#i cannot afford a hotel room

[eclecticbasementenemy]

I thought y'all were doing the whole "two guys from an old TV show spent a lot of time in the same shot so we headcanon them as gay" thing with House MD. Like I expected to be disappointed but no, if anything the show is SIGNIFICANTLY more gay than I was led to believe. House and Wilson really are in a toxic quasi platonic quasi not relationship that hurts them both that they just cannot let go of without losing an integral part of themselves, meaning they are each the one "stable" point in each other's lives. They enable each other in incredibly fucked up ways. At first glance they seem like the stereotypical "straight laced meets bad boy" but no, one of them dates their dying patients and steals someone's spoon to run it through a cancer test to settle a bet and comes up with clever little manipulative plots to subtly torture the other one in the name of helping them and it is not House.

Also both of them just act a lot more gay than I anticipated. Like House talks a LOT about how pretty Chase is and seems to know the ins and outs of the gay scene really, really well. And Wilsons actions towards House just cannot be explained away platonically, like if that man does not desire House carnally what the actual fuck is he doing. He runs to House when he's getting divorced from his wife even though he could afford a hotel room and then House fucks with him while also trying to trick him into staying and he STILL DOESN'T LEAVE for like another couple of weeks like what kind of insane psychosexual old man yaoi is going on here.

They're both just so fucked up and such terrible people and it is so fascinating.

[queermystic]

Thanks to all the generous donations theres food in the House. Yay. But Homelessness is an ongoing crises that just gets worse lmfao.

Until I have a stable solid income on record my Mom and i cannot qualify for any apartments in the area because literally all of the local housing is owned by real estate corporations that have insane Income Requirements and other hoops that you have to jump through to even be considered.

But we can't stay at my sisters any longer without risking getting her and her kids evicted because of "unauthorized guests" and those kids cannot be Homeless.

She just got a notice from her landlord that We absolutely Have to be out by the Forth [4th].

So in order to keep my disabled elderly mother and I off the streets this winter we're gonna have to pay for a Hotel Room for a whole month (at least), which is absolutely going to cost more than my mom makes on Social Security and as I'm not sure the job I've got lined up isn't going to fall through [sisters abusive asshole boyfriend is making noise about not wanting Me to watch His Kids] I cant be sure I'll be able to cover the difference.

I'm thinking about setting up a GoFundMe, but for now here's my usual donation links

Ko-Fi

PayPal

Any amount helps but if you cant afford to donate that's cool too, we're all struggling. But Please reblog so theres a greater chance of this post reaching someone who Can Help.

And heres a Poll for the fun of clicking a button

[deadonyouraccount]

Life Was Easy When It Was Boring - Gwayne H. x Targaryen!Reader

A/N: Hello I said I wasn’t writing but I did anyways bc @wicked-barbie inspired me now back to reposting on ao3, also the title is song lyrics from the police - darkness

Rating: Explicit

WC: 2.4k

Tags: PWP, 80’s corporate vacay, ARUBA!, I do get in the weeds about the au, Rhaenyra’s sister!Reader, Aemma lives, background Rhaenicent, bisexual Gwayne, I physically cannot go without mentioning Criston, dirty talk, oral m!receiving, f!masturbation, Otto argues w daemon while reading fiscal reports by the pool, Gwayne’s mannerisms are so very important to me

The soft din of breakfast being served drew you out of your thoughts. You scanned the room, seeing your sickly father— your mother rubbing his shoulders, a furrow between her brows. You were nineteen, Rhaenyra twenty-two, and set to inherit the family company. Aemma couldn’t have children anymore and now your father had cancer. Things needed to be tidied up considering her gender. Idiotic but whatever, she was intelligent and driven, you idolized your sister.

She was being courted around by the Velaryon shipping heir— you had a feeling she’d found a loophole. Your sister in a sarong, Alicent on her arm passed by, heading down to the pool to have breakfast, sparing no glance your way. You’d noticed Laenor certainly spent more time looking at men himself. A match was a match.

It was summer in the Northern Hemisphere. When the annual holiday to some destination most people couldn’t afford occurred. A neat bow for a two-week chance of expanding business. You went along for the ride, as was your duty.

This year it was Aruba. The Hotel Americana, sitting on lovely Palm Beach. You’d read about it in the Times. ‘Those who wish for familiar hotels with many resort amenities, nightlife, shopping, and gambling will like the scale and variety available.’

Hm. You had a feeling Otto was steering your father towards the economic boom of the United States right now. You went to University in Chicago, grateful for the warm weather. You were a bit shy and awkward, used to pubs and not clubs. Regardless, you liked the spa, courts, and the beach even if you looked like a ghost with that zinc-laden sunscreen your mother ‘offered’.

Not everyone had arrived yet. Uncle Daemon was to join with Laena, scandalously young, but she was strong and mature. Much like the women were in your family. You forked some eggs into your mouth, frowning. Laena calmed him, but he was certainly…chaotic. Daemon and Otto’s arguments were highly entertaining at the least.

Alicent was excited her brother was coming.

Gwayne Hightower was the enigmatic heir, a wildcard by all accounts, but he kept family ties. As a Targaryen looking in, it was expected of him to be ingratiated into the international conglomerate. Alicent was best friends with your sister, she knew all of you and held you as a baby.

The younger brothers who weren’t shucked off overseas in boarding school had their divisions to run and oversee. Where a Targaryen loomed, a Hightower stood in the shadow, pulling the strings, combing the pieces. Except Gwayne. He took off and moved to the States, you’d seen him in magazines.

“A male model, pah! He’s running from his birthright, he’ll learn once he arrives,” you heard Otto scoff to your father over breakfast, tossing a magazine out of his sight. You fiddled with your food, purple eyes peering out the large windows, scanning the bay.

You wondered if Otto held some hope for him. Alicent seemed to be doing just fine in his stead. Yet the idea of Rhaenyra becoming CEO ruffled feathers. Women in business…you certainly didn’t want it.

You thought about Gwayne again. He was handsome. Haughty, yet smiley with who he liked, a gleam in his eye like he held a secret, pretty teeth, and fine features. You were such an ugly duckling the last time you saw him. Baby fat, braces, pigtails. Horrid.

“You must be the other one,” he had laughed at some corporate dinner, earning some giggles and smiles. You smiled until you were alone and cried, watching your sister gleam, a shining star you wished to be.

The other one.

Perhaps you weren't too keen to see him again. Probably would bring a fellow model to strut around the beach with. Probably had a dumb smirk on his face, just like Criston used to. Probably would take a look at you and scoff about growing up and filling out.

You realized you were white-knuckling your utensil and carefully released your grip. You sighed, standing up to get dressed for the day, nodding at your parents.

It was always a flurry of neurotic dressing, comparing yourself to the willowy frame of Alicent and the athletic build of Nyra. Your therapist told you to dress how you wanted, not what you thought people expected. It was the age of athletic, leggy bodies— and you qualified for what felt like neither. Even if you played good field hockey back in school.

It’s not as if you were turned down often, but a bad relationship or harsh word left you insecure now and then.

“Curves, curves are pretty,” you muttered, tying on the top, a neon string bikini— one you'd bought on a whim shopping with your sister before the trip. The bottoms were cut high too, so you wrapped up in a big fishing shirt and slithered downstairs to hit the beach, a towel in one arm, a bag slung off your shoulder.

You walked out of the elevator, a clipped and haughty voice interrupting. They called, “Rhaenyra?”

You frowned. Not Rhaenyra. You turned to see the offender, lips set in a pout. Shock morphed your face. Gwayne Hightower, dressed in designer, his reddish hair all slicked and handsome, smug as you remembered. You blanched, blinking. Recognition flit over his blue eyes— a Cheshire smile upon his lips.

“Oh my, all grown up aren't you?”

He grinned, moving, holding you up as you tried to pass with a polite smile.

“Don’t you want to help a dear Hightower out?” He teased, followed by scoffing laughter. His bright eyes nonchalantly flicked to your face, then down to your tits and back. You would be lying if it didn’t feel good. You wanted him to look at you like that deep down.

What did you want?

You are supposed to be pissed off.

“I’m sure Otto has a whole itinerary for you, Gwayne,” you said coolly.

He shrugged, smiling to hide irritation, “I’m sure he does. I’ll see you on the beach, such a swan now aren’t you, no?”

You scowled, turning on your foot. He remembered the comment, the bastard had read your mind about the ugly duckling. You’d relax by the water and try to forget about his smug face, sharp cheeks, gorgeous blue eyes, and dark lashes- no!

“Fuck!” You hissed, scaring some old couple, ducking your head under your hat.

You’d been dozing under an umbrella, startled as the familiar voice of Gwayne disrupted your peace. He looked annoyed, a dismal look in his eye. The way his mouth pulled down reminded you of Otto and Alicent. You pushed back your hat, looking over at Gwayne lighting a cigarette in the adjacent lounger.

“Hello to you too, I take it you had a warm welcome?”

He scoffed, shrugging, “Oh, it’s always warm when Otto Hightower is in the room. Of course not, he wants me in the business, I want to live my life.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke, staring at the sand.

You mulled over his words, replying, “You could step down.”

“No. I’ll get there on my own time, I listen enough to not get routed immediately. I certainly didn’t come to this island to pour over reports,” he bit out, puffing again.

You hummed, knowing what he wanted. Gambling, girls, glamor. Flowing booze and powder. You saw the appeal, somewhat. Aspects. Perhaps you wanted to be the girl. You looked back at the waves in the distance, sighing, “Then why don’t you go and schmooze up over by the bar and beach volleyball, you’ll find Laenor down there.”

“Laenor,” he snorted, “Yes, playing slap ass I’m sure. He’s a fun time, I’ll admit.”

You pulled down your glasses. No man around you had ever uttered such things aloud. Gwayne laughed, grinning, eyes crinkling. He hummed, “You’re still so naive you know that? You’re a pretty little swan yet hiding out all alone. Men fuck men, it’s real and it’s quite pleasurable, darling.”

You fumed a little, he was tearing you to shreds with his mouth, and tossing the bits around with his hungry gaze. You sat up, glaring, blonde hair cascading down your shoulders. Your manicured nail jabbed at his Ralph Lauren-clad chest, soft voice growing sharp.

“You think you’re going to just waltz in and know everything? Tell me why you’re over here talking about fucking Laenor Velaryon with the spare daughter and not going to ‘enjoy yourself’ or whatever you said. Probably snorting and drinking up the nightclub and blowing your money on rummy. Trust me, I know the type, they just aren’t so blatantly ignorant!”

His smug smile dropped, eyes wide. The man looked chastised. Now you felt bad, frowning. You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Gwayne said nothing, looking to the side, and ashing out his cigarette. You apologized, gathering your scurried emotions.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not easy, all of this,” you gestured vaguely.

He replied quietly, “I was being an ass to you, you had every right.”

A beat of silence enveloped the air.

“You don’t have anyone else out of the circle to go to do you, Gwayne?”

He nodded- that grim look upon his face. You wanted it to go away. You didn’t like upsetting people. Rarely did you speak so candidly. Granted, he was an ass but you hated this tension. You wracked your mind for a quick solution.

“Do you want me to suck your cock?” You asked.

“W-what?” He spluttered, blue eyes going comically wide, spine stiffening.

You flushed, groaning at your inability to smooth things over. That was stupid. You should talk to your therapist about this. Thank God your mother let you pursue your career. You tried to speak, but your mouth was growing wet thinking about it. Sucking him off. The fucker hadn’t left your mind.

He cut you off, leaning in, voice husky, “So you're not that sweet little swan everyone thinks you are, hm? Using that pretty mouth, dating bad, bad guys like me. What else are you hiding?”

You whimpered, feeling exposed, the redhead looking around before gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lean thighs. He grinned again, eyes lidded as he watched your expression. Gwayne cooed, “Acting so shy, I thought you wanted to suck my cock baby?”

“I- I do, I just- I said it too soon. I was going to say I was holding resentments from the past against you and I'm sorry again for insulting you. Something is wrong with me? I think you're very, very attractive,” you rambled nervously.

He laughed lowly, stroking your hips and flanks, hands gentler than you expected. The heir nosed under your jaw, humming, “You’re so soft, God, you feel good.” He inhaled deeply, cock swelling and twitching underneath your weeping cunt, separated by thin swimwear.

“I should just sit out by the waves and take you apart, pretty girl, you want it, don’t you? As an apology, yes.”

You whimpered again, nodding, hands sliding his button up off his shoulders, ogling fair skin and a body he put work into. He wasn’t one of those overbuilt types you disliked. Gwayne grabbed the back of your head, meeting his lips with yours, slow and sensual, humming languidly.

Your left hand wrapped into copper locks, the other skimming his chest, a playful thumb sliding over his nipple. His breath hitched before laughing, “Cheeky.”

You resumed kissing him, growing eager, arching into his body, your hand sliding down to grip his cock, moaning softly. Gwayne’s tongue slipped into your mouth, your jaw widening some for better access, tongues gently rubbing on each push and pull. Your heart was thumping, Gwayne groaning as you squeezed his prick.

“I want it, let me let me,” you pled, lips swollen and hair mussed. Gwayne nodded breathlessly, hand on your cheek, the other grabbing a towel as he murmured, “For your knees at least.”

“There’s those manners,” you smiled, purple eyes flicking upward.

Pop. Gasp.

He snickered as your hands went up to cover your exposed tits. Yet not a soul was around and he was stroking his full prick through his swim shorts, handsome face flushed and smirking down at you. You slapped his outer thigh, huffing, “Just couldn’t take the compliment.”

He hummed lazily, “Mm- I just wanted the whole view, those tits and lips.”

Your lashes fluttered, cunt throbbing at his raspy tone. “Mhm, yes, you’ll get it all,” you murmured, easing down the shorts below his balls, Gwayne grunting in relief. Your eyes peered up at him, tying your thick silver hair up. He wrapped his hand around your ponytail, eyes studying you silently.

With a soft inhale, you lapped up the length of his cock, a hand on the tip, the other cupping his sack. You moaned along with him as you wet him nice and good, drooling on his flushed tip, pulling the skin back some. His head fell back with a sharp grunt, gasping your name as your lips enveloped the ruddy tip. You squirmed, thighs rubbing together as you began to bob your head.

His calloused hand got a handful of your breast, pinching and pulling at your nipple. You whimpered, sending vibrations down the length of him as he panted, thighs spreading. Gwayne murmured, hoarse, “Fuck, sweetheart, fuck, you’re going to make this end too fast. I’ll- oh god!” His hand wrenched into your hair as you circled your tongue around the tip of his cock, playfully flicking the salty pre oozing from the slit.

Gwayne tried again, snapping to get your eyes on him.

“I- I said I’ll make you see stars this week. Play with your pretty pussy until you cry, hm? W-want that? Do you want that baby? I’ll do it, I’ll fuck you good and hard, eat your cunt whenever fucking hell,” his sultry rasp peeled off into an anguished moan, throat bobbing as his cock pulsed and twitched.

He was growing close and you whimpered like a bitch in heat for it. Your fingers slid down to your aching clit as you suckled harder, rubbing in tandem, the soft whines and hums bringing Gwayne closer.

His blue eyes were shut tight as he babbled, “Close baby, so close, keep touching yourself for me, mmmfuck.”

Your amethyst eyes met his blue ones, debauched and messy— clumped lashes, mussed hair, your lips stretched tight. He blew with a long groan, gripping your hair again. You swallowed it down, gagging a little as he fucked into your throat in stuttering movements.

You pulled off, wiping your mouth, gasping for breath. Gwayne grabbed you with no qualms, grinning between his heavy breaths.

“Oh sweetheart, you didn’t come did you?”

[dallasgallant]

Time period post : Buses and public transport

This one extends a bit off of my post on car culture, as I’ll cover motorlodges but also public transportation! As usual this is sort of an introduction or crash course to the topic, I do encourage you to go looking if you want to learn more!

Public transport-

In the 60’s flying was still fairly expensive and formal, it was a really nice trip or more for business men or other upper middle or outright rich people. There was a matter of price but popularity and access also played a part, most people would likely prefer to drive or take a bus or maybe even a train!

Trains were still a huge part of transportation up until following WW2, after all there were huge efforts like the transcontinental railway in the 1860s to connect the country. They were still fairly popular long form travel up through the 40s and 50s (old movies can be evidenced to that) but as car culture began to rise and interstate highway were built - people shifted their focus to individual passenger vehicles and the freedom of control. The rail system was much more in tact than the remains today but was on the decline.

Busses on the other hand? Huge, especially in small towns (some may even still have trolly systems!) they’d be kept neat and relatively on time — it was also a way to travel! Some who either couldn’t afford or didn’t want to drive a long distance themselves could take a longer bus ride/charter busses and travel the country! Greyhound absolutely ruled the roost in this regard and is still sort of synonymous!

Similar to trains there were bus terminals alongside regular street side stops, it’d be returned to on its regular run or a place to hop onto the next one going a city or so over. Some big and nice stations had little tv chairs that I am obsessed with:

Ash trays and shoe shine stands, news stands and vending machines (hot drinks, candy, cigarettes.) and brochure stands are some other notable features. Yes people used to actually man shoe shine stations… I feel in modern day they’re the stand equivalent to a mall that’s somehow still standing.

Most buses you’d pay a few cents or dollars (depending, likely cents) wherever you’re picked up. But if you’re going a considerable distance. Like Tulsa to Detroit you’d buy a ticket and then show that, you wouldn’t just hop on.

This isn’t to say there aren’t still busses in America, but our towns are larger, cars are the main focus and busses have become a bit dirty and less reliable. Isn’t to say they aren’t still a thing, similar to trains.

“Milk run” - this is an interesting bit of slang I’ve heard from my grandmother to refer to a bus going on its complete route stopping at every small town along the way.

She took a bus by herself from one town to another that were a few hours apart from eachother… about 15 in the 60s and got stranded at a bus station. (Needless her dad chewed out the attendant.)

That story highlights the detail of kids traveling on their own! It was safe* enough if they were aware and knew things well, this would be more contained to a town. Not small children either more 8+ and teens.

Motor lodges-

For a good portion of their existence, Hotels were dedicated to long term stays and located in cities, usually bachelors or businessmen etc. or sometimes renting a room at an older woman’s home.

Motor lodges became the place for the average vacationer. “Motels.” It was more common to see independently owned ones but chains did arise, like Howard Johnsons. An absolute staple of the 60s and roadside Americana… it cannot be understated just how huge these places were- sometimes their restaurants would stand alone! They were nice, fun and amenity filled place, honestly almost a toned down resort of sorts.

Most motels you’ll see beds, shower, perhaps a tv etc. they’d be clean and comfortable.

A nicer motel you’d be set! A color tv, refrigerated air (ac), a heated pool , a cafe next door.

Motor lodges rose alongside automobiles, existing all the way back in the 30s in a slightly different form. They began to kick off in gimmick and style in the real height of the Route 66 tourism era.

The view of Flying and hotels also began to change by the end of the decade, flying became cheaper and incentivized. Hotels began to spring up and offer more amenities and push out some motels, these happening simultaneously.

[08melancholie]

Heyy i know u don't usually write about Kieran but i literally cannot stop thinking abt him rip..... if u want to i'd be absolutely overjoyed to see ur take on some sweet stuff with him, like how he'd react to the reader taking him out for a date night and essentially spoiling the shit out of him. I'm talking fancy restaurant, nice bath, warm bed, a massage and lots of praise (maybe even a .. "special reward" if u wanna write that 🤭) . Might even be fun to see how you'd write other characters in this scenario! Especially Arthur and maybe even Micah :3

thank you so much!

-🥐

omgomg yes. i literally love kieran like a little brother ive never had. he is all too precious to me and i miss him dearly </3

I absolutely can do Kieran and Micah.... got a long night ahead of me so I have the time🫦 (doing gn!reader btw)

wasn't gonna include "special reward" related hcs at first butttt.... i couldn't help myself. ill put a little marking for when the nsfw part comes up. was gonna do arthur but id totally write him ooc, sorry :(

Kieran

SFW

Definitely assumes you're trying to tease him at first, telling him the entire plan of pampering the life out of him just to laugh in his face. Wouldn't be the first time someone's teased him this way, so he'd be quite wary about who he trusts and whatnot in camp.

Realises you're being serious after you get agitated with him and tell him you're serious for the millionth time, then gets mildly nervous about going out alone with you. He's very appreciative of the thought, and will thank you more times than generally necessary.

"What? You.. you serious? Oh, naw.. I couldn't possibly—well, it's rude to turn it down..."

First stop; General store. You get him much better quality boots and he thanks you profusely. He feels bad about asking, but simply can't leave without buying Branwen a little treat; an apple or rice cake, nothing too much. Splits it in half when you exit the store and let's you feed your half to his horse, who is definitely a fan of the chin scratches you offer afterwards.

Followed up by a few quick drinks, some hope that a little alcohol in your bodies will help you both loosen up a bit, more-so Kieran who is still skittish.

Beers to start with a shot whiskey both.

Kieran scrunches his face slightly and you call him a wimp. This has him pouting at you; Which is adorable.

He's somewhere between a lightweight and a 'normal' drinker, but four beers seems to already make him a bit giddy and much more relaxed, much to your liking

Next, you're dragging him across the street to get yourselves both a room in the hotel and a bath. Instant flashback to John calling him a stinky O'Driscoll. </3

Minimal protest from Kieran, but he lets you do your thing.

You buy the bath for yourselves first and the room for later. You pay and lead Kieran to the reserved room. Locking the door after him and yourself, you lean on the door and wait for him to get in.

"What—in.. in front of you? You... can't exit for a minute.?"

You can't tell if he's getting red in the face from the alcohol consumption or current situation he's in. Either way, you think it's cute.

NSFW

He doesn't know if it's smarter to quickly strip and jump into the water, or to go slowly; you're staring at him either way.

He opts for a medium pace, very carefully handling his new boots and peeling his shirt off first. He's a bit scrawny and more pinkish than tan, light strawberry skin. He has minimal scarring on his body, nothing too serious.

His pants follow and he starts to nervously fumble with the restrains by now, feeling you still looking at him and eyeing every action he takes. He lets his trousers drop and follows with his drawls. You've probably never seen someone drop their underwear so quickly. He instantly jumps into the bath to keep himself at least partially decent—even after you've seen everything already.

He really enjoys higher temperature water since you can't much afford warm baths like these, so he's being very thankful as he basks in the soapy, hot water in front of you.

You lean off the door and walk to the bath. You fold and put his clothes away before rolling your sleeves up and sitting on the edge of the the tub behind him; like the bath girls do it. You've seen it enough times to know what to do.

You purposefully dip your hands very close to his thighs, sides and arms, throughly enjoying each and every time he squirms or grumbles a little whiny noise from inside his chest.

You rub his entire body, no crevice left untouched by your hands. It might be the hot water he's been soaking inside of, but you can feel just how much warmer his skin is with every touch of your hands caressing his whole frame.

You work your way from his shoulders down his torso, ask him to lift his legs and do those—all up to his stomach where you instead stand up, walk a few steps and lean over the tub.

You make sure to brush just barely out of reach when going over his stomach. He can't help throatily whining again, his head leaning back in frustration. This goes on for a few more minutes until you've physically touched every part of him—all but one very active part.

You got him a mess in the bathtub; sweating, whining, giving you pleading eyes. It's a goddamn sight that has you wanting to sling him over your shoulder and carry to your reserved room instantly.

"You can't just do all'a that... Don't be mean.."

You let him soak in his uncomfortableness for a good few minutes, watching him switch between pleased from the nice bath water to squirmy from lack of caring for his little problem.

"Please, don't leave me like this..."

God, those eyes could get you to do anything. You've never stumbled into a hotel room so quickly, having instantly gotten him decent and practically dragged him out of the baths.

Focused on him the rest of the night, doing anything he (silently) asked for and just putting your own, aching need aside for the time being

Micah bonus <3

SFW

Instantly declined at first, grumbling something about not needing your charity. Instantly agreed when you mentioned drinks at the saloon.

"Guess it wouldn't hurt, would it?"

You get him into town and start off in the gun store, obviously. You let him pick out three upgrades to his revolvers since you know he won't buy any new ones, he only ever really uses his own guns.

He's very satisfied, turning his guns in his hands and inspecting them with the new additions you got him.

You lead him towards the saloon next, for the promised drinks.

He drinks your wallet out with ease, shot after shot and he isn't even near drunk yet, comfortably tipsy at most.

You settle for two beers for yourself, and he teased you about the situation again.

"I'm on my fifth whiskey and you're still only drinking beers? Hah!"

You slap his shoulder and continue to drink, wanting to get to the best part rather quickly.

He downs his last whiskey and his empty glass settles next to your empty bottles, both of you leaving.

"What, a bath? That what you think I'll like?"

He's skeptical but agrees, might be nice to enjoy himself a bit more. And he probably stinks.

You get him inside and watch the smirk on his face when you buy a bath—and a room for later.

"Getting bold on me, are 'ya?"

You lock the two of you inside the bathroom and gesture for him to strip. You're still looking, and it just makes him laugh while slipping his coat off and placing his hat on a nearby table.

He doesn't mind you watching, it just grows the sly smile on his face furthermore.

He gets his naked body into the water and lets out a little "oooh" noise, his white eyelashes fluttering with his eyes as he takes in the bordering perfect temperature, relaxing into the tub behind him.

You watch him get in, blissful look on his usually grumpy face. He watches you with a smirk, asking if you'll be joining—joking about it, obviously.

NSFW

You leave him to enjoy the water for.. maybe three minutes, before you can't help yourself anymore.

His eyes go from lidded and content to wide and surprised, lips parted as he watched your undershirt get unbuttoned, revealing skin little by little.

He's very quick to compose himself, comfortably watching you strip yourself fully bare.

You manage to surprise him a second time by dipping yourself down on his abdomen, and the grin on his face just widens, his chuckle echoing through the bathroom.

"You're reeeally going all out on me tonight, huh?"

His hands quickly find your sides and, assuming consent, he starts touching up your entire form; waist, hips, thighs. He rubs his fingers up to the underside of your chest, your lower and upper back.

"'Ya know, you've taken real good care of me tonight, and I'm feelin' generous; let's return the favour, yeah?"

And that he without a doubt did; officially having no use for the room you bought anymore.

The tables get turned on you and he's quick to initiate some good ole bathtub intimacy.

That's the story of how you got banned from the hotel in Valentine because of a noise complaint. Multiple noise complaints. And a high water bill.

i love cowboys <3

[crippled-peeper]

people who claim they’re smarter and superior than you and inherently better because they could hypothetically evacuate in an emergency situation are so fucking funny. It’s no different than people who act like they’d be a hero in a mass shooting situation and would run to the shooter and fight them. you have no fucking clue what you’d do because it’s never happened to you before

here’s a reality check: you can’t feed your kids with your big fat fucking ego. no amount of posting on websites or having Good Takes will bring clean, running water to your household. beating your chest and declaring yourself the hottest coolest person ever isn’t going to protect you when a tree comes through your roof, or when your basement floods, or when you realize you’ve lost all your baby pictures to water damage, or that you actually can’t afford a hotel room more than 1 night

I cannot overstate how much nobody fucking cares what you “think” you would do in this situation, or how you would do it “better” than everyone else. You speak from a place of total and utter ignorance . The words coming out of your mouth are quite literally worthless. You’ve never had to go without internet for more than 24 hours, but you think you’d be a better refugee than the people who couldn’t flee? get the fuck out of here

[always-is-always]

Concerts in 2025..... and ticket prices...

Without revealing too much about myself, I'll just say that when I first began going to concerts, I didn't have to go into debt.... The concert ticket was about the cost of a couple of albums. Yeah.

When I started poking around online to see what astronomical amounts people are paying to go see Hoseok, I'll admit that I was thinking something around $300 USD or so. And, THAT is astronomical, in my opinion.

So when I saw that people are paying more than twice that amount, I was beyond shocked. AND, disgusted. Disgusted because many ARMYs are willing to pay that amount even though they cannot afford it. AND, management knows that. AND, management does NOT care.

Hobi does not need the income. He's already a multi-millionare who does not have to work another day in his life, if he chose not to. Just like all BTS members. None of them need to earn money to keep a roof over their heads, or to keep food on their tables. Unlike many of us who call ourselves ARMY....

So where does the line fall, when it comes to WHO is accountable for those astronomical ticket prices?

That is a big question.

I don't have an answer, but I do have an opinion. Those are two different things....

It's not just Hobi's concerts, it's actually all mega-artists world-wide. Included are the Taylors, the Gagas, the Cold Plays, and all of the performers out there who are wealthy beyond measure, who continue to sign the dotted lines on contracts for these events, without making any stipulations to keep tickets affordable for the fans.

Am I the only one who refuses to put herself into more debt, to buy a ticket to attend a 2-hour event that I would also have to fly to, and also book hotel rooms too??? AND, feed myself? Where is the line?

Maybe it is because I am a self-supporting woman who works and spends every penny supporting herself in life. Maybe. I'm well beyond that age of living at "home" with parents or such.

Maybe it is because I can see how HYBE and BIG HIT as well as any other major company in the industry know how to literally milk fans for every dollar possible, all while making it look like fans/ARMYs are helping the performers, or are somehow fans/ARMYs are able to be closer to the performer in some distorted way... Just look at how they have monetized BTS content. Look at how much they produce now and put behind a pay wall... I'm thinking about those "documentaries" that have been in theatres, on Weverse, and on Disney +, all the books and merch...

Yeah. I'm a bit over the extreme ways that those management companies impose monetary burdens on fans, and they do so in really manipulative ways that fans can't even see.

So I'm guessing that what we will see next year when BTS's comback tour is announced will be ticket prices that will be far beyond what is reasonable. I mean, we are seeing it with Hobi's tour. And, in my very opinionated opinion, it is insanity.

Of course I would jump in a heartbeat to go see them, IF the tickets were fairly priced. And, I mean fairly. I mean, literally less than $100... If they are filling a stadium multiple nights (4 nights as an example) with 80,000 fans, that is still a lot of money for the event. ($32,000,000)

Until people start to speak out about this, and to take action with their wallets, the tickets will continue to spiral up in price. Sad as it is. If ARMYs just go along with it, believing that they are somehow supporting Bangtan, nothing will change.

Unless someone like Namjoon takes a stand, we won't see anything change. If anyone in K-Pop could start to turn the tide, it is Kim Namjoon.

Anyway.... I've splattered my thoughts here in this post.... it's kind of raw, and it is definitely unfiltered (classic Aries)... lol... I'm just tired of seeing fans taken advantage of, in the name of "fandom". No matter who or what the performer/group is.

I'm done giving my hard-earned money away to companies that just want to milk every penny they can. Especially when prices are not fair.

Yeah. I'm done.

[lorelaiblair]

It all started with a phone call. Wednesday swore that modern technology would be the downfall of humanity.

“Wednesday” The boy pleaded.

“Eugene” She countered.

“I haven’t seen you in months, and you’re coming to the city anyway” He explained, for nearly the tenth time.

“I can afford a hotel room”

“I am well aware” Eugene laughed “What kind of a person would I be if I let my sister sleep alone in a hotel, especially when I have an apartment with a guest room barely five miles away from your publisher”

“Don’t imply that I cannot handle myself”

“I know that you can, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you here with me”

“I would be there for quite a while, the editing process for this book is proving to be tedious”

“I’d love to have you, for as long as you want to stay”

“I will arrive Tuesday”

“Really?” Eugene asked, the excitement obvious in his voice. He was met with the dial tone, the conversation apparently over.

Two days later, he woke up to his alarm. He showered, brushed his teeth, and was sitting at the dining table eating breakfast when he realized something had changed. He went to make himself some coffee, and there was already half of a fresh pot.

Was someone in his apartment?

He was tired. He was too tired to care all that much. He poured himself a cup and sat back down.

It only took a couple moments for Wednesday to join him in the kitchen.

“Where do you keep your sewing kit?” She asked

“Junk drawer” He told her, pointing despite the fact that she already knew which one it was, despite knowing that she would be angry at its disarray considering she had been the one to organize it for him the last time. She pulled the kit out and tsked at him, before wandering back to her room.

Eugene took a sip of his warm drink before blinking in surprise.

“Wednesday?” He yelled

“Yes, Eugene?”

“When did you get here?”

“About two hours ago” She explained, he climbed out of his chair to walk down the hallway and stand in the doorway of her room. She was using his sewing kit to reattach one of Thing’s fingers.

“I would ask how you got in but” He laughed to himself “I’ll get a key made for you on my way home from work”

“Alright”

“What happened to Thing?”

“He fell out of the plane” Wednesday told him.

“What?” Eugene blanched. “What do you mean he fell out of the plane, is he okay?”

Thing wiggled his remaining fingers to tell the boy yes, he was fine.

“Just pulled a few stitches” Wednesday explained “My first meeting with the editor is later today, although I will probably be back before you are”

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight” Eugene said, turning to head out “Oh yeah, i’m off tomorrow and a few friends from nevermore are coming over for lunch”

“Eugene” She complained

“You don’t have to socialize, I swear. This door comes with a perfect little lock on it” He grinned, as if it could counter Wednesday’s death glare.

Eugene’s friends had arrived nearly twenty minutes ago, and Wednesday was facing a bit of a conundrum.

She had been up all night writing. Her editor left her with so many notes that she considered stabbing him in the eye with his own red ink pen, which had marked and marked all over Wednesday's first draft.

Not to mention her publisher wanted it all completed in less than a week.

She really had her work cut out for her. Wednesday was completely capable, she would get it done with time to spare, but what she really, really needed was another cup of coffee. Coffee. Coffee, her savior. Coffee, which was in the kitchen. Eugene and his group of very loud friends, sat in the dining room, nothing but a single door separating them.

She would send Thing to do it, but the last time she had asked him he had spilled scalding hot coffee all over himself. Now he refused to help her with the specific conquest.

She exited her room and stalked down the small hallway. Wednesday cursed herself, for knowing what she would be getting into when agreeing to spend the next few months with Eugene, and agreeing nonetheless. This was a torture of her own making.

As Wednesday scooped spoonfuls of coffee into a filter she could hear the people in the other room laughing. She turned the pot on and sat at the small table Eugene kept in his kitchen.

Wednesday’s publisher had gone on and on about how her book needed ‘character’, said that it wasn’t at all personable. She absolutely detested that. The book was full of character, she had been writing about Viper and her adventures for years now, and not once had a person mentioned a ‘lack of character’.

It was frustrating.

Wednesday knew that the publisher was onto something.

Wednesday had been writing Viper for years, and the stories she wrote were becoming almost predictable. She hated it. She absolutely despised it all.

She needed to change something, but she had no idea what that something was.

The door into the kitchen swung open, and Wednesday cursed herself once again. She had no energy for any of the ‘friends’ Eugene had invited over. It didn’t help that her eyes were assaulted the second the girl walked through the door.

Blonde hair with pink and blue ends, and an entire pink ensemble. Brilliant blue eyes, a shiny and slightly too sharp to be human smile.

“Uh, hi?” The bright girl asked, a sheepish smile on her pretty face.

Wednesday raised her eyebrows at the girl.

“Who are you?” She asked, turning to look back into the dinning room as if making sure she didn’t accidentally step into somebody else’s apartment. Wednesday leaned back in her chair, watching her.

The girl’s blue eyes met Wednesday’s again.

Wednesday Addams needed to change something, in her book and in her life, and she knew now what that thing was.

[irndad]

what about spider flower or zinnia with spencer?

astrid for you of course!!!

zinnia- confessing how much they miss you // flower prompts

For most of Spencer’s life, the notion of home was something that he had always considered something in between a myth and an impossibility. The idea of returning to where you are meant to belong, a place where the pieces that are too heavy to carry for all your life may be laid to rest- it had always sounded like a sentimental feeling that was afforded to people who were more charming, more deserving than himself. 

These days, home had looked different. His life was never regular, and he’d never much minded sleeping in hotel rooms in far off places- he had nothing to miss, anyway. Nowadays, he finds himself with an ache that cannot be mended the longer he spends away from a bed without the weight of her next to him in it. 

She is probably the greatest thing to ever happen to him. Every positive in his life usually comes with a negative. His genius comes with his aloofness, his job comes with the weight of sleepless nights. She is the first honest to god blessing of his life.

When she calls, her voice is low and sweet like the rest of her, and it’s a blessing. 

“Hey sweetheart,” her warm voice crackles over a telephone line, and there’s an ache in Spencer’s chest. It’s one he’s lucky to have, honestly. He’s someone she calls. 

It’s new, the thing they have. He’s not really sure how to operate in romantic spaces, and he’d sort of stumbled into it. She’d been reading at his favorite bookstore, all gathered up adorably in what was usually his favorite spot, and he somehow hadn’t minded. And debating fiction over coffee had turned into hours long phone calls, into nights spent at her apartment that keep him warm even when he leaves. 

“How was your day?” He enquires, shutting his eyes and finally relaxing against the cheap hotel mattress they’d be staying at. She tells him, of course, her sweet voice dripping with affection as she details the course of her day, and he thinks to himself, this is my solace. 

“Are you okay, Spence?” She says warmly, clearly concerned. 

“Mhm,” he muses back. It hurts, actually. To hear her voice and know that he could be with her. In a couple of days he will. He’ll run off the jet and meet her at her place, scooping her up in his arms in a way he’d never pictured himself doing before her. 

“Rough case?”

“No. Well, yes, but it’s not that-“ he sighs inwardly, “I just miss you a lot, I think. I keep thinking about coming home, seeing you. All I can think about, really..”

It’s the first time he’s been clear about it, his affection. She calls him sweetheart, babe sometimes, he meets her with love, honey, things he thinks might make her happy. 

But I miss you is clear.  

So he waits with bated breath to hear her response from miles away. The affection carries through the distance when she speaks. 

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

[violet-harmon2011]

the evans ideal date

a/n: i know some of these are not totally canon - just let me live out my fantasies in peace lol

p.s. i love you all, thank you for reading!! pls lmk if any of these seem incorrect, i haven't revisted some seasons in a while. also please send me requests or just any evan peters related thoughts lol 🤗😚

all photos are from pinterest <3

evan peters

i have a feeling he would love going to the movies

or building a pillow fort and watching one in your living room

he has mentioned in an interview that he would watch anything just to eat buttered popcorn and candy and drink soda lol

if it were up to him, he’d prob pick a rom com but he’s also up for a good horror film every once in a while

if you went to the theater, he would definitely wanna sit in the back and make out

if you're at home, he would wanna cuddle and would let you lay your head on his chest until you eventually fall asleep together

tate langdon

i feel like he would wanna take a walk around the neighborhood after dark, you know, escape the house for a bit

he'd def wanna hold your hand

shares an earbud with you

listening to your shared playlist on your ipod

would give you his sweater if you got cold

would walk on the side closest to the road to protect you

kit walker

most days the he's too tired after work & you just wanna stay in

would wanna bake with you!!!

and would it turn into a steamy makeout sesh on the countertop? ...and potentially something more? 100%

but seriously, he just loves spending time with you after a long day at work

cooking with you, holding you, kissing you, cuddling you

when he's able to save up to take you somewhere special, he'll ask you out to the movies or a nice restaurant or even the county fair

overall just a lovesick puppy who is head over heels for you

kyle spencer

would want you with him at any parties he has to attend

but would much rather prefer spending time alone with you

would wanna take the bus out of town to escape for a little while

loooves picnic dates with you

would get the maid's help to make a bunch of food to bring

could relax under a tree with you for hours

jimmy darling

would take you to a diner in town

would wear gloves and try to pretend he was normal for you

but you would take none of that, holding his hands with nothing but a proud smile on your face

he would definitely feel 100x more confident after that

your reward would be waiting for you in his trailer that night ;)

james patrick march

would settle for having a nice dinner with you in his room and taking you to bed afterward

but would also be open to doing wtv you want

would ask you if you wanna get a drink at the hotel bar or have dinner at a nice restaurant if you’re tired of the hotel

kai anderson

going out with kai is a rare occasion

most of the time, you’re lucky if he lets you sit in his lap while he’s doing cult work late at night

but every once in a while (especially on nights he wants to try for his messiah baby) he’ll ask you out

god forbid you make a big deal about it or even tell anyone other than winter

“get changed, i’m taking you out in five”

is really the kai equivalent of “do you wanna go out tonight, my gorgeous princess?”

peter maximoff

shows up to your house, hiding behind a bouquet he picked for you

would wanna go to an arcade

beats you at every game

then he feels bad so he wins you a teddy from the claw machine that is absolutely impossible to win at

would take you out to eat after

nothin fancy probably just a diner or somewhere cozy

he cannot afford it but you don’t need to know that

would split a milkshake with you <3

afterwards, he has the zoomies so he gives you superfast piggyback rides

made you matching goggles in your fav color for protection :)

would wanna run around target at 1am pushing each other in shopping carts until you’re both kicked out lol

makes you playlists and loves sharing his music with you

warren lipka

would wanna drive around, get drunk, do it over again

no but seriously, he'd just be content driving nowhere, windows down, screaming some song that makes him feel "alive"

would take you to the gas station or some cheap diner

would love taking random road trips together & finding adventure

alex (adult world)

would love to take you to a museum if you're down

if you're a writer, he would come to poetry readings & book signings with you

loves going to the art store/bookstore

would also be down to just rent a film from adult world & chill at home if yk what i mean 😉

[allthesmutl0vers]

Entirely Forbidden and Completely Fucked- Chapter Seven

Author's Note: Sorry this took me so long to update, but I'm feeling a lot better! Prepare yourself, my lovelies, because this chapter is long and so fucking depraved and fucked up.

Pairings: Sam/Dean, Sam/Reader/Dean

Trigger Warnings: Wincest, Bondage/Restraints, Anal, Spanking, Praise and Degradation, Choking, Blood Play, Knife Play, Marking, Forced and Withheld Orgasms, Snowballing (If you don't know what that is, look it up in Urban Dictionary- Or be surprised, but don't say I didn't warn you.)

Without further ado, may I present:

Chapter Seven: Jericho, Part Two

Dean

“I’m going to get breakfast,” I tell Sam and y/n as I grab my jacket from the back of the chair. 

“Good, I’m starving,” y/n says with a groan. 

“Keep groaning like that, and we’ll fill you with something other than food,” I retort with a wink. 

“Don’t mind if you do,” y/n bites her lip. Sam and I look at each other and chuckle. 

I walk outside and see the sheriff and a couple of other cops talking to the hotel manager. “Shit,” I mutter. I notice them looking over at me, and then the manager points to me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I pull out my phone and hit speed dial for Sam. 

“Miss us already?” Sam jokes when he answers. 

“Dude, five-oh, take off.”

“What about you?” Sam asks hurriedly. 

I look behind me and see them approaching quickly. “Uh, they kinda spotted me. Get y/n and get out of here,” I hang up without waiting for a response and turn to the officers with a smile. “Problem, officers?” 

“Where’s your partner?” One cop asks. 

“What partner?” I ask jokingly. The cop looks at his partner and points to our hotel room with his thumb. His partner nods and walks toward our room. 

“So,” the cop steps up to me. “Fake US Marshal. Fake credit cards. You have anything that’s real?” He asks seriously. 

“My boobs,” I smile and laugh. 

The cop pins me on the hood of the car and pulls my hands behind my back, slapping on a pair of handcuffs tightly. Shit, maybe we should get a pair of these. 

“You have the right to remain silent,” the cop pulls me up and walks to his car. “If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be pointed for you,” he opens the back of the squad car and pushes me inside. “Do you understand these rights as I have just read them to you?” 

“If I say no, am I free to leave?” I ask with a smile. 

The cop rolls his eyes and slams the door closed. 

The cuffs are attached to a bar in front of me on the table of the interrogation room. After what feels like hours, the same cop finally comes in. “So, you ready to give me your real name?” He asks as he sits down on the other side of the table. 

I sigh and act bored. “I told you. Ted Nugent,” I answer him. 

The cop nods and sits back in his chair. “I’m not sure you realize how much trouble you’re in,” he says warningly. 

“We talking like, misdemeanor kind of trouble, or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?” I ask jokingly. 

“You have the faces of ten missing persons on your wall,” the cop says seriously. “Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, you are officially a suspect.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That makes sense. Because when the first one went missing in eighty-two, I was three.”

The cop leans forward. “I know you’ve got partners. Maybe one of them is an older guy. Maybe he started this whole thing.”

“What makes you say that?” I fake interest. 

The cop smirks. “That little ‘intern’ of yours is already talking. What’s her name?” 

Impossible. Sam got her out. 

“Is that so? How’d you make that happen?” I mock. 

The cop places his baton on the table and leans in. “You’d be surprised how fast people cave with a little motivation,” the cop seethes. 

He has to be lying, but that doesn’t stop my blood from beginning to boil. “You’re lying,” my voice lowers. 

The cop smiles and talks into his walkie-talkie on his shoulder. “Bring her in.”

My jaw clenches as the door opens, and the cop's partner drags y/n into the room. My anger threatens to tear through me when he pushes her, and she almost falls. When she looks up at me, I can see the bloody and split lip and the bruise forming under her eye. I instinctively stand up, but the cuffs on my wrist prevent me from reaching her. 

“I wouldn't try that again if I were you,” the cop warns me, sitting across the table from me. He looks over at his partner and nods his head. 

His partner all but tosses y/n down in the chair next to mine, her hands cuffed but free on her lap. “Let's do this again soon, sweetheart,” I hear his partner mutter softly. “I'll give you my personal baton. Maybe your boyfriend can watch.”

“Enough!” I shout, making the cop next to her jump. “Jesus Christ, enough!”

“Does that mean you're ready to talk?” The cop across from me asks. 

“Don't D-”

I throw a warning look over to y/n, who sniffles next to me. She sees the look I give her and knows better than to go against it. 

Such a good girl. Or maybe not? How did she even get here? And where is Sam?

One problem at a time.

“I’m ready to fucking end you,” I seethe to the cop in front of me. “Isn’t there a law against police brutality?” I nod my head to y/n.

The cop laughs. “Look, son. I don’t know where you’re from, but here. I am the law.”

“No, you’re a dead man walking,” I spit back. 

The cop opens his mouth to respond when another officer opens the door. “Sir. We just got a 911. Shots fired at Whiteford Road. 

The cop sighs and stands up, his eyes narrowing on me. “We’ll finish this later,” he says like a threat. “Let’s roll,” he nods to his partner. 

When they both leave, y/n sniffles. “Did he touch you? Like me and Sammy do?” I ask her sternly. 

She shakes her head. “No. But he was about to when they brought me in here.”

I swallow hard and do my best to keep calm for her. “Where is Sammy?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “I don’t know, I, I ran after you.”

My nostrils flare. “You did what?!” Her eyes widen as she looks up at me. “When I say ‘run,’ you fucking run. If I say stay with Sam, you stay with Sam. How many fucking times do we have to go over this?!” 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” She whimpers in an innocent tone that goes straight to my cock. Fuck me. 

“We’ll deal with your punishment later. Do you have a bobby pin?” I ask her. She nods and pulls it from her hair and puts it in my fingers. 

I get my hands free and free hers. “How are we going to get out?” She asks as I look out the door. 

“Can you be a good girl and follow my orders this time?” I ask her. She nods and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “Good, here’s what we’re going to do.”

Sam

Fuck, I can’t believe I lost y/n. Dean is going to fucking kill me. Then I’m going to kill her. I had her in my finger tips, and she got away. I should’ve told her Dean got caught. Maybe then she would’ve listened. But no, she thought he was hurt, and she went after him. 

FUCK.

There’s not much I can do now. I saw the cop take her away so I know she’s with Dean. We will find a punishment for her later. Right now, I need to keep working the job. And right now, that entails finding and talking to Joseph Welch. 

I look through the rusted and old chain link fence at the house. Walking up to the house, a man comes out. “Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?” I ask him. 

“Yeah, who’s asking?” He says to me suspiciously. 

“I’m Sam. I’m working on a backstory for my college paper, and I was wondering if I could interview you about your wife Constance,” I lie as I introduce myself, offering him a hand to shake. 

The man sighs and we start to walk down the long driveway. “So, what do you want to know?” Joseph asks me. 

“Well, one thing that isn’t found anywhere is where she’s buried,” I say politely. 

“Why the Hell do you wanna know that?” Joseph asks me with narrowed eyes and stops walking. 

“Well, to be honest, another student is writing the same story, and I wanted to get a better grade,” I try to play it off. 

He nods and sighs. “In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.” 

“And why did you move?” I ask, writing down the information on my notepad. 

“I’m not going to live in the same house where my children died,” Joseph says as we finish walking down the driveway where the Impala is parked. 

“Did you ever marry again? I couldn’t find any information about it anywhere,” I ask.

Joseph shakes his head. “No. Constance was the love of my life. The prettiest woman I ever known.”

“So, you had a happy marriage?” I ask. 

I can see Joseph hesitate and his response comes out rushed. “Definitely.” 

“Mr. Welch, have you ever heard of a ‘woman in white’?” I ask. If I’m going to get the answers I need, I need to push harder. 

“A what?” He asks, genuine confusion painted on his face. 

“A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman?” I ask again. Joseph looks dumbstruck and takes a couple of steps back. “It’s a ghost story, or, more a phenomenon really,” I explain, taking a step closer to him. “Um, they’re spirits. They’ve been spotted for hundreds of years in dozens of places, Hawaii, Mexico, and lately in Arizona and Indiana. All different women,” I take another step closer. “You understand, they share the same story.”

“Boy, I don’t care much for nonsense,” Joseph shakes his head and turns to walk away. 

“See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them,” I call after him, and Joseph stops in his tracks. “And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children,” Joseph turns and looks at me, and I continue. “Then, once they’d realized what they’d done, they took their own lives. So now, their spirits are cursed, walking backroads and waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill them. And that man is never seen again.”

“You think…you think that has something to do with…Constance? You smartass!” Joseph says angrily as he walks back to me. 

“You tell me,” I tell him, holding my ground. Obviously, I’d struck a nerve. 

Joseph sighs and looks down before looking at me again. “I mean…maybe…maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would’ve killed her own children,” he explains sadly before he takes a breath and the anger returns. “Now, you get the Hell out of here! And don’t you ever come back!” he yells, pointing to the Impala.

I’m driving down the highway to the house when my phone rings. I pick it up and answer. “Hello?”

“A fake 911 call, Sammy? That’s pretty illegal,” Dean chuckles over the phone. 

“Just be thankful,” I chuckle back. “Did you find y/n?” 

Dean sighs. “Yeah, yeah, she’s here with me. Say hi, little one.” 

“Hi, Sammy,” her voice says on the other line. 

“Hi, baby. You’re in big trouble,” I warn her. 

Y/n sighs. “I know. De already told me. I’m sorry I ran away.”

“And did De already tell you what your punishment is going to be?” I ask her, my cock starting to strain in my jeans. 

“No, not yet,” she says softly. 

“Mm. Well, let me talk to De again, baby. We’ll talk about that later,” I instruct her. I want to talk to her, but I need my head in the game, and this call could quickly turn into a sex call. 

“Okay,” she says before there is a shuffling noise, and Dean comes back on the phone. 

I sigh and explain what I learned from talking to Joseph. “So, get this. Her husband was unfaithful. So, we are dealing with a woman in white. I’m on my way to burn the bones now. Then, I’ll pick you guys up, and we can get the Hell out of dodge.”

“Come pick us up first. We know she picks up men driving alone. I don’t want you out on that highway by yourself,” Dean tells me. 

“Well…” I smirk. 

“You’re already on the highway, aren’t you?” Dean asks with a sigh. 

“I can handle myself, Dean. I’ll call when I’m done. Hotwire a ride, pick up our stuff, and meet me here. By the time I’m done, you should be here,” I respond. 

“Trust me, I know you can hold your own perfectly fine,” Dean flirts. 

“Then meet me- SHIT!” I swerve, seeing what can only be Constance in the middle of the road. 

“Sam?! SAM?!” I can hear Dean yell as my phone falls to the seat of the car. 

A chill and a rush of cold air fill the car as Constance appears next to me. “Take me home,” she says softly.

Y/n

“What’s going on?” I ask Dean in panic as he slams the payphone down on the receiver. 

“We have to go. She has Sam,” Dean says shortly. He walks to a beat-up car and smashes the driver’s side window. “Get in,” he tells me. 

Dean slams on the brakes as we pull up to the Impala and swings open the door. I get out after him and see Constance on top of Sam. Dean cocks a gun and shoots. The glass of the window shatters, making me scream. 

She appears again, and Dean shoots again. “Don’t shoot him!” I scream at Dean, my panic overriding my common sense. 

“I’m shooting her, damn it. It’s just rock salt, it won’t hurt him!” Dean shouts at me, shooting again. She disappears again for a moment as me and Dean get closer. “Stay back, y/n!” Dean shouts at me as he moves closer to Sam. 

“I’m taking you home!” I hear Sam call as the engine roars back to life and shoots forward to the old house. 

“SAM!” Dean and I both yell. I scream in fear and worry when the Impala smashes through the side of the house. Wood flies in all directions as Dean and I run to the house. 

Dean rips open the passenger side door. “Sam? Sam, are you okay?” He asks in a panic. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” Sam coughs. 

I turn and see Constance at the bottom of the staircase, holding and looking at a framed picture. 

“Can you get out?” Dean asks Sam behind me. 

“Yeah, help me,” Sam responds with a grunt as he gets out. 

“D-Dean,” I mutter as Constance looks up at me. 

Sam pushes me to the side just as Constance pins them to the car with a large chest. Wood pierces my arm, and the blood trickles down. It’s not too big of a wound, but the blood and shock make me dizzy. 

Sam and Dean are trying to push the chest away, to no avail. I look around for Dean’s gun when water flowing down the stairs draws my attention. 

“You’ve come home to us, Mommy,” the children speak in chorus as they hold hands. These must be her children. Constance looks distraught as her children appear beside her in a flickering light. They each grab one of her hands, and Constance screams as flames start to engulf her and her children for just a moment before they disappear entirely. 

Dean and Sam push the chest away and stumble toward me. “Are you okay?” Sam asks me, cradling my arm. 

“I’m fine,” I assure him as Dean comes up next to me, inspecting my arm. 

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy,” Dean praises Sam as he looks at the cut on my arm. “Can you lift your arm, princess?” Dean asks me. I lift my arm above my head with a hiss. “Good, good. Doesn’t look like anything is broken. It just needs to be cleaned up. Are you alright?” Dean asks as he kisses the top of my head. 

“I’m fine. Will you two stop fussing?” I ask sarcastically with a raised eyebrow. 

“Nope, comes with the job, little sister,” Sam quips with a smack on my ass, making me and Dean laugh. I slap his chest and we all walk back to the car. 

“What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?” Sam asks Dean jokingly as we get back to the Impala. 

“Hey. I saved your ass,” Dean says as he looks over his car. “I’ll tell you another thing, too. If you screwed up my car,” Dean looks at Sam warningly. “I’ll kill you.”

“So, how exactly did you two manage to break out?” Sam asks as he sits on the bed of the new hotel room we got. 

I bite my lower lip with a smile and look over at Dean. “Um, well,” I giggle and look over at Sam. “Let’s just say we gave the remaining officer a show.”

Sam leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh? And what kind of show would that be?” Sam asks curiously. 

“One where I had to knock him out for looking at what's ours,” Dean says calmly as he cleans his gun. 

“Do I want to know the rest?” Sam asks me. 

I shake my head. “Probably not,” I giggle and walk over to Sam. “But I can show you,” I flirt, running a finger up his large arm.

Sam hums in approval and his hand caresses my hair before tightening around my throat, making me gasp as he pulls me close. “You think that will get you out of your punishment for running away from me, baby?” Sam says mockingly. “Aw, that’s cute. Nice try, but no,” Sam says softly as he keeps a firm grip on my throat.

I feel Dean’s hands on my hips, gripping me tightly from behind. “No running away now,” Dean says as he pulls my jeans down my legs. I let out a soft gasp when his hand cups my pussy over my underwear. 

“Dean,” I murmur before Sam claims my lips. 

Sam’s hand leaves my throat, and he breaks our kiss just long enough to pull my shirt off over my head, leaving me in my bra and underwear between them. Sam looks over my shoulder at Dean and smiles. “Should we take it easy on her? She’s pretty banged up.”

I hear Dean chuckle darkly behind me as he tears my underwear off with his knife. “She wanted to run away like a big girl, she can get treated like one.”

“I was just trying-” Dean's hand grasps my hair and pulls me back against his chest, making me gasp loudly. 

“Was I talking to you?” Dean says harshly in my ear. I shake my head and moan when his fingers trace circles over my clit. “That’s right, I wasn’t. You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to unless you’re screaming our names. Do I make myself clear?” Dean hisses in my ear. 

“Yes,” I mutter with a moan. 

“Good girl. Now lay back on the bed,” Dean instructs as he lets me go. Sam moves out of the way and I lay down with my head on the pillows. 

Sam takes off his belt and binds my hands to the wooden headboard above me, securing me tightly. He smiles menacingly as he unclasps my bra and throws it across the room. Sam looks over at Dean and smiles. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sam asks him. 

Dean pokes his tongue out and licks his bottom lip. The sight sends a shiver down my spine, and I can feel myself getting wetter by the second. “Oh yes, little brother. I most definitely am.”

Dean slides down his jeans and boxers, kicking them to the side and revealing his long, hard cock. I mentally prepare myself for the delicious torture I know they’re about to give me. Just when I think that Dean is going to pounce and thrust into me, Sam drops his pants and boxers and gets on his knees in front of Dean. 

I watch with a small gasp as Sam takes Dean’s cock in his mouth and moans when Dean wraps his hands in his hair and forces Sam to take more of him. “Like what you see, little sister?” Dean teases as Sam’s head bobs up and down Dean’s cock. 

“Mhm,” I hum and start to rub my legs together. It’s fucked up how much I’m enjoying this, but the time to say no, passed that night on the hood of the Impala. Now, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to go back. 

Dean groans as Sam swallows and gags around his cock. “Keep those fucking legs open. Bad girls don’t get to cum,” Dean demands. My legs fall open with a whimper; the friction I was getting wasn’t nearly enough, but it was better than getting none at all like I am now. “Aw, did our little slut want to cum?” Dean moans as Sam takes his cock to the base. 

“Please,” I whimper, fighting the restraint of the belt that holds my arms in place above my head. 

Dean pulls Sam off of his cock by his hair. “What do you think, Sammy? Does y/n deserve to cum?” Dean asks with a heavy breath, his cock wet with pre-cum and Sam’s saliva. 

Sam looks at me and smirks, licking his lip. I silently beg him to have mercy on me. “No. Not yet. We’re just getting started,” Sam answers Dean’s question while looking at me. My heart sinks and the constant teasing is getting to be too much. I need them. Now. 

“Good boy,” Dean praises Sam and pushes his cock back into Sam’s mouth with a groan. “She doesn’t get to cum until we do,” Dean says, looking at me. He thrusts into Sam’s mouth a few more times before I watch him climax, and cum drips from Sam’s mouth and down his chin. Dean pulls back and tips Sam’s face up to his. “Since she wants cum so bad, spit it in her mouth.”

Excuse me?!

I watch in a daze as Sam smiles and walks over to me. He grips my chin and forces my mouth open, then leans in close and spits the mixture of his saliva and Dean’s cum into my mouth. And like the greedy little cum slut I am for them, I stick out my tongue and take it all. The sweetness of Sam’s saliva mixes with Dean’s salty cum and drips down my throat, and I swallow it without being told. 

“Fuck, that was so hot,” Dean praises huskily as he settles between my knees and licks a long swipe between my folds. “Take her mouth, Sammy.” 

Sam smiles and fists his long and thick cock, bringing it up to my lips. “Open wide, little sister,” he instructs me. I open my mouth and let him inside as Dean swirls his tongue around my clit. “Shit,” Sam curses with a moan as he pulls out to the tip and thrusts into my throat, making me gag. 

Dean thrusts three fingers deep inside of me without warning, making my back arch and a loud moan escape around Sam’s cock. “So fucking wet,” Dean growls against my clit. 

I try to moan a response, but Sam grips my hair and holds my head steady before thrusting into my throat to the base. Tears prick at my eyes as they begin to water, but it only seems to drive Sam closer to the edge. “Shut the fuck up,” Sam demands with a groan as he pulls out to give me one second of air until he thrusts back into the base again. “Fucking take it, y/n.” 

Dean’s tongue flicks my clit faster as his fingers leave my entrance and give me only a moment to collect myself. How am I going to beg to cum if I can’t even ask permission? The question is forced from my mind as something cool and metal probes my entrance. “You wanna cum so bad? You’re going to do it on my knife,” Dean tells me as he thrusts the handle deep inside of me. 

I grip the sheets of the bed, and my eyes roll back in my head. Fuck, I’ve never felt anything like this before. Dean’s fingers mix between rubbing and flicking my clit as he thrusts the handle at the perfect angle to hit that sweet spot inside of me that damn near throws me over the edge. “Please,” I beg when Sam pulls out to give me a breath of air again. 

“Please, what?” Sam teases as he pinches my nipple between his fingers, making me cry out. 

“P-please…let me cum,” I beg as tears fall down my cheeks and my legs begin to shake. “Fuck…I need it,” I stutter as Dean thrusts the handle of his knife inside again. 

“Oh, do you now?” Dean teases me as he thrusts the knife handle inside of me again and holds it in place. “I don’t think you deserve it. Since you wanna act like you’re a big girl who doesn’t need her big brothers.” 

“I’m sorry! Fuck, Dean! I’m sorry!” I cry out as I fight against the belt holding me in place, and my body writhes for freedom. 

Sam grips my throat and forces me to look at him. “A little late for apologies, y/n. Now shut the fuck up and take my cock in that tight little throat of yours,” Sam demands as he thrusts back inside, keeping his grip on my throat. “You swallowed Dean’s cum. Now, you’re going to swallow mine.” 

I whimper as Sam continues to assault my throat, and Dean keeps bringing me right to the edge, only to stop and start again. After a few more thrusts, Sam cums down my throat with a loud moan, and I struggle to swallow it all around him. When Sam finally pulls out, I gasp for air as his cum drips down my chin. 

“Who do you belong to?” Dean asks me from between my knees. 

“You,” I pant as his thumb brushes my overly sensitive clit. “And Sammy,” I finish answering. 

“Mhm,” Dean nods in approval and pulls the knife handle from me. “And who gives the orders?” 

“You and Sammy,” I moan softly as he continues to tease my clit. 

Dean nods and smiles. “Good girl. Let’s make sure you don’t forget it next time,” Dean says as he drags the blade of the knife up my thigh. I hiss in pain as I feel the sharp tip break the skin and cry out when Dean carves something into my thigh. When he’s finished, he leans down and licks the area he cut. He then looks up at me with darkened eyes and shows me the blood on his tongue before swallowing. “Sweet as sin.”

Dean hands the knife to Sam, who takes Dean’s place between my thighs. Dean claims my mouth and my cries for himself as Sam carves something into my other thigh. When he’s finished, Dean unbinds my hands and lifts me onto my knees on the edge of the bed. “Now you may cum, little sister,” Dean says sweetly as Sam climbs behind me on the bed. “But, this time, you’re going to cum with both of our cocks inside that pussy.” 

I gasp softly as Sam pushes his cock into my entrance, and my legs already begin to shake. “B-both of you?” I ask as Dean pushes his cock to my entrance as well. 

Sam pulls my head back by my hair and kisses my neck. “You can take it,” he says sweetly. 

Dean breaches my entrance, where Sam’s cock is already buried deep inside of me, and I cry out. “It’s too much,” I beg as I grip Dean’s shoulders to hold myself up. 

“And you’re going to take,” Dean pushes in more. “Every,” he pushes in another inch. “Inch,” Dean demands as he thrusts inside of me completely, stretching me impossibly wide. 

I cry out as the pain slowly melts into pleasure as Sam and Dean start to thrust in and out. “God,” I moan loudly as they start to thrust faster as if they’re challenging each other who can thrust in and out the fastest and the hardest.

Dean grips my throat and looks me in the eyes. “Don’t call out to God, y/n. The only people you need to pray to are fucking your tight little cunt right now.”

My nails rake down Dean’s back, and he hisses in pleasure. “More,” I beg as they thrust in again. 

“My pleasure,” Sam groans as he pulls back just enough to slap my ass hard. I cry out, and Sam smacks my ass again, even harder. 

A switch inside of my flips, and I go absolutely feral. I lock my lips with Dean, fighting his mouth for dominance as our teeth nash at each other’s lips. Sam bites my shoulder and I feel the blood drip down my skin. I need more. I need it all. 

Sam pulls me away from Dean, throws me face down on the bed, and slams back into me harder than ever before. I scream in ecstasy as he grips my hair and forces my head up with my chest still smashed into the mattress. “Scream again, y/n. I dare you.”

“Sam!” I scream his name, and a second later, I feel the leather of a belt come down across my ass. “Fuck! Yes! MORE!” I beg loudly. 

“I’ll fucking give you more,” Dean promises as he pulls Sam off of me. “Get under her. It’s about time we break in her ass.”

Sam lifts me with ease and sets me back on top of him, thrusting back into my pussy harshly. I moan as Dean settles behind me, and I feel his cock prod at my tight back hole. “Has anyone ever fucked this hole?” Dean asks me. 

“N-no,” I mutter as Sam stops thrusting to allow Dean to slide in. 

“Good. Now it belongs to me,” Dean says as he pushes his tip inside. I mewl as he pushes in further, stretching me wider. 

I grip Sam’s shoulders, my nails digging in as he holds me up. Dean slides into the hilt, and for just a moment, all of the depravity and degradation dissipates. “You doing okay?” Sam gently asks below me. I nod as I close my eyes. “Words, baby. We need to hear your words,” Sam tells me as Dean allows me to adjust to his size. 

“I’m okay…just so full,” I moan as the pain disappears. 

Dean kisses my shoulder. “The safe word is ‘Red,’ say that, and we’ll stop, you understand me?” 

I nod and turn my head to meet his eyes. “Yes, big brother. I understand,” I tell him. 

Dean smiles and kisses me. “Good girl.” 

Dean pulls out to the tip and thrusts in with a groan of pleasure. Sam starts to thrust inside again, matching Dean’s pace. It’s unlike anything I have ever experienced before, and I feel myself slip and slide down into a headspace I don’t recognize. I feel small and subservient to a degree I’ve never felt. At this moment, I want nothing more than to do anything and everything they ask or demand. 

Their thrusts quicken, and I feel myself barrel toward the edge of the orgasm I’ve been craving since this all started. “I’m close,” I moan as I feel them both twitch inside of me, and Sam’s grip on my hips tightens to the point of bruising me. 

“Cum, y/n,” Dean demands as he thrusts inside my ass again, and I feel himself spill inside of me. 

The feeling is all I need to fall right over that edge, ready to crash and burn. I cum with an Earth-shattering cry as Sam spills himself inside of me next with a loud moan. 

Sam and Dean withdraw their cocks, and we collapse onto our backs on the bed with heavy breaths. Dean picks up his phone and mutters. “Shit.” 

“What is it?” Sam asks him from my other side. 

“Dad has a job for us,” Dean answers as he types. 

“Where?” I ask Dean tiredly. 

“Blackwater Ridge, Colorado,” Dean answers, sitting up. 

“Sounds charming,” Sam chuckles. 

“We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Dean says as he turns to us. 

I groan and look over at the clock. “Dean, it’s two in the morning.” 

Dean nods. “Then we better get cleaned up and get to bed. We’re leaving at check out at seven.” 

I groan and sit up. “Fine, but I call first shower.” I stand up, and my legs wobble like a newborn horse, forcing me to catch myself on the dresser. 

Dean and Sam chuckle. “Need some help?” Sam quips. 

I turn and smirk. “I’ll be fine.” I make my way to the bathroom, naked as the day I was born. I look myself over in the mirror and can’t help but smile. My hair looks like I was blown through a hurricane, and hickies, bite marks, a bruises from hard fingertips litter my body. But it’s the carvings on my thighs that really bring a smile to my lips. One on one thigh, one on the other.

Dean and Sam

Please feel free to reblog and comment. I hope you enjoyed this chapter 🫶💗

[butternuggets-blog]

DRACULA: A Modern Adaptation

My script for a modern tv adaptation of Dracula, based on the novel by Bram Stoker Also on AO3

EPISODE ONE

101     TRAIN TO BISTRITZ

An aerial shot of train tracks winding through mountainous terrain. A train winding its way towards its destination; old, either early 1990s or even late 80s.

Camera zooms in; long swooping shot.

102     TRAIN CARRIAGE

A figure idly watches the landscape rolling past the window. The glass is streaky; the carriage is clean but shabby and well-worn, clearly old and very used. JONATHAN HARKER rummages inside a pant pocket and pulls out a mobile phone. Samsung Galaxy; he can’t afford an Iphone or has chosen not to purchase one. Not a trend-follower.

Camera static; shows phone screen. Static zoom cut showing the internet and cell reception bars abruptly cut out. He is on his own out here.

103     ARRIVAL AT BISTRITZ

Train shudders to a stop; Jonathan pulls his suitcase out from under his seat and follows the crowd outside onto the platform. Open-air station; very old ticket office with one window, a single bench for waiting passengers. No electronic ticket machine, no modern ads scrolling up. This station is ancient.

Jonathan spots a sign (very hard to miss) for the Golden Krone Hotel which is directly in front of him, opposite the station. He walks across the platform, looks both ways down the street before crossing – people walking by, a stray dog, a genuine horse-drawn carriage – and goes inside.

104     INT. GOLDEN KRONE HOTEL - LOBBY

Open plan hotel lobby; the dining/seating area is to the left, already packed with a modest amount of locals and travellers. The staircase to the upper floors is ahead. The small reception desk is on the right; an OLD WOMAN, one half of the establishment’s proprietors, is already lifting up a flap in the desktop and walking through, reaching Jonathan as he stops in the doorway to admire the interior of the hotel lobby (very traditional; lots of hand-carved wood and painted wallpaper).

OLD WOMAN

Are you the Englishman?

She is speaking German with a stilted fluency. It is not her first language but she knows it passably well. She is Székelys.

JONATHAN HARKER

Yes. I am Jonathan Harker.

He speaks German like a tourist. He is enunciating firmly, with an English accent. Jonathan bows suddenly, awkwardly; the woman reciprocates the gesture. She is smiling; it is an old custom to bow to women in greeting, nowadays most people shake hands. She thinks it is sweet that he has learnt the gesture.

OLD WOMAN

Room seven has been prepared for you.

Jonathan follows the woman over to the desk. She grabs a key – iron, old-fashioned, heavy – from a hook and places it in his hand as her husband appears from a door leading into a back room beside the desk.

OLD WOMAN

Dinner can be served but it is extra, my apologies.

JONATHAN

Thank you. That’s not a problem.

The woman turns to her husband. Jonathan cannot see her expression but the audience can. She is tense, but pretending that nothing is wrong.

OLD WOMAN

[in Romanian] Fetch the letter before I change my mind.

OLD MAN

[in Romanian] It’s for the best.

Jonathan has no clue what is being said. He is wearing the polite smile of a man completely out of his depth.

OLD WOMAN

[in Romanian] Just fetch it.

The man wants to speak, but it is an old argument and he closes his mouth, lets it die. He goes back into the office while Jonathan and the woman stand in awkward silence.

The man returns, handing an envelope to his wife. It is made of thick parchment, sealed with a genuine wax seal, and addressed to Jonathan. The woman slides it across the countertop, fingers pressing down on it.

She is smiling. It is clearly forced.

OLD WOMAN

This was left for you.

JONATHAN

Oh, thank you.

Jonathan tries to take the envelope but there is resistance. The woman does not want to hand the letter over. He tries to snatch it again; this time he is successful.

105     INT. GOLDEN KRONE HOTEL – DINING ROOM

Jonathan is eating a dinner of “robber steak…bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire” with several glasses of “Golden Mediasch wine”.

He reads the opened letter as he eats; the envelope is tucked into his journal, also on the table, which is propping up the letter.

We now hear Dracula’s voice for the first time as he narrates the letter.

DRACULA

My friend, welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. At three tomorrow the coach will start for Bukovina; a place on it has been reserved for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will pick you up and bring you to me.

106     FADE IN – INT. GOLDEN KRONE HOTEL – ROOM SEVEN

The dining room scene fades into Jonathan packing his bag in his room the next day and tidying up his bed.

DRACULA

I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.

There is a knock on Jonathan’s hotel room. He zips up his suitcase and answers the door; the OLD WOMAN is standing there, fidgeting nervously.

JONATHAN

Yes? What’s wrong?

Jonathan lets her into the room.

OLD WOMAN

Do you have to go? On today of all days?

JONATHAN

Yes, I have business-

The woman starts weeping.

JONATHAN

Oh! Oh-oh-shh, shh, shh, shh-

He moves to comfort her

JONATHAN

I’m sorry

OLD WOMAN

[in Romanian] I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! It should be us and not you but I can’t-

JONATHAN

What’s the matter? What’s wrong? What did you mean, “today of all days”?

The woman takes a moment to get herself under control.

OLD WOMAN

It is the eve of St George’s day. When it strikes midnight tonight, all the evil in the world will hold sway.

Jonathan is confused.

JONATHAN

What has that got to do with my business trip?

The woman silently shakes her head. She’s said enough; to talk more would be suicide. She takes a rosary from around her neck and places it on Jonathan. He is very confused.

OLD WOMAN

For your mother’s sake.

She leaves.

107 EXT. VARIOUS LANDSCAPES

Picturesque shot of a stagecoach travelling through various landscapes: forest, fruit trees, snow-covered mountains, and valleys.

108     INT. TRAVELLING COACH

As the passengers realise that they have reached the Borgo Pass, they begin to ply Jonathan with gifts; one clasps his hands and says a short prayer, while others press dried rose and garlic into his hands.

JONATHAN

Oh, er, thank you. Thank you.

He is just as confused as he was at the inn. Perhaps this is a normal Romanian farewell?

The coach approaches the stretch of road where Dracula’s coach should be. Everyone looks for it expectantly; Jonathan is disappointed by its absence, the others breathe a sigh of relief.

The driver opens a sliding window set in the front of the coach so he can talk to his passengers.

DRIVER

[in Romanian] We are an hour early.

One of the passengers make the sign of the cross. Another nods.

NODDING PASSENGER

Smart.

The driver turns to Jonathan.

DRIVER

Your coach has not arrived yet. It is late; we will take you on to Bukovina and put you up there for the night.

JONATHAN

Could you wait maybe five minutes? Please?

DRIVER

No. There are wolves.

Suddenly Dracula’s carriage appears behind them. The passengers scream; the driver swears and struggles to get his horses under control as the carriage overtakes and stops in front of them.

DRIVER

[in Romanian] The dead travel fast.

DRACULA – I mean, the “COACHMAN” – alights from his coach and approaches them.

“COACHMAN”

[in Romanian] You are early tonight.

The driver flinches, says nothing. The passengers are frozen in their seats, hardly daring to breath. Their bravery has fled.

The “coachman” pulls Jonathan’s suitcase from the luggage rack. Jonathan climbs out and hesitantly approaches the other vehicle.

“COACHMAN”

Come, come! Let me help you.

He grabs Jonathan’s arm and heaves him into the carriage. He uses a little too much force; Jonathan bounces against the seat. The “coachman” puts a cloak over Jonathan’s shoulders.

JONATHAN

You can keep it for yourself if you want; I’m wearing enough protective layers.

“COACHMAN”

Keep it. And there is a flask of slivovitz in the seat pocket if you would like a nightcap.

The “coachman” flicks the reins and the carriage starts moving. The driver, white-knuckling the reins, watches Jonathan leave. The passengers watch as well, pressed up against the windows but not daring to poke their heads outside.

109     EXT. LANDSCAPE NEAR THE CASTLE

The carriage rides through the night. Jonathan is cold, despite the layers; he pulls the cloak around himself like a blanket and enjoys the night time view.

Jonathan gets curious. By the light of the moon he looks at his watch; it is about to strike midnight.

Camera static; static zoom shot of the watch face as the hands strike midnight.

Howls pierce the air. They are far away and oh so close. Jonathan shivers, shrinking down and trying to hide as best he can in the carriage. They keep moving.

110      INT. OPEN TOP CARRIAGE

Aerial shot of the carriage rolling along the road. Jonathan, feeling brave, is sitting up properly again. He spots blue flames flickering among the trees to the left.

JONATHAN

A will o’ the wisp! I didn’t know you had them here! We have them back home in England, in the marshes.

“COACHMAN”

They are not wisps, only blue flames. Wisps have a mind.

JONATHAN

Supposedly wisps lead people astray. Some people have died after following them.

The coachman grins. He enjoys the thought of people dying.

“COACHMAN”

The flames always appear on St George’s Eve. They mark hidden treasure.

Eyes around them, glowing white. The horses buck and whinny, but there’s nowhere for them to go. The cloud cover lifts and

Wolves.

Standing in a ring around the now stopped carriage, silently observing the men. Suddenly they throw back their heads and howl.

The coachman stands up, throwing his arms wide.

“COACHMAN”

[in Romanian] Begone!

The wolves leave.

“COACHMAN”

The children of the night. What music they make!

Jonathan is shaken. What the hell was that? He presses a hand to his chest, pressing the rosary tucked under his shirt against his skin. It is a comfort.

111      EXT. CASTLE DRACULA

The carriage comes down the final stretch of road before pulling up in the courtyard of “a vast ruined castle”. Jonathan is slumped in the backseat; fear and exhaustion has been too much for him and he nodded off.

The sudden lurch of the carriage coming to a halt wakes him up and he looks about him in awe, hopping from the carriage with the help of the coachman who proceeds to deposit his suitcase beside him before driving off.

Jonathan approaches the front door. It is massive and weathered, with iron nails embedded in it.

Carved along the stone doorframe, in English, is an inscription. The words are clearly new, although the stone it is carved onto is very old.

JONATHAN

[in English] Enter freely, go safely, and leave a little of the happiness you bring.

There is a loud clank of bolts – and gears? - and the door slides open, seemingly on its own.

[cannoli-reader]

Watching the Wheel of Time show, Season 2, episode 6

Originally posted on readandfindout.com on 9/23/2023

1:16 I burst out laughing. Not because it’s happening to Egwene. Slavery, and especially via the violation of one’s personal agency by something as invasive as the a’dam, transcends personal dislike. I am Team Egwene when it comes to her coping with Seanchan captivity. But what the heck were they thinking?

First of all, dragging people is not easy. I am the eldest child of seven. I have experience in this regard. And yet, this is an Empire of experienced slavers, whose most important characteristic ITB is not slavery, but organization and institutional adaptation. The Seanchan learn and adapt and do so on a large scale, surprisingly quickly. They would have figured out a long time ago that the best way to transport a reluctant captive is not by dragging them. Also, a damane is very valuable. You don’t want to damage it.

And, of course, they can compel pain and do so with new damane in order to make them understand the need for compliance. They would be brain-tazing her to make her walk.

1:22 How did they make her flip over, by tugging on a chain to her neck? That’s not how you physics or anatomy.

1:27 That is a solid collar, not a noose. It would not have been choking her, especially with all the vocalizing she has been doing until now. The rule of thumb is that if you can complain about being choked, you are not being choked seriously.

1:43 Between Lanfear in the dream sequence and Darth Bangs in Ahsoka, I have to ask, are raccoon eyes the new symbol of preternatural power? Did anyone tell the show runners that unlike Lanfear or Darth Bangs, or Mads Mikkelson & buddies, sul’dam are not tapping into an objectively evil energy source?

2:41 No Seanchan believes in cultivating a friendship between sul’dam and damane, because damane are not people. What’s more, the power imbalance and compulsory aspects of the relationship make friendship a hypocrisy. Renna was many things, but not a hypocrite. She did believe in being indulgent with her damane, but as to an obedient pet.

I think the show is more about demonizing the Seanchan and sul’dam, than developing real characters or telling a coherent story. Because they are stunning and brave in their defiant opposition to an institution that no white people anywhere, or primary speakers of the a decent language actually support, and no non-shithole countries actually practice.

3:35 Why are all rooms on this show so huge? Why is the kennel of a single damane so big? Back in the Tower, it took me a couple of episodes to realize that Liandrin was not keeping Mat locked up in her own bedroom, but a prison cell, because the size made me think the former. The hotel room a couple of indigent farmboys could afford in Tar Valon, after a month of travel depleting their purses (and no entertainment skills to replenish them) was cavernous (and had a balcony!). The novices’ quarters in the Tower look to have room to practice gymnastics.

5:18 Are we supposed to take her even a little bit seriously? I, personally, do not have any sort of bondage fetish, corsets and collars and leather and whatnot don’t do anything for me (also the whole goth thing, which to me seems to generally be a personal statement rejecting objective conventional standards of beauty, because the people in question cannot meet them), so maybe I am missing something here? That light, I should also add, does nothing for her looks, seriously calling into question her casting as impossibly beautiful.

Also the cut of her … dress … for lack of a better word, makes it look like she, in WoT parlance, does not have lot to fold her arms over?

5:34 Because no one trusts clowns, Lanfear.

For the record, Lanfear is ITB, objectively, a clown and an idiot. The other Forsaken do not take her seriously, except perhaps the equally pathetic Semirhage, and everyone she tries to manipulate in the books blows her off and runs their own game, generally to her detriment. I have yet to see any evidence that the writers of this show are aware of that, since the first time her name was spoken, it was in close proximity to a description of her as the most dangerous of the Forsaken. Which she sort of is, only in the sense of her generally unhinged mentality, not because of any level of competence.

5:54 Stop giving us wind sounds in the background, while she is wearing something that looks like she should be about to take off flying like Sally Field as a nun.

6:07 Lews Therin was pushing people away to protect those he loved in his last life? Why? How? And since the only thing we know about his relationships with the people in his life was that he killed every single one of them … wouldn’t that statement be the most credibility-damaging thing she could say for both the audience and a person in the Third Age? Like, the guy’s name is Kinslayer. There is a mountain range named after him. Everyone should automatically know that he killed family members, suggesting either that he was right to push them away, or that Lanfear is talking out of her ass. Which for all I know, she has a special part of the dress for that purpose.

6:42 ITB, Moiraine has basically done nothing but try to deceive or control Rand since they met. Show!Moiraine, not so much. Or at least to the point that her methods of control are not tremendously obvious, as they were to Rand in EotW. Moiraine told him he was the Dragon Reborn and rubbed his nose in it, and did it in such a way as to catch him off guard. On the show, Rand went to her with the news that he was the Dragon Reborn and could channel, and she acceded to his request to let everyone believe he was dead. She Healed Tam unasked and told the gang straight out that she was looking for the Dragon Reborn and it could be one of the kids in town. She told him, honestly, as the viewers know and Rand has no reason to doubt (recall his brilliant line “nothing an Aes Sedai says is optional” ) about all the ramifications and the potential danger of the plan to go to the Eye of the World. She was not the one to lead the gang into Shadar Logoth, nor did she give them roofie trackers. She saved Rand from a sexual partner who was deceiving him as to her identity and nature.

7:27 He does not actually want to work with you, Lanfear! He just presented a condition for you to earn his trust! This is just more of the show’s typical characters talking past one another, instead of having a conversation. Now, it is not out of character for book!Lanfear to ignore what he is saying and only hear what she wants and have the conversation that matches her view of reality, but even if the writers are aware of it, they have botched so many other conversations that this one is a case of a stopped clock being right twice a day, rather than actual characterization.

7:58 Why is he acceding her condition? First of all, trying to isolate someone and make them dependent on you is the mark of an untrustworthy person who likely does not have your best interests at heart (of course, in the books, that was much more Moiraine’s MO than Lanfear’s). Secondly, it’s just sending a message that he can be manipulated. Rand ITB did not let Lanfear know that he cared about anyone, specifically to prevent her targeting them. He would cite their utility or feign indifference. He did NOT respond to threats toward them. Also, it is supporting her claim that he always tries to push people away to protect them. Third, the best way to handle two persons of dubious trustworthiness, and competing agendas, is to play them off each other. Bounce what Lanfear says off Moiraine and vice versa, which is something Rand understood long before he even realized he could channel (so many people discussing the first season of the show made a big deal about aging the characters up and also their having sex lives as evidence of that maturity, but they are so much less mature or sophisticated in so many ways than the book versions, that I don’t see the point) Finally, the only way to protect Moiraine at all for certain is to stick close to her.

8:13 Setting aside Moiraine’s motives, I would have serious questions about how she moved Logain. See, in the books, Rand knew she was in cahoots with Siuan. He’s never even seen the Amyrlin on the show.

8:46 I can barely see anything in this episode not set in a dream desert. I can barely see that Mat is reacting to stuff and not what he is reacting to.

9:01 Min looks like Prax Meng from The Expanse. Which is kind of ironic, because he was a male character, whose parents didn’t know that Praxidice was a female name.

What should her new name be, Prax Min, or Meng Farshaw?

10:06 We are 14 episodes and a 1.75 seasons into the show before we learn that A. Two Rivers Wisdoms have a raiment of office, B. Nynaeve has been wearing it this whole time and C. the White Tower let her keep the belt during her training? This is not how you indoctrinate people and the books made a point, for the stupid among us, in the case of Nynaeve in particular, of showing the Aes Sedai denigrating her skills and other artefacts of her experience as a Wisdom, to drive home that none of that matters next to her studies in the Tower. Part of Nynaeve’s identity conflict was holding onto her own identity in the face of the Tower’s efforts to fit her into their own mold.

10:45 Really, Elayne? Liandrin broke “every single one” of the Three Oaths? Tell us please what weapon she made for one man to kill another? What word did we ever hear her speak that is not true, for that matter? I am legit asking that latter one, because Book!Liandrin was very careful to adhere to the letter of the Oath until her allegiance was exposed. She did so with Amalisa, and when inducing the girls to leave with her, and I don’t feel like going back to check all her show!dialogue to see if it was technically true. Also, we don’t know of her even breaking the Oath against using the Power as a weapon, because she did the same thing to Nynaeve in the kitchen as a lesson, which is more or less transposing what Siuan did to her ITB. So either they have weird ideas about what constitutes a weapon, or Nynaeve is an idiot for not catching it the first time.

11:53 So Aes Sedai don’t ward their dreams. They are probably going to have to explain at some point why the Shadow doesn’t take advantage of that …

12:04 “You hate men” says Lanfear to a woman in a room whose only other occupant is the only known person that woman loves. And is a man. The question is why Liandrin serves a man, when she hates men … which makes no sense, because serving is not loving, and Darkfriends serve the Dark One, with Ishamael as a mere intermediary. And they do it for power or immortality and like most people, don’t really give a shit where the power or immortality comes from if they can actually get it. Also, the Shadow is not big on free consent or willing service, so it’s not like quitting at the sight of the boss’ facial hair is an option.

12:18 Aludran might be a legit Taraboner name, since one of the most important Taraboner characters is Aludra.

13:18 What kind of a world IS this?! Wheel of Time is a world where the only women forced to marry anyone are those the Tower wants to use for some purpose. The most visibly patriarchal Borderland culture considers an 18-year-old woman too young to marry without her mother’s permission. There is not the slightest evidence of prepubescent girls being forced into marriage! This is a world where ruthless Darkfriend war criminals legitimately deplore rape, where teenage males consider practical skills to be of comparable importance to physical beauty among the appeal of a woman, there is no such thing as prostitution, and marriage as an institution is entirely under the control of women wherever the subject comes up.

What is the point of taking a feminist approach to WoT if they are going to undermine the ways the setting is under female influence at every turn?

13:27 “You swore your oaths to the Dark, not to Ishamael” says the woman who questioned why Liandrin served Ishamael. First of all, until very recently, Ishamael was the only path to serving “the Dark.” Which sounds utterly stupid, for the record. It’s the Shadow or the Dark One, not “the Dark”.

Secondly, the notion that service to their side encompasses something higher than obedience to the Forsaken, is not a point any one of them has an interest in making.

Also, let’s take a look at Lanfear’s recruitment pitch. “You don’t just serve Ishamael, you serve the Shadow as a whole, and there are many paths to walk through the night. You can choose whether to serve the guy who preserved your son’s life or me, who killed him.” I thought she was going to heal Aludran to alleviate his pain to reinforce her point about men sucking and showing how she is a more beneficial mistress. Because I have a functioning brain and a modicum of human empathy. Lanfear was so solipsistic ITB that she had difficulty persuading or manipulating people, but she was miles ahead of this moron.

14:50 Why is this the first demonstration of Loial’s abilities? I thought they had forgotten it. The Seanchan are bringing out the best in their slaves! Was this written by a Florida textbook author?

15:16 Suroth is also being very egalitarian with her slaves, now that we established in a prior episode the significance of speaking to people directly. Also, ITB she was a competent villain. This one we have only seen getting humiliated by Turak and now acting like a twit. Are we really supposed to be afraid of her or her capacity to oppose the heroes?

15:45 How does Loial always find Two Rivers women? How on earth would they have any idea she was a captive? Why would Ingtar, if he is remotely the same person as ITB, give the slightest shit about Egwene, much less follow through on Loial’s request to find her? “Sorry, no luck there, let’s concentrate on our universe’s equivalent of the Holy Grail for the time being,” is what he would and should be saying, after having made only the most desultory, if that, attempt at locating her. Also, when you are enslaved and trying to escape with the Holy Grail equivalent prize, every little thing you do to break cover, or draw attention to yourself, like poking your nose into damane matters, has to be weighed against your chances of succeeding at the important thing. This is not like Rand’s and Ingtar’s argument ITB, where they were free, armed and mobile.

It's also worth noting that the Seanchan honor was about status among the aristocracy. Their lack of conventional security methods spoke to the extreme level of control they had, and the power at their disposal to rectify breeches. They could let civilians come and go in their conquered lands, because it upheld their image and because people posed no threat. They have the most elaborate intelligence and police apparatus, and a draconian system of punishment to deter transgressions, which is why certain things appear lightly guarded to the eyes of wetlanders. They can catch lawbreakers more effectively and efficiently than preventing crime in the first place. They don't skimp on guards because of their honor. Of course, on TV, honor is dumb and makes you vulnerable to smart people.

16:14 The debate about Egwene could have been much better handled by including the point that a channeler could be very useful in effecting their escape with the Horn. If you are too dumb to think of that, you could read the books, where Nynaeve uses that as incentive to get Bayle Domon to take them out of Falme. Loial has to be aware that Egwene was part of the force that left a lot of Trolloc carcasses outside Fal Dara, as he was the one who let her and Nynaeve know about the call to arms issued to channelers in the city.

16:19 I thought Ingtar said “they call it the kennels” to humanize him, to show that even though he prioritized the Horn over and above her plight, he was appalled at how the damane are treated, but Loial is responding as if he is arguing that there is no point in trying to rescue her, because if they call the barracks a kennel, it must mean the residents are broken to the leash.

And of course, he has to praise her to the skies, because Egwene. First, why would Loial call her sweet, when most of what he witnessed were arguments where she was putting down her fellow villagers or complaining that they don't cook for her? Second, ITB, her very close friends, who had spent far more time in her company than Loial, were extremely worried about the effect her captivity would have on her, and saw a need to get her out ASAP. Every female character (aside from Nynaeve) on the show is so awesome, so badass, so indestructible that there cannot be any real stakes in threats like this, because she is just too awesome to be beaten, so there is no real urgency.

16:44 This better be a dream, or the whole thing is bullshit. Either the a’dam is pathetic or Egwene’s strength of will has been taken up to Mary Sue levels.

16:51 It kind of says something about the show that the better of two options to expect is extreme predictability, rather than outright stupid impossibility.

17:00 The best way forward is for the prior sequence to be what Egwene wanted to do, and now we see the canonical result.

17:09 Okay, apologies, and so forth. But I still stand my ground on the basis of their shitty writing lowering my expectations.

17:50 And the last punch was just stupidity. But I don’t think the writers know that, I think they believe she is being admirable.

19:27 That’s mostly book dialogue, but first Renna talked about Egwene’s strength, then cited her strength in the Power, and then said that the strongest damane are the hardest to break. She makes no distinction between strength in the Power and strength of will or character and thus gives the impression that to whatever degree Egwene manages to hold out from being broken to the leash, it will not be because of any sort of fortitude or moral fiber or sense of will, but by the fortuitous circumstance of being born with a degree of power.

20:28 Even in the closest thing to good light she has been in all episode, I could barely see Egwene’s nosewart, even looking for it. Are they using makeup to minimize it this season? Did Madden have a procedure done?

Come on, Maddy, that was our thing!

20:36 Why did we need to end the scene on such a long exterior shot of the kennels? Why not zoom in through the window to Egwene, after transitioning from Loial & Ingtar discussing where she was, if we need to be able to recognize the kennels from the outside for the rescue attempt?

21:27 So Min is a Darkfriend because she wanted to get rid of her viewings. That’s it. There is no going on with her. She has to die or be an enemy or at least stuck with the status akin to that of Asmodean, always on the periphery, never to be trusted, having to prove her use and value to buy her life anew every day. I don’t care what they call it. She admits to, in her words, making a deal with the Shadow. That’s being a Darkfriend. Period, full stop.

21:46 What makes this a good place to stop? And why phrase it like that, when it gives the impression that Alanna DGAF about anything other than her desire for tea? Which is entirely in keeping with her self-indulgent behavior to date, and in the absence of any knowledge about this random spot in yet another scene in the dark, the only possible interpretation. Edit from the future: Okay, there was a ruined building there, not that you could tell in all the darkness.

21:51 WHY?!?!? Why do they have temples to the Forsaken? What the hell is a Forsaken, anyway? According to a bunch of irrelevant novels, they are Aes Sedai who went over to the Dark One and were his most powerful servants in the War of the Shadow. On the show, the name has only been referenced in respect to their being reverenced by the people of the world, including a Warder, openly in the White Tower, along with the tidbit that they are apparently impossible to kill. There is nothing on the screen to date suggesting they are human beings, instead of spirits or divinities.

22:10 Lan can’t return to the Tower, because the Amyrlin’s banishment applies to him, until his bond with Moiraine is formally removed from the Tower records.

Just

What

I

Fuck it.

This show.

22:48 “Generals in the Dark One’s army” does not clarify the matter of my previous question one bit. And, as is typical for the show, Lan speculates about their repertoire of powers and Ihvon responds by citing their moral threshold or lack thereof, and Alanna, in turn, seems to be excusing them or suggesting that Aes Sedai could stoop as low.

Making a case for moral relativism is a teensy bit problematic in an episode focusing so heavily on the evils the Seanchan inflict on their captives. But it’s also the episode that reveals Min is a Darkfriend, clarifies the terms of Liandrin’s service to the Shadow, and in the barely-covered conflict between arguably the two main characters of the show, calls into question Moiraine’s tactics in handling Rand, and their contribution to the possible rift Lanfear is creating between them.

So Alanna’s line touches on the closest thing to a theme or through-line in this episode. Is her dialogue there to justify Min’s turning to the Shadow to be relieved of her viewings, Liandrin to help her son and Moiraine’s transgressions in dealing with Rand? If an argument can be made for all those things, then too, the same moral principle must be extended to the concerns of the Seanchan in dealing with the Power that Broke the World, and has largely been wielded for evil on the show thus far. Can we blame the Seanchan for preferring to lock the perps up rather than put their faith in something like the White Tower, which teaches girls the so-important skills of filtering water and pervert sex while letting people like Liandrin run around wielding authority and abusing it for the Shadow’s agenda? Whose sole contribution on the show so far to the eternal fight against the Shadow was to ignore the threat to the Blightborder defenses while tossing potential Dragons Reborn into the Eye of the World and hoping that will make the Last Battle go away?

I don’t agree with the Seanchan solution, because I am an unapologetic moral absolutist. But Alanna has been portrayed as a voice of reason here, and she's being all relativist.

22:58 The one canonical instance of Green sisters camping in a tent, in the whole book series, included Alanna, and made a note of them sitting up late outside the tent chatting with their warders every night.

23:25 WTF is this? Lan is not bonded to Alanna, so far as we know. He has sworn no oaths to her, and has just now stated that legally, he is still Moiraine’s warder. So why are they being all menacing about him leaving? Because the way this group has been depicted so far on the show, the strong subtext here is “We might not have got to rape Steppin, but by the Light, you sure as shit are not getting away.”

Actually, I want to restore Lan’s established proficiency by watching him open a can of whoop ass on these tiresome freaks.

23:36 Sigh. Nightmare. Warders’ dreams are also apparently no longer protected. Not that Sanderson remembered this either…

24:41 Wait, is this actually really happening?

25:08 Fuck this shit. Lan would die before admitting that. And a big huge chunk of this is on Moiraine, for all her shenanigans pushing him away for no discernable reason.

26:27 Why would Rand believe for a moment that Lanfear did anything more than dispel an illusion of her own making?

28:45 “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to talk to one woman about another” – a line spoken by the far and away most accommodating of all the women to legitimately love Rand, who usually encourages his relationships with other women. Because anyone with common sense knows you don’t do this. Rand slipped up and drew that comment, because, as he says, he was not thinking of Min as a woman, much less romantic competition for Elayne or Aviendha. For someone who has actually slept with Rand and is openly asserting her romantic interest in him, this is an utterly moronic request or demand. Book!Rand would view this level of desperation as a fatal weakness that could get a woman he cared about killed. He’d pursue the inquiry with affected skepticism, questioning what she just showed him and fishing for more information. Because that’s what we see him do when Lanfear reveals Elayne’s mother’s situation.

I think the writers are so bound and determined to show the male characters as emotional and not 'toxically' masculine that they are going to do so, whether or not it makes the slightest bit of sense.

30:42 Egwene seems to think, on absolutely no basis whatsoever, that the words she is hearing are a damane repeating what her sul’dam as told her, instead of a sul’dam instructing a damane. If she is actually hearing the latter, she could end up in a lot of trouble for trying to encourage the subject of her teaching.

31:39 Why can an Accepted and a novice say this stuff to Aes Sedai? Do the writers think (No) this makes their characters look smarter or more capable to just repeatedly refuse orders like petulant children and the supposed authority figures give way? Book!Nynaeve would “Yes, Aes Sedai/Mother” her to her heart’s content and then figure out a way to do what she needed to anyway.

Also, why would you send a novice and Accepted, who would automatically be suspected as runaways making up wild stories to excuse their transgression, with the news of Liandrin, instead of an Oath-bound sister reporting it herself? And it’s not my book analysis predicting they would be seen as runaways, that is the conclusion that Ryma leapt to on finding them! If she thought they were runaways, why would anyone in Tar Valon think differently?

Also, also, pursuant to my first point, having Ryma believe the truth simply because Our Heroines told her so robs them of development by squandering an opportunity to demonstrate or discover powers of persuasion. Most importantly, it utterly violates the most important themes of the series!

But at least the writers don’t have to work so hard. Not that they had to in the first place, since keeping close to what Jordan already worked out for them would take even less effort.

32:13 How many accomplishments are they going to take from Nynaeve?! Instead of figuring out on her own, with no help, in incredibly adverse circumstances, at great risk to herself and her companion, how to open an a’dam, and then obtaining one to use to infiltrate the kennels, an Aes Sedai Ex Machina just hands her an a’dam in a safehouse she has already prepared and brought them to, after finding them on her own. And not for nothing, but in lab conditions like this, Elayne is the more natural one to figure it out, making Nynaeve’s primary contribution to this part of the story being “I’m not pacing, I’m investigating!”

32:27 If they can speak English, why can’t the write with the actual alphabet? Or just have Moiraine do a voice-over instead of making us read?

32:57 Moiraine has been stilled, she is not shielded, she is not stuck with her bond to Lan on mask. So what does stilling even mean in the arbitrary congruence of show rules for the Power to those of the books? In the books, it means Moiraine is freed of the Three Oaths, and her bond to Lan has been broken with traumatic effects not much less than her death would inflict. Actually, in the books, there are at least two cases of Warders dropping dead when their bonded sister is stilled, and not nearly as many instances of them doing so at her death. For instance, none of the five warders of the sisters who die in the house on Full Moon Street died from the bonds breaking, nor Kairen’s at her murder, but Irgain’s and Martine’s warders died when they were stilled by Rand and burned out, respectively.

So what does being stilled mean for Moriaine? How is this going to be fixed, to wrench her plot closer to the real story? (especially since it seems that they are ignoring what actually happened in Season One, and basing this season’s scripts on the events of Eye of the World instead, on more than one occasion) Because Nynaeve only figured out how to Heal severing after a lot of essential build up, ITB, and not until well after Moiraine had become irrelevant to the plot.

33:11 Buttering both sides of the bread just makes a mess! How are you supposed to pick up a sandwich where you do that? And for the record, the sandwich was named after a man who was born in 1719. Well, after any equivalent time period in this world. Why did we think it would be cute to have this overgrown child bringing Moiraine a sandwich and referencing his old habit of doing so? What does this do for anything other than forcing their Moiraine slice-of-life backstory fan-fic down our throats? It’s not going make the reveal of him being a Darkfriend more shocking, if that’s the way they go, nor make us regret his death in the Cairhien civil war that may or may not break out (the same political pressures would seem to be in place). The show hasn’t exactly made me invested in seeing what sort of role he plays in the politics of the series going forward, either.

We had interminable and numerous scenes of Moiraine being cold and dismissive toward Lan earlier in the season. And if we were going to give a damn about her relationship to anyone, it would be him. This weenie with a 1920s women’s haircut doesn’t come close.

34:16 Moiraine was busy! Also, sending word to the White Tower does not mean she got it! Remember, show, because I do, that you said she was never in the White Tower! Home was her saddle and the brooding man by her side! We know and Moiraine knows, that she was trying to stop the apocalypse and she has shown not one iota of sentimental attachment to Anvaere or the rest of her family. Since we know that she was really fucking preoccupied with the apocalypse, how are we supposed to take Anvaere’s whinging seriously? Why are we supposed to think Moiraine does?

34:35 I saw Lindsey Duncan on two other TV shows. In one, she waged a covert war of attempted assassinations against a rival woman, tried to cast magic curses on her, seduced her rival's daughter and persuaded the girl to seduce her own brother, and eventually committed suicide, on her rival's doorstep, just because this person spread gossip about her affair with a married politician who dumped Duncan as a result. Among the results of her machinations were the assassination of the head of the nation, which was thrown into civil war and her only son killed in battle. On the other show I saw, she advised her boss, the Prime Minister of the UK, to commit porcine bestiality live on national TV. Both of these women seemed more reasonable than Anvaere.

Anvaere professes to know and emphatically asserts, that Moiraine loved their father. And yet she keeps demanding “What was so important” that Moiraine was not there for his death. By her own admission, by the facts as she cites them, it would have to be something incredibly important or Moiraine would have come! Why does it matter? You ask this sort of question because you don't believe there was anything important, you ask it rhetorically to accuse the subject of not caring, except she is vehement that Moiraine did care! Either she’s wrong that Moriaine cared a great deal about Dalresin, or it was something so epically important that Moiraine prioritized it over her beloved father! And if it’s that important, why on earth does she think Moiraine will reveal it to someone for whom she has never cared?

Because the writers want to justify Moiraine stupidly blurting out the truth, or want us to feel weally weally bad for her.

35:10 We don’t care what you think about Moiraine, because we know she is trying to save the world and has suffered an unimaginable loss, that, if we are to go by the show’s intermittent bothering to mention it, will also permanently estrange her from the love of her life. Just shut up and get out of the room, Anvaere. Sorry, but the writers dealt you a really shit hand. I was hoping to see you playing Daes Daemar with all the aristocratic cunning Duncan is capable of portraying, but we’re just getting low stakes family drama distracting us from the prophesied champion of the apocalypse and a group of characters suffering, or in danger of, enslavement.

35:22 Among the numerous female characters assassinated by this adaptation is Moiraine and Anvaere’s mother, a scholarly woman Moiraine loved enough that Dalresin begging her to come to her was a challenge in her test for the shawl. To the extent that Moiraine and her sisters were better or more decent people than Dalresin’s other child, Tarangail, the implied factor is their mother, as Tarangail was born of a political marriage and got the full share of Damodred qualities. But according to Anvaere, their Damodred father was the nice one and the greatest insult, her final parting shot at Moiraine, is that she is just like their mother.

Progressive feminism FTW! If you don’t like the show, you must be racist!

36:44 Are we to take from the letter with the broken seal next to the one Moiraine was trying to compose, that Siuan is publicly sending letters to a woman she exiled from the Tower? Only thing I can think is a repeal of her banishment, which would explain why she is trying to write a letter revealing what happened.

I am also curious how Lan’s confession to Alanna got him Siuan’s itinerary and permission to go to her. Where was she, where was he and the Pervert Trio? What are timelines again?

37:45 You know, maybe I should take back what I said about making the characters actually compose a persuasive argument. I don’t think the writers are capable of it. And in spite of this, they put the characters in situations where they need to, and fail, but get what they want anyway. All they had to do was have Logain reluctantly acquiesce to Rand’s demand, because we know Moiraine has already made that bargain with him. Fine, Logain is trying see if he can weasel something else out of Rand. He’s a dick, that’s canon. But now you have Rand making this nonsensical appeal to his legacy, and an intelligent steelmanning of this scene has Logain mentally rolling his eyes, and going along with this idiot bumpkin, because he really doesn’t have any other choice and has already made his deal with Moiraine.

The end result of this whole exchange is Our Hero looks like a chump.

Again.

I know there are theories that this denigration is deliberate in the case of the men, but the writers are clearly doing it by accident to the women, so who can even tell which they are trying to do and which are they doing by incompetence?

38:18 Are they going to have the women surrendering to the Power as in canon, now that they have established that a male channeler must seize the Source and take control?

And how can Logain tell Rand is taking too much? He also claimed to have sensed Rand’s ability to channel, a month after Logain himself had been gentled.

Remind me again what it means that Moiraine has been stilled?

39:03 So now Rand, determined to avoid all his friends for their own protection, turns around and walks down the street to where he hears Mat’s voice.

Since we’re being all consistent and stuff, Mat was not formally told of Rand’s death, because he was imprisoned in Tar Valon, but also Liandrin was reading the letters from Perrin to the girls which IIRC implied as much. But we know Liandrin was editing them, and we know Mat’s supposed to be at least a little clever in his approach to breaking out, even if Liandrin was on top of it, so how much does he trust what she read him? He showed no real interest in saying goodbye to the girls when he left.

I have no idea what it means that Rand and Mat are about to reunite. They spent most of their travel time belittling, and arguing with, one another, but then Rand took his part in the arguments about him in Fal Dara.

39:14 Who or what is this “God” one of the gamblers just invoked (and the captions confirm he said)?

39:46 Who or what is this “Light” you are each invoking? Might a potential “God” be annoyed at your apostasy?

39:58 I guess Mat didn’t believe anything Liandrin read, since he seems to think everyone would be hanging around with Rand, instead of training in the White Tower or writing letters to friends in the Tower that imply Perrin believes Rand is dead.

40:16 Genitalia are invoked pejoratively. Because sex is icky in our progressive new setting.

40:26 +Sigh+ Okay, now why can only “some” of their damane sense when a woman is channeling, and not all of them, as every woman who can channel can? Hell, every person who can channel can sense when a woman is channeling! Or did they mean sul’dam instead of damane ?

41:44 How did Ryma get the ring off the Blue Sitter who was collared? And what exactly were the logistics of getting their hands on an a’dam, with two sisters getting killed and another collared, while Ryma managed to escape with a collar she does not know how to open? Just how well can an Aes Sedai fight when they are aware the Seanchan are not interested in killing them, and thus, combat against the Seanchan does not remotely count as “the last extreme in defense of my life”? Plus they would have had to dismember the damane wearing that collar. The answer is, they almost certainly forgot.

45:18 How do the writers of this show not understand the properties of water? First Alanna has trouble believing that ice was once water, and now Renna tells Egwene to turn steam into fire. Steam is water. It is not fire. They are the exact opposite, from a classical elements, or Five Powers, perspective.

47:00 Overall, that was a pretty decent scene. Up until the end, when Renna started whaling on Egwene for no reason. Again, the deal with the Seanchan is that they are very competent, and have established procedures and protocols that they follow, because these are proven methods. Having Renna just lose her shit and beat her damane physically, rather than use the a’dam to give her pain, not to mention visibly getting agitated, is incompetent training.

But there are a lot of elements in the fandom for whom any depiction of the Seanchan as competent grinds their gears, even if it's being done to build them up as antagonists to the heroes.

47:21 “Why are you risking everything for someone you barely know?” “Well, you see, Nynaeve, there just aren’t that many women out there who will take my retarded brother off my hands…”

49:06 This is almost book!Mat. Except he wouldn’t put it like that, he’d be complaining about Rand making him go.

49:23 Up and at ‘em Prax Min! You’ve got some traveling to do. This is such a better story than her doing her best to comfort a friend in captivity and facilitating her friend’s escape plan by bringing various people she knew together.

What is our investment in a Darkfriend again?

51:25 Okay, Mat is clever, but how did he get all that from Prax Min saying she saw him kill Rand in a viewing?

51:50 Are us readers supposed to infer “If you love him stay away” is why Prax Min isn’t joining them? Or does her viewing last season of “three beautiful women” exclude her by definition?

52:43 By marrying an established, ruling queen, Barthanes, whose family was so recently in such ruin that his mom had to beg for leftovers, takes over the country as jure uxoris king. This setting just gets more and more feminist every day.

There is the outside chance that king merely means a consort instead of ruler, as queen does in real life, but they have done none of the work to establish that, or make us think so for any but metatextual reasons.

53:08 :headdesk: :headdesk: :headdesk: Powerful people do not ask, request, or demand audiences with social inferiors, much less their professional subordinates. This is not WoT lore, it's human interactions and the English language.

53:21 Did we just drag every Aes Sedai with lines out of the Tower for this scene? How much time has elapsed while Moiraine finished that letter, that the Amyrlin would make a detour to Tar Valon, pick up all these sisters last seen there, and then travel overland to Cairhien? Because we cut from Moiraine addressing her latest draft, to Lan intercepting Siuan on the road. Seriously. What are timelines?

And what is the purpose of this? Is it all about Twue Wuv?

53:36 Okay, so they came from the Tower to meet Siuan in Cairhien. I guess she was equidistant to the city from them, or far enough away to get to a point equidistant from the city by the time word got from her to Tar Valon. Just very impressive coordination without any form of telecommunications. Not sure if it’s better or worse then a detour.

Also, does Liandrin have a loose hinge in her neck, swiveling it around like that? It’s like she’s a cat following a laser pointer while trying to talk to Siuan.

54:12 Why does Mat have such blind faith in Min’s viewings? No one except maybe Rand or Elayne would react this way to Min seeing their own actions, however counterintuitive. And they’d ignore the warning, because both of them trust her viewings and don’t believe they can evade them, so why avoid their friend or loved one when it won’t make any difference?

57:03 So the dismemberment of Rand’s leadership arc from tGH is that Perrin gets the setup with Ingtar, but exercises no leadership over anyone at all, and Nynaeve gets the “it’s up to you, now” parting scene, but with Ryma, and with no setup that gave Rand & Ingtar’s moment such weight.

57:08 Got nothin’ to say to that cracka bitch.

58:10 Just a suggestion, have the Warder lie low, so that he can lead the rescue party to her location once she’s taken, hmmm? ITB Egwene encounters Ryma in captivity, so it might actually help them find her, too.

58:07 Maybe it’s seeing Prax Min, but in that last shot, Basan looked like Chad "Fred Johnson" Coleman.

58:45 Nope, Basan’s just going to die pointlessly. Which undermines the otherwise nice characterization going on here with Ryma.

59:04 Was that a trick or just bad direction? Basan takes a near-miss from a fireball the damane shot, then suddenly he is behind Ryma, walks around in front of her and they make One Power eye contact. Is this an illusion or something to keep him alive? Based on what comes next, incompetent fight direction.

59:30 How is this at all productive? How does hanging Egwene get her to obey or break her of her hostility?

59:41 Dying on your feet instead of living on your knees for a few days, knowing that a rescue op is in the offing, and there are other victims your survival could help save, is not remotely cool, badass or principled, Ryma.

1:00:19 Wow, she’s even worse. She got Basan killed, futilely, rather than suffer to help someone else.

1:00:41 Ryma, allegedly bound by the Three Oaths, is killing a woman she knows to be a victim, to prevent herself from being taken alive. This. Should. Not. Happen.

And her shrieking emotional outburst does not make her look cool or pitiable, just contemptible, for killing someone so brutally, for something that’s more or less all her fault.

1:03:19 Hey, remember last season, when they totally destroyed Nynaeve’s backstory anecdote, all to repurpose it in order to demonstrate that Egwene is “indestructible”? How’d that work out? Looks kind of destructible right here…

I know in the conventions of recent genre adaptations and sequels, women start out awesome and stay that way, and the story is a progression of people realizing and accepting this as she gains accolades, titles and accomplishments, without ever learning anything other than how powerful she always was, but there is a reason that it has traditionally been preferable to build a character up to their ultimate state, rather than simply asserting it exists when they have barely heard the Call to Adventure.

1:03:57��See! We can’t even go a whole minute without someone reaffirming how awesome Egwene is.

I mean, based on what we see of them in the books, I would not take bettering a Sitter for the Blue Ajah as much of an accomplishment. Rank does not equate to character, either.

1:04:09 Liars!

Two episodes to go. What's the story of this season? Besides Egwene, what the arcs of the actual main characters from the series? Perrin gets to wolfbrother, but what about all the other episodes? Mat ... exists. Rand had a channeling lesson. He hooked up with Lanfear and now it looks like he has a makeup date for his audience with the Amyrlin that never happened. And what mechanic are they going to use to get Mat back into the plot? Is he going to help Rand get away from the Aes Sedai or something? Are we going to get another month-long time jump for the two of them to get to Falme? What are Nynaeve and Elayne going to do for all that time if they do?

It's not like there is any point really in speculating. They generally don't feel constrained by such arbitrary standards as logical character progression, coherent story development, the books, or making sense.

[ineffablyendless]

SMOCTOBER DAY 5: Mile High Club/I'd like that very much

Let's pretend I'm not awfully late to the party, shall we?

Monsterfucker bingo ticked: Claws, extra limbs, a lil bit of fangs

Rating: E

Ship:Hob Gadling/Morpheus|Dream of the Endless (Dreamling)

October 5th (Smoctober)

mile high club/golden/I'd like that very much

Monsterfucker Bingo

Fangs? Extra limb?

“You couldn't,” Hob pants, as he feels fingers and claws scrambling for the button of his jeans, pressed as his front is against the meagre strip of wall between the loo and the air-locked door. “Couldn't wait two more hours for us to get home?”

“Could you?” Morpheus purrs knowingly, whispered against his ear. There are no mirrors-nothing to indicate or show how hulked out Morpheus had become within the cramped confines of the airplane restroom (First class, but even that can only afford them so much)-but he feels fur in place of skin, and the chitter of too many teeth bitten into the stretched collar of his sweatshirt, digging for skin.

Another limb reaches past the band of his jeans, and Morpheus purrs once more to find no other hindrance to Hob's cock-rock hard, despite himself, Morpheus hadn't been wrong about either of their impatience, knows that his endearingly human partner has a libido to match his own, insatiable.

Hob moans softly as a single bone sharp tipped claw teases the slit of his leaking cock, before he brings up his arm to muffle his own noises, lest invite trouble for the poor, underpaid stewardesses. His palm, this palm, is rough with scars and callouses, almost as unforgiving as the inside of his own jeans, providing a satisying, delicious friction as the rest of the limbs Hob's awareness, two-no, three, entertain themselves by caressing the rest of Hob's lust-sensitive body; two hands pinching and flicking his peaked nipples, rucking up the hems of Hob's poor travel sweatshirt and another shoved down the seat of his jeans to tease the globes of his ass, dipping a teasing finger for the twitching hole in between: sore and open and wet from their earlier jaunt in the hotel room this morning, where Hob had laid Morpheus down and rode him screaming, full speed ahead, straight into the sunset.

The hand fisted around his dribbling cock pumps once, twice, thrice and pauses, and Hob is mortified to find himself keening desperately for the absence of friction, brought near to tears for the desperation. He is so, so close.

“Please,” he mutters, hips moving in circles for it's return, humping into slick channel of Morpheus' fist and the finger toying the rim of his gaping ass. He is near insensate with it. “Please please please please pleasepleaseplease,”

You do not seem to need anymore of my help to reach your peak, little one,“ Morpheus chuckles, and Hob only moans, feeling like an overeager puppy from his ministrations. ”Go on, chase it yourself.“

He feels feverish from lust, desperation, utter humiliation as he humps the unmoving fist, and the loving warm cup of his embrace on his ass. All the while he is pressed into the awkward slick plastic wall by what amounts to an upright, fanged weighted blanket, with a mouth void of breath and a slick, long tongue that dips, occasionally, to collect the sweat pooled in his collarbones like the rawest form of ambrosia.

Orgasm comes like the boom of thunder on a clear summer's day-startling-and relief like the invigorating storm. Morpheus purrs one last time, in approval, and Hob is released.

When he turns, the monster-in so many ways-has returned to it's fascimile of human skin, with his indigo starlight eyes and corpse-cold Ivory skin, licking the last of Hob's spends from between the webs of his hand, now returned to two.

”Better?“ Hob asks, teasingly, having gotten his breath back. The look Morpheus sends him is exasperated, humorous, as if he is the one who is meant to ask Hob that. He says instead, sighing: ”I cannot wait to come home.“

”I'll fuck you properly there.” Hob promises, reaching to wrap his arms around Morpheus' waist with a gentle peck to the tip of his nose, as if he had not just been brough to violent orgasm within the airplane bathroom. “Roses and candles, baby. We'll get to celebrate our anniversary properly.”

Morpheus sighs, melting happily into his embrace as he unlocks the restroom door. “I would like that very much.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Laundry

Media The Queens Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny X Reader

Rating Flirty

I was sitting on the small ottomans in the basement that Benny called home, Next week was Paris and we were going together as Co-Champions this year. He had graciously offered his apartment so I didn't have to book a hotel so we could train and prep for the games ahead. Plus I wanted to come to New York for some shopping anyway. But this place isn't exactly what I imagined... then again now thinking about it, I'm not sure I did imagine Benny to live any better than this, but it's just a little jarring when it's true. I glanced away from my book and looked around the grey dimly lit basement, the shower in the corner, no sofa, frosted window to the bedroom, the kitchen not much more than a fridge, a counter and a single stovetop. And there he sat utterly in his element at his table no shoes but still black socks, his dark jeans his belt sat comfortably his knife in its holster, a black t-shirt with his green textured shirt on over it with the sleeves rolled up, his chains against his chest and his arms, rings across his fingers, he sat his coffee cup on the table fixed his facial hair and focused back to his board moving the piece he had been contemplating for the last ten minutes.

"Benny?" I asked

"Yeah?" He asks glancing up

"I don't mean to ... pry into your personal business -"

"But you're going to?"

"I am going to," I nodded "Do you actually live like this?"

"Yeah?"

"This isn't like some elaborate prank? And this is like where you store your chess board or something and you actually have a decent semi-detached townhouse in Queens?" I asked

"You're really struggling with this aren't you?"

"I'm just... curious."

"I like it"

"I mean I know New York isn't the cheapest place but..."

"But ?"

"But come on. I cannot repeat this enough: your shower is next to your fridge. You wash your ass beside where you make food. You have a window in your bedroom. That's not wallpaper that's just concrete"

"I like it"

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you can afford better"

"Are you now?"

"We're co-companions I know how much you earn. Unless you're getting a bonus because of your additional appendage"

"Appendage?" He asked looking confused

"Your penis"

"Oh. No y/n, price money does not differ between appendages"

"Every other job I've ever worked does"

"The chess federation doesn't give a damn about appendages y/n"

"Still..."

"I like this place"

"...that brings up a good point actually... I'm not seeing a washing machine. Anywhere?"

"No,"

"Is there... a secret Washing machine?"

"No"

"Okay, do you need to go to someplace in the building and do laundry?"

"You wanna do some laundry?"

"Yes please"

"Alright, get your stuff," he says getting up and heading into his room, I gathered my laundry unsure what to do with it all and he returned with a large drawstring bag "Throw your stuff in here," he says dropping it on the floor with a thud

"In there?"

"Yeah"

I pulled the bag a little to peek inside "Ahhh I'm not putting my laundry in with yours!"

"Why not?"

"Because that's gross!"

"But we're taking it to clean? So what does it matter?"

"It just does Benny!"

"You can put it in the bag or you can carry all your laundry by hand, up to you"

I sighed and out of my clothes, getting my bag and my shoes as he got his shoes and his jacket grabbing the bag and putting it over his shoulder

"Come on then," he says heading out so I followed him he locked the door behind us and we headed up to the dirty New York streets I followed him down the pavement past cars and trash bags for a good while, it felt like we'd been walking forever at least ten blocks by now until finally we arrived at a little hole in the wall laundromat between a record store and a pizza place we headed inside and it was much as you'd expect a little place with a line of washers on one side and dryers on the other a few tables and chairs in the middle and the back wall has a few vending machines on it and a change machine in the centre.

"This is where you do laundry?"

"Well yeah?" He shrugs slipping his jacket off throwing it over a chair and bumping the bag In Front of a machine heading to the back getting change from the machine "You can pop the first load on" he says throwing me a coin from the machine

"I am not touching your underwear"

"I didn't ask you to,"

I sighed and put the first of what I'm sure will be many loads in "washing powder?" I asked

"Uhhh cherry blossom, clean linin, or tropical?"

"Whatever cheapest"

"They all the same"

"Cherry"

"Alright, here," he says getting it from the machine and throwing it over so I put the laundry on and sit at the table

"So we're just gonna sit here all day?"

"Yep"

"Why not go back to the basement?'

"Because by the time you walk back to the apartment, it'll be time to turn around and walk back and the machine will just have finished" he explained sitting down too "It's up to you"

"Fine" I sighed "Why do you come here though? It's dead and it's so far from your apartment? You're not telling me this is the only laundromat in New York?"

"I like this place, it's quiet. Everything is machined so I don't have to deal with people, it's cheap, and the place next door does great pizza"

"The more I get to know you the weirder I think you are Benny" I sighed

"Thanks?"

'It wasn't a compliment"

"I'm taking it as one" he shrugs getting a deck box from his jacket pocket opening it up pulling out a very nice deck of cards which he shuffled in his hand "You can pick"

"Poker"

"AHH nothing to bet with I don't play poker unless I'm better try again'

"fine rummy then" I answered so he shuffled and dealt the cards letting us play for a while "Why do you use this place? really?" I asked as he put the next load on

"You really wanna know?" He sighed

"Yeah,"

"Fine" He sighed sitting back in his seat, "The Guy who owns this place, and the two places next door"

"The pizza and the record store?"

"Yeah, he's also my landlord"

"Okay..."

"So long as I pay my rent I get free pizza and free records, he even takes money off my rent when I do my laundry here"

"Hu... What a nice man"

"Yeah he's great, and I like helping him out. he's doing his best to make it on his own and get out of the family business"

I was confused a moment before it clicked "Holy god- If your landlord is a maf-"

"Yes. His dad runs the New York Mafia. He wants to go straight so I'm more than happy to help"

"Your life is insane"

"At least it's not boring."

"I'd argue this is incredibly boring"

"I don't know, I like the quiet routine of it all"

"Had it ever occurred to you Benny that you're boring?"

"I think I'm pretty damn excited"

"Do you? Really? Like honestly Benny?"

"My life is very exciting."

"Sitting in a laundromat for six hours? Watching your underwear go round and round?"

"I don't know," he says "I've heard many lovely ladies complimenting the excitement of washing machines"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm sure many ladies find washing machines exciting." He says

"Do they?"

"I have read."

"Read?

"I have read. Such."

"Ohh in your pervy penthouse magazines?"

"I'm simply saying most girls would like being able to sit on a washing machine for a few hours"

"I doubt that"

"I don't know, I'm sure this would be more exciting if you sat yourself on the washing machine" he smirked

"That's not a real thing Benny"

"I'm sure it does" "Its not"

"You willing to prove that?"

"I'm not sitting on a washing machine to amuse you"

"It's not going to amuse me it's to prove if it's true or not"

"You're disgusting" I sighed getting up and grabbing my bag "I'm going next door for pizza,"

[kkukiejams]

Since I started my hobby as a fangirl, there's this one fear that I always have. That one day I will awake up and see the news that one of the people I looked up to and always brought me happiness died/suicide/od-ed somewhere out there, inside a hotel room, alone and away from their loved ones. I mean, I grew up seeing news like this from Michael Jackson to Whitney Houston to various K-pop idols. But I never thought that I would really experience this nightmare.

On the early morning of Oct 16th, I woke up with a text notification from a close friend saying "Liam is gone," with no other context. My first thoughts are, "Gone? Wdym by gone?"; "Wait, which Liam?"; "Did she have a dog named Liam?"; "Liam? as in 1D's Liam?"; "Isn't it too early for a hoax, especially on this happy day?"; "Hobi is about to come home; wtf is this bullshit." And so I open my Twitter app and see what the fuck is happening.

*Liam Payne's picture in gray, 1993-2024*, "One Direction member Liam Payne (31), died after falling from his hotel room balcony in Argentina," and all the other fan-shocking tweets, news site tweets, tweets about what happened, tweets about how intoxicated he was, passing out in the hotel lobby before the hotel staff brought him to his hotel room, and that horrible, horrible tweet about how fucking tmz posted a picture of his body laying in the ground focusing on his tattoos barely an hour after he fell.

And all I can think is, shit, I can't do this today. It's already 8 in the morning; I need to move my ass because my work starts at 10am and I cannot afford to be late this month anymore. So I moved and got ready, but I can't even process anything like, Fuck, is this even real? He was just in Niall's concert a few days ago. Did the other boys know already? What time is it in the UK? Are they even awake? Are they even in the UK right now? Fuck, he's so far away from home. Why is he so far away from home? Did his mom already know? Did his baby already know? Wtf, I can't really just cry right now; it's still Thursday, and I can't file for sick leave just because of this; my next schedule will be fucked if I did.

And so, I go on with my day; I got in time for my work, still feeling like a blank slate, and still doesn't know how to react. Other people told me about what happened, asking me, What happened? They know I'm a fan, of course. I'm that big directioner fan girl in high school and college; everyone I met from 2012 till 2016 knows I love that group and how I love those boys. And all I can simply tell them is that he fell from his hotel room balcony, accidentally or by suicide; I'm not sure; he was drunk; he was high; I'm not really sure.

And the day went by, and I came home and went back to Twitter to get more information and updates. I know he was suicidal and had an alcohol problem. I think I saw an interview before that he said this thing himself and was trying to seek help. I really prayed that he would be able to seek help. He was depressed, that the days that he was one of the sources of my mental stability are the days he needs to depend on these vices to keep going so he can keep doing what he loves and to keep surviving.

It was also truly devastating to find out that this once bright, kind, and talented person I know was able to hurt and abuse so many people he was supposed to love and people who loved him. I will not excuse him for his wrongs, and I will not blame his victims for speaking out, but it was so tragic that none of them got a happy, peaceful ending. His life was not supposed to end like this; he should be able to heal, to make amends, and to live the rest of his life in content. But life is a bitch and has never been fair. And so I end my Thursday night still doesn't know how to react, still haven't had a cry. Am I even allowed to cry?

Then it's already Friday morning. He was already gone for a day. I woke up and still cannot believe that this is really happening. Then Louis, Zayn, Niall, and Harry released a joint statement regarding what happened to Liam. This is not how I imagine seeing Zayn's name on a 1D official post again. I always thought it would be the 5 of them, and it's about a reunion concert. I was still looking forward to that. I never saw all of them performing live together. I was able to attend one of their concerts, but Zayn was not present, and it's the last concert they have before they officially announced that he was quitting the band. I never thought that I would really never see them all five performing together.

So again I went with my day, still not crying, still have work to do. I also read Louis', Zayn's, and Harry's personal posts. I cannot imagine how they are feeling. They are losing their brother, their friend. Someone they truly know, someone who tried his best to support them when they're all too young to be exposed to how cruel the media can be and how disgusting the entertainment industry truly is. Niall's personal message came in a later time today, and I can understand why. He was the last one of them to see him, to spend time with him, to hug him. I really, really hope that all of the remaining four boys have the support they need in these trying times. I hope they are not alone.

Some people say they are grieving for the younger Liam and not this man he became. But I mourn for all of him, the Liam, whose dream is to perform and sing. the Liam who saw and experienced how amazing it was to reach these dreams, the Liam who found out and paid the price for reaching the said "dreams," and I will especially mourn for the Liam who could have find his way again and should have been able to heal.

So tonight, I will finally allow myself to grieve and cry for the lost that he is. To the brilliant, talented, and loved Liam James Payne. I hope you will finally find peace. I hope that your next life will be happier and more peaceful than this one. Rest in paradise, darling.