#but its okay. because hurley

[simptasia]

i like them making ben and hurley besties in the end. because thats why we know that ben's continued existence won't be a problem. like, it's safe now, he's with hurley. and hurley emits goodness radiation that makes everybody around him a better person

[brokenchainsforgedbonds]

[lost characters as crane wives characters. lets go]

[jack shepherd - know how]

[fundamentally a song about anxiety and not being able to move on, feeling trapped and resistant to let things change even when it should be for the better. jack can't move on, it's a fundamental driver of the story, he always feels like he can't be done with anything.]

[kate austen - easier]

[ive talked about this before but. its literally her. girl who feels like she cant ever find peace staying in one place. girl who just wants to settle down but can never find a way to cure that aching in her chest to move.]

[john locke - new discovery]

[john felt like he was stuck, a sad old man with nothing to live for, just going through the motions without purpose. so, he searches for something to give him meaning, but even when he finds it in the island, he feels like he has to keep pushing and keep forcing on to preserve that sense of purpose, because he has to be moving towards something, or else it was all for nothing.]

[james "sawyer" ford - ancient history]

[okay i really love this one. ancient history's so james core its about a traumatic past that you can't help but let color your existence. like james, the singer feels defined by what's happened to them because of how much it still hurts them. he tries to move on, but he's trapped in cycles.]

[sayid jarrah - the wolf]

[well someone sure thinks they're a monster. the singer of the wolf sees themself as something dangerous and violent, something that will inevitably hurt the people they care about. both the singer & sayid feel like they're trapped in cycles that just hurt themself and others.]

[hugo "hurley" reyes - volta]

[very much a song about mental health. specifically it's about improving, finally deciding to do something about what you've been through. fundamentally volta's a song about hope & making a change for yourself in a way that's super reminiscent of hurley.]

[sun-hwa & jin-soo kwon - curses]

[okay yes i know all the rest of the characters got their own separate songs and all but 1. sun & jin's arcs are so heavily defined by each other in a way unique to them, and 2. curses is so incredibly them i dont want to pass it up. the two struggle to find the words for each other, to be open about what weighs on them and their secrets, to the point it nearly destroys their relationship. but, in the end, the two still stay together, they still try to improve their relationship.]

[charlie pace - the garden]

[the garden is in large part a song about catholic guilt. need i say more? it doesn't matter because i will. charlie feels incredibly guilty over his past and his actions, but struggles to respond to that guilt, instead stewing in self-hate and fear.]

[claire littleton - here i am]

[claire forever feels abandoned. in her flashbacks and by people on the island, she is always left behind by the people she cares about, until she feels like her loneliness is forcd to define her in season 6.]

[desmond hume - little soldiers]

[little soldiers is extremely despen coded. desmond insists that he cares about penny, but fears that after everything, he's hurt her too bad. and yet, him and penny still try, they still put in the work to improve and stay together.]

[aight thats all i can fit for now ill add a part two in a bit]

[spirallingstarcases]

im curious abt the piano in the woods 👀👀

oooo okay so this one is a peterick fic where pete’s a spirit tied to this magical piano in the woods (hence. yeah) and i was gonna have patrick stumble upon this piano and like. fall in love with it because it’s a gorgeous piano and we all know he can’t resist a musical instrument. and one day while he’s playing it, this guy (pete) shows up and he’s very mysterious but then it gets revealed that pete is a nature spirit and patrick moves the piano into his house and through the power of love they form a band and whatnot etc etc.

snippet 🔽

Deep in the woods, shaded by trees stretching miles high, surrounded by thick bushes, and creeping with ivy, is a standing piano. It’s a dark, brassy brown, with weathering keys made of ivory, and lovingly carved fleur-de-lis and oak leaves set into its panels. The wood is weathered and faded in places where the sun frequently rests, but the lacquer hasn’t lost its sheen, and it’s always in tune.

It sits, nestled into the brush and the grass and the dirt, and waits.

Patrick is so close to shoving his foot up this lady’s ass, and resisting the urge is making his neck sweat.

“I’m truly, truly sorry, but due to the shipping delay, we won’t have oat milk again until tomorrow,” he explains for the eighteenth fucking time.

“This is an outrage,” the lady screeches. Her neck stretches higher as she attempts to posture up to him, like an extendable straw. “This is-is—This is against my rights!”

Patrick sighs. She’s been raving about rights and outrages and calling the police (over oat milk? seriously?) for eleven minutes and thirty four seconds now, and Patrick is about to just give up and launch fair trade paper cups at her until she leaves. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Could I recommend the Starbucks two blocks over? I’m sure they have the services you are looking for.”

“Y-You!” She splutters. Her face is bright red and glistening with effort and misplaced rage, and there’s spit all over Patrick’s counters.

Finally, finally, Patrick’s replacement walks in through the belled doors.

“Hi,” Andy calls out. “Sorry about the wait. You said there’s a problem with a customer?” Patrick could kiss Andy right about now. Andy Hurley, co-owner of Groove Beans Cafe (<- no), is wearing a worn tank top that shows off all of his muscles and heavily tattooed skin, his signature basketball shorts are hiked up on his waist so his thigh tattoos are also as visible as possible, and he’s holding a black baseball bat that’s chipped at the edges.

The lady takes one look at him, pales dramatically, and leaves. Not even a good-fucking-bye, Patrick thinks. Not that he wants her to continue talking for even one more second.

“You are a fucking god-send,” Patrick praises.

Andy shrugs and slips his hoodie back on. It’s embroidered with a little coffee cup, and it’s got both their initials on it. “Couldn’t leave you to the sharks. Besides, I could feel the tip jar getting full.”

Patrick sends a flat stare as Andy looks into the “tip jar” (a giant mug with I <3 UR MOM hand painted on it) and shakes it so the coins clink. “For someone who’s so against capitalism,” Patrick says, “you sure love money.”

[inkedobsidian]

~ Truth or drink - M.R ~

summary: Becoming bored of reading case files constantly Y/N makes it interesting and offers a drinking game

pairing: Mitch Rapp x Reader

warnings: Drinking

word count: 1,072

a/n: Requests are open! Prompt list is there if you guys want extra ideas!

Master-List - Prompts

As Mitch and Y/N sat in different sections of the hotel room reading case files they sat in complete silence. However it's surprisingly comfortable, they've been working together ever since Mitch went through the program at Stan's house her being Hurley after all. Much to Stan's disapproval, Irene put Mitch and Y/N together as teammates. Although Stan gave him shit he knew that Y/N would always be protected. Not that she needed it, she was more dangerous than Stan because nobody can resist a pretty smile and a contagious laugh.

As much as Mitch hated to admit it he could see why she was the most successful agent they had. Even he was attracted to the agent and he's known her for years. There was something about the way she smiled at people, even the targets. She smiled so brightly that you couldn't even tell she had other intentions. The way she carried her happiness on her sleeve made her seem so pure. However, if you got on the wrong side her eye roll wasn't the only deadly thing that would happen. No matter how hard he tried to hide it he knew he had it bad, bad enough that he couldn't shun her out to get rid of the feeling, more than anything he craved to be near her.

Mitch hadn't even realized that he was staring at Y/N while he was thinking. However, Y/N had noticed and she was slightly amused by his staring but she didn't say anything. She just stood up and walked towards Mitch putting her hands on either side of his laptop and lent forward putting her face very close to Mitch coughing and snapping him back to reality.

"Whatcha staring at flower?" She asks innocently trying to embarrass him. Mitch just coughs and moves backward to try and stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his lips against hers. As she walks away Mitch can't help but stare, who could resist? Just as Mitch goes to look back down at his file a glass bottle hits the table and jolts him back into the room. He quickly sees two bottles of whiskey. One in front of him, and one in front of Y/N. Mitch motions towards the bottle with his eyebrow raised.

"I'm not being stuck in this boring hotel room reading the same files over and over again. So we're gonna play a game." Y/N says smirking mischievously. It was that damn smile that made him agree to whatever she said, it was like a challenge and a reason to take the challenge all in one.

"If you say never have I ever I will sl-"

"Will you shut your egotistical mouth for one second, it's called truth or drink. It's fun I promise." Y/N says laughing when Mitch pretended to be offended when she called him egotistical. Mitch agreed because who wouldn't like getting drunk with Y/N? She's a great time sober never mind wasted on whiskey.

"Okay so I'll start, why were you staring at me earlier?" Y/N asks intrigued if he has the guts to answer her sober. Mitch just looks at her and raises his eyebrows and glares at her playfully knowing there is no way he's telling her sober. He shakes his head at her and grabs his bottle of whiskey unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. Y/N frowns at him and he scrunches his nose up while the warm liquid makes its way down his throat.

"I'm not drunk enough for that question."

Y/N nodded understanding and then she lent back into her chair ready for any question Mitch asked. As the sun traveled across the sky the pair sat in the room still trading questions. The bottle cap had been unscrewed many times on each side, however, they both steered away from really personal questions. They'd been working together for years but there was a mutual level of not being too involved in the other one's life.

"How is it having Stan as a father?" Mitch asks finally slurring his words and smiling at Y/N as she puts her hand firmly around the neck of the bottle then relaxes and leans back deciding to answer the question.

"I mean he doesn't seem like it but he was the most involved and caring father. He yelled so much when he knew I'd been accepted to be an agent because he didn't want me to become like him. I know he acts like a hard-ass but to me, he'll always be the man who used to carry me around on his shoulder. I'll also always remember him teaching me how to shoot a gun, and slit a throat. Interesting memories but he made me who I am and I love him." Y/N smiles as she talks. All Mitch can do is stare and smile at the woman sitting in front of him spilling some secrets he never would dare to ask about sober.

"Are you afraid of anything?" Y/N asks leaning forward in her chair trying to intimidate Mitch slightly.

"Not really, I mean I'm in love with you and that scares me half to death," Mitch says as he leans back in his chair not realizing what he just said. As soon as it clicks what he just said both Mitch and Y/N sit up staring at each other.

"Oh, shit did I just…." Mitch says scratching the back of his neck, his face now going bright red knowing that Y/N heard him. She nods slowly just so Mitch is aware that she completely heard and acknowledged what he just said. Mitch just drops his head to face the table instead of Y/N

"I'm in love with you too." Y/N blurts out thinking it will help the situation since Mitch was just honest with her. Mitch's head snaps up and all he can do is smile brightly. Normally he isn't this open about his emotions, maybe it was the alcohol but as soon as Y/N said those words he was stone-cold sober. No matter how they got to this place now that feelings were out in the open there was just one problem.

"Well, at least you don't have to meet my dad…" Y/N says scratching the back of her neck awkwardly and then at that moment Mitch realized that there was one thing in this world that put the shits up him, and that's Stan Hurley.

[decaydanceredacted]

OKAYYY hi its me again. i j ust sent the one abt not very sexually tying up mr andrew john hurley im still thinking btu that deserved its own redacted so these r going here. after ive untied him and hes had a minute to chill he would like immediately take complete control over the situation. telling me to get on my knees and not look at him or speak without permission. that ive had my fill of admiring him and now its his turn. i didnt really think i had any power here, did i? because thatd be pathetic. theres no possible way someone as stupid as me would be able to do anything to him if he didnt let me. i even needed his help with getting him in the right position! i dont know annnything. all im really good for is worshiping him. obviously. all of this he points out. a lot. he doesnt hit me (even though im obviously aching for it. which he mentions.) he just grabs me by the hair and drags me over to the bed. or the couch. whichever is closest. he tells me im allowed to look at him now and that i have 10 minutes to get him off and if i manage it maybe he'll let me come. i do my absolute best (read: a very purposefully shitty job) to suck him off but im not properly pleasuring him, so he fists his hand in my hair and fucks my face how he wants. and i let him. because im made for it. he doesnt come, though. he holds himself off for the 10 minutes and looks at me all disappointed. im not even any good at the thing i was made for! if i cant even suck him off, whats the point of him keeping me around? i should really be ashamed. and now i dont even get to get off! what a poor thing i am. ok im not thinking abt this part as hard bcuz idrc but it feels obligatory. he bends me over on the floor and fucks me with as little prep as possible (but its okay, im practically dripping wet just from being face fucked! bcuz im a whore.) and puts basically zero thought into my pleasure, focusing on getting himself off as quick as possible. he pulls out before he comes (because i dont deserve it) and paints my back all sticky-white. i didnt realise how long this was getting but discord stopped letting me type it there bcuz its too long so im ending now. after hes cleaned me off and kissed away my tears we cuddle up in bed and fall asleep together mimimi the end

.

[underestimated-heroine]

okay so this is like your basic standard "gender equality discourse doesn't mean SHIT on the battlefield" reading. aware i'm preaching to the choir but i get the sense that not everyone's read it so.

Here's just one excerpt:

As somebody with more than a passing knowledge of history (All the Thing That Came Before Me), I’m passionately interested in truth: truth is something that happens whether or not we see it, or believe it, or write about. Truth just is. We can call it something else, or pretend it didn’t happen, but its repercussions live with us, whether we choose to remember and acknowledge it or not. When I sat down with one of my senior professors in Durban, South Africa to talk about my Master’s thesis, he asked me why I wanted to write about women resistance fighters. “Because women made up twenty percent of the ANC’s militant wing!” I gushed. “Twenty percent! When I found that out I couldn’t believe it. And you know – women have never been part of fighting forces –” He interrupted me. “Women have always fought,” he said. “What?” I said. “Women have always fought,” he said. “Shaka Zulu had an all-female force of fighters. Women have been part of every resistance movement. Women dressed as men and went to war, went to sea, and participated actively in combat for as long as there have been people.”

[fat-fem-and-asian]

Dagmara Dominczyk Filmography Review w/ Links Dag has had a great career! I think you can see her shift towards more interesting and prestige projects as she gets older, especially in the past 5-ish years, which is really interesting. Movies w/ her Polish accent have a ★ in the title, ♡ denote my favorites. If a movie isn't included, then I didn't want to watch it or couldn't find it lol. Additionally, I watched most of these projects on soap2day or flixxer!

Keeping the Faith - I could not find her in this? I think she might be improperly labeled on IMDb. Please send reinforcements and watch this Ben Stiller/Edward Norton/Jenna Elfman religious romcom.

Third Watch - Accessible on Tubi Procedural about first responders - Dag plays a morally dubious counselor that one of the EMTs gets the hots for. I actually beg everyone to watch this for a gorgeous shot of Dag over a voiceover "this chick is hot. if liz hurley and that other european chick who was in that one bond movie had a love child, this chick would be it" fair description! Rock Star ★ - Musical drama where Dag plays Tania, PR for a rock band and their resident hot girl. She's not in it a ton, but she's got a great scene where she gets to make out with Jennifer Aniston. Spoilers + transphobia CW - it's revealed midway that Tania is a trans woman, and while not really played for laughs, Mark Wahlberg's character is uncomfortable around her afterwards and she's effectively removed from the plot. The Count of Monte Cristo ♡ - Free on Youtube hell yeah! Dag plays Mercedes, the primarily love interest. She appears in the beginning scenes and after the 2/3 mark, but is pivotal to the plot. she's in some really gorgeous dresses and i assume the crew loved her because she looks fantastic the entire time. also, super great deleted scene here @ the 7 minute mark. They - On youtube! Unfortunately dull horror movie. Dag plays Terry, one of the adults experiencing night terrors based on childhood events. She only appears in a handful of scenes, but has a solo scene around the halfway point. It's alright? SVU ★ - On Hulu and Peacock. TW for CSA and graphic depictions of murder (its SVU). we all know SVU. if you don't im sorry you've missed out on the epic highs and lows of watching people get the shit knocked out of them and for a detective to connect it back to some random man they knew in high school. Dag has a prominent guest episode role as Kate, appearing at the halfway mark as a Europol agent who helps one of the characters track down a child trafficker. A lot of her walking around gorgeously and what's frankly, a great performance! She plays sensitive but firm detective very well. On Hulu and Peacock. CSA tw- suggestive images are shown of an actress who was 19 at the time, but portrayed at 14.

Tough Luck ★ - On Tubi. Please watch it. Honestly, I think worth the watch just for how weird it is. Dag plays Divana, the female lead and wife of a circus. owner. you read that right! there's a plot twist and i won't tell you what it is, but just know. i did not see it coming. On Tubi. Please watch it.

Bad Apple - I'm not even sure what to say about this movie? Dag plays Gina in a crime (?) thriller. She's sprinkled throughout the movie and is the main love interest for some guy. I genuinely enjoyed this movie but I'd suggest watching it under the influence of something to maximize the viewing experience. The Five People You Meet in Heaven - on vimeo Religious made for TV movie set in the 1940s/50s. Dag plays Marguerite, the main character's wife and oh my god she is so pretty. she's so gorgeous and talented. what was i saying? its set in a boardwalk? okay. i'll even ignore the weird racist subplot with like. a genie. sometimes we have to pay the fucking bills okay. 24 - on Hulu. Who the hell made this show up? 24 is a drama series where every season takes place in 24 hours and every episode is one hour of the day. Insane concept. Dag appears briefly as an evil lady - she's got a gun and looks great and wears some gorgeous earrings. Trust the Man - 2000s romcom! Dag has a brief role as Pamela and goes on a date with one of the male leads, there's a follow up scene where they talk briefly. Not a lot of screen time, but you know. If you're in a bad romcom mood. Mentor - on youtube Dag has the lead female role as Julia, a graduate assistant who's romantically involved with an older writing professor. She is great in this, injecting a bunch of charisma into a fairly bland film. Lonely Hearts - Warning for Jared Leto and moderate violence. Drama based on the real life murderers Martha Beck and Ray Fernandez - Dag plays Delphine, one of their victims. Dag is once again, a real talent and can truly transform what's on the page. She's got a brutal scene where she confesses her pregnancy to Salma Hayek that she executes perfectly. Also, she looks absolutely stellar in the 1940s styling. She appears around the 2/3 mark, which I recommend skipping to to minimize your Leto exposure. Helena from the Wedding - On Pluto Tangent time! My friends on discord and I made this horrific little fake movie universe called Going Down with all of our favorite middle aged actresses (including Dag and Melanie Lynskey). and who is in this? Melanie and Dag! They're paired together and have nice chemistry in this indie drama. It's pretty slow and they're scattered throughout the film, but I still recommend watching for Dag's microbangs.

Higher Ground ★ ♡ - on Roku. Do not. ask me about this film. don't even bring it in my vicinity. Dag plays Annika, the best friend to Vera Farmiga's religious main character. Dag is fantastic, she's witty and charming to Vera's more demure character and they are super homoerotic. Like Tough Luck, I actually beg you to watch this. The Good Wife ♡- On Amazon for free. Lawyer procedural - Dag has a prominent guest role as a lawyer(?) for a South American company. Honestly she's not given much, but I love her suit. I mean, its the good wife, it's like pretty good. Suits - On Netflix and Peacock Dude this is the show Megan Markle is in? Huh? Anyways - Dag has a brief role as a woman who faced sexual discrimination in her workplace. She's only got 2 scenes, but she's like...there! Felix the Painter -On Vimeo A short film about a struggling artist, but more importantly, Dagmara looking stunning and speaking french. Go girls! On Vimeo Person of Interest - Free on Amazon - TW for domestic violence Dag plays a woman helped by the main characters in escaping her abusive husband. Not the most creative role ever, but Dag does well with the stuff she's given, especially in a really short timeframe. The Immigrant ★ - On Pluto - TW for domestic violence and nudity. Dag has a minor role as Belva, one of the burlesque performers working for Joaquin Pheonix's character. She's only got three scenes, two in the beginning and one closer to the 2/3 mark, so not much to say, but a good film overall. Jack Strong - On Tubi A Polish drama featuring her husband Patrick Wilson, Dag plays a FBI agent going undercover in Poland during the Cold War. While Dag's role is fairly minor, her real life history as a Polish immigrant who fled to the US due to her father's political ties makes it worth the watch. It is, however, NUTS that she didn't actually get to play a pole. what the hell guys.

Boardwalk Empire - On HBO Dag has a guest role as a drunk bar patron. She's engaging to watch and I mean, it's Boardwalk Empire. Worth the watch. Let's Kill Ward's Wife - On Youtube A dark comedy film made with some of her friends and husband, Dag plays Ward's wife and does. guess what. get murdered! She's insufferable (but ngl I was on her character's side), which means she did her job well, but jesus. I could not stand this film.

The Deuce - On HBO Dag's got a brief role as a. adult film consultant? and wears a pretty turtleneck and has curly hair in this 70s drama. This is where she met Maggie Gyllenhaal, who would go on to cast her in The Lost Daughter! Also, apparently Dag's scenes were heavily cut down in this episode :(

Abe - On Youtube Dag plays ARIAN MOAYED's wife. It's a drama about a half Israeli, half Palestinian family. Unfortunatley, in light of Noah Schnapp's actions surrounding the genocide occuring in Palestine, I would suggest you not watch.

Prodigal Son ★- Free on the CW Drama series! Dag has a small guest spot as an assassin called the Nightingale. She looks great and gets a fun fight sequence! The Assistant - On HBO Maybe this film was good? I don't know. I was hunting for Dag and she got ONE LINE at the VERY END. Mattmac jumpscare halfway in and his big sad horse eyes.

The Lost Daughter ♡ - On Netflix Drama featuring the Olivia Colman! Dag plays Callie, pregnant sister in law to Dakota Johnson's character. I watched this movie when it came out and did not recognize Dag at all! She's scattered throughout and I barely understood this film, but, oh Dag. Her Jersey(?) accent was a beacon of light to my confusion.

We Own this City ♡ - On HBO- Warning for graphic violence and police brutality. Biopic about the Baltimore Police Department's Gun Trace Task Force and the horrific corruption that took place. Dag has a supporting role as Erika, a FBI agent investigating the Task Force. Not a super prominent role since the show balances between flash backs and the investigation, but a well made show that's very worth the watch. She gets to play a flute. The Accidental Wolf ★- I did not see this but Arian Moayed wrote and directed this? Succ supporting cast I love you! You can find Dag presenting Arian an AAM award here. My Love Affair with Marriage ♡ ★ Dag plays the lead in this funky animated film about womanhood and marriage. Honestly on first watch it wasn't my favorite, but I've really come to love it's weird musical numbers and plot. Dag has a great vocal performance as Zelma, she really has some magnetic quality to her voice. Succession ♡ ★- On HBO Dag plays Karolina Novotney, head of Communications in this drama series. The show is a little slow and honestly not for me-- can you imagine. No, Succession is the series of all time and she plays THE Karolina Novotney, hot lesbian and resident man hater. Give me a scene where she isn't glaring Tom down. Go shivlina, go girls, I'm a fan. She delivers a fantastic and subtle performance, particularly in the fourth season. I love you Karolina Novotney. Bottoms ♡♡♡♡♡- BEST MOVIE EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Dag plays a milf Priscilla ♡ - On HBO. Dag plays Ann Beaulieu, Priscilla's mom. She's pretty wonderful in this as well and gets to show off such a wide range of emotions. I love anything period piecey and Priscilla is a greattt film that actually engages with the crazy power dynamic between Elvis and Priscilla. Love Miller's Girl - On Netflix This movie was nottt for me, BUT. I loveee Dag's character in this. She's a mean horny lady named Beatrice and I swear to god my mind was REWIRED hearing Dag say "Or are some cunts....remarkable?" Honestly blows everyone else out of the water since they're doing these godawful Tennessee accents.

Congrats if you made it to the end of this review! Feel free to message me or send an ask if you watch any of these.

[adventuresloane]

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) - Chapter 11

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

Read on AO3

Other Chapters

Admittedly, it didn't take Hurley too long to fuck up.

They might have started to let their guard down, in hindsight. After awhile, the circumstances of this life with Sloane became, if not exactly routine, then at least rhythmic. There was a consistency to the spiking highs of their thefts followed by long periods of running and hiding and quiet. They came to know, for example, how long it would take after one of their big hits for the victimized town to send its bounty hunters coursing into the desert after them. The naps they took at midday when they were really on the run, so they could travel through the whole following night, and the paths through rocky land that they could take to slow down their pursuers--these things were never boring, but they did become familiar.

That may have been why, one day in the canyonlands, they got comfortable when they shouldn't have. Sloane, after all, seemed to know every possible path through the labyrinth of crevices. She, with her sharper ears, picked up the sound of distant hoofbeats before they did, too.

"Do you hear someone?" Hurley asked.

"Yeah. We need to pack up and get the horse ready. It'll take them awhile to find the right path to us, at least, if they ever do."

But whatever group was after them had knowledge of the land too, it seemed. It didn't take them long to navigate through. By the time the two of them were mounted and ready to run, Hurley could hear the pound of the horses too. The echoes confounded them, as they always had, but the sounds were undoubtedly getting closer.

And Hurley had to wonder.

"We have to go," Sloane said quickly. "We've got a couple minutes, maybe."

"Okay," they said, but they didn't get the horse moving just then. They felt how a frozen deer must feel, primed to spring at any moment but waiting, still, waiting wide-eyed until the last moment, because they needed to see their oncoming doom up close.

"Hurley?" Her voice was a warning as much as it was a question. Still they did nothing. They just needed a moment longer.

As the first flashes of paint horse came careening around the corner, as the hunters raised their voices and their pistols, as the thunder came rumbling toward them, all they could do was scan the angry faces. They looked for a familiar one, the visage of an older man with deep lines around his lips.

"Ram, move!"

They snapped back to themself just as bullets began to blow bits of rock off the canyon walls near them. The showers of dust hit them in the face as they began, desperately, to dodge and weave.

It took them longer than it would have otherwise to lose the bounty hunters, but they managed it. Once they got into the open, they didn't stop until the poor horse heaved and shook with exhaustion. White spit flew backward from its mouth.

Even this wasn't far enough, not even close. Just because they could no longer see their pursuers didn't mean those hunters weren't somewhere behind them. They would have to stop only for a short time before going on. There was a lot to do yet to shake the posse, now that they'd gotten within a hair of the two of them.

Hurley got off and tried to catch the breath that they hadn't been able to get back throughout the whole ride. Their heart beat so hard that it seemed to quiver.

"Hey," Sloane snapped at them before she even dismounted. Hurley braced themself. "Do you mind talking about what the fuck just happened back there?"

"Look, I'm sorry."

"No you're not," she muttered as she slid off the saddle. "You're never sorry for any of the fucking stunts you pull."

Hurley stopped mid-pace, then turned on her. "Excuse me, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. You're always trying to be some kind of damn hero. It's like you're playing a game."

This, they hadn't expected. She could be mad, sure, but to hit them with this out of the blue? "That's not true," they snapped back.

"Sure, Hurley."

"Well, if it's really what you think of me then why are you telling me now, huh? You've had months and months to let me know, if it's been such a worry for you!"

"Do you, like, get what we're doing here?" Hurley was starting to hate it when she got this way, when the spite and venom found its way back into her voice. It was the same voice they had heard what seemed like a lifetime ago, when they had come to her in the back of a barred wagon, trussed like a prize or like a dangerous thing. It was a voice that made an enemy of whomever she spoke to. "Don't know if you've noticed, but the bounty on our heads is only going up, and people are desperate for cash. They're going to look for any slip-up like that."

"You are not gonna talk to me like I'm a child," they growled.

"Then figure your shit out! Get it through your head that you only need to fuck up once for them to ruin both of our lives."

"Why are you being like this? You're acting like I tried to get us caught!"

"You damn well could have."

"I wasn't!" She said nothing to that. Her jaw was locked and her lips in a line. Hurley hated how closed she looked. "Besides, you've had more than once chance."

"What are you talking about?" She sounded weary of them now.

"You've been caught more than once and managed to get out of it, right? Whatever you did to fuck up, it didn't ruin your whole life, did it?"

"Well, no shit. You were there for it."

"I meant before that. You got away from the first bounty hunters that caught you all on your own. Everyone knows that."

Sloane paused, for more than a beat. Then, seeming to recover the attitude that she had momentarily dropped, she turned to Hurley, hand on her hip, and talked to them like they were simple. "I'm not about to count," she started, "on every group of bounty hunters being as dumb and wet behind the ears as that pack of drunks."

It was too late, though. She probably thought that Hurley hadn't noticed the moment of hesitation, but they had. Any irritation that they may have felt up until that moment began to congeal into something colder inside them. It wasn't a thoughtful pause from her, nor was it mere surprise. It was a freeze. Her shoulders had hitched up with tension. It happened so quickly, they might not have been able to catch such a thing before, but they knew enough now to do so. They had seen her spooked enough times.

They tried not to let on that knew. "So," they started slowly, "that part of the story is true? That you got away on your own?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds like it was hard."

"It wasn't. They were idiots. And drunk for most of the time, like I said." She was busy taking off the horse's sweaty tack. When they didn't respond, she looked over at them, and they must have looked expectant, because she promptly groaned. "Look, it's not even one of my good stories. I was a kid, I was dumb, I didn't do what I would do now."

She was still fiddling with the saddle straps. She spoke like her words were meant to just skim past like a stone skipped on water. They sunk into Hurley anyway, slowly. "A kid?"

"Yeah."

"How...how old?"

"Gods above, why do you need to know?"

"I don't," they said hastily, although a part of them felt that it was, in fact, a need. "I was just asking."

"Ugh. I mean, I wasn't a kid, like, a little kid or anything. Like seventeen."

That was the first time they began to feel sick to their stomach.

She shrugged before she went on. "Walked into an ambush that I would've been able to see from a mile away these days." She shook her head and scoffed a little, seemingly at herself. "And I kept trying to fight the ropes after they tied me up, like I thought I could get out of them if I just pulled hard enough. I don't know. Think I thought it would make me seem tougher. Bad idea." She said no more about it, then.

And because she didn't specify further, they were free to fill in the gaps for themself. They imagined what it was like, when she fought because she could no longer take flight. Someone who, to begin with, was not a fighter, not that way at least. Behind their eyes, they saw, unbidden, a younger version of herself struggling like a mustang at the end of unyielding ropes, her skin chafing against them. Hurley had gotten glimpses of an almost animal fear in her before, the kind that widened her eyes; they imagined that kind of fear fully realized, that desperation that they had seen. Her straining

to get back to the open world that she knew, and being ripped from it still. Dragged forward through the heat, made to trudge with aching muscles behind her captors' horses once she had finally, inevitably worn herself out. Seventeen.

They could picture the hands of the hunters, so many hands on her at once to pull and push and pin her to the ground, hands heedless of whether they bruised her arms when they grabbed them to keep her still. Maybe hands that struck, if her trying to get away bothered them enough, or if their drunkenness inclined them. Maybe worse. Hurley wanted them off her, those ungentle hands. They would have beaten them all off if they could.

Sloane snorted to herself, then. The sound nearly startled them, it was so casual, so deeply at odds with how they felt. "Look, I'm embarrassed to even talk about it now, okay? All that fighting when I got caught. Big waste of sweat and energy. You know I'd never try that shit now. Stupid."

"It wasn't stupid." Hurley realized a moment later how forcefully they'd said it, enough to make Sloane's ears snap up. More quietly, they went on, "You were...you must have been so scared."

At that, they saw her practically jolt. Her first reaction, they could tell, was defensive. "I was just..." But then she trailed off, and whatever fire had flared up in her just then died off in an instant. She seemed to think a moment, then shook her head again. "But it was still stupid regardless, you know? I mean, no matter how you look at it, I should've saved my energy. Could've just saved it all until nightfall. They weren't too hard to get away from, in the end, like I said. A couple nights in, I undid the ropes with my teeth while they were sleeping. That's why my front teeth are still a little bit bent, see?" And she opened her mouth to show them off.

Hurley turned away. "And then?"

"Ran into the mountains and ended up practically passed out in the hills. Think the only reason they stopped coming after me is because they figured I must've been dead up there already."

And Hurley imagined a child, run halfway into the hard, hot ground from exhaustion and thirst. Imagined Sloane's brown cheek pressed into rocks as she lay panting. Would she have thought, at that time, about having no one around to bury her? Being so alone, it's something they would have thought about, they're sure.

"Hey," she said, grousing, "don't give me that look. Do I look like I'm out here feeling bad for myself?"

"No, you weren't even going to talk about it," they murmured.

"Right. So don't you start feeling bad for me."

"Did they do this?" they asked, and they touched her upper back, where they knew that, under her coat, there were long white marks set into her flesh.

Instantly, they wished they hadn't. No one could have missed the sharp flinch that she gave this time, and they drew their hand away at once as though it had burned her. Too late. She breathed a little more quickly than before. Then, she seemed to realize that she had given up something without meaning to, and she cast her eyes to the ground and said nothing. Hurley felt no victory in what they had found out.

"I'm sorry," they said in a hush.

"Don't be." She sounded farther from them than before. For awhile, there was quiet.

"How'd you do it?" they murmured.

"What?"

"How'd you ever get up again?"

She furrowed her brow at the ground in a puzzling way. She looked like she was trying to reach back into some memory. "It rained," she said at last, and her voice was softer than it had been all day.

Hurley just looked at her and waited. They would have waited as long as it took her.

"I remember...I woke up in a cave up there, and it was thundering. I don't really know how I managed to stand, but I stumbled out there and sat on the ground, and it came pouring down. First water I'd had in days. And then I just kind of stayed there and stared up at the sky for awhile." She let out a humph suddenly and smiled slightly, in a fond sort of way. "You see why I've always liked it out here, right? This place has always been on my side."

She said it like it was a good thing. But Hurley, in spite of everything, had never been in a place in their life where the only things they had to rely on were the rough earth and the fickle, fragile clouds.

In almost a whisper, they said, "I'm on your side, you know."

She huffed, and they didn't miss the way she rolled her eyes a little. "I know." After another moment, she said, "Me too. About, you know, the being on your side thing."

"I know that. I do."

"Good."

"Did you..." They almost swallowed the question back down, unsure if they really wanted an answer. They decided that they needed one regardless. "Did you think about that when we...when my posse caught you?"

She raised an eyebrow at them. "Think about it?" Her hand went up to scratch the side of her scalp. "I mean, yeah, I guess I did. Kind of hard not to, right? Thought about not repeating the same mistakes as the first time, anyway," she finished with a forced laugh.

She had to have thought, too, that it could all happen again. Their posse had put that fear anew in her. Hurley had put that fear anew in her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

They knew that they only had so much time before she stopped being receptive to this conversation entirely, so they took a deep breath. "Can I just say one thing?"

Her lip started to quirk up into a smirk as she looked their way. "I don't think I could stop you."

After a moment's hesitation, they put a hand lightly over hers. That was enough to pique, it seemed, as she faced them for the first time since they had started talking. They held her gaze as best they could. "I'm glad you got out of there alone. I'm so grateful you did. But you're not going to have to do that again, alright? I'm not going to let you, in fact." For her sake, then, they tried for a laugh themself. "And the next person who lays a hand on you is gonna get it broken, alright?"

She appreciated that, given the way that she giggled with them. Then, though, something that they hadn't seemed before touched her face and gave a new shape to her smile. It looked something like sadness, and it reached her eyes.

Stranger still, after a bit, she simply breathed out her nose in a small hum and said, "You're good to me, Red."

They would never have thought to be anything else to her.

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

Changes in the winds brought moisture from an ocean that was hundreds of miles and many worlds away from the solid, sunbaked earth underfoot. The two of them spent the violent summer near the Shickshaw Hills. Sometimes they came across towns tucked in crouching amongst the mountains and stayed for days, keeping a low profile, before moving on. Sometimes they wandered in the hills themselves, so that when the black clouds snuck up on them, they could duck into one of many caves and simply watch dirt roads far below them turning to muddy rivers, as the hardened ground spat back the water instead of absorbing it and let it run off in flash floods. A couple of times, they were not quite quick enough--the sky often went from blue to dark in minutes, and the first drop would scarcely hit the sand before all of the rain came down at once. It fell hard enough to sting. When that happened, Hurley would hear the slap of their waterlogged clothes as they ran for shelter and shivered in front of the lightning and thrilled at being at once so hot and so cold.

By the time they had caught their breath inside the cave and stripped their shirt off for it to dry beside the fire Sloane had built, often the storm would have already moved on and left the air outside sweet and cool. Hurley began to get used to the sight of her bare back. When she sat up straight, they saw the long, narrow dip between the muscles where her spine lay. They saw the few long scars on her shoulder blade but did not bring them up again.

Instead, they let their hair frizz as it air-dried and then slipped under the blanket that was already around Sloane's shoulders. The pair of them checked each other's recent scabs and sunburns to ensure that none of them were worsening. She ribbed them for how long it must've been since they had gotten some, with how long they'd been out in this lonely place, and they ribbed her back. They listened to her stories and heard her voice get slower and more sighing as she became sleepy, and again they thrilled at being at once so hot and so cold.

In the days after a big storm, seeds that had been waiting months or years for their chance erupted from the ground so quickly that you could nearly hear them growing. The two of them picked the desert wildflowers sometimes, to slip them into each other's hair or into their own; sometimes, they just let them be. Pink and red and orange, they burned with the colors of a sunset, were just as beautiful and just as quick to go. The leaves crisped under the sun, and the pollinating wasps and butterflies went elsewhere.

Nowadays, Hurley liked the night best. Sloane gathered them up against her, pressed their warmth into her as she always did. Her chin lowered down to rest on their shoulder, near the crook of their neck. They did their best to keep still and not to seem stiff. This was what always happened after she believed that Hurley had already fallen asleep, whether it was to keep them both warmer or simply because it was the same thing she always did, instinctually, when nestling into pillows. She buried herself away from the world.

These days, they seldom slept while she was still awake. They were simply too aware of each small movement she made. Their heart only ever began to slow when hers did. (Sometimes, in the night, they woke to her shifting and whimpering in her sleep. Sometimes, when they put a hand over her chest, she would slowly still without waking herself. They were developing an awareness of these signs in her, too.)

With practice, they had learned to keep their breathing steady when she gave them an accidental kick in the side as she tried to get comfortable. They were also pretty good at keeping up the ruse when wisps of hair tickled their forehead, when her nose brushed up and down their cheek in what, frankly, could only be described as nuzzling. This, too, was typical whenever she was snuggling in to sleep. Nothing out of the ordinary.

For their part, if they ever found themself restless, they would count their blessings, the way their mother had always said to do on sleepless nights. The cover provided by the hollows between the canyon walls, the wide desert sky heavy with stars. Both of them were alive and breathed the free air—every expansion of Sloane’s chest pressed against theirs was a reassurance of this.

What they did not expect was the way that, now, she slowed and then finally stopped nuzzling into them. When she came to a halt, her lips were on Hurley’s cheek. Closed. They felt more of a tingling than pressure, as though one of the night moths that fed on the cactus flowers had landed there, the touch was so light.

Sloane was not asleep. The breaths that left her nose and ghosted across Hurley’s skin were too quick and too irregular. She simply stayed still there.

Any second now, they were sure, she was going to realize that they were awake. They didn’t see how she could not have known, with the way their face, their everything, had begun to burn. They quashed the sudden urge to immediately kick off all the blankets, and her. They must have positively radiated heat. It was enough to prick them from the inside, and maybe to prick her, the paper-thin skin of the lips that they could not stop feeling no matter how much they tried to tune it out like a white noise. They were not sure whether they wanted to stop feeling anyway. Her mouth was still closed.

But she didn’t notice that they were awake, or at the very least didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, as she began to slowly pull away—for the briefest of moments, her lips seemed to stick to their skin just a little, from the saliva—she opened her mouth, only to let out a sigh that Hurley felt shudder through her whole body. Then there was a shift and her back was to them.

They lay there as she slipped into sleep and then for ages afterward, wide-eyed in the dark. They were too aware of themself to rest, too conscious of the sensations all around them, the scratch of the cotton blanket and the pebbles digging into their thighs and the other warm body fitted against the curve of theirs. All of it kept them up, all of it was all too much. It was like their skin itself called out for a touch, another touch. Probably, it was a bit like going mad, if to go mad was to experience the world too much and to see in it what no one else could.

That was not, in fact, a kiss. Not really, anyway. It was something nameless that had come at them out of the shadows, terrifying and full of possibility.

[starburstgalexies]

For the ship ask meme, I have to throw back a ryuulock (or any iteration of that ship name) and a bonus Aekazu in case you wish to wax poetic about them, please

(Okay so this kinda got away from me and became long, especially because I decided to humor the aekz, it's kind of a cheap shot since you know it's my favorite gnshn ship, but far be it from me to pass up a chance to talk about them. But ryulock is the one that got too long in the first place. Someone needs to shut me up.)

Ship It

Ah, ryulock. I was ready to hate and notp it at the beginning, but in the end, it had me in its grasp, and ultimately I Ship It and I ship it pretty damn hard. In fact, you have broken a dam, I hope you don't regret it.

What made you ship it? I probably don't need to detail it this much but I'm gonna sit down and tell the story anyway. But the TL;DR of it is that they kept flirting all over the game and I am not blind enough to ignore it. First case, like most of the fandom, I fell in love with asoryu pretty quick. Then Events Transpired in 1-2. Mind that I was still a monogamous shipper back then, like I multishipped before but it would be like "each ship is monogamous in an alternate timeline" kinda deal. asoryuvanlock would unlock the part of my brain that enabled polycule shipping later (and mostly because of ryulock, as a matter of fact). So, first playthrough, I am a monogamous shipper and I already have a ship, Kazuma's body isn't even cold, Herlock is immediately hitting on Ryunosuke, and Ryunosuke is like "well I... ahem... liked dancing with that detective uwu". Since I didn't know the plot twist of the second game yet, I was certain the fandom's most popular ship would be ryulock, so knowing myself, I expected myself to hate it due to the fact that I would see it everywhere over asoryu whose one half is dead, it would literally be what happened with k.lapollo into c.laypollo. Except, funny thing. They move in together, keep flirting. Shoutout to the "Hurley tore off your button??" scene. But that's not all. Not only they work so well together as a pair, both in investigation and in comedy, but they also have an intriguing arc as to their relationship. I'll get into it in the second question. Ultimately, I wasn't blind enough to ignore the legitimacy and intrigue of this pair, and I started shipping it pretty hard, and ryu has two hands. (then things with barok happened and ryu may not have three hands but everyone has two hands and they can make a circle, I gave up, asoryuvanlock real. Never been the same since.)

What are your favorite things about the ship? The flirting thing has been established. But that's just the surface level anyway. "They are attracted" can be as superficial as you can make it. What makes this ship good is how well they work on every level. Their intelligence matches. One of the mechanics of the game is literally based on the fact that Ryunosuke completes the holes in Herlock('s logic). Ryunosuke at first tries to be respectful and keep what he thinks about him and his antics to himself, but you see him gradually get comfortable with him, making way for great banter. Then, you see Herlock getting comfortable with him in return. But there is a ghost in the room and it's Kazuma. Not only they didn't solve that particular issue (nor even acknowledged or attempted to), Herlock just shatters that trust with his secret. They have a good arc in regards to their relationship. They are so well-written.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? Remember how I mentioned in the first ask that I expected this to be the most popular ship in the fandom? Yeah turns out the fandom is not only blind, but they are straight up delusional. A 10-year age gap does not a father-son relationship make. Especially not with Ryu at 23-24. If you don't romantically ship it, I respect it, each to their own, shit's subjective. But don't call a 34-year-old man a 24-year-old's adoptive/conceptual father. As someone who was 24 when they played the chronicles, I thought about the 30+ year old people I knew, and even thinking them as some sort of an "older-generation" figure creeped me out, let alone a parental figure. Older sibling, I'll take it at that age range. But father? The hell?

aekazu part

Ship It

Ship it so hard I have a headache from the brainrot. I am thinking about them all the time. I get myself sick of them sometimes and still don't stop. They sicken me. They are so fucking in love.

What made you ship it? The moment that made me ship it was the exact moment that got me from "meh" about this game to hyperfixated. You know the Best 90 Seconds In The Game. Where Kazuha sees the Traveler, is briefly relieved to see them okay, and almost has that relief forcibly wrangled out of his hands. And he doesn't say a word, he doesn't even know what he thinks, but you as audience know from his expressions, you see that absolute terror of "not again not again" before he instictively dashes forward, barely even feeling he actually activated the electro vision until he is thrown back.

What are your favorite things about the ship? It's the fact that they were both at their lowest when they met. It's the fact that they didn't want to fall in love with each other, but it happened so naturally that they didn't even truly fight it (some psychological repercussions and avoidance happened, which only adds intriguing flaws to their relationship arc). It's the fact that Kazuha didn't think he could love again, but not only did he love again, he loved so much he accomplished the impossible, and through it, inadvertently accomplished both his dead lover's wish of resisting the lightning's glow and his own wish of reigniting that ambition. It's the fact that Aether was avoiding all kinds of deep relationships on this world up to that point, and Kazuha helped him see that he can as well as love while he is stuck down here. It's that Kazuha had a permanent frown when they first met, and now his eyes are soft and his lips are upturned ever since the Inazuma arc. It's that when Kazuha's trauma regarding his family and his journey and his psyche was revealed against his will, he was comfortable with the Traveler enough to actually talk about it and work through it, and that this pulled them even closer together. It's "even if the day comes for us to go our separate ways, I am certain that we will meet again, in some corner of the world. The fate that brings people together is not a cord so easily cut." It's "I am better now that you're here." It's that Kazuha keeps asking the Traveler to experience something together whenever he considers doing anything.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? Besides the fact that it's a criminally rare ship? I am of the opinion that, Kazuha can and does love others, but due to the entire arc described above AND from his voicelines, I think - no, I know - he will never ever consider himself as spiritually bound to someone as the Traveler (lumi included). Okay, fine, I'm gonna say it, this is not nice to say about any ship where multishipping is a factor, but here. He's not gonna love anyone as much, not unless it takes yet another painful arc about moving on. And I feel like yet another one would just break the poor guy.

[inkofamethyst]

June 26, 2023

Hm.  It does, in fact, seem that I have expelled most of my terror into that last post.  Now it kind of sits as a numb, low hum at the back of my mind instead of endless, tormented howling.  Figuratively, of course.  Anyway, the worry is still there, here, but just not as dreadfully centered.

My photo-friend, a former psychology major, once told me several years ago that catharsis was fake.  That there was no such effect documented scientifically.  That me journaling my negative emotions was only making them stronger, not somehow releasing them.  Time and time again, I feel that I must be proving scientific literature wrong.  But hey, that’s what a scientist does, right?

Now, I confess, I have, some winters, felt so dreadful that I listened to nothing but sad and angry music and isolated myself for months.  That was not catharsis.  That was wallowing.  A depression somewhat aided by the shorter, colder days, in addition to personal and/or international despair.

Maybe, then, true catharsis is just for me.  Some secret method of shedding the negative.  When I’m not in a self-created environment of it, that is.  If I’ve filled the box I’m in with negativity, shedding the negative from my skin won’t remove it from me, but add to the scenery.

Okay, enough with the philosophizing.

I finished watching Manifest with my dad, and I think the ending really, really delivered.  I mean, the show was textbook Lost-esque: large ensemble cast of unique characters experiences a mystery-riddled ordeal together, somehow isolated from the rest of the world.  There are clues and connections and buildups and twists and throwbacks and central characters and peripheral characters, all of whom we grow to know and care about.  I think the main difference between the ending of Manifest and Lost is that the characters in Lost were suck on that stupid island (I mean it was an interesting island, but it was, by nature, isolated).  Anything they did was stuck on that island.  There was literally (pretty much) no impact on the outside world once they boarded that plane.  They were all unknowingly fighting for a spot to be the protector of some special island that was only important, from my recollection, because Jacob said it was.  Because it contained the Man In Black and kept him from destroying humanity like some sort of Pandora’s Box, or something.  But, in its finale, Manifest demonstrated that the ensemble’s ordeal had a greater purpose that clearly and actually impacted themselves and their world.  I think I teared up when Lost ended because those iconic final few shots with Jack and seeing the cast all together again and happy after seasons of trials was a little emotional.  Sure there was some growth: Sun and Jin, most notably, Hurley...  But the characters in Manifest all grew and exhibited their growth clearly in those final minutes.  Sure, the show got a little wacky, just like Lost did, in mixing science and reasoning with magic and faith, but it was entertaining and interesting, with an ending that was heartwarming and, in my opinion, beautifully satisfactory (though my father did guess what would happen after they boarded the plane that final time, but he’s seen a lot more television than I have).  Four seasons is a reasonable length (it’s the only show I’ve watched from the beginning of college to its end, actually), and I would recommend it to Lost-lovers.

[edit: one thing about Manifest though, and maybe it’s just that I was raised Christian and live in a Christian-dominant culture, but I found an interesting Christian-y bend to the show.  And I’m not talking just about Angelina’s character background or the whole Romans(?) 8:28 thing near the beginning, but across the show and even in the finale, the idea of a sort of eternal, infinite punishment for finite crimes is a very Christian thing.  Now, don’t get me wrong in the slightest, seeing unequivocally bad, unrepentant people suffer feels immensely satisfying.  That’s because I’m human.  It’s that instant reaction.  But, after thinking about it just a little, it’s just kind of unfortunate, honestly.  I think a less satisfying but, perhaps, more just ending would have been those bad people not being able to recall or in any way use the growth that could have occurred during those five years, unlike the protagonists.  But to an audience, and as a piece of fiction, it might have seemed too lenient.]

Lost changed the game in television.  But it’s hard to maintain a position as both the first and the best as time goes on.

Today I’m really, really thankful that I feel less worried.

[simptasia]

ages of LOST characters when we first meet them vs the ages of the actors when they first started playing them. reminder that the starting point of LOST is september 22nd 2004. if a character’s age seems one less than sounds right to you its because their birthday is coming up. if a character is missing from this it’s because we don’t know their age in canon (looking at you, desmond)

jack shephard: 34 matthew fox: 38

kate austen: 27 evangeline lilly: 25

hugo “hurley” reyes: 25 jorge garcia: 31

james “sawyer” ford: 35 josh holloway: 35

sawyer says he’s 35. but lostpedia only has sawyer’s birthyear, 1968, making him 36. however an easy explanation for this is that sawyer has a birthday coming up in the post september to december range (like many other characters here) thus making the birthyear and what sawyer said still right

john locke: 48 terry o’quinn: 52

sayid jarrah: 36 naveen andrews: 35

jin-soo kwon: 29 daniel dae kim: 36

sun-hwa kwon: 24 yunjin kim: 31

claire littleton: 21 emilie de ravin: 23

charlie pace: 27 dominic monaghan: 27

okay so an odd thing happened here. we don’t actually know charlie’s age in canon, except that based on a statement from liam that he’s absolutely less than 30. and basically what happened is there was big debate on lostpedia, the general gist being he’s 25 to 28, until everybody just gave up and they slapped dom’s birthday on charlie’s page. and it’s still there to this day

walt lloyd: 10 malcolm david kelley: 12

walt’s actor was gonna age outta the role anyways due to the nature of lost’s timeline but their first mistake was casting a 12 year old. like, hello, puberty?

shannon rutherford: 20 maggie grace: 21

boone carlyle: 23 ian somerhalder: 26

danielle rousseau: 44 mira furlan: 49

ethan rom: 27 william mapother: 39

the consequences of season 5 are starting to hit

bernard nadler: 56 or 57 sam anderson: 58

ana lucia cortez: 29 michelle rodriguez: 27

eko tunde: 35 adewale akinnuoye-agbaje: 38

alexandra “alex” rousseau/linus: 16 tania raymonde: 17

benjamin “ben” linus: 39 michael emerson: 51

this isn’t even due to later timeline decisions, they just decided to do this

miles straume: 27 ken leung: 38

daniel faraday: 26 jeremy davies: 39

charlotte lewis: 33 rebecca mader: 31

and theeere’s the season 5 whammy. for those who don’t know (you must be new to my blog) dan and miles ages differ so much from their actors because when our guys are in 1977, it suited the story and characters better for miles to be a baby and dan to be an embryo (and char to be 6) at the same time. the writers were set on 1977 being the year everybody got stuck in and that’s how we get daniel faraday being an oxford professor at fucking 18

it’s something that gets funnier and sadder the longer you think about it

anyways. thank you for your time!

[emeriethevalkyriegirl]

I like you (Venom x reader)

A/N: I decided to do something other then MHA this time because this stuck with me ever since I remember watching Venom: Let there be Carnage. So yeah, enjoy guys.

Summary: You just found out that your recent boyfriend was cheating on you with a mistress. Venom finds out back at home and he shows his own affection towards you.

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

You heart was racing rapidly like a fireball to a flame. Your dress smelled of pink and red roses and sweat. Your hair felt like it was standing on end and your palms began to sweat more in the gloves you were wearing. You patiently waited outside of the restaurant doors for your boyfriend to come. You check the time of your watch.

10 minutes

15 minutes

30 minutes

You were starting to get worried. “Traffic?” You asked yourself as you cupped your hands into a ball and blew into them to keep warm.

Suddenly, you heard the sounds of kissing and moaning coming from a corner of the restaurant. You slowly walked towards the noise as right on impact, your heart stopped beating.

There he was. Johnson Hurley. The most handsome man in the world. A jock in high school. The football star. Main quarterback. Kissing faces with a mistress.

You dropped your phone by accident and he and the mistress turned sharply to you. The mistress looked uninterested and rolled her eyes. John however was surprised to see you. “Y/N I was gonna call but-“

You reached for your phone and ran out of the alley way.

———————

The tears that threaten to fall before have made its way to you. You cried until your throat begged for you to stop. “Stupid John. Why did I ever think he could-“ you bumped right into your own apartment door. “Ouch.” You mumbled taking out your keys and walking right into your tiny home.

You got this apartment after you lost your job. It wasn’t too bad at first. You were doing okay for someone like you. Then you met Venom and- “Oh shit, Venom!” You quickly raced back to your bedroom and noticed a jar of black toxic liquid. It flowed in a familiar formation. “He’s gonna kill me.” You whispered opening the jar up.

Earlier that day, you tricked venom into telling him it was your time of the month and he needed to leave so that you could vent. In reality you trapped him in the jar so he wouldn’t ruin your date. Unfortunately, it was all for nothing.

Venom slowly crawled towards you and sucked into your body with ease. You were frozen stiff waiting for Venom to speak. Until the silence got too quiet. “So…are you gonna talk or…” Instantly, Venom made himself appear as a tall muscular man in front of you. He was still attached to you from your back but other then that, he was like a new person. He frowned at you like a child who lost there toy. “Are you going to explain to me why my host trapped me in a jar?” You gulped and looked away while hiding your face from him. “Well?” Venom waited for an answer. “Um…I um…uh…”

“Wait better question, where were you?”

“Out?”

“Where?”

“Somewhere?”

“Somewhere where?”

“Somewhere where where.”

“This is going nowhere.” Venom silently facepalmed. You chuckled a bit but covered your mouth when Venom glared at you. “Do you know how long I was in that jar?” He asked. “Um…45 minutes?”

“No. 50. I was in that jar for 50 minutes worrying about a little girl who tricked me into thinking she was on her period while really she snuck out of her own apartment to have some fun. So was it worth it?” You looked away and started to cry again. This time, your whole face was buried into your hands. You wish you brought a coat with you but your foolish heart figured that’s John was gonna give you his.

You heard Venom sigh. “Alright alright don’t cry please.” You only cried more. Venom groaned and cupped his hands on your cheeks. “Lemme guess. A mistress?” He said, you nodding in response. “Hug.” You simply said as Venom rolled his eyes and snuggled you into his chest. “Alright there there sweetheart. I’m here.” Venom soothed your back with his giant hand as he kissed your forehead while you simply just cried and cried in his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke away from him and looked and said, “I’m really sorry Venom. I thought this was going to be a nice wonderful date with me talking to him. I guess all I ever did was realize how stupid I was.”

“You do know you’re not stupid right?” Venom asked you. You shrugged. Venom cuddled you some more and placed you on your bed. “Hey you wanna cuddle in the bed?”

“Sure.” You said sadly as he picked you up but he suddenly pretended to drop you. “Whoopsie. Do I need to workout more are you gaining weight Y/N?” You covered your mouth to muffle the giggles. “I mean sure I know you’re average weight but come out, you eating some desserts without me?” You giggled at your silly alien as he continued to lightly toss you up in the air a bit. “Venom please! Put me down.”

“No can do. I gotta work out some more with this dead weight.” You laughed more as you eyed the glass jar. You tried to reach for it but Venom looked at you and smirk. “Uh oh, someone’s going for the jar. She’s almost got it. If she would just- OHHHH!”

“WAH!” Before you knew it, you and Venom were on the bed, him laying on his back while you were still on his chest. “Oh bummer, she missed it. That’s an all out tickle penalty.”

Uh oh.

You tried to best to escape the giant alien but in the end, Venom was on top of you smirking at you with wiggling fingers. “You’re so gonna get it now.” Venom said as he viciously tickled your tummy. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO NO VENOM HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” You batted your hands at his huge ones but Venom didn’t relent.

“Aw who’s my ticklish human? Who is it? Come on. Guess.” Venom teased while you smiled widely. You stuck your tongue out while you slaughter as you tried to reach for the jar again. “Uh oh, here she comes again. She’s almost there. Just a little further- GOTCHA!” Venom was now tickling your armpits. You squealed loudly at the top of your lungs. “OH GOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOD VENOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOM PLEASE!”

Seeing your tears of despair, Venom stopped ticking you as you tried to catch your breath. Venom smiled at you and you smiled back. “There’s my smile. That’s my goochie goochie goo smile.” You giggled at the nickname. “Oh Venom.” You said as he held you up in the air and kissed your cheek. “You want me to read you a bedtime story?”

“Venom, don’t make me get the jar ag-AAAAAAAA!” Venom made his way to your belly button as you quickly shut your mouth. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

[ceilingfan5]

Wedding/ sick for weird au mixes

Kravitz thinks of himself as a relatively sensible guy. Somehow, despite this, he always seems to end up in bizarre situations, and this time, he might have really taken the cake.

Not literally. Wedding cakes are so fucking expensive. Did you know this? So expensive. Even breathing is expensive when it comes to weddings. Kravitz is never getting married. If he ever feels the urge, he’s going to take a cold shower and then calculate, by hand, how many burritos he can get for the cost of a wedding while he’s still dripping wet and naked. This is a foolproof plan.

Kravitz likes plans. He likes knowing what’s going on at any given time and what the appropriate reaction is to any given situation and he likes knowing the right way to handle things, which, he’s been criticized in the past, by several different boyfriends, is like trying to get a good grade on every social interaction at all times, like he’s going to be given a report card at the end of a fucking conversation. This is normal to want and possible to achieve. Kravitz is doing great. And all of those guys saved him a lot of money on not having a wedding, so, really, he should thank them for fundamentally misunderstanding him on a level bordering on cruel.

He’s sensible. He likes plans. He wants to know the right answers. And yet? And fucking yet?? He finds himself doing shit like this, holding back the long hair of a complete stranger in the bathroom the night after the bachelorette parties. They aren’t even from the same side of the wedding party--Kravitz is firmly in Sloane’s camp, the best man, in fact, and he’s never met Taako before this week.

“So, you’re Hurley’s friend, right?” He tries to keep his voice soothing, and he pats Taako’s back a little. He doesn’t want to overstep, but he also doesn’t want Taako to be as miserable as humanly possible, which he’s certainly trying to achieve with a fervent vigor most people retain for gambling, or extreme sports. He wishes he had a little pocket guide book for weird situations like this. Turn to page 34 to comfort a stranger. Turn to page 62 for dealing with someone who is attempting to vomit everything they’ve eaten since age five.

“Yeah,” Taako moans. He leans his head, presumably pounding like a DJ scoring a hammer festival, gently against the toilet paper dispenser. “Sorry to drag you into this. You can- mmnnh. You can go. If I die, I die.”

“I think Hurley would be upset if you died,” Kravitz says gently. “You’re under contract until you wear that suit tomorrow. Maybe after that you can schedule a date with Death.”

“Hope it’s not a dinner date.” Taako snickers at his own joke, and then hiccups and covers his mouth. “Fuck!”

“Listen, not that it’s any of my business,” imagine him rapidly flipping pages in his guidebook, looking for the appropriate conversation cue. Interventions in 60 seconds. No? Maybe 25 conversation starters that aren’t about toilets? “But when we ran into each other at the casino last night, you seemed a little...” Flirtatious. Angry. Incredibly wasted. “Distracted. Is something on your mind? Besides the wedding, I guess?”

“Damn, you-” Taako hiccups again, and shifts his legs, groaning. “You weren’t kidding, that isn’t any of your business.”

Ah! Fuck! He’s losing points! What a terrible misstep! How will his grade ever recover!

“I’m so sorry-” he backpedals. “I just-”

“No, I get it.” Taako sighs. “Shit. Um. You know, I’m too hungover to lie to you? Um.” He fidgets with the toilet paper like a cat finding its own enrichment. It’s almost endearing. “Um. Okay. Yeah. I was in a mood. I would still be, if my fuckin’ head didn’t feel like it’s losing a getting-crushed-by-a-steamroller race. I’ll have more feelings later, I guess. Jot that down on your calendar.”

“Noted.”

“I, um.” Taako closes his eyes, shoulders lurching a little again, but Kravitz gently pulls his long, silky hair back from his face, and it doesn’t go further than that this time. “I was supposed to get married this year. And, uh.” He waves the fingers on his left hand, all of them incredibly empty. “Sorta fucked that one up.”

“Oh,” Kravitz says, intelligently. He imagines frantically flipping through his guidebook. Even in his head, there’s no suggestions for this. It’s a picture of a cartoon frog giving a thumbs up. Frogs don’t even really have thumbs. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I can see why that would be hard to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Taako chuckles. “It sucks. I mean, he sucks, and both of us are stupid, and the whole thing is a mess, and I’m glad it didn’t go forward, but it’s.” He covers his mouth, looking green, but his shoulders slowly relax. “S’bad. Badtime. Badtime for Taako.”

“I see that.” Kravitz decides to carefully rub Taako’s back. If that’s overstepping, he’ll take the F. Taako can tell him to fuck off, and he will, and that’ll be that. But between last night and today, he likes Taako, and he feels bad for him, going through something awful like that. It’s got to be real hard, having to be a big part of a beautiful wedding, mourning one that’ll never be, even if it’s better for everyone involved. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone else who makes you happy, if that’s what you’re looking for. You’re very attractive and funny and- and-” Kravitz’s cheeks heat up. That might have been a bit much for sure. He especially didn’t need to keep talking, because the next thing on his mind was how perfect all of Taako’s freckles are, and that’s, that’s a lot. Wrong thing to say in the wrong situation. This is such a mess.

But Taako laughs.

“Yeah?” he says. “Sounds like you like me.”

“Oh, I- um. I.” Kravitz backpedals, pulling his hand away from Taako. His long, beautiful hair falls around his face again, and even as miserable as he is, he looks like some kind of angel.

Can angels puke? Rats can’t. There might not be a correlation there. Then again, what if there was?

“I’m- I wasn’t- You’re- that would be-” he can’t quite figure out how to defend himself.

“Admit it,” Taako sing-songs, his voice still hoarse.

“I could be convinced to like you,” Kravitz mumbles. “I happen, to, uh. Happen to have an opening. In my life. For likeable people.”

Taako laughs again, tipping his head back and smacking it on the toilet paper dispenser. He whines and rubs it, looking positively wretched.

“You’re wild, Krav,” he says anyway. “Soon as I can brush my teeth, I’m gonna find out if those pretty lips are as kissable as they look.”

Kravitz doesn’t have a page in his book for this, but something in the very, very back of his mind thinks that there are more things in life to do with your money than buy burritos. If not a wedding, at the very least, a date is a good start.

[writingsbychlo]

if the world was ending | mitch rapp

word count; 5152

summary; mitch broke up with you because he couldn’t handle being in love again, and now he regrets that decision, and would do anything to take it back.

notes; this is a song fic, but I didn’t include all of the lyrics, so don’t send me asks about missing chunks, please! check out the song!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex.

I was distracted, and in traffic I didn't feel it when the earthquake happened, But it really got me thinkin' Were you out drinkin'? Were you in the living room Chillin', watching television?

His key would continuously seem to miss the lock on the door, and Mitch let out a low growl, shoving at the metal once again as he tried to force the lock to work, blurry eyes and exhaustion taking him over. Before he could question it, the door was opening from the inside, metal shifting and gears clicking before the wood was moving from his sights to reveal you instead, a bright smile on your face and one of his black henleys on your shoulders, hanging slightly loose around the open collar as it faded away into a pair of sleep shorts and fluffy socks clad on bare legs.

You were a sight for sore eyes, messy hair and teasing grin, and all. 

“You didn’t even check who it was, what if I’d been an intruder?” He chastised, stumbling forwards one tired legs and pressing a kiss to your lips, humming happily as you pressed back into him just as eagerly, before he was kicking the door shut behind himself and dropping his bag down by the front door. 

“An intruder with a key?” You raised your brows at him, his lips flicking up at the sides as his shoes followed; phone, wallet and keys all being discarded onto the side unit, and his eyes were locking onto the couch, joy filling him at the idea of laying down. “Not that you know how to use it, apparently.”

“You try using a key after six days in Russia with no sleep and having to fight, like, four people at once. Everything hurts.” You placed a hand on his chest to stop him in his movements as he edged toward the couch, a whine falling from him as he turned to look at you.

“You’re covered in blood, you’ll ruin my cushions, you need to wash up first.” He let out another sigh, despite knowing that it was a true and fair request, and nodded his head. “How about I run us a hot bath? I’ll put those bath salts in that make your muscles all tingly, and I’ll wash your hair for you.” 

He nodded, a wave of serenity already washing over him simply at the idea that he’d get to relax in the warmth of the water, his back pressed to your chest as you wrapped around him from behind, holding him close. You were always so good at making him feel safe when he came home, and he knew it was one of the reasons he’d fallen for you in the first place. What was intended to be a simple fling to satisfy the cravings for basic affections and the lust deep in his gut had become much more. 

He had a key to your apartment, and the cat the roamed the halls was friendly enough to bump its head against his shins and purr. He’d met your friends, and knew the names of every worker in that Thai place down the street that you loved so much, and they knew him. It had been so easy to slip into something more deep and meaningful with you, but there was still a clawing guilt in his stomach every time. The true intentions he’d had that night when he’d bought you a drink in a shitty bar while you wore a tight dress and danced under low lights, not to woo you and love you but simply to find a quick fuck, someone to warm his bed and quash the loneliness for a little while. 

He hated that he couldn't give you what you needed, that he wasn’t able to love you, because he just didn’t know how anymore. Every time he came home and went to your place instead of his, the key he held and the emotion in your eyes every time you looked at it, it was only a matter of time before you said those three little words to him that he couldn't say back, and everything he so deeply craved would come crashing and burning down at his feet once again. Warmth would shift to icy chills and he’d have locked himself out once again, because commitment just wasn’t something he was capable of anymore.

The water was running, gentle hands skimming up his sides as you helped him to undress, his own hands working over soft skin as he pushed your clothing to the floor, mouths melding in soft kisses, fingertips leaving goosebumps over flesh as you embraced one another’s touch once again, and even with the respite from his guilt that your presence provided for him, it was still always there. A pit in his stomach that was growing bigger and bigger, because as the tender moment stretched on and on, he knew tonight was going to be when you said it, full of bliss and joy and expecting to hear the phrase back, and so he kissed you, deeply, willing you not to, so that he could selfishly claim just a few more hours with you before it was all over.

It's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to let you go and let communication die out I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

Pressing his forehead against the side of the plane, his eyes fluttered shut for a second, the painful ache spreading over the entirety of his body was enough to make any other grown man cry, but that wasn’t the cause of the burning behind his eyes today. Today, Mitch had the painful reminded of this day a year ago when he’d been on his way to see you, but he didn��t quite have that luxury anymore. His throat was tinging, choking back the emotions he held, one’s he so wanted to release, and his nostrils flared with a deep sigh instead. 

“You’re been pouting like a child all fuckin’ day. Will you cheer up? You’re ruining the beer I’m anticipating when I get home with your foul mood.” 

He cracked his eyes open, hoping they didn’t appear as glassy and red as they felt, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, scowling at his mentor in hopes that he’d lay off. That tactic clearly hadn't worked, however, because Stan shifted a little more in his seat, dragging a curious gaze over every inch of his face in a way that made Mitch squirm in his seat a little, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was being afforded. 

“You look depressed.”

“That’s because I’m stuck on a plane with you.” He muttered, moving himself to look out of the window instead, and his mentor barked out an amused laugh, but Mitch could still feel his lingering stares. 

“No, I think you’re freaking out about what happens after you’re no longer on the plane with me.” He hated that Stan could read him so easily, that to everyone else he was a safe that was locked up tight, and that it was so easy for the other man to crawl under his skin, get on all of his nerves and be one of the only people who truly knew him. “You weren’t even this on edge and tense when we were on our way out, never mind coming home.”

“I just don’t like going home to an empty house, okay? It’s too quiet. Cold.”

He grumbled the words out, but Stan scoffed, and was fixed with a harsh glare in return, but he didn’t flinch like Mitch wished he would, seemingly unaffected by the burning stare. “And who’s fault is that, huh?”

Mitch opened his mouth, gaping a little, before snapping his jaw shut tightly, feeling the muscles twitch and tense as his teeth ground together. He could feel the divet between his brows, where they had puled together, a spot that always formed when he was angry or confused or concentrating, and he could still feel the warmth and weight of you sinking down into his lap while he wrote up his reports, your thumb smoothing over the spot, followed by a brush of your lips as you told him to relax. 

The thought made his eyes sting once again, and he cursed a little under his breath, giving in at the stares they were sharing as he cowered out, blinking forming tears away quickly. “I don’t get what your problem was. You clearly care about her. Why can’t you just tell her that, and stop sulking? It’d do you good o have her back, I liked you better when you weren’t sulking and single. Less of a bitch to work with.”

“You’re a bitch to work with.”

“What are you? Five?” 

He knew it had been a weak response, and he cringed a little on himself, sinking down further into the plush leather of the plane seat and trying to sift through his thoughts, something that Hurley clearly acknowledged, because he waited patiently but expectantly in silence, running a hand over his jaw as he watched Mitch try to gather his thoughts up and sort himself out. “It’s not so easy to just say. It’s complicated.”

“It really ain’t.” Stan shrugged, something about his tone making Mitch feel like he was about to get some kind of fatherly advice, and his curiosity got the best of him as he peered over at his superior. “I’ve heard you say that word before. Heard you say how much you love beer, how much you love beef dumplings and noodles on a Friday night, how much you love knocking cocky recruits on their ass.”

“Saying I love food is not the same as being able to say I love (Y/N).” He hissed, hopes dropping as he realised the statement wasn’t going to be useful, but Stan smirked at him wickedly, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his drink.

“Yeah, well, you just said it.” His face twisted up, moving between several different expressions, before a slightly nauseated shock was what he settled on, as he realised that the words he’d never been able to say aloud before, or even internally acknowledge, had finally been voiced for the first time. In front of Hurley, of all people. He was never going to be able to live this down. “Now, why can’t you say that to her?”

“Because everyone I’ve ever loved before has died, Stan.”

He could see the shock flick across the older man’s face, and it brought him a sick kind of amusement to know he’d caught him so off-guard, but then he was shrugging, and again moving back to that irritating level of passive smart-ass that only he had managed to master so effectively. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have the same training you did before now, did you? You’re not even thirty. You gonna’ spend the whole rest of your life miserable and unhappy just because of a car crash and a shooting, both of which were beyond your control?”

A dull aching in his chest flare dup a little at the mentions of those events, but he knew it was true, and his body deflated with the breath he let out as he gave the weakest rise and drop of his shoulders that he could, his hands clasping over his stomach as he turned to stare out of the plane window. A large hand found his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, but he didn’t bother to look over. 

“Just stop being a dumbass, you clearly love this girl, so why don’t you just get your head out of your ass and go see her?”

Stan wandered away after that, ice clinking in his glass as he handed it off to a flight attendant before disappearing to the bathroom, and Mitch was left alone to wallow in painful thoughts with a stabbing pain in his chest as his heart continued to long for you. 

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant If the world was ending You'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight And there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye If the world was ending You'd come over, right? Right?

He was sweating, hands clammy with a nervous perspiration that made him feel uncomfortable in his clothes, like he wanted to curl up into a ball, dig a hole in the earth, throw up, or some combination of all three. The walk he’d done was so familiar to him, and yet right now, as he stood before your door, it had felt eerily unfamiliar.

There were definite changes. 

Your neighbour’s suspicious cat sat out on the front of the apartment building but did not come over to him, even when he’d called out its name, taking the welcome distraction as he crouched down and held his hand out to it, trying to tempt it into remembering him, into approaching him again, but it hadn't. The small animal had simply stared at him as he stood there, before mewing loudly and running away when he’d taken a fraction of a step closer to the door. 

The elevator in the main building was working, it had broken only a few months into seeing you before, and now it was back up and working like it had never been broken. The lights in the entryway were brighter, and the hallways had been repainted, the soft grey that they had once been was replaced with sky blue, much brighter and cheerier, and he remembered you telling him about it while laying in bed together one night, it was the exact colour you’d voted for when the building meeting had taken place to discuss it. 

The crack in the framing by your door that you’d never gotten around to fixing was mended, damage done by the previous tenants and he’d always said he would fix it for you, but had then always forgotten to bring the tools he would need for it, and he choked down the regret in his throat as he brushed a finger over it. He knew the route, his feet feeling like dead weight under his body as he’d trudged along the halls, before finding himself here, all but trembling with fear and anticipation outside of your door. 

The paper and ribbons wrapped around the flowers in his hands were crinkling loudly with every shake he made, and he took a deep and steadying breath, shaking himself down from head to toe. The rapping of his knuckles on the door felt like it reverberated along his entire body, his heart thumping painfully hard against his chest as he waited, eyes fixed on the floor as he watched warm light spill out from under the threshold and into the corridor, soon blocked by a shadow as he heard the scuffling of your feet along the floorboards.

Breath was stuck in his lungs, a choked sound leaving him as the door swung open, your voice ringing out but dying in your throat as you spoke, claiming that whoever it was that you were expecting - certainly not him - was early, and he dropped his eyes, just for a split second to scan along your body, before he was looking up at your face once again.

So pretty, and if he’d thought the melodic ringing of your voice was enough to end him then he had been entirety unprepared for the sight of you. The little black dress he loved so much was fitted to you like a second skin, a cocktail dress he’d seen you wear so many times before as he took you out for drinks and celebrations, his body flooding with heat. Hair styled up, makeup to perfection, and he would have been just as breathless if you’d crawled out of bed to answer the door but you were stunning, and he hated every ounce of himself for ever letting you go.

His jaw dropped as you stared at him in shock, pain flashing in your eyes before you hardened your gaze on him, an act he’d never wished to have you aim at him and yet he knew he deserved it, and yet the words were burning on the tip of his tongue as every moment he’d ever shared with you flashed before his eyes, swirling in his mind, and pulling one very prominent one to the front. 

The last time that he’d almost uttered the phrase to you, the one he was determined for you to hear from him now, even if you no longer felt the same. The last time you’d worn this dress, and you’d taken him with you to celebrate one of your friend’s birthdays, his cheeks heating up as he looked at you, but saw that day.

I tried to imagine your reaction It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' That night we went drinkin' Stumbled in the house  And didn't make it past the kitchen Ah, it's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

You were giggling into his mouth, red lipstick smeared across his chin and cheeks as your fingers scratched at the stubble lining his jaw, tongue tangled together as you stumbled into your apartment. The door slammed as it closed, hard enough to shake the walls, but neither of you cared, especially not when you were making such sweet sounds for him as his hands slipped lower and lower across the silk lining your body. 

Shoes came off first, his shoes being toed off as you tried to kick off your heels, sinking a few inches further down his body as the height fell away, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to be able to lean over you, keeping his mouth firmly on yours as wet tongues tangled together. You were stumbling through the apartment, tripping over one another’s feet and laughing breathlessly as your hands worked down the buttons on the front of his shirt. 

You were pushing the material from his shoulders, blazer and dress shirt falling away to the floor with a distant ‘thud’, the fluttering of material sounding out, and the heat around you both was crawling higher and higher. It was frantic, a night of teasing and longing looks, sipping champagne and cocktails with sly winks and whispered needs. He’d cleaned up for the event, and you’d made it clear before you’d even left just how good you thought he looked, and you were clad in dark black silk with thigh slits and heels and you were enough to bring any man to his knees, and he absolutely intended for that to be his next destination. 

He was rucking up layers of fabric in his hands until the skirt was bunched around your waist, making you hold it up, and the closest surface he could pin you to was the counter of the breakfast bar, barely having even made it through the kitchen, and hissed as bare skin found the cool marble. His knees hit the floor, your panties following until the scrap of lace was pulled tight around your knees, but then he was helping you up, sitting you on the surface, letting your lay back as he spread your legs and dived right in. 

You were dripping for him, before he’d even done anything but kiss you, a groan slipping from his lips as he all but drooled at the thrill of getting to indulge in the honey that was slick on your thighs. That was where he started, licking up the mess you’d already made of yourself as you squirmed and panted underneath him, letting him tease you with small bites and sucking at your soft skin until you’d growled in frustration, a hand in his hair pulling him closer until you were burying his face into your core, sounds that filled every wet dream he ever had taking over. 

His scalp had burned, the scratch of your nails and tugs of the strands and your thighs and hips had been littered with red marks the shape of his fingerprints that would be purple in the morning, but he knew you loved it just as much as he did. Two fingers had slipped into you, scissored and curled as he lapped around them, driving you to the point of senseless babbling just with his fingers and tongue, before you’d exploded around him. Then, he’d fucked you. 

Deep and slow on the counter with your arms wrapped around his neck, legs tights around his waist as you clung to one another, a collection of tangled limbs, a moaning mess and you chased your highs, until the two of you had been all but sobbing one another’s name into the other’s mouth as you kissed your way through your peaks, and he’s spattered your thighs and cunt with his arousal, pulling out at the very last second and leaving you trembling underneath him when he’d scooped it up and pressed it to your lips. 

It was hot, and erotic, but the moments after had been loving and tender. Taking a shower with weak muscles, sinking to the bottom of the tub together as water thrashed down from overhead, soft kisses and laughs and whispered confessions until the water had gone cold, and you’d collapsed into bed together, leaving a mess t tidy up int he morning, sheets sticking to wet skin as you were too lazy to even dry off, just cuddling together under the sheets, drunk on one another, and the words had been so close that night. A sleepy, post-orgasm haze, he’d so nearly whispered them against your lips as you kissed him goodnight.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant

“I love you.”

You flinched, like you were standing too close to a fire and had been burned, and it felt like a knife twisting in his stomach as he watched your reaction. Your arms came up to wrap around yourself, toes digging into the wood of the floor as you stood your ground but he knew your nervous ticks, he knew you, and he frowned, but didn’t let it deter him. 

“I love you so, so much. I’m a fucking idiot, I know I am. I know you hate me, and you’ve probably moved on and can find someone who actually deserves you, but I’m selfish, okay? I wanted you to hear it, I had to tell you, for my own peace of mind. I had to know that I cam here, and had the balls to tell you that you are the person who hasn’t left my mind in an entire fucking year. Every thought, every dream, every time my heart beats, it’s all for you, and I had to tell you.” He took a deep breath, scanning your face for even a twitch, any slight tell of an emotion he could get, but you were offering him nothing. “I couldn’t say it before, I was scared and I didn’t know what I was feeling and I know that I hurt you. It kills me every day to know what I did, to think about your face, and the way you’d cried when I walked out, because it haunts me, okay? A year ago today, I lost the best thing in my god damn life, and I just had to tell you, because in another year, and another ten years, and forever on, I think I’ll still love you then. I had to know that you knew.”

You were staring at him, eyes wide and a little glassy as he took a deep breath, lungs screaming out for oxygen and his mind was finally blank. The incessant buzzing he’d become accustomed to as his mind whirled around you on a loop had finally stopped, and he was left in calm, the aftermath of an event, the silence that came after an explosion, the harmony after a fight when everything just went still. 

But there was always more to come. 

Only then did the thoughts about what you were wearing catch up to him. Pretty painted lips and sharp eyeliner and that sinful dress that made his blood run warmer in his veins as he burned from the inside out. A quick glance behind you confirmed that there was a pair of black strappy heels to match the outfit, a necklace with a gem that he’d never seen you wear before was hanging between your breasts in the low neckline of your dress, skin soft and freshly shaven on the slit up your thigh on your dress. 

He let out a sigh, shoulders slumping a little, but he tried to offer you a reassuring smile nonetheless. “Date?”

Your brows pulled in with confusion, and he could physically see the walls surrounding you begin to crumble away, before you let out a heavy sigh, your arms dropping as you caved under his faze, finally speaking to him; “No. Drinks with the girls.”

“Ah, right..”

A tepid silence took over, and he tried not to drop his eyes from yours. Soaking up every moment he had with you before you inevitably kicked him off of your doorstep, and you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning on the doorframe. “A distraction. They’re taking me out to cheer me up, because it’s been a year since the best thing in my life walked out on me.”

Mitch felt his breath hitch in his throat as he stared at you.

If the world was ending You'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling while I'd hold you tight No, there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye If the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over, right? You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?

A fistful of his shirt, a harsh tug that he wasn’t expected that made him fall over his own feet, and then there were lips on his own. He couldn’t help it, the embarrassingly needy whine that left him the second his brain caught up with what was happening, and he dropped the bouquet to the floor, hands finding your hips as he pulled you into him. Bodies collided, flush and pressed together, your hands circling his neck and fingers in his hair, heat flooding him from where you were pressed to him, and it felt like he’d been cold for the entirety of the past year, goosebumps rising and falling along his skin as he fell back home, into your arms.

Your cheeks were wet as you gasped into his mouth, tongues sliding together, panting from breath as noses bumped. It was urgent and rushed, not the kiss he’d imagined with you if you’d forgive him, but the one that seemed most fitting. Messy and uncoordinated as if you were learning each other for the first time, becoming familiarised once again with every inch of the other, hands roaming and tongue exploring, until you were satisfied that you were thoroughly reconnected. 

He let out a wet and hoarse laugh, raising one hand to sit on your jaw and wipe his thumb under your eyes, clearing away the tears that were already threatening to spoil the masterpiece you’d created, and he knew how long it took you to do it.

“Baby, please don’t cry. You’re going to ruin your makeup.”

You let out a laugh, and he cleared your face, stealing a few more pecks as though at any moment you were going to realise what he’d done, go back to hating him, push him away as if this was the last he’d ever get to see you. You were staring up at him, with glassy eyes and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, and Mitch swore he couldn't even feel the floor anymore, as if he was floating, up in the clouds and lost to the world. 

“I’ll wait. I’ll wait right here, until you come back. We can talk, or you can yell, whatever you want. I’ll be here.”

“I‘m not going anywhere.” You pulled him back in, another collection of sweet kisses that he didn’t deserve but would always accept, never willing to give them up again. “I’d rather stay in and watch TV with you, but you have to go and get us takeout. You know I hate walking to get it.”

“I do, I do know that.” He sniffed, breathy exhale like a laugh as he held onto you tightly, before dipping down to collect the discarded flowers from the ground. A few crumpled petals fell away to the floor, but they were otherwise intact, and he pressed them into your hand carefully, watching as you admired them, thumbing at the delicate leaves and bringing them to your nose. 

“This doesn’t get you off the hook, you know.”

“I’ll spend the entire rest of my life making it up to you, I swear.” You only nodded, letting him into your apartment as you led him inside, smiles and tears and he dipped down, lips brushing your earlobe as he listened to you gasp in surprise. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Mitch. Even if you are a fuckin’ idiot.” He only nodded, following your lead as you took him by the hand and guided him through to find a vase and water for the flowers. “Go get my phone, I need to text my friends.”

He did as told, trailing through the apartment, bringing your purse back with him and presenting the item to you, his hands searching for your body once again, just needing to hold you and know that it was real, to know that this time, you weren’t just a dream his mind was conjuring up to torment him with.

He didn’t need a night out, he didn’t need you to be dressed up, he didn’t need anything but you. You and him, and the love you shared, it was enough to get him through anything. 

If the world was ending You'd come over, right?

[steveyockey]

Non spn anon: thank you for answering my confusing question, sorry it was confusing 😅 I must say I’m so intrigued by all the Dean gender discussion posts I’ve seen so when I learned there was a satin underwear moment I was like ?!?!?!!!!! On SPN of all shows? Just so much to unpack here. Anyway thank you again 🙏🏻

okay like I know you didn’t actually ask a question but this ask has been driving me crazy because “on SPN of all shows” non spn anon you wouldn’t know this because you, of course, do not watch spn, but this sort of slippage occurs all the time with dean! as was written in the gospel of dean by tumblr user marcusantonius, the slippage occurs so many fucking times (he likes to wear nightgowns! he knows purgatory is name of a gay club in miami! he’s made everyone he lives with watch lost boys over thirty times! he recites rent lyrics! soft spot for dirty dancing [“swayze always gets a pass”]! loves doctor sexy aka the in universe equivalent of greys! weird kinky sex references about zorro masks and whips!) and with such an earnestness that it actually actively reconstitutes dean against the superordinate classification of Absolute Heterosexual Male the narrative leans on as his assumed identity! 

the thing about a lot of meta on gay/bi readings of dean is that. well. da miller has a piece called “anal rope” where he uses this understanding of coding as a difference between connotation and denotation, basically things that have the potential for a certain reading vs the literal text,

 “connotation... excites the desire for proof, a desire that, so long as it develops within the connotative register, tends to draft every signifier into what nonetheless remains a hopeless task — hence the desire assumes another, complementary form in the dream (impossible to realize, but impossible not to entertain) that connotation would quit its dusky existence for fluorescent literality, would become denotation.”

it’s the same problem sedgwick refers to as “We Know What That Means” in epistemology of the closet, 

“to have succeeded... in cracking the centuries-old code by which the-articulated-denial-of-articulability always had the possibility of meaning two things, of meaning either (heterosexual) ‘nothing’ or ‘homosexual meaning,’ would also always have been to assume one's place in a discourse in which there was a homosexual meaning, in which all homosexual meaning meant a single thing.”

and I have to say anon that back in fandom circa 2014 the panties thing drove me CRAZY because I felt like it was everywhere all the time in every post about bi dean or gay dean or queerbait or queercoding or endverse spiral but NO ONE would ever explain it! “We KNOW What That Means”!! it filtered out into every single fucking fic where dean discovers his sexuality, I swear to god I read so many stories where he had this big sexual identity crisis during which part of the realization would be the panties, just the panties, the fact that he liked them an illumination in and of itself. exactly as you articulated it, a “satin underwear moment.” most interestingly (to me, at least), the idea of the panties makes an appearance in twist and shout but in REVERSE with cas being the one wearing the panties (almost as though through some sort of metacognition the writers understood they were making a work so profoundly out of step with the actual characters the meaning of the panties no longer aligned with the dean they had written - but what about the panties had aligned with dean in the first place!?). 

what DO the panties mean! they could mean a lot of things! sexual domination symbolic castration transgenderism kink fantasy shakespearean crossdressing something something gender roles battering rams to masculinity redefinitions of masculinity transgression of masculinity permeability of the borders of masculinity — nothing about the panties is inherently anything, it’s just about what you as the reader understand their meaning to be, the connotation YOU confer onto the text on the basis that rhonda hurley made dean try on her panties and he “kind of liked it,” and, somehow, and perhaps this is the key, this knowledge is what will convince a future self of dean winchester that his present self is the same self. and of course on the one hand it’s obvious that the assumed private nature of this knowledge, that dean would not have told this story to anyone else and thus only dean and rhonda can confirm its veracity, is the motivator for dean’s admission, but where’s the fun in that! and besides, that does nothing to explain how it come so easily, and so comfortably, which is how a lot of dean’s sexuality is supposed to come to him and part of the project he is cultivating as the Absolute Heterosexual Male! he’s a womanizer he’s a ladies man, again, to quote the gospel, “lovable fucker, always fuckable,” and something about the panties does fit into that, into what has been denoted about dean and sex and how he desires, but! it’s been denoted so thoroughly to collapse the image onto itself, so insistently proffered over and over again that it begs a question of itself and of the very comfortability that dean purports to have in his sexuality and the manner in which he wants you to think he wants the girl in the zorro mask to slap him. so the panties, which could be a reassurance of this comfort in this firm Heterosexual-Though-Non-Normative-Sexually Identity, instead become an object that connotes, along with every other little tic, every slippage, every glance, a hidden truth, a discomfort, a necessity to insist that there is not a secret buried beneath the open-bookedness of his sex life. it isn’t even actually about the connotation striving to become denotation, but rather that the denotation itself lacks stability and so connotation becomes identity as the performance of this heterosexual self tips into parody. masculinity. what a beast.

[fatherramiro]

that took five minutes anyway here’s a list of the lost men and if they eat pussy, please enjoy. this list will also self destruct when i realize What I’ve Done

in no particular order

sayid - absolutely goes down. went down on shannon so well that she died an episode later, its just science. absolutely the best.

jin - goes down. absolutely 100%. he’s a wife guy (eventually) so what else do you expect

daniel - yes. first time he went down on charlotte, she woke up half the freighter. this is a deleted scene from season four, trust me on it

sawyer - he didn’t, but juliet did not let that fly so he Got Better. also a wife guy so juliet’s not complaining

jack - he does, but its not great. just like... its just not the best which sucks for kate bc she deserves better on that front

charlie - he’s enthusiastic but his heart is in the right place? i just look at that man i perceive this.

hurley - as the best dude on the island, yes. absolutely. god bless.

locke and ben - they go together because they do not. no chance. sorry to locke’s weird girlfriend and also juliet for that one episode of season four. its not happening

desmond - you know, my heart says its a charlie situation where he’s real into it and his heart is in the right place and penny tries to give advice gently but it sort of never takes

miles - fully depends on your AU of choice tbh, like he’s an enigma who’s pussy eating characteristics change with every fic i write

boone - no. also he’s just not good at it, god rest his soul

eko - he’s a priest so technically no but also if he did, i think it would be good? but i am an eko stan first and a human second so he gets a good grade here

frank - tbh i don’t like to think about frank having sex ever but he’s okay. 

richard - has had a whole lifetime to practice and yet he does not. he’s good but not like sayid or jin or later seasons sawyer good.

michael - yes because he deserves this

anyway i’m so high i am forgetting what men are on lost now so if i forgot anyone.... i don’t care

oh wait widmore - no. absolutely not. there’s a reason eloise is the way she is