#sofia escobar

[operafantomet]

Gerónimo Rauch as the Phantom in West End (2013-2015) and in Madrid (2023-2024)

In West End his principal/alternate Christines were Sofia Escobar, Olivia Brereton, Harriet Jones and Emmi Christensson, while it in Madrid is Talía del Val and Judith Tobella.

#geronimo rauch #phantom of the opera #fantasma de la opera #harriet jones #sofia escobar #talia del val #poto west end #poto spain

[marybeatriceofmodena]

Sofia Escobar's "WHY do you curse mercy" living in my mind rent free for weeks huh

#phantom of the opera #Sofia Escobar #phantom west end

[marleneoftheopera]

Ten (of many) special moments at POTO London:

Michael Crawford's final performance where he was presented with his own chandelier; this was one day after the first anniversary.

The 20th anniversary featuring  Charles Hart, Earl Carpenter, Gillian Lynne, ALW, Sarah Brightman, Rachel Barrell, and Andrew Bridge.

The 21st anniversary featuring Ramin Karimloo and Leila Benn Harris. This also marked the first anniversary where both leads were played by POC.

The 10,000th performance featuring Will Barratt, Sofia Escobar, ALW, Michael Crawford, and Stephen John Davis.

The 25th anniversary performances at the Royal Albert Hall.

The 12,000th performance with Geronimo Rauch, Harriet Jones, and Liam Tamne in the leads.

The 30th anniversary (with a 4 Phantom/2 Christine performance instead of the usual 4/1)

The 33rd anniversary; understudy Adam Robert Lewis had to take over mid-show for Josh Piterman.

The 35th anniversary-- the first one celebrated in person since Covid.

The 36th anniversary, celebrated yesterday!

Happy 36th to the London production, long may you run!

#poto london #The Phantom of the Opera #Michael Crawford #Sarah Brightman #earl carpenter #rachel barrell #sofia escobar #harriet jones #geronimo rauch #Sierra Boggess #ramin karimloo #adam robert lewis #Killian Donnelly #lucy st louis #andrew lloyd webber #charles hart #leila benn harris #will barratt #stephen john davis #john owen jones #scott davies #gardar thor cortes #ben forster #celinde schoenmaker

[phantomchristinesuk]

Phantom London: throwback

In 2013 the London production had 4 Christines for the first time.

At the cast change in September 2013, the show added an additional Christine.

Sofia Escobar was Principal performing 4 shows a week.

Harriet Jones and Olivia Brereton were Alternates performing 2 shows each.

Ashleigh Fleming was the Understudy.

Sofia was originally meant to stay until December but departed in October.

The production then returned to the traditional 3 Christines, with Harriet and Olivia sharing the role (4 performances each).

From February 2014 Harriet became Principal & Olivia became Alternate.

Credit: Phantom of the Opera Facebook Harriet Jones Twitter, Ashleigh Fleming Twitter, Olivia Brereton Instagram

#phantomoftheopera #poto west end #poto london #phantom of the opera #Sofia Escobar #harriet jones #olivia brereton #Ashleigh Fleming

[rawsmackdownnxtdivas]

Legado Del Fantasma (with Zelina Vega & Santos Escobar) vs Maximum Male Models (with Maxxine Dupri) - Smackdown Tag Team Title Contenders Tournament:Friday Night Smackdown 1/20/23

#zelina vega #santos escobar #joaquin wilde #cruz del toro #legado del fantasma #mansoor #maxxine dupri #maximum male models #wwe #friday night smackdown #sofia cromwell

[lavendertales]

My, oh my—Javier Peña x f!reader**

Chapter 7 of the Unholy series

summary: Steve lets it slip to Javier why you’re in Colombia. But when you’re on your way home from a girls’ night, you and Javier let your feelings get the best in you.

word count: 5.3k

WARNINGS: doggy, hair pulling, pussy slapping, handjob, cunnilingus from behind, creampie.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @trashcora​ 

series masterlist | AO3

Though Connie followed through with her invitation to dinner, you were still a little surprised. Pleasantly surprised, but still. You gladly accepted, especially when you realized it would be you, her and Sofia. You haven’t had a girls’ night in a very long time and it could be exactly what you needed.

As it turned out, getting a confession out of La Quica was a challenge. Javier tried, then Steve tried, and then you tried. When you entered the interrogation room and Quica told you he’ll talk if you go sweet on him, you had to resist the urge to vomit right then and there. Luckily for you, Carrillo stepped up, proving himself to be a rightful leader.

Now, you’re not sure what happened after Carrillo took over the interrogation process. La Quica was removed from the embassy’s premises and all you knew was that Javier and Steve were the only ones allowed to chime in. You and Sofia were asked specifically to focus on other members of Escobar’s entourage, so you didn’t overthink it. You figured it must’ve been something unorthodox that not even Noonan or Wysession would’ve agreed with.

So after all, it seemed you had some free time to spare, and girls’ night was the ideal opportunity to spend some quality time with women your age.

You had to confess, you were excited.

Thursday afternoon rolled around, and you showed up at Steve and Connie’s place with a bottle of red wine in hand and your revolver in your purse. You never left home without it, just in case. Bogota wasn’t particularly welcoming, particularly to women, and with Escobar’s people at every corner, things took a turn for the worse. Better to have a measure of safety and to not use it than the other way around.

“Hi, come in!”

Connie greets you with a tight hug, thanking you for the wine.

“We got four bottles of wine now,” she laughs, taking out the glasses from the cupboard.

“So one bottle each and one to share,” you joke.

Sofia laughs as you take a seat next to her. “Where’s Steve?”

“He wouldn’t say. All he said was that he and Javi had to meet with Horacio and… that’s about it.”

You suck in a sharp breath, controlling each one that comes in afterwards. There’s no nervousness to be felt, only residual guilt.

“Do you guys know anything about it?” Connie asks, offering you and Sofia your wine and setting down a plate with food.

“We have ideas,” Sofia says cautiously, “but nothing for sure. We were asked to stay away from this particular interrogation.”

“Oh. So it’s not… legal?”

You furrow your brows, taking the first sip of the wine and feeling it warm your extremities.

“Well… maybe not entirely,” you answer.

“Okay, then if the guys don’t want us to know, we shouldn’t wonder.”

“Agreed.”

The three of you clink the glasses together, and for the first time in weeks, you feel truly relaxed. There’s nothing to disturb you, nothing to make you fidgety or angry.

“Steve says you and Javi went to college together,” Connie initiates the inevitable conversation. “You were in the same group?”

“Yep, same class. Quite unfortunate, really.”

Sofia giggles. “You never talk about it.”

“Because not many people would understand the relationship we have.”

Connie and Sofia exchange a look, then turn back to you.

“Try us,” Connie smiles.

You breathe in and out, quickly as ripping off a band-aid. Another sip of wine slips past your lips, and you decide to open up at last.

“It’s just the way it’s always been between us,” you begin. “It’s been that way right from the beginning. I don’t know, I guess we just bring out the competitive side in each other. We pushed each other to have the higher grades, the better-looking projects, the more extracurricular classes and activities… his cocky attitude always got to me, truth be told. And I suppose mine had the same effect on him.”

“You guys are competitive with each other, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sofia says.

“Sounds like it’s a bit more than that, though,” Connie adds.

You frown. “No, it’s not.”

She shrugs, staring into your eyes with a sympathetic smile that somehow makes you feel worse.

“What do you mean?” you demand.

“Well, it seems having him around makes you want to be better, and vice versa. You bring out the best in each other.”

“But we bring out the worst in each other. I mean, at work we argue and bicker and we’re tense—“

“Usually cause where there’s tension, there’s something more.”

Sofia makes a cheeky expression towards you, one that you dismiss.

“There’s nothing more,” you almost laugh. “I—we dislike each other, we just want to outdo and annoy each other.”

“But… come on,” Sofia jumps in, “Javier’s a very good looking guy. Surely you noticed that.”

Your frown deepens and you purse your lips together.

“He’s a rat,” you say.

Both women giggle, which makes you more confused and upset.

“Javi’s very good looking,” Connie fortifies.

“You do remember Steve, right? Your husband?”

Connie moves a little closer to you, putting her arm around you. She sighs with the same radiant smile on her face, making you fear that she was about to spew something meaningful and deep, and you already know it won’t be your cup of tea.

“Look, you know your own feelings and this relationship between the two of you better than us, better than anyone else,” she says. “We’re just teasing here. But would it be so bad to… you know… like the man?”

“Didn’t you hear me before? The man’s a rat! He’s slept with I don’t know how many women before, he’s annoying and stubborn, hot-headed, cocky, grumpy and miserable… what?”

Both of them stare at you, willing themselves not to break into wide smiles.

“You do like him, don’t you?” Sofia smirks, practically radiating from how jittery she is.

“Am I speaking some sort of long-lost language to you? The man is obnoxious! He’s—he makes me so mad, so—“

Words flee from your mind, right under the girls’ eyes. This time, though, they don’t tantalize you. Even they can notice how you’re struggling with some inner emotions.

You don’t say the word that comes to your mind next. It feels immoral, forbidden.

Connie calls you out gently, gaining your attention again.

“You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to,” she reassures you.

You bear nothing but gratitude towards her in this moment for sparing you the trouble of having to explain the true nature of your dynamic with Javier, especially as of late. You doubt you’d be judged, but why transfer your headache to them?

This is your mess, nobody else’s.

“Thank you,” you coo, visibly distraught.

“But can we ask… how was Javier in college though?”

To that you chuckle, thankful for the second glass of wine that Connie pours you. You take a deep breath, letting all the memories from 15 years ago resurface.

“He was… not that much different than how he is now,” you say, oddly fond of that time in your life. “A little less grumpy, maybe, but pretty much the same.”

“I just can’t picture younger Javi, life of the party, studying…”

“He wasn’t really life of the party. He showed up, had some drinks, hung out in a corner with his two friends and call it a night. I did the same, though.”

“Were you really that competitive with each other?”

“Oh yes. Whatever grade I had, he had to have the better one. Whatever grade he had, I had to have the better one. I can’t tell you how it started, it just… did.”

“You mean you were instantly enemies, right from the start? There was no… friendship, no cordiality?”

It’s surprising that you hesitate; you thought of your college memories as intact, purely objective. Yet now, looking back on the first weeks into the college start, you realize that you and Javier were quite friendly with each other. The competition hadn’t began back then.

So where did it change so radically?

“Huh,” you say, brows furrowed in confusion. “You know, you might have a point. We weren’t like this from the beginning.”

“You weren’t?” Sofia asks.

On your side, Connie sips silently from the wine, listening to your story with utmost interest.

“No,” you confirm, utterly astounded. “No, we—we were colleagues, polite and… even friendly with each other.”

“What happened then?”

“We got out first assignment, and we ended up in different teams. I’m naturally competitive and want to do a great job with everything that I do, and I jokingly told him, ‘watch out, I’ll have the better assignment’. He replied in the same joking manner and… after that, it became a regular thing.”

“But going from friends to enemies still seems far-fetched,” Connie intervenes. “It doesn’t seem like it’s just some good old rivalry. Seems like something more personal happened in between you two that set you off.”

You think hard and long about that particular time period, but there’s nothing that stands out. You just embrace it as the way you are. After all, why should you think any different? Neither you nor Javier have ever given an indication that there was something more to be felt.

Except for now.

“Nothing comes to mind,” you say after a while. “I guess underneath those pleasantries we just didn’t like each other after all.”

Then how the hell do I crave him on top of me again?

Wouldn’t mind him under me either…

Shut up. This is insane. It’s over.

“It seems this competition is helping you in the workplace though,” Sofia says. “You’re both very hardworking.”

“That’s because we want to prove each other wrong,” you laugh. “But it does help in our search for Escobar.”

“How is that going, by the way? Aside the guys doing sketchy things.”

Following a half-hour of updating Connie on the case, you and Sofia alter the subject to learn how Connie met Steve. You could have used some encouragement given how things were going in your lives.

“Sooo… you don’t hate her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You sure pull on one hell of a show.”

Javier rolls his eyes, putting out his cigarette and finishing his beer. He agreed to meet with Steve at the bar to blow off some steam after the scene they had partaken in, and this topic of conversation isn’t entirely his taste.

“Why are we even talking about her?” he asks with as much displeasure as possible.

“Cause I’m your only friend and I’m curious.”

Javier stares unimpressed at him. “I’d much rather talk about this evening with Carrillo than her.”

“I don’t think you want to revisit what we just saw.”

Javier concurs with him, but he doesn't say it out loud. He wishes that drinking would erase his recent thoughts of that evening, but he agreed to have only one beer because he had to drive them both home.

“All I’m saying is, you can dial back on the harsh attitude,” Steve tells his friend. “We get it, you’re competitive, but it’s getting old after so many weeks.”

“It’s not something you can just turn on and off, Murphy. It’s the way we are with each other. That’s—not gonna change.”

But Steve notices his partner’s troubled figure, his momentary hesitation, and he knows he shouldn’t push the matter. However, what kind of friend would he be if he’d just drop things?

“Why are you so mad then? We’re just talkin’ about her.”

Javier grits his teeth, unable to look at Steve.

“Because the same way I don’t wanna talk about Escobar in my so-called free time, the same way I don’t wanna talk about her.”

“You did not just put those two in the same sentence.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s bullshit! Give me a fucking break. You can’t say she’s as bad as Escobar.”

“You know what I fucking mean!”

Steve is the one to roll his eyes this time, furious with his partner’s stubbornness. It’s not uncommon or new, but sometimes he cannot believe Javier’s audacity.

“If you had someone at work you couldn’t stand, I bet you wouldn’t wanna talk about them all day either,” Javier persists.

“You just said you don’t hate her.”

“For fuck’s sake—I just said I don’t!”

“Then why—“

“Because she’s infuriating! She’s so annoying and stubborn, hot-headed, cocky, know-it-all… not a day goes by that she doesn’t make my blood boil, even fifteen years later.”

Javier can barely breathe; he sees red in front of him, and in the center, he sees you, as distracting and vicious as always.

“Whoa,” Steve coos. “That’s… a lot.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if she came all the way here to spite me.”

“She didn’t. But the assumption is as stupid as you.”

Javier frowns. “Why do you sound so sure?”

It’s only then that Steve gulps, painfully aware of the beans he’s about to spill. You didn’t specify whether you wanted your confession to remain a secret, but Steve still doesn’t think he should spread the word around.

“Just a hunch,” he says.

“Did she—tell you something?”

“Huh, look who gives a shit!”

Javier makes a move as if to stand up, and Steve figures this is his one chance to give his friend a little perspective over the situation.

“She’s not here for you,” he says, grabbing Javier’s arm. “I know you’re the ladies’ favorite, but don’t flatter yourself so much.”

“Why is she here then? What does she want from me now?”

If there’s something that tips Steve about that behavior, is the desperation in Javier’s voice. He’s never heard him like that in the year and a half they’ve worked together, and he’s starting to believe that whatever Javier claims, the reality is far from it.

“She’s looking for her dad’s killer,” he blurts out. “Apparently her dad was killed on a trip to Bogota over a year ago and the autopsy revealed that he had been shot several times. She thinks it might be one of Escobar’s men.”

Javier is stunned. He says nothing as he rummages the words. Of course you wouldn’t be there for him. All he is… is a rival. A good sport. Nothing more.

Maybe a good fuck, but definitely nothing more.

It’s appalling that he feels disappointed in a sense. More so because it messes with his head and makes it spin in tormenting ways.

“I see,” he replies after a while, throat dry.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. You look a little disappointed.”

When did I get so fucking obvious? I got some shit to re-evaluate.

“I’m sorry to hear about her father. But does she really think one of Escobar’s men killed him?”

“That’s her hunch. The only proof is the autopsy report, and that’s not much to go by. A lot of people use different kinds of bullets.”

“It’s practically impossible to figure out who used which bullets.”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls in between them; the only ice breaker is Steve ordering his fifth beer, and Javier’s loud sigh. He feels a little bad for giving you a hard time when you were probably still mourning the death of your father.

“Do you know her dad’s name?” he asks, a thought crossing his mind.

“Uh… I think she said Michael. Why?”

“If he did die by the hands of one of the narcos, he should be in embassy’s archive. We keep records of all the identified bodies, the dad’s should be there if he was just shot. And if he was a civilian, the case was investigated, which means—“

“The killer might be there, in black and white.”

Steve’s face lights up, suddenly impressed by Javier’s demeanor.

“You do care about her, man,” he taps his shoulder. “It’s very nice of you to do that.”

“I didn’t do anything, I just had an idea. Relax.”

“Why are you against being a decent human being?”

Javier sighs, lighting another cigarette. He remains silent as Steve drinks from his beer, unwilling to look at him anymore.

At least he doesn’t have to explain his mixed feelings about you anymore. And at the very least, he doesn’t have to face you tonight.

Girls’ night came to its inevitable end once Steve entered in the apartment, tipsy and lovingly fondling Connie. You hid your chuckle, relieved to see that, in Sofia’s drunken state, she would at least crash over there instead of traveling across town in a questionable cab. So you bid them all goodnight, insisting that you were fine to go home. After all, you lived two blocks away.

“Take care, sweetie,” Connie tells you as you walk out, waving at the party left behind.

You search in your purse, making sure all your belongings remain in the same place. Not a moment later, your heart skips a beat when you notice the only other silhouette in the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, voice low and defenseless.

“I live here.”

You take a proper look, realizing that the apartment he’s about to enter is the one right in front of Steve and Connie’s, and you exhale.

“Of course you do. What are the odds?”

“The better question is, what are you doing here?”

“If you must know, Connie invited me and Sofia over for some wine and conversation.”

“Great, so that means I’ll get to see your face in my spare time too.”

“Not everything is about you, Peña.”

He doesn’t fight you back this round; in fact, he seems distressed, somewhat sickly, and if you wouldn’t be such a good person at your core, you would’ve even ask the following question.

“What’s going on with you?”

Taken aback, it takes Javier a while to reply. “Why?”

“You look kinda sick.”

“I guess I am. Sick and tired of having to talk about you, cause that’s what I spent most of this evening doing.”

You chuckle, suddenly angering him. He remains still though, even as you approach him all benevolent.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, irritated.

“I spent my evening talking about you, too.”

“No wonder I got a headache.”

Now, in the rosy light of the hallway, you see him conceal a smile, but you don’t point fingers. You do the same. Something feels slightly different between you two. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re seeing each other outside of the office for the second time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re feeling relaxed as opposed to constantly infuriated.

“It’s so… wild,” Javier says out of the blue, gaining your attention. “You were in my head, the whole time I had to explain shit to Murphy, but now you’re… here.”

You frown, unsure if you get where he’s headed with all that.

“Are you okay, Peña?”

He lets out a mocking laughter, the kind that makes you blind with rage, except...

Except now, in this bizarre moment, it doesn’t.

“Fuck you calling me Peña like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” he continues to laugh, hands on his hips as he stares at you in a mixture of disbelief and desire.

“Please.”

It’s him who moves closer to you, licking his lips and staring at you, pupils blown out of proportion.

“Please what?” he asks in the sultriest voice you’ve heard coming out of him.

“You think calling you that turns me on?” you try to laugh about it.

“What does, then?”

“You’re a filthy man.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

You swallow harshly, like there’s gravel in your throat. It’s all the more debilitating to realize that you cannot hide from him. The man reads you like the back of his hand.

“You don’t get to ask these things, Peña,” you make sure to accentuate his name. “Not when you got hard in the middle of the conference staring at me.”

“Oh yeah?”

You’re skipping rope with the line between cordiality and hatred, and your pulse races like it did that night at the bar. There’s something about his impertinence that, as much as you’d hate to admit it, gets you hot like nothing else could.

“Then you don’t get to take the high road and act like you’re better when you had to bite down on your lip to not scream my name.”

Oh, he’s filthy, alright. Filthy and vengeful, and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

“It didn’t—“

“Mean anything? Yeah, I keep telling myself that bullshit.”

You can’t deny that you’re taken aback by his boldness; the soft, yet determined look in his eyes you can only categorize as an absolute weakness. It’s bizarre and confusing how he manages to stir this vile concoction of emotions from you, while being the one vice you cannot seem to shake off.

“Is it? Is it bullshit?” you ask, fear shaking you a little.

He shrugs, eyeing you up and down in the most carnal, selfish way you’ve ever seen in anyone.

“Doesn’t feel that way anymore,” he replies.

You are used to seeing him uptight and cocky and mean, the way he was a few minutes ago. This alter ego of his is making you dizzy, and you don’t want it. Not now, not when there’s the sting of wine in your veins, and the anger of your same old rivalry consuming you.

“Do me a favor, enemy to enemy,” you coo, your face in a much too close proximity to his face.

“What do you need?”

The way he asks that makes you think he’s got the same thought on his mind, and you don’t wanna waste time thinking whether you’re right or wrong.

You want the same forbidden taste on your lips, the same decadent and dirty sensation that made your body tremble, and that same rush of adrenaline only this relationship has to offer.

“Be the same asshole you always are,” you say, tugging at his collar. “You get a free pass for that tonight.”

He raises his eyebrows, his chocolate eyes now wide and resembling a lost puppy.

God, you’d loathe everything about this if you wouldn’t be so enticed by his whole being right now.

“You want me to be the same old Javier Peña you dislike,” he concludes.

“Yes. Don’t talk. Don’t say anything. Just—“

You voice dies in the silence, and Javier obeys for what feels like a premiere since you’ve known each other, and succumbs to your wish. He pushes everything else out of his mind, including the fact he’s learned about you tonight, and chooses another wrong doing.

One that’s so saccharine he could die on the spot. But he’d die a happy man.

Happy. The notion didn’t even cross his mind till just now. He hadn’t felt happiness in a very long time, if ever. And what you and he are doing is wrong and inexcusable, but it’s undeniably the most fulfilled he’s felt in years.

He forgoes any other concern, anything else that doesn’t revolve around you, at least for the time being. When you press your mouth on his, he knows the dance; it’s fast-paced and eager, and Javier wants nothing else but that.

You both stumble as you enter his apartment, a foreign territory for you that you don’t pay much attention to. You figure you’d end up on the couch again, but instead, you’re surprised when you’re being pushed into a secluded room, presumably his bedroom.

It’s the most intimate setting you can think of, particularly when you fall on top of the comfy mattress and start undressing him in a haste. This is where he sleeps, where he’s probably fucked dozens of other girls, but you quickly recall you are just another number on the list in order to not turn this into anything other than its raw meaning.

The clothes are being disposed of fairly fast; neither talks while you gaze at the naked body before you, as you had requested, so you simply enjoy the view. The dim light in the room allows you to see his bronze skin above you, the happy trail that leads to what you need from him the most, and the erection that forms right under your very eyes.

He kisses you again and again, and then he leaves a wet trail of sloppy kisses down your jaw and neck, nestling his head in between your breasts as you part your legs, allowing him sufficient space to grind. You let out a small gasp when you feel his hand reaching in between your legs to find your clit, rubbing as gently as he can while his mouth remains on yours.

You feel the urge to return the favor and reach to give his cock a few strokes. Javier grunts in the kiss, pulling away from you to stare in disbelief.

“Don’t,” is all he tells you.

“Why?”

He loses the string of thought the more he stares at you. He’s unable to tell you that he could come on the spot if you touch him one more time, or that any touch of yours brings him to his knees in an instant.

“Can’t handle it?” you tease, and keep jerking him off slowly.

He grunts, eyes fluttered shut. It’s not the first time he feels someone’s warm hand curled around his shaft, but it’s the first time he feels like he’s going to explode from a singular touch. You stroke him gently, way too slow for his personal taste, and when your thumb grazes the tip, wiping the bit of precum leaking already from it, Javier loses it completely: he moans so loud you might think something’s the matter.

But you do notice the expression on his face and stop, fearing for a moment. Hell, you even broke your no-talking rule already because of this, so it better be worth it.

“Turn around,” he grunts at you.

When you fail to comply with his request, he kisses you harshly again. “I said, turn the fuck around,” he repeats, a slap falling over your pussy.

You quiver, shocked at the sensation, more so because the slick sound that emerges from in between your legs is lewd and embarrassing for your pride, but oh so ecstatic.

Javier repeats the motion three more times, more rapidly, and you finally change your position, ass full on display for him. In the heat of the moment, you realize that it might actually be better this way. This way, you don’t see him and he doesn’t see you. You don’t have to acknowledge who the person that’s bringing you immense pleasure is.

Your gasp is broken in tiny several ones when you feel his warm mouth lapping at your folds. His large hands are on your ass, holding you in place, and his tongue does its devilish dance on your core. You almost lose balance from the intense pleasure. Jesus Christ, how the hell does it feel you’ve been deprived of any touch for months instead of a few days?

One of your hands reaches to hold onto the headboard, the other barely managing to support your weight as waves of pleasure hit you from behind. Your whole body is afire, your belly set to detonate at any given moment. Javier’s mouth, as frustrating as it may be on a daily basis, is working magic against your soaked folds right now. You don’t contain your moans, even though you hate giving him the satisfaction of knowing that it’s him who awakens those feelings and sounds out of you.

Before you know it, another sound escapes from your mouth; fleeting, whispered with disdain, and you can only pray he didn’t hear it.

Javier.

It’s his name that stains your lips now as you approach your climax. His first name that you haven’t addressed him by in years that is the center of your pleasure.

Suddenly, the burning ache in your belly vanishes as quickly as it came. You turn your head and see him above you, face darkened with lust and chest heaving with irregular breaths. You see his hand drop to his cock, and you moisten your lips in anticipation. You stare back at the wall, waiting, feeling painfully empty and lonely.

But not for long.

Javier finally slips inside you, both of you gasping at the sensation. He leans into you more, burying himself to the hilt as he presses a kiss on your back.

“You don’t want me to be good?” he asks.

It’s hard to process his words, let alone come up with your own. It’s not easier when Javier grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you backwards.

“Talk,” he orders.

“No,” you manage to get out. “No, I don’t—want you to be good. If you can even be that.”

You can barely breathe, anxiously waiting for him to move. Your words trigger him as he gives his first thrust, deep and hard, causing you to choke on air.

“This is all you need, isn’t it?” he grunts, starting to rut his hips against yours, hand pulling your hair tighter. “Someone to—fuck you rough and fast, hm?”

“Yes—“

“A cock filling you up—and nothing sweet.”

You can only moan your approval when he starts railing you, rough and fast, just as he had said; the grip he has over your hair tightens even more, and your ass bounces with each thrust he gives you. The feeling of his cock pushing through your warm, slick walls is simply maddening, and he doubts he’ll last for too long. Ideally, he’d fuck you through the night, till you can’t walk or talk, but this will have to do in the meantime.

Another means to an end.

The most intoxicating means to an end he’d ever known.

His grunts fill the room when he feels his climax fast approaching. His whole body burns with your presence, his cock twitches and he instinctively buries himself inside you as far as he can. The rush he gets then is simply incapacitating: he feels his cum pulse in strong jets, moving from his balls to his cock, running along the length and then release his load into you. He freezes as he lets himself go completely, letting go of your hair and grabbing your torso instead, bringing you to his chest and squeezing your breasts with his palms. His thrusts get sloppier, further apart, and he bites your earlobe, waiting to settle down.

It takes you a while to climb down from your own high, and it’s baffling to grasp the fact that you don’t want this moment to end. Javier’s hold over your body is powerful, yet strangely tender, and you feel safe and happy.

You actually feel happy having had Javier fuck you senseless.

“So this is how to shut you up,” he coos right in your ear.

You smirk. “I could’ve used my mouth in another way that might’ve agreed with you more.”

He’s the one that chuckles now, moving his hand to curl carefully around your neck. He craves to see your face right now, to see how beautifully fucked out you look because of him, but he resists the urge. He sits there, cock softening inside of you and his warm seed spilled shamelessly, and simmers with his own miserable thoughts.

“You’re such a filthy woman,” he tells you.

The last memory of that evening, even later when you walk out of his apartment, struggling to keep your compose and ignore the feeling of his seed still on your core, is you smiling fondly at him.

previous | next 

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña smut #Javier Peña fanfic #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena smut #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #unholy series

[wheel-of-fish]

Why every time someone asks for "almost kiss" gifs or "the catch" you never post JOJ with Gina Beck? I'm sick of that 2005 bootleg. It's so sad no one filmed him with Katie Hall, Sofia Escobar, Harriet Jones, Emmi Christensson, etc. He had much better Christine's on his later runs

Hellooo, infamous JOJ anon who has harassed other bloggers, made ageist comments about actresses playing Christine, and repeatedly insulted the filmers who have graciously provided us with London footage! I was wondering when I'd see you in my inbox!

To answer your question—and I'd think this would be obvious—I can't make gifs from footage I don't have! But thank you for reaching out to complain about all two (2) gifsets I have made that fit this criteria.

Anyway, you're sick of the 2005 bootleg and I'm sick of hearing you complain about the 2005 bootleg, so maybe you could stop bothering people about it and it won't come up so much? Otherwise, I'm going to start posting Rachel Barrell gifs out of spite. :) Thanks!

#what an ask to wake up to #(in)box five #john owen jones

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

GRISELDA

The show was good, but I was quite disappointed by the editing.

It was way too short! Why did they only do one season? Why didn't they show us Griselda's youth? Her first husband?

Not once they called her the black widow! She was also supposed to have many lovers, where are they?

Sofia is really great in the role of Griselda and Martin Rodriguez playing Rivi Ayala is excellent, so charismatic. The chemistry between them was crazy.

There isn't any mention of Pablo Escobar, beside the quote from the beginning. Why again?

They added fake story lines, I don't understand either. Why not showing how strategic Griselda was. She created one of the biggest cocaïne distribution ever, from New York to Miami to Colombia.

Griselda should have deserved at least two seasons.

However, the playlist was amazing as the costume. We felt like in the 80's.

Some quotes:

"- There's a lot of women who leave the man, not the life." (Episode 1)

"- You work for him? - We all work for him, mama. In one way or another." (Episode 1)

"- Where you going? - Home. (Griselda) - You fucking embarrassed me in front of my boss. - Come one, you did that on your own." (Griselda - Episode 1)

"- Why do I have to? - There are some things you gotta do even if you don't want to. (Carla) - But I hate playing catcher. - I know, but you can't just quit. (Carla) - You and Dad quit being married." (Episode 2)

"- Going to do something? Or no? - No. But I'm not saying you shouldn't." (Episode 2)

"- When a man like you offers me help, I assume he means something else." (Episode 3)

"- What bothers me is you had to do it. That this is what it takes for them to see you. You think I'll give all the power to some mouthy, smart bitch rather than these two idiots that I can control? I don't think so. The truth is you scare me more than they do." (Episode 3)

"- I think she's starting to like this shit. (Dario) - And that's intoxicating, my friend." (Arturo - Episode 4)

"- 'Course, then, you'll have to admit to my family that your Miami soldiers got fucked by a woman." (Griselda - Episode 4)

"- I don't understand I gave you what you wanted. - Listen, asshole. You gave me what was already mine." (Griselda - Episode 4)

"- I told you it'd all work out. (Griselda) - You always get your way." (Dario - Episode 4)

"- You know, I've been impressed not just by how industrious and clever you are, but also how ruthless. - In this case, it was necessary. (Griselda) - Yes. Sometimes it is." (Episode 4)

"- Of course, you must pay for fucking with us. So it doesn't happen again. Understood? Now, let's get down to business. (Episode 4 -Varón)

"- Don't know if I wanna fuck that bitch or kill her." (Episode 5)

"- But also, that's what happens when it's you against the world, baby. (Episode 5)

"- You go to kill the monster, right? The one that beat you up and put you down." (Episode 5)

"- All due respect, Griselda, my job has always been to help make you the most powerful person in Miami. If you kill one of your own on a theory, that's not power. That's fear. I would never betray you, Griselda. You know that." (Rivi) - Stop telling me what I know! That's exactly what makes me think you'd betray me." (Griselda - Episode 5)

"- I gave you money, I gave you a son, and now you're taking him away from me?!" (Griselda) - No. I'm saving him from you." (Dario - Episode 6)

#griselda #tv shows #tv series #narcos #miami #griselda blanco #netflix series #sofia vergara #rivi ayala #review #griselda season 1

[glassprism]

You have used the term "intelligent christine" many times, but what do you mean by that? I haven't seen any dumb. I love the original blockings and it annoys me when they tried to be "realistic" because the show is an operatic musical and the acting is inspired by legit operas, that was the magic of it. Realism just makes the story absurd.

Well, it's not meant to imply that the rest of the Christines are "dumb", that's for sure. To me, most Christines are "average intelligence" (however you measure intelligence, since it can be a whole bunch of factors and a whole bunch of skills and talents - for example, I have no idea how good Christine is at math and science, subjects that rely on logic and pattern analysis, but I'm sure she'd score high on creativity and, especially, emotional intelligence).

An "intelligent Christine", to me, generally means someone who seems more reactive to things going on around her and who wants to... I think, figure out what's happening to her.

Within the show, they can be the Christine who, in 'Music of the Night', seems very aware of the Phantom, where he is in relation to her, and that he is trying to entrance her and pushes back against it (Rachel Barrell); a Christine who wakes up during 'I Remember', quickly puzzles out the events of the night, and realizes the Phantom is not only a man and that he tricked her and she's kind of mad about that (Jennifer Hope Wills); a Christine who, in the rooftop, is terribly frightened but is struggling to keep herself calm and explain things to Raoul (Alison Kelly); or even a Christine who, during 'Point of No Return', feels something is up with the guy playing Don Juan and tries to figure it out within the scope of her having to keep performing (Anna O'Byrne, Sofia Escobar).

So that's kind of how I think of them. IMO I don't think it goes against the original blocking at all or that it makes it more "realistic" which somehow equals "bad". (Don't let your hatred of the restaged tour and their take on gritty realism turn you off any and all performances that take that route - that's, what, throwing the baby out with the bathwater). All the Christines I mentioned above did this within the confines of the original blocking but offered a new and interesting and nuanced take on the character, and I don't see that as a bad thing. Why constantly stick to the old? Why not explore actors that offer a different take?

And finally, if you really want to go original, Christine figuring out what was happening to her is very much in line with the book's Christine, who rapidly realized upon reaching Erik's lair that he is not an angel, the implications of that deception and what it meant for her, how to act around him in a way that benefits her, putting that all together to explain it coherently to Raoul, and in the end, exactly what she needed to do to save Erik, Raoul, the Persian, the entire opera house, and herself. I think that's pretty intelligent of her!

#GP gets asks #anonymous

[serioustheatre]

Christine Daae’s I’ve seen Live

At Her/His Majesty’s theatre

Apollo Theatre

Phantom Non Replica tour.

1.) Sierra Boggess

.2) Anna O Byrne

.3) Rachel Anne Moore.

.4) Claire Doyle

.5) Katie hall

6.) Gina Beck

7.) Katy Treherne

8.) Emmi Christensson

9.) Sofia Escobar

#the phantom of the opera #her majesty’s theatre #phantom of the opera #phantom #west end #musicals #broadway #history #theatre #art #christine daae

[operafantomet]

KATIE HALL IN WEST END

Katie Hall started as u/s Christine in West End in June 2008. She was and is one of the youngest Christines out there, cast at 16 and performing at 17. Photos from those days shows her with a light brown (almost auburn) and very curly wig.

She left around 2010, but returned as alternate Christine in autumn 2011, and remained so for a few months. Photos from her alternate run shows her with a sleeker and slightly more auburn wig.

She then left to prepare for originating the role of Christine in the Restaged UK Tour, opening in February 2012 and running until May 2013.

Further involvement in POTO includes being a Christine double and "surprise Il Muto maid" in the RAH celebrations in 2011.

#katie hall #christine daae #phantom of the opera #poto west end #killian donnelly #sofia escobar #christine wardrobe

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 20: Labyrinth

10/20: Labyrinth

Universe // Characters: New Universe // Colonel Hugo Martinez

I almost didn’t get this one done on time! Life’s been a little emotionally heavy these last two days but I made the deadline! Whew! This idea was suggested by @seltsamkind who wanted some wonderful Hugo Martinez so I hope they enjoy! 

You hate these formal functions at the Presidential Palace. You hate the small talk, the drifting from room to room…the sharp pain in your toes from wearing heels while walking around from room to room. You wonder if anyone will notice if you go barefoot for the rest of the evening. 

There really is only one reason why you even showed up this evening, Christmas Eve, to a fancy party: he said he was going to be here. 

Colombia does a reason to celebrate this Christmas season. Less than a month ago, Pablo Escobar had been shot and killed on a rooftop in Medellín. And Colonel Hugo Martinez had been asked to attend the celebration for a job well done. You had been friends with his wife before she had taken ill. After she passed away, you felt so badly for the young widower and his son. You made meals and dropped them off on their doorstep. You picked up Junior from school and helped him with his homework, watching over him until his father ended his shift with the CNP. 

You shared the responsibility with other neighbors, friends, and family members, but you were frequently in the rotation, often in their home. Frequently enough that you had come to know Hugo and his son quite well. So much so, you know all the attention he is about to receive tonight is going to make him incredibly uncomfortable. And you can’t wait to tease him about it. 

“You look like you’re up to something.” 

You jump slightly at the familiar voice next to your ear. “Hugo!” 

He clicks his tongue. “Guilty people don’t jump like that, tipaza (great girl).” 

“So you’re saying that innocent people don’t get startled?” You look over your shoulder. “Where did you even come from?” 

“Moniquirá.” 

You cross your arms. “You’re certainly in a mood this evening.” 

He gives you a small smile. “I’m sorry. I actually came in through the kitchen. I knew if I used the main entrance there would have been…” 

“Fanfare? Trumpets?” You grin. “Confetti falling from the ceiling for El Héroe (the hero)?” 

He tips his head to the side in a short nod. “Something along those lines.” 

“That’s actually the main reason I showed up tonight. I wanted to see you and your accomplishments celebrated.” 

“You wanted to see me sweat.” 

“I did.” 

He gives a short chuckle and looks down at the ground. “I see I’m not the only one who is uncomfortable this evening.” 

You shift on your feet. “These were the only shoes I had that went with this dress.” 

“You do look very lovely this evening.” 

Your eyes lower as you mutter “thank you” and hope he doesn’t notice the slight rise of color in your cheeks. He isn’t entirely wrong when he accuses you of being up to something. You’ve “been up to something” for the last six yearsof your unconventional friendship, something that you’ve never told him or hinted at even. 

You’ve been hopelessly in love with him. 

In all honesty, how could you not be? You watched him grieve the love of his life and saw just how deeply those feelings went. You watched him raise his son with a well-balanced doling out of discipline and affection. You watched him rise through the ranks of the CNP. You watched him send his son off to the CNP Academy before leaving for the jungles to fight FARC. And you cried yourself to sleep for a week. 

But then the letters started. He would write you a letter once a week. How he was sending them, you had no idea since you were certain post offices were not that common in the jungles. But he managed it, just like he managed everything else in his life. 

You had also learned a lot about him from your friendship with Sofia. He was unendingly kind and loving towards her. There had only been two times that you could remember her coming to you and being angry at him for something but by the next day, the hurt had been soothed and the argument put in the past. You had seen what love truly looked like and never found its match for yourself, despite Sofia’s attempts at setting you up with police officers, PR specialists, even teachers that were bringing their classes for a tour through the Presidential Palace offices. 

“When you find me someone as perfect as Hugo, then I’ll go out with them,” you would tease her. “We’ll double date!” 

Sofia would laugh. “I’m afraid there is only one Hugo.” 

And she had been so right. 

At first you felt guilty for feeling more than friendly affection towards your friend. Sofia had been gone for five years when you first felt that jittery feeling around him. You had avoided being around him for a week. But then Junior broke his arm at a fútbol tournament, one that you had been attending, and you went to the hospital and stayed with him until Hugo managed to get there. Six years have passed and you can still remember how he hugged you, held you, as he thanked you for being there. 

You shake yourself out of those thoughts, not wanting to ruin this evening. You are happy to see him, have him back in Bogotá after so long while he was in Medellín. It’s Christmas and it is time for celebration. You look up at him and see his eyes scanning the room. “Now you look like you’re up to something.” 

“I’m assuming you want to be here as much as I do. So, I have a proposition.” 

This is just not your night when it comes to blushing but you clear your throat. “Go ahead.” 

“Why don’t you grab some food and I’ll go back through the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine, and you take me on one of your educational tours of the palace?” 

Honestly, you couldn’t say no if you wanted to and you blame it completely on those seaglass green eyes of his. “Any special requests?” 

He smiles before backing out of the doorway. “Lady’s choice.” 

You still have your purse, a decorative piece and not for carrying much of anything, but you subtly line it with one of the cloth napkins. You grab things that are easily eaten with your hands: pan de yuca, pandebono, mini empanadas. You top off your stolen fare with a few galletas cucas before closing your purse and moving towards the hallway that runs along the kitchens. You emerge at the juncture at the same time as Hugo, who is obviously holding the contraband wine under his uniform dress jacket. You both start walking down the hallway but the sound of your heels on the marble floor seems to get louder with each step and you’re worried about it drawing attention to your hasty retreat. 

“Wait a minute,” you stop, and without thinking place your hand on his arm to steady yourself as you remove your shoes. When you straighten back up you realize your fingers are still curled around his forearm, or rather the fabric of his uniform that is covering his forearm. “Sorry.” 

He gives you that sad, wistful smile of his, before slipping his arm out from under your grip but immediately taking your hand in his. His thumb drags over your knuckles slowly. “Don’t be.” 

He tugs you along the hallway but you’re not paying attention to where you’re going. You’re trying to piece together what exactly is happening while keeping up with his pace through the empty hallways that make up the labyrinth of the PR offices. He takes a couple more turns, leading you towards the meeting rooms that are set aside for dignitaries and ambassadors from other countries. He must find one that he likes, because he goes into the room and closes the door behind you. 

The room looks like a small library: dark wood bookshelves built into the walls, a large fireplace complete with roaring fire. There are a couple wingback chairs and a small settee in front of the fire. It’s warm, especially with the door closed trapping in the heat. Nevermind the fact that you can’t shake loose the feeling of his hand wrapped around yours. 

“Querida?” 

You start slightly at hearing the term of endearment from him. He typically uses tipaza, a less weighty term, so all these changes are starting to make you wonder what exactly is happening. “What?” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you drop your shoes next to the couch and set your purse down on the coffee table. “Fine.” 

He nods and sets the wine bottle down next to your purse before going over to the small bar that is built into the bookcase. “I’m afraid there are only scotch glasses to use for the wine.” 

You pick up the bottle. “Malbec in a whiskey glass. Classy, Hugo. Did you happen to swipe a corkscrew to open the bottle?” 

He smiles and pulls one out of his jacket pocket. “Will this do?” 

You hand over the wine so he can open it while you carefully lay out the food from your purse. “Still always prepared, I see.” 

“Of course,” he pulls the cork out of the bottle and pours the wine into the glasses. 

“How’s Junior?” 

“Good,” he sighs. “Glad he didn’t have to come to this event tonight.” 

“Like father, like son?” 

“Perhaps. He decided to go out with some friends from the fútbol league and celebrate with them.” He shrugs slightly. “And I’m here celebrating with you.” 

It’s an innocent enough statement but it still pushes your thoughts into the “what if” territory. “I heard he was the one who located Escobar, using the radio transmissions.” 

“He did.” 

You shiver slightly, despite the fire. “I can’t imagine how you must have felt when that call came in. Junior, that close to someone like Escobar.” 

He nods seriously. “It was…unsettling to say the least.” 

“But you got him.” You slip your hand into his and give it a brief squeeze. “And Colombia is that much safer for it.” 

He’s quiet for a moment. “There’s still Cali.” 

You give him the contemplative moment before you speak again. “Hugo, there’s always going to be ‘there’s still….’ That’s the nature of the cartel beast. Don’t let that reality take anything away from the accomplishment you and Junior achieved.” 

“Thank you.” He pauses before changing the topic. “Tell me, how have you been since your father passed?” 

You’re thankful he has kept your hand in his as it brings some comfort. “Lonely. I took care of him for the last six months of his life so it’s been an adjustment without him. He’s not in pain anymore and he’s with my mother, so it’s good.” 

“Where are you spending the holiday tomorrow?” 

“At home.” You take a sip of wine with your free hand. “Me and the cat.” 

His thumb runs over your knuckles again, like he’s using them as a worry stone. “Why don’t you come spend the day with Junior and me?” 

The offer touches you. It would be lovely to spend the day with them, to pretend for a day that you’re a family, a unit. But it would only make it harder to leave at the end of the night. “You just need someone to make the lechona, don’t you?” 

Hugo shakes his head. “No, we have that covered.” 

You’re starting to get slightly frustrated. The handholding, ducking out of the party together, the invitation to his home for Christmas, there seems to be an uncurrent of something more than just friendship in his actions and words. But you doubt your interpretation of the situation given just how long you’ve been wanting him to think of you as more than friend. 

“Querida?” 

“I don’t know what you want from me.” 

His eyes drop to still entwined hands. “I know. And I blame myself for that.” 

“For what exactly?” 

He considers your question for a moment and then answers with an action, not words. He leans over and kisses you. You’re certain your heart stops for the entire time his lips are pressed against yours. You’ve imagined this moment for years, years, and now that it’s happening, all your senses short out and before you can process everything, he pulls away. 

“I blame myself for not being direct with you,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I have missed you this last year and half, so very much.” 

You’re still trying to process this development when the firelight catches the gold band on his left hand. You had always thought he continued to wear his wedding ring because he wasn’t ready to give up Sofia and you always respected that. But what if you were wrong? And if that wasn’t the reason, then what was? “ Why do you still wear your ring then?” 

He smiles sheepishly. “Honestly, I stopped wearing it when I was in the jungles. When I came back and moved to Medellín, there were quite a few women who were…not subtle with their intentions. So, I started wearing it again.” 

It had been a practical decision. Of course. 

“I wore it,” he continues, “because I was already committed to someone, even if she didn’t realize it yet.” 

“Hugo-” 

“I love you, and have for a long time.” 

You want to laugh and cry at the same time. Laugh at finally having confirmation that your feelings were not silly or one-sided. Cry that it took this long to realize that. “When? When did you start feeling that way?” 

“When I was in the jungles. After I left Bogotá, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were always this fixture in my home, with my son. You were a part of our lives and just fit so seamlessly in there, I didn’t even notice when my affections started to change into something deeper. That’s when I started-” 

“Writing the letters.” 

He grimaces. “I was hoping you would be able to read between the lines of what I was saying but each letter I got back from you,” he laughs and shakes his head, “I couldn’t tell if you missed the point on purpose or because you just didn’t feel the same way. I was determined when I came back to have a forthright discussion with you about it but then…” 

“Search Bloc.” 

He nods. “Search Bloc. I figured one of two things would happen: we would Escobar, capture or kill him, or I would die in the pursuit. If I made it back,” he tightens his grip on your hand, “I would tell you everything.” 

God, you feel like a fool, a lovesick fool, but still a fool. “That’s why you wanted me to come tonight.” 

“Yes, and that’s why I want you to spend the holidays with me.” 

You don’t take any time at all to answer him. “I would love to spend the holidays with you. And many more after that.” 

Relief is evident on his face as he leans forward to kiss you again and you meet him halfway this time.

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #colonel hugo martinez #hugo martinez #hugo martinez x reader #hugo martinez x you

[marleneoftheopera]

the all i ask of you reprise at the end when christine and raoul leave in the boat was sung live or prerecorded? listening to some audios of sofia escobar and katie hall and katie sounded like she was crying while singing it

It’s sung live. Most of the show is, only small pieces are prerecorded.

[marybeatriceofmodena]

Hello - I saw an ask about Mackintosh and you asked if someone knew anything about him and John Owen-Jones. I think the anon was referring to him not inviting JOJ and Rebecca Caine for a Les Mis celebration and not casting JOJ for neither Les Mis 25 and POTO 25. He also blacklisted Rebecca Caine. Imo JOJ deserved and should have played the phantom in the RAH concert. I think he only cast JOJ for the POTO Restaged Tour because otherwise no one would go see that rubbish production. I also think it was blatant sexism of his part not casting Rebecca Caine and Frances Ruffelle for the 10th anniversary concert of Les Mis when he did cast the three original male leads.

Sorry for the rant.

Um, I knew about the beef between Rebecca Caine and CamMack but she does show up in Les Mis celebrations, mainly because it would be a bit weird to not invite her? Look no further than the 20th anniversary celebration. As for the 10th anniversary, the lady playing Cosette was Judy Kuhn, who was in the original cast for the Broadway production and is a an amazing performer in her own right, while Lea Salonga was a rising star at the time and they probably went for her in order to also attract the audience that were fans of her through Miss Saigon. They made an effort for the 10th anniversary concert to have people from various productions in it - Colm Wilkinson and Michael Ball were from West End, Judy Kuhn, Lea Salonga and Michael Maguire were from Broadway, Philip Quast from Australia (and not one of the original three male leads, that was Roger Allam), and so on. So I'm not sure what you mean by "blatant sexism". There's also the fact that both Rebecca Caine and Frances Ruffelle were on tour for other projects, so maybe they felt like doing that instead of doing Les Mis all over again.

And you can think JOJ "deserved" to be in the Les Mis 25th anniversary concert or the POTO 25th anniversary concert all you want, don't get me wrong (I would have preferred him to Ramin myself tbh), but maybe he wasn't in the Les Mis concert given he was in the UK tour at the time (so, you know, busy), and maybe he wasn't in in the RAH concert because he was in the West End production of POTO (so, again, busy). While we're at it, why was it Sierra Boggess instead of Sofia Escobar? Why was it Hadley Fraser instead of Killian Donnelly? And the list goes on.

As for the restaged tour, I'm not a fan of it by any means, but I think it's not about trapping poor JOJ into having to perform it, but more about CamMack casting people who had already played the roles and who were generally well-liked by the audience - not just JOJ, but also Earl Carpenter, Katie Hall, Simon Bailey. The idea when you're having a supposedly revamped tour is to attract people to come and see it, and putting in well-known names usually helps with the box office, right? You know it's not usually a sign that the product will be bad, right? Josh Groban was stunt casting for The Great Comet of 1812 but that doesn't mean that producers thought the product was going to be bad and that Groban was going to be the only thing attracting audiences, ya know. A big help? Yeah. But not a sign that they didn't trust the product at all.

Side note, and I apologize in advance if I'm mistaken, but if you're one of those people who's been constantly sending asks to other POTO blogs about JOJ, for the love of God, please leave me alone. I'm not going to gift stuff with JOJ and especially not with all the badgering going on.

#i am grouchy tonight #and i have no patience #anon asks

[multifandomfanfiction]

A Texas Christmas

TITLE: A Texas Christmas PAIRING: Javier/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: One-shot SUMMARY: Javier goes to the local bakery to pick up some gingerbread cookies.

[A/N - Written for @writer-wednesday. I know we're way past Christmas, but this came up on my "Writer Wednesday - Prompts" wheel.]

If there was one thing Javier missed about Colombia, it was the Christmas decorations. For all the violence that happened in the country, they sure knew how to celebrate Christmas. When compared to Colombia, Laredo’s decorations were pathetic.

He’d already received a Christmas card from the Murphy’s with little Olivia dressed up in a cute Christmas dress. The smile on her face was enough to make Javier smile.

Olivia never failed to cheer him up after a particularly shitty day at work. She was so innocent. She was the reason he fought the Cartels so hard. To make the world a better place for little girls like her. Escobar had been responsible for her mother and father’s death. Just another senseless death in the war against drugs.

One thing Javier had missed about home though and that was the bakery he frequented growing up.

Abuela Sofia ran it with her eldest daughter Isabelle.

He hadn’t been there in years, but his mother used to buy gingerbread cookies there. It was a few days before Christmas, so hopefully they had some left.

Javier walked into the bakery and a myriad of childhood memories hit him. The bakery was quiet and for a moment Javier thought it was closed.

He double checked the sign on the door. It didn’t close for another hour.

As Javier looked around, he heard noise coming from the back of the shop and instinctively reached for his waistband for a gun that wasn’t there. Javier still felt naked without its comforting weight. Maybe he should look into getting a gun the next time he went shopping.

As he moved closer, he realized it was Christmas music.

Someone was softly humming along.

He pushed open the doors to the kitchen and saw a young woman standing at a large island, gingerbread cookies and icing on the counter. Javier cleared his throat and she looked up.

“Oh! Hello, Javier!”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“You probably don’t remember me. I was a teenager when you left for college. I’m Phoebe, Isabelle’s niece.”

Javier had vague memories of seeing Phoebe through the window, helping Isabella and Sofia around the shop.

Phoebe’s mother had died in childbirth and her father unfortunately was killed while serving overseas, leaving little Phoebe an orphan. Isabelle took her niece in and raised her as one of her own.

Javier couldn’t remember ever interacting with Phoebe, but he hadn’t been to the bakery since before his mother died.

“Can I help you with something, Javier?” Phoebe asked.

“Yeah. Can I get some gingerbread cookies?”

“Of course!” She reached for some of the gingerbread men she’d been decorating.

“I’ll just take some from the case,” Javier told her.

“Nonsense! Gingerbread is best when it’s fresh. Here.” She held out a gingerbread man.

Javier took it and admired the icing. “These are really good.”

Phoebe laughed. “Well I should hope so. Go on and try it.”

He took a bite of the gingerbread man and moaned.

The sound sent a shiver down Phoebe’s spine.

“That’s the best fucking gingerbread man I think I’ve ever had,” Javier told her, stuffing the rest of the cookie in his mouth.

“Thank you.” She reached over and swiped her thumb over the corner of his mouth.

There was icing on her hand.

Phoebe blushed when she realized what she had done. “I’m sorry. That was incredibly forward of me.”

Javier caught her by the wrist and pulled her hand towards his mouth. He wrapped his lips around her thumb and licked the icing from her skin.

Phoebe gasped, thankful that the shop was empty.

Javier pulled her thumb out of his mouth and placed a kiss on her wrist before he let her go.

“H…how many gingerbread men did you want?” Phoebe managed to ask.

Javier smirked, satisfied that he had effectively flustered the younger woman in front of him.

Since coming back to Laredo, he hadn’t sought out the company of a woman, but there was something about Phoebe.

“How about you close the shop and whip up a new batch?” Javier suggested.

Taglist: @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape @littlemisspascal @absurdthirst @moonlight-prose @anaaaispunk @asta-lily @pascalslittlebrat @forever-rogue @pedrostories @littlepadika

#javier pena #javier/oc #javier pena imagines #narcos #narcos imagines #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #writer wednesday

[heavenknowsffs]

Sofia Escobar my beloved quero ser tua amiga

#she's an angel #i think she's probably really an angel or a fairy or something she seems so nice and sweet #and her voice oh my god