#and i'd feel bad calling off for my real world job

[astonmartinii]

big girls do(n't) cry | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: reader x charles leclerc

charles' gf just can't seem to catch a break

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram: weekend breaking with the girlypops

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leclercbaby: so charles is racing in miami and y/n is out spending his money with her friends?

ynandcharles: you know she has a job right? and a life outside of charles?

charlesdefender: let's not pretend her little writing gig covers all of this shit

charles_leclerc: lovely lady

yourinstagram: why thank you my dashing gentleman

ferrarigirl16: imagine dating an elite athlete and smoking? it's so gross charles needs to drop her asap

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 612,088 others

charles_leclerc: friday feeling in monaco 🇲🇨

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babygirlpierre NO Y/N ??? DON'T GET ME EXCITED

holacarlos55 do you people not have jobs or ?

yourusername what do they put in the water in monaco woooooof

charles_leclerc says the tall glass of water herself

justleclercthings let's not pretend that her missing his home gp isn't a HUGE deal omg

lordperceval i usually don't care about wag drama but like ... we all know y/n is the worst wag, right? she hardly comes to races, is always spending his money with her friends and is smoking as if he doesn't need to be in top condition?

likedbypierregasly you might have a point

yourusername

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tagged: charles_leclerc, yourbff1, yourbff2, yourbff3

yourusername: you didn't think i'd forgotten about monaco, did you?

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cl16x mother back to mothering as she should

charlesstan okay well some of y'all are real quiet now

charles_leclerc wouldn't be a monaco race without you (and your stray cats)

yourbff since we're staying at your house i'll keep what i wanted to say to myself

yourbff2 meow bitch

yourusername don't pretend you don't love us

peargasly why can't she go anywhere without her friends it's so weird

pierregaslight because she obviously has no friends in the paddock any time the camera goes to the ferrari garage no one is ever with her

grussy63 she seems super annoying idk what charles sees in her

f1wagsupdates

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f1wagsupdates: y/n y/ln at the release party for her new book sharp objects! this is her third book and it's already a new york times best seller, so happy for her

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howdyricciardo so everyone who gets on her ass when she can't go to races but where's the same energy for charles now - we all know they have the week off cause he's on holiday with pierre.

landonowins it's such a double standard

number16 i still think she's bad for charles her actually doing her job won't change my mind

charlesbaby can't wait for the day when she won't be on this page anymore

perceval16 these comments ... they're on every post i really think charles needs to say something at this point, he's just hanging y/n out to dry

yourusername added to their story

[caption: lonesome love. i am bored by his heroism, virtue, and honour. i think the best these men can do is not talk about themselves anymore]

yourbff

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tagged: yourusername

yourbff: since no one else will, LISTEN UP SLUTS!!! this girl is the most talented and kind-hearted girl in the whole entire world. ANYONE would be lucky to be with her, so it honestly BAFFLES my mind that those blessed enough to be with her are so silent when his so-called fans rip a person they do not know apart on social media. i say this sincerely GET A LIFE!!! also she's the sexiest girl in the world and could have literally anyone she wants so PICK UP THE SLACK OR we'll activate operation hot girl summer - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

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yourbff1 @charles_leclerc

yourbff2 @charles_leclerc

yourbff3 @charles_leclerc

yourusername i love you all so much - platonic soulmates for real

danielricciardo @charles_leclerc

charlieleclerc oh wow charles just got humbled

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 1,087,556 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: i've not been the best of boyfriends in recent weeks, so it is time i say my piece. y/n is the most talented, patient and beautiful individual i have ever met and i won't stand for her being attacked on social media by my "fans". you are not a fan of mine if you attack my girlfriend. i love her and nothing an anonymous comment can say will ever change that. you attack her for not "supporting" me enough and yet none of you know anything from behind the scenes (not that you should need to), if anything i have been the unsupportive one. i love y/n so so much and i will do anything to make sure she knows it. please stay out of our business.

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yourusername

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yourusername: he's mine. cry more.

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lilacleclerc i love them so much PARENTS

danielricciardo WHOOP TELL EM'

charles_leclerc love you too baby

yourusername i love you more

landonorris mic drop

myloveleclerc finally !!!

dutchlion i'm so glad he finally said something - and also me if i were a wag CRY MORE

note: bit of a random one but alas i hope y'all enjoy

#f1 #f1 x you #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc instagram edit #charles leclerc #charles leclerc instagram au

[bluecollarmcandtf]

My Found Family

I never grew up with the luxury of family. As an orphan, my childhood was lacking to say the least, and it left me jealous of any kid with caring fathers and siblings. That's why I had to find my family. Nobody's perfect, but with a little reconditioning, I've trained them to be exactly what I was looking for.

This guy is now my father...

"Breakfast is ready, boys!" I call, using my lower register like I'm supposed to, "Whoops! I mean bacon-fest!"

Guttural laughter comes from my stomach even though I don't find my joke that funny. Bad jokes like this have sort of become my personality lately. In fact, my whole life has transformed over the last couple days. A week ago, I would've never imagined myself strolling around my house in nothing but underwear and a robe! My standards for style seem to have vanished along with pretty much every other part of my old way of being.

It happened three days ago at a grocery store, when I ran into this guy in the produce section. He caught me examining avocados for ripeness and walked right up, beginning to talk like we'd known each other for years.

It was all a bit bizarre, but I found myself unable to turn away. He was explaining my life to myself. Well, not my life, but the one he wanted me to live, the one I was meant to live, and I hung on his every word. He was maybe six years younger than myself, but I was to be his new daddy. It was a role I was proud to fill.

"Here you are, son," I grin widely, unable to contain the feelings of pride I have as he walks into the room.

"Thanks, old man," he answers and grabs the plate gratefully.

For a moment, I stand there and stare. My heart beats for my boy as he tears apart the food I made for him. My paternal instincts have been working overtime lately. I can't help but love that boy with every fatherly fiber of my being.

It doesn't matter that I never wanted kids before. Previously, I'd wanted to remain a bachelor forever, but I have them now, and it couldn't feel more perfect.

With a content grin, I turn back to the sizzling bacon and think about my day. Things I used to hate were now what I looked forward to; mowing the lawn, washing the car, cleaning the gutters. I have a full day of work ahead of me to keep this house in tip top shape. Of course, I'll do it all with an ice cold beer in my hand. I never had a taste for the stuff, but my boy thinks I should grow a bit more of a gut.

I know what I say goes around here, but I could never say no to my favorite son...

I obviously have dad wrapped around my finger, but he's not the only member of this family. This next dude is my new big bro...

"Fuck yeah," I grunt and sniff up the ripe stench under my arm, "Smells like a real fuckin' man!"

I toss the barbell down, finishing a new personal record on the bench press and I couldn't feel more pumped. My tank top and sweat pants are drenched with sweat, but I love bein' a nasty gym rat: at least, I do now.

A week ago I was waiting tables at this fancy restaurant, when one of the customers got to talking with me. He was sitting alone and looked kinda sad, so I tried to be friendly and I'm sure glad I did! I got a whole new family out of it. He made me quit my job and move into this sweet place. Now I'm his big brother!

Of course, like all big bro's, I'm supposed to work out in the garage all day. I was never one for weights, but I couldn't imagine my life without them anymore. I like to push my limits and get all hot and sweaty. Then I march around the house flexing and farting all over the place. It's not the most refined thing in the world, but my bro explained to me how much I don't care about hygiene and all that crap.

"Wassup, little man," I call as he saunters in.

"Nothing much," he answers, staring at my arms while I show off my biceps.

"Alright, get out of my space. I'm tryin' to work out," I snarl, acting as tough as possible, "Do I need to wrestle you again to prove my point?"

I definitely didn't used to be like this. I used to be the most polite and approachable guy in the world, always chatting random people up, but that guy's gone. My bro got rid of him and his old family. This new family is the only one I'm interested in now, even if I'm not supposed to show it. I'm supposed to be muscular, rude, and gross. It's who I am now.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," he replies, "You can wrestle me though."

"I will," I frown, flexing even harder, "And this time, I'll win!"

Whenever we wrestle, I always end up with the urge to let him win. It sucks because I could easily beat him, and I should put him in his place, but for some reason, I just know I have to let him win. He just deserves it I guess.

I give him an intense glare and then return to my weights. These arms aren't going to pump themselves...

My big bro always makes my legs quiver, but I love seeing how cocky he can get. Of course, he'll never out wrestle me no matter how big he gets. I programmed him to let me win. Just like I programmed the breadwinner of the bunch...

A short groan rumbles from my lips. For some reason, everything has been disappointing me lately: my sons, my husband, my job has all been leaving me grumpy and frustrated. Even the channels on the TV aggravate the living hell out of me. I have to fight the urge to chuck the remote across the room.

"How was your day, honey," my husband asks, walking into the room and handing me a beer.

"Great," I moan without any emotion.

Everything's been changing so fast lately, and I couldn't be more over it. I was married to my work, busting ass for years to get promotion after promotion, and I had a job I loved that paid extremely well. I couldn't be more happy, even if I was the only unmarried guy in the office. I didn't mind. I loved my bowling league and my solo trips to Vegas too much to settle down.

Then I met him, my son. Well, he wasn't my son at the time, but after talking, I quickly realized who he was and who I was to him. I'm the head of the household, the disciplinarian, the breadwinner. At least, that's who I've become.

"What's for dinner?" I grunt, peeling my eyes away from the TV.

Looking at my husband, odd feelings bubble up. I used to know him as my neighbor, a nice enough guy, but now I'm married to him. It all happened so fast. He's changed too recently, I think. The guy I knew a week ago would've never walked around all day in a robe and underwear.

His hand reaches out and holds my own, "Steak and potatoes if that's alright with you."

I grunt in agreement, turning back to the TV. My husband's presence stirs my cock to life, straining my member against my work slacks.

This is another new development.

Until now, I'd never had a gay bone in my body. In some ways, I still don't, but my son explained how I should feel about my husband. I should love him, I should be turned on by him, and I should get it on with him. He's right, I suppose.

"Hey, I could use a blow job before you get cooking," I gesture to the thick tent in my pants.

My husband pauses for a moment like he's unsure of what to do, but then it comes to him, "Of course, babe, but we need to be quiet. Both of our boys are home right now."

"Don't worry about it. If they walk in without knocking they'll get the belt," I snort as my husband gets on his knees in front of me.

"You shouldn't be so hard on-" before he can finish, I've shoved his face into my crotch.

Somehow, I know I can be rough with him, just like I can be rough with our sons. I'm the man of the house after all. Within seconds I'm grunting in pleasure while staring at the evening news broadcast. For some reason, I always find myself watching it and complaining about current events. It's just who I am now..

I grin, sneaking a peak at my two dad's going at it in the living room like the good little couple they are. My new family couldn't be more perfect, but no family is complete without the dog...

"Ruff!" I bark, gleefully scampering over to the bowl of food that was just placed on the floor.

Without hesitating, I shove my face into the bowl, sending the little pellets flying everywhere. They taste like cardboard, but for some reason, I can't get enough of them! I've done nothing but drool and whine for the last hour while the real humans eat their dinner at the table.

"That's a good boy," a voice coos, and I feel fingers running through the hair on my head.

I can barely acknowledge being petted. I know I'm supposed to act like a hungry animal right now, so that's what I do.

I would've never thought I'd find myself as a house pet, but a couple days ago, this guy just walked up to me and talked me into it. It'd just been a normal day for me, working at the car garage when he became my master. I knew right there and then that I had to drop to my hands and knees and follow him home with my tongue out.

My new life has been great ever since. My masters play ball with me outside, they hose me down when I get muddy, and they snuggle with me on the couch at night. I barely even miss my old work and fiance!

"Alright, boy," one of my master's commands, "That's enough. Get in here!"

It's the mean one. The one who used to own this house, but is now just a working dad. He's always the one who hits me with a newspaper when I drink from the toilet. I don't know why, but I just feel compelled to do it!

Licking the bowl clean, I abandon it and crawl into the living room. There, the entire family is gathered around the television.

I stop by the smelly one and sneak in a few licks. I love licking him because he's always salty with sweat and smells funny. After licking his feet for too long, he kicks me away, "Leave me alone, mutt!"

"Oh don't talk to him that way," the nice one adds.

I climb on the couch and curl up beside him. His belly is always the perfect cushion for my head to rest on, and he always lets me lick his beer bottle when he's done. Within a couple minutes, I'm drifting off as his hands absently play with my hair...

...sitting with my family at night is always my favorite part. Watching TV with my two dads, brother, and dog heals the child in me that had always yearned for this. Sure, it might be easier to just go to therapy, but this is sure as hell a lot more fun!

#gay hypnosis #gay mind control #mind control #hypnotized #hypno story #gay ai art #male transformation

[atlasscrumpit]

It may be kinda wierd. Yandere stuckony.

The reader is a uni student. And they're her guardian angels who fit into the society by being her professors. They fall in love with her even though they aren't allowed to fall in love with human.

And the reader doesn't understand why they keep looking at her. She's even more surprised when she notices that they appear everytime she's in trouble.

(not really Yandere but still)

Bucky/Tony/Steve platonic x reader

Bucky sat at his desk while Tony paced up and down his office.

"Look I'm thankful and all but after I died I thought I'd have like...heaven and peace and all that nice shit. Now I just have to spend my days as a goddamn professor to protect a girl?" Tony grumbled as Bucky took his glasses off and rubbed his face.

"You should be thankful, being a guardian is one of the highest jobs. They don't choose just anyone." Bucky replied making Tony roll his eyes.

"Can I at least get drunk?" Tony asked, Bucky stopped and groaned.

"No, you cannot. You have a duty and you'll complete that duty." Bucky replied before Tony walked out mumbling under his breath.

He passed Steve while he entered Bucky's office.

"Trouble with the new kid?" Steve asked sitting accross from him.

"I still have no idea why they chose him." Bucky grumbled staring at the work in front of him.

"Well, they obviously saw something in him, how's Y/N going lately?" Steve asked as Bucky looked up from his work.

"She's started dating someone and her grades are going down, he seems like a piece of shit too. I know we're not supposed to interfere but I have a bad feeling about this guy, just keep an eye on her, okay?" Bucky warned as a Steve nodded.

"Got it, chief." Steve replied before leaving.

Bucky didn't love being the team leader, but he'd been a guardian longer than Steve or Tony.

Bucky died in war and Steve only a few years later.

But, Tony had only been doing this for less than a year.

Steve was about to leave when he felt an odd sensation.

"Did you feel that?" Steve muttered, turning around to see Bucky already standing up.

"It's Y/N." Bucky said as him and Steve rushed out.

Tony wasn't fair behind them shouting about something.

They got to your dorm room and heard you crying and screaming for help.

Bucky kicked the door down while Steve ran in, he saw your boyfriend pinning you down as you cried out.

He instantly grabbed him and threw him to the floor.

"Get the fuck off her!" Steve shouted as Bucky forced him out of the door.

You scrambled to get your pants back on as you cried softly.

Steve knelt beside your bed.

"Hey, it's okay. It's alright, Y/N." Steve said as he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around you.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry." You whispered as Bucky came over and handed you some water.

"What are you all doing here?" You asked, your eyes still wide.

"We were passing by and heard you call for help." Steve explained as you nodded a little.

"Did he manage to..." Steve muttered as you shook your head.

"No, you got here just in time." You whispered as Steve nodded.

"W-Will you help me report him?" You whispered, looking at Steve as he offered you a soft smile.

"Of course, Y/N." 

--

After Steve, Bucky and Tony had called your best friend they left your dorm, knowing you would be safe.

But, they were definitely going straight to the head office to report the man that had tried to hurt you.

"I don't get why she needs two guardians like you two and also me. I mean, just one of you could've stop what just happened." Tony said making Bucky groan a little.

"Don't question things so much." Bucky grumbled making Tony roll his eyes once more.

"Or what? I'll become a demon or some shit?" Tony grumbled, Steve decided to just say out of it for the moment.

"Demons aren't real, Tony. Humans created them as an excuse to do bad things." Bucky said, Tony slowly realising a lot more about the world he lived and died in.

--

It had been a few months since the incident and thankfully your ex had been kicked out of university.

But, there was something about your favourite professors... They seemed too know a lot about you that professors shouldn't.

Bucky was working in his office like usual when Tony burst through the door.

"Have you ever heard of knocking, Tony?" Bucky grumbled, not even looking up from his work.

"Can we have sex?" He asked as Bucky looked up.

"You're not my type." He grumbled making Tony roll his eyes.

"Not you and I! I just mean...whatever we are. Is it okay to have sex?" Tony asked with a hopeful smile.

"As long as it doesn't interfere with your job, yes you can indulge in those pleasures." Bucky replied before Tony rushed off again.

Not long after Tony had left, Steve entered Bucky's office.

"I feel like Y/N might be on to us or something... I don't know, she seems different around us lately." Steve muttered as he sat across from Bucky.

"She has been a bit off lately, I'll pull her aside after class tomorrow and talk to her. She has been avoiding us." Bucky muttered looking at Steve.

--

You packed up your bag as quick as you could, ready to rush back to your door before you were stopped.

"Y/N, can I see you for a moment?" The professor asked as you sighed and rolled your eyes, so close.

You walked up to him and smiled.

"Everything okay?" You asked, he returned your smile.

"You just seem a little off lately, I wanted to make sure you were okay." He said as you looked at him in confusion.

"You never care if the other students are a bit off." You grumbled as he chuckled softly.

"Maybe not, but you have a lot of potential and I don't want to see you fail." He said as you crossed your arms.

"What is it with you, Rogers and that new teacher? You guys never stop staring at me, are you attracted to me or something?" You asked, Bucky was surprised you were so upfront about it.

"No, Y/N." He said as you narrowed your eyes.

"So, what is it then?" You asked, he could see you were getting quite paranoid.

Bucky sighed and sat down.

"Have a seat, Y/N." He said as you reluctantly sat down.

"It's complicated, Y/N... We're here to protect you, you don't ever need to be afraid of us." Bucky whispered, only confusing you even more.

"Just fucking tell me what's happening!" You shouted making Bucky groan with annoyance.

"No, I know how to test it." You grumbled grabbing scissors off his desk.

"Anytime I'm in danger all three of you somehow know!" You said as you grabbed the scissors and cut down your arm.

"Y/N! Enough!" Bucky yelled as he stood up and pulled the scissors away from you.

Steve and Tony came running into the room and you looked at Bucky.

"The truth, now." You growled as he sighed and looked at Steve and Tony.

"She may as well know." Bucky said, the two men looking at him in shock.

Bucky was always a stickler for rules.

"She's driving herself mad with this, the only way to help is telling her the truth." Bucky continued as the two men nodded.

"Then tell me!" You shouted, Bucky groaned and waved his hand over the cut on your arm and healed it.

You looked at it in shock and then back up to him.

"Y/N, we are guardians. That's the best way to describe it. We're here to protect you, we don't know why there's three of us but...what we do know is that for some reason you need us." He said as you looked away and took in a deep breath.

"This is a lot to take in... But, I also read a lot of comics and kind of prepared for this... Okay, I'm good." You said as Tony looked at you in shock.

"Did you just talk yourself through this whole thing in like ten seconds?" He asked as you nodded.

"Yeah, is that weird?"

#Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Tony Stark #Platonic #Reader insert #Bucky Barnes x reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Tony Stark x reader

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

omg I want to know, how were the Napoleon Queer Wars of 2014 like?? 😬

oh lord lol

It's been almost ten years and I still get weird YIKES reaction in my skin when I think about it, or when people in the current Napoleonic corner act a bit like the people from back then. Which is a me issue, and not anyone else's problem. But it is why I don't really engage with anyone from the Napoleonic side of tumblr anymore - too many bad memories and bad taste in my mouth.

Essentially, someone posted the (in)famous Cronin quote re: Napoleon telling Coulaincourt about the Feelings He Gets When Looking At Someone Handsome Friend Shaped. They speculated about queer* implications of this.

--

*necessary disclaimer about modern concepts of sexuality not being applicable to the past yadda yadda yadda. I'm using short hand here, folks. No one needs to jump down my throat.

--

A bunch of the Very Serious History Blogs(tm) came down hard on them being like "you're a fool, absolutely not, Napoleon was Straight(tm)". Someone else replied being like "Well what about That Letter from N to Josie concerning a Certain Tsar of Russia?"

I forget how That Letter was explained away, but it was.

Some name calling nonsense and really aggresive replies where bandied back and forth. People were passive aggresive and mean. People ignored each other then wrote vagueing posts about it. The usual damned foolishness you would expect.

Then someone else referenced that one book whose whole thesis is basically Napoleon was Probably Bi. The book, I will say, isn't great. I'd never recommend it. But it was floating around in the 2014/15 world of Napoleonic Tumblr.

And oh man was the person who suggested it torn to shreds. Eviscerated. It was like watching a train wreck and the by standers decided to lock the doors of the train and not let the passengers off while everything burned.

There were weird spin-off dramas from this nonsense where people got into whether or not being interested in Napoleon made you a war crime sympathizer. (Some things never change on this webbed site.) Messy, messy. Also, utterly dumb.

Anyway - it ended up weirdly boiling down to two sides: Are You A Serious Historian/Take History Seriously(tm) Therefore Anti-Napoleon Possibly Being Something Like Queer Even If Never Acted On versus People Having Fun(tm) on the Internet Who Now Have Their Backs Up and Are Responding Perhaps Unwisely.

There was a third party, which I was part of at that time** (no longer, since I left academia), which was the "We Do Real History As A Day Job, Because We Are In Academia, but Lol Like Hell Would I Think to do Serious History on the Blue Hell Site. I'm Present for Shits and Giggles and Idle Speculation and Chats. Nothing Here is Serious. Everyone Needs To Calm Down and Take Themselves Way Less Seriously." We were a small contingent, to say the least.

--

**this is not to say I didn't walk away with egg on my face. Because I did. My comportment wasn't great and it's something I've been trying to be better about ever since.

It's not a time I think anyone save like four Napoleonic-interested blogs can look back on without blame.

--

But yeah - it was a real bad time on here. People were called names and cruel, cruel messages were sent to various and sundry by various and sundry. People deactivated over it. Friendships were literally torched because of it. There was a lot of issues with: "What Is Tone When Jumping On Someone's Post?? We don't know how to gauge it! Are you being mean? Are you being helpful? Who knows!! But you sounded aggresive in your add on and so I had better respond aggressively as well."

All because some people took themselves too seriously and because other people were stupidly mean about something dumb.

If I sometimes come in really strong with five million disclaimers in my napoleon asks/responses, even just the silly, purely speculative ones that no one sensible expects Real Serious History to result from - questions that clearly fall into the camp of shit a friend would ask you at the bar after four pints - things like: "was he queer? do you think he had add/adhd? what do you speculate were mental health issues he may have had?" etc. it's because of this year/year-and-a-half shit show. (And my disclaimers don't always serve their purpose because this is, after all, the Piss on the Poor website and people lack attention to detail when reading. [That said, I'm just as guilty of it as well, so can't point too many fingers.])

anyway, the long and short is that MAN people were very anti-any idea that there might have been an iota of what we would term queerness in Napoleon. And MAN no one can be normal on this site about anything so of course there was unnecessary drama and hurt feelings and bitterness.

May we never repeat this stupid time.

#it's why blocking liberally is your friend!! #No one did that back then and it would have saved a lot of heart ache #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #napoleonic #ask #reply #anon #the Great Napoleon Queer War of 2014

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM LEVERAGE *  assorted dialogue from the tv show, adjust as necessary

so you're really going?

you're not supposed to root for the criminals.

it's not a weakness to see the good in people. it's not a flaw or a bad thing to trust.

you know that part of the conversation where i punch you in the neck nine or ten times? we're coming up on that part pretty quick.

i know what you're trying to do.

i can't thank you enough.

it's not about the money. it's never about the money.

we make this look good.

i think i'm getting better at this. i didn't even stab him!

you and i are not the same. we don't believe in the same things.

we're thieves, man. we're good at what we do.

i think people are like locks. really complicated and frustrating, but you can't force them.

this... is way, way out of our league.

you scared?

i don't trust horses.

nice job while we were away.

i hope one day... you can leave it all behind you.

no one is trying to kill you, you idiot!

moving on with or without you. it matters. you matter.

you did the right thing.

don't do this.

why do you care?

that man's not going to be me.

how does that make you feel?

promise you'll consider working with us again.

we don't want to see that.

what do you think parents are most afraid of?

i meant wine when i said "bottle."

you're the wine expert.

you're never going to tell me, are you?

i do know the difference between what's real and what's fake.

you expected the second glass to taste better.

at the end of the day, some things can't be faked.

that's disturbing.

yeah. don't do that to me. i can't lose you. don't scare me like that.

you can't fool a scientist at his business.

the world can always use more good guys.

so... the hard drive. everything you need is right there.

will you marry me, [name]?

you've always had my back. now will you be on my side?

i'd say call if you need anything, but you never, never need anything.

thanks to you, i don't have to search anymore.

promise me you'll keep them safe.

i'm keeping him all to myself.

what's the problem with getting emotionally butt naked?

i'm just trying to share my feelings.

you know this was your crusade. now this is our war.

i think i'm okay with it. yeah, i'm okay with it.

you're the smartest man i know. don't get cocky.

did you steal it? because that would be more romantic.

we're out. done.

what you were doing, back in the room... where did you learn to act like that?

that depends on what you say next.

a lot of revenge in there. just waiting on a righteous man to take a swing.

wine is just another way of saying "i'm better, i belong."

how'd you get your hands on a CIA contract?

you ask too many questions.

am i dreaming now, or was i dreaming then?

it's your life, [name]. make something of it.

let's go steal a dream.

headed your way in 10 minutes.

we do the impossible.

just letting you know... if we die, i blame you.

none of this would have happened if you'd just gone to the movies like i told you.

despite your efforts to drop off the map, i now know your new base of operations.

i didn't think that would work.

arrest them both.

we're helping you with your investigation.

i'm sorry, what are you doing in my room?

you have one hour.

sometimes... bad guys are the only good guys you get.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #rp starters #roleplay prompt #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #rp asks #askbox meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #rp meme starter #starter meme #sentence starter #sentence starters #sentence starter prompt #leverage #thank you to imacting for the suggestion!!!!!!!!

[dear--mars]

05 Hating you?? — setup

tartaglia x f!reader

After 3 hours of shopping and thousands of dollars later here you were, sitting in one of the highest classed restaurants, wearing a dress that could pay off your rent for the next couple of months. Childe sits in front of you but he keeps checking his watch. You look at him suspiciously before realizing you're sitting at a group table.

“Childe?” He comes and responds before looking up at you.

“Why are we really here?”

“???”

“You keep looking at your watch like you're waiting for somebody and we're sitting at a group table so it seems like we're not the only ones going to be eating here…”

“...okay, I have a huge favor to ask of you.”

“No.”

“You don't even know what it is, please! Just hear me out!” I look at him as he gives me pleading eyes before I shrugged and let him explain.

“Okay, so I should start from the beginning. As you know my parents own one of the most successful electronic companies in the world. So I grew up pretty sheltered and given whatever I wanted. My parents never asked for anything in return, they didn't give much parental love but they did their job as parents and I was happy with that. So when my parents asked me to take over the company and to become the heir I felt like I had an obligation to say yes. They never asked for anything of me before so it only felt right giving in to their one demand, right?” 

“Kind of feels like you're trauma dumping…” I said before nodding at his explanation.

“What? No. What?” I only shrugged.

“Anyways, high school was where I got involved in a dangerous gang called the Fatui. After that, I got into a lot of fights and just a bunch of bad stuff in general. The gang has been disbanded but I still hang out with some of the old members. Anyways ever since that my parents have kind of lost faith in me and keep track of everything to do with me. It's not too suffocating because as long as I don't do anything that would harm the company's image, they don’t care. But do you remember at the New Year's party when we kissed? My friend had taken a picture and posted it on Twitter. My parents saw that and thought that you were my girlfriend and asked to arrange a meeting dinner to see if you’re good enough to date me.”

“I don't get why that means I have to go on a date with you…”

“Because I can’t let them know that I'm going around kissing random girls.”

“But you are.”

“That’s no- oh! They're here.”

“What-? Who’s here?”

“My family.”

“What?! Childe! I’m not going to-” He cut you off as he gave you a stack of cash.

“This is 10k in cash…” He said whispering.

“...” You slowly grabbed the cash quickly counting it before stuffing it in your purse. You turned to him with the biggest smile on your face.

“Shall we go get your family, my love?” His eyes widened in shock before he composed himself and grinned.

“After you, darling. Also, my real name is Ajax.” I nodded 

“Mom, Dad! Over here!”

"Ajax." His dad acknowledged before sitting down.

"Dad, Mom. I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, [Name]."

"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you."

“Likewise.” Childe’s mom said smiling. 

“What are your intentions?” Childe’s dad said cutting to the chase.

“Dad!”

“Honey!”

“It’s fine.” You said patting Childe’s thigh. “I’m not sure what you mean by that?”

“Why are you with my son?”

“Because I love him…?”

“Do you love him or his money?”

“...” You looked at him flabbergasted that he could say something like that to someone he just met.

“I see… I think we're done here-”

“Wow.” You said before scoffing.

“What…?”

“Are you here to meet your son’s girlfriend or criticize her? Chil- Ajax has a lot more than money.”

“Like what?” Childe’s eyes flash with hurt.

“He has good looks, good grades, and even a good girlfriend.”

“Pft-” The tense atmosphere was interrupted by Childe’s kid-like laughter. “Well said, my dear. Mom, Dad. I didn't invite you here so you could test her. I invited you here to introduce her as my girlfriend and nothing can change that.”

“...I see you’ve made your choice. I don’t see any more reason to be here then.” He said before getting up and leaving as the mother followed.

It wasn't until after they left it hit you. Childe just announced you his girlfriend in front of his parents… You whipped your head toward Childe. 

“Why would you say that?!”

“Say what?”

“That I was your girlfriend?!”

“You are…?”

“I’m your “fake” girlfriend!”

“You took the money…”

“Yeah, to act like your fake girlfriend in front of your parents…”

“The moment you took the cash was the moment you decided to be my fake girlfriend for a couple of weeks, at least.”

“...ah fuck…” You mumbled.

Hating you??

masterlist -- prev | next

childe might be falling ;)

[name] said everything on impulse

Synopsis -- In which a girl who had been played by Cupid refuses to be fooled around with anymore. That was until the love devil in one last ditch attempt sent you the school’s rich playboy. Caught in a string of lies, rumors, and fame you end up fake-dating but what happens when you realize he’s not who you originally thought…? Author's notes -- I'm losing too much motivation... Taglist is open -- @hanilessa @duckyyyx @boywxonder @ynverse @ahnneyong @wonderland-fan @yelleloww @wisteriaa-heree @sukunasrealgf @yuminako

#genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin impact smau #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin impact au #genshin au #genshin impact fics #genshin impact headcanons #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabble #childe smau #tartaglia smau #tartaglia #childe #tartaglia drabbles #childe drabbles #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x you #childe x you #Hating you?? smau #marsworks

[blazehedgehog]

I WILL CHOKE ON THESE SOUR GRAPES TIL I'M IN MY GRAVE

I left this open in another tab, meaning to watch it like a week ago. It's an official video published and promoted on the Youtube Studio dashboard, about common misconceptions around their recommendation algorithm and what the truths really are. .

And now, finally watching it, that white haired dude, Mr. "Youtube Liason", is the guy who told me the algorithm ignored one of my videos because "maybe it just wasn't very good."

Famously, and something I will never ever shut up about when given the chance to mention it, I put out a video about Jurassic Park games just before Christmas, expecting it to slot in and do decent numbers, just like all of my other videos do. Since Youtube earnings tend to spike around the holidays, this was going to be how I paid for Christmas presents that year. It was something I'd done at least twice before. Instead, the algorithm completely ignored the video because it was outside my usual wheelhouse of Sonic content.

This is shockingly relevant to the very first topic they cover: whether a single "off-topic" video actually matters with regards to how the algorithm sees your channel, and the general answer from the Youtube technician is "No." You don't gotta tell me.

When I put my full weight behind a video, it easily breaks 10k views, even 50k or 200k+ views. Some of my most popular videos have cracked the multi-millions!

So when this dude spells out in plain english that the algorithm effectively ignores one-off videos? Yeah, no shit. I'm living proof of that. Across the first two years, that Jurassic Park video struggled to break even 2000 views. Only by paying out of my own pocket for multiple promotional campaigns and constantly complaining about its lack of performance has it struggled to hit just over 5000 views, some four years later. The algorithm knew it was way outside my regular wheelhouse and treated it like poison.

And this liason clown had the balls to tell me "well maybe the video was just bad, sorry bud" only to, two years later, sit down with this technician that spells out exactly what I was knew was happening and was trying to explain to him.

Except now, of course, it's being spun as a positive: "don't worry, a one-off won't hurt your regular content" as opposed to the "we didn't notify anyone about your one-off and it became stillborn" I experienced.

I have sat down and thought very intently about this Jurassic Park video. Obviously, if I make a stink about its performance, tell people the algorithm made a poor judgment call, I'm going to get patted on the back and comforted that yes, the video is good. Don't worry. The mean old algorithm is just dumb. Right? And Youtube unflinchingly believes in the power of their algorithm as this perfect shining golden standard to drive viewership, the thing that can never, ever be wrong about guys like me.

I appreciate the comfort and support of friends and colleagues and even random strangers who are inherently distrustful of the algorithm. But I also know that feels like an echo chamber.

So then what, do I trust Youtube? Absolutely not. At the end of the day their algorithm still made an unfair judgment call and despite their claims above that any old video can get picked up by the algorithm at any time, my video has never recovered. I've tried more interesting thumbnails, I've spent almost $100 on Google Adsense promotion -- one of which, I should note, was the same week that Jurassic World 3 released, and the other being E3. Both should have been extremely lucrative times to run ads. And I got crickets.

I like the video. I stand by the fact I think I did a good job on it. I remain proud of it. It's as good as any real-effort-content I've put out in the last five years. The echo chamber tells me it's a good video, too, even if I literally can't buy views.

So my only recourse is to sit here and stew in my bitterness towards this algorithm. The shining, ultimate example as to why you should never let a computer make a qualitative judgment call. And I will be frustrated and angry about this until I draw my last breath.

#youtube #google #algorithm #jurassic park #jurassic world #sour grapes

[hollybell51]

In this timeline

Navigation

Trevor Holden (0115) x Philip Pearson (3326)

Travelers (2016)

Word count: 11.5K

Summary: Philip has made some bad decisions. This isn't one of them.

Content: Smut, hurt/comfort, bit of fluff (I guess?), Philip is horrendously down bad, Trevor is too, making out, hickeys, hand jobs, blow jobs, anal, fingering, dirty talk (like a tiny bit dw), Trevor calls Philip "man" during sex, top Trevor/bottom Philip in an attempt to avoid Trevor's accidental twinkification (I fear this may have backfired), (there are honestly switchy moments too so idk if I'd label it as anything other than a healthy flexible dynamic), Philip's hallucinations, the age gape is mentioned but just in passing, implied/referenced drug use (guys c'mon it's Philip), everything canon typical. This takes place after s3 e3. I may have missed some things so lemme know if I should add anything xx

Notes: Happy valentines day! What even was season 3 honestly these two are so fucking whipped for each other it's stupid. How can anyone look at them and see anything but a married couple who are deeply, disgustingly in love with each other. Honestly. I'm so upset that this got cancelled (even though I lowkey liked the ending) so my insufferable ass is probably gonna deal with that through taking matters into my own hands. Also side note this is the first time I've posted m/m so don't be too mean I actually don't really know how men work so... yeah. Shit's been rough lately, breakup and car crash in the space of two days so I actually haven't proofread this sorry (there might be mistakes but that's ok because to err to be human <3) and also I’m literally a (queer) girl and I know nothing about gay (man) sex and it shows. You have been warned.

Philip had woken that morning (morning? Or afternoon? He can’t remember. It doesn’t feel like it had been morning when he’d finally swum up out of Marcy’s sedative) with Trevor in his bed. Well, it wasn’t Trevor, not really, but it was still nice. Not Trevor was smiling at him, wriggling closer, his hand finding Philip’s and pulling it towards his chest. Philip had blinked and he had shimmered, dispersed into light, reformed. He’d blinked again and Not Trevor was gone, and then the real world was flooding in and he half wished he hadn’t woken up at all. 

It’s been happening more and more often lately. Philip looks up from the computer screens and Not Trevor is already smiling at him. Not Trevor interrupts him with a kiss as he walks past. Not Trevor pads barefoot with a towel wrapped around his waist out of the bathroom and winks as Philip watches him go. Philip kneels next to the couch to pick up a ball bearing he’d knocked off the table from under its edge and when he looks up Not Trevor’s legs are either side of him and he has his head tilted back, shirt discarded and he’s panting hard. Philip has no doubt what that particular version of himself had just been doing. On the flip side, he pushes his chair back to take a break and Not Trevor grins up at him from between his legs, he leans over Philip from behind and slides his hand down his front, braces himself against the shower wall, tells Philip to turn around and get on his hands and knees and a million other things and Philip curses the update because none of those images are ever going to leave his head. 

Philip’s not too proud to admit when he likes someone. He’s human, after all, even if some days he doesn’t feel it, and Trevor is beautiful. It’s not just his host, either, although it probably helps to have been blessed looking like that, but there’s something about what 0115 and Trevor Holden have become — Philip’s Trevor, the team’s Trevor, 0115’s own Trevor — that pulls Philip in like a magnet. His joy is addictive. His enthusiasm for life, while it sometimes grates on Philip’s considerably less enthusiastic nerves, is infectious and maybe what people say about opposites attracting each other is right. Not even opposites, really — Philip doesn’t think they’re opposites, but he knows they’re not so-called twin flames — but something about Trevor balancing Philip. Pulling him out of those particularly dark little holes he knows it’s all too easy to get stuck in. Hell, he fell into one last night.

So Philip’s been peeking into other timelines and it’s been fueling the Trevor thing and now he’s waking up and half wishing that what he’s seeing is real. He wants to reach out and grab Trevor and never let go. He wants to stay in this bed with him and never have to do another mission again and just be and let humanity save itself. But, he tells himself firmly as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress and pauses, letting his body stabilise and adjust, that is not going to happen. No amount of wishing will make it. 

Carly and Marcy have explained, as best they can, and he really does feel bad for pulling that kind of shit when they’re all under stress, when nothing feels like it’s going right for anyone and they all have their own bullshit to deal with (he knows all about that, thanks to the update), but Aleksander’s face is still on the computer screens and Philip also knows Mac and Trevor will follow through. And that is where his brain snags for the second time today. Trevor, who found him on the floor and called Marcy over, “panicked” is the word the medic used, and then took off to kill a kid — to help Mac kill a kid. Trevor has faith in the Director, in the Grand Plan, Philip knows that as well as anyone, but he still cringes at the thought of what his roommate — because calling Trevor friend doesn’t quite feel right when he’s seen what he looks like when Philip is not going to complete that thought, they’re past coworkers, and he doesn’t feel like the other guy’s teammate anymore — must be thinking and feeling and doing right now. 

But then, after a few hours of Marcy and Carly doing their best to help him and Philip doing his best not to scream or break something or walk out the door and never come back, the Messenger comes through and just like that it’s all ok again. Marcy and Carly are relieved. Philip is relieved. A massive weight has been lifted off all their shoulders, so why does he still feel so heavy? 

He walks through erasing Mac’s memory like he’s walking through a dream, manages not to stare too long at the insubstantial vision of Trevor’s hand on his knee as they take their leader back to his house and (not uncarefully) deposit him in his bed. They leave. They drive back to ops. Marcy asks if he’s alright and he nods, doesn’t miss the way she says something too quiet to make out to Trevor as she heads back to David. Carly stays for longer, cleans a gun, then makes her exit with a firm hand on Philip’s shoulder and a tight smile. Then they’re alone, and Philip is staring at the screen with a cup of something (he thinks it might be tea, but it’s not hot anymore) he doesn’t remember getting in his hand.  

He doesn’t even hear Trevor approach until the engineer sighs, settling himself next to Philip’s shoulder. 

“The mother even speaks Romanian,” he says, steaming mug cradled in his hands. 

Philip glances at him and he shrugs. “Well that’s great, I’m obviously happy about that.” And he is, he really is. The woman smiling in the photograph looks like a kind person. She doesn’t have the sharpness about her eyes that Aleksander’s previous foster parents did, and maybe the familiarity of the language will help. He knows it did when they rescued the boy in the first place. The word rescue, even just in his mind, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He could have avoided the whole mission — putting Trevor and Mac through that — if he’d just stuck to what he was supposed to. There’s no way that this wasn’t some sick lesson. But still… “Why didn’t we start there?”

Trevor pauses before he answers, eyes still locked on the computer screen, brow furrowed. “That wasn’t the path he was on.” 

Sometimes Philip forgets how old Trevor — 0115 — is. He doesn’t act like an old man, as much as the others (Philip included) call him that and joke about it, as much as Trevor himself is open and just as willing to talk about the fact. But there are moments like these when Philip can see 0115’s plural lifetimes of experience and knowledge and wisdom poking through that barely adult face, and it catches him off guard. He’s not put off by Trevor’s age, Truth be told, he’s not sure if anything could put him off Trevor, but it can still be a little unnerving. 

“You don’t need to explain that part to me.” Philip tries not to sound annoyed, because he isn’t. Not really. “What I'm asking you is why we didn’t get a mission to change his path in the first place.” 

Again, Trevor shrugs, and on anyone else the gesture would look flippant. Not him, though. Nothing’s ever flippant with Trevor unless he wants it to be. “Maybe we did. The Director has to thread the needle on billions of possibilities happening to billions of people in a billion different places all over the world. If it seems hard to understand the steps that lead to a particular outcome, it’s because it’s literally impossible for any of us to understand that.” 

Philip can feel Trevor’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up. “I hate that.” 

There’s a pause, and he feels Trevor shift infinitesimally closer. “Yeah,” he says. “But you can’t argue with the results.” 

This time Philip does raise his eyes from the screen, turning in his chair to face his roommate. The other guy is perched on a filing cabinet, and Philip has the distinct urge to tell him to just get a chair. He looks a little ridiculous; elbows on his knees, feet resting against the desk (he really wants to tell him to get a chair), cup in his hands and that look that’s so sincere he’d laugh if he saw it on anyone else. It’s so… him and Philip can’t look away. 

Trevor sighs, leans forward and sets down his cup, his feet slipping off the desk as he twists to face Philip. “It wasn’t your fault,” he tells him. 

Philip shakes his head, looking away. He wishes he could believe Trevor, wishes he had just an ounce of his conviction. “It was. By definition, Trevor.” 

“You were trying to save him.” 

“And I made things worse. The Director was teaching me a lesson, I know it was. I know… I know I shouldn’t have tried to interfere.” 

“Hey, hey.” Trevor’s hand is firm and warm on Philip’s shoulder. “You tried to do what you thought was right. And yeah, it didn’t really work out, but it’s in the past. We can’t change that.” He stops, as if realising the irony of his words, then, “Nobody blames you, Philip.” 

“They should.” I do. 

Trevor is close enough that Philip can see the evening sun gilding the tips of his eyelashes, and his voice is so gentle it hurts. “What good is it gonna do now, huh? How is holding onto all that shit and dishing out blame and responsibility gonna help anyone?” 

Philip doesn’t have an answer for that, but he’s not sure if that matters. Not sure if he could speak even if he wanted to, because Trevor is still touching him and Philip must have slid his chair closer because he doesn’t remember the gap between them being this small. Trevor is searching Philip’s face, and he can practically see the cogs ticking behind his eyes — which, up close, never fail to suck Philip’s focus like a vacuum. 

“It’s not your fault. It was never going to be your fault, Philip.”

Philip swallows hard, tongue darting out over his lips. It’s too quiet and too loud all at once, and he wants to look away and he never wants the moment to end. The world is blurry, all he can see is Trevor, his skin is too tight and Trevor’s simultaneously too close and not close enough and then he is leaning the last few inches and all Philip can think is that this has to be another timeline. Things like this don’t happen to him, at least not this him, and—

Oh. Oh. 

Trevor’s lips are soft against his own, the hand that had been resting on his shoulder sliding up to hover almost hesitantly at his jaw. Philip can feel his own heart beating at a million mph, his blood rushing in his ears, and without even realising it he’s kissing Trevor back, tilting his head and pressing closer, Trevor’s skin so warm against his. 

The thing about what Philip sees — hallucinations, illusions, visions, whatever he calls them — is that he doesn’t feel it. He didn’t process the warmth of Not Trevor’s hand when it had been resting on his leg in the car or against his own that morning. He hadn’t felt the press of Not Trevor’s shoulders between his thighs, hadn’t felt the rush of breath over his skin when Not Trevor had laughed and kissed his cheek. And he certainly hadn’t felt the slick softness of Not Trevor’s tongue brushing over his lip. 

Oh, is all Philip can think again as he lets Trevor part his lips, the barest hint of his tongue sliding against his. A question. A warning. A test. Of course, the answer is yes. Philip knows in his soul that the answer will always be yes for Trevor, no matter what timeline they’re in. He feels himself sinking, floating, and when he pushes back against Trevor and slips his own tongue into his mouth, he can taste the tea he was drinking. Trevor is warm and sweet and Philip has never tasted anything so good and now his hand is moving, fingers tangling in Philip’s hair and if it weren’t for the rushing in his ears he could have sworn that Trevor gives a pleased little hum.  

Philip wants to stand, wants to crowd closer and take Trevor’s face between his hands, stand between his legs and feel the press of his body against his own. He wants to feel Trevor’s skin on his, wants him under him and on top of him and everywhere he can think of. He’s pretty sure that Trevor’s knee is blocking him from getting any closer, that and the fact that he’s still sitting in his chair. 

So, as much as it pains him to do so, Philip pulls back from Trevor’s mouth and pauses, heart still thundering, breathing hard, and looks at him. Trevor’s lips are kiss swollen and still parted, his eyes dark and locked on Philip and Philip alone. His hand doesn’t leave Philip’s hair, thumb moving in a tiny arc over the skin under his ear and he knows that even if he wasn’t a Historian, even if he wasn’t hardwired to remember everything, this moment would be ingrained in his brain forever. 

“Are you…?” Trevor starts, watching as Philip pushes himself to stand, his eyes following his every move, head tipping back. He wavers, and for a moment he’s shirtless and sweaty and his cheeks are flushed pink. Not Trevor tilts his head to the side, teeth digging into his bottom lip, and Philip blinks. His Trevor is still watching him, a hint of concern marring his face. 

Philip just nods, watching Trevor’s hand trail down over his chest, coming to rest right over his heart. He wonders if he can feel how hard it’s beating. He looks so serious and sincere, and Philip still can’t believe that this isn’t just because of the update. This is real. This is happening here and now. 

“Philip,” Trevor murmurs, voice thick. God, Philip could listen to that all day. 

He dips his head, and he’s sure that Trevor is smiling as their lips meet again. Philip is painfully aware of where his legs aren’t quite touching him, just resting either side of his hips, but that doesn’t matter because Trevor’s hand is sliding down his torso to sit feather light on his hip, not quite on the waistband of his pants but close enough that Philip feels blood rushing quickly downwards. He places  his own hands firmly either side of Trevor’s face, feels the muscle there twitch momentarily, the mechanism of Trevor’s neck and jaw sliding smoothly like well oiled machinery as he kisses him deeper, harder. His fingers curve perfectly around the back of Trevor’s neck, and this time he’s sure when he hears the little sound slip from the engineer, muffled by his own tongue. It is going to drive Philip insane. Trevor is going to drive him insane. He already is. 

“Philip,” Trevor says again, and Philip really can’t help but push closer. The edge of the filing cabinet is hard against his thighs, the metal cold through his jeans and somehow that is what brings Philip’s spiralling, out of control, too-much-too-fast brain back to the present. And then it clicks, and a stone sinks deep in his stomach. Trevor is distracting him, taking his mind off a truly terrible day because Philip did something stupid last night and Trevor found him this morning. He breaks away, breathing hard for an entirely different reason now. 

Trevor’s hands stop him from going far, his eyebrows furrowing into that familiar concerned frown. “You alright?” 

“I…” Philip stops, takes a breath, swallows. Yes, he’s alright. He’s more than alright with Trevor kissing him, with kissing Trevor. But here and now… Philip isn’t sure how to voice that. He knows Trevor wouldn’t judge him, not after Jenny. Trevor isn’t someone from the 21st, where sex is currency and intimacy is a completely separate thing. Trevor, like most from their time, knows that there’s more to it than that, he knows about Jenny because Philip has told him about Jenny and that whole mess and he trusts Trevor not to ignore all that. But…

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Trevor says, and Philip unfreezes. “I didn’t think it through. I know it’s been rough, and I don’t wanna rush you or—” 

“Are you trying to distract me?” 

Trevor stops, his frown deepens and he shakes his head. “Not really. Maybe a little.” He sighs. “I mean, I didn’t kiss you to distract you. But if I am… is that a bad thing?” He takes a deep breath, his fingers curling on Philip’s hip. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“I don’t…” He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to make of that. It’s not what he wants to hear, but it's not what he doesn’t want to hear either. Truth be told, he doesn’t even know what that is. All he knows is that Trevor means more than 21st century sex and he is in way too deep here. 

Philip does not consider himself brave. He knows people in the future who would say he is just for being here now, but the truth is, they don’t know what they’re talking about. He is not brave, he simply exists. He is a piece in a machine and there is nothing brave about that. But this is different. This is Trevor, and Trevor has always made Philip feel like more than that. Like he’s a person, and more importantly, like that person is worth something. And no, Philip doesn’t want Trevor to stop. He would be happy to live in this moment forever, and that’s the problem. Philip swallows. He will be brave. 

“I don’t want you to be a distraction.” 

Trevor draws back, a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “What do you want me to be?”

Philip almost curses, swallows again, looks at his hands. “I want you to be you. You… You mean something to me, Trevor. I want this to mean something.” 

Philip isn’t brave enough to look back at Trevor, but he doesn’t have to be. The other guy’s hand is on his cheek, tilting his face back towards his, and when their eyes meet all Philip can see is the familiar warmth and understanding and joy that Trevor somehow carries within himself no matter what. “It does,” Trevor whispers, and kisses Philip again. 

This kiss tastes different. It has to, Philip supposes as Trevor inches forward on his perch, gripping his shoulders, his arms, his waist, his hips. Trevor really does mean something to Philip, more than he ever would have guessed he could. It’s not because of the visions, and it’s not because Trevor is kissing him now. It’s everything else. It’s Trevor bringing Philip a fastfood meal after he’d been shot. It’s the wordless hands on his shoulders when he’s the first to arrive at the garage and the last to leave. It’s the undiluted wonder and awe in his face when he looks outside. It’s the insistence that he’ll come with Philip, even if it’s because he doesn’t fully trust him — because whatever the reason, Philip likes that he doesn’t feel alone. The reminders that Philip is human, just as human as Trevor, because sometimes that is the hardest thing to remember. 

And Philip really does feel like shit for this morning. For last night, when he’d seen the mission come through and he’d sat there, frozen, and debated calling out Trevor’s name just to see another face and hear his voice, feel another person touch him and remember. But he hadn’t been brave last night. He’d run, and had left Trevor to find and clean up the mess he’d made. He feels his chest tearing apart, ripping violently right down the middle. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, tearing himself away from Trevor’s mouth. 

“What for?” Trevor frowns. 

Philip swallows. “Last night. This morning. All of… that.” 

The understanding is so clear in Trevor’s eyes, followed quickly by sadness that hits Philip like a punch. It resolves and shifts, and Trevor’s lips twitch into something that could be called a smile. “You scared me,” he says. 

“I know. I didn’t mean to.” An eyebrow raise at this, and Philip goes on, “I wasn’t trying to. I just… I don’t even know. I was going to tell you when it first came through but I just… I just couldn’t. You know?” 

Trevor nods, and Philip knows he means it. This is the guy who interrupted Grace Day’s TELL, for God’s sake. He doesn’t blame Philip for Aleksander. Things might get murky and complicated sometimes, but at the end of the day Trevor understands when it matters. “I wish you had,” he tells him. There’s no blame or resentment in it, just a statement of fact. “We could have worked something out together.” 

Now it’s Philip’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Worked something out?” 

“Ok,” Trevor concedes, “maybe not work something out. But you didn’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be alone, Philip. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” 

It’s so much. It’s too much, and Philip is too heavy for this. So he just nods, watches as Trevor slides off the filing cabinet and stands before him. Philip lets him put his hands on his face and can’t stop himself from leaning into the touch. It doesn’t matter how small it makes him feel. Doesn’t matter that Trevor’s breath hitches in his chest when Philip keeps going and kisses him again, doesn’t matter that he can’t even begin to express what’s swirling in his update-addled, over-full and under-nourished brain right now. They’ve got time. Philip can untangle it all later. 

He pulls Trevor closer, so close he wonders if he can feel the beating of his heart against his own. He can feel his breathing, the expansion and contraction of his lungs and the rush of air on his cheek, the heat of his body and oh, yeah, ok, Trevor’s hard. The thought of that alone has Philip aching, hips pressing into Trevor’s, their jeans hard and rough between them. Something just this side of a moan slips from Philip as Trevor presses back, his hands once more finding Philip’s hair and commanding him to kiss him harder, kiss him longer, kiss him deeper. Philip is only too happy to oblige.

Trevor hums into his mouth as Philip reaches between them, fingers skirting the hem of his shirt. Trevor gives him an insistent nudge and that’s all Philip needs to slide his hand under the fabric, run it over the hot skin of his hip and the planes of his stomach, bunching his shirt up like it’s nothing. Philip wants to map out every cell of Trevor’s body, commit every curve and dip and hollow to memory like he’s memorised every TELL and candidate and major event. He passes his hand over Trevor’s ribs, up the centre of his abdomen, higher to his sternum and back down again to grip his waist. Touching him isn’t enough. Philip needs this man. 

Trevor’s grip on his hair tightens momentarily when Philip’s lips move from his own to his jaw, down the column of his neck. These kisses are wet, open mouthed, not quite careless but hardly neat, and if he goes any harder he’s going to leave marks. He isn’t sure if that’s something Trevor wants, but the other man’s head is tilted to let Philip continue, so he sucks — oh so lightly — at the spot where neck and shoulder meet. 

“Fuck,” Trevor hisses, fingers curling, hips grinding against Philip’s. Philip can literally feel his brain emptying of all thought except that he needs to make Trevor do that again. 

“Hm?” he asks, just in case (just in case what? He doesn’t know), and Trevor nods. So Philip does the only rational thing and sucks again, moves his head and does it to another spot, and now that he can see the darker patches of skin on Trevor’s neck, he never wants to stop. 

“Philip,” Trevor whispers, voice cracking. His throat moves as he swallows, hard, and Philip pointedly grazes the spot with his teeth. He tastes like the cheap soap they keep in the bathroom, and even though it’s the same one Philip uses day in day out, on Trevor’s skin and up this close it is somehow more. It’s Trevor, and Philip isn’t sure he’s ever going to be able to casually use the stuff again without this moment flooding his overly accurate historian brain. As desperate and insane as he knows the thought is, even as he has it, Philip wants to lick every trace of that soap off Trevor. But his shirt is still bunched around his chest and Philip can only reach so much of his skin around it. 

“Off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see Trevor’s tongue dart over his lip, his eyes dark.

His voice is husky and raw when he speaks. “You too.” 

“Here?” The realisation that they’re still at the desk seems to strike Trevor the same moment that Philip fully processes it, eyes darting around the room. 

After a moment, Trevor shakes his head. “No,” he says, untangling himself from Philip enough to take his hand. “No, come on.”

Philip has never been led into his own bedroom. He’s never watched someone else’s hand pull at his, met someone else’s eyes over their shoulder, stumbled to keep up with someone else through his own door. Never been pulled onto his bed by someone else. He’s been pushed, which was exciting and fun and hot at the time, and he’s done the leading, and the looking back and the steadying at the inevitable stumble, but this is new. If Philip is completely honest, it’s a little unnerving. 

But then Trevor is facing him, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head and all Philip can think is holy shit because all that football pays off. Trevor’s mouth curves as he steps towards him, like he knows exactly what Philip is thinking. Which wouldn’t be that hard, since Philip isn’t exactly trying to keep a straight face. 

“You tryna catch flies, Philip?” Trevor asks him, and Philip feels his cheeks heat. He hadn’t even realised his mouth was open. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, eyes locked firmly on Trevor’s face. His smile. The collection of red marks dotting his neck. 

Trevor just shakes his head, stepping closer. “Don’t be.” His hands settle on the hem of Philip’s own shirt, his fingers barely brushing Philip’s skin. “But,” he goes on, “this isn’t fair.” 

“Oh, fair,” Philip echoes, raising his eyebrows. But he’s already taking over from Trevor, shrugging off the shirt and dropping it like it’s nothing (and it isn’t really, not when he has Trevor standing before him like this). “Better?” he asks. 

Trevor looks away from his face, and Philip can almost physically feel his eyes sliding over his torso, stopping at his chest, lifting back to his face and gleaming with something that he can only describe as incredulous excitement. “What’s that?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. 

“Piercing.” Because that’s what Trevor’s looking at, and if Philip’s completely honest, he feels a little… proud? He’d had his doubts when he’d first discovered the ring through his nipple, and had been more confused by it than he had by the ear and nose piercings. He can understand jewellery where people are going to see it. He’d done his research on piercings and tattoos outside of the training on 21st century behaviour they’d all taken, at the same time as he’d taken a deep dive into tattoo symbolism (he’d been suddenly consumed by the fear that his host’s tattoos meant something he should know about, which hadn’t really been the case but Philip still thought that it was better to know than not). He hadn’t found much to convince him that the solitary ring through his nipple of all places was a particularly groundbreaking way to modify the body, but now… Now he thinks he might get it. 

Trevor is shaking his head, eyes still glued to the little piece of metal. “That’s so…” 

“Weird?” 

“No, it’s—” He stops, laughs, grins at Philip. “It’s really hot.” 

Philip can feel his eyebrows shooting up his face. “You think?” 

“Yeah, I… I don’t know why.” 

“Oh, ok.” That’s… unexpected. Philip knows that his host isn’t bad to look at, and he knows that some of the reasoning behind piercings is for attractiveness. He’s studied the face that he now calls his in the mirror a thousand times, he sees the body that he now inhabits every day and as far as 21st century guys in their late twenties go, it’s really not bad. Of course, there are the track marks and the occasional (lately more frequent) shadows under his eyes, stubble if it’s been a particularly rough few days (Trevor’s newly almost-permanent presence helps with that, even if he doesn’t know it), but hey, if Trevor’s standing here right now he knows he’s got something going for him. But the look in the engineer’s eyes when they meet Philip’s again makes him feel like a damn artwork. 

Trevor’s grin broadens, and before Philip can even begin to reconcile what that’s doing to him Trevor’s lips are on his once more and he’s being pulled hard against him, skin to skin, heart to heart, Trevor’s hands roaming over his shoulders and his back and his waist and his ribs and his chest and Philip is moaning into the kiss like… he doesn’t even know what. 

They’re moving, almost tripping over each other and it’s a miracle either of them can keep their balance, but then Trevor’s knees hit the edge of the bed and they’re half falling onto it, a little uncoordinated but does that really matter when Trevor is still pulling Philip close, smiling even as his tongue dances alongside Philip’s? He’s all too aware of where his body is, where his leg presses between Trevor’s and his arm is locked, holding his weight off the other man. 

Trevor, however, has both hands free. Gooseflesh prickles across Philip’s chest and stomach as he trails his hands over his body, electricity sparking when his fingers skirt the waistband of his pants. He feels Trevor smile again, and his breath hitches in his throat. Shit, he’s never going to be able to kiss anyone else again. He doesn’t even want to kiss anyone else. Ever. 

“Do you want this?” Trevor murmurs against his lips, the tips of his fingers just dipping below his waistband and oh fuck he hadn’t realised just how badly he wanted that. 

Philip nods, then groans when Trevor palms him because even through his pants his hand is a million times better than his own. The other guy curses, does it again, and Philip’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. His eyes are dark and sincere, flicking between Philip’s own and where his fingers are curling gently around his clothed cock. 

“Can I?” Trevor asks. Philip has never nodded faster. He’s not even entirely sure what Trevor’s getting at, but he’s happy to let him touch him however he wants, wherever he wants, and he trusts him completely. Of course he already knew that — you kind of have to trust your team, after all — but he’s only just realising that he’s trusted Trevor as more than a team member for quite some time. Probably right alongside everything else that’s become more than a team member with Trevor. 

Philip isn’t wasting time philosophising, his attention fixed firmly on Trevor’s hand which is back at his pants and oh that’s what he meant. He helps out, shoving his pants down and off with less grace than he’d like, underwear following suit. The air is cool on his hot skin, and for a moment he feels oddly exposed. Then Trevor is pushing at his hip, tongue darting over his lips again and there’s almost an urgency to his movements. 

“C’mon, just— Hold on a second—” he says, still attempting to manoeuvre Philip. 

He almost laughs at his eagerness. “Trev, give me a second, man. What’re you tryna do?” 

Trevor pauses, his thumb running in a tiny arc over Philip’s hip bone — he’s not sure if he’s even doing it consciously. “Swap.” He nods to the mattress, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is and Philip’s just lagging behind. 

“Oh, ok.” He shrugs, half climbing and half rolling sideways. “You could’ve just said that.” 

“Yeah, I know, I…” He sighs, rubs a hand over his forehead. “I keep getting caught up. Sorry.” 

Trevor getting caught up in him? In Philip? He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he just shrugs again. “I’m that irresistible, huh?” 

The look Trevor shoots him is anything but joking. “You have no idea.” 

Philip opens his mouth, shuts it, shakes his head in awe. Who would have thought? “C’mere,” he tells Trevor softly, and the gravity is lifted as he smiles and practically bounces down beside him, pressing his lips to Philip’s. They’re getting better at this. Not that they were bad, of course, but they fall into the easy rhythm of each other much more quickly now. There’s no fumbling or searching or exploring, it’s familiar and Philip never wants that to end. 

Trevor’s hand is resting on Philip’s chest, warm and firm and now Philip is sure he can feel how hard his heart is beating. He stretches up, chasing Trevor as the other guy pulls away, but he can only do so much. Trevor smiles and gives him another quick kiss, almost chaste, the kind that Philip definitely doesn’t imagine he’d give him when their day to day paths cross in the garage. When he leaves to get food. When he comes back again. 

But that thought is wiped away before Philip’s mind can snag on it, because Trevor is spitting into his palm and wrapping his fingers around Philip’s dick, gentle and slick and warm and Philip curses softly. It’s almost almost perfect. 

“Like this?” Trevor asks, eyes fixed on his face. 

Philip swallows. His voice sounds odd even to his own ears, husky and strangled. “Uh, little harder.” 

Trevor squeezes, and it’s all Philip can do not to fall apart right there as his grip tightens and his hand moves. “This?” 

He feels the breath catch in his throat. “Yeah. Fuck Trev, that’s perfect.” And it is. It really is. There’s only so much his mind can come up with, he thinks as he takes in Trevor’s strong arm and large hand moving rhythmically over him, feels the heat of his body where it presses against his own and listens to Trevor’s breathing and soft hum of appreciation in response to his own moan. No matter what the update lets him see, no matter what he manages to dream up by himself, it won’t compare to this. 

Trevor is leaning closer, and Philip shivers as his breath hushes over the skin of his shoulder, his neck, then practically gasps as Trevor kisses the hollow under his jaw. He makes to turn his head, meet the other guy half way, but Trevor doesn’t let him. He kisses his jaw again, nudging him away and Philip just lets him. He even turns his face, just a little, but Trevor notices and his chuckle sends molten heat shooting straight down his spine. Trevor’s lips are moving, up over the muscle of his neck, tongue darting out to taste his skin. Philip gets it now, and then Trevor is whispering “this ok?” and he’s nodding (how could it not be?). 

“Fuck,” he breathes as Trevor sucks at the spot, and Philip really gets it. It’s not like hickeys are foreign to him, but this is something else altogether. Trevor’s hand is still moving firmly on his cock, maybe a little slower than he himself would go but damn is it good, and now he’s working his way down Philip’s neck to his chest. The tiny burst of almost-pain followed by the soft heat of Trevor’s tongue has Philip arching towards him, hips jutting shamelessly into his hand as he does his best to stop the embarrassingly desperate sounds he’s on the verge of making from escaping him. 

“Philip,” Trevor murmurs to his clavicle. 

“Hm?” Philip answers, lifting his head enough to meet his gaze. He half wishes he didn’t, another blazing hot spark of pure need rushing through him.

Trevor either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He presses his lips to Philip’s skin yet again, gentle and oddly tender given that he’s still jerking him off, looking at him through his lashes (Philip wonders if he’s doing that deliberately. If he knows what it’s doing to him). “You don’t have to be quiet,” he says softly, and there’s another kiss. Lower this time, on his pectoral.

“I’m— I’m not—” Philip breaks off in a rush of air when he feels Trevor’s teeth graze his skin. 

“Not what?” 

Philip doesn’t even know what he’d been getting at, but it sure isn’t important. “Doesn’t matter,” he breathes. 

“You sure?” 

“Mhm.” Then, as Trevor’s thumb slides over the sensitive head of his cock, “Fucking hell, Trev.” 

“Is that—” 

“Yes. Yes, oh my— Fuck—” 

Trevor’s mouth has found his nipple. Maybe it’s a little weird, but Philip is hardly in any condition to be thinkin about that. Trevor’s tongue is flicking over the ring cautiously, gently, and it feels really good. Better than it has any right to.

“Ok?” Trevor asks, kissing the sensitive spot. 

“Yeah.” Philip swallows, bites down on a moan and then remembers Trevor’s words. You don’t have to be quiet. 

This time, when Trevor’s hand tightens and moves over his aching cock, he groans, and feels Trevor’s body shudder against his. Philip brings his hand up to run across Trevor’s strong shoulders, down over his spine and back up again. He hums, and his hand speeds up every so slightly. 

“Oh fuck,” Philip moans, “fuck, Trev, keep doing that.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Trevor’s voice is low and rough, his chuckle little more than a breath of air. “I’m not… I’m not stopping.” The engineer raises his head, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he studies Philip’s face like he’s trying to memorise it. Philip is torn between holding his gaze and looking away, heat coiling low inside him, and again he jerks in Trevor’s hand. Trevor laughs again, moving hard and fast and if he keeps that up Philip isn’t sure he’ll last another minute. 

“Trev,” he gasps, gripping his shoulder hard enough that he almost feels bad. “Fuck, fuck.” Yeah. Philip’s really articulate when he chooses to be. He wants Trevor inside him, wants to be inside Trevor. He doesn’t care where, exactly, he just knows that he needs to be closer, deeper, needs to feel their bodies blur into one, but right now he isn’t spending particularly long dissecting that thought. He’s got time. 

“‘Salright,” Trevor murmurs, as if he knows exactly what Philip’s thinking. “I got you, man.” 

Philip feels himself tremble and tip, bliss rolling up through his spine. He might be saying Trevor’s name, might be cursing, or the sounds might be just that; wordless and primal and torn from deep within him. Trevor works him through the high, and as the electricity coursing through Philip cools to static, his hand slows and finally withdraws to rest on his stomach. They don’t speak for a moment, their breathing and the ticking of the clock the only sounds in the room. Philip doesn’t look down, he knows his stomach is a mess, and chooses instead to turn towards Trevor. 

The engineer grins, then drops his eyes pointedly to Philip’s stomach. He feels his cheeks heat, but before he can say or do anything Trevor is bending and sliding down the mattress and Philip thinks he knows what he’s about to do but he doesn’t know what he thinks about what Trevor is about to do. Then his tongue is flicking over Philip’s abdomen and his skin is twitching, a small sound that’s half shock and half pleasure catching in his throat. Problem solved, he supposes. 

“Alright?” Trevor asks as he withdraws. 

Philip just nods, pushing himself to sit up. Trevor smiles and leans closer, his lips soft and gentle against Philip’s. This kiss is almost chaste, reassurance and a kind of confirmation (of what, Philip isn’t sure) all at once. He’s only too happy to reciprocate, his body pleasantly warm and heavy and buzzing with Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, whose chest is pressing against his own. 

Philip pulls him closer, hands sliding over the smooth muscle of his arms and shoulders, cupping the back of his neck as he slips his tongue into Trevor’s mouth. He can taste himself on the other guy’s tongue, a thought that has his brain spinning excitedly out of control and his stomach launching into an olympic level acrobatics routine. Does Trevor like the warm saltiness still clinging to his tongue? Is that what Trevor would taste like? God, Philip wants to find that out. 

Gently, he shifts and nudges at Trevor’s shoulder until he gets the message (faster than Philip had earlier) and lets him push him onto the mattress. His legs fall apart easily when Philip pushes his own between them, and when he moves and his thigh comes into contact with Trevor’s crotch he practically arches off the bed. Philip stifles a laugh. 

“Something funny?” Trevor asks, eyebrow raised when he ceases his assault on his mouth to look at him. But he’s smiling. Flushed, eyes dark and shining, lips swollen and pink and still parted as he breathes hard, but smiling. Philip can feel his brain going into overdrive to store that image perfectly. 

“No,” Philip shrugs, letting his eyes trail lower over Trevor’s torso (the guy has actual abs, which Philip is going to be thinking about for a long time). 

“No? What’s that look for?” 

He debates it for a moment, then, “I’m memorising.” 

Trevor frowns. “Memorising what?” 

Philip presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “You.” He pushes his leg firmly in between Trevor’s, basking in the breathy little moan it draws from him, “That.” 

“Fuck, Philip,” he whispers as Philip moves his hand down his side to his hip, across the faint V under his belly button to skirt the waistband of his pants (why the fuck is he still wearing pants?). Philip isn’t even sure if he means to do it, but Trevor’s grinding against his leg and looking up at him like he’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He thinks he might just cum again, right here right now. 

“Can I?” he asks, already dipping his fingers below the line of fabric. 

“Yeah, yeah sure.” Trevor seems almost surprised by the suggestion, as if it’s the last thing he expected. 

Philip pauses, frowns. “You sure?” 

This time, Trevor’s voice is firmer. “I’m sure, Philip.” 

Philip nods, breath hitching in his throat. Trevor’s eyes are fixed on his hands, but he can’t look away from the engineer’s face. He gets Trevor’s pants undone, pulls them down, finally tears his gaze from Trevor’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes and parted lips and— 

“Jesus, Trev.” There’s a sizeable wet spot on Trevor’s underpants, the outline of his cock clear and hard and fuck, the dude is big. Philip’s mouth waters.

Trevor doesn’t seem to know what to say to that (which is doing things for Philip that he doesn’t want to even begin to address), but it doesn’t matter. Philip eases his underwear off, and, softly and with plenty of opportunity for Trevor to stop him, wraps his fingers around his length. 

“This ok?” he asks, watching Trevor’s face carefully. 

“Yeah—” Trevor’s voice cracks, and he tries again. “Yeah, that’s… that’s good.” 

“This?” Philip moves his hand, ignoring the little thrill that goes through him as his fingers come into contact with the moisture already gathered on Trevor’s tip. 

“Yeah.” 

“How about this?” Philip squeezes, watching Trevor’s teeth sink into his bottom lip and his head fall back as he whispers something that sounds like a “yes”, and holy shit has he got a jawline. He’d almost be jealous if he wasn’t so caught up admiring Trevor like this. If he wasn’t so far gone on him. If he wasn’t busy sliding down Trevor’s body, his face now level with his hand. 

“This?” 

“F—fuck,” Trevor gasps as Philip licks the tip of his dick, head whipping up to stare at him. 

He pauses, waiting. “Ok?” 

“Yeah, yeah that’s… that’s fine.” Trevor’s throat moves as he swallows. “You don’t have to, though.” 

“I want to,” he shrugs. “Do you want me to?” 

Trevor nods fast enough that in any other situation it would be comical, and Philip can’t help but smile. He bends, places a soft kiss at the junction of Trevor’s hip, then licks him again. 

Trevor moans, his hand drifting up to wind through Philip’s hair. 

Philip just smiles and flicks his tongue over the sensitive slit. 

“Stop teasing,” Trevor whispers. 

“I’m not.” 

“You are,” he protests. “It’s not fair.” 

“Fine,” Philip shrugs, and before Trevor can say anything else he’s opening his mouth, relaxing his tongue and taking Trevor as deep as he can. 

“Oh fuck,” he says, his fingers tightening momentarily in Philip’s hair. “Oh, you— Jesus.” 

The room could collapse right now and Philip wouldn’t notice. His senses are narrowed and focussed to the hot weight of Trevor’s cock in his mouth, the smell of his sweat and skin and his own spit (not pleasant, not exactly, but addictive nonetheless), his half stifled moan and the faint saltiness of precum. His hand works what doesn’t fit in his mouth, slow and firm and sliding easily with his makeshift spit-lube. His tongue swirls around Trevor’s cock, mapping every curve and ridge and vein. 

Philip raises his eyes as he hollows his cheeks and sucks, relishing the almost-whine that slips from Trevor. Again, he sees the engineer as he had been on the couch — chest heaving, gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, head tipped back and eyes closed. But this is better, because this Trevor — his Trevor — is already looking down at him, biting his lip, the unfairly defined muscles of his stomach tense and moving in time with his rapid breathing. A groan reverberates through his chest, and it’s all Philip can do not to smile. 

“Wish you could see yourself,” Trevor whispers, the hand that isn’t tangled in Philip’s hair twisting the sheets. 

In lieu of speech, he raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re a fucking wet dream, Philip,” he pants, and that is not what he expected to hear. It catches him off guard enough that he falters, his own surprised half moan making Trevor’s hips stutter up against his hand. His mouth. 

“Shit, sorry,” he says quickly, but Philip is shaking his head. Don’t worry. It’s ok. He gives what he thinks is a reassuring suck, his free hand settling on Trevor’s hip — as if he’d be able to do anything if he decided to face fuck him. As if he’d want to. 

Trevor curses again, softly, his eyes not leaving Philip’s face. He’s trying to be gentle, Philip can tell, and he feels something inside him melt because of course he would. Even as he whispers “fuck” like that and moans like that he’s still trying not to hurt him — as if he ever could. Philip doesn’t even know if he’d really care at this point. 

“Hm?” He doesn’t stop, moisture pricking behind his eyes as he relaxes his throat even further and practically swallows Trevor’s dick. His hand is sliding so easily now, slick and a bit messy and maybe it should be gross but nothing is gross with Trevor, who was licking Philip’s cum off his stomach just before and has seen him at his worst and has clasped his shoulder and pushed him through. He moves faster, a little harder, and Trevor’s hips buck up again. Before he can apologise, Philip’s thumb moves in a tiny arc over his hip. He hopes Trevor understands. 

“Fuck, fuck, yes,” he gasps. “Please, Philip, I—” 

He can’t stop himself from moaning, an embarrassingly desperate sound. He could listen to Trevor forever, feel him like this forever, replay the movement of his body and the rough crack of his voice and the delicious tension of his fingers still gripping his hair until the Earth stops spinning. He wants to, future be damned. It’s a feedback loop, Trevor’s body jolting towards him as he tips his head back, Philip’s own need surging hot inside him, and he’s gripping Trevor tighter and taking him deeper, revelling in Trevor’s moans and gasps. 

“Hold on,” he says suddenly, and Philip freezes.

“You alright?” he asks, withdrawing with a wet “pop,” his hand still resting on Trevor’s hip. 

He nods quickly, his hand slipping from Philip’s hair to rest against his jaw. “Yeah, I’m fine. Better than fine.” 

“Ok,” he frowns, “then what’s…?” 

“Do you…” He pauses, thinks, swallows. Tries again. “Do you want to go… further?” 

Philip feels his heartbeat quicken, mind racing with the possibilities. He’s never taken that particular step, but if he wants to with anyone, it’s Trevor. And hell yes he wants to, wants to go as far as is humanly possible and never come back. He’s seen so many variations of further now, he can’t pick what this could possibly be, and not knowing is oddly thrilling. 

“We don’t have to,” Trevor is adding hastily, his hand sliding down to clasp Philip’s shoulder. “It’s ok if you don’t—” 

“I do,” Philip interrupts. “I really, really do, Trev.” 

Trevor nods, shuffles backwards before pushing himself to his knees. Philip follows suit, steadying himself against Trevor’s shoulder. His hair is falling into his face now that Trevor’s not holding it back, and he half wishes he had an elastic band with him. Even if Trevor seems to like putting his hands in it. 

“It’s hot when you do that,” the engineer says as Philip pushes his hair out of his face. 

He arches an eyebrow. “I think you’re biassed.” 

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs, “but I’m not wrong.” 

Philip really needs to learn how to respond to this kind of thing, because at some point simply kissing Trevor isn’t going to be sufficient. But it’s working for now, so he’s got time. Trevor hums softly when he pushes closer, his skin hot in all the places it’s touching Philip’s. Philip cups Trevor’s neck gently but firmly, his tongue sliding easily between Trevor’s parted lips and he wonders if Trevor can still taste himself in Philip’s mouth the way Philip can. He shifts, electric heat surging through him when he feels Trevor’s hardness press against his hip, blood rushing downwards in sympathy. 

Trevor moans, grinding lightly against Philip, the kisses rapidly descending into something too messy to be called a kiss at all by any stringent definition. It’s more like Philip licking into Trevor’s mouth, Trevor licking into his, a whirl of tongues and teeth and lips that somehow has Philip moaning too, striving to get closer to Trevor in any way he can. He knows exactly what he wants now, and, as if Trevor is reading his mind, his hand is sliding down his side and around his hip to rest on his ass. 

“Is—?” 

“Mhm.” Philip gasps as Trevor squeezes, just gently, but God he wants his hands everywhere. If Trevor touches every inch of his skin, he thinks, it still won’t be enough. But damn, this is a good start. 

“Turn around,” Trevor murmurs against his lips, drawing back enough to make eye contact with Philip. 

He doesn’t waste time, as much as it pains him to break away, but when Trevor’s voice is that low, that husky, that raw with want, it’s worth it. Trevor’s hand doesn’t leave his hip, half guiding him as he faces the headboard. 

“Holy shit,” Trevor says, and Philip glances over his shoulder to see the other guy’s eyes locked on the tattoo sprawling across his shoulder blades. “I didn’t know there was more.” 

“Uh, yeah,” he laughs. “Neither did I at first.” He shivers as Trevor runs his hand across the inked skin, tracing the points and whorls of the design. He’d actually forgotten about it, as he does most of the time (until he has to do a double take when he catches sight of it in the mirror), but something about the awe and fascination tingeing Trevor’s expression makes him think that that’s not going to be a problem in the future. 

“Fucking hot,” he proclaims, bending to kiss right between Philip’s shoulder blades. He does it again at Philip’s sigh, then again, then lower. He traces the line of his spine with kisses, fingers curling over his hip, and Philip’s not sure who it is who moves close enough that Trevor’s erection presses against him. Either way, it doesn’t matter because Philip is definitely the one who pushes further back against him, and Trevor is the one who pulls him to do it again. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, because now that he’s feeling the hot hardness and the size of him against his ass, Philip isn’t sure if the spit still coating Trevor’s dick — copious though it may be — will actually be enough. 

“You alright?” Trevor asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Philip.” Trevor rubs his shoulder, gentle but insistent. “Why’re you so tense?” 

Philip sighs, rolls his shoulders, forces them to relax. This is Trevor, who is not going to hurt him, and who he trusts with his life. More than his life. “I’m fine,” he says, “I just… haven’t done this bit before. And you’re kinda big.” 

Trevor chuckles at that, shuffling around so he can see Philip’s face. “That’s ok,” he assures him. “We don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” 

“Then I’ll go slow.” 

That… is actually really reassuring. The tension leaks from Philip, and he offers Trevor a smile. “Ok. Thanks.” 

“You’ll tell me if you wanna stop, yeah?” 

Philip just nods, then Trevor is moving again and he has to twist over his shoulder to catch his smile. He leans into Trevor’s touch as the engineer’s hand skims his arm, his shoulder, his back, up his side and down again to his ass. They move together, slowly and carefully, and Philip feels the last vestiges of his nervousness slide away. 

“Can I?” Trevor asks, fingers slipping lower. His voice is soft, but Philip doesn’t miss the way his breath catches when he nods. Trevor’s fingers are wet with spit, and when he pushes one inside Philip there's only a little resistance. “Ok?” 

Philip nods. It’s an odd sensation, and he isn’t entirely sure if he likes it yet, but he trusts Trevor. He makes himself relax, focusses on Trevor’s free hand where it rests on his hip because he knows he likes that, and lets him move. He doesn’t mind it, he decides, especially when Trevor bends and kisses his shoulder. There’s a bit of pressure, a slight burn and stretch, and now there are two fingers inside him. 

“Ok?” Trevor asks again, and again Philip nods. He’s starting to think that he might like this, and Trevor’s still going slow but now his fingers are curled and yeah, Philip likes this. 

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s good.” 

“You sure?” Trevor whispers against his skin, and this time when he pushes into Philip it really is good.

“Mhm,” he breathes, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Almost involuntarily he rocks his hips back onto Trevor’s hand, and feels the other guy smile. 

“Alright.” He continues for a moment, and Philip’s more than happy with that, but then when his fingers withdraw they go all the way and Philip actually misses the feeling. Misses Trevor inside him, even if it’s just his fingers. He hears Trevor spit, another sound he’s all too familiar with, then something bigger than a finger is poking him and his heart skips a beat. 

“Ready?” Trevor asks. 

Philip swallows and nods for what feels like the millionth time today. “Yeah.” 

Trevor pauses. “Ok, bend over a bit? And maybe…” He pauses, then, “Do you wanna, uh, hold onto something?” 

That’s probably not intended to turn Philip on this much, but it does. He does as Trevor says and leans forward, bracing his hands on the wall, spreading his legs when he feels the pressure of Trevor’s hand between his thighs. “Like this?” he asks. 

Trevor’s voice is husky when he answers. “Yeah, perfect.” Then he’s pushing gently into Philip, who presses his lips together because Trevor feels bigger than he looks. It’s not really painful, and he’s going slow, and the spit lube helps, but it’s still more than his fingers and Philip can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat. 

“I’m alright,” he assures Trevor before he can ask. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, just… gimme a second.” 

“Tell me when.” 

Half of Philip wants to turn around and kiss Trevor for that, the other half wants to shove himself backwards and just take it from there. But he’s got enough of his brain left in his head to know that that would be a terrible idea, so he breathes deeply and waits until the faint burn fades and all that’s left is the pleasant stretch and fullness. “Ok,” he says after a moment, “you can, uh, keep going.” 

He half expects Trevor to do just that and push deeper, but instead he feels him pull out. He spits again, and this time the slide is easier, softer, further. Trevor curses softly, does it again, and now they have a rhythm. It’s slow and measured, careful, and Philip finds that it’s easy to relax into the movement of their bodies, to let Trevor rock into him and just brace against the wall — which is not even bracing anymore, more like stabilising. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Trevor murmurs, the words sending Philip’s mind spinning. 

“So do you,” he replies and revels in the tightening of Trevor’s hand on his hip. This time, when Trevor thrusts into him, he does push back and meets him halfway, something between a gasp and groan falling from his lips. 

“Alright?” Trevor slows just a little, concern clear in his voice. 

Philip thinks he might melt on the spot, but instead he smiles. “I’m fine, Trev. you don’t have to be so… careful.” 

“You sure? Cause I don’t mind. I said I'd go slow.” 

“Well…” Philip pauses, glances over his shoulder. “Can you go a bit harder?”

“Yeah,” Trevor answers, and maybe it’s Philip’s imagination but he sounds a bit breathless. “Sure. Tell me what feels good.” 

Then he’s moving again, pushing deeper than before, and Philip is telling him that that feels good and Trevor is doing it again. It’s not much faster, but it’s somehow more, and Trevor’s gripping his hip damn hard now. Philip hopes he’ll have bruises. 

“Fuck, Trev,” he moans, arching into it, dimly aware of the bedframe squeaking faintly. “Fuck, that’s— that’s fucking great.” 

“Yeah? Not too — ah — fast?” 

“No,” Philip assures him. Then, “Faster?” 

“Shit, ok.” Trevor speeds up, and now he’s hitting something deep inside Philip that has him stumbling over Trevor’s name and pulsing with need. Before he can do anything about that Trevor’s strong arm is sliding around his torso, pulling him back against his chest and his hand is wrapping around Philip’s dick for the second time today as he continues to rearrange his guts. Philip knows he isn’t going to last long. 

“Fucking hell, Trev,” he gasps, because that’s really all he can do. He’s surrounded by Trevor, the engineer’s mouth warm and wet on the skin of his shoulder, his hand firm — just how Philip likes it — around his cock, Trevor’s own cock stroking what feels like every inch of his insides, his warm chest damp with sweat and pressed to Philip’s back. If he died right now he’d go out with a smile on his face, because he’s pretty sure it doesn’t get better than this. 

“Oh God,” Trevor groans. “You feel like fucking Heaven, you know that? You’re Heaven.” 

Philip didn’t know that, but he probably could have guessed from the desperation of Trevor’s combined fist and hips. He feels the words against his shoulder, feels Trevor’s warm breath stirring his hair and it must be all that damned football because he hasn’t faltered once. Philip can’t wait to make him. “You’re talking,” he manages, but any impact it might have had is lost in the unsteadiness of his voice. Maybe he’s still sensitive from his earlier orgasm, maybe it’s just that this is so much more intense, but he can already feel the tight coil of pleasure building low inside him. 

“Yeah, I’m — fuck, Philip — I’m talking.” He gives a particularly hard thrust, and it’s all Philip can do not to collapse right then and there. Trevor is going to be the death of him, and he’s going to say thank you when it happens. 

“Don’t stop,” he pleads — fucking pleads. “Shit, Trev, don’t stop.” 

“‘M not,” Trevor pants. “Don’t worry, I’m not fucking stopping.” And he isn’t. If anything, he’s going harder. “I’m— shit, fuck, fuck, Philip I’m gonna— Philip, where do I—?” 

Oh, is all Philip can think. “In me,” he blurts, because protocol 4 isn’t going to be a problem and this is the 21st century. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Fuck, Trevor I’m so— I’m gonna—” 

Trevor is groaning deeply, spilling hot and thick inside Philip and with that, white hot bliss explodes through his body. He’s dimly aware of Trevor’s chest heaving against his back, his own name being chanted like a prayer, an incantation, and Philip’s never loved the sound of it more than he does right now. Right now it really is his name, and he knows he’s never coming back from this, and that he doesn’t want to. He thinks he says Trevor’s, too, over and over and punctuated with curses, but how is he supposed to do anything else when it feels like this? 

Trevor’s movements slow eventually until they stop altogether, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing and the rustle of the sheets and Trevor pulls out and flops onto the mattress. Philip mourns the loss of the feeling of fullness for a moment as he adjusts to the sudden emptiness, forcing his arms to unlock and relax, his legs to shift — he hadn’t realised they were shaking, but now that he has he can’t stop it — and collapses next to Trevor. 

“God, Philip,” he whispers to the ceiling, then raises his head and smiles. 

“You alright?” Philip asks. Idly, he traces a circle over Trevor’s heart. 

“I am so alright,” he sighs, breathes a laugh, turns to lie on his stomach and looks at Philip over the muscle of his arm. “You?” 

Philip smiles too, his whole body heavy and satisfied. “So alright,” he echoes softly, and if he wasn’t so completely boneless he’d lean over, press his lips to Trevor’s, soft and careful. Instead, he stretches out alongside Trevor. He can feel his cum leaking out of him, and the rational part of his brain says that’s gross and he should clean it up — along with the mess on his stomach. The irrational part of his brain that had his heart speeding up when he watched Trevor lick him clean earlier says it’s hot. Either way, Philip is not getting out of this bed any time soon. 

“What?” 

He blinks, jerks out of his thoughts. Trevor is frowning, still turned towards him and close enough that when Philip extends his pinkie finger it meets warm skin. “Nothing,” he says. Then, because he’s not brave enough to say what he really means, “Do you wanna stay?” 

The wrinkle disappears from between Trevor’s brows and he pretends to think. “Do I wanna get up, get dressed, walk up the loft stairs and try to go to sleep by myself while I know you’re down here?” He scoffs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe to him it is. But he still asks, “Do you want me to?” 

“I just want you,” Philip breathes. It doesn’t quite sound right and he’s not even sure if it’s really what he wants to say, but it’s close enough.

“You just had me.” 

“No,” he sighs, “I mean this. I want this.”

“Oh.” Trevor’s face softens. “Right. Well, you’ve got it, Philip.” Slowly, he wriggles his hand close enough to lace his fingers with Philip’s and pulls their hands towards himself, lips brushing his knuckles. Philip thinks his heart is going to burst, and since when is he such a sap? Must be something about Trevor that makes his brain fly out the window. 

He slips his hand from Trevor’s to run it down the curve of his spine like he’d wished he could this morning, mapping every vertebrae as if the world is depending on it. And maybe his is. He watches the smooth motion of muscle and bone and ligaments and skin as Trevor shifts infinitesimally closer, mesmerised by the simultaneous complexity and simplicity of the movement. The dying light cascades over Trevor’s back and neck, glancing off his hair, pooling on his cheek, catching on his eyelashes as he blinks and suddenly he understands artists. 

Philip has always appreciated art in a practical sense (if there is one), as a historian, admired the richness and depth of the maker’s mark on the world, their cry to be seen and remembered. But in that moment Philip understands the need to capture and render, share, immortalise. For the first time, he doesn’t know if his memory is enough to hold Trevor as he is now, smiling softly and extending his arm, his own hand sliding over Philip's torso. He blinks and the feeling fades enough that he can move to accommodate the engineer as he shuffles across the space between them and drapes his body over Philip’s, lips pressing oh so gently to his pulse point before he lays his head over his heart. Philip knows he’ll never be able to capture this, and for a moment he wonders if how much is lost is equal to how much is preserved. If it’s greater. If it’s less. He swallows, turns and kisses Trevor’s temple, decides it doesn’t matter. He has this now, and he is determined to take it for all that it’s worth. 

“Memorising?” 

“What?” 

Trevor shrugs, shifting closer still. “Are you memorising me again?” 

Philip can’t begin to explain, but Trevor’s on the right track so just smiles and says, “yeah,” sliding his arm around his shoulders and holding him close. 

“Me too.” The engineer's body jerks with a soft chuckle, but he presses against Philip anyway, his breathing deep and even and his arm heavy across Philip’s chest. Then, “Can’t believe you’ve just been walking around with this.”

Philip cranes his neck, looking down at where Trevor is staring at his chest. Or rather, his piercing. He almost laughs because of course that’s what Trevor’s stuck on. 

“Doing missions with a ring through your nipple,” he goes on. “I can’t believe I didn’t know.”

“That’d be a weird conversation,” he snorts. “‘Hey Trev, wanna see this random bit of metal through my fucking nipple?’” Because Philip is aware that it’s weird, and that’s part of the reason he hadn’t exactly shown it off. Not that he would have had any excuse to, or wanted to, but still. 

Trevor tsks. “Yeah, but… I don’t know. Does it hurt?” 

“Uh… no?” He thinks for a minute, frowns. “Sometimes, a little. Sometimes I forget it’s there and it gets stuck on stuff.” 

“Jesus. 21st century, man, I’m telling you.” 

“Yeah. I know.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Trevor’s lips are pressing against his chest and he’s whispering, “I still think it’s hot as fuck,” and Philip, despite himself, is smiling. Whatever he sees in other timelines, and whatever else happens, he’s glad he exists here and now. He’s glad he woke up, and he’s glad he’ll wake up tomorrow — and this time it won’t be to an illusion.

Note: guys I'll be real for a sec I have no idea if this is any good. It feels ok right up until butt stuff gets involved so maybe this is a sign that gay porn specifically isn't my calling and I should just stick to YN shit (which is so sad cause I wanna write destiel smut and I wanna write more about these two silly little dudes). I wrote this originally where Philip just sucked Trevor off and they called it a day but it just genuinely did not feel right and it would not leave me alone and it just kept playing out in my head (something) like this so I wrote it and I'm not feeling the itch anymore but what I am feeling is really unsure. Any feedback at all would be so so appreciated (I feel like that ant with the bindle)

#fanfiction #fanfic #travelers netflix #philip pearson #travelers #trevor holden #philip x trevor #trevor x philip #smut #gay stuff

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter II.

gif credit / @azertyrobaz

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Javier is slowly beginning to realize that monotony isn't as bad as he initially thought…

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: Mutual pining, mentions of masturbation, they really wanna fuck each other, that good slowburn angst, lots of smoking, southern gothic vibes are strong with this one, if you love worldbuilding then this is the fic for you, mentions of a religion, mentions of sex workers, dbf!Javier Peña because I have no self control.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS:   The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Lexi, my beloved, who has been a BIG help in helping me figure out this crazy ass story. Love you bestie, I don't know where I'd be without you < 3 I am… so obsessed with these two and the little universe they live in… *muffled screaming* I hope everyone reading so far is having a good time because I know I am! I've got a lot in store for this pairing, and if you're a fan of the horror/thriller aspect of this plot there's a lot comin' your way ;) Anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback on this blog < 3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

It’s an extraordinarily warm day, which isn’t uncommon for the area however it’s the type of warm that reminds her that summer is just around the corner. 

It’s Paloma’s favorite season. While the Seminary heat was unforgiving as all hell; she loves the way the sun feels against her skin, the thin layer of sweat that clings to her gives her the perfect glow and nothing beats cooling down by the creek. The town is also much more lively during the season, too, since tourists heading west often take a rest stop in Seminary.

It’s how she gathers most of her summer weekend crowd. People who do not expect this drive through town to be as charming as it is. While small, it has a community actively keeping it thriving. The businesses that line the streets of their downtown all owned by families who have been here for decades. A lot of love has been poured into their settlement, and while most of the time Paloma feels suffocated by the repetitiveness of her days, she’ll always have a soft spot in her heart for her hometown.

She’s become the performer that she is by staying here. Her shows at The Whiskey Fox have been the perfect training grounds for her to get a comfortable grasp on her stage presence, which aside from singing, is the most important thing about being a musician. An aspiration that she keeps to herself, mostly, just telling those who ask that she’s doing this ‘singing thing’ as a hobby. That her ‘real job’ would be going full time at the library.

That is her plan, the future she damns herself with. As quick-witted and rambunctious as Paloma can be; she’s still not valiant enough to take control of her own life.

Instead, she’s at the beck and call of her father’s.

It is much easier this way, she justifies it to herself like that all the time. If she goes out into the world, pursues her want to be a musician; there’s a chance that she fails and has to return home with her tail tucked between her legs like a shameful dog. At least staying here in Seminary provides her with a stability to keep her content for the rest of her life.

But would she really be content? Would she regret not trying and potentially not even failing?

Paloma bikes the familiar path from her house down into town, woven bag with her belongings in the basket that’s zip tied to the front of the bicycle she’s had since she was in high school. There’s a small grocery list and an even smaller to-do list accompanying her things; a brown paper bag with her father’s lunch also tossed in there.

When Darla, her 1970 Buick Electra , officially died on her; she hated having to bike everywhere. Her father was able to take her places whenever he could, but most of the time it was just Paloma and her bike against the world. 

The sheriff even made the suggestion of sending one of the deputies to escort her wherever she pleased, but Paloma despised the idea of having an officer always following her around. So after a few awkward car rides to and from town; she decided it’d be more convenient for her to bike it until further notice. The only time she requests an escort is after a night shift at the library or a show at the bar. 

The most peaceful part of the trek is riding over the abandoned railroad tracks near the old train station. Something about the scenery; being surrounded by the lush forest with nothing but her and her thoughts for miles and miles is very comforting to Paloma, so whenever she arrives at this little landmark of hers, she makes a point to stop and soak it all in. 

On days like this, where she doesn’t have much to do; she stays for a while.

Paloma approaches the familiar tracks, stopping entirely and propping her bicycle against a nearby tree. She pops a Linda Ronstadt CD into her portable player, the headphones slipping over her ears as she approaches the tracks. The sound of the gravel crunching beneath her boots is muffled out by the soft country tunes that begin to play. Paloma sits right on the track, a little unorthodox but she doesn’t care. Using her bag as a makeshift pillow, she lays flat and looks up at the sky until her eyes shut close; sighing wistfully as she slips away into another world entirely.

She has been struggling to finish any of her music lately, inspiration lackluster to the point where she’s had to revert to covering songs instead of performing original material at The Whiskey Fox . It is frustrating, to say the least, especially when she knows she is more than capable of writing a good song.

There just hasn’t been much happening that warrants a spark in her passion. No romantic love to pour her heart over, no life-altering event to process with instruments and lyrics. Nothing exciting.

She was in a rut…

That was until a few days ago.

Mind seemingly wanders over to the handsome man that had been in her family home.

Those dark brown, intense eyes that had her flustered any time they made eye contact, the strong cut of his jaw and how it flexed when he spoke, lips that looked so inviting underneath the mustache that she hates she’s so attracted to.

This is the first time any man has left such an impression on Paloma. She giggles softly to herself, remembering how she was harping on her own father for bringing out the fancy scotch in order to impress Javier.

“ Man must’ve left quite an impression for ya to be bustin’ out the crown jewel. ”

Now she understands why. Aside from being quite the eye candy–– she found herself completely engaged in any conversation he partook in. While he was not a man of many words, the few that he did have had her feeling like a freshman schoolgirl crushing on a senior athlete.

Paloma is particularly interested in the fact that he had lived in Colombia for a better part of six years; curiosity bubbling anytime he mentioned anything about his time there. So envious that he has been able to experience a country filled with such culture and ecological beauty, even though she understands that the nature of his job probably didn’t entail to him sightseeing much. 

That’s another thing; he was very vague about what his role was down there. All Paloma knows is that he was a DEA agent, responsible for cornering one of the most notorious drug traffickers to exist in the modern world. One thing led to another and now he’s back in the United States as a Deputy Sheriff for a small town in the middle of fuck-knows-where Texas. 

It intrigued her to know his backstory and how that led him here. What all he’d done and witnessed, even if it wasn’t any of her business.

She finds it fascinating and it adds a layer of mystique to his persona.

Then her thoughts begin to turn into something more… sinful as she imagines the way his mouth wrapped around the colored end of the cigarette, his fingers flexing around the whiskey glass before downing its contents in one swift movement, tongue peering out to lick at his lips. Fuck , her eyes flutter open and she squints slightly as the sun beams down on her. Skin is warm, just how she likes it, buzzing with excitement at the image of the older man nuzzled in between her thighs, teasing her until she was at his mercy. 

Takes her bottom lip between her teeth, fingers slowly trailing down her torso then drumming along the exposed skin of her lower stomach. The thought of moving her digits beneath the fabric of her panties crosses her mind for a split second before she remembers where she is. Not that she would be interrupted at this time of day but she has to have some shame, right? It’s already bad enough that she’s fantasizing about him, no need to fuel that fire by touching herself in plain daylight.

Sits up, removing the headphones from over her ears and twisting to reach into her bag as she pulls out her notebook and pencil, a sudden stroke of inspiration striking her. 

–––––––––––––––––––

Javier lazily leans back against the leather chair he’s sat in, typical cigarette dangling from his lips as he scans the report in front of him, brows pulled in to a frown as he half ass reads it. He’s only been in Seminary for a week and it hadn’t taken him long to fall into routine. 

He gets up early to exercise, finding the time in his day to be able to do that again, eats what he considers a ‘healthy’ breakfast (it’s just toast and eggs… maybe some fruit if he’s really feeling it) then heads to the sheriff’s department. The day drags by until he’s at home again. Spends the evenings glued to his couch, takeout remnants on the table, nursing a beer and watching reruns until he goes to bed.

That is the part he dreads the most. The night time. Has always had trouble sleeping, but his time in Colombia only made the insomnia worse. He’ll stare at the ceiling, replaying all his fuck ups over and over until day breaks and the soft sunlight seeps into his room. 

On the nights where he does manage to fall asleep, it’s restless and doesn’t last very long as he jerks awake from whichever nightmare decides to plague him that night. He has a few that revisit him often, most involving Helena and how things ended with her; others about Carillo and his untimely death.

It is quite a vicious cycle that he has not been able to break himself free from. It was much more easier to get ahold of it back in Colombia where he could go pay for a distraction at a brothel or bury himself in the demanding job.

Here, there isn’t a damn thing he can bury himself in.

Well, there’s one person he’d love to find a distraction in but fucking the sheriff’s daughter just to get some sleep is not the best move for him to make considering he’s trying to be a better person nowadays.

There is barely anything happening at the station. The few deputies employed are constantly out on patrol, which Javi had recently revamped by giving new routes for them to follow. A task he’d conjured out of pure boredom yet left Sheriff Leighton impressed by his proactiveness.

Furthermore, the department is left partially empty with just himself, Romeo and Lorraine holding down the fort. 

With no further updates in the ongoing homicide cases; there isn’t much to do. Is not in the mood to go make small talk with the locals, and he’s already driven and familiarized himself with most of the roads within town limits, so he’s stuck in this building for the time being. 

The sheriff had reiterated many times not to expect the same hustling and bustling he experienced back in Bogotá or Medellín. A fact that he knew when coming in, but experiencing it is just so damn grueling.

Instead of going home and bullshitting there, Javier decides to be responsible and help Lorraine reorganize their filing system. It is outdated to all hell and messier than anything he and Murphy could have ever conjured up at the embassy, but in attempts to be a more… responsible person, he tells the front desk clerk to not worry about a thing and that he’d handle it all himself.

Might have gone in over his head, but they’re just files. The tedious task something he is very familiar with. Had done his fair share of pencil pushing during his DEA days.

He’s at his desk, an unused one he plucked from the center of the room and moved over into a corner that gave him just a pinch of privacy. Romeo apologized about the lack of space for a private office, but Javi didn’t mind it. Being in an office is stifling; and he enjoys, for the most part, being out in the open. 

Also, Lorraine is great company. Very unfortunate that she shares the name with his ex-fiancée.

Javier sets the sheet of paper he’s reread a dozen times down, ashing his cigarette and scratching at his nose with his thumb when he hears the sound of their front door opening. 

Eyes lazily trail over to the entrance and an immediate smirk tugs at his lips, crease between his brows disappearing.

Paloma Leighton.

Oh, how he’s been thinking about her since that night he had dinner over at their house. How wrong it is of him to be pining after a woman like her.

It is not that difficult to capture Javier’s attention, he is very self aware in that regard. As long as you were interested; you were pretty much on his radar.

Javier loves women. Loves the way they look, the way they smell. Their soft moans and pants in response to his coaxing, how their nails feel digging into the soft skin of his shoulders as they come down from an intense orgasm. 

Can anyone blame him for being so attracted to them all the time? Women are a godsend.

He watches her carefully as she saunters over to his desk that’s on the opposite side to where her father’s office is. 

“ Now, Miss Leighton–– to what do I owe this pleasure, hermosa ? ” He asks, taking another drag of his cigarette as he keeps his position leaned back in his chair.

Gives her body a onceover with curious eyes, wetting his lips at the sight of her.

She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts that hug her in all the right places and a halter top with an exposed back. She isn’t wearing a bra so her stiff nipples are prominent against the fabric. The sight gets him stirring below his belt, and he has to keep smoking in order to keep his antsy hands off of her. 

“ Take a picture, it’ll last longer. ” Throws the typical line at him with a smirk.

“ I forgot my camera at home. Mind comin’ back to mine, cariño ? I’ll make sure to take the prettiest pictures. ” Ashes the cigarette, flirtatious as ever despite telling himself he was not going to go down this route.

But there’s nothing wrong with a little flirting, right? Especially not when she’s playing into it.

“ Clever, charming and cocky. I’m starting to sense a pattern here, cowboy. ”

“ And what would that pattern be? ” 

“ I’m still figuring that out, unfortunately. ” There’s a brief pause, “ Those things’ll kill you. ” Paloma changes the subject entirely, nodding her head towards his nicotine stick.

“ I’m going to die eventually. ” Javier rebuttals and she just hums, honey colored eyes watching as he takes another long drag.

Is thankful that Lorraine had left early today, is certain that this little conversation of there’s would have played out differently had there been a third person in the room.

Maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all and he would have been stuck fantasizing about her like a perverted fool.

“ S’that why you’re here? To criticize me smoking? ” Toned biceps flex as he brings his hands behind his neck, fingers interlocking and cigarette hanging from in between his lips.

“ No, just stopped by to drop off daddy’s lunch before I ran some errands. That man wouldn’t eat if it weren’t for me. ” Now it’s her turn to do the ogling, her gaze traveling from the cigarette to his arms, eyes sparkling down at him.

“ Sheriff isn’t in right now. ” He informs her but something tells him she already knew this. Her brows raise at the news and she shrugs. 

“ ‘Course he ain’t. Probably already went down to Carl’s for lunch. I keep tellin’ him his arteries are gonna get all clogged up if all he eats is greasy burgers and beer. ” Can sense a hint of irritation in her voice.

“ So just let him. He’s a grown man, M’sure he doesn’t need nor want his daughter looking out for him every second of the day. ” He interjects, watching her carefully as she rolls her eyes. 

Her hair is in two neat braids, bangs framing her beautiful face leaving the entirety of her back exposed to him. A few droplets of sweat slowly roll down her spine due to the weather and he imagines himself licking them right up; preferably while he has her bent over his desk. 

“ Well if I don’t do it then who will? He’d barely last a week on his own. ” Though she is irritated, Javier catches how she genuinely seems to care for her father so with that, the man decides to not meddle in their family business and instead moves on swiftly.

“ You know him better than I do. ” Leaves it at that, finishing his cigarette, “ Heard you got a show comin’ up ” And by heard he means hearing everyone else gush about how talented the sheriff’s daughter is and how he just absolutely has to go see her gig.

That sparkle in her eye glistens at the mention of her show and she nods, “ Yup, ” pops the ‘p’, fiddling with the pens he’s stuffed into his faded DEA mug, her body turned slightly to face him. “  Every Friday and Saturday. Will we be blessed by your presence, Mr. Peña or are you going to hide out in your trailer home all weekend? ” Hearing his surname coming from her has his jaw ticking ever so slightly and he watches her eyes take notice of it.

Paloma likes it.

“ Dunno… gotta check my schedule, querida . Things tend to get crazy ‘round here. Or so I’ve heard. ” Sarcastic banter continues paired with a smug smile.

“ Well… if you do decide to find some time in that busy schedule of yours; the show starts at six both nights. ” And who was he to deny her? Especially as she bats her eyelashes at him, an unspoken way of letting him know she wants to see him there.

The front door bell dings, announcing the arrival of someone new, interrupting the comfortable pause of silence they were sharing. 

That someone new is the sheriff, and Paloma immediately rises from her spot on the edge of his desk, making her way to her father. Javier straightens up, picking up the previously discarded sheet and feigning interest in it; but Romeo doesn’t seem to notice a thing. He looks deep in thought.

“ There ya are. I brought you lunch. ” Paloma calls after him but he’s already in his office. She lets out a sigh, looking over her shoulder at Javier whom she catches getting an even better view of her backside.

“ See you around, Mr. Peña . Maybe you should start carrying around that camera of yours. Y’know… to get all them pretty pictures. ” Makes a point to sway her hips as she walks away and he runs his tongue over his front teeth slowly.

This girl is going to get him into trouble.

At least he won’t be so fucking bored anymore.

–––––––––––––––––––

Paloma leaves the building twenty minutes after getting her father to agree to eat the lunch she brought and not go down the street to the local diner. He seemed pretty distant so she didn’t press him like she usually would, instead giving him a peck on the cheek before leaving his office. Eyes wandered over to the opposite corner, hoping to find Javier sitting in his seat already watching her but he was nowhere to be found.

Felt the slight pang of disappointment in her gut at his absence but she pushed it down, a budding smile at the thought of seeing him at her show. 

Doesn’t even care that the man is older, she’s down bad for him. 

Swings her leg over her bicycle, kicking the kickstand inwards and riding down the street towards the farmer’s market until she’s stopped by a familiar voice calling her name.

“ Paloma! ” It’s Sloane, who’s jogging to catch up with her. 

Sloane McCarthy is the only best friend that Paloma has ever had. Like, ever .

Growing up, she was a very shy child and only had your typical schoolyard friends, but not any that she would willingly swap secrets with or any of that other stuff girls usually do within their social circles.

After her mother’s death, Paloma became more of a recluse. Didn’t maintain a friendship outside of school, instead all her focus and energy was put into her artistry. To her, instruments were her best friends. They would always be there to listen, to help her navigate through her grief alongside coming into her own without a mother to guide her through the trials and tribulations of girlhood. 

As lonely as it sounds, it was probably for the best that Paloma chose her musical hobbies to be what got her through the hard times. It allowed her to navigate the creation process at her own pace, figure out her strengths and work on her weaknesses.

She is grateful, however, for the guidance she received from Tammy, Kristy and Lola: the sisters that owned The Whiskey Fox . 

They helped fill the void left barren by her mother, Abilene, and were the ones who convinced her to start performing at their bar when she was only fourteen.

Paloma met Sloane a few months ago at the library. She had come in with two other guys whom she can barely remember now, asking her about Seminary’s selection on books about the occult. There are hardly any , she had replied, since this town is too obstinate to allow many sacrilegious books on their library shelves.

Ever since that afternoon, they had hit it off and began to hang out together more regularly. Paloma had even hooked her new friend up with a job at The Whiskey Fox as a bartender.

She stops, steadying herself as the girl hugs her from the side then rounds the bike to stand in front of her.

“ Hey Slo, whatcha up to today? ” Paloma asks, eyeing the book in her friend’s possession before meeting her gaze.

Sloane is a very, very pretty girl. Wavy brown hair that falls to her collarbone, a button nose that fit her face perfectly with chocolate colored eyes that are so inviting. Her freckles are much more prominent than Paloma’s. Brown constellations littering her round face and signature, baby blue eyeshadow painted across both eyelids.

The color only made her dark eyes shine more paired with her thick and full lashes. Sometimes, Paloma found herself being envious of Slo and comparing her beauty to that of her best friend’s; especially when she was the main one being approached whenever they went out.

Not that Paloma cared about male attention, however, she still felt that pang of rejection deep in her belly each time Slo was being hit on while she was left making small talk with the bartender or waitress, depending on where they were.

It wasn’t because she wasn’t attractive, because anyone could tell you that Paloma is one of the most beautiful women in town; but more so because of who her father is. Sometimes, men don’t approach her in fear of being shot at by the sheriff. It can be very frustrating, but it does help keep the creeps away.

Especially when she’s performing.

“ Well… ” She drags out, “ I went to the library to look for ya, but Olsen said you didn’t work today so I’ve just kinda been roamin’ town… hopin’ to run into ya before poppin’ up to your place unannounced. What are you so smiley for? ” Her bubbly and chirpy southern accent reminds Paloma of the bright smile she’s still sporting.

“ Just havin’ a good day, s’all. Why are you lookin’ for me? ” Questions, deciding not to tell Sloane about her infatuation with newly appointed Deputy Sheriff Javier Peña just yet, gaze once more flickering down to the thick book in her grasp.

“ ‘Cause, babygirl, I got the answers to all those existential questions you think up in that pretty little head of yours. ” Shows off the printed work, “ Right here. Got a sec? ” She asks but with the look Sloane gives her, Paloma knows she can’t say no.

So they situate themselves on a nearby bench, Paloma’s bicycle propped up against the backside of it. Sloane turns to her, their knees knocking against each other as she begins to explain.

“ Ya know my friend August? He wrote that poem I showed you a few weeks ago… the one that had your face as red as a ripe tomato. ” She pokes fun at her friend, pinching her thigh which Paloma swats away playfully.

“ It was more explicit than anticipated, but yes I know who you’re talkin’ about. Didn’t he come in with you that one day? In the library? ” Just barely remembers him, since he hadn’t said much; just browsed the shelves with the other guy as Slo did all the talking.

“ Sure did! Well, he’s written a few books, none of them published…. they’re more so for record keepin’. However, I told him you were… a fan of his work–– ”

“ Fan is a bit of a stretch, don’t ya think? ” Paloma snorts, stare flickering over to Slo. 

“–– So he asked me to share this with you. It’s his prized possession. ” She continues, eyes twinkling as she slides the book over to Paloma.

Paragons of the Sacrificed By Augustus Rutherford Dixon

“ Augustus ? What a name. ” Is the first thing Paloma notices, thumbing through the book and scanning some of its contents. “ This reads like a manifesto, I’m not sure I’m all that interested. ” She tells Slo, closing the item shut and attempting to give it back.

Sloane blocks her from doing so, shaking her head. “ No ma’am, you’re gonna read through it. I promise you’ll enjoy it. I know how you like to get lost in your books and music… this is right up your alley. ”

She seems almost desperate as she makes her case, so Paloma reluctantly keeps the book in her lap.

“ Right up my alley. What exactly does that mean? ”

“ You know… the adventurous fantasy stuff. He’s really into religion and history but not in a weird, bible thumpin’ way how the people ‘round here tend to be. Eye openin’ stuff… real, tangible things that make you want to pack up all your shit and get the hell outta dodge. ”

Slo doesn’t have to say much after that, it’s as if she knew exactly what words to say to get Paloma to be more open minded about reading the book. She chews on the inside of her cheek, eyes falling to her lap and she sighs, giving in.

“ Sure, why the hell not. If it’s crappy, though, and you waste my time I swear I’m gonna get it back in blood. ” She teases, nudging Sloane with her elbow. 

“ Oh please, I wouldn’t be bringin’ this to ya if I didn’t think you’d be interested. ”

–––––––––––––––––––

Sloane was right. This book is right up her alley.

After getting over the initial weariness of the man’s introduction, she was fully immersed in the historical events he writes about as well as the practices of an unorthodox religion that’s been on the rise, according to him, since the birth of Christianity.

Her relationship with religion in general is pretty unadorned. Paloma is a practicing Catholic, just like the majority in Seminary, and she attends mass every Sunday with her father.

It’s enervating, in a way, but she knows just how much it means to Romeo for her to accompany him every week so she does it just to pacify him. Now whether she’s as devoted as she makes herself out to be is a completely different story.

She’s not. Paloma believes in a greater being; but not in the same manner that organized religion does.

It would quite literally break her father’s heart if he heard her say that outloud.

August is a talented writer, his words transporting her entirely while also making his message concise and informative. Paloma’s been tucked away in her room, obsessively reading the book for about three hours when the landline in her room suddenly rings and it makes her jolt out of surprise.

The antique clock on her nightstand indicates that it’s nine o’clock and she blinks away the sudden tiredness at the realization. Inserting her bookmark on the page she’s currently reading, she closes the book and reaches over to pick the receiver up and wedges it in between her ear and shoulder.

“ Paloma speaking. ”

“ Hola, hermosa . ” Javier’s voice cuts right through her and she’s instantly smitten, the book she was so engrossed in not even a minute ago now forgotten.

“ You sweet talk every girl you meet in Spanish? ” Can’t help but ask, feeling butterflies in her stomach at the way he flirts with her. Between his sultry southern accent and alluring dash of Spanish; Paloma can’t decide which one she likes to hear more.

Hears him shuffling on his end of the phone, “ Why? You don’t like it, cariño ? ”

The Spanish. She definitely prefers the Spanish.

“ I do. It’s different. ” Twirls the telephone cord around her index finger,  “ You call just to shower me in pet names? ”

He chuckles, the deepness of it having her bite down on her lower lip.

“ No, querida , was hoping I could speak to your father. ” This makes her frown slightly, but also what other reason would he have to call their house at this time of night?

Call for her ? Talk her through an orgasm through the phone, telling her to imagine his fingers instead of hers and whispering those goddamn pet names until she’s panting; wailing out for him? Or even better: offer to come by to get her out of the dry spell she’s been under before her father made it back home?

Both so appealing. Both so ridiculously out of this world.

Realizes she’s been quiet longer than intended, so she snaps out of her sudden wet daydream, speaking up.

“ He’s out with some friends from the bar. Don’t anticipate him comin’ back home till way later so you’re just goin’ to have to catch him at his office tomorrow, Mr. Peña . ” Had taken notice of the way he was so bothered by her calling him by his last name earlier that she does it again, just to fuck with him.

“ You make me feel so old callin’ me that. ” He scoffs and her smile doesn’t budge.

“ Well aren’t you? ” Fuels the teasing, wondering how far she could push it before the fire she’s been harboring burns her.

“ You really want to play this game, corazón ? ” 

“ Maybe… ”

There’s a swift pause, all that’s heard is both of their breaths on either side of the line. Paloma braces herself for whatever racy event decides unfold but he breaks the silence first.

“ Just be a sweetheart and tell your dad I called. Have a good night, nena . ” Doesn’t even give her the opportunity to give a closing remark, the dial tone ringing in her ears before she pulls the phone from her ear and sets it back into place.

Hadn’t realized how tightly her thighs had been clenched throughout that whole exchange. It’s embarrassing how her body reacts to him. Whether it just be his voice or his presence itself. 

Paloma groans, standing from her bed and deciding to shower to calm herself down, August’s book being placed on her nightstand next to the landline.

–––––––––––––––––––

The following Friday…

Javier walks in to the crowded bar much later than he intended to, stuck at the station with some chatty citizen who called to complain about her neighbors dog.

This is the life he lives now. Went from tracking down dangerous sicarios to listening to middle aged women bitch about pets.

Nevertheless, he does what he’s been hired to do.

He heard the music that’s currently got the entirety of the place rumbling spilling out into the street upon arrival. The decently sized bar is filled with so many patrons, that it had taken him a second recognize it. Honest to God. 

Javier has definitely underestimated Seminary. It becomes clearer the more he learns about it, and while he does find himself complaining about the monotony most of the time; he’s slowly but surely easing into it.

He finally makes it to the bar and orders himself a whiskey, neat. It’s been his go to order for as long as he’s been drinking.

Eyes scan the crowd until they land on the stage where the first person he notices is Paloma; dressed to the nines with a bright smile. A smile he mimics as he watches her strum her guitar, the three other woman sing along with instruments of their own adhered to their bodies. Paloma isn’t currently singing, just adding in to the instrumental of a song that he doesn’t recognize. After paying for his drink, he maneuvers the crowd until he finds Romeo sitting front and center, swaying along to the music with nothing but adoration in his eyes for his daughter. 

When he sees Javier approaching, his entire face lights up.

“ Javi, my man! You made it. ” The two share a friendly handshake as Javier sits down in the empty seat besides him, digging in his leather jacket for a smoke. 

“ Woulda been here earlier but had a Margaret Lipton call complainin’ about how her neighbors dog won’t stay on its side of the fence. ” He grumbles, lighting the smoke and taking a lengthy drag as the song finishes.

“ Sounds just like her. Expect a lot more’a those. Poor woman is just lonely; her husband of fifty years died not too long ago. Ever since then she’s been callin’ nonstop over petty shit. She’ll complain if a fly buzzes by, I tell ya. ” Romeo adds on, taking a sip from his drink and this gets a brief chuckle from Javier, making a mental note to limit his calls with one Margaret Lipton.

The next song begins, a very lively country tune that immediately shifts the atmosphere of the already buzzing bar. People begin to flood the dancefloor in front of the stage, but it doesn’t obstruct his view from the person that he’s here to see. Watches as she strums her instrument before approaching the microphone.

♫

“ Came into this world,  Daddy's little girl,  And daddy made a soldier out of me. ”

Her voice is so rich and smooth, ears perk up at the angelic singing and he takes a swig of his whiskey, eyes not leaving her for a second.

“ Daddy made me dance,  And daddy held my hand,  And daddy liked his whiskey with his tea. ”

She shoots a wink towards their table, and while Javier knows it’s directed to the man besides him, he can’t help but be selfish enough to think that’s it’s meant for him. 

That her attention is all for him.

“ And we rode motorcycles,  Blackjack, classic vinyl,  Tough girl is what I had to be.  He said, "Take care of your mother  Watch out for your sister"  And that’s when daddy looked at me... ”

The music picks up, can feel it embedding itself in his bones and he’s so entranced by watching her perform that he just barely notices when Romeo leans over to talk to him.

“ Told me she wrote this with me in mind. Swear I’ve never been more proud of her. ” Peels his gaze away from her before the man notices how he’s basically eyefucking his daughter.

“ She usually write her own songs? ” Can’t help but ask, her voice ringing out passionately as the song continues.

“ Majority of ‘em. Always got her nose stuffed in one’a her journals. When she’s not writin’, she’s at the piano or on the porch with her guitar. Melts my heart every time i see it. ” 

Javier doesn’t say much in response, intrigued to hear how her voice sounds when it’s just her singing.

Paloma reproaches the microphone after the long instrumental that had the crowd dancing along to the upbeat country track concludes.

“ My daddy warned me about men like you   He said, "Baby girl, he's playing you!   He's playing you! ”

She sings with a vigor he was not expecting, making eye contact with him and he catches the way her red-stained lips pull into a smirk.

Just like that, she has captivated him all over again. 

The lights of the stage make Paloma look ethereal. Her outfit is all black, a contrast to the more colorful fits of the rest of the band. A leather miniskirt with black stockings underneath, the buckle on her belt large and silver catching the light of the spotlight that’s on them. The leather jacket that matches her skirt has silver detailing to it, her torso covered with nothing short of just a black bra with a see through mesh top over it. Long brown hair flowing around her with a black cowgirl hat and boots to bring it all together. 

She looks breathtaking. He needs more liquor to keep him afloat.

“ 'Cause when trouble comes in town    And men like me come around"    Oh, my daddy said shoot    Oh, my daddy said shoot. ”

The chorus is repeated once more by the performers and some of the crowd, which has him wondering if this was a Seminary original song.

“ Oh, my daddy said… shoot…. ” 

They drag the last lyric out with the rattle of the drum’s percussion before the song officially ends and The Whiskey Fox erupts into a boisterous applause. The women take turns hugging and congratulating each other, though his focus is solely on Paloma. He doesn’t even acknowledge when Romeo gets up to get them all another round of drinks.

“ Thank y’all for always havin’ fun and indulgin’ me. I’m forever grateful for my crowds and these beautiful woman up here with me. It’s always a pleasure sharing the stage with them. Without their efforts, we wouldn’t be able to come drown our sorrows here at The Whiskey Fox while also shakin’ some ass. ” The bar laughs and this gets a bemused chuckle out of Javier, who stubs out the cigarette he’d been puffing on throughout the performance.

“ So another ‘round of applause for the lovely Lone Star Sisters . ” After a few more formalities and some announcements, Paloma disappears for a brief moment before he spots her again, this time heading in his direction.

She’s stopped a few times along the way by some patrons who simply cannot get over her and her performance.

All Javier does is admire and be amused at how they treat her like she’s a celebrity. Even watches as she signs a slip of paper and crouches down to give it to a little girl. The interaction has his heart racing so he downs the drink in front of him to slow it down.

–––––––––––––––––––

The adrenaline that Paloma feels after a show is indescribable. It’s like she transforms when she’s up there, giving it her all and making sure that the crowd watching is being entertained to the fullest extent. It’s why she absolutely loves it when she sees the crowd dancing, has even spotted a few people singing along to some of the original songs she performs regularly.

It’s an even better feeling when she gets off stage and is being praised left and right; it makes her feel like the art she puts out is important as it’s being appreciated by everyone and not just those in her immediate circle. What really melts her heart, though, is when she sees the gleam in the eyes of the younger girls who come see her play. As if they’re looking up to her, seeing their own aspirations performing out on the stage. Knowing that she’s somewhat of a role model to them is all she needs to stay content in her passion for creating music.

After finally getting through the crowd of… admirers (she doesn’t like calling them fans; it feels odd), Paloma reaches the table her father always sits in but is pleasantly surprised to see just Javier there.

“ You came. ” Doesn’t even try to hide the large smile on her face, heart still beating wildly in her chest due to the high energy performance.

“ Found a small window of opportunity in my very busy schedule to be able to make it. You’re lucky, hermosa . ” He teases and she laughs with a shake of her head, shaking off the leather jacket on her shoulders and removing the hat that sits on her head.

It is entirely too hot for her to sport it for the rest of the evening, so she drapes the jacket over the back of the chair and lets her hat hang over the corner of it.

“ You’re a damn good singer. ”

The compliment has those butterflies stirring in her stomach again. Paloma won’t ever admit that she made sure to be on her game tonight in anticipation of his attendance. She doesn’t want to come off as desperate, despite how flirtatious their interactions have been since they met.

“ You sayin’ that ‘cause you mean it or are you just tryin’ to become my groupie? ” Cocks her head to the side slightly, sliding into the seat across from him and crossing her legs. She bites her lip once she watches his eyes divert down to her thighs; the top of her stockings showing and a soft slither of her olive skin teasing him to make a move.

“ I genuinely mean it, querida , but being your groupie doesn’t sound half bad. ” Paloma giggles, scrunching her nose and he smiles at her.

Why does she feel like she’s drunk off him? What the hell does he lace his attention with?

Romeo returns right on time, setting down three glasses on the small, round table.

“ Alright, two bourbons and a root beer with muddled cherries for my beautiful daughter. ” Reaches for her drink, ignoring the look Javier gives her and she takes a lengthy sip from the straw; the carbonation feeling so refreshing as it travels down her throat.

“ No celebratory drink? ” He asks her, fingers fishing out his cigarettes and lighter.

“ I only drink on occasion. Try not to do it when I sing unless I need to loosen up the good ‘ol pipes. ” Two fingers tap against her throat to emphasize her point, his dark eyes trailing the area and she knows his soft lips would feel divine against her warm skin.

The trio falls into small talk for all but five minutes when Javier’s pager buzzes in his jacket pocket. He excuses himself from the table and he saunters away to the pay phone outside of the bar. Paloma’s gaze follows him all the way out, sound of her father talking muffled as he overtakes her thoughts.

–––––––––––––––––––

Javier digs into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a few coins to insert into the public telephone then punching in the familiar number of his former partner. The line rings three times before Murphy picks up.

“ We got him. ”

The words knock the wind out of him and he stabilizes himself by sticking his hand out to lean against the payphone stand.

“ Alive or dead? ”

“ Trujillo shot the fucker right between the eyes. ”

Presses the phone against his forehead at the news, eyes closing as he allows it to fully sink in. Knows he should be relieved… that the weight on his shoulders should dissipate now that Pablo Escobar is dead.

Not in custody or cornered. No, dead .

Yet he isn’t. Not as much as he would have wanted to be. It’s a bittersweet feeling, really. They can rejoice now that they got one dirty narc over and done with but if Javier has learned anything in the past few years–– it’s that this war on drugs is far from over. The rest of the Medellín cartel has yet to fall and Cali just reached its peak. 

You know what they say: cut off one head and two more take its place.

But that’s no longer his problem. He had been reassigned, sent somewhere where he could chill the fuck out and start making amends for his fuckups in Colombia. His only focus now, as long as he’s concerned, is dealing with what happens in Seminary and Seminary only.

He and Steve finish their conversation, reminiscing on all the crazy ass shit they had to do and endure in order to get to this point. Steve ends the call by telling him that he should have been here to see it all the way through and that, in a strange turn of events, he was proud of everything they accomplished together despite the bullshit that ensued.

Javier doesn’t say much, as per usual, but he doesn’t have to. Steve knows he’s appreciative. 

Fingers itch to pluck out another cigarette but he goes against the urge, instead collecting himself before reentering the bar.

–––––––––––––––––––

Paloma was left alone shortly after Javier left to take his phonecall, her father being pulled away by his buddies while she finished up the rest of her drink.

When Javier does return, she immediately notices the change in his demeanor but doesn’t know how to ask him what’s wrong without coming off as bothersome.

“ Everything good? ” Is what she decides on, leaning in to rest her chin on the palm of her hand as her elbow sits on the perpetually sticky top of their table.

“ Everything’s alright, muñeca . ” Takes his seat again, still being flirtatious but there’s an edge to it. He grabs his drink and swishes its contents around the glass before downing it all in one swift shot.

Paloma doesn’t say anything else, and she doesn’t get the chance to when her father returns to them.

“ I gotta go handle some shit that’s popping off with the Sullivan’s. Go get your things, baby, we’re leavin’. ” This pulls a groan from the back of her throat.

“ I do not want to tag along while you deal with whatever the fuck they got goin’ on. Not after last time. ” Very rarely does she tag along with her father when he’s on the job; and last time they had been called to the Sullivan farm–– she didn’t expect to be there for almost three hours trying to help calm down Mrs. Sullivan, who was threatening to shoot her husband with their shotgun.

The conversation seems to intrigue Javier, eyes darting between the both of them as he begins to smoke again.

“ Well, you’re gonna have to hitch another ride then. ”

“ That’s no problem, Mr. Peña will take me. ” Attentions flicker over to the man as she’s just volunteered him to drive her home.

“ Paloma––– ”

“ It’s fine, Romeo. Go handle it, I’ll make sure she makes it home safely. ” Thumb drags against his bottom lip as he stares right back at Paloma and his intense gaze has her shifting in her seat, the familiar arousal shooting heat up between her thighs.

It doesn’t take much convincing to send the sheriff on his merry way, her body tingling at the idea of being alone with Javier in his truck as he takes her home.

“ You gonna make sure I’m fine? That I make it home safe and sound? ” Paloma asks with a bat of her eyelashes, leaning close enough to where their knees brush up against each other beneath the table.

He follows her lead, leaning forward and taking a drag from his cigarette. “ S’what I’m here to do, princesa . Make sure beautiful girls like you stay safe. ”

There’s still some bite to his words but it’s hot the way he flirts with her. Catches the scent of his cologne mixed with the liquor and cigarettes and it’s intoxicating.

“ I thought I told you these things’ll kill you. ” Takes the nicotine stick from between his middle and index finger, putting out the nearly finished thing against the ashtray.

“ And I thought I told you I’m gonna die eventually. ”

“ Try not to make it anytime soon. ”

“ Why, would you miss me, cariño ? ” Brows raise as he asks her, brown eyes gleaming beneath the dim lighting.

Paloma shrugs, sliding out of her seat. “ Probably not. I’ve just met you. ” Is said nonchalantly, despite her head spinning from how badly she wants him. She grabs ahold of her jacket and hat, “ I’m going to go pack up my things. Meet me in the back alleyway in ten. ”

–––––––––––––––––––

After getting her stuff into the back of his truck and watching her say goodbye to everyone, Paloma is sat in the passenger seat as Javier drives along the familiar road towards her house.

It’s quiet at first, the radio playing some song softly to fill the void from the absence of conversation.

“ So… you got a girlfriend? ” Paloma’s question catches him off guard and he actually laughs in her face. “ Or boyfriend–– I don’t judge. ” Raises her hands defensively.

“ Why, you tryin’ to apply for the spot? ” Javier briefly takes his eyes off the road to look over at her, biting his tongue once he sees how she’s staring at him.

Her back is pressed against the door, one knee up to her chest. The soft blue light from the radio system casting a shadow over her face that makes her look so desirable. He contemplates pulling over just to grab her by the neck and press his lips against hers.

She just rolls her eyes, playing with the ends of her skirt.

“ Not really, just curious. ” Can hear the sincerity coating her words and while he usually wouldn’t divulge in his personal life, let alone his romantic relationships, he decides to answer her truthfully.

“ No girlfriend. M’not really the settle down type of guy. ”

“ Ah, so he’s got commitment issues… ” Paloma trails off, messing with him.

“Somethin’ like that. ” Isn’t offended by her assumption, since it is the truth.

“ So no girlfriend back home? Or in Colombia? ” 

“ Why the sudden interest, princesa ? ” 

“ Just trying to get to know you, cowboy. ” There she goes with that nickname again and he just shakes his head softly.

“ The honest truth...? No girlfriends anywhere. Lots of hookups in Colombia, though. The women there are very beautiful. ”

She’s silent, which has him looking over at her again yet this time she isn’t staring back, instead looking ahead at the road in front of them.

“ So you’re a slut. ”

He laughs again, much more lively this time, “ Most people would agree with you, yeah. But I had my reasons for sleepin’ around. ”

“ Oh, so there were reasons? ” Brows raise, her arms crossing against her chest, pushing her breasts together and the sight is like something straight out of a Playboy magazine.

“ Believe it or not yes–– most of ‘em were informants. Prostitutes who had vital information about the criminals we were after. ” 

“ So in return for intel, they got to spend a night with you? ”

“ That was part of it. ”

She hums and he turns the question on her before she starts asking about other aspects of his life in Colombia.

“ What about you? Got a boyfriend–– or girlfriend. I don’t judge. ” Repeats her own playful words back to her, making a turn then flipping on his brights as the street lights have decreased to none; leaving them traveling down the dark back roads.

“ No, not at the moment. I’ve only ever had one real boyfriend. ” Paloma leans her head back against the window, eyes still trained on the emptiness of the night. “ And that ended terribly so I didn’t bother trying again after that. ”

Curious to know this terrible ending she speaks of, Javier proceeds to stay on topic. “ Must’ve been real bad if it got you to give up entirely. ”

“ Yeah. His name was George. We dated in high school... can you keep a secret? ” Suddenly asks, ripping her gaze from the windshield over to him. He can see her from his peripheral.

“ For you, nena , of course. ”

“ We were supposed to get married and run off the night before graduation. Had planned the whole thing out, even bribed an officiant to wed us in the middle of the night down by the cemetery. It didn’t take him much convincin’; told us he had a soft spot for young love. ” Javier doesn’t say anything in response, instead letting his silence speak for itself and allowing Paloma to continue on with her story.

“ The big night came. I was so nervous I coulda puked. Me and the officiant waited for what felt like an eternity until eventually he apologized to me and left. I cried there all night, a stupid and naive part of me hoping George would eventually show… he didn’t. ” She sighs heavily and Javier wants to reach his hand out to rub comforting circles with his thumb against her thigh but he doesn’t, instead driving down the driveway that led to her home.

“ Found out the next day that he had left for the army. Which was so heartbreaking since that’s why he wanted to leave Seminary. He didn’t want to enlist like his brother and father had. Guess something changed his mind… haven’t heard from him since. I never told anyone about it, and the officiant passed away shortly after so… ” She trails off and Javier genuinely feels for her.

However, he can relate to an extent. Not to her but to her ex. His relationship with Lorraine back in Laredo a haunting reminder of the type of man he was slowly turning into. Instead of leaving for the army, though, he’d left her at the alter to run off to Colombia.

“ That’s… tough, querida . ” Never been the best at comforting and it doesn’t seem like she minds his scarce sympathy.

“ It is what it is. I got over him eventually. ” They roll to a stop once they’re at the large country home, he puts the truck in park and cuts the engine; letting a comfortable silence fall over them.

“ Thank you–– ”

“ Do you need–– ”

They both speak at the same time, interrupting the other and they share a laugh about it. “ Ladies first. ” Beckons her to continue, shifting his body slightly to face her.

“ Thank you for bringing me home. I know I didn’t give you much of an option. ” She unbuckles her seatbelt and he’s already dreading her departure.

“ Anytime, hermosa . ” Dark eyes soften, “ Do you need help getting your things inside? ” Paloma nods and he’s quick to hop out of the truck, rounding it to open the door for her before she even gets the chance to reach over for the handle.

“ What a gentleman. ” She purrs, her hand brushing against his shoulder as she walks past him to help unload her equipment.

The desire to push her up against his truck and passionately kiss her, have his hands explore every inch of her body is tempting as all hell but he shows some self restraint.

They get everything into the living room and she walks him over to the front door.

“ I appreciate your help, Mr. Peña . ” Paloma leans against the doorframe with a teasing simper. They’re close enough to where he can see all the small imperfections that litter her skin. His eyes taking in how beautiful she looks up close, their bodies slowly gravitating towards each other.

“ You ever gonna stop callin’ me that? ” He asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hands landing on either sides of his hips.

The girl shrugs, blinking slowly. “ Not till you’re not bothered by it. ” They exchange a lustful stare until he decides it’s time for him to leave before things escalate and he crosses a boundary he’s helplessly trying not to overstep.

“ I’ll see you around, Miss Leighton. ”  Very reminiscent to their last goodbye, her smirk softens into a smile.

“ Goodnight, Javier. ” One, two seconds pass before she’s leaning in to place a gentle kiss against his cheek, the feeling has his heart racing and she pulls back slowly before taking a few steps back and closing the door. 

Javier is left in a stunned silence, the small act of affection impacting him more than he would like to admit.

#javier peña fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier peña smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal

[canmom]

Feel free to ignore considering it’s a very messy topic. Why do you think SFF communities (especially book communities) attracts so many bad faith actors?

my apologies anon, I took a minute to answer this one.

I think the most parsimonious answer is that they don't, especially, it's just that bad faith actors are basically everywhere. like, is it really true that there are more bad faith actors in SFF than in say, music? film? 'literary' fiction, or other genres like crime or erotica? i think if I was as immersed in any of those worlds as I am in SFF, I'd know about just as many stories of petty cruelty, exploitation, bizarre dramas...

still, some speculations about factors playing into it, that aren't necessarily specific to sci-fi.

the thing about SFF is that it's a subculture, and one that's pretty niche. not quite as niche as like, BASE jumping or something lol - most bookshops around here will have an SFF shelf, and obviously SFF films and games are almost as mainstream as entertainment gets - but for dedicated sci-fi fans it's seen as a sort of refuge of 'people like them' (generally some variety of autistic nerd archetype), and there is a lot of anxiety that comes with maintaining that.

this sort of attitude is commonly associated with the old guard of reactionary fandom - the infamous Puppies - but I think by now we've seen that the current overtly queer/progressive/whatever you wanna call it generation is just as capable of lashing out at perceived intruders. (for an obvious example, this kind of sentiment was a major factor in the Isabel Fall incident.)

besides that, what are people fighting for anyway? what are the 'stakes' of scifi/fantasy fandom? intuitively, they're tiny. but...

within any niche subculture, it is possible to achieve a certain degree of fame and influence. if you can play the rhetorical game, you can establish yourself as a microcelebrity/tastemaker, promote your friends and make a show of casting out the enemies, and set up the rules of the discourse... in your small bubble. until sooner or later the wind changes and you get knocked off the pedestal, anyway. so part of it is just people wanting to rule an insular little fiefdom.

but then there's also like... 'being an author'. SFF lit is not especially popular these days. you can't really make a living from short stories anymore (too few magazines that pay, too hard to get in, too little reward). however, if you get very, very lucky, make the right connections (probably at Clarion), you might just be able to get some novels published, and maaaybe they will find an audience and earn out their advances... and if everything goes perfectly, you might just manage to make a reasonable middle class sort of income.

and that's not nothing! especially if other forms of work are inaccessible. i have a friend whose circumstances were changed very dramatically when they got a big advance on their novel. but ultimately I don't think it's about that, nobody would sensibly try to become an author for the money, it's an obviously terrible gamble.

however, within the subculture, being a published author is a still big deal. it's a sense that you've 'made it', people will look up to you, or resent you if they don't feel you deserve it. there is a strong divide between 'authors' and 'fans' that structures interactions between the two. I don't get the impression that this is actually very fun for the authors, but it's easy to see that from outside and think "I wish I was worthy of that kind of respect too".

much the same applies in other fields - for example animation. maybe it pays shit and demand insane hours with zero job security... but for the fans, you come to have immense admiration for the 'real animators' and want to feel you could be their equal one day. and people are willing to sacrifice a lot for the sake of that idea of accomplishment, even if it's still very unlikely.

so with all that in mind... science fiction authors are usually science fiction fans. there's not really any other reason you'd write it lmao. so could speculate that for the ones who have 'made it', the situation is still precarious, or seems like it. there's little guarantee you'll get published again if a book doesn't sell. and you depend on a good reputation to stay in the game. so you have a bit of power (enough to go to your head) and fear of losing that power and sense of accomplishment... that's probably sufficient to motivate a whole lot of horrendous behaviour that would seem incomprehensible from outside.

none of this is really specific to science fiction/fantasy. but then I don't think SFF is really all that unique.

#sff

[egg-emperor]

What's your opinion on the Sonic Prime Eggmans? /gen

Do I get to talk about regular Eggman too? At first I thought this was asking about him and I really wanna gush about him again but now I realize you probably mean the council more lol

I really loved the Prime version of regular Eggman! It was literally only five minutes worth but a very beautiful five minutes at that. Deem Bristow and Mike Pollock play huge parts of why I love Eggman and find him so entertaining so I didn't know how I was gonna feel about the change but Brian Drummond doesn't do a bad job, he could easily become my next favorite voice after them if he worked on it a little more.

I enjoyed how simplistically enjoyable Eggman was. Funny and silly and getting up to evil to find and steal the paradox prism and use it in his schemes. His ambition and motivation to take over the world there strong as ever and talking about wanting a world that's more him in neon was cute, I like and am fascinated by bright colors and pretty lights and want everything to be about you too Ivo dhfisbgjsbgkdh

I love the classic bickering and scolding Orbot and Cubot. I love how he tricked Sonic and went the route of taunting him then targeting his best friend Tails to piss him off enough to bait and make him snap for his plan to work, being a real bastard and calling him "stupid as Tails is ugly" lol. I loved how happy he was for it to work and how he laughed maniacally and looked like such an adorable evil bastard doing it!

Everything I love about Eggman was intact there and I was looking forward to seeing more. I expected it was gonna have the vibe of my favorite parts of X as that's what that five minutes felt like and that's exactly what I've been wanting for years, for modern Eggman to come back in a show and be just like that. I really miss Prime Egg and I wish he would come back but they threw him out in the first ep :(

He was so beautiful and charming and entertaining 🥰

I miss hiiim but I'm gonna bet that he won't return in any form beyond the prismatic titan until the very end of the show or something

As for the Chaos Council, I unfortunately have much less to say as I'm personally not a fan of them. The concept certainly had the potential but the execution is lacking. They just don't have a lot going for them, they're kind of just generic character archetypes such as Baby, Teenager, Hipster, Old Man, Not Eggman, etc. They don't have regular Eggman's personality and charm and are just like strangers in his skin.

I really wish I could like them more but both their designs and personalities don't grab me. For that I only watched the first eight episodes and never watched the second batch besides the prismatic titan Eggman parts. I'd at least have been happier if they had kept regular Eggman with them, as depicted in the concept art as he was going to be a part of the council but they decided to rid of him completely.

The most cool and interesting part of Prime to me outside of regular Eggman to me is New Yoke City. I always love seeing a world taken over by Eggman and I'm a huge sucker for the dark controlled industrialized polluted dystopian hellscape where there's propaganda everywhere on the walls, orders and rules constantly being enforced through the robot patrol saying stuff like and over PAs blasting through speakers

It's an "Eggman" ruled and controlled place, a dark shitty oppressive place and people are just mindless zombies and slaves to the harsh system because they feel hopeless to break out with no freedom, controlled, restricted, and watched. The way it's spelled New YOKE city so it sounds like "yolk" like egg but is potentially a reference to a "yoke", a type of leash to control cattle, fits how they're oppressed and controlled was right up my alley.

Seeing the real Eggman in a place like that leading the Chaos Council would've been so cool. Then it could've looked like the concept as the version that I liked a lot more than the look of the final for all the regular Eggman designed inspired assets, it even has the beautiful neon and cool lights like he wants! And I just love how much it looks like Eggmanland hehe. I really wish they'd tapped into that potential.

#dr eggman #eggman #dr robotnik #dr. eggman #sonic prime #asks #my post

[gaz-light]

CW: Me but ugly

Ya know what fuck it. I don't intend to this mid week. I wanna do it now while I've got the time and honestly I'm a bit excited.

This is John. He's the guy I used to be. I don't have many other pictures of him but I saved these ones for this purpose. They're some of the few I could stand for some reason.

It's hard to think I ever used to look like that. Think or act the way I did. You could go back right now and tell him the events of the past like year or so and honestly he'd probably understand it. Would be too scared as shit nervous and doubtful to ever believe it. Hated himself too much to imagine it being this way.

This is how I started off on Hormones 1 year ago. 5/31/22. Somewhere between 11/7/21 and 4/9/22 everything went to shit. I crashed my motorcycle and broke my arm, ended up broke, didnt get into grad school, the girl I was madly in love with just let me know I was being replaced by someone with a pussy. It took about everything happy in my life turning to shit over night to finally crack the egg that I had been growing in for so long.

There were signs before. Things I always knew. Always hung out with girls. Liked sapphic content. Felt detachment from peers of my agab, enjoyed pretending at being an internet femboy. Horribly autistic. Fucking hated my body. Hated hated hated hated hated. I had a closeted sissy kink and dressed up FOR YEARS. So much more. Eventually I started hooking up with trannies the same way I hooked up with lesbians and things began to click. Something in me thought ya know what, I don't have to just admire and adore and yearn for them. Then a good friend of mine consoling me one April night more or less extended an invitation and I didn't look back.

And then she was born. I think these photos are from maybe a month post starting HRT. Would you believe I hadn't seen myself without facial hair in like 10 years before this point. I hadn't shaved it all off since I was 13. I'm hispanic. Greek and Cuban so I've had this accursed facial and body hair for fucking ever. I was so afraid the first time I picked up that razor. I didnt know if I'd like what was on the other side. I felt safe and secure in the validation I got from other people that I thought it'd be ok if I was just unhappy with myself forever. I hated whatever I was so much that I didnt have the energy to care for her.

Then I shaved.

I looked in the mirror and I thought that girl looked kinda cute. For the first time I really didnt think I looked so bad. My friends were very supportive thankfully. Not everyone was. Certainly not dear old dad who still wont call me by my name or gender me properly. The man who told me god had cursed him with 2 faggots. My little trans brother and I. The man who let me know I was a disappointment and that neither I or anyone of us were real women. I still havent forgiven him for so much. But I am trying to let it go. Even the cis people were kinda nice. I lost some who were kinda edgy friends from highschool. Nothing of value was lost.

Since then I've worked to navigate the professional world as a woman. My first boss at my first real post college job was this British woman from England who made my life kinda hell. Preyed upon and picked on me and embarrassed me professionally. One of the 2 other women at the office. She never would admit to it but I think she resented me for it. I was also the only tranny there. Well sorta. There was 1 other who worked down in facilities doing the trash and dishes for the labs. But not up there. Not on the 8th floor with us in the "war room".

And this is where and who we are now 1 year later. Same eyes. Same 5'0 looking ass. But happier. Smiles when she looks in the mirror. Can actually do things for herself. Set boundaries. Care. Maybe she can even love too. I've placed myself into countless lesbian romance fantasies and I feel like I have a shot at living them. I used to be like 200 pounds. I'm down to 128 and also built like a brick house full of muscle. I was horrified of being trapped in that body of mine forever and the fear and doubt that I'd never make it even this far scared me into doing nothing until i had little else to lose.

Let me leave you with some wise advice that friend who cracked my egg once gave to me: The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second best time is right now.

Transitioning was the best decision I ever made for myself. Happy birthday Morrigan. I love you.

#pin #anniversary #morri posting

[toastylicious]

I made an ib fanfic called "safe"

now im forcing you to read it :gun: Author`s note: this fanfic is bad. Very bad. But a part of it is based on a real event that happened with me and my little brother.

Summary: uhhh something happens, Ib and Garry do stuff.

It's a pretty cold night, but Garry and Ib are safe and sound inside of Ib's home. Ib's mother and father are out on a date, celebrating their wedding anniversary, and they let Garry babysit Ib. Though he turned down any and all payment from her parents, he was glad to spend time with Ib. Ib gave her parents a swift hug and a wave goodbye as they exited their home. She was excited, VERY excited to finally have garry with her in her home. And though she's been left alone with many babysitters, her parents never really left her with them at night. It would always be around lunch, if her parents needed to run errands, or had awkwardly-timed appointments, but it seemed they trusted Garry more than whoever else they employed. “Looks like it's just us, Ib.” Garry said, with a wide smile. Ib replied with a nod, immediately grabbing his hand. Garry was startled, but he went along with it, knowing she meant no harm. “Woah! Slow down, I'm an old man, yknow-” His comment made Ib laugh a little, and he couldn't help it but let out a soft giggle. Ib really was going fast, almost pulling him behind. She stopped in front of a white door, which was absolutely COVERED with stickers. Some of bunnies, some of butterflies, all arranged as if they were always meant to be in one image together. A little sign rested on the door. It was written in obnoxiously fancy cursive, most likely written by Ib's mom. On it was written.. “Ib's room… this one's yours, right?” Garry read out, and Ib replied with a little nod. She opened the door, and Garry had to crouch a little to even attempt to get in, as the doors inside the house were pretty short. Ib picked up a plush bunny, shoving it into Garry's arms. “Her name is Bunni.” Ib said, pointing at the plush.

“Well hi there, Bunny!” Garry said, patting the plush on it's tiny head. “No… it's Bunni. With an i. See?” Ib replied, showing him a little nametag that was on the bunny. The tag's handwriting was also cursive, though much messier and less fancy, with smaller hoops.

“My apologies, lady Bunni.” Garry said, handing the plush to Ib and bowing down to it. It made Ib giggle, and i'd be a liar if I said that he didn't laugh as well.

“Bunni forgives you.” Ib said, raising her head up high like a snob and pretending to pout. She couldn't keep that expression for long though, as she burst out laughing right after.

“Well I'm glad she does… Hey, did you write that yourself?”

He picked up the nametag that was hanging from the bunny. Ib replied with a proud nod. “Great job!”

Those two simple words made Ib feel like the smartest person in the world. “Thanks. Momma helped me with the letters.” Ib simply said, holding the plush close. She sat down onto her bed, tapping the other side of it twice, to imply that she wanted Garry to sit there. He listened, sitting down.

“You've got a pretty nice room, huh.”

He commented, as he sat down. The compliment made Ib smile. Her stomach rumbled, and she tugged on Garry’s coat to get his attention. “Garry… I’m hungry.” She told him, quietly. She was excited for him to cook again, as he had made some of the best meals she’d ever have. “Right…I should make something for you. Cmon, you have to help me make pancakes- I dunno where your parents keep the sugar!” He giggled. Next thing Ib knew, she was munchkin’ on some DELICIOUS pancakes in the kitchen! “There… Oh, don’t worry. I ate before I came here.” Garry replied to Ib’s worried looks, as she was the only one eating. She shrugged it off and ate some more. Next stop- Back to Ib’s bedroom for a bedtime story. “Well Ib.. which one would you like?” He said, looking at the large pile of books next to Ib’s bed. All of them were stories, though they were stacked on top of each other like a storybook jenga of sorts. Ib pointed to the book on the very top. She stood up on her bed, getting up on her tippy toes to reach it. “Uhh… the rabbit princess?” Garry asked, reading the title. Ib nodded, shoving it in his arms. “Right. Well you should get dressed in your jammies while I make a quick trip to the loo.” When he came back, she was already dressed, and ready to be tucked in. “Look at youuu! So fancy!” Her pajamas were made of silk, and were completely white. Though she sometimes was, as most kids tend to be, pretty messy, her pjamas were completely clean. 

“Aaaalright, let’s start with the story!” He tucked her in, and sat onto a corner of her bed, ready to begin reading. After about half an hour she seemed to be asleep, and he (by her parents' command) was free to watch tv in the living room.

“Night, Ib.” He softly said, turning off the lights. He was just about to go downstairs, when he heard a familiar voice stop him. “Garry.. When is mom gonna come home?” Ib hadn’t been separated from her mom this late.. Nor this long.. It worried her. 

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Garry reassured her, giving her a pat on the head. She clung to him, giving him a hug. “I don’t wanna go to bed, not until mom comes back.” Crystal tears started to form in her eyes, and Garry knew she wouldn’t be going to bed that easily. He didn’t really give much thought to his next actions, taking off his coat and wrapping her in it, like a burrito. It caught her a bit off guard. “If you’re gonna cry, you’re gonna be a burrito. Deal?” Garry said, picking the little girl up. It made Ib smile through her tears. She nodded, before he placed her down onto the sofa. He quickly went up to her room and grabbed her plushie, giving it to her. “Deal.” She said, snuggling up to him. He was sitting right next to her. “Waddya wanna watch, my sad lil burrito?” He asked her, making her giggle. She had stopped crying by now, but she still was sad. “Ponyo!” Ib said, with a little enthusiasm. Both of them have watched that movie like a thousand times each, but it was still a masterpiece of a film. Besides, it always made Ib feel happy when she was sad. “Ponyo it is..” He looked through a box full of VHSes, and right there it was, Ponyo. All throughout the movie, Ib seemed to never stop gripping his arm. She was fast asleep, finally, and Garry managed to carry her over back to her bed. Her plush was resting in her arms, and he had to balance it, so it wouldn’t slip out her arms while he was carrying her. “Good night, Ib.”

He said, turning off the lights and going downstairs. Right about then Ib’s mom had come home, attempting to be silent. Ib’s dad was out, parking the car. “Hello miss!” Garry had greeted Ib’s mom, as she placed her coat onto the coat rack. “Hi, Garry. I assume she’s asleep?” Garry had nodded, grabbing his things. “I must go, now. I’ll be seeing you soon!” He insisted, grabbing his things, and leaving. Though, he had forgotten one thing. His coat. About a day later he got a call from Ib’s mother, regarding his coat. Ib wanted to give it to him personally, and she had ridden her bicycle all the way to his house just to get it to him. There she was, standing at his front door. She rang the doorbell, hoping that he wasn’t at work. “Hey Ib-” Before he could say anything, she shoved the coat in his arms and left. She was… late for lunch. “STAY SAFE!” Garry shouted, but she was already gone. He made sure she went off safely by waiting for her to make it far enough so that he couldn’t see. “..” He went back into his house, finally having his coat back. -End 

#ib #ibgame #ib game #guertena #ib garry #garry ib #garry #ib (game) #ib (character) #writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic #THEIR FAMILY DYNAMIC AGH #IM #IM SO UGH #I LOVE THEM

[egelskop]

Ik it's from like two years ago so you by no means have to answer this but I just discovered your tma campanella au and I was wondering if there's like- a specific story to it? I just watched Night on the Galactic Railroad, so is it basically just another version of that story, or? I'd love to hear more about it!!!

most of the early drawings i made for campanella were made without a story in mind, and even the later drawings were made with only a vague narrative in mind. i wouldn't call what i have specific, but i do have some (somewhat disjointed) thoughts on the world of campanella. i never really managed to really pin it down or write it out in full, but here are a few musings and sketches:

the story starts with canon tma ending and jon and martin blasting off into space and time to emerge somewhere else. in this process, martin 'reincarnates' as a star and jon becomes a regular shmegular human baby.

martin, in his nature of being a sentient star, is a very lonely phenomenon. he carries with him a little red radio that never seems to pick up a signal. he is often overcome with heavy feelings of loss, loneliness and longing, but he doesn't know why or how; he has no literal memories of his past life. sometimes he cries starry tears. the red wisps are a semi-sentient extension of himself, and when he's feeling bad he'll cocoon himself for comfort.

jon grows up with certain oddities in his life. his dreams are extremely vivid and contain worlds that are manifestations of fear entities, some more antagonistic than others. as a youth, jon experiences frequent nightmares and has sleep issues, compounded by him feeling a certain 'presence' in real life that manifests as a shadow following him in his dreams. towards his adulthood the dreams become less threatening, and eventually they vanish completely.

(this part is very speculative, because i never managed to research astronomy enough to make this make sense... 🥲)

jon gets a job as a data analyst at an observatory, and in this way he eventually discovers martin, though he only recognises it as a somewhat abnormal star. after the discovery, the team he's part of shifts its focus towards investigating the abnormalities of the star.

one morning he wakes up and finds a star in his hair. unsure of what to do with it, he leaves it on his nightstand. the next morning, he wakes up with more stars in his hair. from there, jon starts getting vivid dreams again, and in his dreams he's his kid self being guided by the shadow through different worlds that he saw in his youth. in these dreams he now finds objects that act like pieces of a puzzle leading him to his own past life and martin. through the stars that stuck to jon in the waking world, martin can feel the other trying to 'find' him, reaching out to 'find' him in turn, and in the end, they do.

addendum: the thing about drawing without a fixed plot in mind is that some aspects are either changed or forgotten. in this way i completely forgot about a paper plane once having a role in the story despite it having appearances in both art and my animation for the au/// 🥲 having stated that, i feel like, because of the 'not-set-in-stone' nature of campanella (where even i, the creator, ended up forgetting about a major visual element), i'd love for folks to ascribe their own meaning to it as they see fit!

thank you a lot of much for your attention and your interest in my little passion project <3

#campanella #gras talks

[ben-j-erickson]

RWRB: Thoughts on the movie

SO a while back, i let the entire internet(like 2 people) know my thoughts on the RWRB trailer. i watched the movie last night. and i have so many, SO SO many thoughts about it. Buckle in kiddos, this is gonna be one long fucking post.

In honor of Mr. Alex Claremont-Diaz and his endless lists, here are some lists including but not limited to what i liked and what i didn't like.

What i liked:

Uma Thurman. Slayed as per usual. I did think they could've done more with her bc she's so much more mom-president in the books. Still, though, Uma Thurman is always amazing and it's amazing to see her.

The way they did the texts and calls? Phenomenal! Did they technically only do that once? yes but we ignore that for a minute

The way that they addressed being queer and the coming-out experience. Everyone deserves to be able to figure out their sexuality/gender in their own time and to be able to tell the world at their time and pace. And they made sure to put that in the movie. [Quick tangent: two of the biggest queer projects of the year(so far), Heartstopper and RWRB both have themes about coming out and how it should be. ]

The sex scenes were actually not bad. The "let's make love" scene never happened in the book and their first time having sex together was way more low-key in the book but I liked that gay intimacy was shown in a very unflinching sort of way. The book certainly doesn't shy away from-for lack of a better word- smut and I'm glad that the movie took a less fade-to-black approach. (and yes, reader, it did make me want to get dicked down. No, I will not elaborate, take from that what you will)

Phillip. I never thought that I'd say this but Phillip in his little 2hr condensed form is actually really accurate. he pisses me off and he's condescending and a real prick. good job writers

Okay. That's some stuff i liked. Apologies readers, my dislike list might be longer than my like list but its coming from a place of love, I promise

What I didn't like:

June. WHERE WAS JUNE???? i get that its a 2-ish hr amazon movie but still. You're gonna have Nora(more on her in just a sec) but not June?? June was a very big part of the book who is a big support for Alex and is just generally cool. Making Alex an only child did not feel right y'all.

If you're gonna have Nora in the movie or like combine Nora and June or whatever the writers/directors/producers had in mind, then DO IT RIGHT. Nora in the books is firmly queer and cool and like probably austistic and a hacker(?). She's got her own sideplot with the whole Richards leak(again, more on that later). She helps Alex come to terms with his bisexuality. And you're just gonna make her a little side character that gives Alex advice and is maybe working on the Claremont campaign. like c'mon. Nora and June are Alex's support system, they're the people he relies on, the people who have seen him before being first-son and after becoming first-son.

Speaking of Alex being the first son, i wasn't happy that they sort of just glossed over Alex's insecurities. we get a little of them in the emails but part of what makes Alex so relatable is that he is confident and he is smart and he does want to help people but he also understands and feels the difference between himself and Henry. Henry is white and British and privileged and has a myriad of insecurities too but Henry will never understand being judged solely on your skin. On being compared to someone else but understanding the double-standards that come along with it. i honestly don't know if i put it correctly but that is why i loved alex so much.

FUCKING MIGUEL RAMOS. WHO MADE THAT FUCKING DECISION????? first off, for those who have yet to read the book, Miguel Ramos is not in the book. Rafael Luna is. Liam is. Both men are very important for Alex(and Henry)'s story. Liam is a key component in Alex's journey in bisexuality. Rafael Luna's involvement in the Richards Campaign is also very important plot-wise. Luna is also one of the guys who Alex realises he thought was hot btw.

The Richards Campaign!?!?!?!! felt very non-important. like i just don't really feel the need to root for the Claremont Campaign or root against the Richards Campaign when they sort of take a backseat. in the book the Richards campaign is the one to leak the emails and its a more malicious strike against the Claremont Campaign vs a jealous reporter who the Alex hooked up with once leaking the story.

WHILE we're on the emails, i know that you can only fit so much in here but COME ON MAN. the emails are sort of the foundation of Henry and Alex's romance. they text(AFTER ALEX GIVES HENRY HIS NUMBER BTW) and then they email each other and its so gay/bi and so happy and so romantic and the quotes man the FUCKING quotes and i didn't get that and can you tell that the emails mean a lot to me

the "history,huh?" moment did not feel as impactful to me. fight me on that , i don't care.

Bea. Said it before, not how i pictured. But boy did they really reduce Bea. Mind you, she's got a very big role in Henry's life an they do try but the powder princess stuff is kind of important.

Princess Catherine. Where is she? Who knows? Again, cut for time but my gosh people, she's the reason Queen Mary turns around on Henry and Alex.

Speaking of Queen Mary, they switched her around for a king?!?!?! LISTEN i get not wanting to make real-world comparisons yadayadayada but Stephen Fry?!?!?! im so sorry that man is too nice for you to try to convince me that he's a racist and homophobic ruler.

Alex's parents. They're together, i guess? minor thing so that's why its here idk.

SO that was a lot of complaints and some good stuff.

You may be thinking "THANK GOODNESS, it's over"

WRONG.

I have more thoughts, dear reader.

Look, was it a perfect adaptation? no. adaptations rarely are.

Was it a good movie? yes. it was.

This movie made my little gay POC heart very VERY happy. it made me happy to see something that I treasure be put out into the world in a movie that I will be watching over and over and over. I'm obviously not pleased with the multiple liberties they took but I'm taking what I can. We need more queer everything out in the world. More queer books, more queer movies, more queer photography, more queer tv shows, more queer museum exhibits, you name it. Given the current state of the world and attitudes about queer people, it is essential to make and consume queer media in all its forms. Queer media makes sure that everyone knows that we're here and queer and we're not going anywhere. This is an important story to tell. And it doesn't have to be perfect. It just needs to tell OUR stories.

Henry, Alex (and also Nick Nelson and Charlie Spring) have made me want a love like theirs. A love that is genuine and real and honest and full of hope. A love who understands me and who I understand. To quote Dr. Taylor Alison Swift: "A love that was really something, not just the idea of something."

#alex claremont diaz #rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb spoilers #rwrb book #henry mountchristen windsor #firstprince #sorry for the rant #rant post #thats my opinion #gay #bisexual #swifties #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #red white and royal blue

[demontruth]

Sorry to all my followers. Yes unfortunately I'm going to get harsh, mean, maybe even cruel. I didn't call this Demon truth for no reason. This also why I separated this from my main blog. Politics, particularly politics in the US have become a naughty business. Before for me at least, before Trump become President I was fine to let that naughty business stay in DC and just heard about on the news. But the night of 2016 Presidential election, I with so many others watched in horror as the map of the US turned blood red as state after state went for Trump. A fear I've never felt exploded inside me because I had no idea what was about to happen in our country. I just knew it wouldn't be good. I'm a member of the LGBTQIA+ community and I'm a woman. I remember that night there was a newscaster on national channel that was covering the election results, he was an African-American gentleman when he spoke of the fear he had of the results of a Trump president there was true terror in that man's voice. It's something I never witnessed from a newscaster in my life. It's stuck with to this day.

Because of that and everything that came after. Now the true terror of what the fuck might happen because we're here again. But this time no one seems to taking this shit seriously because so many have forgotten how bad is was when Trump was President. Seen that yes Biden isn't the best-suited, strongest, President we could have or need right now. But he's 1000 times better then a Trump presidency so we, including me have been lulled back to a place of being complacent Americans. Until recently for me because what's happening in Palestine, the fear of Trump getting into the White House again, the war in Ukraine...

So I apologize that any gloves I once had are off I'm bare knuckle boxing here for our democracy, our country, our Constitution, our way of life. Yea our country needs help, but it's not a fascist authoritarian regime under Dictator Trump. I've been telling mostly the void since before 2016 Trump was, is a wannabe Dictator. (He idolizes Dictator all over the world. He fucking love Putin remember!)

The people that support Trump... I've talked to some in real life to try to understand why their on his side. Not the full gone nut jobs, but just normal people. I spoke to this old woman on the bus once. I ask why she supported him, what she told me was insightful for me but also hard to completely understand. Now this woman was in I'd say her late 60s, early 70s so she not pigeonhole under what some think is Trump supporter, she's hispanic, was a teacher (that's how we got to talking actually because she taught at my old elementary school after I went there), had been married, her husband away passed, had 2 sons. I think the only reason she was so forthcoming telling me about her life was that I went to the school she taught at. What she told me was Trump as President for her made her feel safe. And felt he'd make sure older people like herself was taken care of. Just listening to her as we ride the bus, truthfully trying to understand how she could possibly get that from him. In that light I could understand why she'd vote for Trump. But I knew as we all do that it not true not in anyway. There's this complete disconnect from the truth that standing right in front of them. It's so literally like the Wizard of Oz. That MAGA, some Republicans and anyone else that like him and vote for him see him as the Great Wizard, but the rest of have always been able to see the real Trump that's behind the curtain. The con artist, the lair, the criminal, also now the traitor, the wannabe Dictator.

That would ok fine, if Trump hadn't controlled our government and doesn't want to control it again. For me that's where the train goes off the rails. I get angry, I feel the rage coming, I no longer have any, zero patience for anyone that supports him or anyone that has anything to do with him. Because when I say hate Trump I'm not exaggerating in any fashion. I hate him with every fiber of my being!! He could literally destroy democracy as we know it if he get back into the White House!

So yea I'm going to fight and claw and bite and snarl and punch and hit and kick and beat and scream and tear and rip and break noses and be mean and evil and anything if it means Trump loses the election!! I will be as bloody as I need to be (metaphorically).

I will use this to wake people up, to make the undecided, decide because truthfully at this point how can anyone not have decided by now! Make those who shouldn't vote (MAGA) stay the fuck home. Because the Republicans cheat to get votes what does everyone think gerrymandering is about. So about time we do to, by we I mean fucking everyone against Trump. Fuck he bitch enough about the election being rigged anyway.

My point is the time to be nice unfortunately is over. We have to remember how bad the 4 years Trump was President. Yes I thought I could just wipe that from my memories too but nope. The fucking villain in horror movie wasn't dead after all... motherfucker!!!

#to my followers #sorry gloves are off #we gotta defeat Trump