#and i got to see queer joy on screen

[sensationseekng]

izzy as 8 of cups - maybe i'll finish it one day

this card is about moving on, turning away from old ways of being, finding the strength to continue - setting aside what you once longed for. (and maybe still love)

is this ghost izzy on a ghost ship? or alive izzy on the revenge? alive izzy on his own? ghost izzy on the revenge? yes. all of the above. that is the inn in the distance.

[idlesuperstar]

current sexual orientation: tweedy, warm, intelligent, wry, ping-pong playing, whisky-drinking, poetry-quoting, motorbike-racing, gloriously red-headed here-on-earth-I-am-your-defending-counsel Doctor Frank Reeves [Roger Livesey: A Matter of Life And Death, Powell & Pressburger, 1946]

[edwinspaynes]

I was angry. I'm still angry. But sadness and exhaustion have overtaken that anger, and I have A LOT to say about this.

Dead Boy Detectives is a very special show to me. It occupies a ridiculously large place in my heart, and it's brought me joy in a way that only a few pieces of media ever have. When I watched it for the first time, Edwin Payne had my heart within minutes. By the end of episode one, Charles Rowland did, too.

It meant a lot to me, seeing such wonderful and nuanced queer characters brought to life in the type of paranormal story I have always loved. In these past months, Edwin and Charles have felt like real friends to me, and to never see them again without a satisfying conclusion to their story is something I have not truly processed. Same for Niko and Crystal and The Cat King - they should be back. But I haven't fully processed it yet, that they're not coming back, and yet I am still aggreived.

@netflix is, at this point, so fucking gagged on capitalism's dick that they're not even pretending to care about art anymore. Dead Boy Detectives is genuinely masterfully made on just about every level. The actors did a phenomenal job and I will be following all their careers heavily. Steve, Beth, and the writing team crafted an incredible tale. The sets, the lighting, the props, the effects were all on point. This was a well-constructed program, and you could tell that everyone involved with the project gave it their all because they cared so deeply.

(Also my heart breaks for the whole cast, but it's hardcore hurting for George since this was not only his first screen role but one he clearly thought he would be keeping as of two weeks ago. He seemed so secure. I hate this for him.)

In addition to being a good show, DBDA had good reception. It's got a 92% on Rotten Tomatoes, was on the Top 10 for several weeks, got 4.7 million views within week one, and was getting daily articles posted on various review sites with NOTHING but praise. The fandom is incredibly active. We trend on Tumblr like five times a week and on Twitter regularly as well.

THE. SCRIPT. FOR. SEASON. 2. WAS. WRITTEN.

What the fuck happened?

Idiot executives at @netflix, choking on the dick of capitalism, probably just thought that they wouldn't get new subscribers for a second season of an existing show that didn't rake in Bridgerton-level cash. That's how they work - people who are interested in it are already subscribers, so who the fuck cares about them? Better to make some other shit, hope new people subscribe, and maybe that'll be a Bridgerton-level hit.

But also, Netflix has fun little trends to look into. And, when you look at the lineup of shows Netflix has canceled, they are overwhelmingly queer. The homophobia of @netflix and their operatives is clearly boundless, and it hits here really badly because this show was clearly made with a queer audience in mind. It was one of the most authentic pieces of queer media I have ever experienced, if not THE most authentic pieces of queer media that I have ever experienced.

It's fucking ridiculous that Netflix canceled a show that they commissioned a completed script of months ago. It sucks that they decided that their existing subscribers, their queer subscribers, did not matter.

Edwin and Charles are ours now. Well, of course, they're George's and Jayden's respectively, but the characters are no longer Netflix's to use and throw out. They're ours now, our fandom's, and we all love them so much.

And we deserved to see more of them, and we deserved to see their love story play out onscreen, but I for one am not going anywhere. Let's give Edwin and Charles - and the rest of the gang - millions of versions of the stories and endings that Netflix deprived them of.

[queerly-autistic]

I've been turning over the 'boyfriends' deleted scene in my head all day, rotating it gently in my hands to get a good look at it from all angles, trying to figure out why it hit me in such an emotional place, and I realised it's because it's so...young?

It just perfectly captures that wonder and surprise and joyfulness of being in love for the first time, and realising that you can suddenly use words like 'boyfriend' and they mean something tangible to you - testing out the language and definitions of your relationship for the first time and being absolutely giddy with it all.

And the fact that it's two middle aged men, who have both been on their own specifically queer journeys, gives it a whole other layer of meaning and importance.

As queer people, so many of us were denied the opportunity to have these experiences when we were kids; standing on the sidelines and watching our peers go through all these rites of passage, whilst never quite able to reach out and touch it ourselves. And I think many of us live in perpetual fear that because we didn't to get to have this as kids, then we've missed out, and we will never get the chance to have those experiences in the same way.

But it isn't too late.

My mum came out as gay at 50, and I watched her go through the same thing when she met her first ever girlfriend (who is now her wife): the absolute excited youthful joy of being in love and getting to do all the things she never got a chance to do when she was younger. As a twenty year old, I was a bit annoyed and embarrassed by my mum suddenly turning into a lovesick teenager, but looking back on it now as a thirty-something, it actually makes me well up slightly thinking about how absolutely beautiful it was.

And that's why the 'boyfriend' moment puts me in such an emotional headspace. Because what this silly show did was cup my face gently in its hands and say 'it's never too late to have this'.

I'm so, so glad that we have so much representation for younger queers these days; that young queers get to see themselves represented on screen, having all these experiences that every young person deserves to have. But it's so much rarer for us to see older queers represented in this way, too. Older queers getting to have this is so important, and watching these two men in their 40s experience this, being allowed to revel in the giddy joy of first love - omg we're boyfriends! - like the happy lovesick teenagers they thought they'd forever lost the chance to be, it's just everything to me.

[bucksboobs]

it's honestly really upsetting to see canon queer rep pushed to the side for fanon. i love buddie so much but as of right now it's not happening on my screen. i'm finding joy as a queer man seeing buck with tommy. if they break up so be it and if buddie canon ever happens i won't be upset. but in the moment i want to enjoy what we have. especially considering when we had other mlm representation it was very much a minor thing. michael/david did not get what they deserved in canon. now we have bucktommy and they have a big focus.

If I didn’t know any better I’d accuse myself of sending this anon because these are my exactly thoughts

Michael and David hardly existed except when their relationship needed to move forward. The sole incredible exception being when David got to join in on a Michael and Bobby shenanigan. There’s something to be said that the writers are devoting much more time to the new gay couple (positive and negative I have a rant about how Josh really should have had a LTR by now, and how Michael and David were sidelined) and that they are major plots for Buck.

I wish more people could take off the shipping glasses and appreciate how amazing it is that Buck and Tommy have gotten this level of love and attention from the show, especially given how big the show is with general audiences, but alas fandom gonna fandom.

[sapphoshands]

"We broke every rule we established for the trials and the characters broke every rule given to them but its funny that viewers have different interpretations" not cute actually, Jac. Just bad writing that verges on outright racism by killing off the one Asian character and making the Black character over the top malevolent. Oh and putting the sole (white) man in narrative center. Should've known it was too good to be true.

it is of course extremely déclassé to go into the inbox of someone who is loving a thing and tell them why they should not be loving the thing, but you know, i'm so deep in this show, i'm just like *rubs hands* more time to think about my blorbos! so!

i will do you the courtesy of ignoring your bad faith phrasing to engage with your actual points - and of course, we also have to keep in mind that we're just over halfway through the season, so things may come back in ways we can't yet see. that said, i adore the idea that agatha's punishment in this was to be seen by yet another coven as an object of horror and fear, especially after a few moments where she was seen as a real person. i think that's going to play very strongly into the end of the season and i think it's a very smart bit of writing that plays with the expectations of the characters on screen and the audience watching the show. i got a little seduced by some of the alternate trial theories, ngl, but that is one of the joys of episodic television and i am having a blast watching more of this story unravel.

re racism, i as a white woman am certainly not going to tell anyone how they should receive a story like this. but i feel about alice's death much like i feel about the push for no more dead lesbians, which is that if we erase any sort of peril for any given segment of the population, we are no longer telling full stories about them. speaking for myself, i am a advocate for increased representation of all sorts on screen (and behind the camera), and simple math tells us that having more people of colour on screen means more people of colour will die on screen. so i always ask myself whether the death feels racially motivated, and in this case, to me, it doesn't. we've already lost a white woman to the road and it is important for the show to keep the stakes high. to me, alice's story was gorgeously tragic and a really wonderful parallel to agatha's - you really felt alice, having discovered the depth of her connection to her mother, feeling that lack for agatha. but naturally... you may have a different interpretation.

jen, on the other hand - oh my god, jen, i fucking loved her in this episode. and again you can read her as OTT, although in contrast to agatha i think she's really rather restrained! obviously tropes play differently for Black characters than white, but in the context of the show, in the context of the way the rest of the coven has been portrayed, she fit perfectly. i mean, in jen's trial, agatha tried to sacrifice mrs hart, tried to cheat, tried to literally break out, etc, because she was so determined that her quest was the only thing that mattered to her. i frankly don't blame jen for pulling an agatha and deciding to put herself first, and i don't think the show wants us to blame jen either. totally tracked to me. the retainer moment? exceptional. and alice and lilia were right there with her - it's not like she was the only one pushing this agenda, you know? certainly she wasn't singled out by skin colour.

billy, now... i am not gonna lie. i am a little worried that we're gonna turn this into the billy show. and i do mostly trust jac schaeffer and mary livanos and the whole setup of the fucking show that they won't, that this is about women and witchcraft and queerness and all of my favourite things. but it's a marvel property, right? and we always have to have this fucking fear. but this interview, again, actually made me feel a lot better about that:

obviously this sounds like it was really early in the room and things change throughout the course of development, but it is really reassuring to me that in the early stages of breaking agatha's story, billy... wasn't billy. he was, you know, a sexy lamp. someone else could've done his job. so his innate billyness didn't matter. to me, that suggests that the established arc remains agatha's and billy's just there to prop it up. i'm sure that since he became billy in the writing process, he became more important and elements of his story became part of the narrative and so on, but i expect it was a series of discussions on how to fit him into the story rather than how to rewrite the story to suit him.

i'm just as biased in my defence as you are in your annoyance, so you're welcome to dismiss all of this and grump on with your grumpy self. but i think this is a smart, interesting, nuanced show that hasn't spilled all its secrets yet. and i cannot wait for more. is it wednesday yet?

[talktonytome]

Don't you guys wish the relationship was more fleshed out? I don't even like Tommy, I'm indifferent to him, and I still wish that Buck's first queer relationship actually was handled well, tenderly and gently and with respect instead of getting so little screen time that the bits and pieces of Tommy we know are from LFJ's cameos or interviews. Yes, I want Buddie canon, but more than anything I want Buck's bisexuality and his first relationship with a man to be given more care than it currently is! But so many people who only started watching the show because Buck kissed a man (aka 99% of people who started watching post-7x04) seem to only care that, well, Buck kissed a man, and don't care for the storyline to be treated well so long as the conventionally attractive cis white guy is kissing another conventionally attractive cis white guy.

“I don’t even like Tommy.”

“I want Buddie canon”

I’m already weary of your intentions with this ask, but I’m gonna answer because you came to my inbox about it. With all due respect, do you know how most people meet in real life? Strangers meet, if they vibe and hit it off, they hang out more and they get to know each other. I’m sorry Tommy hasn’t had 7 years of being on the show, but he’s not the main cast and this season was short. Their relationship is new. The fact that we even got the Buck and Tommy we got is great and in those little moments, we got to see the tenderness and gentleness- being so blinded by shipping goggles and hate for Tommy that certain people refuse to see it is a whole other thing.

And I think Buck’s queer relationship has been handled well, actually!! That’s WHY people like them- it’s so joyful and genuine and refreshing.

And it’s frankly insulting to say people only want two conventionally attractive white guys kissing. I love the characters, I love Buck and I, along with many others, are capable of digesting his story that is beautiful by the way- and both Oliver and Lou have done a great job with the scenes they did get. They have chemistry, the characters have chemistry and potential, and if you don’t see that, then ok, cool but don’t act like Buck isn’t being treated right or isn’t the happiest he’s ever been in a relationship. There is a difference between canon and what is depicted onscreen and fanon tropes.

It’s funny, because I’ve seen so many amazing-in depth posts about Buck and Tommy as separate people and their character growth and almost all buddie posts are about Buck in relation to Eddie. They’re interesting characters and no, we don’t just care about two white guys kissing. Maybe ask yourself why YOU assume that.

Lastly, I’m not going to try to convince you or anyone of anything. If you don’t like tommy and you ship buddie, then just scroll away, don’t interact with things you don’t like 🤷🏻‍♀️ it’s what I do. scroll away, block, filter tags. because if you’re already decided, why would I waste my time doing something that doesn’t make me happy?

Anon, I really hope you have a great rest of your day and remember to have fun and a little joy! And if bucktommy isn’t for you, find blogs and content that align with your interests <3

[a-couple-of-notes]

OKAY what a finale, folks! Deliberately not reading everyone else's thoughts until later (although I did chat briefly with @kshaar -- thank you for enduring my walls of Discord text), but I'm beginning my processing by writing this out.

I have a few issues with how all of this played out, as I'm sure many of you do, but I mostly really liked this finale. I'm so, so aware that it's hard to stick a landing--especially in a fandom as theory-heavy as Marvel, with the dedication of the queer fanbase on top of it. I think it's commendable how much they executed well, and how deliberately they aligned it with their vision of the show, not the one that would make everyone happy (if there is such a thing).

To the stuff I liked: unpopular opinion, but I like the order of the episodes as it is--final big boss fight first, quiet intimate flashback as the finale. Or, at least, I see the vision--I'm still iffy on whether the pacing actually feels good, but that probably needs another rewatch. This show has always been about unpacking Agatha, peeling off her masks until we get to some kind of truth, ugly or beautiful or both. Of course the ending is the truest thing we've ever gotten out of Agatha--the real story of her son and his death.

I loved everything about Nicky, Rio, and Agatha in the flashback. It is so beautifully mundane. A mother's love. A natural death. Selfishness. Grief. Anger. It's gorgeous, and the version of the ballad we got felt so, so fitting.

Everything about Jen! That unbinding spell...whoo. Sasheer Zamata knocked it out of the goddamn park with her performance--the joy, the sorrow, the agony of relief. Man. Even if the rest of the finale flopped on its belly (which it didn't), that alone would have been worth the price of admission. (Also ALSO: Agatha hate-flirting with Jen over confession of horrible traumatic action that fucked up Jen's whole shit! The Jen/Agatha truthers win!)

Alice. Alice my beloved. Ali Ahn, you do so much with the little screen time you have and I applaud you for it. I'm very grateful their cap on her arc was "I could make my life mean something/you're a protection witch. You died protecting someone" and not "you get to see your mother again" because, as I pointed out in the tags of one of my previous posts, that's the real tragedy of Alice. Her life, her freedom, her potential.

To the things I'm mixed on: that final battle, man. I think they did an admirable job of focusing what could have been a generic Marvel magic-blast-y slugfest into distinct character beats, but there was a lot going on in that fight. And compared to previous Rio and Agatha interactions, their big climactic one felt a little...weightless. Those factors make it much less clear why Agatha and Rio are fighting--like, on an emotional level; I understand intellectually why--which means that what also feels unclear is...

...The not-a-sacrifice. I like 90% of this. I like that Billy is finally able to communicate with Agatha via mind powers, because he's started to accept how alike they are. I like that Nicky is once again Agatha's turning point. I even can get behind the sacrifice as the creators' intention--not what I would have preferred, but a solid narrative choice nonetheless. Still, I am super unclear what, exactly, Agatha is thinking when she turns around. Is she just remembering Nicky himself--how much Billy is like him and how ashamed she would be if she left? If so, it feels odd that Agatha's version of sacrifice is kissing Rio so honestly. Later, we learn that Agatha was taking a risk to become a ghost. So when Billy asks how Nicky died, is Agatha remembering how Rio gave him time--the kiss as a fucked-up version of recognition, the risk being Agatha relying on Death's special treatment once again? That would be a better end to Agatha and Rio's arc, but there's no expository line, no echoing "I can only offer time." And Agatha and Rio. DON'T. TALK. IN PRESENT-DAY EPISODE 9.

This is my main gripe. I am aware I am griping with Megalopolis and FFC, not the show or its creators. But goddamn if more Aubrey Plaza would have fixed almost everything in that finale--and I mean this in a narrative sense, not just because I love Aubrey Plaza. It would have clarified where Agatha is ending re: her relationship with Rio (and Nicky), and it would have bookended the first episode so well (the three-player drama returns!) I am actually irritated about this.

Ghost Agatha looks so goofy. Like, I understand the vision here--the parallels to her mother, and of course Agatha would find a way to piss off Rio in her own domain. It's iconic. Still. There's something about Ghost!Agatha that's so much harder to buy into on a gut level, a kind of emotional distance created in such an emotional, tactile show.

Billy. Oh, Billy. I like your arc. I like its execution, while heaving a grudging sigh of "yeah, that makes sense for this story but I'm still kind of disappointed" re: the creation of the Witches' Road. I love the idea that Billy's ultimate arc was to accept the darkness in himself, and all the things he's capable of. But I really, really wish Agatha had had one more conversation with...not you. (Agatha naturally falls into a mentor-type role for Billy, which isn't necessarily bad or not part of her arc, but does at least lead to me feeling like we don't get an endpoint for Agatha in present day that's entirely her own.)

And I suppose that's the crux of my mixed feelings: the show began with Agatha asking who she was, before Billy even came into the picture. The viewers get to see a glimpse into Agatha's real self in the Ep. 9 flashback. But at the end of episode 9, Agatha is still running from it. She's barely touched her own grief (yes, yes, insert joke about Rio here), and we don't see her making that choice. I emphasize that because I am not categorically opposed to Agatha not completing her grief arc; god knows 9 episodes would have struggled to do that. I'm fine that they left some threads hanging. It's just that something in between Agatha (not-)sacrificing and Agatha coming back as affably-evil Casper is missing, and it feels like a gaping omission.

Other notes: Billy dramatically charging up the hex to create a memorial was great--another way the finale lets us into the beauty of the mundane. It's not to bring everyone back, or go down the Road again. But it's important, this act of remembering.

Though I'm disappointed we didn't get found family coven true, I'm at peace with how that thread wound up. This was a show about Agatha; the coven as individuals act as foils and reflections of her. They break and succeed in similar ways as Agatha. And they were a coven--a messed-up, broken coven who tried their best. It wasn't enough to save them, but it was enough for them to grow closer to the people they wanted to be. Agatha using something from every witch in her coven--Alice's protection spell, Lilia's divination, Jen's healing--in the fight was truly poignant, and tells me she'll remember them and carry them forward. (Also, the contrast against the flashback! "I cannot heal, I cannot protect you from what's coming, and I cannot divine when she'll come for you." Agatha needed them to be her coven! And they were. And they were.)

Final thoughts: (This is a misnomer; I'm still digesting.) Agatha All Along became a more complex, difficult show than I thought it would be pre-Episode 5. Occasionally this meant it disappointed me, had places where its budget, scheduling, Marvel-ness, and decisions regarding exposition struggled to connect things, but overall, it's a damn good show. And I would rather see a funny, challenging, ambitious show made with love for the craft than a safe, big-budget, chopped-up Marvel movie in a blender. And hey, it was super gay! (Please don't come near me with the "Bury Your Gays" stuff. Please. It's not that, I promise you.)

[ghostfingies]

I was 10 when the 2005 Doctor Who reboot aired and I spent all my teen years deep in tumblr fandom hyperfixation. I was queer and autistic and didn't have the language to understand that yet, but something about DW and the fandom GOT me.

Captain Jack Harkness was the first canonically queer character I ever saw with an on screen gay kiss. Billie Piper and Karen Gillain were among my first crushes when I realised I was queer at 15. TV was so different back then but the queerness always shone through and made me feel safe and seen.

And now at 28, to see the new special proclaim that loving and supporting trans children is the most important thing in the world, that living beyond the binary isn't just valid but brilliant and exceptional, that The Doctor is and always has been queer even though they couldn't always say it and now they can, that yes we fans were right to see ourselves reflected in this show all these years, that is EVERYTHING to me. That fills my heart with more queer joy than teen me ever could have imagined. The new specials are silly and camp and poor quality and sheer fanservice and so in line with the original spirit of Doctor Who and my inner child is healed.

inspired by @nonbinaryricstar

[chelleisamazing]

One year ago, I saw a trailer for an upcoming prime movie and thought the concept was right up my alley. I decided I'd read the book if I liked the movie but wanted to wait to see it first.

One year ago, I stayed up late to watch this movie the day it came out; I remember I'd gone out with my friends that night, so I came back home slightly tipsy but still determined to watch and oh boy, what a ride it was. I laughed, I swooned, I cried sad and happy tears at 3 AM in my bedroom and by the end of it, I thought I'd never seen anything else like it: so unique and wholesome, warm and hopeful ❤️

One year ago, I decided to read the book and got even more trapped into this story than I already was, already watching the movie daily for weeks. I felt for Henry. I related so much to Alex... I could see myself in him, especially in his struggles of trying to define who he was and how he felt about it... I'd never been brave enough to let myself think about those things, but this story gave me that last push. Alex's story made me believe love can win. Henry's story made me brave. For me, it wasn't just about the romance but a journey of self-acceptance and courage.

It's been a year of fun, creativity, positivity, love, and joy ♡ thank you to everyone in this fandom who makes it brighter every day with your wonderful creations, whether it be fics, gifs, manips, fanart, etc-- ya'll make this such a wonderful place to be at. We loved this movie and story so much that we even made a sequel happen, and I still can't believe we managed to do that sometimes!

Thank you to Matthew for deciding to bring this story to the big screen and bring more visibility to it, so that all the people who hadn't even heard about the book like myself, found it's way to it ♡ thank you Nick for being our beloved Henry, and being so loving and caring of our dear heartbreak prince, the prince who decided to be brave to live as he truly was ♡... thank you to Taylor for being the most perfect Alex we could've asked for-- as many have said, he's the embodiment of so much goodness in a person, I can't think of anyone better to play our dear bisexual menace ♡. He loves this story so much and knows how much it matters to many of us who are like Alex-- queer or latino or relating to Alex's inner struggles with anxiety/adhd. He did the job with so much love that I can't wait to see what's next ♡

And the most thanks to Casey for sharing with us this story that was in their heart, a story of hope for a better world full of the acceptance that everybody deserves ❤️

Happy Birthday RWRB, it's a joy to be here 🎂❤️🤍💙

[softbutchthatlovesyou]

First things first: I am not deactivating. Just. Taking a break.

Mututals: You can get my discord if I don't ask for yours before I leave in a couple days. You can also give me a snap though I may be worse at responding to that.

This is my reasons for leaving so no one thinks I do anything crazy, or if anyone has their own gripe they can take this as a sign to take a mental health break of your own.

.

The Racism on this site remains unchecked, and the agression against black user who call it out should absolutely NOT be that high. You adore recreating the racist systems that got us here in the first place. You think your lense on how we experience opression, even the theories we wrote, are better and clearly so much superior.

Exorsexism is disgustingly rampant. We are a jokes to people. We are fakes to other. We are a convenient argument about people passing. We are "dangerous" to a preciously protected set of binaries that do nothing to help any of us.

Lesbophobia across the site has no reason to be so high on a site with so many Lesbians and yet!! We treat labels like they're more important than lives. People act like a personal interpretation of the idenity is an attack. We go "Being a Lesbian is so complex. It's intricate and special" And then when a butch takes t, or a femmes uses he and maybe even gets top surgery, or someones attraction isnt the simply wlw Lesbianism they're told they're doing it wrong and that it's not fair to try and over complicate being a lesbian.

Transandrophobia and Transmisogyny against me and other trans people on this site is out of control. People are infighting and people are lashing out laterally and comparing it 1:1 to the opression the system holds against all of us.

Intersexism continues to be like, so easy for you guys to commit no matter how many voices speak up about how best to be aware of intersex issues.

You guys adore ableism just as you have for years and years. You're obsessed with degrading people who do mental illness or disability "wrong." You see someone stuggling with illness and you don't wait to tell them your personal opinion on their experience. Adding ocd triggering guilt tripping to post. Refusing to hear out people about adding image ids/alt images and how screen readers work.

The Antisemitism I was seeing well before 10/7 was gross. It only increased as people scrambled not to be associated with "the bad jew." People had mutuals and friends for years that abandoned them at the first chance. They spread lies or twisted truths in order to chose Jewish bloggers off the site. I DO notice that when people make post on antisemitism there is often more Jewish people than goy in the notes acknowledging it. I don't think I've seen one without horrid Antisemitism in it's own notes in months. Multiple people have told me to leave my heritage out of pride in their attempts to keep out Jewish people.

Voices from Palstine are only used when they support certain ideas. You all turned supporting people into a fucking witch hunt against profiles on the Internet. You reblog a post of Palastine joy and then reblog an unsourced tweet about something Palstinians have said isn't true, that slanders Jewish people unprompted. For a long time some of you weren't even sharing the right sources for helping them bc you couldn't fact check before sharing?

-

And then there's fucking STAFF. They couldn't stop themselves from banning trans blogs if you paid them. They couldn't keep harassment campaigns at bay if it killed someone.

They used us to coax queer people here for years by sharing that they support queer identities and even at one point let our porn exist here! And then it was all fucking wiped off the map. Now one mass reporting of an untrue claim can get an minorties blog permanently removed.

They say "We need money!" but when people gave it to them this site got w o r se. They use distractions and try and make stuff around the fun shit we came up with to keep us from fussing.

They mute and remove users who make a loud enough point to sway people. They mute and removes uses that are so quiet no one would notice.

Minorties inboxes are a headache.

.

So I'm out. I'll probably be back at some point because I have things I DO enjoy here.

But for mental health I just gotta catch my breath.

This will be my pinned until I get back I guess im case anyone wonders where I went.

I'll have a queue going of a few last minute things i want on my blog but when it runs out thats it for a while until I return.

Thats all

[miss0atae]

Random Thoughts about Love Sick 2024 (EP 6): Misunderstandings and Teenagers' expectations of love.

Today, we got the beach episode you expect from any Thai BL . In between we also saw how other characters are coping with the difficulties and fun time you can get during teen-hood. The episodes are quite long so you get to see many things, but I feel it wouldn't work any other way because there is a very large cast for this series. It's the only way to give enough screen-time to everyone (I'll be more than ready for Perfect 10 Liners this way).

This episode wasn't really centered around Phun and Noh even if they got several scenes together. What I mean is that nothing really changed for them in this episode. They are still stuck in the same stage where they both admit they care for the other one, but they can't do anything about that. Phun is still with Aim because he also care for her and he still gets jealous when he see Noh interacting with other people who he know could flirt with him (Yuri or Earn). Noh is also experimenting jealousy because he saw Aim admitting her feelings for someone else and he doesn't know what it could change for her relationship with Phun. It will get messy I think, but I hope in the end they will learn what they really want.

Talking about Aim, I felt quite sad for her in this episode. She crafted this trip at the beach to be able to see Li/Lee, but nothing changed. She told her again that she likes her, but something happened in the past and we don't have enough information. Li/Lee isn't with Aim and Aim is still hurt by this fact. I hope they will get to really talk in the coming episode (ending up together at the end of the series would be great too). She is also pressured by her mom to keep doing her influencer's job and she doesn't seem to find a real joy of doing this. The series shows also how some people feel free to voice their negative/unwanted opinion of influencers out loud and doesn't really respect them as human being. Aim is quite young and we know this type of fame can be damaging. She must also be struggling with her identity/orientation.

Even if the series is mostly showing queer relationship, I liked how they also decided to tackle on the pressure women can have in heterosexual relationship. I think it was interesting to see how Yuri felt like she had to "do it" with Noh. It also showed how men can be as lost as women in this type of situation. I don't know enough about this to really talk about it properly. I would say the series tried to show bias around gender role and how hurtful it can be.

I also want to add that Noh saw Aim and Li/Lee's conversation and he filmed it. I wish he didn't do it. It never ends well. I think he will probably talk about that with Grace because he is lost and he needs someone to help him understand. Obviously he can't really talk about it with Phun. In addition, he may not feel like talking to Ohm because it would need for him to explain his complicated relationship with Phun. I just hope he won't do something stupid like post the video online. It doesn't look like something he would do, but we never know. I still want to trust him because I really appreciate him as a character. However, no human is perfect. He wouldn't be an interesting character if he didn't have weakness.

Of course, we also get to see more about Ohm and Mick. I wonder why Ohm is so harsh to Mick. He is supposed to be his mentor, but I feel like he doesn't exactly know how he should act. I agree that "you should know yourself the best", but it seems a bit laughable that a teenager would say that and doesn't give room for "learning". Even adults don't know who they really are and it takes more time for some people to really discover it. He was acting like if Mick can't run and fail at doing this simple task, he would fail in every other situations in his life. I doubt Ohm knows himself so well. He is still young and things in life will probably impact his views and change them. Maybe he is just faking it like we all do and it's just teenager's bravado.

I also already talked about how I felt like Per and Mawin had a weird relationship dynamic. In the previous episode, it was like they were already together, but couldn't be out, but now it seems like Per is doing something for Mawin's family and he must not "go soft" on him. My guess is that Mawin's family knows he has feelings for men and mostly for Per, but they don't accept it. I don't know what they expect from Per, but I think it's a little too much to ask a teenager to do anything about it. In the previous episode they were really cute to each other and this time Per rejected Mawin and asked him to go home. I hope the next episodes will give us more clues about what is going on.

Finally, we have Phong/Pong and Ngor. I don't know why, but I really like them. They have the least screen time among all the other characters, but there is something compelling about their story. I can't wait to see more of them.

Finally, at the end of the episode, Earn is here again. He wasn't at the beach so we didn't see him a lot, but now we're back at the school and Earn is still set on flirting with Noh and winning his heart. It also probably mean we'll see more of Pete too.

I already can't wait for next episode!

[blakbonnet]

Artist of the Week!

So last weekend, I announced that I'd like to feature an artist every weekend for both new fandom joinees who might not have seen some of this art and older fans who like the nostalgia. This week's artist is Ash @aha-my-villainous-thoughts 💖 who also, wonderful that they are, agreed to answer a few questions for me!

Which App Do You Use To Draw When I’m at my big set up I use Clip Studio Paint, I love it so much. It’s very straight forward to dip straight in, has all of the bells and whistles you need from an elite drawing program, and the community elements where you can see assets and brushes is a lot of fun - although I still to this day have no idea how to earn coins to buy assets?! I use a XPPen Artist 15.6 Pro Graphics Tablet to draw into the program, although my best tip with graphics tablets is to get a screen protector, mine got covered in marks before I noticed. Recently I also got an iPad 10.9 to use as a digital sketchbook I can carry around, and while I am enjoying Procreate, I think CSP is a better art program overall.

Fave Brushes? On iPad I stick to the technical pen, studio pen and the soft airbrush, along with the textures and the light pen. I don’t think Procreate has great ‘painting’ brushes, whereas on CSP I would marry the Gouache brushes, I love how they blend and texture as you work.

Your favourite piece you’ve drawn? I’m a super self indulgent artist, I try to draw the kind of stuff I like to look at, so it’s a lot of colour, a lot of fabric and details. My fave piece for detail is the one I did for the OFMD RBB last year - Crescente Devotione, there’s a blushing sentient stool in it! For colour I’m in love with this sleepy time Ed in a lil negligee and a Holly Golightly eyemask, he's my lock screen because I'm trash.

Who harder to draw: Ed or Stede? Oh for sure Stede. I love Rhys Darby, but the man has like no lips. I stand by this meltdown.

One essential tip for beginner artists? Comparison is the thief of joy, don’t measure yourself against others - particularly when you’re finding your groove. Be self indulgent af. Also get a screen protector for whatever digital screen you draw on, and BACK. THINGS. UP. Whether in an online account, or on an external harddrive - or both?! BACK THAT SHIT UP.

Why OFMD? I’ve been in a few fandoms in the past, always as a pretty passive enjoyer, little fanart here or there, little fanfic sprinkled around, but there’s just something about the way this fandom feels? It feels like a group of friends who’ve got their own lives and their goals, but they still exist in each other's orbit, it’s like this feeling of returning home to somewhere you’re always welcome. There’s so many good moments in the show for both comedy and some gut wrenching pathos. Sign up for the hot guy in leather and get got by this beautiful delicate little love story. It’s something about queer joy of thriving, not just surviving. Something about finding love and romance no matter your age or what’s past before. Something about found family, and unlikely friendships, and community and silliness. I was already a goner when Taika put on the wig, but then when he teared up in a blanket fort while trying not to die? Excuse me sir, I did not need feelings that powerful. It was literally waking me up at night thinking about his last shot weeping in the nook - like are you kidding me?! I’m supposed to finish watching and be normal after that??

[queerly-autistic]

One of my favourite things about S2 was that we got to see so much in terms of Ed's relationships with women, and it just made me love him even more (if that's humanly possible). We didn't see him interact with many women at all in S1 (I think it was only the posh ladies at the fancy party which was...yeah, not a good experience), so S2 actually giving us a glimpse into his friendships with all these (very different) kickass women was so, so special.

I love that, as messy and fucked up as they all are, and even with the 'well we're pirates, we're not normal and we will fuck with each other' threat that hangs over everything, Ed's relationship with Mary and Anne is still so affectionate, and they both thrown their arms around him the moment they see him. Even though Ed is incredibly tactile, I don't think we've actually ever seen him be hugged like this, and it's just so lovely to watch him be embraced and clearly feel very safe being embraced by these women (and I can't with the way he clings to them, as well). I also love that this is a wlw/mlm friendship; yeah it falls apart later and turns into delicious gay-on-gay violence (and I wouldn't alter a note of it), but I love seeing this sort of affection between queer women and queer men, there's not nearly enough of it.

Don't even get me started on the BFF handshake he has with Anne - I want all the history there, give me six spin-off films about their adventures please.

And then we finally get a glimpse of his relationship with Jackie, which is similarly just lovely, but in a different way? You get the sense that they could sit there for hours, talking shit about the world, all whilst casually ripping the shit out of each other (but affectionately). You also know full well these two have talked extensively about men and know pretty much everything about each other's sex lives - we didn't see it, but I'm absolutely certain that Ed went into full gushing details about sleeping with Stede, just like Jackie did when she talked about The Swede fucking like a jackhammer (historical accuracy ftw).

And, again, whilst they're still pirates, and it's messy, the entire thing feels incredibly...safe, particularly from Ed's perspective? He feels more comfortable around Jackie than he is around most other characters (apart from Stede), just like he was with Anne and Mary.

And then, just to hammer the point home even further that Ed has, generally, fantastic relationships with women, and connects with them, and feels relaxed and safe with them, you have Ed and Zheng becoming instant BFFs literally minutes after meeting each other. Ed goes 'ooh, very cool woman kicking ass and killing people, she shall be my best friend, immediately', and Zheng is automatically incredibly relaxed and open with him, too (suggesting she feels as safe and comfortable with him as he does with her).

All I want in life is to see Ed and Zheng get silly-drunk with each other (and this is why we urgently need a S3).

And none of Ed's relationships with these women are a fetishistic 'I love women because they're fabulous' thing, or an overly patronising paternalistic 'I love the women and I must protect them' thing - all the relationships he has with women are very equal, very comfortable, fully believable, just fantastic friendships to watch play out. I feel like, given everything we see on screen, Ed generally feels a lot more comfortable and safe and open with the women he knows than the men he knows (Stede is the only other person he is this physically affectionate and comfortable with). Which is probably very understandable? Yes, the women he's friends with are all violent pirates too (that's part of the joy of it - none of them are lovely demure morally pure women, they're all violent pirates), but Ed has a lot of experience with specifically overtly abusive men - right back to watching his dad abuse his mum. And that's a distinction that matters: the show treats the violence of normal piracy and the violence of abuse very, very differently. Ed is not used to being treated softly or affectionately by men, as we saw in his shocked reaction to Stede holding his hand. I don't think it's any wonder that he gravitates more towards friendships with women (or that the men he feels the most open and safe with, such as Stede, Fang, even Frenchie, are very pointedly the opposite of the abusive men he has experience with). I just love love love that being friends with women is such a core part of Ed's character, and that we got to see all of these fantastic relationships in the show.

[daisychainsandbowties]

you know, Ava is my favorite character ever. i feel i can confidently say that. which is something because i have loved several characters very deeply in the past and yet, this feels different. for so many reasons, i relate to her, i empathize with her, i feel protective of her, i respect her, i admire her, i envy her, she brings me joy and i simply love her so much. likewise, Avatrice are, by far, my favorite pairing/dynamic i've ever encountered. i always used to find it was one character in particular in a couple that you were drawn to; and while Ava is my favorite, i am almost equally drawn to both her and Beatrice. both are so well developed, so equally interesting. great care has been taken with both of their stories. i find that rare, special.

i watched warrior nun the night it was released. sat there for seven hours and watched it. if i could have done so unblinkingly, i would have.

toya turner’s acting in that opening scene is what hooked me, because i knew immediately that Mary & Shannon were being played as a love story, a tragedy. felt a flicker of hope in my chest. and then there was Ava, kissing her reflection, running on the beach, and i just fell in love completely.

i opened this app a few weeks later and looked up ‘ava x beatrice’ just to check that i wasn’t alone. but i was, admittedly, too frightened to become invested in them.

what i did do was watch the show dozens and dozens of times. those were hard years, and you know when you love something so much it’s like breath, something you want to wrap around yourself? it was that to me. kind of feels unbelievable now how i clung to it in such isolation, how some days it was a raft and other days it felt like sunlight.

i think Ava is such a testament to survival. the halo wipes away all her scars but you can still see them in how she looks at the world, flinches from it, can’t bear to do anything less than love it. she was a very healing character to me because you can see her hurting and you can see, feel, experience her refusal to surrender to it. how she’s afraid and smiles anyway. Ava laughing in the catacombs (at death), Ava loving what is mortal (herself).

i remember when the second series was announced. i couldn’t believe it. i set alarms on my phone, couldn’t concentrate on the day it released until i got home, feeling terrified, hopeful. i cried for an hour when they kissed. it just… took me out at the knees. i’d lost faith in seeing myself in shows like that, and… i don’t know there’s something about watching two characters you love, two queer characters kiss on screen, for real, that makes you, as Ava says, fall a little bit in love with what you are because there it is!! what you are is beautiful.

so, yeah, ever since then i’ve been, for the first time in forever, vocally, loudly in love with these characters. with Ava, with Beatrice, i think in equal measure. i have a soft spot for Ava because we’re so alike, but i can see myself in Beatrice too. in both of them i see what i am and what i love, and i suppose in falling for them i’ve been tricked a little into falling for myself, something along the lines of kissing my reflection in a shop window

[hollybell51]

In this timeline

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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)