#i cannot afford a hotel room

[genderqueerdykes]

as someone who has been chronically homeless for 9 years due to severe disability, the way housing is managed in america is just a joke. it's all about the profits for the landlord, nothing else matters. credit checks are a gate to keep out poor people. deposits are a gate to keep out poor people. you wanna apply for a low-income housing program? you HAVE to have a "severe" disability diagnosis and proof that you're too disabled to afford or apply for "normal" housing. this is a gate to keep out poor people.

people in positions to help house homeless people don't care because they're housed. there's no sense of urgency. they don't have to think about what it's like to go without a roof over their head. they get paid tens of dollars an hour to sit there and scoff at all of the "lazy poor and disabled people who should just get jobs and stop whining and expecting to have things handed to them." they get paid to ignore emails and take 2 hour long lunches to forget about how hard and scary the world really is.

how the FUCK are you supposed to work when you don't have a place to sleep at night, shower, or eat? come the fuck on. use your goddamn brain. this system is built off of abuse, lying and torture. nobody earns an "honest" day's pay, none of this is "honest" work. it's all built off of the backs of lying and stealing from someone who needs it more. jobs aren't given to the person who's the most qualified- they're given to the person who lied the most to make themselves sound good during the interview. jobs are given to people who are good at interviews, NOT people who are GOOD at what they do.

i don't know how to tell you that when the average person isn't making enough to eat, fuel their car or pay for their phone, they also can't afford the roof over their head. disabled people and low-income people are struggling even worse with this. i don't know how to tell people that you should care about this.

we are literally all the same species. we are all humans. you cannot look down on disabled, poor and addicted people because we're "scum" and "less than human". we're not. that's a lie you're being fed by capitalism to feel better about yourself so you'll keep blindly working. wake up. this is not how humans behave. you're being brainwashed. everyone needs a stable home. EVERYONE. especially if you want them to contribute to your stupid money machine.

capitalism makes no fucking sense. give people homes or get the fuck out of our way, because we're about to just start taking them. this is unsustainable. this is unliveable. this system doesn't fucking work. a system that leaves its people to starve and die while apartments, homes, condos, and hotel rooms stay empty and collect dust doesn't work. none of this shit works. fuck this fascist system. none of us are free.

[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?”

[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

[saeun]

mansae, mansae, mansae sunarin, kenma, bokuto, kageyama.

sum. ib ( inspired by ) mansae from seventeen (kpop) !!

suna rintarō

inarizaki student suna — he thinks he's cool & slick when talking to you but he gets a little fidgety because of his overwhelming feelings for you

comes up to you in class like "yo" but it's not just any yo, it's a "yo please let me be your boyfriend i love you" but he's not going to say all that.

you guys are deskmates so he sneakily reaches out to hold one of your fingers saying "damn, it's cold today!"

suggests café study sessions when there's no practice (this is an excuse to be with you)

professional volleyballer suna — oh he's still awkward but a little bolder. we all know suna's the cameraman for ANYTHING so yes, he does use you as his personal photo dump.

definitely has your chats pinned. his screentime is high but when you're available to talk? that goes up to HOURS.

when he confessed to you, it was really sceneric. like you know all those fancy restaurants, 5 star hotel weekends, cute little dates to some garden— i mean he has money so why not spend it??

after any match, he comes over > throws himself face down on your bed > begs for you to massage his back > sleep.

kenma kozume

nekoma student kenma — you are his personal room. leaves everything in your care if he has practice or won't be able to use his switch at all.

kenma the typa man to take years before he confesses. he has plans he cannot afford to mess up. meticulously planned plans.

when his class is over he immediately makes his way over to your class and waits until you're out.

conversations usually go like:

"hey, let's go to the gym" > "what about lunch??" > "we can send lev for lunch i dunno."

he LIVES for the way he can just not talk and yet you two would be in a comfortable silence.

uni student & gamer kenma — drives to your house so you guys can go to university together.

if your courses are different — he waits for you at the caféteria and then you guys go wandering about waiting for the next course

if your courses are the same — sits next to you and you guys end up gossiping the entire class. "oh right did you hear about lev's interview?? it was.. something..!!" #1 lev hater (he loves lev)

invites you over for "just the weekend" but you end up staying the entire week.

kageyama tobio

karasuno student kageyama — awkward. very awkward. i know you guys saw the way he freezes up at anything that's not volleyball.

"uh- damn- hi- uhm, can you help me??" yeah you gotta help him or else he can't go to the practice with seijoh to settle his beef with oikawa.

really shy?? he literally cannot form a proper sentence without having hinata's help from the sidelines. sometimes he goes mind blank while staring at you.

does he answer anyone's messages? hardly. does he answer yours? immediately.

professional volleyballer kageyama — still awkward but not as much. isn't as bold as suna but he doesn't think before speaking and just lets it out. you can be wearing rags and he'd be like "wow you look so pretty.."

has this one pic of you furiously scooping out ice-cream while wearing some powerpuff girls pajamas as his lockscreen and wallpaper.

holds your hand like his life depends. he's asleep? holds your hand. scared bc of the horror movie? holds your hand. walking into the house? holds your hand.

a cutie honestly.

bokuto kotarō

fukurodani student bokuto — he does NOT care! will let you know he likes you and will court you until you give him an answer.

likes it when you massage his head after practice but you have to restyle it ++ tries to fit you in on any trips whenever they're going to practice with nekoma/karasuno/some other school

there was this one time he walked you home since he "lives nearby" but it was like?? 6pm so your mom made him stay over. she adores him.

lets you use his volleyball jacket(?) and loves it when he sees you down the hallway wearing it. whether it's tied around your waist or you're wearing it, he loves it.

professional volleyballer bokuto — made you his personal manager. talks A LOT about you when drunk,, to the point where sakusa had to tape his mouth shut.

"yeah so like y/n's so pretty i just wish—" "please shut up bokuto."

stole one of your perfumes bc he loves your scent and cannot live a day without your scent (exaggeration but you get me).

once bokuto messages you, there is no end. he WILL tell you every little detail about his day and honestly you love it :(

he can SING. whenever you guys are driving about it turns into a karaoke session.

[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.

[breelandwalker]

Me: Okay, so two techs came to inspect our HVAC, and they said the even though the blower is working, we shouldn't run the unit because the motor is overheating and might break down. The first guy refused to work on it because of the age of the unit and the second guy said he'd put in a work order. So what's going on?

Home Warranty Rep: Well, since the blower is working, the unit doesn't need to be repaired.

Me: .........It's BARELY putting out any heat and we've been advised to NOT TURN THE UNIT ON because it might overheat and break down.

Home Warranty Rep: Yes, but the blower is working.

Me: Yes, but the rest of the unit is NOT working. It's over thirty years old and it doesn't even heat the second floor of the house, it needs to be fixed or replaced.

Home Warranty Rep: Well, we can send somebody out.

Me: AGAIN!? We've had three visits so far, one was cancelled at short notice, the other two amounted to nothing, and meanwhile, we've been without a properly-working furnace since OCTOBER.

Home Warranty Rep: Oh and also, your policy is up for renewal. Did you want to get that done?

Me: .............. -hair turns to fire-

Me: Let get this straight. We put in a ticket over a month ago, paid the fee, and even though our unit is not working properly or safely, you won't put in an order for a repair because the BLOWER is still working. And despite all that, you want us to renew our policy?

Home Warranty Rep: Yes, you'll need continued coverage to allow this situation to be properly resolved.

Me: Here's a thought. How about you finish the job we already paid for and then we'll consider it. Because it's going to be very hard to afford the premium for the renewed policy if we have to move into a hotel room with our cats because we cannot safely heat our home in DECEMBER and your company refuses to make the needed repairs that we already paid for.

Home Warranty Rep: ......I'll see what I can do about getting another tech out this week.

Me: -already getting quotes for a new provider- Yes, please do that.

[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.

[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.

[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.”