#hauntedhotels

[otaviogilbert]

Is the Luxor really haunted | Traveling Kids

Have you heard of the haunted history of the Luxor hotel in Las Vegas? The Luxor Hotel and Casino, located in Las Vegas, is often associated with stories and rumors of hauntings. The hotel's unique design and historical connections have contributed to its reputation as a potentially haunted location

[f0restpunk]

@lasallehotel_ in Bryan, Tx. First night out in Bryan, Tx. last night for First Friday, scoping out haunted hotels and Art Deco architecture, visiting delicious panaderias and watching refajos drift by. . . . . . #lasallehotel #bryan #bryantx #bryantexas #hotel #hotels #hauntedhotels #artdeco #artdecoarchitecture #architecturehistory #hauntedtexas #firstfriday #architecture #architecturalphotography #texasphotography #signage #neonsigns #ouija #downtownelixirsandspiritscompany #darktourism #hauntedhistory #hauntedtravel #traveltexas #lastnight #jsimpson #ontheroad #letsgetlost #notallwhowanderarelost #adventure #visualdiary https://www.instagram.com/p/CnIS_4uPG49/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[its-dawns-blog-blog]

#loveneverfails #loverejoiceswiththetruth #frenchquarter #hauntedchurch #hauntedhotels #thepit (at New Orleans French Quarter) https://www.instagram.com/p/BQ25nHVgFjb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[nash-melrose-blog]

I was out in New York City recently and had the privilege of staying at the @hotelchelsea . Built in 1884 this place has a story to tell, has a few ghosts and you can still hear young @joshbrolin singing in the shower… Can’t wait to go back! @nashmotorcycleco @popeofthebowery #nashmotorcycles #hotels #hauntedhotels #usa #newyorkcity (at Hotel Chelsea) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkYjS6GrJi6/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[nat-20s]

I also really agree with what you said about coming-of-age stories because I think it's easy to forget that a lot of people - especially queer people- don't necessarily have the same teenage experience that other kids do and often we're having our coming-of-age stories in our 20s and 30s. I spent most of my teens so self-conscious I wanted to fade out of existence when anyone so much as glanced at me, I was definitely in my 20s before I started really figuring anything out!

LITERALLLY LITERALLTY LITERALLY EXACTLY!!! YOU GET ME!! it really is buck wild how many recommended queer things are about teens and only teens im like. damn if we don't know who we are at 19 do we just fuckin die i guess? also teen romances i know a very few select number of people stay with their high school sweet hearts but god i can NOT get invested in romance between two 15 year olds i just cant. like okay sure THIS is the end all be all of your life just these four years. That's it. that's the only time anything interesting can happen to you i guess??. Also even being inundated with teen media i STILL haven't seen a single piece of teen media that was actually anything fucking like my teen years. Me gently taking showrunner's hands: it's okay to have a life after high school. High school was, imo, mostly boring and forgettable and sometimes kind of shitty. let's all move on bc i KNOW some of this teen media is absolutely not actually for teens. it is not to help them feel seen it's not to make them feel normal it's for showrunners to live out an exciting alternate version of their teen years. again that's not all teen media but it sure as shit is a lot of the stuff im getting recommended.

[mangor]

At 3AM, please ignore the children's laughter on the 2rd floor.

[uncommonincorrectquotes]

A: good morning, how are you today? B: I have welcomed jesus into my heart and so I am well today and every day B: ....okay then! B: is there something I can help you with? A: well Jesus can't help me with my fucking Iphone so I came here.

[mossysparkles]

Scenes from the Overlook Hotel bar in The Shining, before Jack Nicholson’s arrival. Created with Midjourney AI, captions & tags from Genie: Lloyd is waiting to serve you at The Shining's bar. But beware, you might not be the only guest there. #Lloyd #TheShining #hauntedbar #ghostbar #hauntedhotel #goldenlight #vintagebar #horrorfan #spookyvibes #bartenderlife #goldenlight #ghostlyencounters #spookybar #goldenlighting #ghosts #barlife #horror #horrormovies #vintagebar #goldenhued #nostalgia #shining #kubrick #stanleykubrick #overlookhotel #stephenking @stephenkingofficialpage (at The Overlook Hotel from the Shining) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqHA3bYO0Ep/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[velvet702]

😏 . . . . . . . . #photogenic #photography #circuscircuslasvegas #circus #lasvegas #vegasphotography #casino #hotel #hauntedhotel (at Circus Circus Las Vegas Hotel & Casino) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqA8R2Drxx8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[fla-paranormal-researcher]

#scary #Haunted #paranormal #hauntedhotel #theshanleyhotel #ghost #youtube

[theadventuresoftyrah]

This angle gives the Historic Copper Queen Hotel a new feel. She looks pretty good for being over 100 years old. #historic #bisbeearizona #hauntedhotel #playingtourist (at Copper Queen Hotel) https://www.instagram.com/p/CktzWgPvr4c/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[beckermanblog]

Will someone just tell me what time it really is? 👻👯‍♀️🕰️#hauntedhotel #daylightsavings #theshining #beckermansinnyc #beckermantwins (at The Beekman, A Thompson Hotel) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ckn6DmhAJ7M/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[antideluvian-blog]

My wife got me in front of the #Coffin doors at the #fairmontbanffsprings and the infamous staircase where the famous #ghostbride met her end. #hauntedhotel #banff #banffsprings #banffnationalpark #banffspringshotel #honeymoon (at Fairmont Banff Springs) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkU9J2Fu1sg/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pygmy-puffle]

Hope @wearewatcher saw that Trisha's video from the Magnolia Hotel was debunked 😭

[milkteamoon]

12 and jon for the ask game!

hauntedhotel asked: Jmart and 12 or 4, they both sound fun 😊

Thank you for the prompt!! This one is meant to take place directly after mag177 and is based on a very small inconsistency I noticed from something Martin says lol. Hope you enjoy!

Prompt: "What? I have never-" with jmart (ao3 link)

—

Jon waits until Basira is far enough away.

Not too far, not out of sight — just coasting over the horizon where she’ll be too focused on what’s ahead of her to pay attention to anything going on behind her. It helps that she’s already on a mission and has a gun. Jon thinks the gun should probably make him feel more at ease, but in reality, it ends up doing the exact opposite. He’s just not sure how good a hearty “Ceaseless Watcher” will do against metal and propellant, is the thing — not that he really thinks Basira would turn her weapon on him but...well. Hm.  

That’s not the point. The point is Jon is pulling at his braid and walking just slow enough for Martin to take notice, which is what he wants. Just him and Martin. Time doesn’t mean much in the grand hellscape that was maybe once Leeds, now a lifeless Extinction domain, but it feels like an eternity’s passed since their time alone in the safehouse. Should have ended the world sooner, Jon thinks morbidly; hard to feel Lonely when there’s the wailing screams of the damned for background noise.

“So,” Jon begins, even-timbre.

“So,” Martin says back, equally neutral. He looks over his shoulder at Jon, and his expression is...unreadable at best. Not cartoonishly affectionate or biting back anger, just curious. Like he’s waiting for Jon’s opening move. Like he’s assessing how much weight that “so” has as it hangs between them like a puff of smoke. God, Jon could go for a cigarette right now.

“Two weeks, huh?” Jon says, still pulling on his hair in an evenly-paced compulsion, until he recalls Martin saying that he always does that when he’s thinking too hard, and then Jon stops doing that. He pulls his hands away. He puts them to his sides, awkwardly, and then finds the opening to his jumper pocket instead.

Martin raises an eyebrow. “Two weeks?”

“Back with Helen,” Jon clarifies, “you mentioned being in the Distortion’s hallways for two weeks.”

Martin slows his pace. “That’s right,” he says, still in that ever cautious tone.

Jon chews his lip. Nods slowly. Huffs out a bland, humorless laugh as he takes in the domain around them — dreary and depressing, with the oil-slicked water lapping at his boots. There’s something that looks like a mangled, mutated bird pecking at a cardboard box to their left, but it pays them no mind as they pass. “See, that’s funny,” Jon finally says, “because I recall you saying it was a month.”

That makes Martin slow to a stop. “Really?” 

“Really.”

“Hm,” Martin says, positively neutral. “Perhaps you’re misremembering.”

Jon grits his teeth into a mockery of a smile. “No no, I’m quite certain I remember you saying a month. Actually, I believe it was part of a conversation that went something like ‘no Jon, I can’t go to the laundry, the hallway reminds me too much of the Distortion’s.’”

Martin winces, just barely, and Jon knows he’s caught him.

“Y’know, I don’t recall that.���

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Jon says, raising his hands placatingly in the picture of innocence, “I just think it’s funny that—”

And then it hits him, or rather, hits them both as Martin’s eyes grow wide and Jon’s ears fill with the sonorous hum of static as the puzzle piece clicks in place. A drop through the door. Just enough for everything to swirl together into a semblance of understanding, and then Jon’s pointing an accusatory finger at Martin.

“Y-you just told me that so you wouldn’t have to do laundry!”

Martin’s mouth falls open as he scoffs out a befuddled sound. “W-what? I never—”

“Martin.”

“Would even consider doing something like that. I can’t believe you would even suggest—” 

“Martin.” 

“That I would do such a— What happened to not looking in my head?!”

Jon crosses his arms, unbudgingly.

For a second, Martin looks as if he’s going to continue his excuses. And then he chews his lip. Then shakes away whatever snappy reply brewing as he pivots back around on his heels, pointedly breaking eye contact. “You know what? No, we don’t have time for this conversation.”

“Oh, we don’t, do we?” 

“No, Jon, if you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of in the middle of an apocalypse.”

“Well,” Jon retorts, marching around to cut off Martin’s direct line of exit, “then at least answer this: how long were you actually in there?”

Martin stares at him for a long moment. Martin’s eyes are very brown and his nose is very cute. Martin’s glasses sit perched on the center of his face, the left lens cracked just slightly from their run-in with the slaughter domain, and Jon thinks about how cute he would find Martin if he wasn’t currently supposed to be mad at him. Which he is. Obviously. That’s why he’s looking so intently into Martin’s very brown eyes, until Martin looks away to the space between their feet. And then Martin mumbles something, just under his breath, just barricaded by the scowl he’s trying to make look very threatening that Jon only catches the tail end of it. Something containing a string of “fuck” and “honestly” and “two.” Or “two.” Or “to.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Two...”

“Two...?”

Martin’s shoulders slump with his sigh. “Like...maybe two hours?”

Distantly, Jon wonders what would happen if his eyes rolled out of his skull — if they’d simply grow back, or magically appear back in their sockets, or if that might just be the thing to finally sever him from the Eye’s connection. He only wonders this because he’s certain it’s a real possibility in this moment, given how much they widen at what tumbles out of Martin’s mouth.

“Martin!”

“What?!”

“I literally cannot believe you!” Jon exclaims, failing to find a suitable place to put his hands in his exasperation as they flail wildly about. “Y-y-you have literally been guilt tripping me into washing your bloody socks for the past month!”

“Okay, that is not fair,” Martin retorts, “it was a very — and yes, I’m going to say it — spooky hallway, and for the record, I never said that I wouldn’t wash them.”

Jon scoffs as he throws up his hands. Sure, the revelation isn’t the highest on the list of “horrible things that have happened to Jonathan Sims lately,” but it does feel like a kick to the gut. Martin’s right — as much as Jon hates the word, the hallway to the laundry was spooky, which makes the knowledge that he’d been heading down there twice as often as necessary that much more of a blow. Jon’s still circling himself, making punched-out noises of disbelief, when Martin winds up once more.

“A-and you know what?” he begins, marching closer to Jon for emphasis. “Since we’re having this conversation, why don’t we talk about you stealing my jumpers?”

“W-w-w-what?” Jon chokes out. “Stealing your— that’s—”

“Don’t you try to wiggle your way out of this one, Jonathan Sims. I found your stash under the dresser.”

Oh shit.

Jon opens his mouth to protest before opting for the more survival-savvy method of clamping his jaw shut.

Martin continues, “Yeah. Yeah! I found that, so don’t try to argue with me. You literally let me go around believing I was— was vanishing things on accident just so you could keep them for yourself!”

“Well you could have just asked—”

“You could have literally just asked me to borrow them!”

“See, this reaction here is exactly why I didn’t.”

“Jon, you—” Martin fights for some word against the tension between his teeth. Then he whirls around. Clenches his hands into fists. Lets out some frustrated, bitten off noise that sounds about the midway point between a scream and a groan and a growl. “You,” he says, pointedly not looking at Jon, “are being such a bellend right now.”

Jon barks out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m being the bellend, am I?”

“Yes, you rather are.”

“Well, you know what? You’re being an arsehole.”

“Prick.”

“Bastard.”

“Tosser.”

“Jerk.”

Martin stops his slew of insults as he gives Jon a baffled look. And then leaning in, he softly repeats, “Jerk?”

Jon blinks, brows scrunching up as he attempts to chisel through Martin’s unplaceable expression. “Um,” he says finally, uncertainly, “yes...?”

Martin looks at him for a long, silent moment. He chews his lip. And then his demeanor splits down the middle as he suddenly turns away and snorts. 

“Wh—” Jon chokes, bewildered. “Why are you laughing?!”

“Jerk, Jon? Seriously?” Martin doesn’t even try to hide his wicked smile as he laughs. “That’s the best you could do?”

“W-well, pardon me for not having a list of insults to call my boyfriend!”

Martin just laughs. And laughs, and laughs some more, until he’s wiping away his eyes under his glasses and panting to catch his breath. And then he settles himself. And then he holds out his hand.

“Okay,” he says firmly, smile still pulling at the edge of his very serious expression, “okay. Truce.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “...Truce?”

“I will do my own laundry, but no more stealing my jumpers.”

Jon looks at Martin’s hand. He looks up to Martin. He looks back at Martin’s hand, and then back up at Martin, and— god, fuck, how does Martin expect him to ever go against him when he’s looking at him like that? He can’t even blame the Eye for this shortfall of his — curse his lingering humanity for his undeniable weakness to his boyfriend.

Jon takes in a slow inhale through his nose. “Fine,” he says finally, rolling his shoulders back. “I won’t take your jumpers, but I’m not washing any more of your bloody socks.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Jon takes his hand and gives it a firm shake.

And that’s that. What’s done is done. Martin says something about catching back up to Basira before he turns back around and slogs his way through the swampy domain. Which just leaves Jon, standing in his wet, oil slicked boots, trying to find something to do with his hands. He finds the pocket in his — well, technically Martin’s, and he supposes soon to be Martin’s once again — jumper and slides them inside. He takes them out, after a moment and lets them hang by his side. Then he finds the hem and pulls on it. Then he finds his hair and pulls on that instead.

Jon chews his cheek pensively as he looks down at his jumper. Curse the man for having the best outerwear.

“Um, M-Martin!” Jon calls, finally snapping out of his stupor as he stumbles after his boyfriend. “What if we talked about this more—”