#party characters los angeles

[charactersio]

If you have been thinking of inviting your kid’s favorite animation character, Belle, into their birthday party? The great news is that this has become possible. You can now hire a real Belle character to be present in the party.

Belle enjoys attending birthday parties. She is trained to welcome attendees warmly, greet them with a smile, relate stories, and breeze dance. Together with her sister, Elsa, they can make your birthday party especially spectacular. Her costume’s color is often yellow because yellow as a color is attractive to kids and harmonizes with her natural complexion. Read more!

[heybiji]

Roshan walks with the two Potts, gazing around at the fields and forests painted in warm colors by the setting sun. He remarks, "It is a lovely view from here."

Gazing outward, past the broken walls he had put up 20 years ago, Arthund nods and says, "Forgot. Forgot how... how pretty it all is."

I recently finished running an original oneshot for some friends, The Reaching Woods. It was a story about a little village surrounded by a big wall and the nearby forest's sudden overgrowth threatening to crush it all. It was also a story about blame and guilt.

Arthund Potts, when we met him, could barely speak at all. Too many years spent drinking and weeping. If he was even conscious he was all grunts and sloppy gestures. The scene above was at the end of the oneshot (okay, eighteenshot), once the party returned from the dark, evil woods.

[aashiqeddiediaz]

I just feel like it's nasty for Hen Chim Eddie to be dancing when Buck looks so upset next to them. Yes, Gerrard being gone, but they should be more aware that their team member is actually not happy. They didn't try to stand up for him either, Buck was the only one pushing back.

i've been thinking about how to answer this for a few days now without being outright rude, and who knows if i managed but here it goes:

hen, chim and eddie don't owe anyone a single thing. it is not their job to stand up against everything, and it is not on them to defend buck at every given turn. they aren't in the wrong for wanting to keep their head down in front of their racist, misogynist boss. it is not the responsibility of people of color to keep standing up for themselves and others in face of such racist and backwards behavior. sometimes the safest thing they can do is just keep their head down.

they say it canonically in the show that hen is trying to keep her nose clean for the sake of getting her foster license back. that chim is in the same boat. hen and chim have dealt with gerrard for years before bobby, and theres always been this underlying current that gerrard will find ways to get them fired if they do anything he doesn't like, even more so now. and eddie has been in the army and knows what it's like to keep his head down - also his job is kind of the only thing he has left in his life anyway?? he can't really afford to risk that, or his parents will never let chris come back to him. if they want to celebrate not having to walk around eggshells at their place of work, then they damn well deserve to.

we saw maybe a thirty second clip about this whole thing anyway. we don't know if anyone talked to buck about it off-screen. we don't know if they even had time for the discussion given that los angeles was taken over by bees and there's a plane about to crash to earth with athena in it?? in that split second scene, we do see eddie telling buck that he saved gerrard's life and we see eddie sort of angle himself in front of buck all the while, too. that in itself speaks volumes.

also you mention buck pushing back - tell me right now that if hen, chim and/or eddie pushed back the same way buck did, they'd still get to keep their jobs. gerrard wouldn't waste a single minute writing them up, or putting formal warnings in their files, whereas buck has at least one type of privilege that they don't have, and it's often the one that people can't ignore: he's white. kitchen and bathroom duty is the worst consequence he has - that is not the same for hen and chim, or eddie. their consequences could involve losing their children, so forgive me if im not so eager to jump to buck's defense here.

yes, buck is conflicted, and he's valid for that cause he's never wanted to be the reason someone's hurt. but to expect hen, chim and eddie to coddle him is just not it.

this is such a pattern with racist people and i've seen it all my life, so getting an ask like this was upsetting, but also seeing this rhetoric in fandom was also upsetting? why is the onus on the poc characters to keep the white characters happy??

tl;dr: hen, chim, eddie don't owe anyone a single thing, and buck is a grown ass man who can handle himself and he can communicate like a big boy if he needs more reassurance :) also, they were so true for that dance party.

[piosplayhouse]

I too watched the hbomberguy video and went straight to Twitter, whereupon I found that James Somerton had mentioned danmei in one of his videos and it made everyone mad, so I went looking and. yeah here's a full transcription of his just completely incorrect coverage of cql and mdzs from "Hollywood's (Gay) China Problem" so you don't have to watch it and give him views:

"The 2019 fantasy series The Untamed, featuring an unlikely bond between a man with magic powers and a stoic prince, started an online craze over the pair's implicit romance, but the show's promotion focused on its portrayal of Chinese traditional culture, a push consistent with Chinese communist party propaganda.

The show was... Queerbait-y. But the novel on which it was based [shows a picture of the fanmade cover for The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation made by fan translator team Exiled Rebels] certainly was not. That featured a very explicit love story between the two main characters, but was self-censored when adapted to meet the censorship guidelines of the Xi Jinping government. But it didn't matter. Like so much queerbaiting before, people saw through the weak veneer of heterosexuality. They "took the bait", so to speak. The series has accumulated a total of 9.5 billion views in China as of this summer, and had also received an international release via Netflix. It was described as a global phenomenon, taking off like no BL series before it, making its way all around Asia and with the Netflix deal, all across Europe and North America as well.

Tencent, the Chinese streaming platform it originated on, saw 2.6 million new subscribers to the service when it was released. And WeTV, an app that lets you watch BL content anywhere in the world, saw growth of 250% while the show was airing. In January of 2020, the cast members planned to embark on a multi-city, worldwide fan meeting tour. Cities included Bangkok, Singapore, Tokyo, Seoul, Macau, Kuala Lumpur, Toronto, Los Angeles, New York... But it was cancelled due to COVID-19.

Even the Chinese government has endorsed it. The overseas popularity of these romantic sword-wielding heroes is often highlighted in Chinese media coverage focusing on the massive overseas streaming numbers and its ability to build a growing appreciation of the charm of Chinese culture."

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 9: Dionysus, God Of Ecstasy]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.9k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The October surprise is a great American tradition. As the phases of the moon revolve towards Election Day, the candidates and their factions seek to ruin each other. Lies are told, truths are exposed, Tyche smiles and Achlys brews misery, poison, the fog of death that grows over men like ivy. The stars align. The wolves snap their jaws.

In 1844, an abolitionist newspaper falsely accused James K. Polk of branding his slaves like cattle. In 1880, a letter supposedly authored by James Garfield—in actuality, forged by a New York journalist—welcomed Chinese immigrants in an era when they were being lynched by xenophobic mobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. In 1920, a rumor emerged that Warren Harding had Black ancestry, an allegation his campaign fervently denied to keep the support of the Southern states. In 1940, FDR’s press secretary assaulted a police officer outside of Madison Square Garden. In 1964, one of LBJ’s top aids was arrested for having gay sex at the Washington D.C. YMCA.

Now, in 1968, Senator Aemond Targaryen of New Jersey is realizing that he will not be the beneficiary of the October surprise he’s dreamed of: his wife’s redemptive pregnancy, a blossoming first family. There is a civil rights protest that turns into a riot in Milwaukee; this helps Nixon, the candidate of law and order. For every fire lit and window shattered, he sees a bump in the polls from businessowners and suburbanites who fear anarchy. Breaking news of the My Lai massacre—committed back in March but only now brought to light—airs on NBC, horrifying the American public and bolstering support for Aemond, the man who has vowed to begin ending the war as soon as he’s sworn into office. The two contestants are deadlocked. Election Day could be a photo finish.

Nixon is in Texas. Wallace is in Arkansas. In Florida, Aemond visits the Kennedy Space Center and pledges to fulfill JFK’s promise to put a man on the moon by 1970. He makes a speech at the Mary McLeod Bethune Home commending her work as an educator, philanthropist, and humanitarian. He greets soldiers at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. He feeds chickens to the alligators at the Saint Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park.

But it is not the senator the crowds cheer loudest for. It is his wife, his future first lady, here in her home state where she staunched her husband’s hemorrhaging blood and appeared before his well-wishers still marked with crimson handprints. In Tarpon Springs, she and Aemond attend mass at the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral and pray at an altar made of white marble from Athens. Then they stand on the docks as flashbulbs strobe all around them, watching sponge divers reappear from the depths, breaking through the bubbling sapphire water like Heracles ascending to Mount Olympus.

~~~~~~~~~~

You kick off your high heels, tear the pins and clips out of your hair, and flop down onto the king-sized bed in your suite at the Breakers Hotel. It’s the same place Aemond was almost assassinated five months ago. He has returned in triumph, in defiance. He cannot be killed. It is God’s will.

You are alone for these precious fleeting moments. Aemond is in Otto’s suite discussing the itinerary for tomorrow: confirmations, cancellations, reshufflings. You pick up the pink phone from the nightstand on Aemond’s side of the bed and dial the number for the main house at Asteria. It’s 9 p.m. here as well as there. Through the window you can see inky darkness and the kaleidoscopic glow of the lights of Palm Beach. The Zenith radio out in the kitchenette is playing Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones. No intercession from Eudoxia is necessary this time; Aegon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he says, slow and lazy like he’s been smoking something other than Lucky Strikes.

“Hey.” And then after a pause, twirling the phone cord around your fingers as you stare up at the ceiling: “It’s me.”

“Oh, I know. Should I take off my pants, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

You smile. “That was stupid. Someone could have bugged the phone.”

“You think Nixon’s guys are wiretapping us? Give me a break. They’re goddamn buffoons. They’re too busy telling cops to beat hippies to death.” You hear him taking a drag off his joint, envision him sprawled across his futon and enshrouded in smoke. “Everything okay down there in the swamp?”

You shrug, even though Aegon can’t see you. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“My parents were there when we stopped in Tarpon Springs. They kept telling everyone how proud they are of me, and I just felt so…dishonest.”

“Of course they’re proud. If Aemond wins, the war ends and more civil rights bills get passed and this hell we’ve all been living in since 1963 goes away.”

“I miss you,” you confess.

“You’ll be back soon to enjoy me in all my professional loser glory.” He’s right: Aemond’s entourage will spend Halloween at Asteria. You’ll take the children trick-or-treating around Long Beach Island—with journalists in tow, of course—and then host a party with plentiful champagne and Greek hors d’oeuvres, one last reprieve before the momentous slog towards Election Day on November 5th, a reward for the campaign staffers and reporters who have served Aemond so well. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Someone happy,” you say, and Aegon chuckles, low and sardonic. “Actually, nothing. Aemond and Otto have decided that it would be undignified for the future president and first lady to be photographed in costumes, so I will be wearing something festive yet not at all fun.”

“Aemond has always been somewhat confused by the concept of fun.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he exhales smoke. “A cowboy.”

“A cowboy,” you repeat, giggling. “You aren’t serious.”

“Extremely serious. I protect the cows, I comfort the cows, I breed the cows…”

“You are mentally ill. You belong in an asylum.”

“I ride the cows…”

“Cowboys do not ride cows.”

“Maybe this one does.”

“I thought you liked being ridden.”

Aegon groans with what sounds like genuine discomfort. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m celibate at the moment.”

“Miraculous. Astonishing. The Greek Orthodox Church should canonize you. What have you been doing with all of your newfound free time?”

“Taking the kids out sailing, hiding from Doxie, trying not to step on the Alopekis…and playing Battleship with Cosmo. He has a very loose understanding of the rules.”

“He does. I remember.”

“He keeps asking when you’ll be back.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s cute. And he calls you Io because he heard me do it.”

“Not an appropriate myth for children, I think.”

“Cosmo’s what, seven years old?”

“Five.”

“Close enough. I think I knew about death and torment and Zeus being a slut by then.”

“And you have no resulting defects whatsoever.” You roll over onto your belly and slide open the drawer of the nightstand. Instead of the card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai—you’ve forgotten that you’re on Aemond’s side of the bed—you find something bizarre, unexpected, just barely able to fit. “Oh my God, there’s a…there’s a Ouija board in the nightstand!”

Aegon laughs incredulously. “There’s a what?!”

“A Ouija board!” You sit upright and shimmy it out, holding the phone to your ear with one shoulder. The small wooden planchette slides off the board and clatters against the bottom of the drawer. “Why the hell would Aemond have this…?”

“He’s trying to summon the ghost of JFK to stab Nixon.”

“Oh wow, it’s heavy.” You skim your fingertips over the black numbers and letters etched into the wooden board. There’s something ominous about the Good Bye written across the bottom. You can’t beckon the dead into the land of the living without reminding them that they aren’t welcome to stay.

“Aemond is such a freak. Is it a Parker Brothers one, like for kids…?”

“No, I think it’s custom made. It feels substantial, expensive. Hold on, there’s something engraved on the back.” You flip over the Ouija board so you can see what your hands have already felt. The inscription reads in onyx cursive letters: No ghosts can harm you. The stars were never better than the day you were born. With love through all the ages, Alys.

“What’s it say?” Aegon asks from his basement at Asteria.

You’re staring down at the Ouija board, mystified. “Who’s Alys?”

Instead of an answer, Aegon gives you a deep sigh. “Oh. Yeah, she would give him something like that. Fucking creepy witch bullshit.”

“Aegon, who’s Alys?” She’s his mistress. She has to be. It fills your skull like flashbulbs, like lightning: Aemond climbing on top of another woman, conquering her, owning her, binding her up in his mythology like a spider building a web. And what you feel when the shock begins to dissolve isn’t envy or pain or betrayal but—strangely, paradoxically—hope. “She’s his girl, right?”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you,” Aegon says. “There wasn’t a good time. When I hated you I didn’t care if he was fucking around, and then after what happened in New York I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know how you’d take it. It’s not your fault, there’s nothing wrong with you. She was here first. He’d have kept Alys around if he married Aphrodite herself.”

“I’m not mad.” You’re distracted, that’s what you are; you’re plotting. “Where is she?”

“She lives in Washington state. I’m not sure exactly where, I think Aemond moves her a lot. He doesn’t want anyone to see him around and start noticing a pattern. Neighbors, shopkeepers, cops, whoever.”

“Washington.” Just like when Ari died. Just like when Aemond didn’t come back. “Who knows about her?”

“Just the family. Fosco and Mimi found out because when they married in, the fights were still happening. Otto and Viserys demanding he give Alys up, Aemond refusing. It’s the only thing he ever did wrong, the only line he drew. He said he needed her. She could never be his first lady, but she could be something else.”

“His mistress.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says reluctantly. “Are you…are you okay?”

“I’m okay. What’s wrong with Alys?”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t Aemond marry her?”

“I mean, she’s the type of psycho who gives people Ouija boards, first of all,” Aegon says. “And she’s…she’s not educated. Her family’s trash. She’s older than Aemond. Hell, she’s older than me. She would be an unmitigated disaster on the campaign trail. She unnerves people. But Aemond, he…”

“He loves her,” you whisper, reading the engraving on the back of the board again. “And she loves him.”

“I guess. Whatever love means to them.”

A thought occurs to you, the first one to bring you pain like a needle piercing flesh. “Does she have children?”

Again, Aegon sounds reticent to disclose this. “A boy. Aemond’s the father.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s around ten now.”

And that’s Aemond’s true heir. Not Ari, not any others he would have with me. That place in his heart is taken. He couldn’t mourn the loss of our son because he already has one with the woman he loves.

Out in the living room of the suite, you hear the front door open. There are footsteps, Aemond’s polished black leather shoes.

Aegon is asking: “Are you sure you’re okay? Hello? Babe? Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m fine. I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, not yet—!”

“Bye.” You hang up the phone and wait for Aemond to discover you. You’re still clutching the Ouija board. You’re perched on the edge of the bed like something ready to pounce, to kill.

Aemond opens the bedroom door, navy blue suit, blonde hair short and slicked back, his eyepatch covering his empty left socket. He’s begun wearing his eyepatch in public more often—not for every appearance, but for some of them—and whoever finally convinced him to concede this battle wasn’t you. His right eye goes to you and then to the Ouija board in your hands. He doesn’t speak or move to take the board, only studies you warily.

“I know about her,” you tell him.

Still, Aemond says nothing.

“Alys,” you press. “She’s your mistress. You’re in love with her.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.” His words are flat, steely.

“I’m not hurt, Aemond.”

“You shouldn’t have ever known about this. I apologize for not being more discrete. It was a lapse in judgment.” But what he regrets most, you think, is that his secret is less contained, more imperiled.

“What we have is a political arrangement,” you say. The desperation quivers in your voice. “You don’t love me, you never have, and now we can be open about it. You need me to win the White House, but that’s all. Your true companion is elsewhere. I want the same thing.”

He steps closer, eye narrowing, iris glinting coldly, puzzled like he couldn’t have understood you correctly. “What?”

“I want to be permitted to have my own happiness outside of this imitation of a marriage.”

“No,” Aemond says instantly.

Your stomach sinks, dark iron disappointment. “But…but…why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not get caught. Because I need to be sure that I am the father of the children you’ll give birth to. And because as my wife you are mine, and mine alone.”

Tears brim in your eyes; embers burn in your throat. “You’re asking for my life. My whole life, all of it, everything I’ll ever experience, everything I’ll ever feel. I get one chance on this planet and you’re stealing it away from me.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees simply.

“So where’s my consolation?” you demand. “You get Alys, so where’s mine?”

“What do you want?”

You don’t reply, but you glare at your husband with eternal rage like Hera’s, with fatal vitriol like Medusa’s.

“You think I don’t know about that little card you keep in your nightstand?” Aemond is furious, betrayed. “You used to hate him.”

“I was wrong.”

“Because he was at Mount Sinai and I wasn’t? Three days undid everything we’ve ever been to each other? Our oaths, our ambitions?!”

“No,” you say, tears slipping down the contours of your cheeks. “Because he’s real. He doesn’t try to manipulate people into loving him, he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, when he’s cruel it’s because he means it and when he’s kind that’s genuine too. And he wants to know me, who I really am. Not the woman I have to act like to get you elected. Not who you’re trying to turn me into—”

Aemond has crossed the room, grabbed the front of your teal Chanel dress, and yanked you to your feet. The Ouija board jolts out of your hands and lands on the carpet unharmed. Your long hair is in disarray, your eyes wide and fearful. You try to push Aemond away, but he ignores you. You can’t sway him. You’ve never been able to. “Aegon has nothing to his name except what this family gives him,” Aemond snarls, hushed, hateful. His venom is not for his brother but for you. You have upended the natural order of things. You have dared to deny Zeus what he has been divinely granted dominion over. “You would jeopardize his wellbeing, his access to his children? You would ruin yourself? You would doom this nation? If you cost me the election, every drop of blood spilled is on your hands, every body bag flown home from Vietnam, every martyr killed by injustice here. What you ask for is worse than being a traitor and a whore. It is sacrilege.”

“Let go of me—”

“And there’s one more thing.” Aemond pulls you closer so he knows you’re paying attention. You’re sobbing now, trembling, choking on his cologne, shrinking away from his furnace-heat wrath. “Aegon isn’t capable of love. Not the kind you’re imagining. He gets infatuated, and he uses people, and then he moves on. You think he never charmed Mimi, never made her feel cherished by him? And look how she ended up. I’m trying to carve your name into legend beside mine. Aegon will take you to your grave.”

Your husband shoves you away, storms out of the bedroom, slams the door so hard the walls quake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parading down streets like the victors of a fallen city, jack-o-lanterns keeping watch with their laceration grins of firelight. Hecate is the goddess of witchcraft, Hades rules the Underworld, Selene is the half-moon peeking through clouds in an overcast sky. The stars elude you.

The children—ghosts, pirates, princesses, witches—dash from doorstep to doorstep like soldiers in Vietnam search tunnels. They smile and pose in their outfits when the journalists prompt them, beaming and waving, showing off their Dots, Tootsie Pops, Sugar Daddies, Smarties, Razzles, and candy cigarettes before depositing them in the plastic orange pumpkins that swing from their wrists. Only Cosmo, dressed as Teddy Roosevelt with lensless glasses and a stuffed lion thrown over one shoulder, stays with the adults. He is the last one to each house, approaching the doorway reticently like it might swallow him up, inspiring fond chuckles and encouragement from the reporters. He clutches your hand and hides behind you when towering monsters lumber by: King Kong, Frankenstein, vampires with fake blood spilling from their mouths.

Aemond wears a black suit with orange accents: tie, pocket square, socks. You glimmer in a black dress dotted with white stars, clicking down the sidewalk in boots that run to your knees, silver eyeshadow, heavy liner. You almost look your own age. There are large star-shaped barrettes in your pinned-up hair, bent glinting metal. As the reporters snap photos of you and Cosmo walking together, they shout: “You’ll be such a great mother one day, Mrs. Targaryen!”

Fosco is Ettore Boiardi—better known as Chef Boyardee—an Italian immigrant who came through Ellis Island in 1914 with a dream of opening a spaghetti business. Helaena, Alicent, and Ludwika are, respectively, Alice, Wendy, and Cinderella; Ludwika clops along resentfully in her puffy sleeves and too-small clear stilettos. Criston is Peter Pan. Aegon wears a white button-up shirt, cow print vest, ripped jeans, brown leather boots, a cowboy hat that’s too big for him, and a green bandana knotted around his throat. He stays close to you and Cosmo because he can, here where the journalists expect to see him being a devoted father and active participant in the family business of mending a tattered America. Teenagers are fleeing their families to join hippie communes and draftees in Vietnam are getting their limbs blown off and junkies are shooting up on the streets of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles, but here we see a happy family, a perfect family, a holy trinity that thanks the devotees who offer them tribute. Otto, who neglected to don a disguise, glares at you murderously. You have failed to give Aemond a living child. You have dared to want things for yourself.

Back at Asteria in the main house, the children empty their plastic pumpkins on the living room floor and sort through their saccharine treasures, making trades and bargains: “I’ll do your math homework if you give me those Swedish Fish,” “I’ll let you ride my bike for a week if I can have your Mallo Cup.” While the other adults ply themselves with champagne and chain smoke away the stress of the campaign trail, Aegon gets his Caribbean blue Gibson guitar and sits on the couch playing I’m A Believer by The Monkees. The kids clap and sing along between intense confectionary negotiations. Cosmo wants to share his candy cigarettes with you; you pretend to smoke together as sugar melts on your tongue.

Now the children have been sent to bed—mollified with the promise of homemade apple pies tomorrow, another occasion to be documented by swarms of clamoring journalists—and the house becomes a haze of smoke and indistinct conversation and music from the record player. Platters of appetizers have appeared on the dining room table: pita, tzatziki, hummus, melitzanosalata, olives, horiatiki, mini spanakopitas, baklava. Women are chattering about the painstaking labor they put into costumes and men are scheming to deliver death blows to Nixon, setbacks in Vietnam, Klan meetings in Mississippi. Aemond is knocking back Old Fashioneds with Otto and Sargent Shriver. Fosco is dancing in the living room with drunk journalists. Eudoxia is muttering in Greek as she aggressively paws crumbs off of couches and tabletops. Thick red candles flicker until wax melts into a pool of blood at the base.

Through the veil of cigarette smoke and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch, Aegon finds you when no one is looking, and you know it’s him without having to turn around. His hand is the only one that doesn’t feel heavy when it skims around your waist. He whispers, soft grinning lips to your ear, rum and dire temptation like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice: “Let’s do some witchcraft.”

You know where Aemond keeps the Ouija board. You take it out of the top drawer of his nightstand in your bedroom with blue walls and portraits of myths in captive frames. Then you descend with Aegon into the basement, down like Persephone when summer ends, down like women crumbling under Zeus’s weight. You remember to lock the door behind you. You’re not high—you can’t smoke grass in a house full of guests who could smell it and take it upon themselves to investigate—but you feel like you are, that lightness that makes everything more bearable, the surreal tilt to the universe, awake but dreaming, truth cloaked in mirages.

Aegon has stolen three red candles from upstairs. He hands one to you, keeps a second for himself, and places the third on his end table beside a myriad of dirty cups. You glimpse at his ashtray and a folded corner of the receipt that’s still tucked beneath it, and you think: I have my card, Aegon has his receipt, Aemond has his Ouija board. I wonder what Alys likes to keep close when she sleeps. Then Aegon clicks off the lamp so the only light is from the flickering candles.

He tosses away his cowboy boots, hat, vest and is down on the green shag carpet with you, his hair messy, his white shirt half-unbuttoned. He’s taking sips of Captain Morgan straight from the glass bottle. He’s lighting a Lucky Strike with the wick of his candle and then giving it to you to puff on as he places the planchette on the board. “Wait, how do we start?”

You exhale smoke, setting your candle down on the carpet and then tugging off your own boots with some difficulty. “We have to say hello.”

“Okay.” Aegon places his fingertips on one side of the heart-shaped planchette and you rest yours lightly on the other. He begins doubtfully: “Hello…?”

“Is there anyone who would like to send us a message from the other side this evening?”

“You’ve done this before,” Aegon accuses.

“I have. In college.”

“With a guy?”

You chuckle, taking a drag as the cigarette smolders between your fingers. “No, with my friends. It’s not really a date activity.”

“I think it’s very romantic. Candles, darkness, danger, who’s gonna protect you when the ghosts start throwing things around…”

“You’d fight a ghost for me?”

“Depends on the ghost. FDR? You got it. I can take a guy in a wheelchair. Teddy? No ma’am. You’re on your own.”

“Which ghost should we summon?”

Aegon ponders this for a moment. “John F. Kennedy, are you in this basement with us right now?”

“That is wrong, that is so wrong.”

“Then why are you smiling?” Aegon says. “JFK, how do you feel about Johnson fucking up your legacy?”

“That is not the kind of question you’re supposed to ask. We’re not on 60 Minutes.”

“JFK, do you haunt the White House?” Aegon drags the planchette to the Yes on the board. “Oh no, I’m scared.”

“You are a cheater, this is a fraudulent Ouija board session.” You put your cigarette out in the ashtray and then take a swig from Aegon’s rum bottle. “JFK, are we gonna make it to the moon before 1970?”

Aegon pulls the planchette to the No. “Damn, Io, bad news. Guess the Russians win the Space Race and then eradicate capitalism across the globe. No more beach houses. No more Mr. Mistys.”

“Give me the planchette, you’re abusing your power.”

“No,” Aegon says, snickering as you try to wrestle it away from him. In his other hand he’s clutching his candle; scarlet beads of wax like blooddrops pepper your skin as you struggle, tiny infernos that burn exquisitely. Red like paint splatter appears on Aegon’s shirt. You grab the green bandana around his throat, but instead of holding him back you’re drawing him closer. The Ouija board and all the world’s ghosts are momentarily forgotten.

“You’re dripping wax on me—”

“Good, I want to get it all over you, then I want to peel it off and rip out your leg hair.”

You’re laughing hysterically as you pretend to try to shove him away. “I’m freshly shaved, you idiot.”

“Everywhere?” Aegon asks, intrigued.

You smirk playfully. “Almost.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Aegon sets his candle down on the carpet and strips away tacky dots of red wax: one from your forearm down by your wrist, another from your neck just below one of your silver hoop earrings, wax from your ankles and your calves and right above your knees. His fingertips are calloused from his guitar, from the ropes of his sailboat. They scratch roughly over you, chipping away who you’re supposed to be.

Then Aegon stops. You follow his gaze down. There is a smudge of wax on the inside of your thigh, extending beneath the hem of your dress, glittering black and white fabric that hides what is forbidden to him. Aegon’s eyes are on you, that troubled opaque blue, drunk and desperate and wild and afraid. With your fingers still hooked beneath his bandana, you say to him like a dare: “Now you’re going to stop?”

His palm skates up the smoothness of your thigh, and as he unpeels that last stain of red wax his other hand cradles your jaw and his lips touch yours, gently at first and then with the ravenousness of someone who’s been dying of thirst for centuries, starving since birth. You’re opening your legs wider for him, and his fingers do not stop at your thigh but climb higher until they are whisking your black lace panties away, exploring your folds and your wetness as his tongue darts between your lips, tasting something he’s been craving forever but only now stumbled into after four decades of darkness, trapped in you like Narcissus at his pool.

You are unknotting his green bandana and letting it fall to the shag carpet. You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt so you can feel his chest, soft and warm and yielding, safe, real. The candlelight is flickering, the thumping bass of a song you can’t decipher pulsing through the floor above. Now beneath your dress Aegon’s fingers are pressing a place that makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you dizzy with need for him. He looks at you and you nod, and he reads in your face what you wanted to say months ago in this same basement: Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon lifts your dress over your head, nips at your throat as he unclasps your bra, and you are suddenly aware of how the cool firelit air is touching every part of you, how you are bare for him in a way you’ve never been before. You catch Aegon’s face in your hand before he can see the scar that runs down the length of your belly and say, your voice quiet and fragile: “Don’t look at me.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, furrows across his brow. “Stop,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as you cling to him. Then he begins moving lower and you fall back onto the carpet, no blood on Aegon’s hands this time, only your sweat and lust for him, only crystalline evidence of a betrayal you’ve long ago already committed in your mind.

You’re combing your fingers through his hair and gasping as Aegon’s lips ghost down your scar, not something ruinous or shameful but a part of you, the beginning of your story together, the origin of your mythology. Then his mouth is on you—yearning, aching wetness—and you thought you knew what this felt like but it’s more powerful now, more urgent, and Aegon is glancing up to watch your face, to study you, to change what he’s doing as he follows your clues. And then there is a pang you think is too sharp to be pleasure, too close to helplessness, something that leaves you panting and shaking.

You jolt upright. “Wait…”

Aegon props himself up on his elbows. His full lips glisten with you. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…it’s like…” You can’t describe it. “It’s too…um…too intense or something. It’s like I couldn’t breathe.”

Aegon stares at you, his eyebrows low. After a long pause he says: “Babe, you’ve come before, right?”

I’ve what? “Yeah, of course, obviously. I mean…I think so?”

He’s stunned. He’s in disbelief. Then a grin splits across his face. “Lie back down.”

You’re nervous, but you trust him. If this costs you your life, you’ll pay it. He pushes your thighs farther apart and his tongue stays in one spot—where you touched yourself in the bathtub in Seattle, where you wanted him when he slipped his fingers into you for the first time—and suddenly the uneasy feeling is something raging and irresistible like a riptide in the Atlantic, something better than anything you knew existed, and you keep thinking it’s happened but it hasn’t yet, as you cover your face with your hands to smother your moans, as your hips roll and Aegon’s arms curl under your thighs to keep you in place so he can make you finish. It’s a release that is otherworldly, celestial, terrifying, divine. It’s something that rips the curtain between mortals and paradise.

It’s always like this for men? That’s what Aemond has been getting from me, that’s what I’ve been denied?

As you lie gasping on the carpet Aegon returns, smiling, kissing you, running his fingers through locks of hair that have escaped from your pins. “Not bad, right little Io?” he purrs, smelling like rum and minerals, earth and poison. Now he’s taking off his jeans, but before he can position himself between your legs you have pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his wrists to the floor, watching the amazement ripple across his flushed face, the desire, the need. You tease Aegon, leaning in to nibble at his ear and bite gingerly at his throat, never harming him, never claiming him, grinding your hips against his and listening as his breathing turns quick and rough. Then you slip him inside you, this man you once hated, this man who was a stranger and then a curse and now a spell.

Aegon wants to be closer to you. He sits up as you ride him, hands on your face, in your hair, kissing you, inhaling you, shuddering, trying not to cry out as footsteps and laughter and thunderous basslines bleed through the ceiling. You know he’s been high on so many things—things that corrupt, things that kill—and you hope you can compare, this brief clean magic.

He can’t last; he finishes with a moan like he’s in agony, and as the motion of your hips slows, you take his jaw in your grasp and gaze down at him. “Good boy,” you say with a grin. Aegon laughs, exhausted, drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He embraces you so tightly you can feel the pounding of his heart, racing muscle beneath bones and skin.

He’s murmuring through your disheveled hair: “I gotta see you again, when can I see you again?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t have an answer. You unravel yourself from Aegon and dress yourself in the red candlelight: panties, bra, dress, boots, all things that Aemond chose for you, all things he bought with his family’s money, all things he owns. Aegon has nothing to his name and neither do you. You are—like Fosco once said—pieces of the same machine.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“I have to go back upstairs to the party before someone realizes I’m missing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” You kneel on the carpet to kiss him one last time, your palm on his cheek, his fingers clutching at your dress as he begs you not to leave. “I have to, I have to,” you whisper, and then you do.

You grab the Ouija board and planchette off the green shag carpet, hug them to your chest, and hurry up the steps. The first floor of the Asteria house is a maze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, guests who are dancing and cackling and drunk. From the record player strums Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire. You slip unnoticed to the staircase.

In the blue-walled bedroom you share with Aemond, you carefully place the Ouija board and planchette in the top drawer of his nightstand exactly as you found them. Then you go to your vanity to try to fix your hair. As you’re rearranging clips and pinning loose strands back into place, the door opens. Aemond is there, feeling beloved and invincible, looking for you. He crosses the room and closes his long fingers around your wrist. He wants you: under him, making children for him, possessed by him.

“Come to bed,” Aemond says.

“Not right now. I’m busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

“I told you no.”

He wrenches you from your chair. Instead of surrendering, you strike out, hitting him in the chest. You don’t harm him, you’re not strong enough, but genuine shock leaps into his scarred face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss. You can’t let Aemond undress you; he will find the evidence of your treason, he will see it, feel it, taste it. But that’s not the only reason you stop him. “Every goddamn night I give you what you want, and exactly how you want it. Tonight I’m saying no. You want to take me? You’ll have to do it properly. I’m not going to give you the illusion of consent. You remember what Zeus did to all those women, right? Go ahead. Act like the god you think you are. But I’m going to fight you. And if those people downstairs hear me screaming, you can explain to them why.”

Aemond stares at you in the silvery light of the half-moon. You glare boldly back. At last he leaves and descends the staircase into an underworld of churning smoke, returning to the party to sip his Old Fashioneds and decide what to do with you.

[vintagetvstars]

In light of James Earl Jones recent passing I thought it would be nice to celebrate his life and career by highlighting some of his major TV works.

Unfortunately most of these shows have not made the leap to online streaming and it’s possible they may have never even been released in any form of physical media. I hope one day we may see these shows available for viewing again but for now I’ll share what I could find of them.

Gabriel’s Fire (1990 - 1991)

“The main character, Gabriel Bird, was played by James Earl Jones. He was a former Chicago police officer who, over twenty years prior, had been wrongfully sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of a fellow police officer. In fact, he shot the officer to protect a defenseless mother and child whom the officer was about to murder in cold blood during a 1969 police raid. Unbeknownst to Bird, the raid had been merely a pretext for the police to attack the members of a militant black nationalist organization.

This incident in the character's background was inspired by the 1969 death of Black Panther Party leader Fred Hampton, who was shot and killed during a raid upon his residence conducted by Chicago police and other law enforcement personnel. On the show, the street on which the raid involving Bird had occurred was identified as "Hampton Street".

After serving about twenty years in prison, a human rights lawyer decides to work for his release as his testimony is needed in another case. At first, Bird opposes any attempts to release him, as he became accustomed to life in prison, but after his release takes place against his will, he begins to get used to life as a free person and uses his time away from prison to help other people who are wronged by society or the authorities.

When Bird is released, he starts working as a private detective, hired by the lawyer who had helped free him.” (Source)

James Earl Jones won the Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series for his role in this show.

While this show is unfortunately unavailable on streaming services I was able to find someone who had uploaded a recording of the first episode on YouTube (unfortunately I could not find the rest of the series at this time). There do not seem to be any DVD or physical media copies of this show.

Paris (1979)

“Los Angeles Police Captain Woody Paris (Jones) is the supervisor of a team of rookie detectives, led by Sergeant Stacy Erickson (Cecilia Hart) and including officers Charlie Bogart (Jake Mitchell), Ernesto Villas (Frank Ramirez), and Willie Miller (Michael Warren). Hank Garrett portrayed Deputy Chief Jerome Bench, Paris' superior, and, in an unusual turn for police dramas of that era, Paris' home and off-duty life was given considerable attention, with Lee Chamberlin portraying his wife Barbara. Paris additionally moonlighted as a professor of criminology at a local university.” (Source)

This show is also unavailable online and I could only find DVD listings on a few obscure sites so it’s unclear if any physical media of this show truly exists. However I did find a short clip of its theme (unfortunately it’s just a short clip of James Earl Jones in the intro sequence followed by the rest of the music over a blurry image of him).

Pros and Cons (1991 - 1992)

"Gabriel Bird is a former Chicago police officer, who, over twenty years prior, had been wrongfully sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of a fellow officer. He was exonerated and subsequently became a Chicago private detective (as seen on Gabriel's Fire). Bird then moves to Los Angeles, where he teams up with another private eye, Mitch O'Hannon. Bird also marries his love interest, Josephine, She had been the proprietress of a café where Bird had begun frequenting shortly after his release, at first for her good, homestyle cooking, but soon, primarily for her companionship." (Source)

Once again this show has not made the leap to streaming and there have seemingly been no DVD or physical media releases of it. However I did find a clip of a short promotional spotlight for the show.

Heat Wave (1990)

"Heat Wave is a 1990 American thriller-drama television film about the 1965 Los Angeles Watts Riots" (Source)

Heat Wave was a made for TV movie and also starred: Blair Underwood and Cicely Tyson.

James Earl Jones won the Emmy for Supporting Actor in a Movie or Miniseries for his role in this movie.

This movie is available for streaming on Amazon, Apple TV, and Fandango at Home. And it looks like there are some DVD copies for purchase on Amazon, Ebay, and other sites.

Here is a promotional trailer for the movie.

CW: Police Brutality and Racism

I hope this has bean able to shine a light on a lesser acknowledged section of James Earl Jones extensive acting career and legacy. And I hope one day those shows of his that have been seemingly lost to time may yet see the light of day once again.

[charactersio]

Snow White Princess party character for hire. Princess Party characters serving New York, San Diego , Houston, Austin, San Jose & Las Vegas.

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings Part 7

June 16th, 2024

It was the last day of filming Deadpool & Wolverine. Ryan and Hugh talked me into stealing my Deadpool suit from the set. Ryan is notorious for stealing his each movie. Hugh decided to be a decent human being and not participate in our antics. Filming was an exciting experience. I didn't participate in much of the press as I wasn't a main character, but my little extra part was fun to film. 

To celebrate the end of filming, Ryan and Blake suggested we go out to a wrap party that was hosted by Shawn Levy in Los Angeles. There would be a dance floor, fancy catering, and open bar and music. Hugh and I had now been dating for nine months. Things were going phenomenal and I'm finally seeing him without the mutton chops or old man beard. I loved fresh faced Hugh. With that being said, the press had a frenzy when it was confirmed that Hugh Jackman had a new love interest, especially one that's much younger than he is. 

I glanced at myself in the mirror, deciding to go casual for the party, like everyone else. I double checked my jeans and had on my favorite band t-shirt. I straightened my hair, applying black makeup to my eyes giving a smoky look. Hugh also went casual, with jeans and a polo. He came up behind me, kissing my cheek, "Almost ready, love?" He asked sweetly. 

I nodded, smiling at him through the mirror, "Whenever you are. I figured wearing the suit probably wasn't a good idea." I said chuckling. 

He giggled, "Probably not. I wish they would've let you be Wolverine's variant or even his girlfriend rather than seeing you as Deadpool, but you do look sexy in the suit." 

I giggled, spinning around to kiss him as I stood on my tip toes to reach his lips. "Let's go." 

We walked hand in hand out of Ryan and Blake's guest house, getting in the car where Ryan and Blake had been waiting on us. Ryan looked, sighing, "Finally. Can you two please stop fucking for like an hour so we can actually show up on time for once?" He jokingly said with a a straight face. 

I smirked, "Would it kill you to shut the fuck up sometimes?" 

He shook his head, pursing his lips in, "Actually no. I'm literally dead inside, so there's nothing left." 

Hugh laughed, "I don't see how Blake puts up with you, mate." 

Blake smiled, "It's in the contract. I've only got about 3 more years before I can marry Ryan Gosling." 

The car erupted in laughter as we drove to the event. The car ride was about 20 minutes long, thanks to the traffic. It was full of small talk, sarcastic comments and horrible singing. As we arrived to the party, we could hear the base from inside. Hugh grabbed my arm, leading me into the building. As we walked in, we were all greeted by the cast of the movie, along with a few other big name Hollywood celebs. 

We casually made small talk and rubbed shoulders with Dwayne Johnson, Zendaya, Zac Efron and a few others while snapping selfies for our Instagram accounts. Hugh and I weren't shy with PDA, but kept it classy. That is...until the drinks started. 

We were snuggled up to one another on the couch when Taylor Swift's Karma began blaring through the speakers. I jumped up grabbing Hugh's hand, "Come on baby,  I love this song!" I yelled over the music. 

He laughed at me, "Steady, you're drunk, beautiful." He said, getting up to join me on the dance floor as I sloppily yelled the words to the song, dancing with him as he danced along giggling at me. 

He pulled me into his arms, placing a kiss on my lips, "How much have you had to drink, love?" He asked, smirking down at me. 

I shrugged, "I dunno, baby. When you were with Dwayne, Zac and I took a few shots." I giggled, covering my mouth as if I'd just let the biggest secret in the world slip. 

He chuckled, "I can tell."

I smirked as my favorite part of the song came on, pointing at him while singing it horribly, "Karma is the guy on the screeeeen, coming straight home to meeeeee!" before pulling him into a sloppy kiss, which made him laugh against my lips, attempting to kiss me back. 

He picked me up bridal style, "Let's go sit down, silly." 

I giggled, screaming as he surprised me with lifting me up, "Are we getting more drinks, Hughy?" 

He shook his head, unable to stop laughing, "Absolutely not, love." 

"Aw, you're no fun." I fake pouted.

"You're really showing your age, big guy." Ryan came up behind us, saying sarcastically. 

"Mate, she's bloody tanked." Hugh responded, sitting me down on the chair. 

Ryan smirked, "Me too, girlfriend." he said, winking at me. 

Hugh shook his head at our antics, per usual. He'd have fun, but not too much fun. He was always the more responsible one in our friend group. 

I went to stand up again as another song started all to be met with the room beginning to spin. "Hugh, Ryan, I'm gonna, I think I'm gonna-" I stammered before projectile vomiting on the floor. 

"Party foul!" I heard Ryan and Zac drunkenly yell. 

I quickly wiped my mouth and darted towards the bathroom with Hugh fast behind me on my heels, pushing the door open for me as I ran to the nearest toilet and began puking again. 

"I am never drinking like this ever again." I said with a strained voice as he held my hair. 

Hugh chuckled, "It's alright, love. You did drink a lot. I know you had two whiskeys, then whatever shots you and Zac had."

I put my finger up towards him, "Goddamnit, I can fucking taste the Jagermeister again. Stop talking about the shots." I said, placing my head back down towards the toilet bowl trying to contain myself.

He held my hair and rubbed my back soothingly, "Do you need a water or anything?'

"I love you." I stammered, completely ignoring his question. 

He smiled, "I love you too, baby girl. Do you need anything?" He asked lovingly. 

"If she called you, would you go back to her?" I asked. 

He looked at me, furrowing his brows, "Who?" He asked. 

I narrowed my eyes, "Deb. The woman you were married to for 27 years." 

He looked at me for a moment, "Baby, Deb is gone. Her and I had a great go, but it didn't end well." 

I rolled my eyes, drunkenly starting to tear up, "But if she called, would you!?" I said, raising my voice. 

His voice was stern, "No, I wouldn't." Noticing the tears in my eyes, his voice softened, "I'm yours, sweetheart. I'm all yours. You have nothing to worry about, I promise." 

I sat back leaning my head against his chest as he ran his fingers through my now messy hair, "I'm holding your hair as you vomit into a toilet. I'm not going anywhere. I am so in love with you, beautiful. Deb's moved on, I wish her the best, but I've also moved on."

I looked up as if I were a small child asking an adult for the truth, "You swear?" I looked at him with sad eyes.

He nodded, kissing my forehead, "I swear. Let's go back to Ryan's and clean up." He said, standing, helping me to get my bearings back.   

As we walked through the area everyone was hanging out, I noticed the vomit had been cleaned up. Ryan and Zac ran up to me checking on me, as Hugh told them we were heading back so I could sober up, clean up and lay down. We said our goodbyes as Blake and Ryan joined us to head out. I rested my head on Hugh's lap in the backseat as we made the 15 minute commute back to Ryan and Blake's house. 

Once we made it back to their house, Hugh helped me into the house and up the stairs. He helped me shower, washing my hair and helping me with washing my body. He watched me as I brushed my teeth. "You good, love?" He asked, leaning against the doorway. 

I nodded, "I'm good. I've sobered up a bit now." I chuckled, setting the toothbrush back on the sink before gargling with mouthwash. 

Removing my towel, I changed into one of Hugh's t-shirts and some sweats. I saw him lay in bed, in his boxers as I made my way over, scooting into bed beside him. He opened his arms to me as I slid over, resting my head on his chest, placing my hand on his abdomen. 

"I never thought I'd be so happy to be back in Ryan Reynold's bed." I said sarcastically. 

He chuckled, "You feeling better?" 

I nodded, closing my eyes, "Much." I yawned, inhaling the scent of his body wash. 

He kissed my head, "Good. Get some sleep, baby." He smiled, reaching over to turn the bedside lamp off. 

Days had gone by since we had our wrap party. That next morning, I'd woken up hungover as hell, still sick. I didn't think anything of it since I had drank so much, but as the days went on and the sickness continued, I started to grow anxious and extremely paranoid. We were now back in New York City, back home. I sub-rented my condo considering we spent months in LA and there was no point in continuing to pay rent somewhere I wasn't staying. Considering I had a tenant, Hugh told me to move into his house. 

Hugh was out on his morning bike ride as I stood in the bathroom staring at my phone. I was completely at a loss. I decided to pick up the phone and call Ryan. He and Blake were back home in New York, letting their rental in LA go as we'd wrapped filming. 

"What's up, baby child?" His voice yelled through the phone. 

Baby Child was something Ryan annoyingly called me considering I was the youngest of the group. I was 26, Blake was 36, Ryan was 47 and Hugh was 55, so I was 'Baby Child'. Cue the eye roll. 

I chuckled, "Are you with Hugh?" I asked. 

"Nope. He's not here." He simply said. "Why, what's up?" He asked, curiously. 

I sighed, "I've got something to tell you." 

His voice got serious, which was unlike him, "Is everything okay?" He asked, growing concerned. 

I took a deep breath, "I'm pregnant." 

He gasped, "What? You mean to tell me that old fucker's swimmers still swim?!" He exclaimed. 

I laughed, "That's seriously your reaction?" 

He chuckled, "Why do you not sound happy about this?" He asked. 

I shrugged, as I walked into the living room window that overlooked the city, "Because I'm not." I said with a sigh. 

[xxiiam]

Seven minutes in heaven

Ghostface! Choso , Halloween party , shy! Choso , soft dom! Choso , fem! bodied reader , fem receiving oral , munch! Choso , fem receiving fingering , riding , cream pie . Choso calls reader , “Angel” and “good girl”

Note : tyvm for all the love on my fic all mine love you all sm 🫶

1.4K words

You sat down with the crowd of other people in the living room , satoru called everyone into the living room for a game of seven minutes in heaven . You couldn’t believe that as college students you would still be playing a game where you make out with someone for seven minutes, it was almost laughable .

Satoru Gojo stood whilst everyone else sat in a circle , “okay so guys I’m kinda tipsy- kinda horny- so let’s play seven minutes in heaven . You cannot back out of it no matter what” he said laughing to himself while holding a half empty beer bottle, Satoru was dressed in a devil costume , or lack there of a costume .He was shirtless wearing black bottoms and devil horns, Kento rolled his eyes , “what are the people who are waiting supposed to do? Sit here holding our dicks?” Kento Nanami was dressed up as one of the characters from men in black whilst his best friend Yu Haibara was dressed up as an alien.

Satoru scrunched his face up and scratched his ear , “I didn’t really think about that if I’m honest- uhhhh play truth or dare spin the bottle?” . He shrugged and sat down , he nominated himself as going first since it’s his party. He made the empty bottle spin around the circle , he stuck his tongue out to help him concentrate on estimating where the bottle would land.

The bottle landed on someone you didn’t recognise in the slightest , in all fairness you didn’t know any of these people . You only knew satoru since he was in one of your classes and would not stop hounding you and other people to attend this party since it would be the “best Halloween party of the year” currently it was subpar at best. You were dressed as an Angel , you did not plan to match with satoru but he was more than pleased you practically were.

The game continued for a long time , this seven minutes in heaven was way longer than seven minutes each couple of people took at least ten minutes? Were you drunk already that must be why your perception of time is off because what else could they be doing? You nudged utahime , “why is everyone taking so long if they’re only making out?” . She snorted , “y/n they’re not making out they’re having sex” she started laughing.

It was now your turn to spin the bottle and make out? Have sex? With a complete stranger? Your hands gripped the brown bottle and you spun it on the cold hardwood floor , the bottle spun out and eventually landed on the person wearing the ghost face mask and whole getup. You smiled at them softly , you actually had no idea if they could even see you smiling at them .

You stood up and began to lead them to the location - it was literally just Satoru’s guest bedroom. You locked the door behind you , “so do you have a name? A face?” . He laughed awkwardly, “yeah- my name is Choso” you sat down on the bed next to him , “well I’m Y/N - so can I?” You asked pointing to his mask , a part of you was kinda really scared that this choso guy would look like a troglodyte. You didn’t intend on lifting the mask up all the way , but you lifted just enough so you could see his well chiseled jawline and his soft lips that he was currently biting down on anxiously.

You leaned forward , unintentionally knocking off his mask as you began to kiss him but the shy persona you had just been speaking to suddenly disappeared, choso kissed you back roughly . He was surprisingly such a good kisser , you broke the kiss to get a good look at him but he began pressing open mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down your neck .

Once you had a good look at him you weren’t sure why he was covering up his face , he was GORGEOUS. That would be an understatement, he had long black hair , dark loving eyes that had dark circles around them . He had a strip of black paint across his face, he began to get shy again once he noticed you staring for so long , “do I have something on my face?” He asked nervously with his silver tongue piercing making an appearance every-time he flicked his tongue whilst speaking .

You shook your head , “no it’s just- you’re very pretty” you said almost in awe , surprised by his great kisses and immense beauty . His cheeks began to flush , “can I have a taste of you now?” You nodded expecting him to start kissing you again but he quickly accommodated himself between your legs , he looked up at you seeing if you were comfortable with it and you nodded . His index and middle fingers hooked around the band of your panties and he pulled them down desperately before plunging his tongue into your folds .

The metal ball on his tongue circled your clit , coating it in more of your own juices and his saliva . Your thighs clamped around his head due to reflexes , his muscular forearms pried your legs open before he moved his right arm and inserted two fingers inside your now sloppy cunt. You couldn’t help but mewl out his name and chant it like a prayer when his fingers stretched you out nicely and began to bully your g-spot. “mn- choso- feels s’good” . He smiled against your pussy , he removed his mouth from you but kept fingering you , “yeah? Tell me how good it feels Angel”

Your back was arching and he was already ripping pornographic level moans from your mouth , “ ‘s good soososo good choso” you whimpered and tried to cover your mouth to muffle some of your moans . He tutted , “I wanna hear you Angel” he said making your slutty hole squelch and wet his hands . You quickly moved your hands from your mouth to the bedsheets to grip on to them to try to pace yourself to not finish so quickly .

“Good girl” he said softly , “are you gonna cum around my fingers Angel?” . You nodded hoping you’d be able to reach your high . But he removed his fingers? You furrowed your eyebrows , “you’re gonna have to earn it” he said calmly , undoing his belt , pulling down his pants and boxers . His large dick sprung up against his stomach .

Choso sat down on the bed leaning against the headboard , he motioned you to sit down on it . You had your legs on either side of choso , you began inching down on his dick . If he hadn’t eaten you out previously , riding choso probably would’ve taken some time to adjust to. You fully bottomed out , a soft moan escaped from both you and choso as you did . You moved your body up and down his shaft , your ass bouncing off of his body every time you reached the base of his cock .

Your hips began to ache and you collapsed forward onto choso’s torso , he smiled against your ear , “you tired Angel?” You nodded , “mhm help please” you whined , he hummed , “I think you earned it” his large hands grabbed your plush hips and he began to fuck into you, his tip kept pushing and pressing against all your gummy spots , abusing your cervix , you moaned out and bit into his shoulder to stop you from moaning so loud. The room was loud with the slick sounds of choso thrusting into you , soft sounds of his praises and your muffled moans as your eyes rolled into the back of your head .

At this point you were more than desperate to cum and you could tell he was getting extremely close too. You squeezed down on him extra hard , his breathing began to sound rugged and the soft moans sounded more and more desperate as they fell from his bitten lips. He threw his head back , “fuck- Angel ‘m gonna cum, do you want me to cum inside you? Fill you up like the cute slut you are?” He asked his thrusts becoming more sloppy. You nodded and began practically begging for him . He whispered more praises , “cum on my cock Angel- I wanna cum inside you ‘nd you’re gonna take it like a good girl mhm?” your pussy began to spasm on his cock , tightening around him , he bit down on his bottom lip as thick ropes of his clear cum seeped into you.

You both panted and kissed slowly as choso redressed you , he even fixed your hair so you looked presentable. You both sat down with the group of people , utahime asked you why you took so long and you shrugged , she whispered in your ear , “I wasn’t being serious about people having sex by the way” .

[thegirlfromblackwater]

If the Van der Linde Gang lived in Modern Times (Modern Au)

Life gives you funny ideas...and I'm going to write them down

Arthur

Would live on a ranch in Montana or Wyoming as a rancher

Offers services like trail rides, lessons, and boarding

Has a herd of cattle

Spends every Sunday watching Rodeos on TV

Watches while sitting in his favorite worn-out armchair

Always has a cold beer and a snack or his dinner while watching

Has a pickup truck that's a bit filthy on the inside. Addresses his car as a "she."

Treats it like a horse: calls it a "good gurl."

Has a mounted Trout and some taxidermy on the walls

The Wifi at the ranch is spotty..doesnt understand why guests need it when they're surrounded by nature

Network Name: MorganRanch Password: Ynnel123

Tried to fix the router once but not exactly tech savvy. Ended up punching it

Texts Albert Mason sometimes

Dutch

Definitely lives in a city either Los Angeles or New York City

Lives in a Snazzy Penthouse in the clouds with a skyline

Works as a motivational speaker

Wears a lot of bling

Has a bar in at his place

Molly always tries to find a way in

Calls Hosea a lot

Has a weird fetish for black, red and white furniture.

Still loves reading books by Evelyn Miller despite that the writer is a nobody living in Idaho

John, Abigail & Jack

They probably live out west on a farm (very much like Beechers Hope)

John works on the ranch and also has side multiple side jobs (thanks to Abigail)

Jack spends his time in the school library

Abigail is obsessed with this one bakery

Molly

Lives in whatever city Dutch lives in

Tries to make herself at home in the penthouse

Famous on social media for her makeup tutorials

The neighbors can usually hear Molly & Dutch fighting

Dutch: "Not now Miss O'shea" Molly: "Pig!"

Bill

Lives somewhere in the Midwest

Works as a truck driver for Walmart

spends a lot of his life on the road

Has a bit of road rage

likes rest stops

when he's not working, he is a part of a biker gang

has a tattoo sleeve and wears a white wife beater

one of those bikers that wears a bandana with the American flag on it

Marybeth

Probably lives in a quaint town on the east coast

Works in a bookstore during the day and is a freelance writer in her free time

Lives in a cute townhouse with a small garden in the front full of flowers.

Her house is cozy

has a seating area with big windows that look out over the street

spends her time writing and reading there

likes to sit at cafes and drink coffee

Lenny

Is a full-time university student by day and bartender by night

Lives in Chicago or Atlanta

Probably double majoring in Business and literature (if that combination even exists)

Lives his single life to the fullest

Mostly an A student who goes full ham on the weekends when partying

Micah

Lives in Las Vegas

Sells illegal drugs

Has no money because he gambled too much

Stays in different hotels

Owns a pawn shop

Everything for sale there was smuggled across the border

Has dealings with the cartels & other shady characters

Hosea

Lives a quiet life out west

Goes to his lake house on the weekends to go fly fishing

Reads a lot of books

Also likes to go hunting

Is a part time English teacher who teaches children to read

Talks to Dutch by phone

Sometimes visits Arthur and stays at his Ranch

Uncle

Lives in a trailer park in Florida where the weather is always warm and the cold won't bother his illness

Sits on a folding chair outside his mobile home

Plays the Banjo

Drinks a beer

Is a complete mess inside

Doesn't own much furniture

Can't work because of the Lumbago

Sweats a lot

Naps and snores too loud

Lives next to a swamp

Javier

Lives in Arizona

Lives in the desert

Grows cactuses

Owns a Music shop

Travels around playing at local bars

Works part time as a music teacher at the local high school

Has a YouTube where he shows off his music

Sadie

Probably lives in a city like Dallas or Denver

Works as a cop

Likes to catch people for speeding and sits on the side of the highway

eats Chick-fil-A while waiting

Watches Dateline

Carries a Taser

Always looks sexy in her uniform

Charles

Definitely lives in a cabin out west

works as a conservationist

Likes National Parks

Goes fishing with Arthur

supports and donates to the Bison Sanctuary (if one even exists)

Likes Camping

Trelawny

Lives a wealthy life in Charleston, South Carolina

Lives in a large southern mansion

Wears a robe to sleep

Has a whole walk-in closet full of clothes and accessories

Has a sauna in the basement where he relaxes

Owns a bunch of fancy cars: He loves his Bentley

Reverend Swanson

Probably lives in Philadelphia

Still works part-time at the church

Mostly spends his time helping people with addictions

Hosts an AA meeting three times a week

Rescues crackheads from the street

Mostly sober

Wrote a memoir on his journey to recovery

Sean

Lives in Boston

Likes the university/young people vibe

works at a pub

Everyone's favorite Bartender

Makes customers laugh

goes back to Ireland once a year

Takes Karen with him sometimes

Karen

Lives in Portland, Oregon

Works at a bar as a bartender and a stripper

Good Pole Dancer

Her large tits are popular amongst the men

Puts on shows in the evening

Talks to Sean a lot

Gets Hammered

Strauss

Works in Finance in New York City

Is a Workaholic

Has no friends

Goes back to Austria every few years

Boring to talk to

Always on a work call

Listens to Classical Music

Tilly

Lives in Nashville, Tennessee

Visits Marybeth a lot

Wants to be a Nurse

Likes taking care of people

Wants to travel around the world

Pearson

Lives somewhere in New England

Owns a restaurant and catering business

The restaurant is interestingly enough called "Pearsons"

Probably has a wife and some kids

Loves Maine Lobster one of those people that wears a bib when eating it because he's messy

Is a good Butcher

Susan Grimshaw

Lives in Florida

Is a housekeeper

Cleans uncles' mobile home once a week

Tries to control Tilly and Marybeth from miles away

disgruntled

[pearwaldorf]

If you have Netflix and you're not watching The Brothers Sun, please do that. A triad leader's son goes from Taipei to Los Angeles to protect his mom and brother who had to flee the country. The vibe it gives me is Leverage: good and logical characterization, where characters can only make the choices they make because it's who they are.

It's also a lot like Leverage in that the humor can be kind of goofy but in a cute way. (In episode 1 assassins are disguised in dinosaur costumes because they're infiltrating a children's birthday party okay?) It is the type of cheesy, affectionate roasting only a lover of genre can do.

As an Asian person watching something about an Asian family, I will say it gets it right. (The showrunner Byron Wu is Chinese and the writers' room is all-Asian.) There's the little details like the calendar in the kitchen and the passive-aggressive mom bullshit. And the big things, all that duty to family stuff and parent-child relationships. It is accurate to my experience, and I am grateful for it.

The show is smart and expects you to be able to understand subtext, which is kind of incredible these days. The characters aren't lobotomized and actually think about shit. Mama is playing 5D chess in the most incredible way, and I love that about her.

The character interaction is fantastic, in that you can understand everybody's motivations and relationships with each other. Nobody's wrong, but not all those paths are compatible with each other. Occasionally they can intersect, but guanxi is a very real thing in this world.

I do have to give a content warning for kinda fat shaming? One of the brother's childhood nicknames was "Little Fatty" and I swear it sounds cuter & more affectionate in Mandarin. There is cultural-context I'm not sure I can really explain that it's not as bad as it sounds, but they also could have left it out.

Here's the trailer. I hope you'll give it a chance.