveled at the sculpted bronze muscles underneath. Playfully, she tugged on his nipples. "What nice buttons you have Santa!" Then she whispered naughty things in his ear. "You want to ride the boobie train, Santa? You want to check out my caboose? I bet you could make me blow the whistle, Santa." "Get some steam going, baby!" He slapped her firm round bottom. "Run to your bedroom and Santa will follow with a big candy cane for his special special girl." So Betty ran, her boobs bouncing, giggling lustily, and Santa followed, dropping his pants and letting his cock wave in the air. Betty tripped on a pair of high-heeled boots and fell face down on her bed, her boobs splayed out on either side of her. Before she could move, Santa caught up, raised her bottom and started sliding his turgid cock between her plump ass cheeks. "Santa!" laughed Betty. "What a naughty boy you are!" "What a wet girl you are!" Santa spread Betty's legs and dipped his fingers into her sodden snatch. "Oh, Santa," groaned Betty. "Just how I like my ho's," chuckled Santa. He withdrew his fingers and gripped his reddened rocket. "Here comes Santa Claus! Right down Betty's cunny lane!" He fed his cock into Betty's pussy, reindeer style. "Oh, Santa!" Betty lost her balance and ended up with her head buried in pillows and stuffed animals. "Ho, Ho, Ho!" moaned Santa, his cock buried in the pussy of this beautiful woman's body. Her round toned ass was up in the air, her boobs rocking with each thrust, her empty head was lost under the pillows. "Mumfer!" Betty tried to say, flailing her arms. "Oh yes! You hot bitch!" cried Santa, battering her bottom with the pent up lust of the last six months. All he wanted was release and the liquid snugness of this beauty's snatch on his red-hot cock. That she was temporarily headless just made him more animal, more Satan than Santa. "Ah, mumph!" went Betty as Santa's dick stretched her wet pussy. She tried to pull her head from the pillows but Santa was ramming her so hard all she could do was be ridden by him like an extremely busty fuck doll. He was fucking her so fast and the air was so hot and close under the pillows, teddy bears, and her tickle-me-Elmo. She felt like the naughtiest fuck doll you might see advertised at the back of a porno rag. He was just using her to sate his big bulging cock. His swelling mushroom head rubbed her walls. She was going to cum, but she felt so dizzy, so light. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," grunted Santa, working his dick up into a white foam of her cunt cream. The sucking and slurping noises from Betty's cunt echoed off the wall as her boobs rocked back and forth on the bed. Her head was still out of sight under the bedding. "I'm gonna fill this ass!" Santa declared and slapped a red handprint across it. Then the pussy, for Santa had forgotten poor suffocating Betty, suddenly tightened and he found real resistance and purchase for his cock. The cunt dragged on his dick as he slid out, and was slow to give way as he shoved in. "Oh yes! You wonderful poon tang," he said, digging in with his dick, feeling every inch as he plowed. "That's, That's it," he groaned. And as he plunged deep; the pussy convulsed around him; giving him a series of rapid squeezes. "Hmm, ah." came the muffled cry of orgasm from under the pillows. "Oh, what a fucking tremendous naughty girl!" Santa's cock exploded and shot ropes of cum into Betty's twitching snatch. He held her weighty bottom up, and filled her up like a fuel tank on a big rig. Santa gasped and let Betty's body fall to the bed, his gleaming, still-hard cock, slipping from her pussy. Her snatch twinkled from between her golden ass cheeks. On either side of her small and finely muscled back, her boobs spread out like overfilled water balloons. Her head was still under the pillows and she wasn't moving at all. Was she even breathing? "Betty?" His cock twitched and spurted cum residual over her bottom and the small of her back. Betty didn't move at all. "Oh, fuck!" He grabbed her leg and shook it. Nothing. "Shit," he muttered. "Stealing is one thing. Pretending to be Santa, who cares? But murder!" Santa Claus, a.k.a. Sam Clay; burglar, jumped onto the bed and pulled the pillows and teddy bears from Betty Boots' blonde heat. He flipped her over, her jugs sloshing from side to side until finally coming to a quivering halt. Her eyes were closed and her plump red lips hung open. Sam had been merrily breaking into the less secure apartments of the complex, loading up on Christmas presents when he slipped into Betty's apartment through the unlocked balcony door. Who knew Christmas shopping could be so much horny fun? Or turn so wrong? "Please don't be dead," pleaded Sam. "You're such a fine fuck!" He rested his ear between her tits and held his breath. For a moment he could hear nothing over the pounding of his own heart. But then, then there was a soft and steady echoing in that wonderful chest of hers. He sat back in the bed and sighed with relief. After a moment, Betty stretched without waking up, turned on her side towards Sam; and rested her tousled blonde head on his lap. She smacked her lips and sighed. Sam had been worrying about brain damage. How many brain cells did this girl have to spare? But all worries left his mind when she put her head on his leg. "Hmm! Maybe she needs cock-to-mouth resuscitation!" he said, his dick starting to stiffen. Stroking himself luxuriously, he put his tip up to her mouth. At first she furrowed her brow and refused him, but he persisted, rubbing the tip with its bead of pre-cum over her lips until she licked them. After that she relaxed completely and let him slip his member into her mouth. First his head went in and she was eagerly sucking after a few mewls. "Oh yes, baby," he groaned as her tongue explored his cock-head, lapping the underside. "Santa's got the tasty candy-cane for you." He stroked her head, gently applying pressure on the back of her head, so soon she was bobbing her head up and down on his dick. "What a hungry mouth you have," he moaned as she sucked hungrily on him, her hair tickling his abs and her nipples brushing his thighs. Betty's eyelids fluttered open and then became very wide as she realized that she was orally pleasuring Santa's very big, very bulging dick. "Umm; Hmm! Slurp! Slurp! Oh, Santa Claus, you made me cum so hard I passed out!" Betty wrapped her hands around Sam's cock and pumped him as she talked. "I am sorry Santa, no one has fucked my brains out like that, ever!" "That's okay, Betty," Sam grunted, watching the tip of his dick disappear between Betty's boobs. "Except Santa still has this raging hard-on." "I'm sorry Santa," Betty said, realizing she was covered in a layer of hardening cum. "I'm being so selfish when I'm supposed to be giving." She climbed up Sam's prone body, took hold of his pole and slid her gorgeously tight pussy all the way down him, right to the hilt. She swayed like a bronco rider on top of him, moaning. "Oh Santa, such a big gift on Christmas!" She began to slowly slide herself up and down him. Sam lay back and watched the blonde beauty ride him, groaning as she moaned, squeezing her knockers, and urging her on. "Oh shit! You're going to be at the very top of my nice list for this," he said as she picked up her pace and began to gallop. Her boobs flew high into the air and then dropped onto her chest with fleshy thuds over and over again. Faster and faster she fucked. Her pussy was tingling every nerve of his dick until he could no longer stand it. "Jingle Boobs! Jingle Boobs," he gasped. "Jingle all the... oh god, oh god... Jingle All the Way!" And his cock gunned shot after shot into her snug little snatch. "Oh Santa. Oh Santa! Fill me up with your sticky snow!" Betty rocked her pussy furiously over his dick. "Oh, oh, Santa! Santa! Santa!" She was really loud now. She raised her arms in the air and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. "Merry Christmas, Santa!" And she came, doing little half jerky gasps over his pulsing dick. "Merry" She bounced. "Christmas" She undulated. "Santa!" She jiggled up and down furiously for a glorious moment, her knockers slapping her chest and then her chin stunningly. Finally she fell beside Sam gasping. At that point Sam thought it was over, but he didn't realize what a trooper Betty Boots was. She slithered down to his lap and slipped his still pulsing dick into her mouth. Slowly and thoroughly she milked the last of his cum and licked his balls clean. Sam looked up to the heavens in bliss. When all of this was finished he looked down. Betty was curled up beside him asleep, a naughty grin on her face. The next morning Betty was delighted to find two presents from Santa under her two-foot plastic tree. Santa must have been a little too happy from Betty boinking because one had a label to Lori and the other one was addressed to Mabel. The Lori present was a tiny white crop top with Pretty ink-stamped across the chest. Betty blushed, thinking of what kind of attention she would get wearing a top better suited to a flat-chested twelve-year-old. The Mabel present was a black three-foot massage wand, but Betty soon found another very naughty use for her present. She was sure Santa would approve. It was the best Christmas ever!  Based on a post by tomthumper, for Literotica.

== Happy holidays to our audience around the world!  As a gift, and a break for The Allergist team, we are replaying our most popular episode from 2025. We hope you enjoy it as much this time around. See you in the New Year! ==“We have to keep in mind that urticaria has to be treated until it's completely gone. So, absolute control of the disease.” — Dr. Hermenio LimaChronic spontaneous urticaria has long been managed with the goal of complete symptom control. But for many patients, that goal remains elusive. In this episode of The Allergist, Dr. Mariam Hanna talks with dermatologist and clinical immunologist Dr. Hermenio Lima about the updated urticaria guidelines—and how new treatment options are giving clinicians more ways to act, and more hope for getting patients all the way to control.On this episode:What's new in the 2025 guideline—including additional second-line options beyond antihistaminesWhy nearly 40% of patients may need to escalate to biologicsHow remibrutinib compares to omalizumab and what its trials revealedWhat the CUPID studies say about dupilumab, especially in biologic-naive patientsKey safety signals and clinical considerations for the new treatment optionsHow to move toward full disease control—and why suboptimal outcomes are no longer acceptableComplete control is still the destination, but the path to get there is about to get a lot more flexible.Visit the Canadian Society of Allergy and Clinical ImmunologyFind an allergist using our helpful toolFind Dr. Hanna on X, previously Twitter, @PedsAllergyDoc or CSACI @CSACI_caThe Allergist is produced for CSACI by PodCraft Productions

Elf on a Shelf: Part 1 Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was; Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope. Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children; because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him. When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help. Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly, she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand. "Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and crouching down near the girl. "We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese," the weary woman holding her hand said quietly. Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl. "Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic. Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating, "'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced. "But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language. As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things, Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't even miss the air. Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang, she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd. When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors' kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd told her he wanted to kill her. Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong. Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom. Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go back there. After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him, but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went horribly wrong. Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered. "Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him. "Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;" "You're an elf!" "Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;" "Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion. Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body, showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe. "I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get home and get changed;" Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him, "Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the screen. Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!" "Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered, poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call. A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate several decades ago. With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted, sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't feel much better. She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses, impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner. Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand. "Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there. "I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as they reached the edge of the dance floor. "Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again, but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing again? "Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear," he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it." "I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair. Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said, stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee; he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it? "He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she was dancing with Lee James again. "Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home, Honey; penthouse view of the city; "Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with them tonight? "Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up. You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy. "I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away, trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked her hair. "Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?" "Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special; just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then, someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and clouded her thoughts. Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed strangely clear. "I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all through her at the same time. "That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more? Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what happened." "She was screaming; Zach gritted. "Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in. People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked. "since her." "oh my god." "Shut up," Zach grunted. "Oh my god; "Yeah, that's not shutting up." "The great Z-dog has been taken down;" "Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking care of h;" "By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed. There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually. "Yes, sir," Terry choked. "Anything else?" "Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her. Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around." "Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss this further?" "Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?" "No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;" "Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow, ow!" "You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled. "Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked. "I didn't think so. You'll be back here Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question. "Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by the way, not;" "You were just going," Zach said, as the voices moved to another end of the room below her. "Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door. Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of him? She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her. Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here? A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat. A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he? "You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated, quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done." Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost 3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we clear?" he asked. Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier. "While you are here, you will do as you're told. You will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice, Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd nodded and winced. "You will follow your doctor's orders to the last goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader. And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will personally make you regret you were ever born." "Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands together and several of his knuckles cracked. "You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name. You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're nothing to me. Understand?" "Yes, sir," she whispered. Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her eyes lingered. "I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?" "I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her mouth with a paper towel. "Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look down at his underwear loosely covering her hips. "Are you complaining?" he asked quietly. Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir," she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much." "I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles out of the cup and took the tray downstairs. After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her. Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she replied. "I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about the color of his underwear, that was his fault. Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally, rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could have these. It would get you back on schedule; Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left the room. That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked. Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she trailed off. Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time, Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents, Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells. "What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at it. "I wasn't laughing. I was smiling." "Why were you smiling, then?" he asked. "I guess; I just like you; sir," she said, glancing over at him. Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah, well; fool me once," he sneered. Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said; you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him. Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head. "Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said, emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!" Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He didn't deserve to take care of her. So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8 minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her balance. Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted. Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch, made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair. Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive, grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she cried, breaking down into tears. A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down and breathing into her hair. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to hurt or frighten you like that." "It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or dark places. Even if you weren't there;" "I was there," he confessed. "I was always there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me, and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what you were doing; unless I knew you were safe." "Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something that was so; wonderful." "You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me." "Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking up into his eyes. The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you that; but it was never meant for you." "You mean, you meant to send that message to someone else? To hurt them like that?" "Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like that anymore." "I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered. Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can go in the morning. Please." At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg, and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered. To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.

Elf on a Shelf: Part 1 Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was; Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope. Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children; because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him. When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help. Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly, she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand. "Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and crouching down near the girl. "We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese," the weary woman holding her hand said quietly. Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl. "Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic. Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating, "'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced. "But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language. As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things, Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't even miss the air. Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang, she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd. When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors' kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd told her he wanted to kill her. Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong. Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom. Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go back there. After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him, but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went horribly wrong. Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered. "Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him. "Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;" "You're an elf!" "Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;" "Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion. Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body, showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe. "I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get home and get changed;" Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him, "Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the screen. Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!" "Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered, poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call. A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate several decades ago. With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted, sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't feel much better. She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses, impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner. Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand. "Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there. "I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as they reached the edge of the dance floor. "Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again, but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing again? "Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear," he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it." "I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair. Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said, stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee; he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it? "He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she was dancing with Lee James again. "Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home, Honey; penthouse view of the city; "Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with them tonight? "Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up. You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy. "I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away, trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked her hair. "Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?" "Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special; just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then, someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and clouded her thoughts. Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed strangely clear. "I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all through her at the same time. "That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more? Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what happened." "She was screaming; Zach gritted. "Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in. People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked. "since her." "oh my god." "Shut up," Zach grunted. "Oh my god; "Yeah, that's not shutting up." "The great Z-dog has been taken down;" "Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking care of h;" "By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed. There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually. "Yes, sir," Terry choked. "Anything else?" "Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her. Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around." "Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss this further?" "Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?" "No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;" "Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow, ow!" "You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled. "Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked. "I didn't think so. You'll be back here Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question. "Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by the way, not;" "You were just going," Zach said, as the voices moved to another end of the room below her. "Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door. Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of him? She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her. Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here? A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat. A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he? "You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated, quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done." Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost 3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we clear?" he asked. Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier. "While you are here, you will do as you're told. You will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice, Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd nodded and winced. "You will follow your doctor's orders to the last goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader. And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will personally make you regret you were ever born." "Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands together and several of his knuckles cracked. "You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name. You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're nothing to me. Understand?" "Yes, sir," she whispered. Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her eyes lingered. "I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?" "I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her mouth with a paper towel. "Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look down at his underwear loosely covering her hips. "Are you complaining?" he asked quietly. Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir," she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much." "I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles out of the cup and took the tray downstairs. After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her. Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she replied. "I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about the color of his underwear, that was his fault. Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally, rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could have these. It would get you back on schedule; Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left the room. That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked. Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she trailed off. Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time, Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents, Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells. "What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at it. "I wasn't laughing. I was smiling." "Why were you smiling, then?" he asked. "I guess; I just like you; sir," she said, glancing over at him. Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah, well; fool me once," he sneered. Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said; you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him. Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head. "Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said, emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!" Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He didn't deserve to take care of her. So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8 minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her balance. Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted. Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch, made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair. Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive, grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she cried, breaking down into tears. A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down and breathing into her hair. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to hurt or frighten you like that." "It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or dark places. Even if you weren't there;" "I was there," he confessed. "I was always there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me, and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what you were doing; unless I knew you were safe." "Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something that was so; wonderful." "You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me." "Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking up into his eyes. The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you that; but it was never meant for you." "You mean, you meant to send that message to someone else? To hurt them like that?" "Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like that anymore." "I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered. Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can go in the morning. Please." At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg, and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered. To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.

Who's in the Room?: A Guide to Public Relations from the Black Professional Perspective (Kendall Hunt Publishing, 2025) has been created to serve as a resource that is both an academic and industry text in public relations practice. The book focuses on growth and empowerment in public relations through the implementation of inclusionary practices. It is centered in the voice of the Black public relations professional. Featuring contributions of pioneers and the experiences of current trailblazers, the book explores themes of access, representation, and accountability in the field. The authors examine the nuanced challenges and triumphs of navigating the field as Black professionals. They offer guidance for students and new professionals, as well as actionable recommendations for organizations and individuals seeking to become more equitable and inclusive. Jamila Cupid, Ph.D. is a university professor who trains university students in the practice of public relations. She built her career as a public relations and digital media professional, with expertise in research and strategy, working in New York City and Washington, DC for several years. She earned a BA in English from Boston University, then an MA in Human Communication and PhD in Mass Communication and Media Studies with a certificate in International Communication from Howard University. In addition to her industry experience and academic training in the United States, she has studied and conducted research in the Caribbean and South America. She examines international, intercultural, and multicultural public relations in the areas of campaigns, branding, organizational structure, crisis management, relationship building, and social media. Joell Myescha is an award-winning public relations executive, media strategist, and founder of Morris Street Media, a firm known for high-impact campaigns and storytelling that center underrepresented voices. With over 20 years of experience, she has led successful PR and content initiatives across TV, film, and digital media, including the 2024 PBS GOSPEL Live! campaign, which earned a Silver Anthem Award. Her work blends creative vision with strategic execution, focusing on social justice, cultural impact, and audience engagement. A graduate of Boston University, she holds a BA in International Relations. Reighan Gillam is Associate Professor in the Department of Latin American, Latino, and Caribbean Studies at Dartmouth College. Her research examines the ways in which Afro-Brazilian media producers foment anti-racist visual politics through their image creation. She is the author of Visualizing Black Lives: Ownership and Control in Afro-Brazilian Media (University of Illinois Press). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/african-american-studies

Who's in the Room?: A Guide to Public Relations from the Black Professional Perspective (Kendall Hunt Publishing, 2025) has been created to serve as a resource that is both an academic and industry text in public relations practice. The book focuses on growth and empowerment in public relations through the implementation of inclusionary practices. It is centered in the voice of the Black public relations professional. Featuring contributions of pioneers and the experiences of current trailblazers, the book explores themes of access, representation, and accountability in the field. The authors examine the nuanced challenges and triumphs of navigating the field as Black professionals. They offer guidance for students and new professionals, as well as actionable recommendations for organizations and individuals seeking to become more equitable and inclusive. Jamila Cupid, Ph.D. is a university professor who trains university students in the practice of public relations. She built her career as a public relations and digital media professional, with expertise in research and strategy, working in New York City and Washington, DC for several years. She earned a BA in English from Boston University, then an MA in Human Communication and PhD in Mass Communication and Media Studies with a certificate in International Communication from Howard University. In addition to her industry experience and academic training in the United States, she has studied and conducted research in the Caribbean and South America. She examines international, intercultural, and multicultural public relations in the areas of campaigns, branding, organizational structure, crisis management, relationship building, and social media. Joell Myescha is an award-winning public relations executive, media strategist, and founder of Morris Street Media, a firm known for high-impact campaigns and storytelling that center underrepresented voices. With over 20 years of experience, she has led successful PR and content initiatives across TV, film, and digital media, including the 2024 PBS GOSPEL Live! campaign, which earned a Silver Anthem Award. Her work blends creative vision with strategic execution, focusing on social justice, cultural impact, and audience engagement. A graduate of Boston University, she holds a BA in International Relations. Reighan Gillam is Associate Professor in the Department of Latin American, Latino, and Caribbean Studies at Dartmouth College. Her research examines the ways in which Afro-Brazilian media producers foment anti-racist visual politics through their image creation. She is the author of Visualizing Black Lives: Ownership and Control in Afro-Brazilian Media (University of Illinois Press). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

Click here to Shop Affirmation Decks, Oracle Decks, and more! Use Promo code: RCPODCAST20 for 20% off your first order!   Today's Power Affirmation: I am deeply loved and I deeply love me.   Today's Oracle of Motivation: You are deeply loved, from all angles and all perceptions, by all the angels and all protection. You are deeply loved, from under the crust to over the stars, by energy near and energy far. You are deeply loved like the compass loves direction, like the snowman loves snow, like Cupid loved affection, like the moon loves to glow. You are deeply loved, and there's nowhere to go and nothing to do except deeply love the love within you.   Designed to Motivate Your Creative Maniac Mind The 60-Second Power Affirmations Podcast is designed to help you focus, affirm your visions, and harness the power within your creative maniac mind! Join us daily for a new 60-second power affirmation followed by a blast of oracle motivation from the Universe (+ a quick breathing meditation). It's time to take off your procrastination diaper and share your musings with the world!   For more musings, visit RageCreate.com     Leave a Review & Share! Apple Podcast reviews are one of THE most important factors for podcasts. If you enjoy the show please take a second to leave the show a review on Apple Podcasts! Click this link: Leave a review on Apple Podcasts Hit “Listen on Apple Podcasts” on the left-hand side under the picture. Scroll down under “Ratings & Reviews” & click “Write A Review” Leave an honest review. You're awesome!  

Who's in the Room?: A Guide to Public Relations from the Black Professional Perspective (Kendall Hunt Publishing, 2025) has been created to serve as a resource that is both an academic and industry text in public relations practice. The book focuses on growth and empowerment in public relations through the implementation of inclusionary practices. It is centered in the voice of the Black public relations professional. Featuring contributions of pioneers and the experiences of current trailblazers, the book explores themes of access, representation, and accountability in the field. The authors examine the nuanced challenges and triumphs of navigating the field as Black professionals. They offer guidance for students and new professionals, as well as actionable recommendations for organizations and individuals seeking to become more equitable and inclusive. Jamila Cupid, Ph.D. is a university professor who trains university students in the practice of public relations. She built her career as a public relations and digital media professional, with expertise in research and strategy, working in New York City and Washington, DC for several years. She earned a BA in English from Boston University, then an MA in Human Communication and PhD in Mass Communication and Media Studies with a certificate in International Communication from Howard University. In addition to her industry experience and academic training in the United States, she has studied and conducted research in the Caribbean and South America. She examines international, intercultural, and multicultural public relations in the areas of campaigns, branding, organizational structure, crisis management, relationship building, and social media. Joell Myescha is an award-winning public relations executive, media strategist, and founder of Morris Street Media, a firm known for high-impact campaigns and storytelling that center underrepresented voices. With over 20 years of experience, she has led successful PR and content initiatives across TV, film, and digital media, including the 2024 PBS GOSPEL Live! campaign, which earned a Silver Anthem Award. Her work blends creative vision with strategic execution, focusing on social justice, cultural impact, and audience engagement. A graduate of Boston University, she holds a BA in International Relations. Reighan Gillam is Associate Professor in the Department of Latin American, Latino, and Caribbean Studies at Dartmouth College. Her research examines the ways in which Afro-Brazilian media producers foment anti-racist visual politics through their image creation. She is the author of Visualizing Black Lives: Ownership and Control in Afro-Brazilian Media (University of Illinois Press). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/communications

Who's in the Room?: A Guide to Public Relations from the Black Professional Perspective (Kendall Hunt Publishing, 2025) has been created to serve as a resource that is both an academic and industry text in public relations practice. The book focuses on growth and empowerment in public relations through the implementation of inclusionary practices. It is centered in the voice of the Black public relations professional. Featuring contributions of pioneers and the experiences of current trailblazers, the book explores themes of access, representation, and accountability in the field. The authors examine the nuanced challenges and triumphs of navigating the field as Black professionals. They offer guidance for students and new professionals, as well as actionable recommendations for organizations and individuals seeking to become more equitable and inclusive. Jamila Cupid, Ph.D. is a university professor who trains university students in the practice of public relations. She built her career as a public relations and digital media professional, with expertise in research and strategy, working in New York City and Washington, DC for several years. She earned a BA in English from Boston University, then an MA in Human Communication and PhD in Mass Communication and Media Studies with a certificate in International Communication from Howard University. In addition to her industry experience and academic training in the United States, she has studied and conducted research in the Caribbean and South America. She examines international, intercultural, and multicultural public relations in the areas of campaigns, branding, organizational structure, crisis management, relationship building, and social media. Joell Myescha is an award-winning public relations executive, media strategist, and founder of Morris Street Media, a firm known for high-impact campaigns and storytelling that center underrepresented voices. With over 20 years of experience, she has led successful PR and content initiatives across TV, film, and digital media, including the 2024 PBS GOSPEL Live! campaign, which earned a Silver Anthem Award. Her work blends creative vision with strategic execution, focusing on social justice, cultural impact, and audience engagement. A graduate of Boston University, she holds a BA in International Relations. Reighan Gillam is Associate Professor in the Department of Latin American, Latino, and Caribbean Studies at Dartmouth College. Her research examines the ways in which Afro-Brazilian media producers foment anti-racist visual politics through their image creation. She is the author of Visualizing Black Lives: Ownership and Control in Afro-Brazilian Media (University of Illinois Press). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Michael Burnett, Regional Vice President at Community Options, Inc., joins Mesa Chamber President and CEO Sally Harrison in discussing the incredible programs Community Options offers in Arizona and their upcoming Cupid's Chase 5K!  Learn more about Community Options, Inc. at www.comop.org. The Mesa Chamber of Commerce Inside Business Podcast is a production of the Mesa Chamber of Commerce. Inquiries regarding the MCIBP can be made via email to info@mesachamber.org. The Podcast interviews members and individuals/organizations on topics of interest to Mesa Chamber members. Learn more at mesachamber.org. ©2025 Mesa Chamber of Commerce

Sam Cooke es el hombre que no solo inventó el soul moderno, sino que escribió el manual de cómo un artista negro podía controlar su propio destino en una industria diseñada para explotarlo. Su fórmula fusionó gospel y R&B en un lenguaje nuevo y accesible al público mainstream blanco, y definió el soul comercial de los 60 sin traicionar sus raíces. Su muerte, el 11 de diciembre de 1964 la dejamos para otra ocasión, porque esta historia es, ante todo, una historia de vida. Playlist: You Send Me, George Winston; You Send Me, Sam Cooke; Sweet Home Chicago, Robert Johnson; Jesus Gave Me Water, The Soul Stirrers feat. Sam Cooke; Lovable, Sam Cooke & The Soul Stirrers; You Send Me (arr. piano), Music Lab Collective; Cupid, Sam Cooke; (What A) Wonderful World, Sam Cooke; Lonesome Road Blues, Muddy Waters; Only Sixteen, Sam Cooke; A Change Is Gonna Come, George Winston; Chain Gang, Sam Cooke; Shake, Sam Cooke; It's All Over Now, The Valentinos; It's All over Now, The Rolling Stones; Good Times, Sam Cooke; Twistin' The Night Away (Live at The Copacabana), Sam Cooke; I Have a Dream, Martin Luther King Jr.; A Change Is Gonna Come, Joey DeFrancesco; Blowin' In the Wind, Bob Dylan; A Change Is Gonna Come, Sam Cooke.

This week... "You might be in a process of ending a world for yourself because, over the last two months, some kind of spark has been inside you, asking to be tended. This spark of Cupid saying: It could be like this. You could feel this alive. You could listen to your love. You could listen to your heart."This week-ahead reading for Dec 15-21, 2025 is an excerpt from this week's⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠Somatic Space class⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ with Renee Sills. For the full-length forecast and embodied practice for this week,⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠purchase the recording here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. JOIN RENEE FOR A FREE 2026 FORECAST//SOLSTICE EVENT WITH J. BOUEY THIS SUNDAY (TICKETS ARE FREE)⁠⁠⁠ONLY ONE WEEK LEFT of our Sagittarius Season reading raffle fundraiser - Renee and 7 of her students who have completed her practitioner training are all offering readings to support one of our cohort/community members whose life has been severely impacted by Hurricane Melissa. If you're interested in winning a reading, or just want to help us support our friend, ⁠⁠⁠click here.⁠⁠⁠

In this special Lipps Service episode, Scott Lipps sits down with Gym Class Heroes frontman Travie McCoy for an in-depth conversation before the band's show at the Silver Lining Lounge in NYC. Travie takes listeners on a journey through his roots in Geneva, NY, his earliest musical memories, and the hardcore scene that shaped him. He opens up about everything from the formation of Gym Class Heroes and their early DIY days to their breakout Fueled By Ramen era, the creation of Papercut Chronicles, and hits like “Cupid's Chokehold” and “Clothes Off!”. The discussion dives into collaborations, genre-blending, and the highs and lows of his career, including dark periods, reinvention, and working with icons like T-Pain, Bruno Mars, and Benny Blanco. Travie also gives insight into his new record and his artistic life beyond music. A candid and inspiring conversation you won't want to miss.

Podathon crew surprises viewers with a $500 live sing-off — and one of the judges is none other than 112's own Q Parker.This episode turns into pure entertainment as viewers call in, grab the mic, and try their best to sing their favorite 112 classics like Cupid, Peaches & Cream, and more. Some crushed it… others? Not so much

Simulan na natin itong annual tradition (ANNUAL TRADITION?!) of judging the GMMTV 2026 lineup! Sink ba o Sail ang Unlucky Bae, Plan B to U, Roommate Chaos, How to Survive My CEO, Good Boy Series, When Oranges Fall, Cupid's Ghost, Gunshot, The Invisible Dragon, 17th Spring, at I Will Always Save You!--Make chika and barda with us through our following socials:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://twitter.com/theshippersph⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.facebook.com/theshippersph⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠http://www.instagram.com/theshippersph⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠htttp://www.tiktok.com/@shippersph⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠For more inquiries, e-mail us at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠shippersph@gmail.com⁠⁠

Send us a textTwo drinks in, zero pretense, and a sleigh full of hot takes. We crack open Disney's Santa Clause trilogy with a Jolly Holly in hand and ask the only question that matters on a cozy movie night: what still feels like Christmas and what just feels loud?We start by deconstructing the Be Our Guest Jolly Holly—vanilla vodka, dark rum, butterscotch, apple cider—and troubleshoot the flavor until it actually tastes like December. From there, we track how a perfect premise in 1994 turned into a broader sitcom romp in Part Two and a glossy, time-twisting spectacle in Part Three. The core throughline still works: Tim Allen's gruff charm, Charlie's unwavering belief, and a North Pole that, at its best, feels lived-in rather than plastic. We dig into what the movies added to holiday lore—the council of Mother Nature, Tooth Fairy, Sandman, Father Time, Cupid, Easter Bunny, and Jack Frost—and why small character choices (Bernard's clipped authority, Judy's cocoa wisdom, Neil's deadpan evolution) make these films rewatchable.Not everything lands. The second film's angst and toy-factory coup wobble, and the third turns sparkle up to eleven without the heart to match, even with Martin Short chewing frozen scenery. Still, we find bright spots, including Lucy's sweetness and a few well-placed gags about contracts, HR, and the hazards of magical fine print. We even wander into park talk: for a studio that loves seasonal overlays, why isn't this franchise celebrated at Christmas? Picture a Judy-approved cocoa stand, a “Santa clause” contract gag wall, or a quick-hit workshop walkthrough that turns nostalgia into a warm, shareable moment.Grab your mug and queue the first film; keep the second for myth-building fun; let the third play while you wrap gifts. If you enjoy the ride, subscribe, leave a quick review, and tell us your trilogy ranking and your pick for best elf. Your turn: classic, guilty pleasure, or background noise?

Waldy turns to art to help Bendy face his fears. Bendy catches up on the old master sales, while Waldy has a chat with Xavier Bray about Caravaggio's Cupid. And is Turner or Constable the better artist?   Show notes: COMING SOON Watch on YouTube here: https://youtu.be/pf2D5ojb9Mo

The story of how Randall Ann Homan got her name is a unique one. In this episode, meet and get to know Randall and her partner, in life and in neon, Al Barna. Today, the couple are all about all things San Francisco neon. But we'll get to that. When Randall's dad was a teenager, he saved a young girl named Randall from drowning. After saving the little girl, he taught her to swim. Years later, when he had his own daughter, he carried the name forward. Randall Homan grew up in Goodyear, Arizona, just outside of Phoenix. The town was named for the tire company, and it was where, back in the day, the eponymous blimp lived when not in use. Randall has a fun story about being brushed by the Goodyear blimp's ropes when she was a kid. She considered her hometown "Nowheresville" and left as soon as she could—at 17, after graduating from high school early. Randall came straight to San Francisco to attend Lone Mountain College (the University of San Francisco today). "It was wild," she says about her time in the Seventies in The City. Art school is what brought both Randall and Al to San Francisco. At her school, there was a dorm where all the art students, including Randall, lived. Views out the window of that dorm were always completely foggy except for one thing—the neon sign at the Bridge Theater on Geary pierced that blanket of gray. It left a strong impression on them both. Rewinding a bit, Randall says that there was a little neon in her hometown of Goodyear, and she was fascinated by it. She was interested in how it worked, but also was drawn to the beauty of the colored light. When I ask Randall whether she ever left San Francisco after her initial move here, she rewinds a little bit to talk about how young they both were when she and Al met. "Cupid hit us both square in the heart," she says. But they wanted to see the rest of the country. They both wanted to visit where the other is from (Al came here from Pennsylvania), but they compromised on New Orleans. They were drawn to NOLA by the music, and they sure did see a lot of that. But getting jobs was a different story. That didn't come easy in "the Big Easy," and so they came back. They've been in their San Francisco apartment for 30-plus years, and they're not going anywhere. As mentioned, Al comes from Pennsylvania, specifically the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre northeast area of the state. It was coal country, but young Al wanted to pursue art. And so he came to The City to go to the San Francisco Art Institute (RIP). It was 1976, and even though he was in college, Al never intended to stay longer than a year or two. The Beats influenced Al, and though San Francisco figures largely in their history, so does travel. But he and Randall were here during the so-called Season of the Witch—1978. Randall is quick to point out how much easier it was to move within The City back then, something they did every six months or so for a stretch. I ask them to rattle off the different neighborhoods, and they oblige me: Lower Nob Hill, North Beach, and The Mission figure prominently, among others. Al goes into a little more detail about how the two met. It was at a going-away party for a mutual friend. For him, that first meeting settled it. Randall was about to go to school in Los Angeles, and Al decided to join her down south. After a couple years at SFAI, Al left school to work for a film company, where he did a lot more learning. He was taking lots of photos, and it wasn't until Randall pointed out the abundance of neon signs in the backgrounds of his pictures that Al picked up on it. In addition to LA, they also spent some time in Flagstaff, Arizona, where they both got jobs at a silk screen company. Randall also got a job working for a sign painter whose hands were too shaky for his craft. The work she did painting signs left a big impression on Randall, and you can see it in her love of old neon signs today. Between the Eighties and early 2000s, they each worked in their respective crafts—photography for Al, and graphic design for Randall. Al worked for several decades for the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco (the parent org for the de Young and Legion of Honor museums). He shares a story of helping prevent a bomb from exploding at the old de Young museum building, just before it was scheduled to be demolished anyway. Randall's graphic design work had her, among other jobs, designing album covers for bands. She did show posters, logos, and branding—work she still engages in to this day. In the Nineties, she designed the cover page for one of the Bay Guardian Best of The Bay issues. Eventually, the two decided to create a book all about neon. Putting together that first book—San Francisco Neon: Survivors and Lost Icons—took five years. We'll talk in more depth about that and their other, more recent projects in Part 2. We end Part 1 with the story of how neon became the central focus of both Al's and Randall's lives. It involved a sign in the Mission that was there one day and gone the next. Check back Thursday for Part 2 with Randall and Al. We recorded this podcast at Mario's Bohemian Cigar Store in North Beach in November 2025. Photography by Nate Oliveira

Annika Chambers and Paul DesLauriers were musicians in their own right, each with their own bands until fate took over in 2018. They met in Memphis, Tennessee, and it was the proverbial “Love at first sight” for the couple. Their chemistry on and off stage is powerful, making their music even more so. As season five winds to a close, join us for a great discussion with this power couple, about their fateful meeting, the quietly planned proposal under the St. Louis arch, and their subsequent elopement. We also talk about Annika's PTSD, Paul's fall and subsequent traumatic brain injury, and how the two have managed to work within the entertainment industry despite these challenges. They are truly a one of a kind couple, and you are going to enjoy their story. Website: https://annikaandpaul.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61555188162792 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/1arcq3eCE5lXEA9XwOhj72?si=ncDFKCg4QLOR3kUBUFcCxg YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBU3JwqVzDRX8zjHQ0Gdm3A _________________________Facebook: Time SignaturesYouTube: Time SignaturesFacebook: Capital Area Blues SocietyWebsite: Capital Area Blues SocietyFriends of Time Signatures _______Website: University of Mississippi Libraries Blues ArchiveWebsite: Killer Blues Headstone ProjectWebsite: Blues Society Radio NetworkWebsite: Keeping the Blues Alive Foundation

Love.It's the segment of the Wheel of Life that many of us avoid until last because it asks the most of us.In this episode, we're joined by Jocelyn Penque Saunders: global citizen, wine lover, former serial dater… and now the self-declared (and fully earned) Cupid in Chief, founder of The Dating Classroom.But this conversation isn't just about romance. It's about the kind of love that begins long before a relationship: Love as self-knowledge. Love as connection. Love as leadership. Jocelyn brings sharp behavioural insight, gentle challenge, and a refreshingly practical take on how we show up for love, whether we're dating, partnered, leading teams, or learning how to trust ourselves again. Together, we explore non-negotiables, readiness, patterns, openness, and the art of doing you in any relationship you're part of. If you've ever questioned what you want, how you love, or who you are becoming… this one is for you.Listen now to Being Open — because love isn't a finish line, it's a practice.https://www.linkedin.com/in/jocelyn-penque-saundersDating BreakthroughAll About Love: Bell HooksHow to Not Die Alone: Logan UryAttached: Amir Levine & Rachel HellerTiny Beautiful Things: Cheryl Strayed

Today on Typical Skeptic Podcast, I'm honored to welcome Eve Lorgen – counselor, hypnotherapist, anomalous trauma researcher and author of The Love Bite: Alien Interference in Human Love Relationships and The Dark Side of Cupid.Eve has been on the front lines of this work since the early 1990s, counseling alien abductees, MILABs, mind control survivors, DID/RA survivors, and targets of spiritual warfare and demonic/psychic attacks. She coined the term “alien love bite” to describe orchestrated love relationships engineered by non-human intelligences and has helped countless experiencers recognize and heal from these patterns and from Complex Trauma/CPTSD that often begins in childhood.Today we're going to get into what anomalous trauma really is, how alien and paranormal forces can manipulate love and bonding, how this overlaps with cult and narcissistic abuse, and most importantly, what real recovery and spiritual sovereignty look like.3. Bio (for description / pin comment)About Eve LorgenEve Lorgen is a dedicated counseling and hypnotherapy professional, author, and anomalous trauma researcher. She began her pioneering work with alien abductees, MILABs and mind control victims while earning her Masters Degree in Counseling Psychology in 1992. She also holds a BS in Biochemistry and worked in the biotechnology industry for 7 years.In 1994, Eve started one of the early support groups for experiencers of anomalous trauma in San Diego County, CA, and she continues to consult with clients worldwide from her home in Western North Carolina. She was a close associate of Barbara Bartholic and is committed to continuing and expanding the work of Dr. Karla Turner.Eve LorgenEve is the author of:The Love Bite: Alien Interference in Human Love RelationshipsThe Dark Side of Cupid (Keyhole Publishing, 2012; updated 2nd edition now available)Her research focuses on “anomalous trauma” – events outside the normal range of human experience – including alien abductions, near-death experiences, shamanic initiations, MILABs, mind control, DID/RA, spiritual warfare, demonic and psychic attacks, cult involvement, and narcissistic abuse. A major theme of her work is the “alien love bite” and paranormal orchestration of love relationships, where non-human intelligences manipulate bonding, sexuality, and life paths for their own purposes.Eve LorgenEve has written extensively for magazines and journals such as Nexus, MUFON Journal, X-Times, JAR, and many independent zines and websites. Her work has been translated into Spanish, Italian, French, and Croatian, and she's a frequent guest on talk radio, podcasts, and documentaries. She previously hosted NSPN Night Search Paranormal Radio out of Memphis, TN, and has lectured at MUFON groups, UFO/paranormal conferences, and Brian Hall's Conspiracy Conference.Eve LorgenEve offers telephone/online consulting and counseling for anomalous trauma and Complex PTSD.Website: EveLorgen.comEve LorgenEmail (sessions/contact): elorgen@gmail.comTypical Skeptic Podcast Links and Affiliates:Support the Mission:

It's beginning to look a lot like chaos, Trawlers! In this 'starting to feel' festive-but-feral episode, Jemma and Marina wade through glitter explosions, Christmas tree catastrophes and a BBC News bauble-gate blooper before heading straight into the most unexpected love story of the season: Donald Trump going full heart-eyes for New York's new Mayor-elect, Zohran Mamdani.What was meant to be an explosive Oval Office showdown somehow turned into a political rom-com, complete with cheesy poses and Trump posting Mamdani like a teenage crush. We unpack the memes, the madness and the moment Trump's ego got speared by Cupid.But don't get too cosy because from there it's back to the grim stuff: Trump resharing posts calling for Democrats to be hung, a “peace plan” for Ukraine that appears to have been written in Moscow, Europe's furious backlash, and the Kremlin fingerprints smeared all over MAGA's online army.Plus a bang-on satirical closer from Alex With Pen.It's festive, furious and fully unhinged - exactly how you like it. Enjoy!This is the link to the petition Marina mentions in the episode to 'call a public inquiry into Russian influence on UK Politics & Democracy'. Follow the link to sign your name: https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/744215Thank you for sharing and please do follow us @MarinaPurkiss @jemmaforte @TheTrawlPodcast Patreonhttps://patreon.com/TheTrawlPodcast Youtubehttps://www.youtube.com/@TheTrawl Twitterhttps://twitter.com/TheTrawlPodcastIf you've even mildly enjoyed The Trawl, you'll love the unfiltered, no-holds-barred extras from Jemma & Marina over on Patreon, including:• Exclusive episodes of The Trawl Goss – where Jemma and Marina spill backstage gossip, dive into their personal lives, and often forget the mic is on• Early access to The Trawl Meets…• Glorious ad-free episodesPlus, there's a bell-free community of over 3,300 legends sparking brilliant chat.And it's your way to support the pod which the ladies pour their hearts, souls (and occasional anxiety) into. All for your listening pleasure and reassurance that through this geopolitical s**tstorm… you're not alone.Come join the fun:https://www.patreon.com/TheTrawlPodcast?utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

What 104 Dates Taught Her About Love | Heidi Friedman on The Cupid's Coach PodcastWhat does it really take to find lasting love in today's world?In this inspiring episode, Julie Ferman talks with Heidi Friedman, an attorney turned author, who documented her journey through 104 first dates on the road to true love.Heidi shares how heartbreak, patience, and a commitment to personal growth helped her discover what really matters in relationships — from emotional safety and mutual support to finding someone who helps you become your best self.You'll Learn:• How to stay hopeful and confident while dating• Why “practice dates” can be your best teachers• The key qualities that make love last• How to move past perfectionism and open your heart to real connectionWhether you're single, divorced, or just curious about modern love — this episode will give you fresh insight and hope for your own journey.#JulieFerman #CupidsCoachPodcast #HeidiFriedman #LoveLessons104Dates #ModernDating #RelationshipAdvice #DatingAfterDivorce #FindingLove #LoveStories #EmotionalIntelligence #DatingTips #PersonalGrowth #RealLove

The Hogwarts Professor comment threads have been jumping so Nick Jeffery and John Granger decided to dedicate a conversation to a review of the Greatest Hits in the last week (to do a complete review yourself, click on ‘Activity' in the left margin of the Hogwarts Professor Substack home page).After their reviewing the remarkably global and growing audience of Rowling Readers — 36 countries, 46 states! — and tracking The Presence's location — her yacht seems to be in Fiji but she is touring Levesden Studios? — Nick and John read out fifteen comment subjects and discuss the merits, deficiencies, and promise of each.The lede story is the theory shared by Jaclyn Hayes that Cormoran Strike and the late Charlotte Campbell were half-siblings with Jonny Rokeby in common as their absentee father. From her notes: I think Charlotte was blackmailed (via threat of exposing the relatedness btw her and Cormoran) into marrying Jago to provide him a male heir. Perhaps their relatedness is even an open secret in Charlotte's family, similar to the “secret” relatedness of Decima and Rupert in THM (another parallel). Charlotte was forbidden from telling Cormoran about the blackmail, but since she's conniving and obsessed with him, she uses their unexpected encounter at the Paralympics gala to drop hints about her predicament, hoping he'll solve the mystery and save her or take her back once she's fulfilled the terms of her marriage/birth agreement with Jago. She then orchestrates another encounter with Cormoran to drop more hints-- this time at Franco's, which she knows will trigger the memory of her father's outrage at seeing her and Cormoran dating again. She hopes Cormoran will realize her father was angry because he knew they were related, not simply because he thinks Cormoran wasn't good enough for her. She then tells Coromoran things would be different if he'd taken the job her father offered him (calling to mind the job Tara gives Rupert to keep him quiet in THM), and says she found out she was pregnant at Tara's house and later “lost” (not aborted) the baby. Read the whole thing. Ed Shardlow's response, in which he points out that the hallmark given to silver and DNA testing of human beings have a lot in common, and Tamspells and Jaclyn Hayes discussion of Strike's dreams in previous books give the Strike:Charlotte::Rupert:Decima theory some heft. Cheryl Rose Orrocks asked for help with research she is doing on a possible divine marker, mythologically divine at least, being placed in each book at the appearance of that novel's killer. The only holes in her theory at the time Nick and John recorded their conversation were Troubled Blood and Running Grave — and Catherine has since posted a neat solution for Strike 5. Check that out and please share the missing god or goddess from Running Grave!Nick and John also review and discuss:* Ed Shardlow's idea that the characters creating narratives inside Rowling-Galbraith stories are perhaps best understood as creating their stories as Rowling writes hers, i.e., inspired by Lake material and crafted with the tools in their Sheds;* Vicky's thank you to Dr Fimi for the Ursula Le Guin quotation;* Ed Shardlow's ‘RL Mystery' with back-up from Tamspells and J. S. Maleksen;* Cheryl Rose Orrocks' YouTube notes about the Dirty Bomb Theory conversation (and just how wrong John is about Carmen the opera and Carmen Ellacott); and* Answers to listener requests for more information — all of which can be found in the Links section below!In the week to come, John pledges to post his Hallmarked Man Names exegesis, Nick is working on his review of Aurora Leigh, the supposed template of Ink Black Heart (and the only book ever confirmed by Rowling as such), they will record their Part Two ring charting this weekend, and John is reorganizing his 2017 seven week online course — Wizard Reading Formula — for which class Paid Subscribers will get a greater than 50% discount.John and Nick thank everyone listening and especially those active on the comment threads and taking part in the Hallmarked Man Ring Reading Workshop!Links to Subjects Discussed in the Conversation Above:Cheryl Rose Orrocks: Can you let me know the title and author of the book about Gothic elements?The one John used for Harry Potter's Bookshelf was Patterns of fear in the Gothic novel, 1790-1830 by Ann Tracy, now only ‘in print' via a Kindle version.John read from his much longer Harry Meets Hamlet and Scrooge: Harry Potter's Hogwarts Adventures as the Gateway to English Literature in the conversation above, in which the list of subjects is spelled out (e.g., the castle, supernatural atmosphere, horror, isolation, subterranean passages, fragmentation and reunion, prophecy, ancestral curse, tainted blood, bond of blood, graveyard, corpses, Decay of Aristocratic Privilege, Rise of Bourgeoisie, forest, memories, dreams, found book, doppelgangers, scar or tell-tale mark, mysterious stranger, confused origin, night, mist and fog, distant past, death,, etc.).John also recommends The Handbook of Gothic Literature, ed. Marie Mulvy-Roberts, and The Cambridge Companion to Gothic Fiction, ed. Jerrold Hogle.Who is the mystery writer John was talking about who killed a women when she was an adolescent?Anne Perry, author of the Thomas and Charlotte Pitt and William Monk series of historical detective fiction. John recommends Anne Perry and the Murder of the Century, the book written by the journalist who out'd Perry as a convicted murderer writing murder mysteries. Perry died in 2023. J. S. Maleksen I too enjoyed this post, immensely. Can someone recommend a version of Cupid and Psyche and other relevant works of mythology for a Striker who assiduously avoided mythology through seven years of post-secondary education. I'm willing to gut it out in order to understand Rowling's work. TIA.John shared his favorites in the conversation above — Hamilton's Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes, Graves' The Greek Myths, Powell's Classical Myth, and Schwab's Gods and Heroes: Myths and Epics of Ancient Greece but Dr Dimitra Fimi responded in the thread today:It's a really difficult question this, and yet it shouldn't be. But the truth is that there is no contemporary authoritative collection of Greek/Classical mythological retellings that's up-to-date with recent scholarship, etc. Catherine recommends Hamilton's book below, which is still good in many respects, but these earlier compilations (like Bulfinch's too) often synthesize different versions of mythological narratives, and omit some interesting variations. My recommendations are a bit heavier on the scholarly side of things, but still readable (the issue will be getting hold of them, but I provide links where possible):1) Classical Myth by Barry B. Powell - as implied by the astronomical price on Amazon.uk (https://amzn.to/3JYkLfF) this is mostly available second-hand now, but there is a scanned version via Archive.org: https://archive.org/details/classicalmyth0000powe (you'll need to create a free account, but once you do you can log in and borrow the book digitally to read)2) Early Greek Myth: A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources (2 Volumes) by Timothy Gantz is great, and at least easier to get hold of. It gives the tales and their versions as well as an overview of their sources. The Amazon price of Vol. 1, for example, is a bit more accessible: https://amzn.to/4oTFKQ1For those interested in the de profundis interpretation of classical myth, see The Door in the Sky: Coomaraswamy on Myth and Meaning and Symbolism in Greek Mythology by Paul Diel.You can find the post about Beedle the Bard that Dr Fimi discussed in her conversation with Nick and John at her Substack, ‘A Kind of Elvish Craft:' “You must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty!”: Secondary World Fairy Tales in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter Series This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit hogwartsprofessor.substack.com/subscribe

Gustav Klimt's Portrait of Elisabeth Lederer (1914-16) sold for the second highest price ever realised at auction at Sotheby's in New York on Tuesday. It was the most notable of several big sales in the sold-out (or “white-glove”) auction of 24 works from the collection of the late billionaire Leonard Lauder, and has prompted some commentators to declare that the art market has turned a corner following a prolonged downturn. Ben Luke speaks to The Art Newspaper's senior art market editor in the Americas, Carlie Porterfield, about this week's auctions, and asks if they do mark a turning point in the art market's fortunes. Cop 30, the United Nations Climate Change Conference, is taking place in Belém, Brazil, and ends on Friday. To coincide with the conference, the Gallery Climate Coalition is publishing a Stocktake Report, in which it gives hard data on the efforts of its members to reduce their carbon emissions. The Art Newspaper's contemporary art correspondent in London, Louisa Buck, who is a co-founder of the coalition, tells Ben more. And this episode's Work of the Week is Victorious Cupid (1601-02) by Caravaggio, a landmark work by the artist, made at the height of his fame in Rome. The painting is making a rare journey from its home at the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin to the Wallace Collection in London, where it is at the centre of an exhibition opening next week. Ben talks to the collection's director, Xavier Bray, about the painting.Caravaggio's Cupid, Wallace Collection, London, 26 November-12 April 2026 Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Faiyaz Kara, restaurant critic for the Orlando Weekly, shares his reviews of local eateries, including Moa Kai Hawaiian Diner on Colonial Drive; Corner Chophouse, which recently moved into the old Park Avenue Tavern/Dexter's space in Hannibal Square; Cupid's Hot Dogs is planning to reopen in the nearby city of Casselberry, and more.

Faiyaz Kara, restaurant critic for the Orlando Weekly, shares his reviews of local eateries, including Moa Kai Hawaiian Diner on Colonial Drive; Corner Chophouse, which recently moved into the old Park Avenue Tavern/Dexter's space in Hannibal Square; Cupid's Hot Dogs is planning to reopen in the nearby city of Casselberry, and more.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Dimitra Fimi is Professor of Fantasy and Children's Literature at the University of Glasgow and Co-Director of the Centre for Fantasy and the Fantastic. Her Tolkien, Race and Cultural History won the Mythopoeic Scholarship Award for Inklings Studies and she co-edited the critical edition of A Secret Vice: Tolkien on Invented Languages which won the Tolkien Society Award for Best Book. Her Celtic Myth in Contemporary Children's Fantasy won the Mythopoeic Scholarship Award in Myth and Fantasy Studies. Other work includes co-editing Sub-creating Arda: World-building in J.R.R. Tolkien's Work, its Precursors and its Legacies and Imagining the Celtic Past in Modern Fantasy. She has contributed articles for the TLS and The Conversation, and has appeared on numerous radio and TV programs.When the rightly famous and beloved ‘The Great Courses' series decided to offer a Lord of the Rings entry for their catalog of the very best in scholarship for adult-learners, they asked Dimitra Fimi to create ‘The World of J. R. R. Tolkien,' one of their most popular courses and one you can enjoy in an Audible edition.Links Promised in Conversation:A Kind of Elvish Craft: The Dimitra Fimi Substack Site* Miniature Books in Children's Fantasy* Parabasis: A Tribute to Dionysis Stavvopoulos* On Tolkien's Letter 131 (4): “Romance” vs. ScienceDimitra Fimi articles at ‘The Conversation'* After 150 years, we still haven't solved the puzzle of Alice in Wonderland (2015)Kanreki Conversations about Rowling-Galbraith ‘Golden Threads'* Pregnancy Traps in the Works of Rowling-Galbraith* Golden Threads in Rowling-Galbraith (1)* Golden Threads in Rowling-Galbraith (2)* ‘The Lost Child' Golden Thread* Alternative Explanations of ‘The Lost Child' Golden Thread* The Induced Abortion Hypothesis* The July 2025 Kanreki IndexOur Ten Questions for Dr Fimi:1. How does a woman born and raised on the Greek island of Salamis wind up in Cardiff studying Celtic Mythology?2. You're a Tolkien scholar and expert in fantasy and Children's literature. Tolkienistas are legend for looking down their Ent noses at Harry Potter, though there are important exceptions to that rule (the late Stratford Caldecott, his wife Leonie, Amy H. Sturgis, others). How did you meet the Boy Who Lived and what were your first impressions of Rowling as author?3. You have a lot in common with Rowling, no? Tolkien devotee, serious student of mythology, and a wonderful appreciation of the magic of story, especially magical stories for children. The Tolkien influence on Rowling is well documented though she has tried to belittle it, but her use of myths as templates for her stories is less well known but at least as important. What do you make of her admittedly “shameless” borrowing from folk tales and myths?4. I guess this is a segue to the Cormoran Strike books which are awash in myths -- Leda and the Swan, Castor and Pollux, Cupid and Psyche, Artemis and Tisiphone... Am I missing any?5. You've seen Rowling's recent confirmation of the Cupid and Psyche myth in her tweeted painting of ‘Psyche Ascendant.' That suggests we'll see the happy ending of the myth in Strikes 9 and 10. Or does it? What did you see of that myth specifically in Hallmarked Man?6. Running Grave has another embedded text, not a myth per se, one that makes sense in light of Rowling's love of everything the Bronte sisters wrote. Tell us what made you think of Jane Eyre as you were reading Strike 7.7. Rowling did something unusual in 2019, well, among the unusual things she did that year, in inviting readers to interpret her work in light of their ‘Lake' inspiration as well as her intentional ‘Shed' artistry. Writers like Lewis and Tolkien would be aghast at that, though Inkling Studies today necessarily include heavy biographical leanings in almost everything written about those authors. What is your take in general on what Lewis called ‘The Personal Heresy' and about Rowling as a living author inviting that critical perspective while she is still among us?8. It's fascinating, frankly, that you are not so compartmentalized in your reading that Rowling is still a writer you read outside of her fantasy and children's literature. Do you read the Strike-Ellacott stories because you also love a good detective novel or is it your interest in Rowling and whatever she is writing?9. Have you read Christmas Pig? John believes that in fifty years, the Lord tarrying, high school and college students will read Pig as Rowling's representative work the way we had to read Tale of Two Cities or Christmas Carol to be exposed to Dickens.10. John tries to read imaginative fiction through what he calls an “iconological lens,” a method born of his Perennialist beliefs and life as an Orthodox Christian. In what ways do you think your childhood and secondary education gave you a sympathy unusual for multi-valent texts than those born and raised in relatively secular cultures? This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit hogwartsprofessor.substack.com/subscribe

Brother, it's 10am on a Tuesday. In this Season 8 finale, your Queering Things hosts rant about how this episode handles Sam and Dean's conflict and bemoan the fact that Dean and Cas finally talk about their feelings but not their Feelings. Naomi gets hers (offscreen?!), Crowley almost becomes the world's hottest, saddest human, and we discuss the implications of Metatron stealing Cas' grace to throw the angels out of heaven. Finally, Noah gives his best galaxy-brain predictions for the beginning of Season 9. Other topics of note include: Cupid wants Dean and Cas to see Gay Love in this bar.Thank GOD they didn't kill Jody.We play a little fast and loose with Chuck-related spoilers.Naomi deserved a better takedown episode arc.Noah proposes an alternate timeline.Angel reproductive rights and responsiblilities Listen to our full Season 8 Mixtape! ⁠Watch Jensen Ackles sing "Brother" ⁠.This episode discusses Supernatural Season 8, Episode 23, Sacrifice through the theme of Free Will.Join our Discord! https://discord.gg/TVwznZZqEyFor more episodes and social media, visit queeringthingspodcast.com! Join our Patreon (now includes FREE tier)! https://www.patreon.com/queeringthings

Cupid came in the form of a UPS driver and delivered love in the mail room. That's how it all began for John and Jaqueline Brown. A chance encounter sparked 28+ years of love, learning, submission, triumph, and tragedy. Snooks and Lovey sit down with a couple that explains what it means to have a "No Back Door" policy and how they inspired each other to dream deeply, believe in one another, and dare to fail and achieve. If you are ready to take your marriage or relationship to the next level, this is the interview for you. Be prepared to learn how to: 1) Be The CEO Of YOU! (Jacqueline's newly released book) 2) Embrace the "Total Success System""  #totalsuccesssystem #businessgrowth #marriageadvice #marriedlife #marriedpreneur #marriedintocrazy  Get your tickets to the 2026 Married Into Crazy Winter Ball & Marriage Conference in Sacramento, CA on February 6 - 7, 2026. https://marriedintocrazy.ticketlocity.com/events/131874

When Running Grave was published, John Granger charted each Part's chapter sets, the Book-as-a-Whole, and then the Book as the concluding novel of a seven book series. It took him weeks and weeks, it yielded astonishing revelations via Rowling-Galbraith's structural artistry, and… it was a rather joyless affair. No one joined him in the process to verify or discount via a separate but simultaneous reading what he found, no one learned how to do it while looking over his shoulder, and very few appreciated what it was all about. Fast forward to September 2025 and the publication of Hallmarked Man. Nick Jeffery and John had collaborated in a month-long Lake-and-Shed reading marathon of everything Rowling had written as well as the Golden Threads running through all her work. They were looking for a new Special Project they could offer the growing list of Paid Subscribers in addition to the weekly conversations and articles they posted for all comers. Why not do a series of posts only the most Serious Strikers would be interested in, a full-on charting of Strike 8?John has posted three Ring Composition throat-clearing exercises complete with video and transcripts — the Heart of Ring Composition, the Mechanics and Mystery of Ring Composition, and a Case Study in Reading a Strike Novel Ring (Career of Evil) — to warm up the niche audience for this adventure. In the conversation above, Nick and John lay out their hopes for this series, namely, that participants will leave with:* an adamantine grasp of what charting a book involves (chapter notes, latch, turn, and t-back lines with explanations);* a clockworks understanding of Strike 8 ‘structural artistry, * charts they've drawn of the Parts' chapter sets as well as the Whole Book; and, most important,* a Ring Reading Skill Set to be deployed on classic novels as well as contemporary favorites, an essential for those who love to read and re-read the Greats, alive and dead.We'll start with Part One next week; there's a blank ring below for you to give it a shot and John's first draft to compare and contrast with your findings.This kind of thing is not for everyone, of course, so most of what goes on here is for all subscribers. Nick and John will be posting about the Hallmarked Man's new names, Browning's The Ring and the Book (a big part of Strike 8's epigraphs), more on the Cupid and Psyche backdrop to the series (it solves some of Robin's most mysterious behaviors, believe it or not!), and the hidden-in-plain-sight Rowling favorite author and book imbedded in her latest work (no hints!). That's in addition, again, to Nick and John's discussions of the theories and insights of HogPro readers, the alchemy, Who Moved the Stone?, the Masonic Symbolism, and the book they rushed to overlook, Maid of the Silver Sea.It's a great time to be a Rowling Reader — and to be either a paid or free subscriber to Hogwarts Professor! Thank you for your support and engagement with the conversations here.Hogwarts Professor is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Hogwarts Professor at hogwartsprofessor.substack.com/subscribe

Behind every book lies a story—and Stacey Wilk's path to becoming a romance author is one you won't want to miss! In this episode, Deborah sits down with Stacey to uncover the inspiration, challenges, and triumphs that shaped her journey. Whether you're dreaming of becoming a writer or simply love hearing how authors bring stories to life, this conversation is sure to spark your own creativity and passion. Get ready to be inspired! Here are the things to expect in the episode:Why writing is a skill anyone can learn, not just a gift you're born withStacey's unique writing process and publishing journeyOvercoming common challenges—plot, characters, and deadlinesCreating authentic connections between the author and readersHow writing fuels both communication and self-discoveryAnd much more! About Stacey:Best-selling and award-winning author, Stacey Wilk, writes romance that hooks you heart and soul. She published her first novel in 2013. Since then, she's published another thirty, so women everywhere can slow down and indulge. They certainly deserve it.When she isn't writing, she speaks to groups to educate, entertain and motivate. She even earned a degree in Speech, Theater, Communications. Let's face it. She has a lot to say. Wanna chat? Connect with Stacey Wilk!Website: https://www.staceywilk.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/staceysnovelfamilyInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/_staceywilk Book Recommendations:Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier Sea Glass Made with Second Chances by Stacey Wilk Sea Glass Hidden in Plain Sight by Stacey Wilk   Connect with Deborah Kevin:Website: www.deborahkevin.comSubstack: https://debbykevin.substack.com/Instagram: www.instagram.com/debbykevinwriterLinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/deborah-kevin/Book Recommendations: https://bookshop.org/shop/storytellher Check out Highlander Press:Website: www.highlanderpressbooks.comTikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@highlanderpressInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/highlanderpressFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/highlanderpress

Sonnet 154 brings to a close William Shakespeare's collection of sonnets, and it does so hand-in-hand with Sonnet 153, of which it is not a continuation, but a reiteration.Like Sonnet 153, the poem borrows directly from an epigram by 6th century Greek poet Marianus Scholasticus, and tells the story of Cupid who falls asleep in a mountain grove with his Torch of Hymen by his side. One of the goddess Diana's nymphs – in this version the most beautiful of them all – takes the torch and attempts to extinguish it in a nearby well, and in doing so inadvertently creates a hot bath for eternity.In both versions by William Shakespeare, this  becomes a place where men may go to find relief for their sickness or disease, whereby neither of the two sonnets specifies just exactly what kind of disease may be so cured and leaves it somewhat open to interpretation whether Shakespeare means merely the affliction of a love sickness, or whether he is also alluding, as is widely believed, to venereal diseases, most particularly syphilis, for which hot baths were considered to be a remedial measure, if not exactly cure, at the time.

Join us as we step into the enchanting world of "The Adventures of Maisie," a delightful radio program that follows the misadventures and comedic escapades of the lovably naive showgirl, Maisie Revere. Starring the talented and versatile Ann Sothern, the series first graced the airwaves in 1945, captivating audiences with Maisie's endearing charm and her knack for finding humor in every situation. Set against the backdrop of the bustling city, Maisie's character navigates through a variety of humorous scenarios, from quirky jobs to unexpected romances. Originally introduced as a supporting character in the movie "Maisie," the popularity of Maisie led to the creation of this standalone radio series. This episode was originally broadcast March 29th, 1951 through syndication by MGM.

#652 What does it take to build a thriving matchmaking business while raising three kids and empowering others to find love? In this inspiring episode, host Brien Gearin sits down with Siobhan Copland, founder of Cupid in the City and Project 143, to hear how she transformed her side passion into a full-fledged career helping busy professionals find meaningful relationships. Siobhan shares her journey from getting laid off to becoming a sought-after “female Hitch,” the lessons she's learned about knowing your worth and pricing accordingly, and how she balances entrepreneurship with motherhood. From the power of authentic connection to the freedom of working for yourself, this episode is a masterclass in following your passion and creating a life you love! What we discuss with Siobhan: + Siobhan's journey into matchmaking + Launching Cupid in the City after redundancy + Early success finding her first clients + Lessons from running London singles events + Transitioning from side hustle to full-time business + Balancing motherhood and entrepreneurship + The importance of self-awareness in dating + Coaching clients to become “ready for love” + Competing with dating apps through personal touch + Scaling her business and raising her prices Thank you, Siobhan! Check out Cupid in the City at CupidintheCity.com. Follow Siobhan on Instagram. To get access to our FREE Business Training course go to ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠MillionaireUniversity.com/training⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. And follow us on: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Facebook⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Tik Tok⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Youtube⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ To get exclusive offers mentioned in this episode and to support the show, visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠millionaireuniversity.com/sponsors⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Want to hear from more incredible entrepreneurs? Check out all of our interviews ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Sonnet 153 is the first of two poems that round off the collection, both retelling the same story of a tired love god Cupid who falls asleep, having put down his torch beside him. This is taken up by a nymph who dips it in a cool fountain or well with the intention of 'disarming' Cupid, but the flame of the torch is so intense that it turns the pool into a hot bath where ever since men who are sick can go to find relief.

Years before getting the indie gold star with Before Today, Beverly Hills trust fundie Ariel Rosenberg recorded a couple hundred cassettes-worth of home made pastiche psychedelic bacterium while in high school and college. Loverboy was the fifth LP extracted from this low-fi/highly-invigorating cassette cache. It's my favorite of Phase I Ariel Pink - probably because it's the only one I own on vinyl. Also - we play Cupid and pop the cherry on the Cryofab Rejuvenation Machine II.

He's like Cupid... with a kink. In this movie Girl Vs Monster is sooooo back fighting another Halloween (or Valentine's Day) baddie. The Sabrina Carpenter aesthetic really slays in this one y'all.Heart Eyes (2025) is rated R for strong violence and gore, language and some sexual content.

Click here to Shop Affirmation Decks, Oracle Decks, and more!  Use Promo code: RCPODCAST20 for 20% off your first order!   Today's Power Affirmation: Nothing can stop me from victory.   Today's Oracle of Motivation: Around 180 million semen warriors start the mighty race for reproduction when Cupid shoots his love arrow. They swarm through crowded villages, maze through tunnels, and battle through the great protectors in the Queen's ovary palace. For the few that make it through the marathon and past the guards, it usually takes teamwork to break down the fortress that protects the eggs of life. Once the fortress is cracked, only one victor can slip through and claim the prized egg! If you think you have no chance of bringing your dreams to life, remember that you are the result of Mother Nature's most impossible race. You are the genetic combination of the fiercest marathon warrior and the rarest prized egg of life. Victory is already yours.   Designed to Motivate Your Creative Maniac Mind The 60-Second Power Affirmations Podcast is designed to help you focus, affirm your visions, and harness the power within your creative maniac mind! Join us daily for a new 60-second power affirmation followed by a blast of oracle motivation from the Universe (+ a quick breathing meditation). It's time to take off your procrastination diaper and share your musings with the world!   For more musings, visit RageCreate.com     Leave a Review & Share! Apple Podcast reviews are one of THE most important factors for podcasts. If you enjoy the show, please take a second to leave the show a review on Apple Podcasts! Click this link: Leave a review on Apple Podcasts Hit “Listen on Apple Podcasts” on the left-hand side under the picture. Scroll down under “Ratings & Reviews” & click “Write A Review” Leave an honest review. You're awesome!  

Before you run to God, have someone check what he’s like. (God likes you a lot.) The post Cupid appeared first on Key Life.

St. Louis “missed connections” get the spotlight — from the Cardinals game (because nothing says romance like a Goldschmidt jersey and zero courage), to the Schnucks pasta sauce aisle (true love bottled in Rao's), Tower Grove dog playdates (dogs have more game than people), and even a Central West End coffee shop spill. It's awkward romance, funny love stories, and meet-cutes gone wrong — basically a real-life rom-com, minus the happy ending. If you like comedy videos, sarcastic humor, and hilarious fails, you've found your place with The Rizzuto Show. The Goldschmidt Ghoster (00:00:13) He had a Paul Goldschmidt jersey, a Cards hat pulled low, and the courage to… say nothing. She had a great smile and probably actual game knowledge. Instead of a number, he walked away with regret. Classic Busch Stadium love story. The Sauce Boss at Schnucks (00:01:18) Nothing says romance like standing helpless in the pasta aisle, crying over marinara. Enter: Mystery Hoodie Girl, handing out Rao's recs like Cupid with a grocery list. He didn't get her number, but at least dinner didn't taste like regret. When Your Dog Has Better Game Than You (00:02:35) Boy meets girl. Dog meets dog. Only one party knows how to seal the deal… and it's not the humans. Two retrievers almost arranged a playdate — too bad their owners couldn't figure it out. Latte, Meet Gravity (00:03:45) Nothing sparks romance quite like a stranger launching a latte all over Kaldi's. Amid the splash zone, two people locked eyes. She smirked, he chickened out, and love evaporated faster than spilled espresso. Follow The Rizzuto Show @rizzshow on all your favorite social media, including YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, and more. Connect with The Rizzuto Show online at 1057thepoint.com/rizz See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.