#i have never read a series with characters in more desperate need of someone they can just vent to

[kanejbr3kker]

Grishaverse characters at therapy (cause they need it)

Alina: Talks about all her friends' trauma but pretends hers is completely nonexistent

Mal: They have a really good conversation about all the happy things in his life, and then right at the end he brings up the whole "my girlfriend killed me'' thing

The Darkling: Says something creepy and fucked up and gets kicked out

Zoya: Comes in, sits in silence for thirty minutes, says "Kaz Brekker" and leaves

Nikolai: Tells his entire life story

Kaz: Inej forced him to go, he just sits in silence the entire time, and the only sound for an hour is him tapping his foot

Inej: Actually has a really wholesome conversation about everything she's been through and how to recover

Jesper: Only talks about Wylan's trauma

Wylan: Only talks about Jesper's trauma

Matthias: Sits in silence for ten minutes and then breaks down and starts talking about Nina

Nina: Is the therapist

[hhighkey]

Cry-Baby // Phinks, one shot - part of hhighkey’s phantom troupe universe series

Rating: mature Story Contains: implied past kidnapping, emotional manipulation, possessive/overprotective tendencies, rough sex, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, overly sensitive / easy to manipulate reader, phinks is not the good bf reader thinks he is, reader is unaware of the troupe until halfway, panic attacks, anger issues Note: around 13.2k words, ao3 link: xxx , this one shot is a big expansion off the smut headcanon I did awhile ago for Phinks. This has references to my Uvogin oneshot 'Taken' as his partner is the Reader from that (she's unnamed), and my Feitan one shot 'An Ode to...' is referenced slightly. On ao3 I have these one hits in a series for like a ‘phantom troupe universe’ so there's some overarching themes / connections going on. which reading the others aren't needed tho if u don't want!

It didn't take much, the TV channels with the abandoned dogs or a too sappy book, even your favorite ice cream being sold out. You'd be tearing up, lash line wet and moist as tears slowly dripped down. A tightening in your sensitive chest as you desperately tried to stop the looming cries that always found their way out. 

Since the day a tall muscular, handsome  blonde in a tracksuit walked into your life, everything changed. At first overwhelming joy over the man who memorized your coffee order, brought you tulips after you said you liked them in passing. Even your elderly next door neighbor adored him and she was a tough nut to crack.

You weren't sure when it changed. Six months of spending time together, careful glances as you saw how Phinks had immeasurable strength yet he'd blush at the smallest of things that came to you. 

So when did your life take a hard right turn? Had it really been the moment you meant Phinks, or was it when you told him about your new job opportunity with relocation? You remembered the panic on his chiseled features, how he ran his thick fingers through his combed blonde locks. How your back hit the wall as he stood over you, apologies spilling from his lips and then black. 

Intense grief over your past life and sudden lack of freedom contributed to the constant tears of your already sensitive state. Did you necessarily care that the man you loved was insanely protective, not allowing you to leave his home? And that your poor, soft head never once considered it to be kidnapping? Once dreaming of the day he asked you out but now he wanted you by his side forever? Phinks tried his best, he really did, leaving the room if a fight got intense, body language the epitome of a dangerous man when angry. Even as his fists clenched in anger because you refused something. Let you yell at him. Let you have your moments to starve yourself just to spite him. But the man knew how to woo- from your favorite music to shows, to learning to bake with you. His hot temper and possessive tendencies meant little when he babied and cared for you every turn. 

One day, you supposed you'd just snapped that your relationship with Phinks was more important than being able to have a phone or shop on your own. Or perhaps you gave into the feelings that were already there before he took you. You just stopped fighting the claws of doubt that nudged at your mind that kidnapping someone was not normal, that you can't be with him now. That meant little once you finally pressed your lips to his out of the blue and his tense muscled melted against you. Once you remembered a book you read in school, an intense look into the life of a woman who had intense Stockholm Syndrome and the psychology into it. You cried and cried over the book. Mourned for the fictional character, but somehow, in a messed up way you kept finding yourself rooting for their love. Maybe that was a big reason the author wrote it. You didn’t believe your love for Phinks was based on a psychological abuse based bond.

Phinks took you because he feared he’d lose you, he’d apologized for his mistakes. He never got violent towards you when business went bad or you’d not communicated in a way he needed while traveling. And that was good enough for you. 

Oh you could not wait for him to get home, he'd called the landline this morning to let you know he was on his way. You could jump for joy, heart racing with every growing excitement, fluttering nerves as you'd cleaned the townhome all morning. 

You glance to the timer, the minutes ticked down to when your garlic butter pull-away bread would be done- Phinks’s favorite. Growing up, your mother always emphasized the importance of a clean home, of cooking and preparing a meal for someone after a long day's work. You hoped she'd be impressed with the life you had with Phinks. 

'Alright,' you smiled to yourself as a faint alarm went off. Grabbing the oven mitts, you pulled the perfectly golden loaf out and placed it on the cooling rack. Oven now off you left the kitchen to change. 

It was almost time for Phinks to arrive home. You’re too impatient by that point, keep looking at the clock in your bedroom. The scent of him that lingered on the pillow you liked to hug close was no longer comforting in his place. With a smile you wanted to dress up better, so you made your way to the closet to pick a dress. 

"Babe?" The front door to your shared townhome slammed shut. Phinks's voice carried up the stairs even though you heard him going towards the kitchen most definitely smelling the fresh bread. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, a gentle smile as you smoothed down your dress. It was a new one Phinks had given you with a blush, saying he saw it and figured you'd look cute. And seeing him so embarrassed made you giddy, excited for him to see you in it. 

And of course you'd let him know you missed him the last few days he'd been gone on a business trip.

"Hey, coming down." You called out, making your way to the stairs. You saw his bag dropped at the door with shoes discarded, mentally making a note to straighten them up. 

"There you ar-" Phinks stopped mid sentence as his gaze lasered on you, he always hated having you out of his sight, made him nervous. His pupils went big as they traveled along every inch of skin, raking in the dress that fit your body perfectly, "Shit you look good." 

"Think so?" You blushed, nervous as you gave him a little spin.

"Know so." 

Phinks wasted no time to grab your waist and pull you into him. He breathed in your scent as he peppered kissed onto the top of your head. He relished in how you squeezed him, nuzzling your face into his chest.

"Missed you." You whined before giving him your best puppy eyes, "You aren't leaving anytime soon again right? Been gone a lot lately and I hate sleeping alone."

"Aw baby," Phinks cooed, "You're adorable. Hate being away from you, you know that right?" 

You nod, enthused and burning with want. Liquid heat spreads throughout your core as his hands slyly inch closer, "I know." It never took long for Phinks to get you undressed and pliant beneath him, completely at his mercy. The feeling of his warm body encapsulating yours was intoxicating mixed with the smell of his cologne. Light kisses fanned your hot skin as he reclaimed your lips for the nth time, meshing into a feathery pure want. 

It was those kisses, how you found yourself stripped, panties discarded and the top of your dress pulled down enough to free your breasts, the skirt hiked up. His fingers dig into your hips and you think you’ll have bruises for days from how his hips had thrusted into your cunt for the last hour. Sounds of slapping skin still reverberated in your ears as beads of sweat littered his skin, muscles always flexing with every movement. 

"Oh baby," Phinks cooed as he stroked your cheek, fingers pinching and squeezing your wet stained flesh. 

You were a mess. Shaking hips and messy hair, eyeliner smeared under the waterline. Phinks had made you cum more times than ever already since got back and started with his head between your legs. So poor little you was a babbling mess with clouded, lust filled thoughts. 

Phinks preferred you this way, well-behaved and hazy, gasping for breath underneath him with your calves resting on his biceps. You're so dazed you barely notice how his thumb flicks to your sensitive clit making your lower body spasm,

"Oh!" you gasp as you see stars. And it's all becoming too much. How hot your body is, how untamable a fire within you is as your hips buck and knots tighten in your abdomen. "Too much Phinks!! Can't-"

And that's when your tears fall. As if all cords and knots snapped at once your mind glittered with pleasure- too much pleasure that it was painful. So much so that you let out an honest to god sob as pools of wetness stain your flushed cheeks. Phinks hips stuttered for a second, coming to a halt as he watched you cry with love in his eyes. The way you were a goddess underneath him, how your face contorted and with hips giving him perfect friction.

"Oh fuck baby- that's hot, keep fucking crying for me." Phinks pressed into you more as he spoke low like a threat, cock pistoning against your cervix as he abused your clit, his thumb determined to stay put as you squirmed. Seeing the puddles fall from your eyes made him shake, a shiver running down his spine. 

And tears fell faster from his words alone as your abdomen burned. You barely recognize the whines leaving your lips through sniffles and cries, and snot begins to drip. Your poor wrists burn from the rope that tied them to the bed frame, the helplessness turning you on even more. 

Phinks face was inches away as he loomed over you, his pupils blown wide as he grinned past his canines. He found it so fascinating how the tears rolled down staining the sheets around your head. Fascinating that he could give you, his pretty little girl, such pleasure like rapture that you were weeping. Your breath fanning across his face with desperate whimpers from the deep of your throat sent him over the edge. Each intake of air was a job in itself, ragged breathing as you clawed at any of his skin you could grasp. 

"Phinks! M' too full- too much-"

Phinks just grunts. Braced himself over you as he suddenly left you empty, just the utmost tip of his long cock inside your gummy walls. A cocky smirk danced across his face and chiseled cheekbones, utterly obsessed with you, twisted feelings in his chest. Your dilated irises, fidgeting and thrashing figure from electricity that corrupted you- made him growl as tears continued to roll down your puffy cheeks. And how as he slammed his hips to yours- to the hilt- deeper- making a cry leave you as a bulge formed in the low plush of your abdomen- made the knots in his stomach begin to unravel. Liked how he could see himself in you- liked how as he pressed down on your tummy you shrieked and cried, begging him to stop as you came, feeling too full, too out of control. Squirt dribbled from your swollen hole as he wiped away at translucent liquid dripping down your face. Blank eyes. All empty on your fucked out face because of him. 

He fucked you through your nth orgasm, grunting and gasping as the squelching noises from your dripping, swollen cunt rang through the air. "You're my good girl aren't ya? Such a pretty baby crying while I fuck your tiny cunt. Gonna fill that greedy tight pussy, princess.”

You cried, nodding your head furiously begging him to cum inside you, as if you'd die if he didn't. 

"Yeah? Know you like it when I cum inside you- beg me- please- need to hear you." And just like that he fell apart. The side of Phinks only you ever got to see. So demanding, so rough, but just a lovesick fool for your crying form shoved full with his cock.

"Ah Phinks-" you were seeing stars, vision slowly going in and out as intense waves of pleasure took over you as your cunt squeezed the life from your lover's cock, "Love you Phinks—" you were babbling, rambling unable to speak straight, "I need you- inside me- m' my pussy needs you."

"Fuck." He grunted as his climax was raining down on him, "All mine, babe." Phinks saw white as he came, falling down on you as he shoved his face into your neck. His cock was to the hilt, shoved into your womb as you dry sobbed leaving deep nail marks on him. Your stomach expanding as his warm cum swarmed your insides, leaving you fuller than you'd been before. Gasping and hugging him close, legs wrapped around his waist so he couldn't leave you- not like he would. The way he nipped at your skin, sucking and nibbling along your collarbone and lower neck. How he ground his still hard and pulsing cock against your spasming walls that just sucked him in. 

His calloused hands soon came into contact with your face as he pushed up, adoringly staring down. He wiped away your loose tears earning him a tiny smile he so loved to see. 

"You always take me so well," and your chest soared as he kissed your forehead. You'd done well for him! His good girl! 

The tears soon dried completely as you'd find yourself in a warmed lathering bath- Phinks doting on your every move whilst unbeknownst to you, the faint sound of the news in the living room was talking about a specific criminal organization.

-

"Are you ready to finally meet Uvogin and his girl?"

You nodded ecstatically, "Yes, yes, so excited to meet her, no offense to Uvogin."

"Figured you would be, he won’t care he’s probably only comin’ for the food. Woulda loved to have you meet her a few months ago but her health was bad, Uvo wanted to make sure she was hundred percent before meeting new people. Some disease involving her lungs wasn't paying attention."

"I understand, that's scary." You hummed, kneading dough for its final stretching. Though you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's ability to relay information regarding others, "This needs another 45 minutes to sit and rise some more, then it can go in the oven."

"Which is my job right?"

"Yes don't want to burn myself." You purse your lips, "Feel like something's missing though."

"Like what?" Phinks wrapped his muscular arms around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Don't know, maybe an ingredient?" You looked about your organized mess before a lightbulb went off in your head, "Oh, the fruit, can you get the cantaloupe out and cut it into cubes?"

"Yes ma'am." He kissed your head again before going to cut the fruit.

Boy did Phinks make cooking an extensive meal easier (though at first it was substantially harder by his lack of knowledge or experience). He’d handle anything too hot, he was better with knives, and no longer did you have to mix until an arm cramped. You liked the cute overly focused look that'd crease his brows and pursed his lips as he focused on a task you gave him. It warmed your insides at how dutiful he was towards you, how he enjoyed your girly hobbies as he’d call them. 

Time went by too fast whenever you cooked, and it felt as if you never left yourself enough of it. You cut it too close for comfort, the food ready a minute before the sound of the doorbell went off. You’re in the middle of bringing dishes to the dining room table as two new voices meet your ears. Not able to stop the growing but, still nervous as you brushed along your pink apron.

“Babe,” Phinks voice called out, “C’mere.” 

You obeyed as if on cue, “Hi.” As you walked from the open kitching to where they stood in the foyer, Phinks hugged you to his side. 

“Uvo.” Said the largest man you’ve ever laid eyes on with a large grin. And Phinks is stifling laughter as you look Uvo up and down with parted lips, head cocked to the side. Even the girl besides Uvo attempts to hold amusement too.

Uvogin introduced her to you, his fiancé, which had been news to Phinks. And earned him a glare for not knowing his friend got engaged when they recently moved right next door. The audacity of men. 

"Hi, I'm Y/N." You said, politely pulling the large man's partner in for a hug. Everyone was small compared to Uvogin you thought, but this woman had an aura to her that pulled you in as if the giant didn't exist. Her smile was so warm and she smelled of fresh rose and pine. You note she’s frail, remembering what Phinks said about her health, and you loosen your arms on her. 

“So,” You rub your hands together motioning for people to follow, “People hungry enough to eat?”

“I’m fuckin’ famished.” Uvogin helped his way to where the food sat out at the table; Different vegetables, cantaloupe, roasted lamb and a cinnamon loaf. From the corner of your eye you see his fiance scolding him as he tried to grab a piece of meat, and for a moment you felt a surreal sense of belonging. To see them seeing so content together, you hoped that was how you and Phinks came across, since interactions with others were so limited. 

You gave the table a final look as the three of them sat down, needing one last thing you moved to the kitchen. The sound of cell phones going off is easily recognizable as you grab napkins and a serving spoon. Glancing across the island you see Phinks typing away at his phone. A chime went off and then another. You watched as Uvogin and Phinks looked semi-annoyed scowling at the screens, “Huh.” Uvo muttered as he wrapped an arm over the back of his fiance’s chair. “What’s normally on Channel 5?”

“What?” She asked him, sending you an annoyed look that read ‘Men’ as you placed napkins around the circular table. 

“Dunno. Y/N could you grab the remote since you’re up?” Phinks asks.

“Of course, one sec, the remote is over there.” You say, padding over to the loveseat on the other side of the room where Phinks was watching something earlier. 

Clicking the TV on you find it was already set to Channel 5, immediately fixated on the news, showing pictures of a gruesome crime scene. Turning the volume up, your stomach drops at the banner flashing on the screen in red ‘Phantom Troupe Strikes Again: 35 Dead, 12 Missing.’ 

“Oh my god,” You say with a gasp taking in the horrid sight, “That’s horrible.”

As you glance to where the other three stand, you immediately notice the discomfort. Uvogin and his fiance are staring dead at Phinks, while Phinks fingers flex at his side unblinking, directed at you.

“What?” 

“She doesn’t know?” Uvo’s fiance asked in a hushed voice, you barely hear it. 

“Know what?” You move forward, while she stares at you with wide eyes, immediately looking down at her plate.

“Oh- uh,” Phinks stammered as he quickly got up to make his way to you, “Just that news has been all over, she probably assumed you knew. Pretty scary.”

What you can see of her, Uvo’s partner didn’t have the ability to play it off. She seemed as if mentally transported elsewhere as she played with her fingers. 

“We’re gonna get going...” Uvogin says abruptly. He shot Phinks a look and it makes you want to scream, feeling as if left out of one big joke.

“Turn that shit off.” Phinks is at your side faster than you’ve ever seen him move. You jumped back in shock, flinching from the dark look on his face. You’re frozen at the sound of the remote shattering against the wall. 

It’s then that Uvogin is dragging his girl out with none of the food yet to be touched, but you catch her lips moving your way, you think she’s mouthing- ‘It’ll be fine.’ Not that it comforted you. The front door slammed. And then there were two. 

Tension that could be cut with a knife. You inch away from him, gaze flitting from the now black screen of the TV to Phinks. Something tells you his outburst has to do with the news, why he always told you your soft brain couldn’t handle it. That he just wanted to protect you from bad things that’d make you cry. 

“Phinks?” He doesn’t respond; fists clenched as he stares downwards. A bulging vein on his forehead tells you this is serious. “Tell me what's going on, why did they seem nervous? Why’d they leave so quickly? Did I do something wrong?” 

“Thought I told you not to watch the news.”

“It was on when I turned it on Phinks, you were the last one who used it.”

“Shit.” He had been. He didn’t flip the stupid fucking channel or bother to remember which channel numbers lined up with which station. 

“Please be honest, you and Uvo were having a conversation with your eyes! I feel like an idiot being left out of this. Why did she say ‘I didn’t know’ when I brought up the Phantom Troupe? And what you responded with doesn’t add up.”

“You’re gonna hurt your brain thinkin’ so hard babe. Let’s drop it.”

“You broke the remote by throwing it against the wall, Phinks.” You place your hands on your hip, frustration bubbling in your chest. “That was uncalled for especially in front of guests.”

“Fuck.” Phinks breathes heavy into his hands before pressing them against his forehead, “Fuck!” 

You step back, swallowing hard. His outburst has your brow lining in sweat, terror pulsing at the back of your mind.

“Phinks?” The watergates opened as fat tears fell down your cheeks, “Y-you’re scaring me.” 

You think he’ll comfort, explain it and take your fears away. But he doesn’t. 

“Y/N.” His eyes look as if they’re screaming for your forgiveness. Slowly, Phinks tugs off his sweatshirt. Suddenly you felt as if the room increased a hundred degrees, you’re too hot, feeling like you’ll choke from the dense air. Then he strips off his shirt, “You know how I keep this covered, told you it was an embarrassing scar?” You nod. “It’s a tattoo.” 

“Tattoo of what?” You whisper. 

You were never bothered by the fact he kept a bandage-like piece on his right shoulder blade. You assumed it was so personal that eventually he’d open up. Because you trusted him. 

But as his fingers peel it off, you catch sight of black ink. 

A black spider with a number 5 inked in the middle stares back. 

An incessant ringing blares in your ears. You’d heard of that tattoo, that it signifies the person is a spider, a fearsome thief of the underworld. A member of the Phantom Troupe. An urban legend your mom once told you about so you wouldn’t sneak out with a boy at 15, that you only recently learned was true. 

“You’re- when you leave for work… What is it you do again? And don’t say some business- Tell me.” You say between your dry heaves, your sobs as you furiously wipe away tears. 

“I’m a member of the Phantom Troupe babe, one of its founding members.”

Your head is spinning, legs wobble as you lose your balance. Phinks hurries to catch you as they give out, placing you on the couch, between your legs. But you push at his head and squirm back to get away. Shying into the couch cushions as you stare at him, eyes red. 

“I- Don’t play with me. Please tell me you aren’t in that group! You can’t be.” 

“Baby-”

“Don’t touch me.” You spit venom in your words as you rip your wrist from his grasp, holding it to your chest.

“Y/N this doesn’t change the fact I love you, doesn’t change anything here for us. Shouldn’t it prove to you that my vows to protect you are legitimate, that I’m strong enough to do so?”

“That’s your attempt to convince me?” It won’t stop, the downflow of tears and the running snot you wipe at. Your words turn to pathetic blubbering. "You.. kill people?"

Phinks nodded, huffing into his hands. The man is panicking, his chest tight with knots when all he wanted was to pull you into his arms. He considered forcing you down so he can explain, maybe fuck you so you feel good easily compliant. He needs you to give him a second, needs you to stop asking questions. 

"Uvogin? Is he a member? Feitan too?”

“Yes.”

Fuck. Your world’s collapsing, you’re certain of it.

“D-Did he kidnap his fiancé too? Did Feitan kidnap his girlfriend as well?"

"Baby it's complicated, and well Feitan hasn't exactly made her his- Shit... Saying it like that sounds bad but-"

"It is bad! I-I forgot? I swore I was here because I realized there wasn't anything for me at home.. I loved you and.. Do you actually love me?" Your eyes welled with tears, sudden realization came back over you. You grieved for past life once, how did you forget that?

"Baby I do love you, you're safe with me, promise. It's me."

"You're a murderer." You emphasized, horrified and unable to push yourself against the wall anymore if you tried, "How many people had their lives ruined because of the Phantom Troupe?"

"I.. don't know. A lot."

Conflicting emotions wash over your fragile mind. The man who crouched a foot away from you looked as if his world was shattering down around him, like he was terrified to lose you. Yet he was a thief, a killer, and you realized he wouldn't let you walk out that door regardless of what you decided.

"You lied to me. I don't know who you are."

"Y/N fuck, it's me, promise nothing about who I am is a lie, only my occupation. I love you, I'd do anything for you." You flinched as he moved to sit in front of you on the edge of the couch, taking your face between his palms even as you flinch, "You're safe with me, I promise."

"Phinks..." You sniffled, "I.." At the end of all things, did that matter? What Phinks did for a living? He'd been nothing but a loving, supportive partner. The whiplash hurts. Your chest felt heavy, your breathing was too heavy as if your air was cut off. You think you’re going to pass out as you reach for him, eyes blinking furiously. 

"Baby? Shit." He pulled you into his chest, rubbing your back in soothing circles, "Breathe for me, yeah? In. Out." You follow his orders, "Good girl, see?" 

One deep breath after another and you regained your senses, his eyes boring into you. 

"I need space tonight." You whimpered. 

"Yeah, that's fine, I know you need to think."

You rubbed your arms, "I'm going to lay down to sleep, alone tonight. If you could please clean up the kitchen and table."

"I-" Phinks went to argue, no way in hell would he let you sleep without him while he was home. But he knew he needed you to have time to think, even if it were an illusion or lie because he'd join once you were asleep. Paranoia was heavy in his mind, ever growing as he thought of her without him. Even not knowing what she was thinking was close to setting him over the edge. But he loosened his imaginary grip and nodded, "Of course."

Your home moved by you as if you were a zombie, legs heavy as lead as you closed the door to the master bedroom. Locking it. Then unlocking it. 

Sobs choked out. You clamped your hand over your mouth. Your legs gave out, back slid down against the door as your butt met the ground with a huff. Tears flooding once more, you let out a broken wail into your palms as you shoved your face into your flesh. Hugged your knees to your chest as painstaking agony pierced your limbs. You're gasping for air. Begging for a sense of relief. Crying that it hurts so bad. 

You could feel Phinks's aura on the other side of the door after fifteen minutes, knowing he was sitting with his back against the wood the same as you. An unknown force had you wanting to shove your fingers under the door to get a touch of him, wanting to already fling the door open and collapse into him. Were you really that pathetic? Already compartmentalizing the fact the man you loved was a killer? When Phinks had told you about his upbringing it'd pulled your heart strings, having to survive with no parents, no money, no home? How uncanny that his hints slowly made sense. Could you... even blame him?

Groaning through your heavy gasps as you couldn't stop weeping, you felt light headed. You sucked in air far too sharp that had you spinning, ready to topple onto your side.

With wobbly legs you force yourself to stand, clumsily making your way over to the king sized bed. Collapsing atop you stare off at the wall, wetness falling down to your eyes, to your mouth, dripping down your neck. Oh it hurts. How your head began to pulse with heavy stabs up against your temple. Lips quivered. You pulled the blankets tight letting your fingers twist and tangle within them, needing anything to ground you. 

Two questions spiraled. Would you really face the reality of your situation and that leaving a man like Phinks was smart? Or would you stay because you loved him? It alarmed you how easily you were willing to ignore Phinks was in the Phantom Troupe, that you'd already forgiven him. Forgive him? No, no, it wasn't you he needed to convince it was those he affected... which, deep down, you were glad he'd taken you. Because your kidnapping gave you a beautiful partner and life! Maybe you should tell him that! 

So as exhaustion and confusion overtook your trembling form, you were plunged into a restless sleep. One that played the same nightmare on repeat, the cycle of meeting Phinks to the kidnapping, to your life together, and to now. Stuck at a crossroads of swirling doubt manifesting in dark fog that would only come to fruition if you made a choice. Your dream-self, your heart, wanted to be selfish, wanted to head down the path to Phinks no matter what. While your brain told you it'd make you complacent, that it'd be ridiculous to stay with a man like him. That one day maybe you’d become a victim in the crosshairs. Before the morning sun streamed unto you forcing you awake, your dream-self chose a path. 

-

When you opened the bedroom door, stomach fluttering with thousands of butterflies that made you want to puke- to your surprise Phinks fell back, woken and onto his feet in seconds. He'd fallen asleep against the door, respected your decision to sleep alone which tugged on the depths of your heart. 

Gazes locked and it was a battle of who'd speak first, though you hoped he'd leave the ball in your court. Phinks looked... scared? His eyes low, heavy bags beneath them. You desperately wanted to brush his messy hair back, to reprimand him not to sleep on hardwood! And you almost reached up but caught yourself, he glanced down to your hand.

"I.." You wonder how bad you look. Wonder how bloodshot your eyes are, how puffy your face is. And if he noticed, "Lets talk?"

Phinks grunted his answer. He wasn't always a man of many words, it took months for him to be more open, so you'd hate for him to shut down on you now. 

You followed him downstairs, taking your places on the couch, an awkward space in between how your bodies turned to face the other. Phinks wanted to scoop you up to take all your troubles away, wanted to pepper your face with kisses until you'd cry of laughter. Didn't like how far you felt, a foot feeling like a mile. Even being able to hold your hand would have helped the torrential storm that raged within him; fear so strong he thought he couldn't breathe last night until he passed out in front of the bedroom. Like losing a piece of him that only you could complete.

You'd made up your mind that morning. 

Staring at your fingers you tell yourself it would be okay, that you could tell him everything you wanted to get out.

“I have a lot to say.”

“Alright.” His voice sounds strained as he cracks his knuckles, never breaking eye-contact.

“You know, I’m still mad you kidnapped me and won’t let me have contact with anyone I used to know.” Phinks eyes became unreadable, his jaw tense, fingers flexing as if it was the only way to push his anger away. “I told you about my new job opportunity way back when because I wanted to see if you’d want to come, which now I know wouldn't have worked. But also to see if you’d ask me out and give me a reason to stay, I knew after you took me on that garden tour even though you were clearly uncomfortable, that I’d fallen for you. It’s weird after all this time I never told you that.” Seeing the tension that’d built within him start to evaporate, eased your churning stomach. He looks better, suddenly getting back color in his cheeks, chest inhaling a large breath.

You continue, “I think.. I think I had and continue to have a hard time because my heart knows I’ve always loved you, but my brain wants me to keep remembering you technically kidnapped me, and that’s a horrible thing for a partner to do. That even now you’re dangerous to an extent I may never understand since you’re a spider. That you could hurt me one day. I register the anger in your eyes on phone calls, I see how often you flex or crack your fingers to stay sane if I did something you didn’t agree with. There’s cameras in every room. You’d monitored my body for weeks to make sure I wasn't self harming or losing weight. Had to sit in on all my showers. I remember hearing Feitan quip at you that you’re a hot head. I saw Uvogin’s fiance’s fear towards the news.”

Tears prick at your lash line as you attempt to wipe them away, sending Phinks the slightest of smiles you could muster, “And I now know it’s because you're scared something will happen to me because you've seen horrible sides to our world. You are a piece of that horrible side, the Phantom Troupe… You and your friends are considered a giant threat. Anyone who’s capable of the things you all are, have to have something off in the head, I’m sorry to say it like that. So I understand you now more than ever. But you’re still my Phinks. You rub my back at nights, you put things on a high shelf so you can laugh at me as I try to get it only to swoop in. You watch those horrible holiday romance movies because I love them and you’ll never admit you do too.”

“What are you saying?” He asked hoarsely. 

“I hope you don't want me to leave, I love you.” You say bashfully, pink dusting your cheeks.

Phinks never planned to let you leave. None of the outcomes in his mind consisted of it. But there you sat with a cute, happy face telling him you want to stay and be with him, thinking he was going to let you go if you asked. So Phinks lets out a sigh of relief knowing he doesn’t need to become the bad guy, he can let you think he’d have given you the autonomy to leave. Because you knew he loved you regardless of everything and you never considered other more darker options. You’re a softy, so innocent and naive, someone who cries at anything, and this further proves to Phinks you need him. 

The last two years this very conversation weighed on him. Knowing the day you found out about the Troupe your loving relationship would come to an end, you’d hate him. And then when he’d have to inevitably chain you up or threaten to break your legs to keep you from going anywhere, you’d despise him and yourself. You’d be petrified of him. 

But none of that was going to happen and Phinks is thanking whatever God is up there with his entire doomed soul. 

“I never want you to leave.” Phinks was across the couch, pulling you into a bruising kiss. His warm lips meshing with your own in a desperate dance as if one would disappear. A whine from the back of your throat made his heart race, made him melt like lava, all consuming that he couldn't stand the emotion that warbled through him. Like he could burst with the emotion of a thousand suns yet it still wouldn’t be enough to describe what you did to him. 

Before the kiss gets too intense to the point of no return as you feel your thighs rub together in want, you push at his shoulders. You stroke his cheek as you study his face memorizing each inch shaped from the gods themselves to you.

"I want you to tell me everything, okay. No lies, I want your real childhood, real everything that you changed to leave out the Phantom Troupe. And don’t hide the tattoo anymore."

"I can do that." He nodded fervently, squeezing your waist, “I love you with all I got, okay? Tell me you know that.”

“I do, I know.” You pull him in for a quick kiss, giggling as he attempts to deepen it, “Uh uh big guy. You have a lot of explaining to do before you get any of that.” 

He groaned, pressing a wet kiss to your neck, “I don’t know where to start babe.” 

“Well..” You think. “What do you… do? That’s not what I mean, so are you good with guns or something?”

“Ahh, I don’t think you understand Nen at all then if you’re askin’ that.”

“What’s Nen?” You cock your head, having zero idea what that three letter word meant. You hadn’t learned of it in school.

“Oh fuck me.” The mood he attempted to create to get your clothes off was ruined, but his genuine amusement makes him laugh, uncaring. He settled himself to get comfortable around your smaller frame, readying himself for a brutally open conversation with you. 

And as you two sat on the floor, Phinks relaying his story and the Phantom Troupes, you were glad you chose to stay even as you let him know you weren't happy every time he explained a heist. Because loving someone was the most important, at least you hoped that was enough. Because your heart couldn't fathom losing the blonde man who filled you, cared for you, protected you. You weren't sure if he'd survive losing you, or maybe it was the other way around. But you knew as he explained, that it didn’t matter at the end of the day, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not with the type of man he truly was with his work, dread consumed you, but you locked it away in the back of your mind.

-

MONTHS LATER

This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

One hand was shoved over your mouth, the other held to the wall for dear life. Your heart was in your throat as you listened to the different sets of footsteps outside. They’re talking but it wasn’t loud enough to hear, as much as you strained to listen. God you hoped they’d leave soon, decide this place was abandoned and move to the next. 

The day started out like any other, waking up besides Phinks, having to convince him to start the day by luring him into the shower. 

He attempted to make your coffee while you made pancakes. 

Then Chrollo called and the way his face dropped, you knew something bad had happened. The basis of newfound trust between you two was a fine line, probably would be for awhile. But for once you felt secure as he told you head on, he couldn’t tell you what was happening, because the stress he projected was more than usual. 

“Babe, why don’t we go out? There’s a farmer’s market on the other side of town, can find cute shit or something.”

“Really? Let me find something nice to wear!” 

Phinks held your hand as if he’d lose you in the crowd at any second. Even as you told him he needed to let up or else you wouldn’t have a hand for him to hold if he kept cutting off circulation. While the sudden outing was pleasant, you’d found a few fresh ingredients for cooking you had to have, Phinks was off. Knowing it had to do with his earlier phone call, you brushed it off.

While you hadn’t been to the market in quite some time, it’d never been this busy. Crowds of people pushed through to see the stall uncaring as they bumped shoulders. The sun beat down and without a cool breeze it was uncomfortably hot, you were itching for reprieve, something cold to drink perhaps. 

Your eyes caught sight of an ice cream storefront past the main square, just far enough to where not many people gathered. Perfect. You tugged on Phinks arm, your fingers still locked with his. It takes him a second to notice as he’s too intent on watching the crowd. Eventually he cocks a brow your way, nodding as you motion to follow. 

You (foolishly) assumed Phinks had you in his sights, had a hand on your back or something. You lived in a rose colored world with your boyfriend where you never needed to worry, so your hand slipping from him wasn’t of your concern, he’d have a handle on things. 

Panic strikes you, you whirled around desperately trying to spot Phinks. But you’re too short stuck in a group and suddenly everything feels like it’s a skyscraper around you, closing in as the air feels too heavy to breathe in. 

But then, “Babe.” You jump, a gasp leaving you as you ready yourself to shove someone away. But staring down at you with hands on your shoulders was Phinks, “Fucking hell, scared me.” Pulled hard against his chest, hearing his pounding heartbeat as his comforting scent washes over you- and you’re okay again. 

“L-Lost you. Didn’t mean to.” You whimper as you stare at him, fingers twisted into the material of his shirt. His features soften due to your terrified state. 

“I know, come on, let's get somewhere with less people.” 

This time Phinks is more aware of you than ever before, not taking any chances. Hypervigilant on the tightness of your grip, any time it loosened slightly his tightened. And this was why you needed him, you, so uncaring of dangers walking around with your head in the clouds. It’s as you go to wriggle yourself free to weave a sharp right, he acts.

“You don’t fucking let go of my hand.” He hissed, one hand firm on your shoulder while the other wrapped around your neck, you whimper from how tight his hold is. 

“S-Sorry, got distracted, saw something-”

“I don’t care, in public you know the damn rules.” As your bottom lip trembles, Phinks does his best to shove down his sudden raw temper, “Just- what if you get hurt? Or someone takes a liking to ya? Tell me if you wanna go somewhere all of a sudden, I can’t read your mind.” You nod, his gentler tone building back up your mood as he lets go of your frail neck. Your neck that he’d be able to snap faster than you could blink. 

Ten minutes later and you were sitting happily at a table with ice cream, Phinks sitting beside you with an arm tucked across the back of the private booth. He watches you with a faint smile, still coming down from his heightened senses when he lost sight and feel of you. And how quick he’d lost control, especially over an innocent situation. He pushed back pieces of hair as they fell from your updo, letting his fingers graze the soft skin of your face down to your neck, then to the collarbone he desperately wanted to mark. 

“So,” Phinks said, “Remember when I told you what actually happened to Uvogin’s fiance? How she’d been kidnapped by Hunters while sick?”

“Mhmm.” You hum, spooning strawberry soft-serve into your mouth.

“Guess uh- her name and picture got put on the Hunter database, as a missing person in danger so to speak.” You quirk an eyebrow as the look he gives you tells you not to say the obvious that well… Uvo did kidnap her. “Shal found your name with hers, but they only had an old pic of you, from when you were 14, I guess. This shit complicates things, there was talk of a group, lead by someone who worked with those obnoxious ass Hunters, saying they have possible locations on ya.”

As if on cue your fingers tremble, color drained from your cheeks, forcing you to place your ice cream down with a sudden drop. “Huh?”

“Shal wiped all the chats, the pictures and info. But right now, I don’t think it’s safe.”

“Phinks I don’t understand.” You can hardly hear the former bustle of the shop around you. A numbing high pitched tone starts up and your throat’s suddenly so, so dry. 

“That’s what Chrollo called me about this morning.” He waved his hand as if motioning to the prior call. Veins peeking out from his shirt are tense, you realize quickly he’s trying to keep his mood together for your sake, “Wanted us to come out and do something nice before we gotta leave for a few weeks.”

Your appetite- gone. A sour taste wipes the sweet strawberry one you’d been enjoying. “I-I don’t want to leave. I-”

“We’ll be back. Uvo and some others gonna handle it, throw them for some loops. Probably..” He stopped, “Kill them.”

At that point you were certain you were going to throw up on the table then and there. As total honesty was a part of your lives since finding out Phinks was in the Troupe, you’d asked for a gentler version of any details regarding a job. Hearing him speak of taking lives in a nonchalant way, never sat right. 

“Where do we have to go?”

“Meeting Shal outside the city, he’ll take us to Base. It ain’t bad, Uvo and the missus go there a lot, stayed there after we rescued her, maybe once before too. Primarily where I lived before you.” 

“Okay, do we have time to get some stuff?” You mentally began to race through the things you’d need for an extended time away.

“See, we don’t, so wish I thought of that before we left.”

“I swear to-” Phinks’s poorly timed laughter cut you off, “Glad my soon to be suffering because I won’t have my favorite pajamas is funny.”

The rendezvous with Shalnark turned into a shitshow. That was how you found yourself hiding in a closet in an old apartment complex, the furthest away place you found cover as nen (what Phinks called it, you think at least) brought the area to destruction. You can still hear the storm outside, the thunder boomed shaking the walls, the patter of rain. It came out of nowhere, along with all the people and crashing bricks of the buildings. 

People you don’t know were looking for you now. Even if it was a member of the Troupe you hadn’t met before, you were certain they’d say so, while the strange voices only yelled thinly veiled threats. You’re trying so hard to listen in, to gauge where people are, if they’re leaving or staying. Or even if a fakeout would be attempted. Staying put might be your best option, but you’re not fit for these situations! No experience, no self defense skills, just a girl with a racing pulse that might pass out any moment. You were one more crackling thunder away from just giving up. 

You wanted Phinks. You needed him. Praying for him to find you and make everything better, whisk you away and pretend this didn’t happen. What would these Hunters do to you? Would they listen if you tried to explain? Phinks said it hadn’t mattered for Uvogin’s girlfriend when she tried, so you assume right then that it wouldn't for you. One plan out the window. 

“Y/N!” You flinch each time your name is said by a voice you don’t know. Your stomach lurched. You pressed your hand against your lips harder. 

“I checked all these rooms, we should check the other apartments in this complex before we move on.” Another voice said, and you know what he said was a lie. They hadn’t checked in here or else they’d have found you behind boxes in the small closet. 

“Fuck this chase is getting annoying. I say we split before running into a Troupe member.”

“Yeah.” A new voice added in sounding further, “Those fuckers are scary strong, the infamous Zoldyck assassins don’t even fuck with them.”

“The big one took out Bates's entire team for his girl. I don’t want to end up like them. Dead, missing basically, no bodies ever found.” Retreating steps made you perk up. 

“If Y/N were here she’d probably be running to us for help, she isn’t here.”

You don’t dare move a muscle, but it’s so hard. You’re weak, cramping, emotionally crumbling, and unable to think of a viable plan. Minutes pass by like hours, time they continue to search getting so close but not close enough. A creaking door in the distance then a slam. Grating noises that sound all around. Playing with your mind, making you doubt your senses. And it hurts. Blood pounding in your ears and you don’t know how your stress isn’t enough to give you away to trained Hunters. 

An eerie silence. The hairs on the back of your neck standing talls, a chill down your spine. 

So you wait.

And wait. 

You count up to 60, then back down to 1. Then you do it again. And again. Your body screams at you to relax, you’ve balled up in the same spot for god knows how long now. Time was irrelevant to your plight when you couldn’t see outside your hiding spot. Had no way to tell if the men actually packed up and moved on, the rain was too loud to hear car engines starting to rev off. The silence was beginning to morph as your brain seemed to make noises that kept your heart racing like you couldn’t lose your wits, and you wanted to scream. 

Phinks will find you- he had to. He’ll find you. You keep telling yourself that as nausea rises up your throat, you gag against your sweaty palm. Eyes squeezed shut as they moisten. Maybe this was the world punishing you for being selfish and choosing to stay with Phinks after finding out his real occupation six months ago. Karma’s way of saying you deserved to suffer, to understand even a fraction of what your boyfriend’s victims went through. 

Your hand dropped from your mouth. You brace your palms against the floor, knees burning from how long they’d had to hold you up. Carefully, slow as could be you changed your position to sit back against the closet wall still behind a cardboard moving box. This is comfier at least, less awkward for your shaking limbs. 

Your head lulls. No no no. You suck in a sharp breath. Blood pressure dropped. Adrenaline crashing. Black crept into the crevices of your vision, slowly invading as you try to stay awake, begging yourself to do so. But you can’t give yourself away, not even as you go limp falling to the ground on your side with a thump.

-

A man sat bound and gagged, blood seeping from his empty eye sockets, fingers bent in unnatural positions. Kneecaps lazily removed, the bones absentmindedly feet away. He was lax because he bled out an hour ago, a thick gash along where his intestines would be. 

The next man who watched his coworkers torture, whimpers as he watched a short black haired man pick up a pair of pliers. 

“Where is Y/N?” He asked in his soft, yet sinister voice. Feitan’s dark eyes struck terror into the Hunter, who started to flail against the ropes. 

“D-Don’t know! No-None of us found her!” He begged, “You gotta believe me!” 

“I do.” Feitan shrugged, “Tell me where others are.”

There’s conflict in the Hunter’s eyes, like he weighed his options.

“Won’t say.” He finally said, tone defeated, he practically physically deflates knowing he’d be dying in the abandoned warehouse whether he said locations or not.

Blood seeped into the cement floor, a single bulb illuminating the room as it crackled. 

Feitan heard the approaching footsteps when they’d entered the building itself minutes ago. He waits, feeling a familiar aura. 

Phinks takes the sharp turn into where Feitan set up camp, distress and unkempt written all over him. The normal cool and collected (until pissed off) spider with a ridiculous pharaoh hat, was struggling. His heartbeat hadn’t settled in hours and he’d chugged most of the coffee Paku showed up with two hours ago.

Their prisoner won’t answer questions. Not even as he screeches, fingernails ripped out one by one. Not as he convulsed from the pain, a disgusting snap of breaking bones, blood spurting on his face. 

Phinks can only see red. He wants him dead. Dead. Dead. “Where the fuck is she?” He gripped the man’s cheeks, letting his fingers dig into his jaw, popping then the crack, gargled moans following. “Gone all quiet now, huh?” A maniacal grin pulls at his lips, his teeth brace and over, and over- again- and again- more- his fists pummel against flesh and organs. It’s when the prisoner is nothing more than a lump of mushed flesh does Feitan pull him off. 

Feitan smirked, “Got it all out?”

His knuckles burn, but the pain is nothing compared to the excruciating terror that’d made its home inside him. All Phinks can imagine is you tied up being transported between hunters as they mindlessly care for you, while under the pretense of helping. They wouldn’t care for your tears or pleas to let you go. He’s imagining them doing to you what Bates did to Uvo’s girl. How when they rescued her she’d been drugged up for months, bruised, with poorly stitched up gashes, and health deteriorating she couldn’t stand to walk. Phinks saw first hand how Uvo never left her side for the week she’d been unconscious with IV’s sticking in her veins. 

The thought of that happening to you makes his head hurt, sharp pulsating behind his forehead. He presses his fingers into his temple, prodding along his eyebrows for any sort of reprieve. Twisting anxiety, dense uncertainty gnawed at him. 

“Need to stay calm.” Feitan said, “Almost hear your thoughts.”

Phinks lets out a weighty exhale, shooting his ‘friend’ a glare, “I don’t know if she’s okay. I’m- supposed to protect her. This is fuckin’ ridiculous, these fucking Hunters are imbeciles.” It was getting out of hand, now the second Troupe member to have a partner taken by the same group. To Phinks, this had to be a declaration of war. And as he peers at Feitan who seemed deep in thought, he can tell the torturer felt the same, who had someone of his own too, “Your girl can be next, Feitan.”

“I know. Stop speaking.” Feitan spat, fingers involuntarily twitching. 

“We should go find Shal.” 

-

The rain had stopped; was the first thing you noticed as you groggily pushed yourself up. The air inside the abandoned room was sweet with the aftertaste of a storm, yet it made your head spin. Gathering your bearings you stare at the closet door as if it mocked you, dared you to open it.

You weigh your chances here, assuming you’d fallen asleep for one hour or ten, no one found you. And who’d wait that long to lure you out with malicious intent?

Legs wobble as you stand, they feel filled with lead as you approach your exit. Hand shaking as it grabs the handle, the thudding of your mind almost painful. Twisting. Opening. The hinges didn’t creak and you’re now staring at an empty room. The same as when you entered. Shit. The window shows you it’s night now, not mid afternoon anymore. All the heavy dark clouds were gone leaving the dark sky clear and dazzling with stars. 

Hugging your arms taut around yourself for warmth, you know what you need to do. You need to be strong and begin to make your way out, see if you can get to a phone or find someone willing to take you into the city. That was risky but you were desperate. And with the amount of nooks and crannies of the dilapidated buildings that once were a vibrant living compound, there was always going to be oversight. Maybe getting outside would help Phinks and the other members find you. 

You're somehow at the bargaining stage of grief and you almost laugh at how ridiculous you sound. Trying to stay quiet as a mouse while imagining dozens of scenarios, when you probably needed to be on the lookout. With each hall you walk through, you strain your ears for signs of life. As your weight shifts on floorboards and steps, if they make a sound you're frozen as you wait. But nobody came each time. It’s safe.

The exit to the entire building is finally in sight. You begin a slow descent of the stairs, still doing your best to be diligent. 

But it’s the sudden rush of voices, that has you screeching to halt practically holding your breath. 

“Per GPS maps, these two complex buildings are all we have left.” That voice. You recognize its higher tone, like it held a cheery imposition even at the large task at hand. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Another familiar voice. Their feet crunched on the gravel outside. 

“Nobu said no sign of the cars that peeled out earlier, not sure whether they decided being alive was better or if it's because they have Y/N.” 

“Why can’t I just start screaming her name loud as possible? She’s gotta know it’s me.”

“Uvo she’s probably terrified and you’ll manage to burst her eardrums. You know your girl is safe at home while Phinks is losing it right now.”

Uvogin. Shalnark. Faking their voices would be too elaborate of a hoax for anyone.  

“He on his way over?”

“Him and Feitan, yes. Others are tracking the rogue vehicles.” 

Phinks was on his way. Your chest blossomed in joy, you could weep happy tears as your body felt a million times lighter. Relief coursed through your veins and you went back to going downstairs. 

But what you hadn’t realized in all this time was your body struggled from the temperature drop. Your teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. The sundress you’d adorned did nothing to protect you when you laid unconscious in the closet. Your lips tinted purple. Your face flushed from the chill. The tips of your fingers numb. But all you felt was the anxiousness, the hiked pulse, and your fears rather than worry about your physical state. 

Shalnark spots you first, your meek trembling form with reddened skin appearing through the doorway like a ghost. He’s on you as he strips his jacket to get it around your shoulders. He’s checking for injuries before you're scooped up into bulking arms of a giant who exuded heat. You can’t speak, only nodding as Shal throws questions your way. The surrounding area is blurry, you squint for any sign of Phinks. But you could barely see Uvo, who was the one carrying you as you looked up. 

A commanding presence makes you subconsciously relax.

“Shal what- Y/N- Thank fuck,” Phinks is out of breath, filled with desperation as he raced to you, his heart plummeting when he saw you all small in Uvogin’s arms. Like your whole world is back on its proper axis, you’re trying to reach for him but you only muster up a whine in recognition. 

Uvogin hands you to Phinks, who cradles you in his strong hold as they take off to the car sitting idle. His touch sets you aflame as you begin to tear up, babbling nonsense into the crook of his neck, now wet from your tears.. 

“I got you.” Phinks whispered in your ear as he studied your face whilst his hands felt every inch of you. Needed to feel every inch as reassurance. Your smile is loopy, your eyes so distant as you reach to stroke his cheek. “Safe now, okay?”

The sky moved by fast, but you’re not paying enough attention. Having to will your heavy eyelids to remain open, so you can continue to look at your boyfriend. Taking in his severe face that was littered with worry.

You’re tucked into Phinks’s body as he holds you so tight, murmuring sweet nothings as you try to engage. You try to appreciate his roaming hands as they stroke along your neck, squish your cheeks in comfort; and as a way to remind himself you’re okay, he has you. A piece of you isn’t even hearing his words, nor the conversations taking place amongst Troupe members in the car. 

You couldn’t stop shivering even as heat blasts from the vents and as different articles of clothing had been offered up to cover you. Or as Phinks tries to rub your bare arms to generate heat. 

“Babe you can sleep, s’okay.” Phinks said, and you realize his eyes are bloodshot. His heart still hammered against you and you physically feel the fear he had and now the relief that now swirled around him. 

“Are you- okay?” You ask, concerned for him. 

Your question clearly threw him off but he shakes his head, slightly amused you were thinking of him after everything you went through, “I’m good, I got you back. I don’t want to think about what could have happened, thought I was losing my mind trying to find you.”

“I ran, I didn’t know what to do.” You sniffled, shuddering as you remembered the chaos, “Ran up some stairs, found a closet and hid. I was so scared I thought I was going to die and eventually my body gave out. I woke up and it was night.”

His gaze softens, before he leans down to kiss your cool lips, lingering before moving to peck your forehead, “We’re heading to Base now and we’ll get you warmed up.”

You cling to the blonde as if you’d be swept away any second. In and out of sleep for the drive, uncertain of the day or time at this point. It’s with the glint of orange rays that you’re alert to sunrise as the car comes to a halt. 

“I can walk.” You try to say to Phinks but he’s having none of it, sweeping you up bridal style before your feet even had a chance to touch the ground after the car door opened. 

“Babe stop, no reason for you to exert yourself. You can rely on me.” His lips press to the top of your head, the sound of him inhaling your scent as a comfort makes you shiver. 

You weren’t sure what to expect in a Base for the spiders, but a sprawling warehouse that just peaked above the surface level was not it. It has large, empty and tattered looking windows, run down and well- maybe that was to be expected for a group of criminals. Phinks carries you to a path and makes his way down a set of stairs that descend down to a single rusted door. 

You’re not sure if you really understood a wink of Nen when Phinks explained it months ago, or when you’d ask him questions. You’re not sure if it's some form of magic as when you two enter, it’s like stepping into a portal. From the outside looking in it would be expected to see continued dilapidation; rotted furniture, mold, rodents, general disarray of buildings left for time to handle. Yet what you see as the entry door opens to a platform with a metal staircase going down, was a perfectly normal space. Decorative pillars and art (surely stolen) haphazardly on the walls, with rugs in peculiar places. A long table for 12 was the grand room centerpiece. And from Phinks’s arms you see multiple doorways that must branch off into other spaces of the hideout, for a second you forget this belonged to criminals as you wonder if he’d let you explore. But that reality goes out the window when Phinks sets you down in a chair and you catch sight of Feitan entering from outside. He’s covered in blood and you’re nauseous at the sight. 

You look away, attempting to focus on the tiled floor, counting the squares you can see. Your legs are covered in goosebumps and as you feel along your arms, they are too.

“I’ll be right back.” Phinks pats your head and you want to cry out for him not to walk away from you. Leaving you as a fish out of water in a new place, an intimidating place where his friend who’s covered in blood watches you from the corner. Bookshelves line empty spaces, which most of the shelves are in disarray but present collections look ancient. 

You think it’s been five, maybe seven minutes since Phinks left the room, but you’re becoming antsy. Anxiety claws at you as you want him near, want to touch him and see his face to know everything’s okay. 

“Hey,” When you look up, the familiar face of Uvogin’s fiance greets you. She stands there looking frail, adorned in jeans and a sweater, but giving you a warm smile. 

“Hey, how are you?” You stammer out, the sight of her making you more nervous than calm. She takes a seat across from you at the grand table. 

She shook her head, “I should be asking you that. You okay? You’re not hurt are you?”

“I’m not physically, just… scared and now really cold.”

Her eyes went wide, “Oh would you like my cardigan?” But you stop her by holding up your hands before she can touch a button, “If you’re sure.” 

You hadn’t seen her since the day you found out about Phinks being in the Phantom Troupe, even though she resided literally next door. You’d slowly learned that while Phinks allowed you the ability to go out, Uvogin did not allow it for her. At least he stopped, though you aren’t sure why. Health? 

“I’m sure, thanks.” You want to say it’s because she looks like she’d need the extra body heat, that she shouldn’t look so malnourished.

An awkward silence falls over you and her, only Feitan’s faint shuffling breaking it up. You’re curious, sometimes too much for your own good and there’s suddenly a million questions at the tip of your tongue but you wonder if you should ask. Phinks gives you leeway because you accepted him full-heartedly, you wonder if she despises Uvogin’s work or something along those lines. 

“Are you-” Her glower makes your mouth snap shut. And it’s when Feitan tells you two to behave with a cackle as he leaves, does she lean in. 

“Why didn’t you run?”

“What?” You ask. Your stomach flutters with something unknown. 

“This was the best chance you ever could have had- more than…” She sighs, “Since my health’s not getting any better, I feel more awake than I ever have before about- life..” 

You’re confused. Her eyes look glazed over, you chalk her whimsical mood up to her illness, “I don’t fully understand… Sorry.” 

“You know Feitan carved his name into a girl's ribcage? Keeps her locked up in his attic. And you know where she’ll probably be in a year? Sitting here with us acting like a good dutiful lover.”

“Stop.” Your mind races as your pulse begins to climb up. And up. Fingers go numb as a tingling spreads along your limbs, “That- I don’t have stockholm syndrome.” 

She shrugged, “I might have it, might not. You can’t truly know either.”

“I loved him before he took me.”

“Does he let you have free reign of a phone?” You shake your head for ‘no,’ “What about, can you talk to old family or friends.” You don’t answer. “Cameras in every room? Constantly panicked if he can’t see or hear from you within seconds?”

“Would you… Want a new life away from Uvo?” Whether it was fear or anger that caused you to ask it, the pounding of your heart made you snap her.

“No. I’m content, I don’t know how much longer I have anyways. He’s in denial about it.” She seemed morose at the thought of her death, like she didn’t care, like her current life wasn’t worth fighting for. Just sitting there waving her hand in a simple gesture, “I guess I selfishly, while I’m alive, want to see one of them suffer like they’ve made others suffer. Like if Phinks lost you today.” You squirm at her words, “I know Uvo may not recover when I die, so guess it’ll be karma enough for his actions.”

“Don’t you love him though?”

“Does it matter? I had a tiny crush on him before he took me, the big strong stranger that tried to make me laugh when he tried my creations at the bakery.” She pauses and the quirk of her lips doesn’t slip past you as she recounts a good memory, “But, it doesn’t mean I wanted to be taken away or that it was okay. He killed someone in front of me then re-routed my life. I can look at you right now and say I’m irrevocably in love with Uvo because I am, at least my heart and body completely are. My brain always wants to be around him until it reminds me of who he is. That only started after he rescued me from my second kidnappers, same ones who tried to nab you. It isn’t logical to love someone who does all that yet, I do? Weird psychological stuff but… That’s all I want to say Y/N, don’t forget who these men really are. They’re no better than the Hunters with hero complexes trying to drag us to ‘safety.’ None of it is for our best interest. Because if it were, then both parties have left us the hell alone.”

“Just… Who’s the lesser evil?” You whisper.

“Precisely, and after what I went through with those Hunters, it appears the Phantom Troupe is the better choice, for me at least.” 

You agree, cringing at the memories of the way the Hunters talked about you in the abandoned building while you hid. Nothing about them was kind or willing to lay their lives down to protect you. This was an ego boost for them, bragging rights to say they fooled the spiders. That taking you and her were like trophies to boast about.

Uvogin’s fiance suddenly stood up, her chair almost knocking completely back. She brushed her hands off along her jeans. Clearing her throat, she speaks to you one last time-

“Ah, sometimes I say such strange things when I don’t feel well, sorry about that.” She smiles like a flip switched before she heads towards an entryway, you guess it leads to wherever Uvogin is. 

You nod, “Of course.” But your eyes exchange something far deeper, more meaningful and you know you’ll keep her words private. An understanding that left you feeling comforted in an odd way. And yet a part of who hates her for dragging you out of your rose colored world. But she was right. Even as a sour taste scratches the back of your throat to admit such a thing.

An unsettling feeling settles itself in your stomach, you think if you have to sit at the table any longer you’ll go mad. Like a ball of twine was slowly unraveling, you want out of the room where you partook in such a strange conversation. And the fact you’re still cold, though your teeth stopped chattering during the car ride. 

Technically, Phinks never said to stay put so you aren’t doing anything wrong by trying to find him. Technically. He’d walked down the hall behind you so you figure you’d run into him eventually. 

Your legs ache with each step, painful stabs against the bottom of your feet as you begin the trek. It felt like a maze the second you left the main room, the only light present from lamps every few feet flush with the ceiling. ‘Spooky,’ You think to yourself, hugging your arms close. 

The first door you pass is shut firmly. No sense of what could be behind it. You linger for a few moments debating whether or not to knock, but the lack of light from underneath deterred you. 

Taking a sharp turn, you practically collide face first into what felt like a wall, but when you looked up– Phinks.

“Babe, what’ya doing?” You don’t have time to argue as he’s picking you up, “You shouldn’t be walking around.”

“Wanted to find you.” You pout. Though as you cradle the side of his face, the earlier conversation slowly replays at the back of your mind.

Phinks noticed the slight drop in your face but chalked it up to the long day you’d had, “I was coming to get you.” Nuzzling your face into his collarbone you take a deep breath, letting his touch center you. Being against him in your state, getting a smidge of his body heat had you on fire for him, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he started walking back the way he came. 

Exhaustion nudges its way back unto you, a yawn eliciting to show as much. You want to keep track of the path he takes, a right and then a left- then… You aren’t sure. The halls look the same but he eventually nudges an ajar door open. 

“Alright, here we are.”

The room was fairly big but rather plain. As Phinks sets you down on the bed, handing you a change of clothes, you realize- this was his room. Simple furniture scattered about but strewn magazines of things he was interested in forgotten on a coffee table. An alarm clock that matched the one at home that had a layer of dust on the nightstand. Some art, definitely random pieces he probably didn’t care to have.

“This is your room isn’t it?”

“Yep. Needed to clean up, dust coated fucking everything been months since I last stayed.”

“Why..?”

“If I’m ever beaten up after a job-” He explained, “I don’t want you to see that. But with you to go home to, there's no reason to be here. Wasn’t bad for the bachelor life.” 

It’s nice to learn something new in that respect, to see something that’s been a piece of his life first hand. Soreness screams through you as Phinks helps you undress to slip on the heavy sweats and hoodie. A mound of blankets pulled over you next, you cuddle happily into the new warmth that spreads over you, almost as if you’d never been in that abandoned closet. 

You wait for him as he changes, admiring the way his back muscles flexed, “You’re coming to bed, right?”

“What a dumb question, babe. Need to hold you after this fucking day.” 

“I want you to stay by my side.”

His weight sinks into the bed, and he repositions so you can slot yourself against him. God he loved how small, weak you were compared to him. His fragile little girl he needed to treat like glass when all he wanted to do was fuck you into the mattress. Having to hold his urges back for your sake was the right thing to do though. He can’t scare you after the day you’ve had while all he wants to do is relish in your body because the adrenaline high he’s coming down from fucking hurts. So close to losing you. So close to understanding the anger and sadness they put others through when the troupe kills their loved ones. It’s a strange sensation really, to even think about empathizing, but after the day you two have had, he doesn’t care. Just wants to hold you in his chest as your breathing slows. Wants to squeeze the plush of your skin to remind himself you’re his. His. No one else's. Not the Hunters who think they’re the saviors of the Phantom Troupe’s women. 

God he wished he could make all your thoughts of everything and everyone else but him go away. 

“I love you.” Your tired voice, sleep about to drag you under, makes him melt inside.

“I love you too.” He says back, since he knows he loves you in his own fucked up way. A way you probably wouldn’t understand, would probably be scared of, “I’ll keep you warm tonight, you’re safe.” Right now he knows what you need to hear. 

“I was so scared I’d never see you again.”

Good. It’s secured in Phinks’s mind that you never thought to run away from him having had the perfect chance to. Hours he couldn’t find you- you could have gotten back to town and jumped ship in that time. Yet you stayed in your little hiding place hoping for him to save you. You’re just so cute. And he’s lucky to have someone who relies on him so heavily. That made his chest burst with dark possessiveness over you. Not that there’s anyone left to take you from him. Every Hunter who’d been there was now dead, even the ones who left by car, with all that’s left to find the remaining stragglers involved with this effort. If more came out of the woodwork to take you after trying with Uvo’s girl, he’s sure there’ll be more eventually. 

He soon drifts off thinking of you in tears, sobbing for him as he splits you apart on his cock. Sobbing that he’s ‘too big’, that you’re ‘too full’, and begging for him to stop- but gods he won’t stop not when you’re broken like that with big red eyes and wet skin from the pleasure turning to pain. And he won’t stop, never does, until you’ve gone dumb in the head drunk off his cock and filled with his come like you need it to breathe. And Phinks knows as his consciousness slips away, that his little daydream will become reality come morning time because he’s not a good man. Because a good man wouldn’t fuck his girl to break her poor little mind, to make her fall apart into tiny pieces so he could be the one to put her back together again. To get her nice and reliant. Especially not after a traumatic event. But you should know by now that he’s not good.

[nalooksthrough]

Dale Dimmadome Analysis (with screenshots)

Dale is one of my favourite characters on the show. He's a funny evil man, that amuses me with his antics and his role as a child slave/kidnap victim in the original series leaves a lot to be explored.

This analysis will be talking about his attachment to money which trust me is a lot more interesting than it sounds. This will be quite a long post. I'll put a cut under this paragraph, so that the people who aren't interested don't have to scroll through the whole post.

Going to assume that since you decided to keep reading, that your interested in what I have to say. This analysis will only be covering "Stanky Danky" and "Lost and Founder's Day" with a brief mention of "Operation Birthday Takeback". I think those two episodes are more than sufficient enough to convey my point.

When we first meet Dale in "Stanky Danky" he's seen coming down from a helicopter, onto a big stage to sell products to people. He appears to be level headed with confidence oozing out of him. But this changes the moment he realises that people aren't going to buy anything.

He almost immediately starts to panic.

He starts shuttering as he calls out to the crowd to buy more things.

His panic becomes anger. Briefly switching back to panic before fully settling into anger. His anger then becomes targeted at the person whose telling these people not to buy from him. He questions who this girl is, what's her name.

Once he's learnt her name. He starts thinking up a way he can stop her and get the customer's interest back.

And once he's found it he strikes.

Going as far as to kidnap Danky and emotionally manipulate him just so he can get what he wants.

Leaving the monster in an isolated area of his estate when he's not of any current use to him. I mean talk about becoming your abuser.

And when Hazel and Danky leave he rushes out calling out to the trash monster, saying that he was "like a son" to him. Trying to appeal to Danky's emotions, desperately trying to get him back. All so he doesn't lose that source of profit.

And when he starts losing all his profits at the end of the episode he falls to his knees, wailing in a fit of despair. He's obsessed with money, he needs it and he's willing to do anything to get it. This obsession of his is best shown in "Lost and Founder's Day"

He spends the first portion of the episode happily monologing as he explains how his Dim Watches "tickle" a child's brain to indicate when they want something. Everything is going exactly as he planned.

Until it isn't.

The moment he spots someone not buying anything he starts getting angry. Ranting at the screen.

His anger only growing more when he realises that this "anomaly" is stopping other people from buying things too.

And when Dev points out that stuff is still getting sold and they are still earning money. He shuts him down.

Stating that while yes people are still buying things. The profit he's making from the festival in going down. And he is not happy about it.

In fact he's so enraged by this that he starts to send drones and his son after it so that he can "learn it's secrets". He can't handle the idea that someone doesn't want to buy anything from him.

And when that doesn't work, he activates the statues. Putting the whole festival on lock down until he can track down the "anomaly".

And when a drone points out how counter productive terrorising the festival attendees is to earning money and making a profit. He quite literally shuts it down.

And at the end of the episode, when the statues are put to a stop and everyone leaves.

He's back in that pit of despair. A literal stream of tears flowing out of his eyes. And he so affected by this that he spent literal months studying this "anomaly" figuring out why it didn't seem interested in buying anything during the festival. And the thing is. If he had just left it alone. The festival would have gone on without much of a hitch. But he just couldn't, because it was never about the money. Not really. It was about him.

It's clear that he puts a lot of value onto money. More than most. With money being tied directly to his identity and sense of security. The more money he makes, the better he feels about himself and when he starts to lose money, he takes it as a direct attack on him. He knows what it's like to have nothing and he doesn't ever want to be in that state again. So he obsessively tries to earn more and more in order feel secure in himself. But it's never enough. And when someone threatens that security he goes on the defence. Even at the cost of the losing other potential sales.

And when he loses all his profits and is no longer generating money, he breaks. And for a brief moment, he's no longer Dale Dimmadome owner of Dimmadome G0bal.

He's Dale. A frighten young boy working in a factory underneath a lemonade stand, whose only wish is for his father to come and rescue him.

[divinerivals]

Yall are delusional if you think Nesta is going to leave Cassian or the night court. First, they are mated. Not just mates. Mated. They accepted the bond, and SJM loves her Heas. It's a done deal. So either keep reading and deal with it or drop the series and find something you enjoy. Not to mention if they even could break the bond, how empty and broken Nesta would be for eternity. You really want that for her?

HOFAS happened three months after acosf. There's still alot of healing on Nesta’s part. Just because she saved Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx doesn't mean things are swept under the rug with them. Her and Cassian are both fiery and stubborn. They are going to have arguments. Honestly, it's perfectly normal for them to argue on occasion.

This. What Nesta did in HOFAS. Went beyond her and Cassian, beyond Rhys. This was a decision that Nesta should not have made herself. Yes I understand that she saw Bryce's desperation and understood her. She probably put herself in Bryces shoes for a moment. She took a chance. But it's a huge fucken chance because they don't know nor trust Bryce fully. And if she failed the whole of Prythian/Midgard is fucked. They have nothing to defend themselves against the weaponry Rigelus has. They will all die. Including Nesta Archeron.

Rhys had every right to scold her. And Her saying he's not her High Lord isn't accurate. She lives in his lands. Whether she wants to admit it or not. If any of the courts got wind of what was happening with Bryce or that Nesta gave this mask up to a stranger from another world do you know who would be faulted? Not Nesta. Rhys and Feyre would. They would suffer the consequences because Nesta falls under their lands. Their rule.

And now Cassian, who apparently had never defended Nesta once. Again. Nesta was In. The. Wrong. Her actions were beneficial and understandable but wrong. Cassian being upset and disappointed in her would absolutely make sense. Think of times in TOG, when Rowan wasn't happy with Aelin. He stood there silent until they were alone. That's more than likely what happened. Cassian didn't say his piece until everyone left. It's an argument between Nesta and Cassian and no one else.

That argument. The one that happened off page yet everyone wants to fucking crucify Cassian over cause you think you know what he said. When in reality you don't. Is wild. Three months ago, when she was with Emerie and Gwyn, they were taken and placed in the Blood Rite where he was helpless in going to her. He lost her briefly in the bog, watched her put her life at risk. How many times in acosf? He went a year or so watching Nesta absolutely ruin herself, had her lay over his body in front of Hybern, almost losing her, them, then too. Now, someone, a stranger and someone potentially dangerous, opened a portal in his living room where his mate was. And he wasn't there. All that trauma and ptsd he keeps on lock was blown wide open.

So now Cassian is a storm of emotions when he arrives home. Probably arrived mid argument between Nesta and Rhys, and the entire flight was given brief details of what's happening fueling his emotions. His fear, trauma, concern, disappointment, and anger. When Rhys leaves, Cassian and Nesta got into it. Sure he was pissed about the mask anyone would be. I would be. I personally think it goes on beyond that. Far beyond it. Nesta’s life, once again, was put a risk and no one knew what Bryce wanted. Cassian’s worst fear when the portal was open, was Bryce taking Nesta and never seeing her again. All that came out in their fight.

As readers, we know Bryce's intentions are good. They as characters who haven't been given the best view of Bryce dont believe it. Yes, I do think there needs to be more trust in Nesta. Especially where Rhys is considered. Cassian, as her mate, blowing things out of proportion is logical cause all mates have done it at some point. But yeah he needs to trust her a bit more too. He trusts her more than Rhys does that's for sure.

To play devil's advocate, I could be wrong on Cassian and Nesta and their fight. Absolutely. Im not Sarah. But neither are you who are wishing he dies, and Nesta leaves him over a risk that was never hers to make alone when it involves the whole world of Midgard.

If you read this entire thing and disagree. That's cool. The unfollow and block buttons are right there.

[randomfoggytiger]

The Evolution of Gillian Anderson's Friendship with David Duchovny

Early friendship:

He was an experienced actor when they started The X Files, she had been receiving unemployment benefit and had been in front of cameras only once before.

And she admits: "I desperately needed someone to show me the ropes and David did. He was wonderful."

There were rumours of a secret romance, which would have got them both fired on the spot. It is a strict studio rule that there will be no intimacy between the stars - off screen as well as on.

But Gillian did find love on The X Files, in the shape of assistant art director Clyde Klotz. And she did turn to Duchovny for advice after acting spontaneously on her wedding night, taking no precautions and finding herself pregnant.

She was horrified, believing she would get herself fired and ruin her career.

[“I went into his trailer,” she recalls, “and I said, ‘David, I’m pregnant.’ It looked like his knees buckled.... And he asked me if it was a good thing. I said, ‘Yeah, it is.’]

But her co-star, who was the only person she confided in apart from her husband, put Gillian's mind at ease.

He advised her not to have an abortion - that things would work out. And they did.

He kept her secret while Gillian thought things over for a month.

1995:

David Duchovny is not happy.....

Anderson, sensing Duchovny’s mood, looks down at his hand on her left shoulder and tries to brush it away, as if it were a mosquito. Then she turns and jumps into his arms, laughing, looking like a little girl making trouble for a protective older brother. Startled to be holding her, the smile on Duchovny’s face is forced no longer.

...“We really trust each other,” Duchovny says simply.

There is, between these two, a real-life camaraderie born of necessity, a friendship strong enough to survive too many work hours, and a chemistry powerful enough to rearrange the atoms on-screen. “Whenever we’re acting together,” says Anderson, “it’s there.”

1997:

But in real life, Duchovny and Anderson have a relationship as much a conundrum to outsiders as any X-File.

“We have a relationship that is completely odd and fabricated,” Duchovny says. “We’ve been thrown together, two people who don’t know each other, and we’ve been forced to spend more time together than married people do. So you can’t describe our relationship as ‘like’ or ‘dislike.’ ”

Sounds a little frosty.

“It is frosty,” Gillian Anderson agrees when she is read Duchovny’s description of their relationship. “But it’s accurate.” She laughs. “It’s not that we don’t like each other. It’s complicated.”

2008:

Question: Can you talk about getting back into these characters after a five or six year period?

David Duchovny: The first two weeks I felt a little awkward and I didn’t really feel like I wanted to do longer scenes. I was just fine running around. Then as soon as Gillian and I started working and it was Mulder and Scully, then I kind of remembered what it was all about and that relationship kind of anchored my performance just as I think the relationship anchors this film.

Shock: What’s that like with David now that you’re not with each other 16 hours a day on a series?

Anderson: It’s great, but it was great then, too. This is like a sibling relationship and I never had siblings.

What is your favourite thing about each other?

Duchovny: Gillian just doesn't give up.... She'll hang in there 'til we get it right.

Anderson: ...The easiest answer, I guess, is his sense of humour. He's always looking at the funny side of things, especially when he's around other actors who are comedians or funny themselves - it can turn into a bit of a contest to see who does the best impressions and such. But aside from that, there's a gentleness inside him that comes out every once in a while that is quite disarming and lovely. It's rare, but very nice.

2014:

Q: Was there a sense of almost a bunker mentality where you were at least going through this process with David? You mentioned he had more experience, he had done some bigger films but still the phenomenon that emerged within the first couple years was pretty remarkable. Did it help to have him there too and kind of like “Are you getting this too? Are you going through this too? Is this weird?” 

A: No. No, not really. We talk about the fact that it’s crazy that we didn’t. And that we didn’t take advantage of the fact that we had each other but it was complicated. These were long hours that we were working. We spent more time in each other’s presence than we did with our, you know, spouses and children, etc.

But also, you know, I think we p***ed each other off, quite frankly. And I have no doubt that after they’re waiting – we’re gonna roll and somebody has to come in and redo my lips and the difference between the maintenance for guys and gals and we’re shooting in all weather – you know, we never shut down except for one day for weather in the entire show.  We were shooting up in Vancouver through rain, sleet, everything. And my hair would frizz up to here in between takes and they’d have to get the blow dryer out under the tent and we’d be waiting for Gillian’s hair to do another take. You know, that p***es you right off. It adds up. So I, you know, I’m sure there were plenty of things he did that p***ed me off too. It just wasn’t, you know, but on the other hand.. NOW, we get to talk about that and we’re probably closer than we’ve ever been. 

2015:

Not surprisingly, she and Duchovny also became the story – according to the press, they were having an affair, hated each other or both. “I mean, yes, there were definitely periods when we hated each other.” She starts again. “Hate is too strong a word. We didn’t talk for long periods of time. It was intense, and we were both pains... for the other at various times.”

How was Duchovny a pain... for her? “Erm ...” Ten seconds pass without a word. Meanwhile, her smile gets wider and wider till it’s halfway up her cheeks. “I’m not going to get into it. I’m not even going to begin to get into that. But we are closer today than we ever have been.”

2016:

Anderson on working with Duchovny “Our relationship has definitely become a proper friendship over the last few years. I think we’re more on each other’s side. We’re more aware of the other’s needs, wants, concerns, and mindful to take those into consideration— and just sharing more about our experiences in the moment, under the sudden realization that we’re both in this together, and wouldn’t it be nice if it were a collaboration?”

2018:

They've worked together for 25 years but Gillian Anderson wants to make one thing clear: David Duchovny does NOT feature in her Ex Files.

While on screen their relationship left viewers wondering whether they would ever hook up romantically, Gillian says that off camera they were never very close.

In fact, she goes so far as to admit: "I don't know much about David Duchovny. If you asked me 10 things about him I'd probably get nine of them wrong."

...But now Gillian sets the record straight, saying: "We were never close. It's true we spent more time together than we have in any other relationship but it doesn't mean we were close.

"Very often when you're working long hours you may have a chit-chat between scenes but you're not really standing around talking about personal lives.

"And very often you don't have meals either at work or outside of work together because you're in each other's company all the time.

"So I actually don't know very much about David Duchovny, but we appreciate and respect each other."

2021:

Stella made a new friend today.

2023:

A huge congratulations to my old friend @davidduchovny on the world premiere of his film Bucky F***ing Dent @tribeca which he wrote, directed and stars in! A massive accomplishment and can’t wait to see it. (ps I’d say some of your prior writer / director gigs with me went pretty well and this was all just yesterday, right? 😉) #Tribeca2023

2024:

Awww Double D I’m so sorry. He was your guy. RIP Brick Duchovny

Lastly but not least,

a comment from David, 2024:

"My former X-Files costar Gillian Anderson and I are really good friends. ...When you share a seminal kind of experience in your life-- the huge success we had with that show-- only we know what it's like to be in the center of that. It's almost like being in the same family...."

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 19

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: Deep breaths, my friends. We’re almost to the end. ❤️

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: Violence, peril, blood and guns, character death…

Part 19: “Sacrifice”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.

“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.

The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”

Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.

“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.

“I think you know, son,” the man replied.

Dean’s wide eyes flicked up to John’s, and the other man sprang into action. He shot a look and a whispered order at Cas, who went running for some IP tracking equipment back in the police car.

Meanwhile, John guided Dean to sit down on the couch. Sam followed them on his brother’s right, while John sat on Dean’s left.

Dean put the phone on speaker between the three of them.

“You’re Daniel Savage, huh?” Dean said. He tried to inject some more control into his tone, like he wasn’t freaking the fuck out. “Man, do I feel special.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Dean-o. I’m doing the same thing your dad’s doing. Hooking the bigger fish.”

Dean’s lips pursed. He glanced at his father, but his attention on the phone turned steely.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked. “Your lackey’s on lockdown. So’s your bastard son. If you want to help him, I’d suggest you turn your ass over to the cops.”

“Yes, Nick’s an idiot. But family, right?” said Daniel. He breathed out a sigh.

But then his voice was firm and calculating. It made Dean’s skin crawl.

“Cards on the table, son. Your daddy’s got something of mine. I’ve got something of yours.”

Dean’s face hardened, but John raised a placating hand; a warning to keep calm. Dean tried to take a breath.

His heart clenched at the mere thought of you being in the same room with that man. Having been taken and hauled to God knows where. He couldn’t imagine how scared you were. And if you were hurt…

Fuck. There was a roiling pit forming in his stomach, his head starting to pound in time with his heartbeat.

Already Cas was back with a laptop and program designed to track the caller’s phone. He connected a USB-like cord to Dean's phone and began fiddling with the settings, trying to get a read. Dean knew he had to keep this fucker talking.

“You have her with you?” he asked.

“Sure do. She’s a pretty little thing.”

Dean’s jaw clenched in a furious glare. “Don’t you fucking touch her, you son of a bitch.”

“Quid pro quo, Dean. What can you do for me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, as desperation began to escape him. “There’s no way they’re letting Nick go before the trial. It’s out of my dad’s hands.”

“Your dad has no real evidence that my son is anything more than a successful businessman,” said Daniel. “If you really need someone to pin these unfortunate murders on, you had your man in custody…but, oh wait. You gave him immunity.”

Dean’s eyes were desperate when they met Sam’s worried ones, then their father’s. It didn’t matter that John and Cas did have evidence besides Alastair’s testimony. All Dean cared about was you.

He swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. It’s what I want John to do.”

Dean took a moment to close his eyes, pull himself together. His hands squeezed his knees to brace himself. When he next opened his eyes, he let out a sharp breath.

“What do you want then? Aside from Nick somehow breaking loose,” he asked.

“I want your dad to back the fuck off, once and for all,” Daniel said. His voice was more edged, with both warning and a hint of frustration. “Or I’ll make his son live the same pathetic existence he does.”

Dean’s next breath came out harsher, as both John and Sam sharpened at the threat.

“That’s right, Dean. These are my terms of engagement, else I’m gonna have a bonfire with your girl here.” 

It all gripped Dean at once.

Panic, anger, and desperation.

He grabbed the phone and spoke harshly into the speaker.

“Put her on the damn line," he said. "I wanna hear her and know this isn’t a trick.”

Daniel sighed, like he was getting bored. “Oh, all right.”

There was some shuffling, the sound of Daniel’s steps echoing in what sounded like a large room. Dean’s brows furrowed as he heard sounds of your struggle, then your labored breaths, as if a gag had been removed from your mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk to him,” said Daniel.

Soon enough, your tremulous voice reached him.

“Dean?” you said. You sounded like you were fighting tears; maybe even losing. Dean’s heart broke all the more for it.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice shook. He hoped you weren’t lying for his sake.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He raised a fist to his mouth, ignoring how it shook. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m going to find you—”

All too soon, the phone was taken away from you.

“Rule number one of negotiations, kid. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Dean’s eyes widened. The next thing he heard was a hard slap. It echoed into the speaker, along with your shout of both surprise and pain, a chair toppling over.

“You fucking bastard!” Dean seethed. “When I find you—”

John interrupted this time, taking the cell phone from Dean. He shot his son a look that was meant to be reassuring, but Dean was too incensed. Sam gripped his shoulder and earned his brother’s gaze. Dean’s chest heaved with the effort of calming his breathing.

“What do you want?” John said into the phone. His voice was clipped and direct.

While he continued to speak, Cas was frowning in frustration over his laptop.

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“I can’t get a lock on his signal. He must have something throwing off the scanner,” Cas replied.

Dean growled in frustration and pushed off the couch. He began to pace the living room, all while he tried to keep an ear on what John was saying lowly into the phone.

By the time he hung up, Dean was raging.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna find her,” he said. John tried to stop him from going anywhere with a hand on his shoulder. Dean knocked him off angrily. Sam also stood, for once on the same page as his father, no matter how much he sympathized.

“Dean, you need to calm down,” John tried.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t ask for this!” Dean shouted. The force of it echoed on the apartment walls. “Matter of fact, I’ve never asked you for a damn thing until now. Only that you’d keep me in the loop on Azazel, and keep her out of this. But you couldn’t even do that, could you?”

Sam was at a loss, looking between his father and brother. Cas was also caught in between, watching the scene with concern, and bated breath.

John’s broad shoulders sunk a bit, along with the deep breath he expelled.

“You’re right,” John said. "You're right, son. And I'm sorry."

His eyes held the weight of his words. Of sincerity. And by degrees, Dean’s anger lessened.

Again, not by much.

“Let’s fix it,” said John. “Once and for all.”

Dean wasn’t fully recovered from his TBI. He’d been cleared for driving, but not yet for full physical exercise, let alone going back to work. The stress of all this was giving him a powerful headache, but there was no way he was going to be sidelined now, on any part of it.

Sam was forced to withdraw the case against Nick Savage, citing lack of evidence to support a trial at this time. The judge gave Sam permission to refile when he was able to build a better case.

John was then tasked with escorting Nick out of prison. Cas, meanwhile, was sitting in his personal car outside the county jail with Dean in the passenger seat. Cas didn’t trust what his friend would do behind the wheel once he saw Nick.

“What happens after Nick gets out?” Dean asked. “Dad’s been cagey about the whole deal.”

“We’re escorting him to the airport,” Cas said. “There we’ll wait for Daniel and make the exchange.”

Nick, for you. That was the deal.

“And then?” Dean asked, his teeth already clenching.

Cas blew out a sigh. “We’ll have a unit waiting on standby. We’re going to try and get ahold of whoever has her, though I doubt Daniel will come himself.”

“What if you can’t catch him?” Dean pressed.

Cas didn’t want to have to tell his friend something he didn’t want to hear, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to Dean. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Then it’s over, for now,” he replied. “We each go back to our corners and regroup.”

“Dad’ll never stop hunting this guy,” Dean said.

“That may be,” Cas nodded. “But he does have a line.”  

“My father’s an obsessed bastard,” Dean groused. “He doesn’t have a damn line.”

Cas looked over at him then. He was calm and sympathetic, and yet, still disagreeing in his silence. Dean knew he was probably wrong, but in the moment, he didn’t care. He was still angry.

He perked up, however, when the prison doors slid open. Out came John escorting Nick and his lawyer, Amelia. Nick looked as smug as ever now that his cuffs were off. He was given the clothes he was arrested in—a blue silk shirt, pants, Italian leather shoes, and a silver Rolex watch.

Screw this, Dean thought. He unlocked the car from his side and climbed out. He didn’t care that he could hear Cas mutter a curse behind him and follow suit.

Nick saw Dean coming and couldn’t help but smirk, even as John grasped his arm and led him to his police car.

“Hey, fireman,” Nick taunted with his waggling brows. “Where’s our girl?”

Dean’s lips edged at a dangerous smile. Cas came up just behind him, ready to restrain him if need be.

“You can finesse your way out of this, but remember our little chat,” Dean said. His eyes burned with a thinly veiled threat. “Not a dime in this world can protect you from me.”

Nick pretended to shiver.

“Ooh, I’m so fucking scared,” he snarked. He resisted John’s manhandling and ripped his arm out of the other man’s grasp to step further into the open, leaving just a few yards between him and Dean.

“You can’t touch me,” Nick taunted. “You won’t dare. Not unless you want—”

Three shots rang out in the open clearing.

All heads ducked, but Dean’s eyes widened. He watched Nick crumple to the ground as scarlet red plumed in the man’s silk shirt. The shock etched on his face drained along with his life, leaving blue eyes staring up at a clear sky.

Forensics at the scene found traces of a sniper on the rooftop of a building directly across from the county jail.

John and Cas already were mounting an entire unit search in locating Alastair Rolston, but he had apparently moved out of his apartment as soon as he was released from prison with his immunity deal. (The police officers escorting him into witness protection had been found dead at the scene of his designated safe house.)

The detectives were later called into the medical examiner’s office on the case of Nick Savage—not to examine the body, but the bullets that had carved into his heart, right lung, and throat.

One of the bullets had a special casing. Inside was a rolled-up note, not unlike a carrier pigeon. It had a simple message:

JOHN — STULL STORAGE. COME ALONE.

Once again, Dean refused to sit idly. He’d pushed back hard enough that John had eventually relented. This time, however, Sam stepped in to make sure his brother was reigned in. Dean’s knee was already bouncing with anticipation and nervousness.

It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday. The brothers sat in the surveillance van with Jody Mills, all wearing protective Kevlar vests as precaution. The van was removed from the immediate site of Stull Storage, which was made up of a main warehouse and several rows of storage units on the other side. 

Cas was leading another police unit on standby, but John was going into the warehouse. He wore his usual leather jacket over his rumpled shirt, pants, and boots, but also a protective vest and hidden wire under his collar.

Sam, Dean, and Jody were able to listen in as John entered alone.

He had a flashlight positioned over his raised gun as he walked into the building. He found some light switches along the wall and was able to turn on half the room’s fluorescent ceiling lights.

He heard a whimper.

Moving towards the sound cautiously, John soon found you tied to a chair. You looked a bit worse for wear; though you were dressed for an interview in black slacks and a blouse, your hair was in disarray, your cheek still sported a fading red mark, and you likely had other bumps and bruises.

Your eyes widened with hope when you saw John. You made sounds of surprise around the gag tied in your mouth, but he shushed you with a finger held to his lips.

He went over to you after lowering his gun, cocking back the safety, and re-holstering. He went to untie the gag first. You breathed deeply when it was gone.

“You okay?” he asked, touching your arm in comfort.

“Yeah,” you nodded, but your widening eyes still darted behind him.

Another safety clicked back. John immediately drew his gun again and turned. He was met with the man of the hour.

Standing mere feet away with his own gun was Daniel Savage. AKA: Azazel.

“Ooh, you’re getting old, John,” he said with a smirk. “Wasn’t expecting to get the drop on you so easily.”

John subtly moved so he was standing in front of you. He hadn't had time to untie you from the chair. Your breathing came out shallow as you tried to spy around John to your captor.

“Daniel,” John greeted. “It’s about time, wouldn’t you say?”

“You cheated though,” said Daniel, despite his cocky smirk. Like father like son. “I know you’ve got a team waiting in the wings.”

“If you wanna get technical, you cheated first,” John pointed out.

Daniel shrugged. Behind him came around ten of his own hired men, armed with their own guns. “Hate the player, hate the game, my friend.”

John’s lips pursed, but he didn’t lower his gun. He had a straight shot at Daniel’s chest.

“Even if you do get off a shot, you’ll be Swiss cheese where you stand,” Daniel said. 

“Small price to pay for ending your miserable fucking life,” John remarked.

Daniel’s brows rose. “Are you gonna make her pay for it too?”

He gestured behind John, where he glanced back at your face. Your red-rimmed eyes were shining with tears. And John knew that once his gun fired, his body would hit the ground. Yours wouldn’t be far behind.

His brows furrowed, and the hands holding his weapon wavered.

“So how you do think this is gonna play out?” John asked.

“Well, for starters, you’re going to drop that damn gun,” said Daniel. He cocked his own weapon. “Then, you’re going to get down on your knees and take this bullet, like putting down a rabid dog. Then maybe, I’ll let her go before the cops rush in.”

John’s hesitation was mere seconds. He clicked the safety back on. He set down his gun, and lowered to his knees in slow movements.

Your eyes widened further as incredulous tears slipped down your cheeks. You shook your head.

“Don’t!” you said shakily. 

John didn’t look back at you this time, but he did answer you.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said.

Daniel’s grim smile made you shiver.

“What a caring father-in-law,” he said, and he slowly stalked forward. “You know, I prided myself on delegating my operations well. Oh, it was a well-oiled machine back in the day. But some things…well, some things are just better handled yourself. Know what I mean?”

He tilted his head down at John.

“For example: I really regret the way I had your wife killed,” he said. “For all the trouble you’ve given me, I wish I’d actually burned the bitch myself.”

John glared up at the man with pure fury and hatred.

Though his eyes widened when the first shot split the air, and buried a bullet in Daniel’s left arm. Daniel shouted in pain as he unconsciously dropped his gun. John dove for it, and everything started to happen at once.

Daniel kicked at John’s chest while holding his wounded arm, tossing the other man back. John rolled onto his feet, and their full out brawl began. Meanwhile, a unit of police officers swarmed into the warehouse and sparked a shootout with Daniel’s men.

And in all of this, Cas came out from behind your line of vision to untie you. He wore a protective vest over his usual white dress shirt, now rolled up to the elbows.

“Cas!” you gasped. He gave you a smile, then used a pocketknife to cut through the zip ties holding your wrists behind you and your ankles to the chair.

“Come on, let’s go.” He helped you up and guided you out the back of the warehouse.

The last coherent sound Sam and Dean heard was a bullet fired and hitting its target. They couldn’t tell if it was John or Daniel that had been hit, or even you.

Above all things, Dean was a man of action.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck this,” he growled. He got to his feet and went for the door of the surveillance van, but while Jody voiced her protest, it was Sam who reached him first.

“Dean, stop! You can’t go out there!” Sam said.

“The hell I can’t,” Dean said. The punch he reared back and threw was precise when it cracked Sam in the cheek. He went down hard. It was all Jody could do to keep him from knocking his head on the metal floor, but Sam was out cold, with his hair flopped over his face.

"Dean!" Jody yelled after him. She stared after the open door of the van with wide, worried eyes.

There were rows upon rows of storage units behind the warehouse. It felt like a maze in itself, one that you and Cas were forced to navigate alone in the crisp January night. Both of you saw your breath on the air as you tried to move quickly, but quietly.

Until a long arm reached out on the other side of a unit, and a hand closed on Cas’s gun, pushing it down and ripping it out of his hands. An elbow cracked into his face, making him grunt and stumble.

Your scream of surprise echoed in the night. You stared up into the familiar face of Alastair, whose mouth formed a sly grin.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he said.

Cas distracted him with a blow that Alastair blocked, but it gave Cas room to break the taller man’s stance and knock his head against the unit wall—once, twice, until the man stumbled and fell. He wasn’t knocked out, but Cas didn’t wait for Alastair to recover. He grabbed you and forced you to run.

“I thought he was in protective custody for the trial,” you said, through huffing breaths.

“Evidently he escaped,” Cas replied.

“God, Cas. You really need to hand out some pink slips,” you said, with a tremor in your voice. The police were supposed to have been watching you as well, before you were kidnapped. Cas conceded your point.

“We really shouldn’t have given him immunity,” he grumbled.

Dean knew he was being some kind of idiot.

Knew it as he carefully approached a side door of the warehouse. His vest wouldn’t protect his whole body if he entered the no man’s land shootout he could hear happening on the other side of the door.

Already he could see policemen escorting some of Azazel’s captured team around the front exit. Dean kept to the shadows, and he cracked the side door open.

There was still plenty going on inside. A few bodies were already strewn across the dusty warehouse floor. Large crates stacked up to the ceiling offered meager protection for both sides of the siege, including Dean as he kept to the wall and slid his way inside and behind a formation of wooden crates. He scanned the room until he found his dad.

John was fighting hand-to-hand with who had to be Daniel Savage. Even though the latter had blood dripping from his arm, John had his share of bruises and scrapes, including a long cut across his cheek from the knife clenched in Daniel’s non-injured right hand.

What the hell do I do? Dean assessed the situation, his eyes darting quickly between the men. He came in here without a weapon (another smart move). He went through most of the training a million years ago, but Dean wasn’t a police officer. He was a firefighter.

However, when he spotted a forgotten Glock on the floor, just a few yards away where the men were still tousling, Dean inched his way closer. He’d have to leave the relative safety of the crates and throw himself out into the open to reach the gun. At this point, Daniel was closer.

And he’d noticed the gun too, at the same time that John glanced up and saw his son. His eyes widened, and just for a moment he lost his grip on Daniel. The other man went for the gun at the same time Dean dove.

John yanked Daniel back by his collar and kneed him in the stomach. But Daniel had the longer reach. He cracked an elbow into John’s face and followed by a swift punch to the gut. John grunted and doubled over at the impact to his already battered ribs and stomach.

Daniel threw him head-first into a pile of nearby crates. He was breathing hard, but his lips twitched in satisfaction at the way John fell into a heap of broken wood. The detective was clearly waning.

Daniel stalked forward. Ignoring his still bleeding shoulder, he grabbed John by the jacket and collar of his shirt and hefted him up to his feet, prepared to deliver another blow. The cocking of a nearby gun made him pause. But in a moment, he twisted John in front him with an arm wrapped around his neck to face his next attacker.

While Daniel had been distracted, Dean had managed to dive and roll across the concrete, scooping up the gun on his way back onto his feet. Now he’d had the time to take aim and wait for his moment, which was right fucking now.

Slowly, Daniel tilted his head to look past John’s shoulder. He was met with Dean’s smirk and a gun pointed directly at his head.

“I think I’ve got something of yours,” Dean remarked. His fingers slid over the trigger.

Daniel tilted his head. A dry smile edged at the corner of his lips. “All right, Dean. Well played. But…”

He tightened his arm around John’s throat and held the knife poised at his neck.

“We’re at what you’d call an impasse, don’t you think?” Daniel asked.

“Dean,” John said. He met his eldest’s gaze as uncertainly crept into Dean’s stance. His hand was still held aloft, but there was an almost imperceptible shake.

“Just shoot him,” said John, with full conviction. “Don’t worry about me.”

Dean’s mouth pressed into a line, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t doing that.

“See, I don’t think he’s got it in ‘im,” Daniel said, speaking lowly in John’s ear. His knife tightened against John’s neck. “You’re out of your fucking depth, Dean.”

Dean flinched as a bullet zoomed past his head from across the room. He was reminded that there was still a fight going on, and the three of them were very much out in the open. John’s face turned more urgent, with thinly veiled worry.

“Dean, either shoot him or get the hell out of here,” he said tersely.

“I’m not leaving,” Dean said, with a small, stubborn shake of his head. But he was nervous. Despite how close he’d come with Nick Savage, Dean had never shot at someone, let alone taken a life. The gun was heavy in his hand.

“Running out of time, son,” Daniel taunted.

“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean gritted out. “Speaking of, did you have Alastair do your dirty work, taking out Nick, or did you pull that trigger yourself?”

Daniel’s smirk faded, his gaze tightening with resignation.

“Sacrifices, Dean,” he said. “We make ‘em to survive. To make sure our legacies survive.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he looked at this man, and he finally understood what his dad had been trying to tell him.

He ain’t a man. He’s a monster.

The gun was heavy in his hand…

“Come on, Dean!” Daniel shouted. “Make a decision—”

Dean still remembered most things he’d learned at the Police Academy. He’d lived, ate, sweat, and breathed those drills and tests for months. And yet, there was only one score he’d truly been proud of. It was the one record of his dad’s that he’d managed to beat.

You could guess which one.

Dean let his fingers squeeze the trigger on some instinct he couldn’t name. Daniel was forced to choke on his words.

Cas pulled you around the corner of a storage unit that blocked the light of the moon. It was just in time for a bullet to rip past where his head used to be.

You leaned heavily against the wall and heaved for breath, but Cas held a finger to his lips while he tried to calm his own breathing.

You held a hand over your mouth to try and stifle the sounds from getting out. Your eyes were wide and panicked, but Cas could only reassure you with a brief hand on your shoulder. He nodded and signaled with his free hand. Wait.

You gave a jerky nod in return. So he reached for his belt and brandished the only weapon he had left—the knife he’d used to cut through your bonds. The air was quiet, except for the distant shouts of police officers; it sounded like Azazel’s men were finally being rounded up.

Cas had called for backup earlier, but he didn’t think they could wait for it. Nor would he know if they were coming. He’d long since turned off the radio on his belt so that it couldn’t tip off his position with you.

He chanced looking around the wall of the storage unit. The coast looked clear, though he knew it wasn’t. Still, the best Cas could hope for was to cover you on the way back to the police barricade. He leaned back and reached for you. He guided you, both with his eyes and a hand on your back.

On the count of three, run, he mouthed. You wordlessly agreed. He saw the fear shining in your eyes.

One…two…

An arm shot out to grab Castiel’s collar the moment he stepped out from his cover, making you scream. The first punch came swift; Alastair was taller, perhaps stronger, but Cas recovered quickly.

He ducked the other man’s arm and delivered an uppercut that had his adversary careening back. With a well-placed jab to the wrist, Alastair’s gun clattered away across the ground.

Cas managed to shoot you a quick look. “Run. Now!”

You paused for a mere moment while Cas continued to grapple with Alastair. Then, in your frozen fear, you finally managed flight. And you took off running, even though Alastair tried to grab at your hair. Cas held him back and continued the fight.

You’d only managed a few yards of distance though, before you couldn’t help but look back. Something in you just couldn’t leave Cas behind.

You took cover behind another storage unit and watched Alastair slowly get the upper hand. He managed to pin Cas against the ribbed metal wall of a unit. He winced as it dug into his spine, but he had bigger problems.

He spat blood after the third blow to his jaw and tried to blink dark spots of his vision. Alastair looked down on him with the lean look of a predator. His smile betrayed the enjoyment he took in his work.

“Contrary to what you might think, I’ve never killed a cop before,” he said. “Just a cop’s wife.”

Cas’s eyes widened a fraction. Alastair’s smile deepened. He raised a bloody fist to finish his work, but he winced and weakened with a shout as a knife embedded deep in his thigh.

It was Cas’s knife that you’d found on the ground.

Alastair’s angry eyes looked down and met your scared ones. You let go of the knife and scrambled back. He backhanded you roughly. You cried out and fell hard on the pavement.

Alastair reached for the knife, but Cas grabbed it first. He twisted as he yanked it out, then jabbed it into the taller man’s neck. It choked his scream as he stumbled back. And yet, even that didn’t manage to kill him.

Cas dove for the fallen gun. It was mere feet away from where he’d forced it out of Alastair’s grip. Cas felt a hand grab his shoulder. He reacted fast—he turned and shot two rounds of hot led into Alastair’s gut.

His gray eyes went wide. Blood gurgled in his mouth.

And slowly, Alastair slid to the ground.

Cas was bloody, his shirt stained and torn, but he was still standing with ragged breath. You had managed to sit up, though your shocked eyes were trained on the body you’d just seen fall into a heap. The horrific spell of it broke when Cas gently touched your shoulder.

You gasped and raised your head.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching a hand to you. “It’s over.”

Cas escorted you back to the police barricade. There you found Sam, and the mere sight of him relieved you so much you didn’t realize you were crying when you stepped into his embrace. He hugged you tight and asked if you were all right.

You couldn’t give him an honest answer, but at least you were alive.

“I’m okay,” you said tremulously, but you pulled back at grasped his arms. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam looked anxious as his gaze flit between you and Cas.

“That goddamn idiot, he went in there! They won’t let me through—”

“What?” Cas said incredulously. “Into the warehouse?”

Your tears fell anew as a new frantic worry took hold, churning in your stomach and making you feel sick. You turned, and both Cas and Sam had to stop you from heading towards the warehouse.

“Get him out of there!” you cried. “Dean!”

You tried to push past Cas and his attempts to calm you, but you stopped the moment you saw him…

Dean was helping John limp out of the warehouse. Jody was on John’s other side, supporting him as well. John looked beat to hell, and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the calm look on his face. Like he’d finally sleep tonight.

Dean, on the other hand, looked pale, haggard, and worried. However, his head perked up as soon as he heard your voice. His eyes widened. He turned to Jody to make sure she could support John on her own, and she nodded at him.

It let Dean make his way straight for you.

Sam and Cas finally released you, like a horse waiting to bolt out of the stables. Your tears blurred your vision as you went to him.

When Dean swept you up into his arms, you were able to throw yours around his neck and cling to him for all you were worth. You buried your face into his neck and sobbed your relief.

You wouldn’t know that Dean’s eyes were shining and red, his mouth trembling slightly as he sucked in a breath and held you as tight as he dared. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, over your wild hair. His lips pressed to the side of your head as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, when he was able to speak.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, though his question prompted you to pull back and find his face. Your heels came back to the ground, and you reached up to stroke his cheek and search his gaze.

“What about you?” you asked tremulously. “Your head?”

“’M fine,” he said. Though the truth was, he was reeling. His ears still rung from the bullet that hit Daniel between the eyes.

The weight of that decision was almost too fresh to be real, but it was heavy on Dean all the same. He could even get in legal trouble for this. He wasn’t supposed to have entered that building. Hell, he’d picked up a gun and shot a man.

Though he already knew what Sam would say.

Justification. Imminent danger. Self-defense.

Dean just didn’t know if that would fly here, especially with the Fire Department.

Right now, however, you were his lifeline. You grounded him in reality when you held his face in your hands. Just beyond you, he could see the relief on both Sam and Cas’s faces.

Dean gave them a smile, but he focused back on you. He held your hand to his cheek.

“Promise me you’re gonna stay put for a while,” he quipped. “Preferably where I can see you.”

You scoffed at him through the tears glittering in your eyes.

“Dean Winchester, if that isn’t the most hypocritical thing that’s ever come out of your mouth!” you said, punctuating your words with a slap on his chest.

“Hey!” he protested, but you ignored him. You gripped his shirt and felt the Kevlar underneath. It might’ve protected his chest, but he hadn’t had anything to protect his damn head.

“You run into fires, not bullets, you idiot,” you said, now wiping frustrated tears from your cheek.

Dean’s tension began to ease with a smile. He held you more securely, pulling you flush against him.

“You sound like Bobby,” he teased.

“Good!” you snapped. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that. Do you hear m—?”

He didn’t think he’d ever miss you giving him shit, but this time, it just made him smile until the corners of his eyes crinkled. Shortly before he cut you off with a searing kiss.

You made a sound of surprise, even as you gripped at his shirt, then his face to keep him there. You both knew this night was long from being over. An even longer way from recovering.

But for now, this was a good start.

AN: And so, we're drawing near to the end. 🥹 What did you think of the respective ends of Nick and Daniel Savage, and even Alastair? And of course, her and Dean's reunion. 💗

Soon (this weekend), we have the epilogue...

Next Time:

“So…I’ve gotta tell you something,” said Dean, after he parted from your lips for a moment, and allowed you to breathe. His tone made you tilt your head in suspicion.

“It’s nothing bad,” he said, though he looked a bit nervous.

Your brows furrowed. You led him to the couch, where he took your hands in his. It took him a moment to get started. He seemed stuck on what he wanted to say, or maybe just how he wanted to say it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” you teased.

Dean gave you a smile. His shoulders relaxed a little...

Keep Reading: THE EPILOGUE

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[mizading]

UPPER MOON YANDERE HEADCANONS~ PT.2

Characters: Muzan, Gyutaro, Sekido, Urogi, Karaku, Gyokko, Kaigaku.

A/N:  I would like to thank Yoshinohirmet for the request! I thoroughly enjoyed adding to my Yandere Upper Moon series. As for my readers, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the love. Take care of yourselves and enjoy <3

Warnings : Verbal abuse, Physical abuse, violence, obsession, Yandere themes, etc. 

Muzan ・❥・

Muzan, a man with a twisted secret.

You’re the one chosen to take on the role of the demon's wife.

Muzan's obsession won’t be known.

As far as you know, you’re only here to maintain his facade of a perfect family.

Your only job is to help him live a "normal" life and keep his true identity hidden.

Deep down, a twisted spiral of obsession consumes Muzan slowly but entirely.

Although you serve a purpose that benefits Muzan, it’s merely an appropriate excuse for Muzan to get close to you.

Something about you is as intoxicating as his desire for the blue spider lily.

He himself can’t explain his unhealthy attraction to you.

Each day, he loses more and more control over this dark passion that burns inside.

Muzan needs you entirely. He’ll tell you lies until his last breath, just to keep you dependent.

You need him; you’re merely nothing without Muzan. You serve no purpose other than being his.

Muzan prefers to silently watch and stalk.

Seeing you exist and your movements, untainted by the presence of another, satisfies his desire ever so slightly.

Muzan just loves the way you exist naturally when nobody is around. Everything about you is fascinating. The way your eyebrows furrow while reading, the way you bite your lip when focusing, how your right eye is a bit wider when you smile—he loves it all.

In your eyes, you disgust Muzan. You serve no purpose other than being his "wife". He barely speaks to you, let alone acknowledges your presence.

At least, that is what you believe.

Muzan will slip one day. He can’t keep pretending that his body doesn’t yearn for you. He’s slowly losing control.

Muzan's spiral of hidden obsession will eventually engulf you both.

Gyutaro ・❥・

You’re the only thing that Gyutaro has—the only possession of his that is worth anything.

If Gyutaro doesn’t have you, he has less than nothing.

Nights would be spent with him obsessively touching and admiring you.

Over-the-top praise would be whispered in your ear as his fingers shakily traced your supple skin.

Gyutaro has a meal schedule set in place for you.

He desperately needs to see you in the best condition possible; he knows more than anyone what it’s like to almost die from starvation.

Gyutaro treats you as a trophy to show off, his little pretty lover.

Although he doesn’t take well to other men or women staring at or touching you.

One gaze that lasts too long from another sends Gyutaro into a blinding rage.

Gyutaro has a lingering fear that you'll see someone who meets your unattainable level.

He won’t ever have the only thing that he has in his pathetic life taken from him.

Gyutaro secretly craves your acceptance—just a small reassurance that he isn’t the scum of the earth.

Deep down, he fantasizes about being attractive and finally being able to proudly call himself your lover without utter shame and embarrassment.

Gyutaros strength is the only thing he has an ounce of confidence in.

He may never be able to compare to something as small as your hand when it comes to looks, but he can protect you proudly.

Gyutaro will gladly give up his life for you over and over again.

Sekido ・❥・

Not a soul was safe from Sekido’s wrath, but you were somehow the exception?

You were on a mission with other demon-slayers when you first met him.

Your existence hypnotized Sekido; every movement of yours made his own existence worthless to him.

All that mattered in the moment was you.

Your comrades were killed in no time; as for you? He didn’t lay a single hand on you.

All attempts to hurt Sekido were futile.

Sekido doesn’t want to take you by force, but he will if he has to.

Sekido would take you into hiding. For now, he wants you to himself with nobody to interfere.

Months would be spent with him in the forest.

Days consist of him admiring you, trying to figure out what's so special about you.

Why do you make him feel this way?

Sekido wouldn’t force physical contact until his emotions were too much to bear; he'd hold out for as long as possible.

Once he actually gets his hands on you, it’s hard for him to control himself.

Sekido isn’t exactly gentle with you; he has too much pent-up anger, but he tries.

Disobeying in any form earns you verbal abuse or physical restraint.

Don’t test Sekido; he can’t always control himself.

Urogi ・❥・

You make excitement run its course through Urogi’s body.

Such a beautiful specimen you were through his eyes.

Urogis feathers can’t help but ruffle at the thought of you belonging to him.

His sizable wings would wrap around you tightly, preventing you from leaving as he dragged you to a new location.

Somewhere, the two of you could stay together for as long as you both live.

Seeing the fear in your eyes, hearing your screams, and watching your hopeless attempts to escape makes his fire of excitement burn brighter.

Urogi knows that such a smart and beautiful person as you would soon understand that he is what's best for you.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever come close to his love.

Attempt to escape, and you’re wrapped in his soft but chilling wings again.

"Can’t you see how good I am for you? Keep up this bad behavior; you’re making things much more exciting."

Urogi wouldn’t use any of his abilities on you; he doesn’t need to.

His physical strength alone is enough to keep you his. It’s much more entertaining this way.

The way Urogi scans your body using his blinding yellow eyes with a soft but chilling smile on his face makes you weak in the knees.

He’s expresses nothing but joy and excitement, no matter what you attempt to do.

There is something awfully off about Urogi; he knows this, and you know this.

Karaku ・❥・

Karakus's obsessiveness is only natural; it goes hand in hand with pleasure.

There have been many that Karaku has been fond of, but nobody could dare touch your level.

The way your little face scrunches up with determination while you swing useless slashes at him drives Karaku crazy.

Your hopelessness is so precious to him.

Karaku pays an awful amount of attention to your body; the way you maneuver fascinates him.

Karaku thoroughly enjoys touching you unexpectedly; he simply does it to see the way your body reacts.

You’re basically Karaku's doll, his new porcelain doll wrapped in plastic.

He’ll do anything in his power to make you completely dependent on him and him alone.

Karaku breaking and molding you into his little dependent doll is only a cover-up for how much he needs you.

If you need him, he won’t ever have to worry about the one thing he needs most escaping from his grasp.

It takes much effort to make Karaku the slightest bit unhappy.

Throw a tantrum? He thinks it's cute.

Hurt him? He enjoys pinning you down, Karaku will put up with all of your antics.

The only thing that can manage to set off Karaku is trying to escape.

Attempting to escape his grasp drives him mad; why would you ever try to leave him?

Karaku will hunt you down until the second he takes his last breath.

Gyokko ・❥・

You were the first thing to make Gyokko pause in awe, besides his own vases.

A mere human with beauty that puts one of his vases to shame? Gyokko couldn’t wrap his mind around the phenomenon.

Gyokko spent a couple of weeks stalking you from the shadows.

He needed to capture your beauty somewhere, and that somewhere was on a vase.

Gyokko spends hours studying your features, painting out every little detail of your existence on an empty vase.

Your essence needed to be captured permanently.

Gyokko wants nothing more than to show you his work—just something, anything that’ll impress you.

All he wants is your validation—to make you pause in awe just as much as he did when he first laid eyes on you.

Deep down, Gyokko knows better; he shouldn’t dare show himself.

He has just enough sense left to acknowledge his form, half of his body encapsulated in a vase, and a terrifying face as a cherry on top.

Gyokko only has enough confidence to watch you silently from the depths of the night.

By now, there are at least fifty vases, all in your name.

Gyokko quenches his heart's desire for you by admiring you on his vases; it’s almost as if you’re really there.

Somehow, someday Gyokko will have you posing right before his eyes as he paints every inch of you.

Kaigaku ・❥・

On the outside, Kaigaku is seen as an arrogant narcissist.

What lies inside is someone insecure, who craves your acceptance more than anything.

Kaigaku ingrained your low worth compared to him into your head.

This is the only way he knows how to keep you by his side for as long as you live.

If you continue to stray, Kaigaku will resort to physical violence.

He knows no better; this is the only way in his clouded mind.

There are moments where Kaigaku gets slightly vulnerable.

This typically only happens after a battle.

Kaigaku will spend hours on end begging for your acceptance.

The demon only wants to hear that he still has a purpose, even if it's minor.

His vulnerability is hidden once more the next day.

Kaigaku will return to his verbally abusive ways, denying anything that happened the night before.

Kaigaku's only worry is that you'll see through his facade.

He can’t bear the thought of you seeing him for who he truly is.

Until that day comes, Kaigaku will force you to be by his side.

With him, you are nothing more than his puppet.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

[anistarrose]

A while ago I saw a post that started out wishing Lilith's aroace identity got addressed onscreen, and I was like "yeah I totally agree, a voice acted stream reveal is many steps above 'some writer tweeting it after the show ends' but it would've still been far more exuberant and impactful to see it in the show." But then OP continued by saying there's nothing in Lilith's arc that reflects aromantic experiences, and look, I'm biased as the Lilith icon person, but like. Your experiences are not universal.

And... that's okay! My experiences aren't universal either. But as an aroace, I do have to say: Lilith does reflects one type of aroace experience, and that's the chronically ill aroace experience in particular.

It's the way that she's an adult who needs care from others, but first moves back in with her sister, and then moves back in with her parents, instead of moving in with or seeking out a romantic partner.

It's the way she grapples with independence and individualism, struggling to unravel "what she wants" from "what she needs in terms of support" and from "what society revolving around the Emperor's Coven has tricked her into conflating with self-worth".

It's the way she looks at her reflection and asks: "Am I broken?"

Not all aroaces are disabled and chronically ill. Not all aroaces have (or want) intense platonic friendships or close sibling relationships, and not are able to heal from trauma by living with their family. These are all arguments for more variety in aroace representation, to say nothing of a-spec representation as a whole — that just doesn't mean aroace characters with these traits don't represent anyone.

And this is also a chance to touch on a distinction that I feel isn't drawn often enough when talking about queer subtext of any form: I don't think Lilith, if you're only looking at the show itself, is a strongly or undeniably aroace-coded character. But she's absolutely a character whose arc is enhanced upon learning that she's aroace.

So don't get me wrong: I would like more than this. Lilith is like a baby step in terms of a-spec representation in animation — a meaningful step, but a small one. But for a series where each season except the first was heavily impacted (read: compressed) by the cancellation, and the unaffected first season was also the only one Lilith spent as an extremely polarizing villain, you can see how the crew could've gone in with extremely conscientious intentions and wound up having to make a tough call, right?

I don't even necessarily think they made the right call, I'm just willing to give them the benefit of the doubt that they tried. It feels like they put more than just some performative 30 seconds of thought into imagining how a disabled aroace with serious self-worth issues would interact with the world and improve herself — or, at least realized after some experience writing Lilith that being aroace fit her, and let that inform much of her Season 2 arc.

Like, maybe I'm personally extra desperate for disabled a-specs in media, but honestly? Lilith is a well-written one in all aspects but the lack of an onscreen "I've never felt attraction to someone" — and you don't have to agree with me, but I'll die on the hill that that all counts for something.

No hate to OP — if you know what post I'm vagueing about, be chill and normal about it, please. It's fine for some people not to feel represented, and put their thoughts out there — but it also seems that I, as a person who feels very represented, should put out some of my own thoughts for balance.

[wisecreatorprofessorwolf]

Fifty Shades of Gambit

I may write fifty shades styled fics for other characters if people are interested. I just know our boy Remy would be into this, I'm going to write a Magneto one at some point thanks to the whole series of X-Men 97, he’s been so hot and slutty especially episode 8.

Series: X-Men

Gambit x dom top male reader

this could be considered a second part, or extension to In a classroom, what could go wrong, but can read it as a stand alone. I also don't know how long this may be. Also thank you and feel free to like, repost and even comment.

Remy had started to feel very pent up, since YN has been more focused on his work. Every time Remy tried to initiate something with YN, he'd be pushed off, or told later. this has been going on for weeks. did they break up and not noticed, he'd remember that surely. No, had he upset YN, had he been a naughty boy, not to his knowledge, now that got him thinking. But nothing came to mind. Absolutely nothing.

Remy was getting desperate now, would he have to resort to using the stash of toys under their bed.

it came night time and YN had yet to return to their room, alone. He begins by bringing out the purple leather case from under their bed, then strips from his clothes completely naked, looking at his reflection in the mirror, posing. Remy returns to the case to open it to reveal a range of toys the couple had used in their times.

he reaches for a tube of lube and one of the dildo's, once he was done lathering the toys in lubricant. He contemplates the position he should take. he settles on laying on his back, raising his legs as he slides the toy, it just wasn't the same. It wasn't YN, it didn't feel like anything, but he endures, he continues sliding the toy in and out. Eyes closed trying hard to imagine and replace the feeling with something more. when a moan slips.

YN outside their bedroom heard a sound, was that a moan, YN knew that sound well, but he assume Remy was with someone. No, he knew Remy would never do that to him, then YN had started thinking how long had it really been, and it hit him. he had to do something about this. opening the door to see poor Remy jamming a dildo in him

"YN, YN PLEASE" Remy whines

"AWW has my baby boy missed me ?"

Remy squeals. "YN Désolé(I'm sorry) I've been a bad boy Désolé(I'm sorry)" almost pleadingly.

"No need to apologies baby I was the one at fault I'd been to busy for you, how about I fix that, you going to be my puppy" Remy frantically nodding " S’il vous plaît (please) YN" Remy gulps nervously as he see's YN's expression harden on him, "It's not YN tonight, you know what to call me? Don't you puppy" Remy was now moaning "Oui Monsieur (yes sir)".

YN could only chuckle at the site of Remy now be a good puppy and come to me. Remy in all his excitement springs of the bed letting the toy slip out and walks towards YN once he reached YN excitedly he saw a look of disappointment flash over YN's face and all of a sudden a hand slapped him across the face and pushed him back on to the bed, causing him to moan desperately " try again puppy" Remy moaned again realising what to do he rolls off the bed and begins to crawl towards his master. Now some may thing Remy would feel humiliated and he is and he loves it so much, the sting of the slap the rough push back, he can only feel something when he's round his master YN. Once he's reached YN on his hand and knees he comes to a sitting position, hands resting on his knees right in front of his masters tented pants. "That's more like it good boy" Remy preened at the praise. "Merci, Monsieur (thank you sir)"

YN brings a hand over Remy's hair, then begins to remove his shirt and tie "hands behind your back pup" Remy places his hands behind his back with out question. YN walks around, tie in hand and binds Remy's hand together, nice and tight that the tie was biting into his wrists. "You like it tight don't you?" Remy moaned at the bite of the tie constricting against his wrists, with a nod. With that YN walked round to see the neediness in Remy's eyes, he then went to unbuckle his belt and removes it from the loops of his trousers. suddenly Remy was met with his masters crouching form. " Such a good boy, you want your collar?" Remy was salivating drooling, nodding frantically "Oui Monsieur (yes sir)". With that YN wrapped the belt around Remy's neck, YN then stands the tent still very prominent in YN's pants Remy needs it more than anything, more than he's needed it more than anything in his life, rests his face in YN's groin, the heat and musk was like a drug to Remy, one he would never quit. He begins mouthing, kissing and drooling over YN's trousers till he feels a rough tug on his collar. "You want my cock, do you?

" plus que tout (more than anything)" YN undoes the button to his trousers revealing the zipper "ok puppy lower the zip with your teeth" Remy moaned and drives his face forward sucking on the zipper, raising it with is tongue to catch it between his teeth and lowers it, the heat and smell radiating from YN's cock was much stronger once YN dropped his trousers and kicked them across the room. Remy's face buried in YN's underwear everything was heightened, so close now, so much more desperate, no longer taking the anticipation. Remy bites at the waistband and drags them down once face first with what he's been desperate for all this time. he can't stop drooling at the sight. "bad puppy I didn't give you permission to do that, what are you some mutt?" with a hard pull on the belt causing him to choke, with that Remy came on the floor moaning trying to catch his breath.

"answer me are you a mutt? another rough tug on the belt, Remy was painfully hard even after just cumming "Je suis désolé je suis désolé (I'm sorry, I'm sorry)"he was sobbing at this point. "Get on the bed mutt" YN had let go of Remy's collar, he hung his head low turning to crawl towards the bed, he then lifts himself onto the bed, his knees aching finding comfort on the bed. All Remy was met with was YN's cold predatory stare as he walked towards the bed. Remy was sweating bullets, he knew he'd been bad now, he'll take whatever punishment YN decides. YN then removes his ties from around his wrists "now lay back mutt ". Wait what's happening is this part of the punishment, but Remy does as told lying back arms and legs spread, with that YN finally smirks. moving towards the harnesses on the bed posts and starts to bind Remy's limbs. "You must be a mind reader mutt you knew what was next, maybe you wanted this, to be a naughty mutt and to be punished" Remy moaned "no sir non Monsieur" "Really look at the state of you, writhing desperately like some needy slut" Remy moaned wriggling under the restraints, cock painfully hard. Remy moaned when YN slapped his cock "look at yourself in the mirror, slut, you love this". Honestly YN knows him too well, can see right through him, he loves the feeling of being humiliated, degraded, treated like a slut, a toy solely for YN's pleasure. But he never meant to be a naughty boy for his master, he was just too excited. too eager, he wanted to please YN not disappoint or anger him. feeling his cock get slapped again and again.

"I think some extra toys are in order". YN looks through the box of toys, Remy looks over at the box to look, to see an eye mask, noise cancelling headphones, nipple clamps, a flogger and a thick purple ball gag, or as Remy likes to call it "THE JAW BREAKER", sounds bad but in all honest it's Remy's second favourite thing to suck. Remy relaxed as they get set on the bed and not getting used right away, but he's now worried more toys may get added. YN then straddles Remy feeling the weight of YN weigh on his abdomen, had him moan and writhe "I think you need claiming, don't you?, let everyone see who owns you" Remy moans as YN roughly kisses Remy Biting his lip for access, tongue slithering inside his mouth moaning as he sucks on YN's tongue and his hands roam and roughly handle his body till they reach his nipples, then Remy broke the kiss as YN harshly twists his sensitive peaks. YN kissed sloppily along his jawline leaving little bites, going down to his throat, biting leaving hickeys and licking all over, then that special spot close to his collar bone. Bite, a hard bite was left causing Remy to cry cumming all over himself. "looking pretty pup, I'm not finished though" Remy sobs as YN finally reaches his nipples, both hands roughly handling his pectoral pushing them together one hand leaves and is replaces with the wetness of YN's tongue and lips sucking and then a bite repeatedly in that order Remy's senses with overloading, over and over licking, sucking and biting his left pectoral was going to be bruised after this then with a wet pop YN's mouth retreated and replaced the hand on the right pectoral "can't neglect the other can I now pup" and hand roughly massaging his left while your mouth repeated its torturous act on his right.

With a sudden pop YN pulled away, Remy felt relief wash over him finally it was over..... It was far from over as YN lowers himself down licking, kissing, nipping at his abdomen, till he reached Remy's cock but he focused on Remy's thighs instead leaving slaps and bites all over, Remy cried thrusting up, his cock hardening, slapping against his abdomen leaving spattering of cum here and there. "Awwww does my puppy want something? Remy released a girlish scream when YN nips at his foreskin, suddenly Remy cums already lost count it sprays landing on YN's face and hair and over his own abdomen mixing with the mess already there.

YN shuffles back up Remy's body licking and kissing soothing the harsh bites he left in his wake, till he reaches Remy's blissed out tear stained face, he looked perfect like this under YN, only YN can do this to Remy. Break him down so easily reducing him to a withering pleasured out mess desperate for more. once YN's face was close enough Remy began licking and the cum off YN's face, leaning forward desperately for his master to kiss him, the kiss was hot and overwhelming as Remy sucks wontonly on YN's tongue moaning like a slut in heat. Remy suddenly gags as YN's hands wrap around his throat. Breaking the kiss, just the right amount of pressure Remy thought to himself, YN know what Remy needs before even he does, one the traits of a great master.

Remy looks up to YN, there's a hunger he hasn't seen before sudden YN shuffles up Remy's body till his hard throbbing cock is slapped against his face, Remy was lightheadedly licking, kissing worshipping YN's cock like his life depended on it, YN threw his head back groaning, muttering praises "you're such a good puppy now, my good puppy" Remy's eyes roll back like a shark as he happily suckles the precum from your tip like it was ambrosia. Remy was truly addicted to YN in every way possible. suddenly Remy gags as YN slides his thick, engorged cock down his throat with out warning. But Remy relaxed his throat and took his master like the expert he was without gagging any further, he could feel YN's cock stretching his throat, the burn and sting, caused more tears to drop down his pretty face. Then YN started to move sliding back and forth treating his poor throat like a fleshlight, Remy could feel the veins of YN's cock slowly pulse, sensing YN was close Remy tries his utmost to suck , YN threw his head back thrusting forward as he fills Remy's throat. Remy felt a sense of euphoria as he felt the thick sweet yet salty cum clog up his throat and fill his mouth, Remy tightened his lips around YN's cock not wanting YN's cum to go to waste. YN pulls Remy off by his hair still shooting painting Remy's face white with thick cum, Remy licked his lips with a moan "Merci, Monsieur" moaned brokenly with hearts in his eyes, feeling more cum land on his messy, sweaty body.

YN shuffles off Remy's body, he felt so light now. trying to even out his breathing, while he watches YN do the same. YN peers down at Remy caressing his cheek lovingly "you think you can keep going my love?". Remy nodded frantically "toute la nuit (all night long)" YN chucked at the response, seeing the hearts in Remy's eyes, he's clearly drunk on him. H kisses Remy once again Remy slobbering and moaning into the kiss even going as far as licking YN's face again "I've broken your mind, haven't I puppy?" Remy nods even more frantically even making dog like sounds. "Ok puppy, your my good boy right "

"Bark Bark" Remy really was gone now, just your good boy right?.

YN sits beside Remy stroking the hair that clings to his sweaty forehead. "Good boy" Remy just pants like a dog. one hand leaves his head causing Remy to whine, then sees the hand was hovering over the toys, their was a spark of recognition and anticipation washing over his features. YN's takes the nipple clamps, placing one on his left, Remy moans and yips and the bite of the clamp against his hard peak, then slowly placing the last clamp over his right nipple, Remy cums yet again. "Good boy, who's a good boy?" "woof woof" "That right you are, my good boy" YN then removes the restraints on Remy's limbs. Remy suddenly rolls over both hands on his ass cheeks parting them, presenting himself to his master whining feeling the drag of metal on his nipples, face buried in the duvet, YN roughly massages Remy's beautiful ass cheeks, occasionally giving them a pinch or a slap and sometimes a soft kiss, that has Remy preening contently. YN shuffles forward grinding his cock against the cleft of Remy's perfect ass, Remy grinding back, whining "Ok puppy, Ready?" "Bark woof Ba..r.r...k, ohh mon Dieu, c'est si profond (oh my so deep)" punched out of Remy as YN suddenly snaps his cock inside Remy, he begins to howl at the rough abusive pace YN was going beating his prostate brutally making his eyes roll back, tongue lapped out drooling "Bark bark " Remy rocks back meeting every one of YN's thrusts, arms aching Remy drops them and curls them around his tummy feeling the sticky mess but even more important the bulge of YN's cock so deep in his guts, the burn was euphoric, the sting were kisses to his insides, rearranging reaching even deeper, he was sure YN had to have a breeding kink or pregnancy kink with how rough and deep he'd be filling him, how after every time he'd feel his tummy fill up and bulge with his cum.

Suddenly YN stops his vicious thrusts, Remy however continues to thrust himself back moaning and panting like a dog. YN's hands roam Remy's body, searing to the touch, yet one hand leaves for a toy the eye mask the other hand pulling Remy up by his hair, with a cry Remy yelps only to see in front of his face your hand holding the eye mask, still thrusting himself back on YN's cock he licks and kisses YN's hand. YN takes that as a yes, YN then uses both hands to place the mask over Remy's eyes, it was all dark suddenly feeling hands return to his body he throws himself back on YN's cock recklessly causing the bed to creak and grind. But no one in this room cares, not one bit.

Remy begins moaning as YN rests on top of him feeling the heat wash over him, his breath against his ear as he nibbles the lobe, the arms wrap around him tightly and raise him up, Remy's cock bouncing pathetically in the air with each snap of hips as skin slaps skin.

Remy cums on the duvet as YN bites his earlobe quite harshly "Bark Bark" Remy whimpers out enjoying the sting and the snap of his body meeting YN's. One hand wraps around Remy's throat pulling the collar to keep him in place while he collected the noise cancelling headphones and slides them on Remy.

YN lets go of the collar, Remy had lost all strength long ago, flopping down head first into the soiled duvet. "BARK!!! BARK!!!!! woooof Wofffff!!!!! WOOOOOF!!!". as YN thrusts at a ruthless pace, abusing his insides, breaking him from the inside out, YN pulls on the collar again only to let go letting Remy flop again in his own mess. "WOOF!!!! BARRRRKKK!!! YIP!!!!!". Remy feels the ruthless slamming losing its rhythm, sloppy pace beating and branding Remy's insides, he could feel the pulse and convulsions of YN's cock with a final hard thrust spearing Remy "WOOFFFFF!!!!!! BaRRRRK!!!!! WooooooooF!!!" Remy is being filled to the brim with YN's cum, Remy was preening feeling himself feebly cum thin, pearly cum. All the while feeling his tummy swell with your cum, as he rubs himself, whining.

Remy mind broken, feels himself being held tightly in place, a hand carefully removing the headphones and eye mask, Remy was startled by everything around him except for the reassuring hand of YN, to keep him grounded. "How woof loud was bark I mon amour?.

"not that loud my love, you're my good boy aren't you?" Remy tiredly nods receiving a gentle kiss to his forehead then his lips would you like the JAW BREAKER now babe, Remy nodded as YN brings it over and places it in Remy's mouth as YN connects the straps . YN still inside Remy carefully shuffles so that they could sleep on their sides.

The next morning.....

Remy wakes up in YN's tight embrace feeling the wet pearly slick pooled on the duvet from his used hole. YN must have slipped out in the night he thinks to himself. Suddenly the grip tightens and YN's hard length grinding against him, Remy decides to remove the gag, to ease his aching jaw "Someone's up" Remy sleepily moans, rubbing his jaw, as YN slides his length back inside Remy's used hole the grip tighten and YN rolls Remy onto him "I want my good boy to ride me" Remy rests his hands tiredly on YN's chest as his tight grip lowers to his hips. Remy begins rolling his hips slowly, rising up and down nice and slowly for his tired body. "Like this sir" Remy purred "just like that, good boy". YN helped raise Remy's body up and pushed his thighs down roughly spearing his cock deeply inside, this continued, Remy didn't know he had tears left to cry after last night. All of a sudden with a harsh trust upwards Remy moans loudly as he came on YN's abdomen thin, watery cum, feeling YN cum inside him again. YN lets Remy droop against his shoulder kissing his hair " you're my good boy, i love you so much Remy" Je t'aime aussie monsieur(I love you too sir)" YN tilts Remy's face to kiss his lips "pouvez-vous me brancher monsieur? (can you plug me up sir?). YN nodded fumbling about till he reaches the box that had been knocked on the floor, must have been while they slept. The couple get off the messy stained bed and go through the toys on the floor till Remy found the thick purple butt plug and decides to take that inserting it himself with a moan.

the couple finally washing up and getting ready for the day. as they reach the dining room they see the tired faces of the x-men, "Hey gang how'd you sleep" "WE DIDN'T" with a resound uproar.

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key to Your Heart - Track 1

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably.

Word Count: 1.9K

Series List: Here!

Thank you for checking it out :) let me know what you think. I made this probably more wordy and personal than I should've... OOF.

The clock was nearing 4 AM when, with a sniffle, you closed the app you were on and clicked the power button on your phone. A single tear ran down your face as you rolled on your side and hoped that maybe in your dreams you could experience the love you craved so desperately. For the past few hours, and every night you didn't have work in the morning, or had free time before bed, you would read fanfiction. You knew people had a lot of poor opinions about fanfic, but the best thing about them is that unlike other stories, you were in these. You could imagine it was you in the story spending time with your favorite characters.

The worst part of fanfiction, however… is when you realize it isn't real and won't ever happen. Sure, you can imagine it, and you can feel the emotions and even give yourself pleasure at the thoughts, but when it wears off, you realize that it's just you. You're alone, and not your mind, nor your hands, can give you what you truly want. What you need.

You aren't so dumb or delusional as to think it's real, or to think you have a chance. If your own mind didn't tell you that enough, your family and friends would remind you plenty. At the mention of your crush, you'd get comments that had a playfulness, or childlike connotation at the idea of you crushing on someone famous. If not that, you'd get pity, or told you should put yourself out there and find someone you actually have a chance with… as if you chose to have these feelings. Why would you choose to fall in love with someone you have no chance with?

For a while, you could pretend it was just a crush and that you couldn't be in love with someone you've never met. But ultimately you accepted that it wasn't true. This isn't the first time, and you're sure it won't be the last. With the previous crush lasting several years, you knew you'd just have to wait it out. 

This time around, the crush was on Pedro Pascal. Current heartthrob of the world, starring in some of the most popular franchises of the time. If people didn't know his name, they certainly knew a character of his; unless they lived under a rock. 

With this information in the back of your mind, the fact that everyone knew him and everyone loved him and he could have anyone he wanted, you sighed, hoping it would finally get through your head, and rolled over to your other side. Unable to sleep, you pulled out your journal to write down your feelings before eventually drifting off, pen in hand.

Letting out a groan, you awoke too few hours later to your dog Skipper crying in your face. "Gotta pee, buddy? Alright.." You climbed out of bed and he spun in a circle before galloping through the house towards the patio door. Humming a song you don't yet know, you sit by the door and think about what you wrote the night before. It wasn't uncommon for you to write songs, and you found it comforting to play instruments and sing your feelings out into the lyrics. Although you often recorded and purchased the copyrights to your music, you never posted it.  Maybe someday…you always told yourself, pondering with the idea of some extra money. 

After letting the dog in, you sat at the piano with last night's journal and wrote a song which spilled your feelings for Pedro. You recorded it and went about your day, but it kept nagging you. Finally, after another sleepless night, you posted it onto some music streaming websites. Using a stage name of just your first nickname, you added the song, which you titled "Imaginary Love." It never mentions Pedro by name, only talking of the strong feelings you have for someone famous that you'll never be with. 

Once that was out of the way, you didn't check your accounts for several days. Eventually, however, you began receiving emails. Radio stations wanted to play your song, record companies wanted to sign you, they wanted an album. Your head swirled, and you agreed to put out an album with other songs you've written, still maintaining your stage identity. I'll just be like Hannah Montana, you thought, with a laugh of disbelief. 

About a month later, you and your music were still a mystery to people. People loved your song. People related to it. But of course, there were critics. Negative impressions spurred about you being childish, immature, naive, and silly. Others just wanted to know the gossip. Who were you? Where did you come from? And WHO were you singing about?!

Trying to ignore the chatter, you noticed a new interview of Pedro being posted, as advertisement for his newest film. Finally something to look forward to and get your mind off of this! Flicking on your television, you broadcast the interview of Pedro from your cell phone. Your heart skipped as you looked at him, his messy brown curls falling near his ears that held his large black framed glasses. His brown eyes twinkled as the interviewer talked to him about his work.

Eventually they broke into more casual conversation, discussing current favorite movies, what he last saw in theaters, what he's binge-watching, last concert he saw, and finally… the current song he can't stop listening to. 

"Oh, man… I can't stop listening to "Imaginary Love," he answered without hesitation, hand on his heart.

Your stomach lurched. Your heart stopped. You forgot how to breathe. What. The. Fuck. Shit shit shit shit shit. This can't. Be real. You rewound the video. This HAS to be a dream. But it wasn't. "Imaginary Love," he said. Oh. Crap. You replayed it several more times, but it didn't make it more real. The interviewer replied "oh… here we go. The song everyone is talking about! I am curious though, what are your thoughts on it? Who do you think it's about?" Pedro's smile faltered a bit at the man's tone, but he remained his usual genuine, sincere self when he answered. "I… I'm also curious about who she is and who the song is about, but I think that ultimately it's up to her whether she decides to reveal that. I think we can all relate to the pain of love, especially unrequited, and I think it's brave of her to share that level of open vulnerability with the world. I can't expect her to share more than what she already has."

Your heart fluttered.

Yet the interviewer continued. "Don't you think it's a little… I dunno… naive? I mean, you get it, you're in show business. The average kid really doesn't have a chance, and even more so, isn't it a little… creepy? The way she's put this guy on a pedestal? Claims she's in love with a man she doesn't even know?"

Pedro's fingers twitched around the base of the microphone, his eyebrows furrowed, and he slowly nodded while pondering his response. I can't watch this anymore.. His pause felt like a lifetime, and you couldn't handle the tension. The interviewer was an ass, but his words were nothing new. He was probably right... You are creepy and naive. You reached for the remote to turn off the television. It had only been a few seconds, but you couldn't bear the potential heartbreak that you knew would come. This is exactly why you haven't revealed yourself or the subject of your lyrics.

Pedro cleared his throat before speaking. "You're right… I am in show business and I get it. I get that in order to get what you truly want in life, we all seem a bit naive. I've spent my life trying to make it as an actor, sometimes struggling if it hadn't been for the help of my friends. I was naive, and I suppose a bit delusional. Obviously this is a bit different though. Unlike jobs, we can't choose who we love. I think we've all had celebrity crushes at some point in our lives."

Your breath was caught in your throat and you could feel tears welling up in your eyes. He doesn't even know you, and he's somehow able to reach into your lyrics to understand exactly how you feel without the judgment or pity you often feel from those who know you personally. And yet… the asshole interviewer kept on. Seriously dude… how long are you going to drag this on? Talk to Pedro about his achievements. Quit ranting. The interview has completely gone off the rails. "Okay.. I gotta ask though.." Ugh what now??! He continued, "this girl is a fan. The only thing she knows is what's made public. She's keeping her identity hidden but doesn’t seem to wonder what her so-called “love” is hiding from the world. Would you, as a celebrity, genuinely consider someone like her, a fan, if she came out and said the song was about you? I mean, would any of you out there? We're not just talking about a normal person, or even a slight fan. We're talking write-a-song-about-him level obsessed."

Pedro answered without hesitation. "Sure I would consider it. You can already feel her emotional vulnerability and passion. I think she's deserving of happiness just like anyone." If only you knew.. It is you, Pedro.. But your negative thoughts filled your consciousness. Like he'd want you.. he's almost twice your age.. look at yourself. He can have anyone he wants. He'd never actually choose you. Look at your blemishes. Your big stomach, flab, and stretch marks. Nobody has ever wanted you. You've never even been kissed, you fool. A grown adult.

You frowned and finished watching the interview, swept away in your self-hatred. You slunk onto the floor, cuddling your dog, seeking the only comfort you're able to receive. This is why I prefer animals, you think. They love you no matter what you look like or who you are.

A few days later, the events of Pedro's interview went viral, spurring both negative and positive responses.

"Pedro Pascal Defends Unknown Artist"

"Mandalorian Actor Slams Interviewer"

"Watch: Pedro Pascal Interview Gets Heated"

The headlines get more and more dramatic, acting as if fist fights broke out or a gun battle ensued. It was all pretty tame. A simple conversation of differing opinions. However… you still couldn't help but feel guilty that he put his own reputation on the line for you in a way. He doesn't even know you. What was in this for him, that he felt the need to defend you?

It was at this moment that you decided to log into Instagram from your stage artist profile. Hopping into the message section, you typed out Pedro Pascal and clicked his profile, writing out a message. "Hi Mr. Pascal! I recently watched your interview and I can't begin to express my gratitude towards you. I feel terribly guilty that this is beginning to weigh on your own image, but I would like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for your defense, thank you for your support of my music, but most importantly, thank you for seeing my lyrics as they were meant to be… from my heart. Thank you for your kindness."

You tapped send and waited with bated breath. After ten minutes of staring at the screen, you decided you needed a break from the internet, dropped your phone, and went for a walk with Skipper.

Meanwhile, from the couch at home, your phone lit up with a notification.

Instagram

Pedro Pascal (pascalispunk): replied to your message

Thanks for reading!! Interested in track 2? Read it here!

[evelynpr]

For the character ask game can I pick toga :)

I'm gonna be very honest in these, and I might disappoint, but here it is-

My first impression - I started watching BNHA around 5 years ago? It's hard for me to remember what exactly was my first impression of Toga, but back then I really didn't care for her much. Honestly, I just found it quite problematic that the only main female villain in BNHA is an overly cute school girl who fits the "cute yandere" trop to a t when the rest of the male villains look a lot more serious and scary.

My impression now - Perfectly honest- I really only started paying attention to her because of Ochako. I was, and still am, a massive Ochako fan, and when I heard that she suddenly had a massive romantic and tragic battle and narrative with Toga after leaving the fandom for 3-4 years, I was immediately deadly curious. - Even with how much I resonate with her story and character, I generally have a big ick for blood as a whole (surprising for a very loud tgck fan I know). Right now, she's my poor desperate little baby who really really needs love and therapy (affectionate). I wish we got to see more of her regular girly side, like caring for the LOV especially Magne and Twice.

Favorite thing about that character - That her entire story is a mentally ill and queer narrative. Like I said earlier, I actually have a big ick for blood and the cutesy yandere trope. But the thing that gets me about Toga is that she is the most openly bisexual/pansexual character in the series, very clearly mentally struggling, and both thrives and suffers because of her choices and circumstances. - She's such a tragic and hopeful character that represents so many weird people like me that I can't help but be attached. She makes me want to embrace my more girly and selfish side, and screams at me that I should live my life how I want to. - I can't leave out Ochako from this part. Holy shit the themes and story about their relationship makes my heart both break and soar so bad it genuinely hurts. Save people by understanding them, helping them, listening to them. Show someone you can be selfish, that they deserve love, that she deserve a chance. It's so much it punches me to a million sobbing pieces.

Least favorite thing - For the 3rd time now...not into blood. I don't like its taste, look, and the mere thought of bleeding genuinely grosses me out. - You probably think "How in the world are you attached to her then?" well its because I understand that Toga's "blood" is also a representation of her violent tendencies and love. I see it much more as a narrative device for her character and themes.

Favorite line/scene - Shocking, but I actually have not read the manga. I can't say what my favorite scene is just yet because I want to truly witness it animated, when the time comes. - If you want an answer well, from the anime so far, it probably is when she gets her quirk awakening in MVA, or when she confesses to Izuku in the final war (mostly because that scene is so damn hilarious, tragic, and important).

Favorite interaction that character has with another - ...I mean obviously it's Ochako lmao? Every interaction is a fight of ideals and love- which suddenly morphs into a way of challenging each other- then growing into understanding and loving each other. That is. Just insane. How the fuck did BNHA's writers come up with this.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more - For the sake of my Tgck Bkdk square, I really wished for her to have interacted with Bakugou at least once. Just see how one person's violence and power was praised, while the other was abandoned and shamed. How they both have a strong squishy-faced freak they're obsessed with, and also obsessed with them, even if they don't feel like they deserve it. - Oh and, definitely more LOV random shenanigans and bonding time. I wish I was able to get more into them ngl, but I never really felt that sadly. Man...

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character - UHHH??? I genuinely have no idea. I am drawing at a blank I am so sorry T__T This is the firsts time I have ever been interested in this kind of character??? Really sorry-

A headcanon about that character - This is kind dark so be warned - I got this idea from a fic and now I can't stop thinking about it. Toga always wanted her love to be reciprocated or understood by someone. Anyone. I feel that she was taken advantage of and abused by horrible people in her earlier days of running away...especially since she's a young teenage girl in a cute school uniform. I am so sorry...

A song that reminds of that character - I am working on a Togachako playlist! It's about both of their characters respectively and also their story and relationship, but here's the ones about Toga specifically! - Hayloft II (THIS ANIMATIC), The Red Means I Love You (obviously lol), Butcher Vanity, Hero (Charlie Puth, mostly tgck), Pink Pony Club (Chappell Roan, early Toga)

An unpopular opinion about that character - She's not the possessive type, and she's really very open to people she loves loving other people at the same time, polymarous kind. This is probably a pretty common hc already tho since she says this repeatedly? - Her most common form of love is a very impulsive/sexual/admiration/attracted kind. You could even relate this to hypersexuality (something I struggle with) where the moment you find something you're into on someone, you body and brain genuinely go kinda out of control. I project onto her my own inability to hold and control these kinds of feelings at times, but Toga is quite the manifestation of my fears.

Favorite picture - I love it when a character's mask peels off. Toga genuinely angry, upset, and just not smiling is so fascinating and beautiful to me in a "It's okay my dear, show all of you, stop hiding" (Ochako might disagree with me on this tho, since she loves her smile lmao-)

[percheduphere]

So...Thoughts on the whole people thinking Sylvie is Aro-Ace? I can kinda see her being Aromantic, but with her mentioning she's more "hedonistic" than Loki and silently hinting that she's Bi too, can't really see her as Asexual. But what do you think?

LET'S TALK ABOUT SYLVIE'S SEXUALITY, HER RELATIONSHIPS WITH LOKI AND MOBIUS, & HER CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE SERIES NARRATIVE

Before I answer this, I think it's important to acknowledge that fictional characters exist for people's comfort and pleasure. I write original fiction, and I would hope that most artists believe in the right of the audience to interpret character to meet their personal needs. To me, canon is a sandbox. Everyone should play with it as they please and not hate on each other. There are more important things in life to worry about. Therefore, if Sylvie reads as Aro-Ace to you and that reading brings you joy, then she is.

This question inherently requires the need to talk about Sylki in this post. I predominantly analyze Lokius, so please, no hate! My number one rule is never yucking someone's yum. Furthermore, Sylvie plays a critical role in Loki's development and the philosophical thrust of the series, of which Mobius also contributes to as the other half of Loki's character arc equation (selflessness and sparing life [Mobius] + free will and revolution [Sylvie]). It would be biased and disingenuous to not acknowledge her contributions to the overarching narrative.

ARO-ACE INTERPRETATION

All right, your question! I can definitely can see Sylvie as being aro-ace. That's a legitimate interpretation based on how she responds to Loki's flirtation and romantic advances. It is also possible that she's an aromantic bisexual. This second possibility is more likely based on the text the audience is given.

THE CANON TEXT

Having said that, I think you're curious about what the source material is trying to say about Sylvie's character and how that influences her sexuality. I believe it's important to remember that external behavior doesn't dictate how someone defines themselves. Closeting and disengagement from intimacy because of trauma are prime examples of this.

The train scene in S1E4 reads as earnest. Loki and Sylvie are both very lonely characters. In this moment, both are trying to connect with someone who finally understands them because they are the same. It's actually a lovely nod to the queer experience.

The dialogue, lighting, and costuming (blue, purple, pink) in this scene communicates they are both queer, specifically bisexual. The lighting and costuming combining to represent the bisexual pride flag is an example of queer subtext in film. The dialogue, while direct, is also written in such a way that it avoids explicitly stating "men and women." Sylvie later comments that the brief flings she indulges in during apocalypses helped her "keep going". She even specifies that apocalypses make people desperate. This suggests that Sylvie likely didn't need to do much wooing or charming like Loki would to obtain a sexual partner. Finally, the way Tom and Sophie play this scene is vulnerable. I therefore believe we can take this on-screen admission at face value.

So the question becomes, why does Sylvie respond to Loki's flirtations the way she does?

SYLVIE'S BACKGROUND

Sylvie was orphaned and forced to run all her life from a very young age. Her backstory is deeply tragic. To live in such a way means that she never had the opportunity to experience adolescence.

NOTE: This is honestly my favorite gif of Sylvie. She's so sweet and cute when she's happy. I can't get over the 5 stars on her employee badge. "Sylvie, can you refill the straws?" "Already did it!" The sweetheart.

Sylvie working at McDonald's accomplishes two things: it allows Disney to fulfill their advertising sponsorship agreement for the fast-food franchise, and it subtly alludes to Sylvie's need to live the adolescence she didn't get to. The TVA forced her into arrested development. She never had the chance to make friends and safely socialize on her own terms. The centuries of trauma have made trust, let alone romance, completely foreign to her.

Which is why, when Loki and Sylvie have romantic scenes, she is often awkward or, if not unreceptive, wary. Her previous flings, as she agrees with Loki, were "never real". Physical intimacy without emotional intimacy is a familiar dynamic for both characters. Their relationship with one another is their first experience of emotional intimacy (or at least attempt at it) outside of their families. The pursuit of this emotional intimacy feels safe to them because they are the same entity and thus they know each other's base nature (versus nurture!) to some degree.

The difference between them is that Sylvie has not experienced social rejection in the way Loki has (nurture!). She recognizes the wrongness with which the TVA has treated her. She knows the absolute atrocities the TVA has committed. She is determined to destroy them to free herself and all timelines. Sylvie is consequently more self-assured, more confident in what she wants and believes in, than Loki. In S2, Sylvie's clarity on desire is what allows her to help Loki articulate what he wants: his friends back, most especially Mobius.

In S1E1, Loki, still posturing before Mobius, describes himself as a "liberator". At this point in the story, we know that isn't true, but it will become true by the finale. This line of dialogue foreshadows Loki's trajectory as well as Sylvie's revealed motivation in S1E4: to liberate.

THE NEXUS EVENT

There are a variety of ways for viewers to interpret what exactly the Nexus Event was. The canon, within the text of Mobius's dialogue and verbal confirmation from the creators, is that Loki and Sylvie fell in love. Now, I'm not going to spend time arguing over other interpretations here, but I will say that regardless of whatever pairing or OT3 a viewer ships, the Nexus Event was ALSO definitively this: two Lokis in the same place, at the same time, not feeling lonely together.

And Sylvie, who had confessed to Loki she has no friends and has never really experienced joy, answers Renslayer with the number of positive memories she has:

Sylvie doesn't state it outright, but the subtext is clear that her one positive memory was her time with Loki on Lamentis. Indeed, moments later, Sylvie prunes herself in an effort to find and rescue him.

SYLVIE & MOBIUS

But being the harshly pragmatic individual she is, upon arrival and encountering Alioth, Sylvie assumes Loki didn't make it. I don't think Sylvie means what she says in a cruel way. I think she believes this because she is accustomed to disappointment and accordingly guards herself with cynicism. Sylvie's traumas, her difficulty with trust, her inexperience with intimate relationships, and her cynicism all combine to create an individual who may appear aro-ace when that may not necessarily be the case. Please note, however, that Sylvie being aro-ace or aro-bisexual may still be a possibility. My analysis here is based on what the text and subtext seem to be telling us about her character.

Notably, it is Mobius who is more optimistic about Loki's survival, wondering if Sylvie truly believes that Loki is dead.

This moment is brief, but it is significant because Mobius's optimism implies that not only does he believe in Loki, he also wants Loki to be alive. Sylvie is intelligent. She can read between the lines. We can also assume an off-screen conversation took place between them that confirmed for Sylvie Mobius's genuine care for Loki. When Sylvie informs Loki of this fact, I believe we get this:

Mobius was conservative in how Loki might interpret their relationship, extending a handshake before their goodbyes. Loki, on the heels of his conversation with Sylvie, chooses to hug him instead. The result: Mobius is delighted!

I've long pondered on why Mobius would say, "You're my favorite" to Sylvie. I believe this is why: she helped along their friendship and opened the gates for physical affection between them. This demonstrates that Sylvie cares enough for Loki to ensure he is secure in his bond with Mobius. It likely helped that Mobius did not deny the TVA's evil when she pointed it out to him, and that he did not hesitate to apologize to her for it.

Ironically, it is Mobius's optimism, especially in the potential of broken things to become something better (whether it is Loki himself or the TVA), that creates the fraught philosophical divide between Sylvie and Mobius (and Loki) with regards to the TVA in S2.

THE S1 FINALE

The S2 finale is where the narrative between Loki and Sylvie turns, and the plot pivots to the deepening relationship between Loki and Mobius. Triggering this event is Loki's desire to slow down and think about the consequences of killing HWR in the Citadel at The End of Time.

This may seem out-of-character at first glance. S1E1-E4 have demonstrated that Loki's decision making is sometimes chaotic by virtue of impulse. What was the last impulsive decision he made with heavy consequences?

He ran off after Sylvie. A good decision ultimately, as Loki learns the truth about the TVA through Sylvie, but only by luck. This decision very nearly cost Loki a friendship, one he didn't even realize he had until Mobius called him a "bad friend."

Despite the fallout, Mobius recovers relatively quickly once he confirms Loki's claims and views Ravonna's recording of C-20. He reestablishes trust with Loki as soon as possible to help Loki be with the one he loves. Why? Because Mobius is ultimately selfless and wants Loki's happiness regardless of his own feelings of jealousy.

Which circles us back to the theme of trust and Sylvie's challenges with it.

Loki and Sylvie's relationship falls apart not because of lack of mutual interest, but because Sylvie loses trust in Loki and with good reason: HWR (and thus the TVA) is the cause of all her suffering.

It is not Sylvie's fault she is this way. She hasn't had enough time to develop meaningful relationships, and the one relationship that was meaningful to her (Loki's) became, in her eyes, a profound betrayal. This experience only adds to the other traumas Sylvie carries with her, making encounters with Loki in S2 emotionally difficult if not triggering.

The relationships of Loki & Sylvie and Loki & Mobius are intentionally set side-by-side for 3 critical reasons:

1.) To demonstrate Loki's growth by developing trust and thus emotional intimacy with others.

2.) To create the Plot B emotional source of conflict in S2.

3.) To set-up Mobius and Sylvie's individual beliefs and values (selflessness and sparing life [Mobius] + free will and revolution [Sylvie]), which Loki combines into his own system of beliefs and values. This combination gives Loki the strength and wisdom to ascend the throne and become the God of Stories (and Time).

THE S2 FINALE

Loki comes to his final decision after speaking with the two halves of his character arc equation. Loki first seeks out Mobius, who shares with him the distinction between himself and Ravonna. Now, this is brainwashed Mobius. Brainwashed Mobius believed Ravonna could do the impossible while he couldn't. But Loki knows Ravonna's corruption.

Beneath Mobius's wisdom that "most purpose is more burden than glory" is also Mobius's heart: he could not prune children and that instinct was the right decision. His "failure" was not a failure of duty but rather his humanity succeeding despite the brainwashing. It's this same intrinsic compassion that drove Mobius to convince Ravonna to spare Loki. Loki articulates this to Don as such. He therefore takes the message of selflessness and sparing life from Mobius to Sylvie.

Sylvie, in turn, challenges Loki, stating they should have the freedom and right to fight whatever comes on their own terms.

She also stresses that it is all right to destroy things. Upon hearing this, Loki comes to the conclusion that what is destroyed must be replaced with something better. What needs to be destroyed? Not the TVA and the people in it (not Mobius, Verity, OB, and Casey), but the Loom.

Loki sacrificed himself (selflessness + sparing life [Mobius]) in order to save all timelines (free will + revolution [Sylvie]). Loki sparing Sylvie's life is a direct consequence of Mobius having fought to spare his.

Through this sacrifice, Loki gifts Sylvie the chance to get the type of positive experiences she wants and needs, which includes future romance, if she so chooses. That is canon and is a genuinely romantic gesture regardless of anyone's interpretation of mutual reciprocation or lack thereof.

It is also canon that Loki loves Mobius and Mobius loves Loki. Their actions for one another across both seasons demonstrate this to be true. Is it also romantic? Absolutely. Is it sexual? On screen, no, and it doesn't have to be. Romance does not require sex, let alone physical contact, to exist.

Loki loves them both.

[yourfandomfriend]

La Vie en Rouge || IwtV Meta

I've really been getting into the second season of Interview with the Vampire. The first season was great, but there's just something about season two employing one of my favorite devices:

Paranoia!

Not only can fictional characters say one thing and do another, (something that never fails to baffle audiences) but once you establish that the audience is being deceived, they start to question everything...

Well, not everything.

** SPOILERS** for Interview with the Vampire, Season 2 **SPOILERS**

Theater of Lovers

So… extra disclaimer: while I've been a fan of the Vampire Chronicles since I started reading the books in the mid-90s (yes, I'm very old) I'm not what you'd call "down bad" for the shallow idea of godlike killers whose every move is too beautiful for words. Like Daniel, I have issues with abusive, predatory assholes having such good PR.

One of the other things I always found hard to swallow was the way everyone in the books embodied roleplay personas.

I almost always see some of this whenever fiction turns erotic: characters don't just roleplay in the bedroom, or even try to play that role in real life. They are their role. The guy who is dominant in the sack is dominant to the bone, every minute of every day. Not because he wants to be, or even because his partner wants it, but because someone else is watching.

Feels kinda like it's all to get us off. That the characters aren't abstractions of people, they aren't attracted to each other or have itches that need scratching. The story is just an excuse for kinky scenarios, so go ahead and beat off because it's all just porn.

And if that's true, then you don't want to ever scratch the surface and find out the cliches you project onto are more complex than you thought. That would kill your boner.

But I feel like most of us have far more... sophisticated boners. Porn is dandy for being porn and not much else, but a romantic story isn't interesting for me unless the characters feel like people. And you know what? People have their own fantasies, ones that have nothing to do with me. They like to be someone else sometimes. They like to pretend, to play.

So I've really enjoyed this departure from the source material with Louis and Armand's relationship. Not only do they enjoy roleplay, but it also isn't because they are those roles -- a strong, dominant master and a weak, submissive minion -- but because there's something in each's bottle that desperately needs uncorking.

Series!Louis didn't have the luxury of being himself in his mortal life, and so only let himself be completely vulnerable for the first time with his maker, his first love… and got broken for his trouble.

And his brother, Paul, walked off a roof after Louis said "I love you." So it makes sense that part of his fantasy with Armand is, "You can't hurt me."

Meanwhile, Armand's only truly happy memories were of worshipping his maker. Since then, he's been saddled with the insufferable duty of keeping the Paris coven jackals in line, something he feels he can't abandon (for reasons that aren't obvious).

But Armand doesn't have the emotional strength to endure the relentless isolation of tuning up that clown car for eternity so it's only natural that he'd seek to occasionally regress to a happier time, if only in the privacy of an intimate relationship.

The trouble here isn't with roleplay, but with the way Louis and Armand insist that their play is reality. Their costumes are their own clothes, they swear, and their lines are their own words.

But we've seen this version of Louis before. He explains from the jump, right when we begin the new interview, that he plays tough because he knows what happens to the weak. Armand, though, is a bit more of an unfolding mystery.

The Glass Cannon

So... anyone else get the impression that this show wants us to feel, at least subconsciously, that despite everything, Armand is a delicate rose amongst the dickweeds? No matter how many scenes of his treachery and ruthlessness pile up? Because it quietly builds a case across seasons one and two.

From the moment they met, Louis could sense Armand's ancient power. The power to squish him like a bug with a thought. And that could very well have been the way it ended for Louis.

When Armand warned Louis not to anger the coven, Louis assumed he was being threatened and humbly capitulated, calling him "Maître." But was corrected. "It's 'Armand' for you."

Armand's job at this point was to bring Louis into the fold, by force if necessary, or else eliminate him, but still allowed him to refuse, over and over. Even though he had Cladia as leverage, even though he could drive Louis into the ground like a tent peg. Even though the coven grew furious. Armand still followed him around. Courting a fly that it was his job to swat.

Later, as Louis continues to be haunted by the ghost of his maker, he tries to take a picture of Lestat. When he developed it, though, there was just an empty space where Lestat had seemed to stand. An empty space... But not an empty frame.

Later, Louis is showing his photos to a gallerist who singles out the Ghost Lestat portrait, seeing only Armand -- alone, out of focus, pushed to the edge of the frame by a subject who wasn't there -- and sees the secret truth of his soul. His fragility. But Louis insists he knows Armand and he's "anything but."

Against the wishes of the coven, Armand spared Louis' life, asking why "those with the most power are often the weakest?"

When Armand tells his backstory to Louis -- the slavery and abuse he endured as Arun, his maker loving him but whoring him out to his friends as Amadeo, and now the unwanted duty and power of ruling the Paris coven as Armand -- and he asks Louis, "who am I?"

Eventually, Louis answers him: "Arun." Is that the real answer? We don't know, but it's the most convenient answer. For Louis.

So Louis plays the aloof master and Armand plays the affectionate lapdog. All the while, it seems, Armand is scheming and manipulating in the background.

In the present, he insists that's not the case, that his role in "what happened in Paris" was a single act of cowardice, rather than him pulling the strings behind it all, and everything else was done on Louis' behalf.

But the audience has already caught him in three huge lies.

As I write these words, it's the Thursday before season two's penultimate episode. And I wonder, are those the only two choices before us? Trust Armand completely -- trust that he is ultimately good and loving and blameless -- or assume he's evil and lying about everything?

Are Good and Evil our only choices? Or is what is done for love something beyond both?

Under The Burning Sky

Another great change to the source material is Old!Daniel. Allowed to live out his life in the wake of a savage brush with death, "The Boy" from the first interview matures into a journalist in his seventies, wise and cynical, sore at being taken advantage of, embarrassed by the foolishness of his past, and uniquely able to deconstruct Louis' bullshit and call out plot holes, many that only exist due to the massive retcon between books one and two.

Some people assume he's there to mock the source material, and thus the people who love it, rather than to demonstrate character by provoking two (canonically) defensive liars into giving a more truthful interview, and admitting that there's not only trouble in paradise but that it might've become a parking lot in the interim.

The source material takes itself seriously, but that doesn't even last until the second book when Lestat takes the mic away and calls bullshit on everything that came before. So why can't Daniel flip this rock over early for our amusement without it being an insult to the Chronicles and their fans?

PS, I know a lot of people are pining for "Devil's Minion," the story of Armand becoming casually obsessed with young Daniel after Louis let him live, hunting him around the world, and the whole thing working out to them being in a relationship. And they've even made some compelling theories for Old!Daniel's memories of his ex-lover "Alice" actually being an altered memory of Armand.

But I don't know how to feel about that.

I guess it would be cool... A big reveal about Daniel's past, adding to the themes of the season, and a pairing that's true to canon while still being unexpected. But as much as I love Young!Daniel, as endearing as he is, I honestly prefer him as the backstory -- the dlc -- of the far more interesting character that is Old!Daniel.

And if there was going to be a meaningful relationship between them, Young!Daniel would be the status quo. We've been here before.

I would especially prefer to see how aging into a mature, strong-willed, paranoid crank who's seen it all and isn't mystified by the world of vampires would alter his dynamic with the chronically underhanded, theatrical, high-strung, (secretly fragile) Armand.

Thus, the only Daniel/Armand ship reveal I will accept is the "Hello, Again" fight from the end of Saving Silverman…

[dufferpuffer]

Dude, I need someone to simp over David Thewlis with and I have no one to go to. I have a feeling I know your opinion about David Thewlis as Remus Lupin (and I think it's a positive one? correct me if I'm wrong, I know some people don't think he did the character justice).

To be honest, I don't think the movies did his character justice, but I think David Thewlis was THE cast for him. The movies made him too soft, too gentle, too perfect. Book Remus is a lot more polarized than that. For every soft quality, he has a YIKES counterpart that is never shown in the movies. The only time we truly see this "yikes" counterpart is the Shrieking Shack scene when he smirks menacingly at Sirius and you think he's a villain. David pulled that off really good. I saw the movie before reading the book (I was a young kid at that time and PoA was too much to read for me) and I felt cheated, I suddenly didn't think I could trust him anymore.

The thing David Thewlis pulled off best, imo, is the fatherly quality of Remus. I know, Remus is a pathetic man with an avoidant personality, but we can't deny he is fatherly. And I feel that, no matter what movie I watch with David in it, the fatherly vibes just radiate from him. In a way I am glad it is like that in the movies because I use PoA as a coping mechanism in life. Stressed? PoA. Sad? PoA. Crisis? PoA. David absolutely nailed the comfy professor aura. Everything about him in PoA is inviting, it draws you in. His voice, his smile, the way he carries himself, his quiet strength. Who could've done it better? I love him.

Enjoy this young David Thewlis edit that I'm obsessed with. Cheers my tumblr friend <3

https://www.tiktok.com/@.dearlupin/video/7410813583577091334

David Threwlis is a fucking GEM and the PERFECT pick for the character in every aspect, yes. I can't think of how anyone could actually think otherwise. He looks perfect and acts perfect.

To the point where I would actually be happy if he played Remus AGAIN for the TV series or whatever - even though he looks so much older. Play up the fact he looks 'older than his age' or do some makeup, I dunno, I don't care. I would be alright with it.

I don't think any of the movies do anyone justice, TBH - ignoring the fact that of course things will have to be trimmed and simplified. I think most people agree though that the way they chose to do so was destructive and missed the point of the overarching story.

OotP and HBP were enjoyable as individual movies - but cut out so, so much that it damages the series as a whole. OotP especially should have been two movies, to REALLY get to know the Order Members, the adult world harry desperately wants to enter - revisit Lupin and Sirius, get attached to the real Moody - set up Tonks... maybe end the first one with Dumbledore leaving...?

But some actors pulled through wonderfully with the limited time they were given to portray their role, Alan Rickman of course being one - and I think David Threwlis is an underrated other. He did fucking BEAUTIFULLY and it made up for imo a half-assed performance from Gary Oldman as Sirius. He has perfect aesthetic and his fatherly moments with Harry were gorgeous... but most of the time he felt like his heart wasn't in it.

Remus, in the movies, HAD to be soft... but always carry a touch of coldness. A comfortable room but the heater isn't on. A cup of tea but you're asked to leave right after. Gentle eyes that pierce. Slightly odd expressions that feel kind, but also... off. He nailed that. Absolutely. That softness that makes you want to cozy up close, but a constant distance that makes you wonder why. Also the mustache was absolute genius. If only they gave him greys...

THIS LOOK? Underrated. SO MUCH PACKED INTO IT. Displeasure, surprise, 'oh shit im in danger' - but then forced innocence, a bit of weariness, a cheeky idea...

How he came out of the darkness, too - Snape specifically calling Lupin to show him the map was meaningful in the books, but Remus walking out of the pitch black was symbolic in the movies. It was a decent change. THIS is when I felt a 'Hm...' about Remus. (I saw it as an adult though, first time last year. I had no idea I'd love him so much.)

I LOVVEEEE going on and on about Remus being a wet tissue paper - because he is so often mischaracterized in so many different ways... but he IS good. He IS strong, compassionate, wise, clever... Fatherly. He will put himself aside to comfort someone in need. He just can't do that for himself. He will punish himself for the things he is gentle with in others.

"His voice, his smile, the way he carries himself, his quiet strength. Who could've done it better? I love him." YEAHYEAHYEAH David can pack layers of depth into every movement he makes. His little head bobbles, the ways his eyes pin on something and stare, his control of exactly how he smiles... ITS SO GOOD AHH

Normally a link to tiktok earns an instant vaporization but you get a pass aight I wont kill you God he's so wonky looking, look at him, he is delightful, I am going to spread him on toast with my vegemite

[celestie0]

First time asker but long time reader 😭 I’m sorry that you got that shitty ask. It’s such a weird fucking thing to ask someone “hey when are you making these two fuck?” like… does that not feel weird to type out?

The gojo x reader tag has at least 5 explicit smut fics minimum daily, go read through those if you genuinely need sex in everything you read (it’s time to reflect on the porn addiction you have).

Regardless, I’ve been reading your fics on Ao3 and I absolutely LOVE the banter between gojo and reader 😭 it flows so fucking well I can feel the chemistry radiating from my screen. When I first started reading IHM, I was also an ancient hag like reader (29) so I found myself able to really relate to her. Usually when I envision Y/N, it’s a random person in their place but with this fic specifically idk why I lowkey insert myself? Everything she does, I would probably do the same and it makes me nervous (in a good way) that I’m gonna get attached to gojo and y/n’s relationship 😭

I absolutely love how gojo provides the security Y/N so desperately needs in the span of the fic. She has been suffocating on her own for so long that he just provides some fresh air. Dare I say meant to be?

The domesticity is everything and I like how we’re learning more about him alongside Y/N. So far we’ve seen just how supportive gojo has been and I’m excited to see how y/n comes through for him because my spidey senses (and your amazing writing) shows me that he has some baggage and it might resurface soon.

The build up to them realizing they love each other is making me giggle and kick my feet. I will happily eat whatever you feed us, thank you for sharing your writing with us. You absolutely have a talent for writing and fleshing out characters/relationships.

I appreciate you and will do my best to support you vocally from here on out 🥹 have a great week pls!

hi my love!! first of all thank you SO much for this supportive message, i srs teared up when i read it 😭 idk if that’s embarrassing to admit lololdjfsdfh but yea omg yesterday was rough so i can’t tell u how much it means to me

i agree on the porn addict thing omg like i love smut as much as the next person, but likeee to go into an author inbox after they just posted a 14k chap of their fic n say “are we gonna get smut soon?” like 💀 that’s sortaaaaa. i’m getting porn addiction vibes

aaaaaaaa i’m so happy you’re enjoying the banter in ihm :’’) and that you’re able to see yourself in reader’s shoes!! that’s such a wonderful thing n one of the aims of my writing ♥️ ♥️ also pls 29 is not ancient hag oml i mean there will be lots of rhetoric in ihm where reader thinks she’s old but like ultimately i want the message of the series to be that it’s never too late to start over and find happiness & joy :) i think that really applies to everything and everyone. and ahhh yes there will be some pretty angst stuffs BUT there will be happy ending <33

yes ihm gojo def got some baggage 😂😂 i need my men like that LOL. but thank you so much for being excited to see how reader comes through for him as well!! i know she’s going through a lot on her own, and that can sometimes cause her to neglect the things outside of her…but i think she has capacity to really be there for him too

oh my dear i really am so lucky to have you as a long time reader and i’m so grateful to hear your thoughts, but also please send them whenever you want to and without pressure <33 i will eat it tf up if/when you do but yea xD never feel burdened to! you have a wonderful week as well omg imma eat u fr

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #35 – To Say Nothing Of The Dog by Connie Willis

This was my second shot on reading something of Willis’, and I found it far more enjoyable than the first. Which is something of a feat, honestly – it’s a rare book that you can more-or-less accurately describe s a ‘cozy romcom’ that doesn’t make me recoil. But it was charming! And dated, but mostly only charmingly as well.

The story is the second in a series, which no one ever told me when recommending it because it does not matter in the slightest (at least, I had no issues at all following along with the story) – though it does mean that it hits the ground running and requires you to pick up quite a bit from context for the first while. It follows Ned Henry, a historian at the University of Oxford in the mid-21st century – a field that has been changed dramatically by the invention of time travel. For example, it’s suddenly in desperate need of particle-accelerator money, which is why and the entire rest of the department have been conscripted by an incredibly generous donor to help her reconstruct Coventry Cathedral exactly as it was before being destroyed in the Blitz. Exactly. ‘God is in the details’, and Henry has spent subjective weeks running himself ragged attending wartime rummage sales and sifting through bombed out ruins to try and verify the fate of a glorified flower pot mainly notable for being overdone and ugly even by Victorian standards.

After going through so many rapid-fire temporal shifts that the jump sickness leaves him waxing rhapsodic about the highway and falling in love with every woman he sees, he’s sent to Victorian Oxford to lay low and recuperate, and deliver a vitally important package to a contact already in situ. Unfourtunately that jump sickness means that he’s pretty unclear on the particular what and who. Really it’s remarkable that things don’t spin even more wildly out of control than they do (and there’s a period where he might have accidentally made the nazis win WW2).

So yeah, not what you’d call a serious novel. Most of the plot is sneaking around trying to make sure various members of the Victorian gentry fall in love in the right pattern to make sure someone’s grandson can fly in the RAF down the line and someone else elopes off to America on schedule (with drastically limited details and new information from back home changing things ever so often). Also sneaking a pampered rare-fish-hunting pet cat and slothful bulldog around before they arouse the wrath of their hosts. The apocalyptic threat that’s theoretically hanging over everyone never really feels real, and it’s all just pleasently absurd and enjoyable to read.

The comedy reminds me of early Prachett, in a way? Which like, a light comedy from the ‘90s in large part poking fun at English academia, of course there are similarities, but still. Not that that’s n insult. There’s plenty of absurd situations caused by miscommunication or desperately trying to work around absurd social conventions or personal foibles. Almost the entire Victorian cast (and a decent number of the present-day characters as well) are objectively ridiculous people, and the book has a lot of fun making do the literary equivalent of chewing scenery for the camera.

I call this a romcom, but I’m not ever sure that fits, honestly. It is a comedy with romance, between the two lead characters, whose dynamic with each other is the main throughline of the book. But it’s never really a source of drama? Or a motor of the plot. They are coworkers who end up working in close confines and get alone fine, who both awkwardly admit they find each other very attractive and start flirting and at the end they kiss and adopt a cat together. Least miscommunication- or conflict-ridden central romance in fiction you’ve ever seen. I don’t know enough about the genre constraints to determine whether it counts or not.

Part of the appeal of this was honestly the odd ways it came across as a bit dated? Not at all in a bad way but just, like – the fixation on the Blitz as the sine qua non of English history feels very 20th century? The references to the Charge of the Light Brigade and Schrodinger’s Box and Three Men in a Boat, combined with the felt obligation to step back from the narrative and explain what they were in case the reader wasn’t aware – just the idea that someone reading a time travel story won’t already be familiar with the concept of temporal paradoxes, really. It all added up to a reading experience that felt a bit off-kilter in a pleasing way.

This is obviously a story very fascinated by Victoriana – both the time period and the popular memory. Its perspective on the period is – I guess ‘affectionate contempt’ might be the best way to put it? It clearly doesn’t think much of the Oxfordshire gentry, the women shallow as a puddle and obsessed with marriage gossip and spiritualism, the men with their heads stuffed with some academic fixation and utterly divorced from all practical affairs, both obsessed with petty one-up-man-ship of their peers and casually abusive and callous towards the servants who run and organize their lives for them. But it all feels rather good-natured; not a trace of righteous fury or real class hatred is on display, the fact of the empire and the source of their fortunes is I think not even mentioned. One more way it feels a bit dated, I suppose, or maybe just a way my usual reading’s much more explicitly political about these things.

I’m also not sure if this is a matter of tastes or popular memory changing or just my impression of what the received common wisdom is being parochial or inaccurate, but – given the association of ‘Victorian’ with imperial grandeur, aesthetic superiority, eye-wateringly expensive historical real estate, etc, it is quite funny how the book takes for granted that to be ‘victorian’ means to be horrifically gaudy and over-designed, devoid of elegance or restraint, and to have probably ruined some real medieval beauty in its creation.

Anyway yes, you absolutely could dig into this book and write some meaty essays out of it, but I simply was not reading it closely enough to do so. It’s probably overlong and definitely meandering and unhurried, but I did find it a really enjoyable read.