#you would not survive network television

[lindensea]

So tired of the way fandom has started to require kissing/sex to consider pairings canon. You would not have survived watching The X-files. Also you have limited understanding of romance/sexuality and media in general

[apocalypseornaw]

Close Call

Dean Winchester x Reader

Set in season 1 episode 12 "Faith"

When Dean's gravely injured on a hunt Sam calls you for help. With what seems like a ticking clock Dean makes some confessions but what happens when that clocks slows down?

Fluffy smut

You're not sure what you were expecting when Sam called you. Hell the younger Winchester hadn't exactly been thorough in his explanation, mixed in with the fact that you'd been freshly out of the shower when he called meant you'd barely gotten the bare minimum of it. That alone had been enough to make it feel like your heart would crumble. Dean, hurt, hospital.

"But people survive heart attacks all the time Sam" you were trying to wrap your head around what he was telling you but Dean only having a few weeks, a month at most? That wasn't feasible.

He nodded slowly "it was a massive heart attack. They said there was too much damage" you could see the tears brimming in his eyes and felt your stomach knot. "C'mere" you pulled him down into a hug and he practically buried his face in your neck "I can't lose him and you were the only person I knew who would come to us, who's always answered the phone for us both"

"It's gonna be ok. We'll figure something out. We'll hit the hunters network, make some calls. There's something out there that can help him and we will find it" you didn't know if you were trying to convince Sam or yourself. You stood there for a few seconds simply offering what comfort you could to him.

There were times you forgot you had two years on Sam in age, both of you were lifelong hunters having gotten dragged in at a young age. That's how you knew both boys. Sam was damn near a brother to you and as for Dean, he was the closest thing you had to a best friend.

After a moment Sam pulled back and you could see him take a deep breath and the resolve set in his eyes "I'm gonna head back to the hotel and get started on that list you texted me. Do you mind staying here with him?" He nodded towards the room the two of you were standing outside of. You hadn't went in yet but knew your heart would twist seeing Dean that weak. You nodded "Of course. Call me if you find anything" he kissed your forehead then turned to walk away.

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You took a deep breath to steady your nerves before walking into the room. You could hear the stations flipping on the television before you made it past the curtain, Dean was laying in the bed. Between the grey hospital gown and how pale his skin was he looked closer to a ghoul than the bright eyed, smart mouthed hunter you knew and loved.

He smiled weakly when he spotted you "Finally they got the memo about the fact that I don't wanna die where the nurses aren't even hot" you rolled your eyes at his flirting but sat down on the foot of his bed, resting your hand on the leg closest to you "How the hell do you have a massive heart attack Winchester? If you missed me that bad you could've called. No need for dramatics"

He grinned "Wanted to make sure you dropped everything to come to me sweetheart" you shook your head, trying to hide the worry you knew would be evident on your face. He looked so damn weak, the damage done to him internally showing externally as well.

"Let me guess, John couldn't bother to answer a damn phone for Sam" you couldn't help the bite to your voice. For too long you'd been quiet about the way John treated both his sons but from about the time you turned twenty on at any given opportunity you told him. Dean shrugged "I don't know. I didn't ask him to call dad. I asked him to call you" "oh" your anger at John didn't really dissolve instantly because you knew the reason Dean had you called was because like Sam said himself you always answered.

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"You need to get some rest" you urged Dean who shrugged "from what they said I'll be getting plenty of rest soon enough" your glare made him grin "I'm sorry sweetheart. I won't joke about it if you come up here and lay down with me. I know you drove all night to be here by now"

Wouldn't be the first time you and Dean had slept in the same area, especially since he started hunting without John. There'd been so many almost between you and him it hurt something deep inside of you to think about it. You loved this man with everything you had and to think about losing him to something as mundane as a heart attack? It didn't seem right.

You shrugged "I don't know Dean. Don't want the nurses to think I'm taking advantage of you in your vulnerable state" he nearly managed his signature smirk at your words before saying "if only I was so lucky then I could die a happy man. Now get your ass up here" he scooted over and patted the bed next to him.

You stood and walked up to the head of the bed, sliding in next to him being careful not to hit any monitor. You knew you were tense because your mind was working overdrive as was your heart but for some reason you thought Dean wouldn't notice, that proved to be wrong because he shifted to pull you further down the bed. "I'm weak,not dead. Not get comfortable and act like you want to be here. You need some rest too"

You knew what he was asking so you turned towards him, tucking your booted feet up onto the bed to lay your head over on his chest. His heartbeat sounded weakly under your ear but it was a familiar comfort. He hooked one arm around you "At least I get to hold you for a little while" you closed your eyes to ensure he wouldn't see any tears in them.

After a minute you'd hoped he'd fallen asleep but he spoke again "Remember that first hunt you ran across me and dad on after Sam left for Stanford?" You nodded "Yeah. I thought that vein on John's neck would burst when I told him it wasn't his fault he didn't know any better and maybe he didn't to read a lore book every now and then"

Dean's laughter shook you slightly "I've always loved that about you. You don't back down from him. You never have" you picked at the hospital gown Dean was wearing before saying "I hate how he treats you and Sam. You're the most important people in my life. I'll fight him tooth and nail"

His fingers found your hair, lightly playing with it "Will you watch out for Sammy? He's gonna need you?" You swallowed hard "I won't need to. Because you're not going anywhere Dean" he kissed the top of your head "Get some sleep sweetheart. I'm gonna try to"

Dean watched you sleep, even as nurses came in to check on him and he sent them out of the room with a glare. They'd told Sam he was dying, a few weeks tops. They could leave him the hell alone to hold his girl. His girl. When the hell had he started categorizing you as his girl?

Was it the fact that you knew the life? That you always backed him and Sam? That you were there when Sam left? You backed down John at every given chance, you always had his back. You were beautiful and sweet and badass. More than one night he'd shared a bed with you just sleeping and it was always the best sleep he'd ever gotten. The hunts you two worked together was a thing of beauty you knew the lore inside and out. If there was ever a chance for him to love someone and it to be a lasting love you were it.

He'd known it long before but laying in a hospital room, being told your time is limited kind of narrows things down for you. He loved you. He was in love with you. How the hell was it fair to tell you that just to leave you?

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Your phone ringing jolted you out of sleep. You could hear a deep voice, Dean? Memories of the last few hours came flooding back and you sat up to see Dean talking on your phone. He held it out to you "It's Sammy" you took it from him and climbed out of the bed, stretching as you did so. "Hey Sam. What's up?"

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Sam sounded excited from the sound of it so you decided to head to the hotel to see what he'd found out. When you told Dean you were leaving for a little while he looked disappointed until you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek "Please behave. I'll be back"

Sam had found a faith healer, from every contact it seemed legit. The problem? Dean would never agree to it? The solution? You would agree to tell Dean it was a specialist and leave it at that.

"So do you drive him in the impala or do I lure him into my car?" You asked Sam with a smirk about the time a knock at the hotel door made both of you turn around. You shared a look before Sam walked over to ease the door open. You started to reach for your gun but stopped when Dean's face came into view.

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"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam asked and he shrugged "I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot" then winked at you. You moved to help Dean into the room when he seemed unsteady on his feet.

The hoodie and jeans was better than the hospital gown but god he was still so pale. He smiled when you shifted one of his arms across your shoulders to support some of his weight "Just had to get close to me again, huh sweetheart?" You shook your head but helped him over to the bed to sit down then looked back at Sam "Why don't you go make sure both the cars are gassed up, grab some food for the road then we'll get going"

Dean looked from you to Sam so you explained "Sam found a specialist. Hopefully it'll be fruitful" he nodded "If you think it's worth trying" "we do" you and Sam answered in unison. Sam cut his eyes at you "I'll be back in about thirty, forty minutes then we can hit the road" you nodded and chucked him your keys "Thanks Sam"

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After Sam left you stood there for a few minutes before letting out a breath. Dean was watching you carefully before he patted the bed next to him "Sit down sweetheart. You're wearing me out"

You sat down next to him, careful not to move him around too much. He moved back on the bed until his back was against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him.

"Do you think this specialist is gonna actually be able to help or are you saying that for Sammy's sake?" You let out a shaking breath "I'm not just saying it for Sam's sake. This specialist has got to help. I can't.. the world can't lose you"

Dean patted the bed next to him "come up here. Might as well get comfortable. We'll be here a little while until Sam gets back" you did as he asked, sitting right next to him on the bed. He lifted one arm and you curled up on his chest so he tucked his arm tightly around you. "Hey, wanna play a game?" You nodded.

"Two truths and a lie" he whispered and you laughed "ok" "I have green eyes, next to Sam you are the most important person in my life and my first solo hunt was at twenty" you felt your face warm "Dean your first solo hunt was at Seventeen" he kissed your forehead "I know"

"Ok, my turn?" You asked and he nodded before shifting to nuzzle into your neck and you had to bite back a groan. You'd always been close to Dean and so many times you two had almost had something happened but what was this? You let out a breath "My car is dark blue, my heart is crumbling in my chest at the thought of losing you and I hate roses"

He whispered against your skin "You love roses" before pressing a feather light kiss to your pulse point. You swallowed hard "Dean" "hmm?" You pushed his chest gently, just enough to put room between the two of you. He looked up at you through those thick eyelashes and your heart flipped "what are you doing?"

He pushed himself up, despite the grimace on his face. For the first time since you showed up you saw his facade slip, tears shining unshed in his eyes "I don't want to die. I don't want to leave Sam. I don't want to leave you. I've known you for years, I've been at your side for years. I've wasted time. I love you Sweetheart. There's never been anyone I feel about like how I feel about you and I know it's selfish of me to say this now but in case this specialist is a bust"

He leaned forward, catching your lips in a gentle kiss that made your heart flip. The two of you had kissed before, teenagers fueled by hormones then hunters fueled by adrenaline after a hunt, nothing had ever gone past a little heavy petting. Something or someone always caused the brakes to get hit but this kiss felt different, like he was trying to say make sure you'd remember him and it broke your heart.

He pushed your shoulders until your back was against the bed and he was on top of you, holding himself up on his forearms. He went from your lips down to your neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive flesh. Every little sound that fell from your lips seemed to spur him on until your senses caught up with you. "Dean...stop" the moment you said it he froze.

You shook your head. A day or two ago you would've given anything to be in this position with Dean but now? You couldn't..."Honey...as much as I want to believe you mean what you told me..as much as I want this...as much as I want you. You're dying, you're afraid. I'm not taking advantage" you swallowed hard before continuing "if this specialist works and we get you to the other side of this tell me how you feel" he pressed his head over on your chest before saying "I've loved you for years"

You ran your hands down his back soothingly, feeling your heart break all over again "Tell me that again when you're not dying" he raised his head to look at you, green eyes holding your gaze "Do you love me?" You blinked back tears "Ask me after we see that specialist. Ask me when you're not dying, please"

He nodded and pressed another quick kiss to your lips before moving back to simply lay next to you "I do love you" he repeated quietly so you nodded, feeling tears sting your eyes. "And I'll give you an answer when you're well"

You and Dean hadn't spoken much when Sam got back except for Dean to tease you by saying "Don't worry sweetheart, Sam's driving so you'll be able to keep up"

From what you could tell he wasn't upset that you hadn't answered his question and you knew better than to think Dean would ever be upset over you turning down any advances. You wanted him, fuck you wanted him but you couldn't have him. Not weak, not scared of dying. You wanted him at full strength with a life ahead of him.

You followed the tail lights of the impala and cranked your music up a little louder. You just needed to get Dean to this healer. It would work...it had to work.

-------------------

You grabbed two hotel rooms in a nearby town because Sam figured it was a much better idea to have you in the car with him and Dean when you arrived to the revival where the healer was working.

You sat in the backseat of the impala as Sam pulled off onto the dirt road that lead to the field where tents were set up all around. "What kind of specialist is this?" Dean asked turning slightly in the seat to look back at you so you shrugged "One that can help you get your answer?"

A look of confusion went across Sam's face "answer to what?" "Never mind that. You two bought me to a faith healer" Dean pushed as the car came to a stop and Sam moved to help him out. Dean pushed away from him but took your hand. "Just give it a try please. For the two of us" you whispered, barely loud enough he could hear you over the crowd.

Dean looked from you to Sam. The woman he loved and his baby brother. He'd do anything for the two of you and if this is what you asked of him, well guess he'd give it a try. "Fine" your smile was reward in itself when you reached for Sam's hand and gave it a squeeze "This is gonna work" you assured the younger man before leading the way into the biggest tent.

Dean was healed, his heart was back in top shape you should be escatic and you were but so much had happened in the last few days with Reverend Roy, his wife Sue Ann practicing ancient blood magic to hold reapers hostage and make it appear as if Roy was working miracles and the guilt Dean was now carrying over Layla the woman you'd all met with the brain tumor you'd been forced to not let be healed well nothing had gone as planned.

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Sam had asked you to stick around, Dean hadn't said much to you and you were starting to think he regretted his deathbed confession now that it wasn't that. The last case had been a simple haunting. With the three of you it had barely take a day so on a rarity for hunters the boys had taken your suggestion of a clean hotel off route sixty six for a couple days to recoup and rest until another hunt fell in your laps or until John pulled his head out of his ass to call them.

You hadn't been long wished the boys goodnight and headed to your room. No matter where the three of you ended up they always made sure to get you a room next to theirs. You were standing at the dresser next to the door, going through your duffle when you heard a knock at the door. You eyed the gun sitting next to you before Dean's voice drifted through the door "It's me sweetheart"

Here it was. The admission that everything he said was simply words of a dying man. You took a step towards the door and reached to unlock the locks then stepped back to let him walk in.

You barely glanced his way when he crossed the threshold "Hey Dean" your voice was nearly a whisper. He closed the door behind himself and you heard the locks click into place, it was a habit of all of yours at this point. You continued your digging through the duffle bag as a means to keep your hands busy and distract yourself from the oncoming heartbreak as if he hadn't hurt your heart enough over the last couple weeks.

"What are you looking for?" He asked after a moment, humor lightening his voice. You shrugged "something to sleep in. I need to shower so I was planning on a tshirt, panties and sports bra so if there was an emergency the jeans were a slip on and go thing" he hummed a response behind you before you felt him move and his arms slipped around your waist, his hands covering yours to stop the repetitive movements considering you'd picked up and put down the same shirt four times already.

"How about we talk first?" You nodded, pulling your hands away from his. He dropped his arms so you could turn to face him and an almost shy smile played at his lips "There she is" you nodded "Here I am"

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He reached for your hand, turning so he could sit on the dresser next to your bag. Instead of releasing your hand, he used it to pull you to stand between his legs. You laid one hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes on you "Y/N. What I did wasn't fair to you"

Your eyes flew to his face "What?" He shrugged "I sprung that on you. You drove all night to get to me and Sam and I spill my guts and put you on the spot for an answer? How big of an asshole do I have to be? We can forget it, if you want"

"And if I want to talk about it?" Your fingers moved to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes closed for a second before he nodded "We'll talk about it" "Do you actually love me?" You asked.

When his eyes opened the intensity in his gaze nearly made your knees go out from under you but luckily he chose that moment to slip both arms around your waist "Yes. I love you. I have for a long time but you don't have to feel like you owe me anything. We can stay friends.." his eyes flicked towards the bed before a smirk snuck onto his face "If you want more I wouldn't dream of telling you no but I'm not holding it against you for not feeling the same way. I've wanted to tell you and just had really shit timing"

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"So you don't want your answer?" You asked before leaning over and letting your lips find his neck, teasing the spots that had his grip tightening on your hips "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious but I'm not pushing"

You kissed your way across his jaw before claiming his lips, trying to push how you felt for him into the kiss. When the need for air forced the two of you away you felt a small thrill at him chasing your lips for another kiss "Sweetheart, if you're teasing the shit out of me because of that time dad interrupted us when we almost.."

You cut him off by crashing your lips against his before muttering "Still want to punch him for that" you pulled him up off the dresser and he groaned into your mouth. You broke the kiss and smiled up at him "I'm not teasing you for every time we almost had sex getting interrupted, I promised you an answer..." you took a deep breath before continuing "I love you too Dean"

"You don't have to say that to have me Y/N" he whispered, his lips barely a breath away from yours. You smiled softly "I know but Dean think about it. You're my best friend. I can't even pinpoint when I fell in love with you because the transition just happened but it did. I love you"

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His eyes searched your face for a moment and you could feel your heart thudding in your chest before you saw the realization finally strike him that you'd meant it. You loved him, you were in love with him and you wanted him. "C'mere" when his lips found yours again your hands went to his jacket, quickly shoving it off his shoulders as he started walking you backwards towards the bed.

When your the back of your knees hit the bed he followed you down onto it, lips never leaving yours until the need for air pushed you apart. You tugged at his shirt and he got the point, quickly pulling it over his head and tossing it across the room before finding your lips again.

Your hands smoothed up his chest, fingers tracing the familiar scars. Many of which you'd stitched up yourself. He moved from your lips down to your neck, kissing and biting the flesh there. When he hit your pulse point you let out a low moan of his name and he chuckled against your skin "Fuck I love that"

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When you felt his hands slip under your shirt you lifted your back off the bed enough he could slip it off you without ripping it. Your bra followed quickly, leaving your top half bare to him. He started to lower his mouth to your breasts but you stopped him with a hand on his chest. He looked up at you with a question in his eyes and you smiled teasingly "This is the furthest we've ever gotten. Are you sure we won't get interrupted?"

The look that went through his eyes made your stomach flip before he said "I will shoot any son of a bitch that tries it sweetheart" you laughed and moved your hand to cup his jaw "Fuck i love you Dean" he grinned "I love you"

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He pressed a kiss to your lips before continuing his path down your neck then making his way to your chest. He ducked his head to roll your nipple between his lips and your back arched off the bed into his chest. He continued to tease the nipple as you felt one of his hands teasing at the waistband of your jeans.

He glanced up at you for permission and you gave a short nod. He broke from your chest with a wet pop "No baby. I need words. I've waited too long" you smiled "Yes Dean" he grinned before helping you to shimmy your jeans off your legs.

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He tossed them across the room and moved down the bed to position himself between your legs. He started at your left ankle then kissed up, taking special care to leave a few hickies on your inner thighs, just shy of where you desperately needed him before going to the right leg to give it the same treatment.

You were a quivering mess under him and he'd barely touched you yet. "Dean, please" "please what?" He asked with a smirk, rocking back on his heels to look up at you. You tried to glare at him but knew it fell weak. He winked at you before licking a tentative strip across your clit.

When you moaned his name he chuckled "Oh this is gonna be fun" then dove in like a man starved of his favorite meal finally being allowed to feast.

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Your legs were shaking and Dean was working to pull yet another orgasm out of you even though he'd yet to even take his damn jeans off. When he added two fingers to brush across that spot deep inside of you, that warmth burst again and you came with a scream of his name.

You weakly shoved at his head "Please Dean, too much. Please" he left a final kiss against your clit before pulling back to look up at you "Enjoying yourself?" "Get your jeans off and get inside me please" you begged and he grinned broadly "now see? That's using your words sweetheart. That's a good girl"

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He stood off the bed long enough to push his jeans and boxers off. You'd always known Dean was on the bigger side but you'd never known how big.

He was big. You hadn't realized you'd been staring at his cock until he wrapped one hand around the base of it "Like what you see?" You nodded "C'mere"

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He grinned and crawled up your body, kissing every inch of skin he could reach along the way. When he finally reached your lips he captured your mouth in a passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on him. You felt the head of his cock nudging at your opening so you spread your legs a little further, hooking them around his hips. He chuckled lightly "I got you baby" before slowly starting to push into you, a moan leaving you both at the feeling.

Once he was fully inside of you he stilled to give you time to adjust to him, kissing across your neck and chest. Once the pain of him stretching you gave way to pleasure you moved your hips to give him the go ahead. He gave a small roll of his hips and when your response was a gasp of his name that was all the assurance he needed.

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He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into you, pulling a moan from you at the feeling. He pulled back to look at your face for a moment "If you don't like anything tell me to stop" you nodded then remembered what he said about wanting words "I will" he smiled softly "Good girl" then caught your lips in a kiss so gentle it made your heart ache. "Gonna take care of you"

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Every damn thrust was pushing you closer to that edge. You'd lost count how many times Dean had made you come. You knew he had to be close. His thrusts started to falter and you knew he was close. You started to lift your hips to meet his thrusts.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so damn good baby. So damn good" you clenched at his words "Fuck Dean. I need to feel you come. Please baby"

"You first. One more time" he slipped one hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles onto your clit. You felt that warmth rush over your body again and your vision went soft around the edges when you came. You felt his hips falter right before he asked "Can i come in you?" "Please" you moaned and he buried himself inside of you with a final deep thrust and you felt when he came, the feeling pushing another small orgasm out of you.

Dean pulled out of you gently, apologizing when you whimpered. He laid down next to you then pulled you over on his chest "catch your breath then we'll go shower" you raised your head to look at him "Probably gonna need help walking" you'd never seen him look more proud "I can do that" you shook your head then curled up on his chest.

His fingers were working through your hair as you both worked to get your breathing back to normal "So, are we doing this?" He asked and sounded so unsure. You chose not to face him when you asked "Why? Having second thoughts already?" He was quiet for a moment before saying "giving you an out" you pushed yourself up the bed to face him "Damn you Dean Winchester. I love you. There hadn't been an out for me for years. I've been your best friend for a long time before your cock was ever inside me or before you ever knew I loved you. I wasn't walking away before I damn sure am not walking away now"

He grinned slightly "even the possibility of dealing with my dad?" You shrugged "John Winchester doesn't scare me" he pulled you down and caught your lips in a quick kiss before saying "I love you" you smiled "I love you too. Now let's get some sleep because if Sam heard us he's gonna give us hell about it for days"

[georgescitadel]

George R.R. Martin on the process of creating A Game Of Thrones

You hold in your hands the second volume of A Song of Ice and Fire… but not the second volume as originally intended. Although I wrote the opening of A Game of Thrones back in the summer of 1991, as related in my introduction to the Meisha Merlin edition of that volume, it was not until October of 1993 that I drew up a proposal for my agents to take to publishers. There is no mention of any book titled A Clash of Kings in that proposal. In 1993, I was under the impression that I was writing a trilogy.

Trilogies had been the dominant form in epic fantasy ever since J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings had been broken apart by publishers and released in three volumes. And the story that I wanted to tell divided quite naturally into three parts; much more so, in fact, than The Lord of the Rings, which is actually one fairly seamless narrative, and not a trilogy at all. I planned to title the books A Game of Thrones, A Dance with Dragons, and The Winds of Winter. I knew right from the start that they would all be large books. Huge books, even. But there were to be only three of them, and…and none were to be called A Clash of Kings. Sometimes the author is the last to know.

As I write this, I am halfway through the writing of A Feast for Crows, the fourth volume of my ‘trilogy.’ There is no mention of that title in my 1993 proposal either. These days, when pressed, I confidently assert that A Song of Ice and Fire will ultimately run to six books… but behind my back I know my lady Parris is smiling knowingly and holding up seven fingers. She may be right. Though I may dream of six books, plan for six books, work toward six books, the only thing that truly matters is the story. And the story needs to be as long as the story needs to be.

In Hollywood, the suits will tell you how long that is. A television show has to fit within its allotted time slot, of course, and you cannot beg, borrow, or steal an extra minute, no matter how much the story needs it. Running times are somewhat more flexible for films, though not as much as one might think. For the most part, the studios still want movies to run about two hours, so they look for screenplays of 120 pages or less, and demand cuts in any scripts that come in longer. My own screenplays and teleplays were almost always too long and too expensive in first draft, so in my later drafts, along with addressing the inevitable notes from studio, network, and producers, I was constantly trimming. In the end, I would deliver a shooting script that was the right length and under budget, but it was never a happy process… and I often went away feeling that the earlier drafts were the better ones.

The size of A Song of Ice and Fire was in no small part a reaction to ten years of trimming. I wanted to do something epic in scale, something at once grand and sprawling and complex and subtle, with a cast of thousands, huge battles, mighty castles, gorgeous costume, lavish feast, great rivers, towering mountains, vast fields… all the things I could not do in television. In short. I wanted to make a world. And for that you need a bit of room.

In my original proposal, I estimated that each volume of the trilogy might run as long as 800 pages in manuscript. The novels that I had written during the 70's and 80's, before Hollywood, had generally come in at 400 or 500 pages or thereabouts, so an 800 pages book seemed very lengthy indeed. The three books of the trilogy would be structured around the long, slow seasons of Westeros. A Game of Thrones would be summer’s book, A Dance with Dragons would take us through autumn, and The Winds of Winter… well, the title says it all. Even in the Seven Kingdoms, where a season can last for years, 800 pages ought to give me enough room to reach the end of summer and conclude the part of my tale, I reasoned.

‘Twas a lovely plan of battle… but no plan of battle ever survives contact with the enemy, it has been said. Writers know the truth of that as well as any general, though our wars are fought on blank white sheets of paper and empty computer screens. For the map is not the territory, the blueprint is not the house, the recipe is not the dinner… and the outline is never ever the book.

- George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings Limited Edition Introduction (2002)

[alex51324]

That Tweet, take 2

OK, so my first reaction to That Tweet, by Djenks, was as follows:

My money is on DJenks realizing that he shat the bed & now furiously trying to write himself out of the corner he's in. (My second guess is that he basically already knows there won't be a Season 3, but there's some network or business-related reason for not announcing it yet.)

But now that I've had a bit more time to think about it, I am kind of seeing a scenario where he could've intended it to be a fuckery all along.

Step one is that we imagine him being a bit disappointed by how Lucius's death fooled absolutely no-one. It's likely that he was planning for the reveal that he was alive to be a much bigger moment than it actually was; maybe he even has some Big Reveal ideas that he had to put on ice once it became clear that there was very little actual suspense surrounding Lucius's fate. This is, obviously, since I don't know him personally, a big hairy guess, but it seems like a very plausible reaction for someone to have, when they put a lot of effort into planning a surprise and it falls flat because everyone guessed it.

Step two is him deciding to sell Izzy's "death" a little harder, with the emotional death scene and the funeral (where we do not actually see the body, and a mourner, Wee John, is missing) and all. It's laying it on a little thick, in my opinion, but again, we did all confidently (and correctly) assume that Lucius was alive based on the evidence that "this show wouldn't do that" and "The Stede-Ed reunion won't work if he's really dead," so you can see how a showrunner could, hypothetically, get to--

Step three, is Djenks opening up his socials at the crack of dawn on Thursday morning, expecting to see reams of speculation and analysis about how Izzy could have survived, and being genuinely shocked to instead find seas of angry and devastated fans suggesting that he should perhaps give up television in favor of a career in going and fucking himself.

Step four, realizing that he drastically overshot the mark re: creating genuine suspense over character death, he tweets out a big obvious hint.

I don't love this interpretation--for one thing, there is nothing in the episode we saw that would provide a plausible in-universe reason for faking Izzy's death. It would be pretty easy to create one--have Prince Ricky No-Nose vow personal vengeance against Izzy Hands in specific for calling him a syphilitic cunt/his role in foiling the "end of piracy" scheme--but we did not see anything like that. To make the funeral scene work as a fuckery, it would be necessary to insert a flashback between the "death" and the funeral in which A) this happens, and B) the other characters find out about it. That's a cheap trick that I personally hate--the old, "Haha, I made you feel a thing by deliberately withholding context"--but again, if it's an overcorrection for the complete and abject failure of the effort to create suspense around Lucius's fate, I guess I can live with it.

If Izzy's death is a fuckery, that addresses a lot of the other problems with the finale. First, Ed and Stede's obviously-doomed, harebrained scheme to give up piracy and be innkeepers (in a dilapidated shack, on an island where we see no other people or settlements) is plausibly funny, as long as we aren't thinking that Izzy died for it.

Second, the tonal whiplash of going from the funeral to the wedding is also fine if everyone involved knows perfect well that the guest of honor at the funeral is actually recuperating just offscreen.

(Thirdly, there's Captain Frenchie--I haven't seen much discussion of that, but the only problem I had with it is that I can't think of any moments from the season where he stood out as being a leader for the crew. I might've missed something; he's not one of my particular blorbos, but it wouldn't have taken much, just something you can look back on and see how it was setting up him becoming captain.

And, crucially, we do have those few little moments of setup for Frenchie as First Mate to Captain Izzy. Frenchie was there during the dark days, during which he presumably underwent some skill development, pirate-wise, and definitely bonded with Izzy to some extent. We see him holding Izzy's hand during his breakdown, and he presumably helped hide him and definitely lied to Blackbeard about it, and then how they were sitting in the cell on Zheng's ship--it isn't a whole lot, but you can look back and see why it makes sense for Izzy to pick him.)

Making Izzy's death a fuckery doesn't do anything to fix the way the whole Zheng thing fell flat. (Why give her a massive fleet in the first place, only to take it away? Why did we get those scenes of ships being towed across land? What was she doing selling soup on the Republic of Pirates? For that matter, why did she come to the Caribbean in the first place, after becoming Pirate Queen of the Chinese seas?) It doesn't help with how Ed and Stede keep repeating the same beats of getting closer, then running away, then reuniting without ever talking about their relationship or their issues. It doesn't address why the Kraken Era had to go that dark, if the whole thing was just going to be smoothed over in the space between episodes 4 and 5, and how Ed never really takes responsibility for any of what he did.

However, middle installments of trilogies are notoriously difficult to write, and it isn't particularly fair to judge them before you get to the last part. Most of the weak points could look better in hindsight once we know how it all turns out.

(And, not for nothing, as long as Izzy is alive, we can still get something where Ed reckons with the Kraken Era, and particularly-but-not-exclusively what he did to Izzy. I don't see how that works with a dead Izzy, though--it's too easy for Ed to keep minimizing what he did and offloading blame onto him.)

There isn't a whole lot of evidence for an Izzy Lives scenario. All we have is:

This Show Wouldn't Do That (which, recall, was point 1 in why we didn't believe Lucius was dead. However, it is weakened by the absence of point 2--unlike with Lucius, the person who "killed" Izzy isn't a character we're expected to like or root for.)

No body at the funeral. I initially interpreted the funeral as being intended as proof that Izzy was really dead, a sort of "don't get your hopes up, guys," after what happened with Lucius. But again, if we're thinking about the framing of Izzy's "death" as an overcorrection to how completely non-fooled we all were by Lucius's, maaaaaybe not? I mean, if he really wanted to hammer the nail into the coffin, we would have seen Izzy lying in the grave, or his body being sewn into a shroud of sailcloth (as was the custom), or something. (Also, point 2b, the unicorn did have two legs.)

No Wee John at the funeral. There are certainly Doylist reasons he might've been left out--maybe the way the shooting schedule worked out, it saved money or some other resource to just leave him out of that scene, something like that. But for an in-universe reason, "somebody had to stay back and nurse Izzy" makes a lot of sense. (I mean, if this show operated on real-world logic, someone would have had to stay with the ship, but that's never been a concern before.) Wee John helping Izzy with his makeup for Calypso's birthday was presumably a bonding experience that involved some vulnerability on Izzy's part, so it would be weird for him to just nope out of the funeral, but plausible that Izzy would find him acceptable as a caregiver.

Stede and Ed's conversation over Izzy's grave could, just barely, make sense as a conversation about how Ed and Izzy are now on separate paths, with no particular guarantee that they'll see each other again. It takes a certain amount of massaging to make it fit, but it almost could? (Except Zheng's part really doesn't--unless the grave actually contains someone Ed cares about, or she isn't in on the secret that the funeral is a fuckery.)

I'm not in love with any of this, or even particularly convinced by it--my enthusiasm for any Season 3 is going to be pretty dampened, unless the announcement that it's been picked up includes the information that Con O'Neill has a contract to appear as a major character in all 8/10/whatever episodes--but IDK, I guess it's maybe not outside the realm of possibility? Ish?

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 5 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what is the appropriate amount of time to forgive your kidnapper?

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. allusions to violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. 'only ten one bed oops' trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. nudity. extremely toxic relationships.

a/n - as many of you pointed out in the last chapter, this version of Peter is darker and messier than TASM canon. expect him to make a lot of mistakes before he becomes a changed man. if he changes.

18+. you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't remember watching an episode of pop up [music] video on a television network, then keep it movin'.

Back to Part 4

Part 5

She awoke to darkness. Her whole body felt sore. Head throbbing from the onslaught of tears. She felt like a ceramic pot that had been roasting in a kiln for hours.

Stirring from her dreamless sleep, she glanced left and right. Her hands were free of the bindings. Brow curled, she looked over at the closed door, pondering if her captor had snuck into the room while she was out.

Honey sat up with a start, blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached for her wrists, finding nothing but an oily residue left behind. Still puffy from the duct tape rash, her skin was sensitive to her touch, but otherwise unharmed.

She glanced up at the closed door. Her stomach churned. She fought the instinct to curl up and hide beneath the bed. The memory of Peter’s fierce gaze lingered, a raw burn in her mind. 

Despite her logic telling her that she was the victim, she still felt conflicted. 

She had been kidnapped, sure— and she needed to do whatever was necessary to survive. Strangely, she still felt guilty for taking a swing at him like she did. As soon as her fingers touched the rock, she slammed it into the side of his head, without much thought.

“What are you, stupid? It’s a wonder you even make it home alive each night!”

She couldn’t quite name what came over her. She dealt a blow to his temple that could’ve killed him. Surprised that it didn’t. And then what would that be like? Could she really find it in herself to kill another human being? Not to mention, she’d be alone in the woods with a dead body, with no clue where she was. 

The thought made her queasy, twisting her stomach into a pretzel. She could’ve just run away, but when it came time to do so, she froze. Typical.

While she was hiding, she watched and listened quietly to his rampage below. Rage was one thing she expected, but not the misery she witnessed. The look she found in his eyes was something else entirely. Heartbreak and relief, like he would burst into tears at any moment.

It made her heart ache to witness it.

And then she hit him with a rock. Like some kind of cavewoman. 

Brilliant idea, she thought disdainfully.

“You need to slow down!” More bitter thoughts flooded her, this time with the voice of her mother. “Always talking too fast! Always moving too fast! You do without thinking. No wonder you mess everything up.”

Her eyes grew heavy with melancholy and exhaustion. Despite the darkness wrapped around her, she felt like sleep was out of the question.

A strange melody crept up through the closed door to her room. Voices. Percussion. Music. Upbeat and entrancing. 

There wasn’t a clock in her room but she had figured it was the middle of the night. Why would Peter be jamming out in the middle of the night?

Her stomach twisted again. The thought of coming face-to-face with him gave her chills. She rubbed her wrists idly. She could feel bruises there. She was afraid to leave the room. But she was also starving, and lamented not having at least one sandwich before her daring and ill-conceived escape. She was also miserably dehydrated, as every bit of moisture had leaked through her swollen eyelids.

And she had to pee. And that was now all she could think about. Her room thankfully had its own bathroom. Swinging her still-booted feet over the edge of the bed onto the floor, she tiptoed to the bathroom and relieved herself.

She thought she heard singing. Bad, out-of-tune singing. Creeping to the door, she placed her ear against the cool surface, trying to identify thes source. Out of curiosity or courage, she twisted the handle and peeked her head around the frame.

By the time she reached the bottom step of the staircase into the living room, she had a full view of the area and Peter was nowhere in sight. The one person who was in the room (and the source of music) was Miles, as he sat at the kitchen bar and dangled a pizza slice larger than his head above his mouth. 

The music was echoing across the room from a tiny portable speaker on top of the kitchen bar. In his own world, the teenager’s head bobbed as he blew steam from his pizza, then took a giant bite. 

She watched curiously as she approached from behind. The giant decorative clock built into the great room wall confirmed that it was incredibly late. Or early. One wouldn’t know it from Miles’ energy, or the volume of his jam session. She looked left and right, expecting to find more people, but saw no one else.

The flow of the music was broken when she accidentally walked into a low-height side table, her knee knocking to the corner. The lamp on top of the table jolted and Miles spun around in the barstool, letting out a piercing screech that could best be described as falsetto.

Honey responded in kind, letting out a shrieking Ahhhhhh of her own. Miles curled himself up on the stool, pulling his palms and one leg up defensively. “Sorry!” she blurted, as he clutched his own chest. “Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“You scared the crap outta me!” Miles said, his panic ebbing.

“I didn’t mean to—wait, is that how you really scream?”

“What about it?!” Miles exclaimed indignantly. “Not the point! You’re the one who’s creepin’ up on people like we’re in a horror movie... Crazy... La Llorona stuff!” The pitch of his voice normalized as he took a deep breath, frustration subsiding. “I dead-ass almost punched you in the face—I don’t mess around!”  

“Sorry, sorry...” Honey babbled, her face twisted in a grimace. “I, uh, didn’t mean... to, uh... Llorona...”

“It’s fine!” Miles sighed, his heart rate slowing. It didn’t sound fine. “It’s over—maybe let’s just not ever mention this again, okay? To anyone? Especially not to people I know.”

Honey nodded her head in agreement, motioning that her lips were zipped and she was ‘throwing away the key.’ 

A few awkward moments of silence passed between them as he reached over and turned down the music on the speaker. He straightened out his zip-up hoodie uncomfortably. A small smile crept up on her face. She found his reaction endearing, and not at all what she expected from—whatever it was they were involved with.

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Hi.”

Miles gave her a sheepish look. “Hi.”

There was a mountain of awkwardness between them. She looked around, then pointed at the massive box of pizza. “So... post-midnight snack?”

“Oh,” the teenager responded, looking back at the pizza. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re probably hungry.” He reached for the box, opening the lid. “Here, have some. It’s Lucia’s. There’s plenty.”

“Lucia’s?” she exclaimed, pondering the distance between wherever they were to downtown Flushing. She moved to the box, peering inside. “I like Dani’s.” 

“Well, nobody’s perfect. This pie heats up better,” Miles remarked, taking another bite of his slice. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes slid over to Miles. “How fresh is it?”

“Boss said to bring Lucia’s. So I did.” He shrugged his shoulders idly, placing his attention back on his slice of pizza. She slumped with a huff, having been dismissed.

“Boss,” she repeated, a chill going down her spine. “You mean Ben. Or...Peter, I guess,” She glanced around the mostly empty kitchen and living area, almost as if saying his name would summon him like Bloody Mary. “Is he here?”

Miles smacked his lips, wiping his mouth. “Nope, just me.” 

There was a pleasant calmness in his demeanor. It seemed to her that he was the only normal person that she’d met since being pulled off the train. The only person that treated her like a real person. Not that Peter hadn’t tried to show her kindness... or at least, what his mind perceived as kindness.

She rocked forward on her toes, suddenly interested in the fibers of the cardboard box. “Is he... Is he okay?”

Miles avoided looking at her, and she wondered how much Peter had told him about her escape attempt. She wondered why she felt suddenly embarrassed by her actions. Ashamed even. What did that say about her?

“Didn’t say much,” he replied. “Said he needed to take care of some stuff. Told me to hang out in case you needed anything.” 

Something burned in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “That was nice,” she stated in earnest. “I guess.” 

“He’s pretty cool,” Miles nodded, matter-of-factly. “Nice guy.”

She bitterly scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He didn’t respond. He was skilled at avoiding her provocation despite how badly she wanted to start a fight. Passively, he devoured his pizza in record time, then reached over the box to grab a paper plate. It looked sorely out of place compared to the grandeur of the kitchen. 

“Wan’some?” he asked. “I also brought soda and stuff. Boss said no TV, but we can watch a movie on Netflix or something. Or we got a Switch. You ever play Smash Bros?”

It took her a moment for the implications to sink in. “‘No TV?’” she repeated with a growl, letting out a frustrated sigh. “What are we, children?” 

She snatched the paper plate from his hand and reached into the box, grabbing herself a slice of pizza. Without further protest, she bit into the pie, savoring the taste. Lucia’s was superior, she recognized. 

“He said to get you whatever you needed,” he answered, paying her complaints no mind. “The whole house is free range except for the office. But everything else is cool. You can use the gym. There’s a library. The sauna. A pool, if you wanna check that out, too.”

She blinked at him, nearly choking on her pizza. “This place has a pool?” 

“Heated,” he wiggled his eyebrows enticingly. 

She glanced down, conniving. “What about a computer?”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t know about that.”  

“Could I borrow your phone?”

“No can.”

“C’mon,” she pleaded, her voice gentle. “I’m not gonna call the cops. Just wanna check in with my mom.” 

“Can’t bring phones out here,” he shrugged apologetically. “It’s a rule. Phones can be hacked and traced. All you need is a sus text like ‘Hey, I’m here,’ or ‘We issued you a refund for $600,’ and you click on the link and boom. They got you.”

Honey peered at him suspiciously, “Who’s they?”

“No clue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your ‘boss’ sounds pretty paranoid if you ask me.”

“That actually wasn’t his rule,” Miles explained conversationally. He leaned back in the barstool in a way that made her anxious. “That was Peni. She’s our tech nerd.”

“Peni?” she repeated.

“Yeah, she’s like—a genius.”

Her pizza suddenly became too chewy. “So I’m just a prisoner?” she huffed.

Miles looked over at her for a few moments, considering her. He let out a quiet sigh. “I know it’s a lot,” he said kindly, then added with consolation. “Pete’s a lot. Sometimes.”  Stone-faced, she stared back skeptically. “But he’s a really good dude. Just... he worries. He wouldn’t do all this if he didn’t care.”

She glared at him through lidded eyes. “Do you hear yourself right now?” she spat. “You sound like a Lifetime movie. Do I need to call Child Protective Services?”

“Hey, not cool. M’not a child,” he bristled, offended. “I’m sixteen.” She stared at him with a raised brow, watching as he stuffed another slice of pie into his mouth. “Wan’some Mountain Dew?”

She blinked. Several times. Then resigned herself. “Sure.”

The eerie indigo and orange glow of civil dawn peeked through the bay windows of the great room. It was silent except for soft snores. With weary eyes and a suit jacket which had been wrinkled by physical exertion, Peter wandered into his house even more of an alien than when he’d left it. 

The sort of activities in which he’d participated in earlier that night did that to him. It made him a stranger in his own home. Even more in his own skin.

He paused briefly and took a moment to gaze upon the lanky teenager sprawled out on one of the leather couches. Jordans crossed. sticking up over the sofa arm. A Nintendo controller rested on his chest as he dozed deeply, film forming in the corner of his open mouth. The sight made Peter crack a bittersweet smile. Nostalgia accompanied by an ache of longing. Somewhere beneath Miles’ oversized clothes, there was a good kid who wasn’t all that different from Peter.

Who he used to be. 

His eyes roved across the room to the opposite sofa. Honey was curled up like a cat, still in the blouse and jeans that she arrived in. Her hiking boots were placed neatly next to the couch. The snuggly sight of her made his heart leap into his throat. Her upper body expanded and deflated in a steady rhythm like ocean waves, and the action both entranced and haunted him. The bittersweet feeling in his chest soured and blackened, until it became a guilt-ridden tumor wrapping tendrils around his heart.

He had been so cruel earlier. He erupted into a fit of blind rage. A brute. The kind of anger that made people want to turn their heads. Anger that if Gwen were still alive, she wouldn’t be able to look at without being sickened. He was the sort of person that Aunt May and Uncle Ben would cross the street to avoid.

He thought he’d lost her too. And he was terrified.

No wonder she was scared. It was his fault, to think that she could somehow see him as something other than a monster. Now, there wasn’t much hope in changing her mind.

Peter felt his eyes burn as he peeled them from her lithe form. He glanced down at his hands, observing the deep crimson stains in his skin. Rusty-brown spots soiled the wrinkled cuffs of his dress shirt. 

He’d have to throw it out, he mused. There’d be no getting those stains out. No matter how much time he put into scrubbing. No matter if he flayed his own skin off his bones, the blood would always be there.

His heart rate quickened. He felt bile rising in his throat. With alarm, he disappeared down a hallway, tucking himself swiftly in a washroom. 

When he returned, he was shirtless. His forearms were bright red, stinging with how hard he’d scrubbed. Head down, he crept quietly towards the staircase leading up to the bedrooms on the upper level. 

He paused at the sofa, glancing down longingly at the woman he would never deserve. 

The woman that would never forgive him for how he acted. 

Never forgive him for what he was. The thought made his lower lip tremble.

He didn’t deserve her. This was an undeniable fact. 

But regardless, she was still his responsibility. His to protect. His to keep safe. 

His to keep.

His shadow fell over her as he reached down and gently lifted her from the sofa. Effortlessly, he carried her weight like a towel over his arm, or a down-pillow in his hands. Ascending the staircase with her tucked against his chest, he didn’t miss the way she huddled closer to his warmth. She sighed against the skin over his heart in a way that made gooseflesh rise. 

Gently, he ferried her, like a small boat on a glass lake. He strode past the door to the room that she had occupied and continued down the hallway, headed to the southern-facing end of the house. He approached the heavy oak door to his bedroom and used his toe to push it open. The action barely disturbed her at all. Like floating on a cloud.

Moving through the bedroom darkened by blackout curtains, he drifted across his room and rested her body on the silk surface of the California-king bedspread. Delicately, he placed her head on a 1000-thread count pillow void of any scents other than his own. He hoped that it would smell like her shampoo by the time she woke up. 

He stepped back from the bed, listening the pulsation of her heart. Studied the pace of her breathing. Fixated on her soft features as she floated in her slumber. A familiar pang reached his chest as he watched her, hesitating for only a moment more before he padded to the other side of the bed. 

She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling the softest pillow she’d ever laid on, and shuddered comfortably as two arms wrapped around her waist. She felt herself pulled back and was cradled by a firm form shaping her own. It was warm. She was warm. The breath on the back of her neck was warm.

Her eyes shot open, a small gasp catching in her throat. Rapidly, she blinked through the murky twilight of the foreign bedroom, her heart spiking. 

“Don’t,” she heard a deep, raspy voice whisper in her ear. She went rigid, recognizing the owner of the voice and the body pressed up against hers. Alarm flooded her.

“Please don’t,” he said softly, with a tone that sounded shockingly broken. She was frozen. Stunned. By fear or surprise, or both. 

Another murmur, “Stay with me.”

It was a whimper shaped like a demand. With it, she swore she could feel a tremble in his grip. He buried his face in her hair, his bearded chin tucking into her shoulder. His arms locked her into an impenetrable grip. 

Instinct was screaming at her to break the hold. Told her she needed to fight. Or run, as far and fast as she could manage. 

It wouldn’t be very far. The previous afternoon he proved that he was more than capable of bringing her back. 

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The way the air from his lungs ghosted over her nape made her eyes flutter shut. 

His arms were heavy. Firm, but not painful. Solid, not tight. She imagined the hearty limbs of the oak in the backyard of her childhood home. Three seasons out of the year, she’d scale into its arbor, hiding from her troubles. She once wanted to build a home there.

She should fight. She should run.

There was a monster in her bed. She was in a monster’s bed. 

And yet, sleep took her soon after. The most peaceful rest she’d had in ages.

When she emerged from her rest, she was alone again. Harsh daylight flooded into the bedroom she hadn’t had the chance to see. After a moment of confusion, she turned around to see the other side of the bed unoccupied. The blankets undisturbed. She glanced down at her own clothes. Though wrinkled and dirtied from her tree climbing adventure and attempted escape, they were intact. 

She was surprised, but even more surprised at the strange mix of... anxiety? 

When is the appropriate amount of time when you’re forced into your kidnapper’s bed for him to... you know... make a move? Was it her? Was she awful, or even worse—did she smell bad? 

The line of self-conscious questioning and odd disappointment frustrated her further. She sighed, silenting cursing her own stupidity, shaking the thought from her mind. 

Someone once told her that if life was a horror film, she’d be the first to die. It would’ve offended her more if she wasn’t wrapped up in the notion that if life could be a horror film, how would any of us know we were in one?

Her mother answered— ”Stupid, stupid girl.”

Attention now turned to the surroundings, she came face-to-face with another real-life magazine spread. A dream bedroom. The coziest jewel of this particular dream home. 

Although it was a modest size, it didn’t feel that way. The primary bedroom was decorated with a soothing blend of alabaster stone, exposed beams of reclaimed wood, and snuggly linen tones. Vaulted ceilings lined with ash. A winding, black iron chandelier dangled over the four-post bed she laid in. A stone fireplace stood opposite from the bed, accompanied by an overstuffed linen chair. Just as in the other rooms, a double-height window accented with floor-to-ceiling drapes towered over the room and revealed the breathtaking mountain landscape.

She sat up and gathered her jaw up off of the bedspread. Wiped drool from her lip. The room was charming and warm, like fuzzy socks and sherpa blankets. Marshmallows melting on hot cocoa. It wrapped around her, like a hug.

Like her visitor last night.

She yanked her eyes off of the rustic-contemporary decor, searching for Peter, as if he would’ve somehow camouflaged himself into the space. Placing her socked feet down on the blessedly toasty hardwood, she peered around curiously. The gentle roar of water running caught her attention as she wandered to the other side of ithe room. An open doorway led into another massive space, one side lined with wardrobe cabinetry and the other half of the room obscured by a wall. 

Idly, she followed the path through what she recognized as a closet larger than her apartment, rounding the corner of the freestanding wall. Clouds billowed around her, as she gazed open-mouthed at the primary bathroom. Sunlight poured in, lighting up the space, bouncing off of white marble and black obsidian glass tile—

And Peter Parker. 

Steam wafting off of his nude form, hot water pouring down his backside. She paused midstep, eyes like saucers. Felt the blood rush to her face. Panic swallowed her. She imagined this is exactly what deers must feel right before getting plowed by an F-150, blinded by headlights. 

Except that she was blinded by his wet pale skin, the way the steam rose from it, like he was the source of heat. The smattering of freckles spread faintly across his shoulders. His palms were flat against the backsplash as he bowed his head into the stream of water. His dark locks slicked back by a cleansing cascade. 

She followed the current down the curve of his shoulders and the peaks of his spine, down to the dimpled valleys of his lower back, and that breathtaking canyon ridge that dips down in a V at his hips— whatever that’s called— and never in her life would she see herself as an ‘ass enthusiast,’ but her mouth was watering now, maybe from the lack of hair on his body (his skin was so buttery smooth, what was his skincare secret?) or the subtle curvature of his shapely cheeks— 

Aimlessly, she collided with a freestanding towel drying rack, sending it clamoring to the tile floor. To her ears it sounded like the whole Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade falling down a staircase into a pile of cookware. She didn’t bother to see if Peter could hear the racket.

Like Icarus into the Sun, she hurled her own body back into the closet before she could be seen. Landed hard on the carpeted floor with a thud. She scattered, scrambling like a crab, on her hands and knees until she could get to her feet and bolt from the room.

In a frenzy, she rushed to ‘her’ bedroom, the one nearest to the stairs. She didn’t breathe again until the door was slammed shut and she rested her weight against it. A fire raged beneath her skin, her face aflame with embarrassment. She dragged her palms down her cheeks, groaning with mortification, sinking to the floor.

At what point is it acceptable to creep on your kidnapper in the shower?

Continue to Part 6

a/n - I've gotten such overwhelmingly amazing feedback on this. thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

thank you so much, angels!

[ilkkawhat]

i'm drunk enough to think about nick again (not that it like, hurts to think about him anymore i think that heartbreak is solved) and godDAMMN they really buried a man alive on network television and then went the extra mile to make him get EATEN ALIVE AND then almost k*ll himself and WHAT I WOULDN'T GIVE to watch this in an IMAX theater, being buried alive is the ultimate Horror Trope for me and it happened on the one character that takes the cake, that changed my life forever like there has been characters that have impacted my life that i think made me better as a person but nick stokes is on a whole nother fucking level and it all started with this episode where he gets kidnapped and buried and i distinctly remember what it was like watching it for the first time, knowing that he survives cause he obviously shows up in episodes after this one and i started watching csi with re-runs of season 4 on spike tv but also the live season 6 finale where nick was clearly okay and cracking jokes even at a scene about severed heads (god bless him) but one day spike tv showed this episode and i stomped into the living room after part 1 ended almost yelling at my dad like ARE YOU KIDDING ME HOW DOES HE SURVIVE THAT BUT HE'S NICK FUCKING STOKES SO OF COURSE HE DOES AND i've never been that close to the knife or bullet in my life but have had..............idealiziations myself and sometimes, just sometimes, i remember how he was at the end of his rope, he waited until the last fucking second like think of a fucking saw trap he would fucking dominate that because he's nick stokes and he doesn't give up, he doesn't believe in past lives cause he's just fucking trying to get through this one and he's been though so fucking much between the fucking babysitter and stalker and gunpoint and being buried alive? ok yeah just another day in the office for him, he fights like hell, he resists his own temptations, he has so much belief in his co-workers, his mentor aka former boss that they'll find him that he hangs on for almost 24 hours in this goddamn coffin designed to torture him, sure, he can stay alive with the provided fan (something that honestly this year, i've have instilled myself when i go to bed) but the fan's gonna die and can they find him before that fan runs out? not fucking likely but TV magic unbeknownst to him they DO cause otherwise lmao nick stokes woulda died in the season 5/15 finale and i probably would have stopped right there even though grissom was my fav at first NICK STOKES STOLE MY HEART and even in my darkest hours i'll think of him, as if a ghostly image of him shows up in the mirror, "i survived why can't you?" motherfucker this is mY BOY stronger than any character i've ever related to--obviously nick and i have had different lives and he's so much stronger and better than me in so many ways but i guess he's what i aspire to be (albeit with a bit less...ignorance but nick is def the type who like. learns his lesson, he matures out of old prejudices which i admire SO MUCH of him) and i don't think i could have had such a strong role model in my formative years cause i started watching csi in 7th grade cause a real forensic scientist came to our school and of course, mentioned how CSI was not real but it piqued my curiosity and it possibly sparked my interest in horror to a degree cause my first episode was a horrifically bloated body (4x02 to be exact, assume nothing nick) and as a 7th grader up until that point even though 9/11 had passed (i was in like. 4th/5th grade that point) i guess i didn't know how cruel people could be but nick showed and continues to show me that people have the capactity of enduring the worst horrors this world can inflict on a person and they can still come out on top, they can still be the hero, they can still save themselves as well as others and FUCK man i miss nick stokes

[shehungthemoon]

Just dumping my Ina Paha thoughts here. 🙃

First of all I did NOT know it was the 100th episode going into this, so i was very confused watching the montage at the end lol

I also had to click out and make sure I didn't click the wrong episode when the Pilot started playing at the beginning. When I heard Danny's voice on the phone instead of Hesse's I swear I got whiplash

It's filmed so well (bar where they reshot the pilot where Steve gets Danny on the phone instead of a dead dad, in which they literally forgot to put the same filter over the scene to make the stitching coherent) and I absolutely love the camera work they did with the white-room and the video projections. It felt very much a level above normal network television cinematography, especially the parts where Steve's going in and out of the hallucinations.

Steve finally FINALLY killing Wo-Fat was so cathartic, it should have happened ages ago but I'm willing to look past all the dumb ways he survived just to allow this incredible ending to his story.

Ina Paha gave me Kono doing... this. I owe Grace Park my whole life. Pls costuming department put her in hot pink again 💗

yes, it was a Steve episode. but Danny REALLY shone, first as the only resident Actual Detective figuring out what happened to Steve by the tire-tracks, rampaging through the compound steadily and efficiently and knocking people off without a pause, and then in Steve's mind shooting Hesse's kneecaps off?!?!?! That was CRAZY and probably not suppose to be as hot as it was and definitely made me want an ex-mobster AU immediately. Basically I have a competency kink and really like badass!danny shit 😊

Seeing Chin's long hair again made me swoon

My jaw dropped when I saw Jenna! I think it's really interesting that Steve still thinks of her so much, and I was surprised that she showed up in both the actual dreams and the montage. I definitely underestimated how much she impacted Steve's life, it seems, and I hate that we'll never hear him address that and we'll only know about it inadvertently like this.

(hand over the heart for how lori got like. one team shot. poor girlie.)

⭐I took the montage at the end as being flashbacks and memories that Steve was having as he left the compound. Looking at it through that lens certainly makes one unwell.

Obligatory squeal for Adam appearing just to save the day :))) look below to see the love of my life! :)))))) ⬇⬇⬇

Of course, the obligatory mcdanno bullet(s). It writes itself! The way Danny said Steve's name so small and broken when he found him. The way they look at each other on the ground, the pain their faces. I need an official apology statement from Scott and Alex for it. Can we talk about what flashes by during the montage at the end? (IMO it being Steve's memories.) So much Danny.

The first thing is Danny and Steve's first meeting. Jfc. The showrunners milk it SO MUCH and who's complaining

The big, rocking hug. The hands clasping underground. Gracie of course. And then Danny collapsing from the bioweapon, which to be honest I was NOT expecting to see at all--it felt like a genuinely strange choice to include in there and it really ONLY makes sense if you go along with all that being what Steve's remembering. Even then, I was surprised to see it, so basically this is Hawaii Five-Oh making mcdanno gayer than even I was wanting them to be. Steve still thinks about that? From so long ago? Even with so many other close calls in between then and now? Good fucking lord ok then loverboy that's WILD. Canon accepted ig this show is just pure whump.

Danny goes through all of this just days after losing his brother and killing Reyes. JFC can we please address that. I need a 30k introspection fic to let me into this man's mind rn.

The Wo Fat v.s. Steve fight at the end was INCREDIBLE. I would love to give the choreographer's hand a shake, it's some of the best work I've seen on television in a long time. It was impressive for a procedural like this. It was long and physical and you truly didn't know what the outcome was going to be; it everything that their built-up relationship deserved for a conclusion. It also happening with a Steve coming off of hours of torture and drugging was crazy (guess we finally know who would win a PVP if they were both at full strength!). That being said I was really impressed with Wo Fat's capabilities and physical prowess, I was not expecting it to be so even and close to the line. I actually jumped when Steve LIFTED him up into the lighting fixture. We do not talk about Steve's (Alex's???) raw upper-body strength enough.

Anyway. Electricity in the water play. The physicality hell that this gif below is ⬇. Fire extinguishers and loaded needles. Crazy martial arts. Chair and buckets (holy shit did y'all see the force with which Wo Fat SHOT that bucket?????) flying. All's fair. I loved it.

The shot going right through the forehead, clean. I don't know how to put into words why that's so monumental to me but it is.

The mystery bad lady was SO intriguing, I wish we got more from her... How does she know Wo Fat? Why was she entrusted with all that information on him and Steve and especially Doris? Absolutely where did she come from, what was her name? Why did I have a huge huge hot crush on her? All important questions. (Goes to show that h50 CAN give us some more genuine badass, not just there to date someone women characters, just explicitly choose not to. I'm holding out for Ellie to remain platonic so hard right now.)

Almost forgot Danny in that black Hawaiian shirt. Will be whimpering over that image forever. The whole episode I was trying to focus on the underlining betrayal mystery they were laying out but every time my brain started working too hard Scott with his stupid waist and those flower patterns just started flashing into my head

Again, are you seeing this:

I'm unwell and so so happy.

H50 you're a gem when you want to be.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Bill Prutt for Slate:

On Jan. 8, 2004, just more than 20 years ago, the first episode of The Apprentice aired. It was called “Meet the Billionaire,” and 18 million people watched. The episodes that followed climbed to roughly 20 million each week. A staggering 28 million viewers tuned in to watch the first season finale. The series won an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Reality-Competition Program, and the Television Critics Association called it one of the best TV shows of the year, alongside The Sopranos and Arrested Development. The series—alongside its bawdy sibling, The Celebrity Apprentice—appeared on NBC in coveted prime-time slots for more than a decade. The Apprentice was an instant success in another way too. It elevated Donald J. Trump from sleazy New York tabloid hustler to respectable household name. In the show, he appeared to demonstrate impeccable business instincts and unparalleled wealth, even though his businesses had barely survived multiple bankruptcies and faced yet another when he was cast. By carefully misleading viewers about Trump—his wealth, his stature, his character, and his intent—the competition reality show set about an American fraud that would balloon beyond its creators’ wildest imaginations.

I should know. I was one of four producers involved in the first two seasons. During that time, I signed an expansive nondisclosure agreement that promised a fine of $5 million and even jail time if I were to ever divulge what actually happened. It expired this year. No one involved in The Apprentice—from the production company or the network, to the cast and crew—was involved in a con with malicious intent. It was a TV show, and it was made for entertainment. I still believe that. But we played fast and loose with the facts, particularly regarding Trump, and if you were one of the 28 million who tuned in, chances are you were conned. As Trump answers for another of his alleged deception schemes in New York and gears up to try to persuade Americans to elect him again, in part thanks to the myth we created, I can finally tell you what making Trump into what he is today looked like from my side. Most days were revealing. Some still haunt me, two decades later. [...]

Now, this is important. The Apprentice is a game show regulated by the Federal Communications Commission. In the 1950s, scandals arose when producers of quiz shows fed answers to likable, ratings-generating contestants while withholding those answers from unlikable but truly knowledgeable players. Any of us involved in The Apprentice swinging the outcome of prize money by telling Trump whom to fire is forbidden. [...]

Trump goes about knocking off every one of the contestants in the boardroom until only two remain. The finalists are Kwame Jackson, a Black broker from Goldman Sachs, and Bill Rancic, a white entrepreneur from Chicago who runs his own cigar business. Trump assigns them each a task devoted to one of his crown-jewel properties. Jackson will oversee a Jessica Simpson benefit concert at Trump Taj Mahal Casino in Atlantic City, while Rancic will oversee a celebrity golf tournament at Trump National Golf Club in Briarcliff Manor, New York. Viewers need to believe that whatever Trump touches turns to gold. These properties that bear his name are supposed to glitter and gleam. All thanks to him.

Reality is another matter altogether. The lights in the casino’s sign are out. Hong Kong investors actually own the place—Trump merely lends his name. The carpet stinks, and the surroundings for Simpson’s concert are ramshackle at best. We shoot around all that. Both Rancic and Jackson do a round-robin recruitment of former contestants, and Jackson makes the fateful decision to team up with the notorious Omarosa, among others, to help him carry out his final challenge. [...]

Trump will make his decision live on camera months later, so what we are about to film is the setup to that reveal. The race between Jackson and Rancic should seem close, and that’s how we’ll edit the footage. Since we don’t know who’ll be chosen, it must appear close, even if it’s not.

We lay out the virtues and deficiencies of each finalist to Trump in a fair and balanced way, but sensing the moment at hand, Kepcher sort of comes out of herself. She expresses how she observed Jackson at the casino overcoming more obstacles than Rancic, particularly with the way he managed the troublesome Omarosa. Jackson, Kepcher maintains, handled the calamity with grace. “I think Kwame would be a great addition to the organization,” Kepcher says to Trump, who winces while his head bobs around in reaction to what he is hearing and clearly resisting. “Why didn’t he just fire her?” Trump asks, referring to Omarosa. It’s a reasonable question. Given that this the first time we’ve ever been in this situation, none of this is something we expected. “That’s not his job,” Bienstock says to Trump. “That’s yours.” Trump’s head continues to bob. “I don’t think he knew he had the ability to do that,” Kepcher says. Trump winces again.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, “but, I mean, would America buy a n— winning?” Kepcher’s pale skin goes bright red. I turn my gaze toward Trump. He continues to wince. He is serious, and he is adamant about not hiring Jackson. Bienstock does a half cough, half laugh, and swiftly changes the topic or throws to Ross for his assessment. What happens next I don’t entirely recall. I am still processing what I have just heard. We all are. Only Bienstock knows well enough to keep the train moving. None of us thinks to walk out the door and never return. I still wish I had. (Bienstock and Kepcher didn’t respond to requests for comment.) Afterward, we film the final meeting in the boardroom, where Jackson and Rancic are scrutinized by Trump, who, we already know, favors Rancic. Then we wrap production, pack up, and head home. There is no discussion about what Trump said in the boardroom, about how the damning evidence was caught on tape. Nothing happens.

We attend to our thesis that only the best and brightest deserve a job working for Donald Trump. Luckily, the winner, Bill Rancic, and his rival, Kwame Jackson, come off as capable and confident throughout the season. If for some reason they had not, we would have conveniently left their shortcomings on the cutting room floor. In actuality, both men did deserve to win. Without a doubt, the hardest decisions we faced in postproduction were how to edit together sequences involving Trump. We needed him to sound sharp, dignified, and clear on what he was looking for and not as if he was yelling at people. You see him today: When he reads from a teleprompter, he comes off as loud and stoic. Go to one of his rallies and he’s the off-the-cuff rambler rousing his followers into a frenzy. While filming, he struggled to convey even the most basic items. But as he became more comfortable with filming, Trump made raucous comments he found funny or amusing—some of them misogynistic as well as racist. We cut those comments. Go to one of his rallies today and you can hear many of them.

If you listen carefully, especially to that first episode, you will notice clearly altered dialogue from Trump in both the task delivery and the boardroom. Trump was overwhelmed with remembering the contestants’ names, the way they would ride the elevator back upstairs or down to the street, the mechanics of what he needed to convey. Bienstock instigated additional dialogue recording that came late in the edit phase. We set Trump up in the soundproof boardroom set and fed him lines he would read into a microphone with Bienstock on the phone, directing from L.A. And suddenly Trump knows the names of every one of the contestants and says them while the camera cuts to each of their faces. Wow, you think, how does he remember everyone’s name? While on location, he could barely put a sentence together regarding how a task would work. Listen now, and he speaks directly to what needs to happen while the camera conveniently cuts away to the contestants, who are listening and nodding. He sounds articulate and concise through some editing sleight of hand.

Then comes the note from NBC about the fact that after Trump delivers the task assignment to the contestants, he disappears from the episode after the first act and doesn’t show up again until the next-to-last. That’s too long for the (high-priced) star of the show to be absent. There is a convenient solution. At the top of the second act, right after the task has been assigned but right before the teams embark on their assignment, we insert a sequence with Trump, seated inside his gilded apartment, dispensing a carefully crafted bit of wisdom. He speaks to whatever the theme of each episode is—why someone gets fired or what would lead to a win. The net effect is not only that Trump appears once more in each episode but that he also now seems prophetic in how he just knows the way things will go right or wrong with each individual task. He comes off as all-seeing and all-knowing. We are led to believe that Donald Trump is a natural-born leader.

Through the editorial nudge we provide him, Trump prevails. So much so that NBC asks for more time in the boardroom to appear at the end of all the remaining episodes. (NBC declined to comment for this article.) [... So, we scammed. We swindled. Nobody heard the racist and misogynistic comments or saw the alleged cheating, the bluffing, or his hair taking off in the wind. Those tapes, I’ve come to believe, will never be found.

No one lost their retirement fund or fell on hard times from watching The Apprentice. But Trump rose in stature to the point where he could finally eye a run for the White House, something he had intended to do all the way back in 1998. Along the way, he could now feed his appetite for defrauding the public with various shady practices. In 2005 thousands of students enrolled in what was called Trump University, hoping to gain insight from the Donald and his “handpicked” professors. Each paid as much as $35,000 to listen to some huckster trade on Trump’s name. In a sworn affidavit, salesman Ronald Schnackenberg testified that Trump University was “fraudulent.” The scam swiftly went from online videoconferencing courses to live events held by high-pressure sales professionals whose only job was to persuade attendees to sign up for the course. The sales were for the course “tuition” and had nothing whatsoever to do with real estate investments. A class action suit was filed against Trump.

That same year, Trump was caught bragging to Access Hollywood co-host Billy Bush that he likes to grab married women “by the pussy,” adding, “When you’re a star, they let you do it.” He later tried to recruit porn actor Stormy Daniels for The Apprentice despite her profession and, according to Daniels, had sex with her right after his last son was born. (His alleged attempt to pay off Daniels is, of course, the subject of his recent trial.) In October 2016—a month before the election—the Access Hollywood tapes were released and written off as “locker room banter.” Trump paid Daniels to keep silent about their alleged affair. He paid $25 million to settle the Trump University lawsuit and make it go away. He went on to become the first elected president to possess neither public service nor military experience. And although he lost the popular vote, Trump beat out Hillary Clinton in the Electoral College, winning in the Rust Belt by just 80,000 votes.

Trump has been called the “reality TV president,” and not just because of The Apprentice. The Situation Room, where top advisers gathered, became a place for photo-ops, a bigger, better boardroom. Trump swaggered and cajoled, just as he had on the show. Whom would he listen to? Whom would he fire? Stay tuned. Trump even has his own spinoff, called the House of Representatives, where women hurl racist taunts and body-shame one another with impunity. The State of the Union is basically a cage fight. The demands of public office now include blowhard buffoonery.

Bill Pruitt wrote in Slate that Donald Trump used the N-word on the set of NBC's The Apprentice in 2004 when referring to a Black contestant (Kwame Jackson)'s chances of winning the competition by saying "would America buy a n***er winning?"

This is yet another example of Trump's long record of anti-Black racism that dates back to the 1970s.

[vital-information]

"But, for at least part of the 1999-2000 TV season, Freaks And Geeks was a beacon to anyone whose high school experience was awkward, boring, humbling, or painful—basically, anything other than the sexy and stylish depictions that had dominated teen-centered movies and shows. It begins with a feint in the pilot episode, one of best series introductions ever. Director Jake Kasdan scans the high school track, seeking out a very blond football player (Gabriel Carpenter, in a role not unlike his appearance in 1999’s Drive Me Crazy) who’s confessing his affection to a very blond cheerleader in the bleachers. This early encounter is the extent to which Freaks And Geeks would engage with the kind of prepossessing teens who were frequently the subjects of these shows. This decision, Feig tells The A.V. Club, was based on having “grown up on such a diet of teen stuff being about beautiful people who were so cool with everything, including sex. It didn’t reflect anything I grew up around. You would see those kids; they were around. But they weren’t my group. They weren’t the majority of the kids that I knew.”

The camera ventures under the bleachers, where Daniel Desario (James Franco) is holding court among the other “freaks,” before panning over to our protagonist, Lindsay Weir (Linda Cardellini), who’s lurking nearby, ever between groups. The camera keeps moving, settling on an altercation between the “geeks”—Lindsay’s brother, Sam (John Francis Daley), and his friends Bill Haverchuck (Martin Starr) and Neal Schweiber (Samm Levine)—and a bully named Alan (The Sandlot’s Chauncey Leopardi). Lindsay comes to their rescue, but inadvertently offends Sam by referencing his diminutive stature. Lindsay is insulted by Alan’s buddies for her trouble, and Sam stalks off. This opening scene is a prime example of the brand of subversion found in Feig’s good-hearted show. A lesser series would have dedicated at least five minutes to Lindsay making up her mind, either in approaching the freaks or standing up for her brother. In Feig’s pilot, Lindsay acts decisively and still gets it wrong, which is not how this is supposed to go—that is, not on network television, and certainly not on the powerhouse network that was NBC in the late ’90s.

That was far from the last time Freaks And Geeks would defy expectations. In the same episode, we learn Lindsay is in the midst of an existential crisis brought on by her grandmother’s death. Hearing from her grandmother, the kindest and best person Lindsay had ever known, that there was nothing waiting on the “other side” leaves her questioning everything. So the former mathlete goes looking for answers in unlikely places, including under the bleachers and on the “smoking patio” with the freaks. Lindsay bonds with the freaks, especially Kim Kelly (Busy Philipps), whose depths were just as filled with teen-girl fury as insecurity. She even manages to win over the caustic Ken Miller (Seth Rogen). But her behavior flummoxes her parents, Harold (Joe Flaherty) and Jean (Becky Ann Baker), and to a lesser extent, her brother. Lindsay’s quest, which unfolded over the course of the season, was probably just as baffling for NBC executives (and possibly viewers). She wasn’t mollified by a new relationship with sweet stoner Nick Andopolis (Jason Segel), nor did she quickly learn her lesson and return to her high-achieving best friend Millie’s (Sarah Hagan) side. The absence of easy answers became a defining element of Lindsay’s life, as well as of the show.

But Freaks And Geeks was always just as optimistic as it was realistic, which is a key part of its enduring appeal. It’s a show about survival, about how a found community can help you muddle through anything. Despite the labels, Feig’s characters are all basically good people—failing that, they’re people who are capable of doing better."

Danette Chavez, "Why Freaks and Geeks Is the Teen Show that Endures"

[lover-of-mine]

https://www.tumblr.com/lover-of-mine/754928814774157312/the-funniest-part-to-me-is-even-if-tim-had-planned

I think that Tim knows the entity of buddie fandom, he knows that if we go in bt as a permanent direction or if Eddie isn’t going to get out of the closet people will stop watching the show or they will watch it but illegally and they will stop talking about it on social media and stay in the buddie lane. It’s 2024, every shows and movies has queer representation. It isn’t 2000 anymore when people needed to settle for crumbs and baiting because networks were cowards. if Tim and ABC aren’t going to get us buddie, people will leave and take with them their “noise” to anothet fandom because the others are capitalizing their ship.

So Tim knows and if he decides to drop buddie then it’s because he thinks that the shows will survive without the buddie fandom. Maybe, maybe not, but the numbers will drop. People don’t like racist characters.

This reminds me of Teen Wolf. I will never forget how Jeff Davies used Derek, Styles and the Sterek fandom to gain audience then dropped them when the show was super famous to make canon is fave ship and getting sterek fandom to stop watching and in the end he had to us the sterek queerbaiting to make the people watch the last season.

It’s up to him.

I mean, I was getting teen wolf cons war flashbacks, ngl, and I did ship stydia, so I never felt the full effect of the sterek baiting, but I do remember the point of keeping Dylan and Tyler answering shit ambiguously, using both of them for promotion all around, just to get Stiles with Lydia. Then they failed to deliver stydia as canon as well and made people watch 6b by promising Tyler was gonna be in the end, that was a DIASTER, I know A LOT of people dropped the show after Tyler left because season 4 was ridiculous. The actual queerbaiting aspect of buddie can't really be called anymore, because Buck is queer, shit not going the way we want doesn't really count. BUT, to use Ryan and Oliver the way they were just to go just kidding, have this very bland queer relationship and we will make Eddie die alone, would have a lot of pushback. And again, a show is a business, and ABC clearly isn't opposed to queer relationships, and they like they glaad nominations, you should see the amount of queer people they are throwing at the wall in grey's anatomy. And Buck and Eddie could be a relationship that does not exist in media. A queer slowburn where neither of them was introduced as queer in a major network show doesn't exist. They can change the game when it comes to representation, and they have to know what will do to their numbers to be the ONE thing that had that one duo that everyone was insane about and get them together for real. Suck it up to the mcu, supernatural, teen wolf, and every other media that had that one ship that was heavily talked about but nothing came of it. I'm not kidding when I say they would be studied in media classes, because Buck and Eddie have the classic will they/won't they slowburn format, if they actually deliver, and make them The queer slowburn, that are going down in television history. Because they would be the first to pull it off. With major support. It would be so beyond stupid not to go there now. Especially since Buck is bi. They are one good push from leaving a mark on how television is made. And abc in particular because we have Oliver on record saying that Fox was blocking that, so they can just go "oh no we made sure they knew they have our full support from the start" and milk the shit out of it. Why wouldn't they go there? It would be dumb.

[jimmyspades]

Watching the Boston Legal season 5 special features and there is an entire deleted storyline about Denny having a daughter. Liveblogging my thoughts <3

Alan buying matching slippers for his sleepovers with Denny. Flamingo moment

Alan in a rare brown (?) suit

A woman threatening/promising to tie Alan up, asking him to spank her

Alan on a date and being properly flirty for the first time all season finally??

Alan saying he loves waking up next to Denny. Flamingo moment

Alan loves Werner Herzog he's my soulmate fr

Alan fan of age gaps

ALAN IN HIS PERVERT TRENCH COAT AGAIN!!! <333

ALAN’S CAR

ALAN OPEN-MOUTHED KISS WITH TONGUE!!!!!!!

I just realized her name is Liz LMAOOO lizzington nation where are you STAND UP!!!!

Alan tries to prove how respectful he is to women and gets called a hound dog and a pervert. True

Alan calling Denny a deadbeat dad wow that was one of the meanest things he's ever said definitely NOT a flamingo moment

Denny playing Legend of Zelda on the Wii in his office

Denny: "I love you like a son, I don't want to lose you, I don't think I could bear to lose what we've got, honestly I don't think I could survive it." Alan: "Denny, you will never, ever lose me, ever." Flamingo moment

Balcony scene: Denny suggests he and Alan adopt a baby together. Flamingo moment

D'Elia said they cut this storyline bc the emotion wasn't quite there, they needed more scenes to make it happen and didn't have the time. I think if this was a plot in season 4 or earlier in season 5 (or if season 5 got a full 20+ episode order instead of just 13) it could've worked but it's for the best it was cut. It would be too big and too rushed for something the week before the series finale

Since it never aired and the actress who plays Denny's daughter ends up playing the opposing attorney at the Supreme Court the next episode, I don't think this is canon. But Alan and Denny having matching slippers is real to me

If I had a nickel for every time James Spader was a main character on a multi-season network television show that included a storyline about a complicated confusingly erotic relationship between a wealthy powerful potential father figure and a daughter named Liz I would have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird it's happened twice

[thcophagy]

open to: @angeldcgs.

featuring: charlotte "cookie" katz, twenty-nine, bisexual, child tv star.

plot: from the age of eight to thirteen, cookie was on a top-rated network television show called "down elmore road" where she played the daughter in the classically american nuclear family. after the actor who played her father had a mental breakdown and attempted to shoot up the studio, with cookie surviving only because she had been out of her dressing room getting snacks, leading her to hide under the craft service table, she has been living in the shadow of the event, never banking another acting job again with the baggage her name brought along with it and relying on interviews, true crime junkies and nostalgia baiters to keep her name in relevance. one night, she stumbles across someone trying to rob her house.

there was part of cookie that was surprised no one had tried to break into her house sooner. it was an old building, all large, echoey rooms with dark wood, bought with the money her parents had kept in her savings while she'd been working on the show, and filled to the brim with every piece of merchandise and memorabilia ever produced about herself or her one acting gig. figures, posters, stationery sets, books and magazines, every newspaper clipping with every review the show ever got in its five-year runtime; for anyone who entered, it would be impossible to leave without thinking cookie was the show's biggest fan. that wasn't the case though, in fact, she had plenty of problems with it. always had, even when she was young. the hoarding was just a means to prove her relevance, even if it was only to herself. it wasn't like she had many visitors anymore. that was why when she'd awoken in the middle of the night to the floorboards down in the living room creaking, the sound flowing through the house like music in a symphony hall, there had been part of cookie that had been excited. if they were there to rob her, well, she'd make sure they regretted ever coming up with such a stupid idea because if there was one thing that she cared about more than anything, it was her collection, but if they were a fan... it'd been a while since her last interview and she'd been feeling low on affection, a crazy super fan might have been exactly what she needed. it had been easy enough to sneak up on the beast of a man lurking in her living room, knocking him to the ground with one solid hit across the head with the weightiest of all her momentos. she wasn't all that strong but with a lot of effort she managed to get his limp body onto a chair where she then began to tie him up with old rope she'd previously used to try and replicate the rope-swing she'd had in the yard set all those years ago. "there you go, mister, all nice and snug." with one finally tug of the rope around his wrist and cookie was satisfied with her work. she couldn't risk not restraining him, especially not after laying eyes on him. a man like that, well he could be dangerous, it didn't matter what he was there for and cookie had to focus on herself- as if she ever did anything else. "not too tight, is it? it'll burn if you wiggle too much." she straightened up, the cleavage she'd been flashing him accidentally from down the front of her nightgown disappearing as she took a moment to observe her work. "alrighty!" with that, she sat herself down on the floor by his feet, legs crossed beneath her and her dainty hands tucked under her chin. "so, you wanna gimme an explanation for all this? can't tell you how scary it was waking up to hear someone trudging 'bout my home... i think i'm owed an apology for that first and foremost."

[droctaviolovecraft]

TW: Body horror, extreme violence/gore, torture, force-feeding, car accident, mutation, cancer, grotesque birth, psychological horror, clown phobia, child harm, kidnapping, sexual assault, incest, death and mortality, insects, cannibalism, rotten food, body deformation, forced pregnancy, alcoholism and drugs, dark comedy, bestiality, vaginal violation, human stretching, excrement ingestion, disgusting artistic imagery, disabled people, bullying, Michael Jackson.

"How many babies does it take to paint a house red?"

Identification: "The Extraordinary Mottman Show"

Responsible Researcher: Dr. Öctavio Kalev and Dr. Moon

Abomination #: ANM-450

Classification: Darlig 🔴 | Uncontained ❌️

nomaly Type: Televised, multi-anomalous, program, sentient

Damage Type: Reality-altering, mental, public, dimensional, manipulative

Confinement: ANM-450 broadcasts are to be intercepted and scrambled by all available MOTHRA Institute technology as soon as detected. If ANM-450 is picked up on any channel within the Institution's surveillance grid, Technology Active Task Force ("Red Herrings") is to immediately disrupt all television signals within a 50 km radius of the broadcast origin. Civilians exposed to ANM-450 are to be amnesticized (Class A for children, Class B for adults). All surviving children who have viewed the full program must be quarantined for at least 82 hours and subjected to psychological evaluations. If ANM-450 is detected outside MOTHRA Institute reach, local broadcast authorities must be contacted and instructed to shut down all outgoing signals.

Affected individuals (designated ANM-450-A) are to be contained in the Surveillance Site-450-043. ANM-450-A instances are not to be allowed to view any television programs or reflectors of any kind. Research teams are to focus on disrupting ANM-450 appearance on both cable and digital platforms.

The MOTHRA Institute keeps tabs on all television channels in the world, all of which are watched and monitored in the site already mentioned. Several individuals have been assigned to this duty, and work is carried out 24/7. Individuals who are tired are given time off, while another individual is assigned to do their job.

Description: ANM-450 refers to a recurring anomalous television program titled “The Extraordinary Mottman Show” that appears between 03:00 and 04:00 AM local time on children's networks and cartoon channels. The program, hosted by an entity calling itself "Mr. Mottman", interrupts normal programming and appears in regions where it would normally be out of the transmission range. ANM-450 exclusively targets children, often bypassing parental controls, and exploiting children who are left unsupervised.

Host Description - "Mr. Mottman" (ANM-450-1):

Mr. Mottman, designated ANM-450-1, is a humanoid figure approximately 6'2" tall (8'4") tall, wearing a pink button-down shirt and carrying two pens in his breast pocket. Despite his colorful and charming clothing, ANM-450-1 has an extremely disturbing appearance. His face is a grotesque amalgamation of several identical faces superimposed on one another, all of them bald. Each face displays exaggerated features: wide, toothy grins, tightly closed eyes, and deep laugh lines, giving the impression of uncontrollable but inaudible laughter. The faces contort in unison as Mr. Mottman moves.

When ANM-450-1 speaks, all of its faces move simultaneously, and its voice echoes with an unnatural distortion. Each episode of the show begins with ANM-450-1 emerging from a static screen, directly addressing the viewer with the following introduction:

> “I am Mr. Mottman, and today you will be our entertainment!"

This phrase precedes the start of the show, and despite the entity's "entertainer" persona, the atmosphere is overwhelmingly disturbing and malicious.

Other Entities:

In addition to ANM-450-1, the program regularly features three recurring characters/assistants:

1. The Mime (ANM-450-2): A young, pale-skinned teenage girl dressed as a mime. ANM-450-2 wears exclusively black and white clothing, including a black beret, black gloves, and makeup that includes a white base with black designs. The character communicates only through gestures and exaggerated facial expressions, never speaking. ANM-450-2 is unsettlingly silent and often performs actions that mirror the viewer's fears or insecurities.

2. Mr. Long Legs (ANM-450-3): ANM-450-3 is a disproportionate humanoid standing at 3.75 meters tall due to its elongated legs. It has albino skin and is dressed in brightly colored rainbow bell-bottom pants, held up by red suspenders. Despite its comically large frame, ANM-450-3 displays unnatural agility and participates in surreal, often disturbing skits where it uses its long legs to trap or immobilize individuals.

3. Uncle Brutus (ANM-450-4): ANM-450-4 is an obese, dirty clown figure standing 1.88 meters tall and weighing an estimated 240 kg. The subject is bald, missing front teeth, and wears a sailor-style shirt with blue stripes, coupled with mismatched colored pants or a ballerina skirt. ANM-450-4 is frequently seen consuming alcohol or smoking, and its humor is characterized by profanity and vulgar jokes. ANM-450-4’s actions often result in severe psychological distress for viewers.

Each episode of The Mottman Show follows a similar structure, starting with ANM-450-1 introducing the program and its contestants (typically children) with his characteristic phrase, the children are usually dressed in casual sailor or prisoner clothes, unaware of the danger.

The program presents "games" or "activities" involving ANM-450-1 and the other entities. These games start innocently but escalate into horrifying and dangerous situations, with children forced into perilous situations or subjected to mind-altering experiences. One known game involved ANM-450-2, the mime, mimicking the movements of a child. When the child attempted to stop moving, ANM-450-2 continued to perform increasingly violent gestures that corresponded with harm inflicted on the child. ANM-450-3, Mr. Long Legs, is often seen trapping children in complex mazes or webs made from its own extended limbs. ANM-450-4, Uncle Brutus, engages in verbal abuse and frightening intimidation, often encouraging children to perform harmful actions in exchange for escape.

If the children survive the episode, they are returned to their normal lives, but their behavior changes drastically. Many develop an obsession with watching late-night television, waiting for ANM-450 to reappear. These affected individuals (ANM-450-A) report hearing Mr. Mottman’s laughter in their dreams and during moments of silence.

Children who view The Mottman Show experience a range of psychological effects, including increased anxiety, insomnia, and an extreme fear of clowns or mimes. Prolonged exposure often results in catatonia, with victims entering a state of constant laughter similar to ANM-450-1’s facial expressions. ANM-450-A instances frequently display obsessive behavior, attempting to recreate scenes from the show, often leading to severe accidents or injury.

Adults exposed to the broadcast also report disturbing symptoms, though to a lesser degree. However, their memories of the show often become fragmented, making detailed reports difficult. In rare cases, adults may also become ANM-450-A instances.

Addendum 450-1:

Incident 450-Alpha:

On ██/██/20██, ANM-450 hijacked over 120 broadcast stations across North America, resulting in a surge of ANM-450-A instances. This event led to the deaths of ███ children and ██ adults due to post-exposure suicides and psychological breakdowns. The TATF managed to terminate the broadcast after approximately 45 minutes, but ANM-450 spread continues to escalate, with new regional outbreaks reported globally.

Addendum 450-2:

Research is ongoing into a means to fully disrupt ANM-450 ability to appear on multiple broadcast channels simultaneously, as current containment methods have proven insufficient.

Note: ANM-450 represents a clear and present danger to young, unsupervised children and must be neutralized with the highest priority.

Below follow 8 episodes recovered by the MOTHRA Institution from the Mottman Show

[[collapsible show="+ Episode 1: The Great Traffic Jam" hide="- Close"]]

On May 8th, 2023, a episode aired during ANM-450 episode, titled “The Great Traffic Jam”. The game featured three human contestants who were introduced on stage, each dressed as exaggerated, cartoonish versions of drivers. ANM-450-3 ("Mr. Long Legs") assumed the role of the game’s host, narrating a chilling scenario involving fatal car accidents. ANM-450-4 ("Uncle Brutus") provided twisted commentary, laughing uncontrollably and making morbid jokes throughout the entire event.

The stage morphed into a miniaturized version of a busy city intersection, with the help of Mr. Mottman’s anomalous abilities. Each contestant was given a remote-controlled car, each adorned with a photograph of their own face. The objective of the game was simple: to survive the longest without their car being destroyed. As the minigame progressed, the cars violently collided with one another, with each impact translating into brutal injuries reflected on the photographs. The damage to the images grew increasingly grotesque, showing deep cuts, missing limbs, and other horrific injuries, while the actual contestants remained eerily unaware of the impending danger.

As the game neared its climax, the cars smashed into each other in a chaotic frenzy, with one contestant's vehicle catching fire and another crumpling like paper under an invisible weight. The contestant whose car remained operational the longest was crowned the winner by Mr. Mottman, though their victory was far from celebratory. The other two contestants' cars emitted thick smoke and sparks, and in an instant, their physical bodies warped grotesquely, mimicking the mangled and deformed state of their cars.

ANM-450-1 returned to center stage, congratulating the surviving contestant with his signature phrase, “You’re the entertainment today!” The other contestants lay motionless as their twisted forms smoked and crackled like burned-out machines. Mr. Mottman and the entities laughed hysterically, the sound echoing through the broadcast until it abruptly cut to static. Regular programming resumed, but not before leaving an oppressive silence in the wake of the episode's unsettling conclusion.

Post-incident psychological evaluations of viewers revealed an increased prevalence of trauma related to vehicular accidents, with many viewers reporting intense anxiety when driving or witnessing car crashes. Those who watched the segment without supervision displayed deep psychological scars, including recurring nightmares of being trapped in a never-ending crash.

[[/collapsible]]

[[collapsible show="+ Episode 2: Life’s Unfortunate Surprises" hide="- Close"]]

On June 20th, 2023, ANM-450 aired a episode titled "Life’s Unfortunate Surprises." The segment began with ANM-450-2 ("Mime Girl") presenting a basket filled with small, wrapped boxes labeled as "gifts" from Mr. Mottman. Three new contestants, all young children, were introduced, seemingly unaware of the show’s sinister nature. The contestants were encouraged to choose a box from the basket and open it in front of the camera.

The first child selected a box, which revealed a small model of a human cell. As soon as the child touched the model, it began to mutate, rapidly dividing and turning cancerous due to ANM-450-1 anomalous influence. The child’s body mirrored the process, his skin visibly decaying and growths appearing. Despite the child's clear distress, Mr. Mottman, in his usual jovial tone, referred to this as “the beauty of biology.” The child ultimately succumbed to the effects, his body deteriorating in real-time, becoming pale, weak and leaving only a warped husk as the camera panned away.

The second contestant opened a box containing a tiny, crying baby. As the baby’s cries grew louder, Mr. Mottman made an offhand joke about “life’s little surprises,” laughing as the baby rapidly aged into a deformed, monstrous version of itself. The contestant was instructed to cradle the infant, but as she held it, the baby morphed further, growing larger, with its cries becoming deafening. The child started to contort itself, giving birth to a grotesque, doll-like creature covered in blood and mucus, leaving her helpless as the creature continued to drag itself out by force, damaging the inner walls until it fully comes out.

The third contestant hesitantly opened their box, which released a swarm of black moths. The insects immediately swarmed around the contestant’s hand, devouring flesh and bone within moments, while the contestant screamed in agony. As the moths continued their feast, Mr. Mottman remarked, “What a transformative experience!” The child, now writhing in pain, could only watch as their hands was also completely consumed, leaving nothing but bone stumps.

[[/collapsible]]

[[collapsible show="+ Episode 3:: The Feeding Frenzy" hide="- Close"]]

On July 9th, ANM-450 aired an episode titled “The Feeding Frenzy.” This game involved a single child contestant, who was forcibly restrained on a table by ANM-450-2 and ANM-450-3. The child, terrified and confused, struggled against the restraints, but to no avail. Mr. Mottman gleefully announced the start of the game, explaining that the contestant would partake in “a feast fit for kings.”

ANM-450-4 took center stage, chuckling and swearing as he began force-feeding the child a variety of food items. At first, the food seemed harmless—large quantities of candy, cake, and soft drinks—but the grotesque nature of the segment quickly escalated. Uncle Brutus began feeding the child rancid meat, rotting vegetables, and, eventually, live insects, all while making crude jokes about the child's worsening condition.

Despite the child's gagging and pleas for mercy, the force-feeding continued. The child's stomach began to distend abnormally, swelling to an alarming size as the entities laughed hysterically. As the game progressed, Brutus increased the pace, forcibly shoving more food down the child's throat until his body could take no more. The child's stomach ruptured in a graphic and disgusting display, spilling its contents across the table. Blood, entrails, and feces gushed out, and the entities continued to laugh as the child went limp.

The broadcast abruptly cut to static as the child’s body collapsed, leaving Institute personnel in shock. Moments later, the show returned, transitioning into its usual, cheerful closing sequence. Mr. Mottman appeared as if nothing unusual had happened, although completely dirty with blood and vomit, bidding farewell to the audience: “We had some technical problems with the show! It looks like our last participant literally EXPLODED!" The child, now missing, was never referenced again in the episode.

[[/collapsible]]

[[collapsible show="+ Episode 4: Band of Misfits" hide="- Close"]]

During the episode aired on July 15th, 2023, Mr. Mottman unveiled a new minigame titled "Band of Misfits," featuring disabled contestants forced into a grueling musical performance. The segment began with the introduction of four participants:

1. A man born without legs, who was coerced into attempting breakdancing moves while strapped to a custom chair.

2. A musician with severely deformed fingers, tasked with playing a guitar until his digits bled and became raw.

3. A deaf woman, compelled to play drums despite her inability to hear the rhythm or tempo.

4. A poorly developed vocal cords individual, pressured into singing complex melodies with perfect pitch and tone.

Throughout the performance, the contestants faced relentless abuse and torment from the entities. The first one was subjected to electric shocks whenever he failed to complete a breakdancing move, causing his body to convulse violently.

The second was whipped by Uncle Brutus whenever his bleeding fingers faltered or missed a note, prompting him to play through the pain and agony.

The deaf drummer, was repeatedly struck across the face by Mr. Long Legs for not maintaining the correct rhythm, leaving her bruised and disoriented. Despite her handicap, she managed to persevere, relying on muscle memory to keep a semblance of a beat.

The mute singer, was goaded by Mr. Mottman, who cruelly mocked his inability to communicate verbally. Through a series of gestures and expressions, somehow managed to convey the correct lyrics and melodies, earning the entities' approval and applause.

The "Band of Misfits" performance ended with all contestants collapsed and broken, their bodies and spirits shattered by the relentless cruelty inflicted upon them.

[[/collapsible]]

[[collapsible show="+ Episode 5: "The Family Tree Grows Twisted" hide="- Close"]]

ANM-450 aired a episode titled "The Family Tree Grows Twisted,". Two contestants, a pair of siblings, were introduced and informed that they had been selected for a special “family challenge.”

Under the coercive influence of Mr. Mottman and the other ANM-450 entities, the siblings were manipulated into participating in an unnatural act of incestuous conception. The siblings, both visibly horrified, seemed unable to resist the power of ANM-450-1 anomalous control. The conception process was accelerated through Mottman's influence, with the pregnancy reaching full term within minutes. Mime Girl, was now acting as a midwife during this gruesome event.

The newborn emerged as a grotesquely deformed human, sporting fused limbs, an elongated and crooked encephalitic head, and a gnarled body structure. The writhing and crying mutant baby was presented to the audience by Mr. Mottman, who gleefully referred to him as the contestants' "new custody cousin." The twins were forced to cradle the mutant child in their arms, tears streaming down their faces as the entities celebrated the couple's "success."

[[/collapsible]]

[[collapsible show="+ Episode 6: "Dog Don't Talk" hide="- Close"]]

One of the latest episodes of ANM-450, titled "Dog Don't Talk," aired on [REDACTED], 2023, and showcased a new level of sadistic cruelty. The segment began with the introduction of a man identified as [REDACTED], who was subjected to a brutal and dehumanizing ordeal at the hands of the entities.

Under Uncle Brutus' watchful eye, the man's tongue was brutally pinched and his veins were cut, leaving his mouth with a gaping, bloody wound, while his teeth were also removed. His wrists were then shattered with a sledgehammer, leaving him unable to defend himself. To further immobilize him, Brutus used a bone saw to saw off the corners of his mouth, ensuring that he could only close his mouth minimally.

A metal wire was then inserted into his mouth, stretching it wide open, allowing him to only whisper and grunt. He was then presented with a bowl of dog kibble, which he was forced to consume or face the consequences. Uncle Brutus, ever eager to inflict more pain, stood ready with a loaded shotgun, threatening to execute the individual if he refused to comply.

Despite his horrific state, the participant managed to choke down the dog food, his muffled whimpers and groans the only sounds emanating from his mouth. The entities reveled in his suffering, taunting him with cruel remarks and mocking his inability to speak or resist.

[[/collapsible]]

[[collapsible show="+ Episode 7: "Bag of Shit" hide="- Close"]]

This episode, tittled "Bag of Shit," broadcasted on [REDACTED], 2024. This one began with the introduction of a man identified here only as "J.P", who was subjected to a series of gruesome and degrading procedures at the hands of the show presenters.

The subject challenge commenced with his castration, followed by the brutal amputation of both arms and legs, leaving him as a helpless, mutilated shell. To further dehumanize him, a diaper was attached to his torso, collecting his feces products.

In a display of cruel manipulation, a female participant, identified as [REDACTED] was forced to carry "J.P" around like on her back, like a sack of garbage for several days, exposing him to public ridicule and humiliation. During this time, "J.P" diaper filled with excrements, his body slowly decomposing under the relentless torment.

As the entities' twisted entertainment reached its climax, the women was compelled to force-feed the subject with the contents of his own soiled diaper. The man struggled to breathe as he choked on the repulsive mixture, his life slipping away amidst the presenters' sadistic laughter.

[[/collapsible]]

[[collapsible show="+ Episode 8: "Mr. Hands" hide="- Close"]]

In the [REMOVED], [REMOVED], the last episode of ANM-450, the entities pushed the boundaries of human endurance to an unthinkable extreme. Mr. Mottman introduced a new 'contestant,' a woman identified as [REMOVED], and announced that she would participate in a unique challenge.

Under the entities' compulsion, [REMOVED] was led to a large, stallion-like horse, its massive member engorged to an unnatural size. With no apparent anesthesia, the horse was forced to penetrate [REMOVED]'s vaginal canal, causing her immense pain and distress. As the horse began to thrust, [REMOVED]'s screams echoed through the barn.

The act continued, causing severe damage to [REMOVED]'s internal organs, particularly her colon, which ruptured under the immense pressure. Blood began to gush from her interiors, mouth, eyes and nose as the horse's member pierced deeper into her abdominal cavity. Despite her agony, [REMOVED] remained conscious, her groans growing weaker as she slowly lost consciousness from blood loss and extreme pain.

As the horse ovulated, [REMOVED CONTENT] ravaged insides, further exacerbating the bleeding. Her body went limp, and she collapsed to the ground, her life finished. This incident represents the darkest and most depraved act yet witnessed under ANM-450-1 influence, pushing the boundaries of human suffering to an unfathomable limit. The MOTHRA Institute consider whether continued observation of the episodes or no. Containment protocols and ethics reviews must be prioritized immediately.

[[/collapsible]]

Note: ANM-450 was first discovered in 199█, when several cases of missing children were reported in different countries. The investigation by the MOTHRA Institute, led by Dr. Öctavio Kalev, revealed that all of the children had watched the Mottman Show before they disappeared. In addition to all of this, the hosts of the show also committed other atrocities, being able to teleport to the child's home, seeking to kidnap them and then use them in the show.

Usually, when they are unable to do this, or for other reasons, they invade the house, torture or murder all the family members and the child. It is suggested that all instances also use the children as a food source, as was already observed in one of the scenes of the program, where all the participants are consuming a child who was missing.

[tomwambsmilk]

What are some of the characteristics of these white middle class men you speak of or how do you know someone is middle class? and why would prestige tv cater to only this dempgrpahic?

This is honestly a great question, and one that's surprisingly difficult to answer in a concise way. I've done my best, but in case you don't want to read, the TL;DR is: HBO (a cable frontrunner who defined the strategy for other competitors who emerged later) intentionally catered to men in its early (pre-prestige) days because they knew the networks were intentionally catering to women. This meant that when it shifted into prestige TV in the late 90s, the existing subscriber base was middle-class white men. It's first big flagship "prestige TV" drama, The Sopranos, appealed heavily to that demo and was wildly commercially successful. The Wire, while airing at the same time with equal critical acclaim, did not appeal to that demo and actively critiqued societal structures which benefitted that demo, and flopped both commercially and in the awards circuit. These two shows came very early in the "Prestige TV era", and execs took note of their respective receptions; consequently, much of the prestige TV which came after was selected with that middle-class white male demo in mind.

Longer explanation below the cut:

I should first clarify that when I say "Prestige TV" I'm using it more in the academic sense, of referring to a specific type of television which emerged in the "Prestige TV era", also called the "Second Golden Age" (around 1999-2020, although the precise end date depends on who you ask). A large range of shows fall into that category, but the common characteristics include heavy serialization (ie an emphasis on long-form storytelling, rather than standalone episodes), morally ambiguous characters, complex plots, diverse perspectives, and "R-rated" content. It's pretty widely agreed that this era was "kicked off" by The Sopranos; if I had to list other key Prestige TV/Second Golden Age shows, I'd probably default to the other eleven Alan Sepinwall analyzes in The Revolution Was Televised, his book about how television changed during the Prestige TV era (those eleven are: Oz, The Wire, Deadwood, The Shield, Lost, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 24, Battlestar Galactica, Friday Night Lights, Mad Men, and Breaking Bad. Not all of those are commonly thought of as Prestige TV, because that label is now so removed from its source that it's only applied to a very narrow subsection of shows, but they are Prestige TV in the proper academic sense because of the impact they had on the era).

Not all of those shows were targeted at middle-class white men, and it wasn't my intention to suggest that every individual Prestige TV show is. But generally speaking, with only a few exceptions, the shows that defined the Prestige TV era and had the most commercial success while airing were the ones which appealed to that white, male, middle-class demo. And that's not a demo HBO picked up accidentally. It was explicitly built into their early strategies to go after that demographic, and so that was the demographic that had access to Prestige TV before people thought of it as Prestige TV, which means their opinions did a lot to influence how it developed.

HBO's primary strategy for survival in its early years, especially before other cable networks emerged, was differentiation. The problem they faced was there was lots of television that people could watch for free on network TV, and there wasn't the same distaste for advertising we have now which might have pushed people to pay for a subscription. Their solution was to try and target the people who a) had disposable income, and b) were dissatisfied with what was on the networks. Studio execs knew that the primary target market network execs had in mind when they were buying shows was middle-class white women, because that's the demo that their advertisers wanted to hit. Obviously, the definition of middle-class is contentious now, but I'm using it to mean people with disposable income, which is what made them attractive; white, because the middle class was disproportionately white, and also because network TV was trying to target a generic default 'American' audience, which to their minds was white; and women because advertisers believed women made most of the household purchasing decisions. HBO also needed people with disposable income, so it also targeted middle-class whites by default. However, the main place it decided to differentiate was by going after men, in an extremely intentional programming strategy developed by HBO CEO Michael Fuchs. Sheila Nevins, who was in charge of documentary programming, developed several documentary series, called, respectively, Real Sex, G-String Divas, Cathouse, and Sex Bytes, intentionally to try and cater to men - and it worked! Subscriber numbers increased in droves. And sure, we don't definitively know most of those subscribers were men. But... anecdotally, and in terms of the extremely limited market data we do have, the evidence for those subscribers and viewers being mostly men is quite strong.

White middle-class men weren't by any means the only group they targeted; another part of HBO's strategy was to create a wide variety of content catered to many different groups of people. But those white middle-class men became the most reliable paying subscribers, so HBO's content strategy leaned heavily on catering to their tastes to bring in funding they could use for "brand projects" - weightier, more artistic projects that improved HBO's brand image. When competitors like Showtime emerged, they developed their own spins on HBO's strategy; they targeted their markets in different ways, but ultimately everyone was trying to appeal to the groups who were unsatisfied with network TV, and everyone wanted the white middle-class male subscriber's dollar because it was considered the most "reliable". That demo essentially became to cable TV what advertisers were to network TV.

To trace cable TV's history from the 70s to The Sopranos would take a while and also involve spending more time talking about boxing and Mike Tyson than you would expect. HBO continued to stick to this strategy of differentiation and slowly achieved more market dominance. Ultimately, that brought HBO a combination of funding and creative respect that allowed them to gamble on The Sopranos, a show that several networks passed on before it was pitched to HBO, who ordered the pilot, only to have it perform extremely poorly in the test screening. So poorly that no sane executive would have ordered more episodes.

Except.

The head of HBO at the time, Chris Albrecht (considered by many to be the 'godfather of prestige tv'), heavily related to Tony Soprano, and he felt that his (very male) social networks also would. He's quoted as repeatedly saying, "The only difference between Tony Soprano and every guy I know is that he's the don of New Jersey." Which might sound like hyperbole, but.... In that history of HBO we skipped over there is also a long and unsettling history of misogyny and violence (including sexual violence) sanctioned and covered up by the network which, even by our desensitized modern standards, I actually found pretty shocking. It's bad, y'all. Chris Albrecht (and his fellow execs) didn't relate to Tony despite the violence of the show and his anger issues - they related to him because of it. The most famous incident concerning Albrecht specifically involves him strangling a female subordinate during a disagreement in her office, an allegation which led to HBO paying her a $400,000 settlement. And that's unfortunately not an outlier. (By the way, Albrecht objected to one of Sopranos most famous season 1 episodes, "College", because he felt Tony strangling another character to death would make him 'too unlikable', and viewers wouldn't be able to 'see his humour and charm').

Of course, The Sopranos turned out to be a massive hit, and deservedly so. But I think it's notable that its first season was only ordered because a small group of male executives steeped in violence, misogyny, and toxic masculinity personally related to Tony. And it's also worth noting that at the time, Tony Soprano was often compared to Mike Tyson, who many consider to be HBO's "first antihero". HBO was very involved in his career largely because the controversy around him brought in that middle-class male demo; Tony Soprano was considered to be a continuation of that strategy.

(To be clear, not all men who liked The Sopranos liked it for those reasons. But if we want to get in the weeds about it, HBO catered not just to men in general, but in a very particular way, to the subsection of men who did).

Another thing to note is that part of the success of The Sopranos was the way it catered to the anxieties of the now-shrinking middle class. When the series aired, the stock market was booming, but a spree of mega-mergers and consolidations resulted in record layoffs. CEO pay was skyrocketing while median family income was dropping, and the "middle class" that HBO had always catered to (bc of the disposable income) was disappearing. At its core, The Sopranos was very much about the anxiety which surrounds a way of life disappearing; consequently, the middle-class demo HBO had worked so hard to cultivate was immediately hooked. And yeah, a lot of them were no longer middle-class, strictly speaking. But HBO was still very much trying to cater to, for example, white-collar workers who recently fell out of that income bracket, rather than blue-collar workers or lower income brackets.

Let's also look at The Wire, a show essentially pitched as an audience bait-and-switch. Creator David Simon wanted it to look like a standard-issue broadcast police procedural, like pretty much every TV network had. But what would make it different is that, as the show developed, it would become increasingly subversive - instead of wondering "whether the bad guys would get caught", he wanted the audience to wonder "who the real bad guys are, and whether catching them means anything at all". In his pitch to HBO, he wrote: "You will not be stealing market share from the networks by only venturing into worlds where they can't; you will be stealing it by taking their worlds and transforming them with honesty and wit and a darker, cynical, and more piercing viewpoint than they would undertake."

While The Wire is textbook Prestige TV, it actually didn't hit that middle-class white male demo. David Simon wasn't concerned with hitting demos or relatability; he wanted to create a far-ranging critique of the police system, neo-liberalism, and capitalism. These were topics that simply didn't resonate with the demographic HBO had built up in its subscriber base, many of whom were quite happy with the police system, neo-liberalism, and capitalism, since they were benefitting pretty heavily from it. The only subscriber demo it did consistently hit was critics, academics, and journalists. And even then - despite its massive critical acclaim, The Wire was heavily snubbed in the awards circuit. The awards snubs are especially telling, given how much the critics claimed to love the show, calling it "Dickensian" - a lot of these people were the same ones voting in the Emmys, so what gives? A lot of people have spent a lot of time trying to figure it out, and what they keep coming back to time and time again is that the majority of the cast of The Wire was black. (It's also worth noting that the original plans for season 1 involved killing off the character of Kima Greggs, a black lesbian, until executive Carolyn Strauss pushed - hard - to reverse the decision, on the grounds that HBO's programming was already too white, male, and heterosexual. Greggs eventually went on to become a particular favourite of the show's extremely small fanbase, which I think is indicative of the kind of demographic the show picked up.) The response was so disappointing that it was nearly cancelled several times; in the first near-cancellation, Albrecht joked that he'd heard from "all 250 of the viewers".

These are just two shows, obviously. But they're two shows that came very early in the era, and so heavily influenced what came after. The Sopranos especially redefined what TV could be; it proved that morally complex, serialized stories with antihero protagonists had a market - and the limitations on network television meant that market could only be reached by cable networks like HBO, which had built up a specific sort of subscriber base. We have to make a distinction between what David Chase wanted to communicate with The Sopranos and why it succeeded the way that it did. Chase didn't set out to create a show that would resonate with white middle-class men, but he did, and it was wildly successful. David Simon's show, while equally critically acclaimed and airing in largely the same time period, did not resonate with white middle-class men, and it never achieved the sort of viewer ratings during its run that other shows of comparable quality did. Studio execs inside and outside of HBO saw that and took note.

Again, the decisions that go into the creation of TV shows are extremely complex, and to say "all Prestige TV is targeted at white middle-class men" is a huge oversimplification. There's a lot more to the history of HBO than just Sopranos and The Wire. But a reliance on that demo, and an active desire to cater to their interests, has heavily defined the kinds of shows which are considered to be Prestige TV, as well as the kinds of shows that cable TV studios are willing to put money into developing. If you want to really examine the context that the "Second Golden Age" is rooted in, you have to be willing to grapple with that history.

[krueger4eva]

Top 12 LGBT Horror Characters

9. Jake Wheeler (played by Zackary Arthur) from Chucky

TW: mentions of homophobia, bullying, child abuse, death, murder

*spoilers for Chucky TV Series*

Moving on to another television series based on a popular horror franchise, we are now discussing “Chucky”, which premiered on Syfy and USA Network in 2021, created by Don Manicini, who originated the entire franchise.

After seven movies, the iconic foul-mouthed killer doll continues his path of bloodshed on the small screen, with his targets sighted on a new generation of kids to terrorize.

One of those kids is middle schooler Jake Wheeler.

Before Chucky came into his life, Jake was already living in a horror story.

After his mother died in a car accident, Jake’s father Lucas became alcoholic, he is bullied mercilessly at school over his sexuality, and his perfectionist cousin Junior wants nothing to do with him.

At home, Lucas’ anger is compounded by the jealousy he felt toward his twin brother Logan’s more successful life he shared with his own wife and son. Plus, he is also not very accepting of Jake’s sexuality once he came out to him. All of this brewing rage led to Lucas punching his young son in the face after a heated argument. 🥺

The only solace he had was building those bizarre, morbid sculptures in his bedroom. (A hobby that he apparently outgrew after season 1, cause it’s never mentioned again.)

Then, Jake crosses paths with the red-headed doll at a chance encounter at a garage sale. After discovering his supernatural secret, Jake becomes slowly influenced by Chucky through after sharing his problems with him. Chucky uses false empathy to sway Jake into believing that he cares about his personal issues and wants to help him out. Thus, Chucky proposes a solution to make Jake’s emotional pain go away: MURDER!

What makes this so fascinating is that we see our lead character contemplating on going through with murdering someone. There are scenes of Jake buying weapons, chasing after someone, and even willingly gives Chucky to his tormentor Lexi, knowing that she would get murdered. Even though he has a change of heart and chooses to stop this plan, part of me actually worried that Jake would’ve succeeded in giving in to Chucky’s psychopathic manipulations, becoming another Charles Lee Ray in the making. It is terrifying, yet heartbreaking to see how easy it is for a child from a broken home could be influenced to do horrific acts by a stranger.

Yet, the damage was already done. Jake’s actions have still led to many deaths around him, including classmates and family members.

Now, Jake has to take responsibility and make things right. Now, everyday him and his friends have to spend their teen years facing danger at every turn.

Evil therapists. Psychotic nuns. Sociopathic children.

And to top it off, Chucky can be anywhere…and ANYONE!!

I can’t tell you if Jake will survive Chucky once more, because season 3 hasn’t premiered yet by the time this post has been published.

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[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with L’Officiel Hommes Italia (2021)

In preparation for the second season of Bridgerton, Jonathan Bailey took daily horse riding lessons. The actor, who got his start due to the global success of Shonda Rimes' Netflix series, has a story that's waiting to be discovered. His story peaks through when he shares his favorite song, "Graceland" by Paul Simon. The song that shares the journey down Route 61 towards Elvis Presley's estate in Memphis is not one that people would assume, but it's what makes Bailey all the more intriguing. In reality, it serves as a metaphor for a long, cathartic trip that shares the end of Simon's poignant romance with actress Carrie Fisher. If this isn't enough to make you wonder what else is on Bailey's mind, the actor dives deeper into his quirks and passions with L'OFFICIEL.

L'OFFICIEL: Bridgerton was the most-watched series ever on Netflix. How has your life changed since the show aired?

JONATHAN BAILEY: I feel exactly the same as before. It is true, for some more practical things there have been changes, but I'm still the same. Success came at a time when everyone's life has changed dramatically, I can't see my friends but that's what we're experiencing, not my success.

L'O: The second season of Bridgerton will focus on Anthony, the character you play. In the first chapter of this saga, we saw how much your character had to sacrifice because of his fears ...

JB: It will be a second season with lots of surprises for all the main characters. I have a soft spot for Anthony, not just because he's the character I play. I think he has a complicated and troubled history. I can't wait to show everyone what will happen to him and to accompany him on his path to happiness. Mamma Bridgerton (Ruth Gemmell) is amazing and you will see her support Anthony exactly like she did with Daphne and then next season she will do the same with ... I can't say, that would be a crazy spoiler.

L'O: How does it feel to know that you're in a saga that will, in all likelihood, last eight seasons?

JB: I'm going to get older as the younger Bridgerton brothers grow up and become adults, it's going to be weird. But being in such a production is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

L'O: And how exactly do you feel after the success of this project?

JB: It seems to me to be in a hurricane, but still and in the center. I see everything turning and I wonder what's happening, but at the same time, I'm in the tranquility of my home. Hearing my friends reassures me and brings me back down to earth.

L'O: Despite your 900,000 followers, you're not the social networking type?

JB: I enjoy Instagram and I love photography a lot, but I'm also a reserved type. Social media allows you to communicate with a lot of people, which you wouldn't normally do, that sense of connection is exciting. I like knowing that I have the opportunity to see what is happening but also to be able to step back and stay at the right distance from it.

L'O: You are very reserved, yet you decided to come out early in your career?

JB: Actually, I've always thought only about being myself. There were no strategies. The truth is that as an actor I approach a project with a different approach every time. I have always trusted the directors I have worked with, and therefore I found myself playing many different roles that I have always believed in. Thanks to Netflix, Bridgerton arrives in countries where homosexuality is still illegal, and perhaps knowing that you have an openly gay actor in the cast who plays a role like Anthony's can make a difference.

L'O: Have you ever regretted this choice?

JB: There are times when it's more difficult, but I've never regretted it. I believe that gays must somehow always adapt, learn to dodge certain obstacles. We grew up in an age where we had to learn to be creative to survive. Being openly gay in the theater is completely different from being gay in the cinema or television environment. If you work hard, there are entry points and no matter what you like, it only matters if you're good.

L'O: After being in various cinema productions, theater productions, musicals, and TV series, what was the turning point of your career?

JB: I think a really big thing for me was the 2013 National Theater live [production of] Othello. Being there, in that theater, I felt totally overwhelmed. I had six auditions, and I really cared about it because playing Cassio was a privilege. It was the end of December when they told me I got the part, and I remember it was the best way to celebrate Christmas.

L'O: What kind of friend are you?

JB: I like watching what my friends are doing, enjoying good times with them, and being there in difficult ones, that's empathy. The past year has brought us much closer, at least I think so. We are all tested by what is happening to us and knowing that we have the support of loved ones is essential. I have many acting friends with whom I talk regularly and above all from whom I ask for feedback when my work comes out and vice versa. When their time comes I almost feel it more, I get very excited.

L'O: Were there times when you thought about giving up your acting career?

JB: Sure, I've thought that many times. But then, as in any job, you have to be able to work on your weaknesses and, in my case, to be able to play roles that may not be made for you and to be able to accept that those you think are perfect for your strings are not assigned to you. At one point I thought, If this audition goes badly I will try to go to work in a circus. I am still surprised and I will never cease to amaze myself at what is happening to me.

L'O: When you collected the Laurence Olivier Award in 2019 for your performance in the musical Company, you spoke of love. What is love for you today?

JB: I think it's when everything suddenly aligns and you feel on the right side, when everything finally feels right.

L'O: Are you in love?

JB: Now, I feel full of love and I wonder if I've always felt this way. I come from a nice large family. I believe that life gives you many surprises and that love comes in different forms. But in the end, the secret is really to learn to love each other and then make room for what comes and love it to the fullest.

L'O: You definitely love music. What do you like?

JB: Drake, and today I discovered Sonia, a Croatian singer. I get lost in Spotify's suggestions and make wonderful discoveries. Do you know what a singer I love is? Tove Lo. I listened to her throughout the first lockdown.

L'O: And if you had to choose a song that is your song, what would it be?

JB: "Graceland" by Paul Simon.

L'O: What are you good at?

JB: I'm sure I'm a good listener. I like to pay attention to whoever is talking to me. But I would like to learn to say no more often.

L'O: The thing you miss the most about pre-pandemic life?

JB: Dinners, parties with friends, and the theater. When we went to the theater we took it for granted, thinking about it now it was so nice to be able to enjoy three hours out of this world.

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