#this is a really niche and weird thing to talk about but yeah. trying to apply a song to that sequence

[icewindandboringhorror]

boy in silly sitting positions compilation

[fortjester]

absolutely unhinged of past-me to put phoebe bridgers’ cover of ‘that funny feeling’ on my jod playlist, but she was right.

[causticsunshine]

.

[auroreliis]

Imagine reader slipping up & call them the Catboys/Catfamily

They would be so bitter lol

If you called Bruce Catman, or something like that, he would be so confused, I'd love to see it. Jason would laugh, of course, but Bruce would remain stern,"Who is that? Where did you hear that name?" It implies that you were going to say Batman, which is also a big no-no.

Dad, Father, parental figure and Papa (and maybe a few other niche ones) are the only ones allowed. He is not Batman in front of you, only your father. And it BETTER stay that way >:(

Dick would freak out if you called him Catbro.

"NOOOOO NONONONONOOOOOO IT'S BIG BROTHER, OKAY??? BIG BROTHER!!!!", he would whine, with tears in his eyes. How could you do this to him? He's Richard, your dear elder brother. Well...actually, don't call him Richard either...just big brother, okay?

Jason has been called many things by you: Nuisance, asshole, jackass, weird guy who won't leave me alone...you get the point. However, never in his life would he have imagined being called Catbro. His reaction is one of disgust. With a scrunched up face he would tell you to stop. Right away. And don't do it again.

Tim, like Jason, has been called a plethora of insults by you, so just the fact that you talked to him at all makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. If he knows who you're talking to, he really doesn't care what you call him. He would certainly correct you and say,"No, no. I am neither Robin, nor a cat in your presence, okay? It's either Tim or big bro, alright?" He would try to be gentle about it.

Damian would stare at you silently untl you correct yourself. He wil NOT take this disrespect. He is either Damian or My dear younger brother to you, nothing else.

Duke would just laugh awkwardly,"Yeah, haha, whatever you say" He definitely wants to correct you, but is rather hesitant in fear of making you angry.

Barbara and Cassandra would both politely ask you to refer to them as big sister. Since they ask so politely, you cannot help but agree.

Stephanie just starts laughing like a maniac. You end up being so confused...does she...find it that funny? Is she being sarcastic? Why is she laughing so much? It kinda freaks you out. She throws her head back and starts hitting you on the shoulder. Like...It can't be that funny, right?

[i4oba]

nct dream’s ideal types / MARK version! ✿..

[aka who i think would suit the members :D]

i feel like, since mark is pretty laid back most of the time, someone a little more.. adventurous? would suit him a lot, just to get him out of the comfort zone

i’m not talking literally, you don’t have to be indiana jones or something, just someone who’s open to try many many new things ? constantly seeking some type of rush from everything New (if that makes sense)

i can totally envision him with someone who’s like… it may sound weird, but doesn’t view themself as “pretty” or “attractive” yk… i’m not talking about the usual lack of confidence tho

it’s just that they never really prioritize their looks and all. i mean, of course they would CARE but wouldn’t think it’s that important

i also think that someone, who’s always deemed as “weird” and “unusual” would TOTALLY be something mark would go for

not only because of the doses of something extraordinary but because he’s interested. you can pique his interest if you say something so outta pocket that would normally cause a few harsh replies

i feel like mark is the type that doesn’t want to be limited, who knows he has limitless potential, not just talent wise but overall, as in… he knows he’s got greater purposes on this world

hence why i said a partner who’s curious enough to bring that out of him—sometimes he can get caught up on work and stuff so he needs Relax time, but not like the laying down and not doing anything kind

the type where you go round and round, finding the deeper meaning of things, such as talking about philosophical questions etcetera

that’s why i partly feel like he would be into someone who’s really really smart. he would love the constant feeling of fascination whenever his partner would say some random, niche fact on a topic he’s never heard of

he’s the type of guy, in my eyes, who loves to absorb knowledge and always tries to do so, which makes place for a partner who’s able to kind of stimulate him in that way?

if you know what i mean LMFAO

i feel like opening up fully for mark, would take a bit longer…? and he would absolutely stay in this “bro zone” kind of situation as well, so someone chill has to be the one he finds

he’s all about keeping it lowkey and if you’re impatient… well, your loss

and it’s not because he’s ashamed of you or something, it’s just that it’s more comfortable for him? in a way? feelings can be a little bit scary sometimes so you gotta leave him to handle it himself

so the keyword here is Patience

you cannot rush things!!!!!!!

especially since i genuinely believe that he… wouldn’t necessary look for love, you know

i can totally envision him just befriending someone and then comes all the cliché, him falling in love blah blah

he’s SO friends to lovers in my eyes, what can i say… falling for the bros is NOT on the list LMFAO and then here we go

but you know, it’s easier like that, and he works sooo hard, he never really focuses on finding a partner, not dating that actively because he’s busy

(i can totally see him panicking when he first realizes that he’s in love with one of his closest friends… he would be Shocked AHAH)

so yeah, developing feelings for him would definitely not take that much of time?? in my opinion?? it’s just him accepting it kinda, you know

being chill and pretty cool is something he would definitely find attractive, especially because, i think??? he doesn’t care about looks that much

he’s the type of guy who’s all about what’s on the inside :) so he needs someone who’s got the same mindset????

that’s a big thing for him anyways.. he wants to feel secure? like he’s not alone!

don’t leave him alone!!!!!!! he’s a cutie patootie, he needs love!!!!!!! even if he doesn’t show it!!!!!!!! he Does need it!!!!!

have so much love for him, be easy going and open minded and honestly, you’ve goz mark lee on his knees :,)

FEEL FREE TO DISAGREE THOUGH!!! this is only my perception of him! :)

& for some visual representation — STYLEBOARDS! :) <3

[heyitschartic]

I've seen a lot of people complain on tumblr about how Worm fanfic is nothing but altpower Taylors. It's not a complaint without merit, I've been hearing it since 2017. Hell, it's something I complain about a lot too. It's true, the fandom is filled with crappy altpowers that really add nothing. But to an extent, I always feel I should push back a little against it.

Even if I do advocate for just writing your own thing, there's a really good reason so few people do. There are a good amount of Worm fanfics out there that use original characters, niche characters, or do a wild take on the premise. Not a ton, not the majority, but a good amount.

But nobody reads them.

Rank is probably one of the best stories in the fandom. Long, filled with original charscter's, and with an interesting focus on a PRT officer working in San Fransisco. It's got an amazing scope, working from when Leviathan attacked Kyushu all the way to Gold Morning and has so many brilliant setpieces and bits of world building. It's earned its spot as one of the best, if not the best, story in the fandom.

It pulled in a paltry amount of comments and likes over the years it was being posted.

I remember when I first entered the fandom, there were already people warning new writers that, while it would be cooler if you wrote about someone other than Taylor, that you'd be getting a fraction of the views. And it sucks yeah, but it's the truth. I've seen a lot of writers over the years get discouraged because stories they love and put a lot of time into just get ten likes and maybe one comment an update. A good friend of mine will only pre-write her OC stories because the absolute lack of interest is so disheartening its caused her to just give up in the past.

And it's not like people who critique Worm Fanfics for being filled with shitty altpowers even really read this stuff. Say what you will about the Cauldron discord, but it's one of the few places I've seen people push HARD for others to read this niche weird stories, and even then there's pusback or luke warm reception. It's sad to see people talk shit about altpowers, but just not really check anything else out but that in the first place. It's just as bad as if you were only reading them.

Check out stories trying something original! Luz Mala, Rank, Agent of Cauldron, City of Bones and Teeth, Diary of a Professional Knock-off, Fault, Lend Me Your Ears, Mouse Trap, Sunspot, Nightcrawler, Raccoon Knight; and those are just the ones I can name off the top of my head! There are a lot out there waiting for you to find!!!!

And how to fix it? Well, I'm not sure if there is a fix. If anything is going to work though, at least be the change. If you aren't someone whose actively reading and commenting on new fics about OC's or similar, well, what incentive is there for people to write them? Sure, a love of just creating something might push you to post, but if you feels like you're just shouting into a void, it might feel better to just not shout at all.

If you want people to write good stories, give them a reason to actually do it.

[luckthebard]

So this is a very niche rant that is probably only something I've noticed or been annoyed by, but:

The longer Critical Role has gone on and the more changes they've made/content they've created, there's been an increase in weird people who are desperate and determined to prove that changes or content they don't like are "an objective failure" - but often lie or deliberately misunderstand viewership statistics to do so.

There are a few big "facts" I see repeated by people to argue that CR has "gone in the wrong direction" that are just plain wrong, and I think what annoys me most is seeing so many people engage with those "facts" without bothering to double-check them or push back against the certainty with which people state them. An example of one I keep seeing now is "twitch streaming numbers are down" and it's like, yeah, sure, in comparison to when they didn't simultaneously air on YouTube. If you add up the YT and Twitch numbers these days it's about the same as mid-late C2, but people love to act like YT streaming doesn't exist to make a point that "people don't like C3". And I tbh don't care if people like or dislike C3 but why this determination to falsely quantify and validate a personal preference?

The earliest I saw this was an intense agreement on reddit that Exandria Unlimited was a "failure" for CR, "unlike Undeadwood," because viewership numbers were lower. And it was tbh baffling to not see pushback against that narrative, because it's just objectively untrue. Original EXU's VOD streaming numbers are higher than every single episode of Undeadwood, and it premiered literally years later. It also has a lower "drop-off" in viewership (comparison of how many views episode 1 vs the finale has) than Undeadwood, despite frequent claims to the contrary. And don't mistake me here, I really enjoyed Undeadwood, but it actually was a viewership misstep for CR to the degree that they didn't try anything like it again for a while after and significantly changed how they approached marketing and airing miniseries. (A big one being: don't air a long miniseries simultaneously with the main series, it's too much content for most people to invest in during a week.)

(Sidebar, but another great miniseries CR did that didn't get a lot of viewership love is the Elder Scrolls Online trilogy, so I'm going to plug it here. It has some weirdly low viewership numbers on episodes 2 and 3 and I promise you they're both well worth it.)

The other one I keep seeing is "4 Sided Dive has lower numbers than Talks" which is also just not true. Most 4 Sided Dive VODs have nearly twice as many views as Talks VODs (and I'm using the ones that aired directly on the CR channel as a metric here, not the ones re-uploaded from G&S which lost numbers in the change-over). And I'll tbh chalk that up to the fact 4SD airs much less frequently - people are more likely to think it's necessary to watch whereas with Talks if you weren't interested in the guests you might skip a week. I'm not making any claims about the quality of either show, but the use of false viewership statistics to support "one of these sucks" is so rampant and so weird.

All this to say that yesterday I saw a weird viewer-hungry YouTube clickbait video titled "Midst a FAILURE for Critical Role!!" with a truly absurd confidence on what the VOD streaming numbers for the Midst YouTube videos mean for the series mere days after the premier and snapped.

tl;dr, people just make shit up and say whatever on the internet all the time and we hopefully all understand and expect that BUT (and here's the more annoying thing) 9 times out of 10 people just engage with that WITHOUT LOOKING INTO IT THEMSELVES

[diazsdimples]

Inspiration Saturday!!

I did a bad thing and started a new fic, which will be known as the Musician AU. Basically, Eddie, Hen & Chim are all players in the L.A Philharmonic, Bobby is the conductor, and Buck joins them for one concert as a new hot shot cello soloist. Eddie immediately falls head over heels for the man and him and Buck fuck nasty in many many backstage rooms. This is gonna be a long snippet sorry, I'm scared it's too niche lmao

Tagged by @callmenewbie @wildlife4life @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998, thank you guys!

Eddie gets to his chair and takes a moment to fully appreciate that it’s his. He’s not played first horn for a while, let alone while being the principal, and he’s pretty hyped. He takes a moment to unpack his horn, slotting the slides carefully into place and pressing the valves up and down to make sure they don’t need any grease. He’s so focused on it that he doesn’t hear Hen sneaking up to his side, clarinet in hand, and almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks.

“So, have you seen our new soloist yet?” she asks, leaning casually against his music stand and Eddie lets out a startled yelp.

“Not yet” he responds once his heart rate has gone back to normal.

Hen picks at something in her teeth. “Apparently, he’s very good, Tracy and Jeff can’t stop talking about him. It’s getting on my nerves”.

“Makes sense that he’s good, you don’t solo with the L.A Phil if you’re shit” Eddie jokes and Hen sends him a flat look.

“You know what I mean” she responds dryly. “Was the youngest in his class at Juilliard and did a stint playing in New Zealand with the NZSO before moving back to New York and playing with the New York Phil”.

Eddie can’t help but be impressed; the New York Philharmonic isn’t easy to get into and from what he’s heard, the NZSO are no slouches either. “He must be alright then”.

“You talking about Wonder-Boy Buckley? More than alright from what I hear”. Chimney is slouching towards them, weaving his way through the chairs and music stands from where he usually sits as principal trumpet. “Cathy says he’s hot. You’d better not let him distract you, Eddie”.

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully at Chimney as he sets his music out on the stand. “I have excellent impulse control, thank you. Haven’t had a random hookup in almost a year, even though Joel’s been repeatedly trying to jump my bones”.

“He does that with everyone, don’t feel special” Chimney replies, and he pats Eddie on the back.

“Why do they call him Wonder-Boy Buckley by the way?” Eddie asks. “Buckley’s a weird name, isn’t it?”

“Buckley is his surname; his first name is Evan” Hen explains while Chimney blows into his trumpet to warm it up. “And he’s Wonder-Boy because he’s so young and hot”

Eddie scoffs at this. Wonder-Boy Buckley sounds like a bit of a prick, honestly.

“Ready for your big moment? First movement of the concerto has a pretty big horn solo, and Bobby is expecting big things from you”. Chimney is looking at him with big eyes and if Eddie didn’t know him better, he’d think the guy was actually concerned.

Eddie won’t lie, he is pretty nervous about it. The cello solo and the horn have a few moments in the piece where it’s just them playing and it’s damn high and fucking difficult. Eddie’s done it in concert before, but that was with a much more minor orchestra and not in front of an audience of 2000+ people. However, Chimney and Hen under no circumstances are allowed to know he’s nervous so he shrugs nonchalantly and says, “yeah, I’ve been practicing it loads and think I’ve got it all sorted. Unless the soloist is truly as hot as you say, I’m pretty sure nothing will throw me”.

It seems the gods are listening to Eddie and laughing at him, because at that very moment, an extremely attractive young man walks into the auditorium with a cello strapped to his back and all Eddie can think is fuck, he’s really fucking hot.

“Oh look, there he is” Chimney says, perking up and Hen’s eyes flit across the auditorium, coming to rest on the man and her jaw drops.

“Holy shit, he’s hot. And I like girls”

“How’s our resident dick-expert doing” Chimney nudges Eddie teasingly and Eddie’s currently making a conscious effort not to drool.

“Yeah he’s – uh – he’s not bad”.

Not bad? Eddie is convinced this is the hottest man he’s ever seen in his life. His muscles bulge as he swings the cello case off his back and sets it on the ground and he flicks his head up to talk to Bobby, his blond curls flouncing delightfully as he does so. Even from here, Eddie can see how his eyes are a piercing blue and he can’t help but notice the way they crinkle as he smiles at Bobby, flashing a set of perfect, white teeth. He’s got some sort of mark around his eyebrow, maybe a piercing? Eddie can’t quite tell from this distance but man, it’s got him feeling things he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Hen and Chimney are sharing a knowing look and Eddie firmly ignores them, instead picking up his horn and beginning to blow some warm air into it. Terry, Amy, Sophie and Grant, his fellow horn players, have all turned up and are setting up, striking up idle conversation with one another as they wait for Bobby to give the order to tune up and start practicing. Hen pats Eddie on the back before returning to her chair and Chimney wiggles his eyebrows as he retreats, flicking his tongue around his mouthpiece suggestively.

(No pressure) tagging @theotherbuckley @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela @fionaswhvre @smilingbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @fruitandbubbles @watchyourbuck @incorrect9-1-1 @knightlywonders @housewifebuck @monsterrae1 @evanbegins @cal-daisies-and-briars @thosetwofirefighters @disasterbuckdiaz @spagheddiediaz @malewifediaz @shitouttabuck @jeeyuns

[wolfstrong]

The reason why Riley was so floppish was because he didn’t mesh with the group and I couldn’t even imagine his interactions with the scoobs other then like. Oh yeah that’s Buffy’s boyfriend. TARA on the other hand is so so real to me that even if they don’t show it because she’s not like constantly in the show I can so perfectly imagine how she gets alone with everyone and how she fits into the group dynamic.

They in “I was made for you” they had a scene of Tara and Anya walking and just talking about random computer stuff together and it made me so happy because I already felt like Tara and Anya would get along despite the fact that Willow doesn’t like Anya. I think that Tara would like the fact that Anya is very straightforward as I imagine Tara wouldn’t be one for very complicated social queues or having to act fake. Anya just tells it like it is and is also deeply strange, something I think Tara appreciates in a person.

I think that Tara generally gets along with everyone in the gang but Xanders the person she struggles with the most. I think they both really really want to get along with each other because they both know how much the other means to Willow, but this pressure to get along creates a tension that neither of them can preform properly under. Tara is the type to be more quiet when she feels awkward Xander definitely feels awkward when it’s quiet and has to babble nervously to fill the silence. This leads to them having many fumbled uncomfortably interactions despite them both meaning the best. I think they would eventually discover that they share some weird niche common interest and they could use that as a jumping point to slowly bond and relate to each other. I could see them eventually having like some real ass late night back porch talk about both growing up in abusive households where Xander cries but that’s like way down the line.

And her just like really genuinely loving Dawn and even if it’s quietly and from far away trying her best to look out for her and steer her in the right direction. I think Tara sees that Dawn often feels outcasted and different from everyone else and she’s able to really empathize as she felt the same way at that age. And of course Giles who she respects a lot and sees as the steadfast parental figure she never got. And Buffy, who before her moms death may have been a little hard to relate to and very intimidating. But after I think they have a level of trust and understand between them that runs deep. Tara will always be there when Buffy needs to talk about things that no one else gets, and vise versa.

Anyway did you know that I’m obsessed with Tara and I love her

[antimony-medusa]

Okay so inspired by nothing in particular (it's inspired by reading the notes on the ace swag final poll, fun stuff in there), I have been thinking about being Cringe. Cause like, you enter a fandom, and usually, you find out shortly that somebody else hates that fandom. There is no fandom niche enough that it's not Weird to somebody, and there's no fandom mainstream enough that it's not Annoying to somebody else. And given the fact that some people do hatred recreationally, there's often going to be somebody mad enough about your fandom that they're going to go on diatribes about how your fandom is bad and actually harmful and destroying the fabric of civilization, etc. They're gonna pull out anything negative and blow it up until it's the size of the skyline and attack you for liking this negative thing.

Fun times, we've all seen it.

And the thing is, there's an impulse to have this happen and immediately find somebody else to point to and say, yeah, well, I might be weird, but at least I'm not THAT guy. I might read YA, but at least I'm not a Furry— those guys are sexual deviants! I might be into actual play podcasts, but at least I'm not into mcyt— those guys are all harmful and my guy is fine. I might be into danmei, but at least I'm not into bandom— rpf is so gross. I might be a furry, but at least I'm not into mainstream romance novels— senseless drivel aimed at middle class white women. Y'know. Immediately find someone to punch down on.

And boy do I understand why you want to do that, when people are pointing at you, but I don't actually think that it's helpful.

Cause like, every fandom has a logical train of thought and reasonable human impulses behind it. You might not share those impulses— I'm not a furry I don't think, I don't really get true crime— but that doesn't mean I can't have it explained to me by a very patient person in in the writer's workshop common room and go "oh, yeah, kinda pretending to be an animal, but you're gay about it, yeah, makes sense", or "oh yeah, morbid curiosity from the safety of your headphones, it's like a horror movie but real" and nod. Like there isn't a fandom or group out there that doesn't look weird from the outside, and there isn't a fandom or group that can't be explained if someone has thought about the human psyche enough.

And that isn't to say that there isn't sometimes salient critiques for what fandoms are doing or not doing— to grab the two examples above, I have heard people talking about issues with true crime reinforcing the current fucked up justice system, or bigotry at furry cons. But a) most of the time, there is already somebody inside that community that's fighting against those issues, and you just threw them under the bus with the problem they're trying to fix b) you don't usually know the nuances of the actual conversation and problems, you saw a couple callout posts. You saying "Yeah I'm a board game nerd but at least I don't play competitive trading card cames, those guys are doing nothing but feeding the capitalist machine" is not usually helpful towards fixing the ctg scene. It's just a cheap way to score points.

Like, I assure you that the YA scene is aware of the calcification of the genre into a tighter and tighter romantic form and their dependence on going big on tik-tok to sell enough to keep publishing. They know.

You specifically saying that your fandom is better cause it's not [problems you heard about other fandom having] is not actually going to make the person who's hating on you stop hating. They already decided that you're the person they're better than and that they're punching down on, you passing the punching down on to another fandom just makes more people sad on the internet, and potentially starts yet another chain of someone punching down at someone else. The wheel grinds on, everybody gets punched.

I guess this is just kinda turning into a "why hate on the internet, what good does that do" post, which is broader than I meant it to be. But like, there's a difference between thoughtful critique of problems (complicated to do fairly but very necessary) and finding someone new to curbstomp to make yourself feel better/morally superior (look, I'm writing this on a mcyt blog, we've all seen this happen, it does not increase the joy in the world).

Like in MCYT, we all decide to punch down on [other server we hate], or RPF, or people who write kidfic, or people who write e-rated fic/art, or people doing the popular trope of the moment, and sure, it lets you feel morally superior for the moment, at the cost of slapping the guy next to you. Haven't we had enough slapping the guy next to you? There but for the grace of god (got a fun idea/watched the wrong stream/ended up in the wrong brainstorming circle/got fixated on the wrong funny guy) goes I. You're not better than another group just because you saw a couple more callout posts (usually from people inside the community trying to fix things) about them.

We are all Cringe. There is nobody who's not Cringe. Don't say that you're not Cringe because someone else is more Cringe. Stop that.

[valyrfia]

no actually ur so right. as someone who have been in primarily mlm fandom spaces as an afab person the rampant feminization that goes on with charles especially is crazy. ive been pretty public on my dislike of this characterization if charles because of like exactly what you said (which is excluding my own experience being feminized and treated poorly because of my more masculine gender expression). it makes me pretty uncomfortable to see this in specifically fandom spaces and incredibly uncomfortable so see outside if those places.

just to add, im not against feminization (i actually enjoy it a lot when its like niche kink stuff) but the way it is in formula 1 rpf is unlike anything else ive seen in other fandoms.

I agree, it is CRAZY to see how this has somehow become the default characterisation. I agree with your not being against feminisation as an entire concept and when done well it's fun but rather just....why does it seem to be the default? It's bizarre. On a note that I'm sure is entirely unrelated, someone pointed out to me the other day that (although a small valiant group of us are trying to change it) F/M genderbend is far more common than F/F genderbend in F1 RPF....I'm just going to leave that stat there and you can make your own conclusions but considering I got this anon when I posted only F/F Lestappen stuff for a couple of days like two months ago....

Yeah, it's a little disheartening and is part of the reason why I think I'm so anti the feminisation of Charles as a default characterisation. Fanfiction can be whatever you want it to be, but it has always been a queer space but I've seen it time and time again that when a queer ship becomes popular, people are more desperate to consume it within a hetnorm structure. I haven't just seen it with F1 RPF, there's been a big rise of this over the past half a decade or so which I think is due to the consumption of mlm content becoming widely accepted amongst gen z, but in a way that almost straightwashes queer relationships. I remember when RWRB came out and I watched it when I was home for a bit in the summer with a group of girls I knew from high school as part of an effort to be social, and it was so bizarre. Not only did I witness first hand them obsessively rewinding to watch the kiss and the sex scenes, while exclaiming "that's so hot", but they were obsessed with trying to guess which of them would top and which of them would bottom, and for me most damningly, I made a throwaway comment about Uma Thurman in a suit being very hot (tame compared to what they were saying) and I was met with silence and weird sideways looks or a retort of "Alex in a suit is so hot!". It was a little bit of a humbling experience, to see them root for LGBT acceptance for the hot characters on the screen but be blatantly uncomfortable by actual queer expression in their presence.

I'll be honest I've experienced similar things when I talk about F1, and I think that that's because F1 as a fandom space has really exploded in growth in the past couple of years and thus the newer mlm ships within it, especially the popular ones like Carlando and Lestappen, have been subject to this straightwashing more strongly than other older fandom spaces.

As you said I have zero issue with it when it's a conscious choice on the behalf of the creator, but when it becomes the 'norm' within fanon and people complain when roles are reversed, well, it really rubs me the wrong way. I'm interested to hear your continued thoughts if you have them!

[vulturesrottencorpse]

autism isn't silly

titles self explanatory. I just wanna rant BC recently tiktok has been making disabilities very much more known (since around 2020)

One of the most "popular" of these disabilities are autism and also ADHD. Of course theirs others ppl are idolizing (Tourette's, bpd, DID, ect) But I don't have any of those so I can't really speak on that.

What I do have (diagnosed at least,) is autism, ADHD, anxiety and depression, some of the most popular and idolised disabilities on tiktok.

No, autism isn't "silly sharks dinosaurs hyperfixations!! Super smart and silly and funny!!". ADHD isn't "haha silly can't focus so energetic!!" Depression isn't "omg I'm so emo and sad nobody gets me" and anxiety isn't "oh I don't like talking to people and I can't keep my hands still"

This should be obvious but it's so often out like this that it's making me pissed.

And then theres people who'll tell you "autism/adhd isn't a disability it's a super ability!" Which invalidates your struggles. Yeah, I know some niche facts about fish and dinosaurs, I also don't know how to socialise with anybody on my own, I lay in bed all day and do nothing as hours pass by no matter how much I want to get up I just can't. I can't focus on anything unless it interests me even if I know I have to. I am constantly excluded from social groups because people either find me annoying/weird or too quiet and boring. I'm constantly depressed because I'm so lonely yet I'm too terrified to actually reach out and make new connections so I can't *stop* being lonely. I'm self aware about all my problems so therapists can't do much other than say "well you're very self aware" or "have you tried setting Alarms?". It is a constant cycle that goes on and on. And then I get told that all of this is a "superpower?" It's a disability. It disables me from doing things neurotipical people can do. Just because I might be good at picking up rhythm or naming a few facts about animals doesn't mean my autism/ADHD is some gift from the heavens. It sucks. It's made my life so hard but every time I try to explain it to someone they don't understand. Or they think they do, but they don't. Because it's impossible to describe this to someone without autism without them going "oh, well that's normal" because they've experienced it from time to time, but when I tell them the way I experience it is 5x worse for me, they say I'm exaggerating, that I need to toughen up, that it's "just how the world works".

I'm honestly sick of being treated like I'm not human. Like I don't have feelings that get hurt, like I don't have bad experiences or things that can ruin my life. Because autism is treated as some silly little personality trait. It's not. It's a fucking disability

Btw acoustic isn't funny. Stop

[riddleredcoats]

I just finished my first playthrough of Veilguard and boy oh boy, do i have thoughts.

but, TLDR:

Bros, this game is so fucking strange.

It literally giving me everything I wanted; every theory for the past 10 years I've had to speculate is bang on, they bring niche characters in a way that makes sense, they give us nice romances, they give us cool combat, EPIC set pieces and then [gestures].

Anyway, this is more for posterity than any real, coherent thoughts.

The Good:

I don't know what sort of wizardry the devs at Bioware made for this game, but this game runs smooth AF. Actually insane in the year of our lord 2024 that a AAA viddy game manages to do it. Kudos must be given.

The art-style grows on you really fast, actually. And considering what happens in the game, especially in the back half, I think making it more stylised was necessary to also compliment the aforementioned point of it running smoothly.

There is in fact, a lot of dark themes in this game. I don't know what game some reviewers played, but to say its basically a clean version of a DA game is... just wrong. I have a theory, in the Bad section, about why they believe that is the case, but Veilguard is filled with Dark Themes.

The set pieces of this game are fucking insane. Like, there is no comparison to any other Bioware game. Even ME3 with its bombastic set pieces isn't a match to Veilguard in the prologue. The Siege at Weisshaupt? Gagged the whole way through. That last 2-4hrs of game were amazing and while I have beef with it - further down - for what it is and what it is trying to be? They succeeded. Some of the best viddy game I have ever viddy gamed, frankly.

The lore drops are also insane. I basically watched all of Solas regrets back to back to back and basically it was confirmation upon confirmation upon confirmation. I'm still in the high of the Solas/Mythal confirmation and that happened like 3 days ago, lmao. And if you know me, you know why - it goes wayyy beyond Solas and Mythal for me, personally.

Morrigan's place in the narrative. Keeping it vague, but just [gestures to all of it].

Issenya... Just... Issenya, man.

The companions. Yeah, they're all great, I don't think there's really a dud one. Sure, I connected more with some than others, but man- these companion quests are involved and meaningful and progress the story. You do get to know them very well. Harding, Neve, Davrin and Emmerich will always have a place in my heart for their questlines, even though I love all the other companions too - but those really resonated with me.

Combat. Holy shit, a DA game with a fun combat system. That's all really.

The Middling

The music. I don't love it but I don't hate it. I can count on one hand the amount of times the music made me feel something - basically the last scene of the Harding questline and when The Main Theme came in during the final quests. Trevor Morris reigns supreme; I teared up more for The Lost Elf theme return than any other musical moment in the game.

The pacing of this game is... baffling. I'm not sure if its my own fault for basically trying to do everything in the first act, but Act 1 took me like 40 hours, while the remaining two acts took me 20. Weird. Will need to experiment because it might absolutely be on me, but yeah.

The Bad

It's basically one thing but honestly, every time it was brough up it was like a dagger piercing my heart while my stomach was stepped on by a bronto.

The lack of geopolitical talk both past and present.

Much as been said from the infamous 3 choices that Veilguard imports - and I will say, that even those 3 are laughably implemented imo - but never is it more felt than in this aspect. The past straight up does not matter. Worse; they actively disregard it imo. There is no difference between world states, no world leader talk, no nothing. It is just... nothing. And listen, the specifics deserve their own post eventually, but im just processing shit still.

The game is really fun, and the themes and characters that are there and the lore is fantastic and when im locked in, I'm REALLY locked in, but then when I try to put it in the context of the past games, what I loved about it - the politics, the disagreements, the sheer brutal way that history and prejudice can just fuck up a country, Veilguard just... it feels hollow, without any bite or flavour.

And this is the crux of all the problems, really, in the present in Veilguard.

The way people talked about the dark tone being gone? Yeah, I can see it here considering that there is no distinction between Dalish and City Elves anymore basically. The discrimination against elves is just... gone, apparently? Which is insane - because we are in Tevinter and it's just... abandoned? The way Rivain is all cool and shit about Magic and Spirits with like zero nuance or, more imporantly, any real consequences when [gestures to the past games] - it just makes the South Really Dumb because of course they are now ig. The Crows - these assassins that bought children to train, in what amounted to a sponsored slavery ring - are now freedom fighters and all the nuance of the assassinations is gone? The Wardens are fine mostly, really, but they are suddenly very above board all of the sudden.

And that's the whole thing here.

They have tried to make everyone stay so above board, to make everyone The Perfect Ally That No One In The Real World Can Criticise, that it retroactively sucked all the nuance and Flavour For Thedas At Large out of the story. It made the story worse because everyone is just so gosh dang nice and A Super Ally when in past games the conflict, the flavour of the Whatever Big Struggle was that everyone hated each other and was constantly in-fighting. Which made it fun and interesting to play.

Okay, sorry i forgot I had another one:

the fuck is that ending credit scene? with the executors implying they have been behind everything since DAO? Oh man, Bioware you can't do those types of stories - you tried in ME3 and [gestures]. Why can't Loghain just be a dude traumatized by Orlais which led to All The Things in DAO? Why can't Bartrand just be a greedy bastard whose actions bring about DA2 and DAI and basically informs Varric's character from then on?

What the hell.

Anyway.

Yeah, initial Veilguard thoughts.

Oh yeah, and Neve is hot and I love her.

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Fekthrud

Happy Liminalmas, everybody! We've got fewer results than usual this week, which I would speculatively credit to a variety of factors:

Weird liminal space at the end of the year

It's Another Bird

Not a ton of fun details

It's easy to guess what the animal is

Anyhow, if you want to see the context for this, the page where I collect these posts is here: https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. (Hmm -- looks like I forgot to update the page last time around. Maybe that's part of the issue too.) And the entry that people are working from is here:

So, our results, roughly chronologically:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has given us these very well-rendered pheasant-like creatures. They've given their Fekthrud a head like a Pachycephalosaurus*, which I think is a great way to interpret the whole business about the hard skull; like, that had not occurred to me when reading the entry, but now that I see it, it makes perfect sense. In general these are excellent birds here, and you can see some brief notes on design decisions in the post linked above. I like the justification that a ground bird makes the most sense if they're adapted for falling on rocks and/or running into stuff head-first.

*Proud of myself for spelling "pachycephalosaurus" correctly without looking -- being a former Dinosaur Kid pays weird niche dividends.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) continues to impress with her medieval-style drawings. (And to provide alt-text, thank you.) I really like how colorful and generally very pretty she's made her Fekthrud. I also appreciate the decision to show them attacking someone who is trying to take that "iron rod" advice. Very correct response -- get 'em, birds. If you click the link to her post above, you can see some discussion of design decisions.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has made the excellent decision to pose their Fekthrud like it's giving a speech. (And the generous decision to provide alt text, thank you.) This bird absolutely looks like it's saying "Ave!" -- I can clearly imagine it addressing the Roman Senate. Cheapsweets has also taken inspiration from Pachycephalosaurus, and I love that two of our artists got there independently -- like I said, it's an idea that makes perfect sense once you think of it. The post linked above contains a detailed discussion both of their design decision and of their artistic process, including an image of their tools and materials. Go read it.

@pomrania (link to post here) has decided that, rather than make the actual bone of the Fekthrud's skull thick. it should have a thick cushion of feathers. I don't know much about birds, but I feel like that makes sense: thick and heavy bone might be a weight issue if this thing is supposed to fly, so a feather cushion might be more practical protection. The goofy look with the tongue lolling out is also quite charming. In the post linked above, you can see some brief notes on design and process.

And... that's it for this week. Like I said, not a lot of people did this one. So, the Aberdeen Bestiary version:

Yeah, so, of course this one is the parrot.

The medieval illustrator is actually pretty close, I think. And they've used one of my favorite styles of Generic Medieval Plant, even though it doesn't look like it can support the parrot's weight.

The entry is broadly accurate, except for the bit about the skull and the iron rod. There are parrots in India with the coloration described -- multiple species, actually, as far as I can tell. They do talk, though I can't speak to the tongue anatomy thing.

Moreover, if you were a parrot trainer in India who wanted to impress medieval Europeans with your talking birds -- maybe so you can establish demand for them in a new market -- of course the first thing you'd do is train your parrots to greet people in Latin and Greek. Latin is the obvious catch-all, and Greek is the majority language in Constantinople, which is the trade hub you want to target. So I bet all the parrots from India that medieval Europeans saw really did say "Ave!" and "Kere!" (And we do know that people in the Byzantine Empire had pet parrots, so I guess it worked.)

I've never heard the thing about parrots having a hard skull and beak. I kind of wonder if, at some point, someone saw a parrot being struck by its owner (or the aforementioned hypothetical merchant) and asked if it was really necessary to beat the poor bird like that -- and got a line like "oh, they have really hard skulls, it doesn't hurt them as much as you think"... and then that just stuck.

Anyway, that's it for this week. Hope y'all are enjoying Birds because you're getting another one next week.

[tmntkiseki]

I'd say it's been probably... almost two months since I became an active participant in the TMNT 2003 fandom? And while there have been some ups and downs, overall I have been enjoying myself.

The biggest adjustment is the size. Most of my previous fandoms have been relatively niche JRPGs and while TMNT 2003 isn't the most popular animated TMNT iteration, the fanbase is still much, much larger than what I'm used to. More people talking, more fanart and fanfic being posted, and definitely a lot more, ah, discourse. Not that discourse wasn't a thing in my smaller fandoms, but I stumble across it quite a bit when browsing tags, and there's also a lot more variety to it as well. It really is weird what kind of stuff people will get their underwear up in a bunch about.

As far as interacting with other fans goes, I try to keep a relatively open mind when discussing the show and characters. I know some people can be very trigger happy with their block buttons, but I try not to block people simply because they disagree with me/I disagree with them. If I were to block someone on the grounds of their opinion being different from mine, it would be because they were being aggressive of how right they are while I'm completely wrong to the point of literal harassment over whatever is being discussed. Which, you know, fortunately I haven't had to do something like that yet. Most people have been very kind to me thus far, even when there were disagreements.

I am pretty happy with how things are turning out, even though it was a bit rough in the beginning when I didn't know anyone and felt like an outsider. A lot of people have expressed thanks for the fact I've been posting the official model sheets and concept art from the show, and as long as people still want them, I'll keep uploading them until I've run out because hey, I can personally confirm that the turtles are fucking hard to draw, and even the lowest quality reference can do wonders. This is also the fandom that inspired me to dabble in video editing and gif making; still not the best at either of them, but much like art, it's a learning process and the most important thing is that I'm having fun. My brain hasn't been this entertained learning new techniques for making things in a while, even if it can be frustrating at times. (Those damn shells are the worst to draw, man.)

So.... Yeah. All I can really say at this point is thank you to everyone for making this fanbase experience enjoyable so far. I'll probably be around for a while yet!

[hollybell51]

Without you

^I would do anything for him

Navigation

Philip Pearson x fem!Reader

Travelers (2016)

Word count: 9.6K (I'm as shocked as you dw)

Summary: things come to a head between you and Philip after a close call.

Content: SMUT smutty smut smut. Gratuitous smut. Bit of angst, bit of blood (not too graphic dw), arguments and all that fun stuff. Swearing, cannon typical tomfoolery, making out, hickeys, making out on a table, and a bed, drug references (guys it's Philip), mentioned weird Traveler number names (I made one up just fyi don't bother googling it), blowjobs, bit of dirty talk, bit of hair pulling, vaginal sex, safe sex (yay! Trojan please sponsor me), a little fluff at the end. Philip could possibly be a little ooc I actually can't tell but I did try.

Notes: ok so I've done it again, disappeared for weeks and then popped back up with a new obsession for a stupid little dude in a stupid little show and I've gone and written some stupid smut about it. Philip makes me insane. I cannot tell you how insane he makes me. Like... he is objectively mid. I know this. But he's also so hot??? Like do you get what I mean??? Also WHERE is all the other content for this dude like come on guys I cannot be on my own here. I need some support. Anyways, niche market n all, so I hope you enjoy.

This takes place at the end of episode 3 after Philip got shot, so I've taken some liberties with the timeline (ironic, innit). There's a few extra hours in there, and I know he was awake when everyone was talking after they got back but this is fanfiction and I am God here so you just have to trust me. I wanna blow him so bad it hurts.

Philip was stable. Stable and asleep and breathing evenly on the table, thanks to Marcy. You could see his chest rising and falling out of the corner of your eye from where you were leaning against another table beside the medic, eyes fixed on the floor just in front of MacLaren’s pacing feet, idly picking at your bloodied hands. It was uncomfortably sticky as it dried, and beginning to crack and flake around the creases of your skin. It was going to be a pain to get off. 

No one was looking at MacLaren, you realised as you raised your head. Your team leader’s face was serious, dead serious, and you really couldn’t blame them for not wanting to meet that look. You kind of wished you hadn’t, and, as Marcy nudged your arm with her own, you realised that you had not heard a word of what he’d been saying with such gravity. 

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Come again?” 

He blew a breath out hard between his teeth, taking a step back and raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I was just asking,” he said slowly (oh, ok. So he was pissed pissed), “whether there was anything else anyone wanted to tell me.” 

“Oh, right. No.” 

MacLaren nodded. “Are you sure, (Y/N)?” 

“Yes.”

“Ok. Cause I don’t know and I do not want to know what the hell is going on between you two, but I want you to sort it out. Sooner rather than later.” 

“Yep,” you nodded, looking back at your hands. You had no doubt that “you two” was you and Philip, and it made you want to sink into a hole. You knew you hadn’t exactly been calm and rational when he’d been shot, how could you be? But it hadn’t been that bad. You’d done what Marcy had told you to. You hadn’t broken down or frozen and maybe there’d been a fair bit of whispered pleading with him to just hold on and just keep breathing, that it was only going to be a few more minutes and he just had to listen to me, keep squeezing my hand. But that had nothing to do with what was “going on” and more to do with the fact that he’d been bleeding out in your lap in the back of a van. Anyway, if you’d freaked out a little, that wasn’t MacLaren’s business. 

Marcy’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Hey, Earth to (Y/N).” 

You sighed and offered her a small smile. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I was just saying that I need to get back to David. Are you–?” 

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted her, glancing at Philip. “I guess someone should stay with him anyway, huh?” 

A tiny crease appeared between her brows as she studied you, then nodded after a moment. “Yeah, might be a good idea. It was pretty straight forward, didn’t hit anything major, but still.” 

But still. It was still a bullet wound, and as mad at Philip as you were for dragging you all out there in the first place and getting himself shot, you didn’t want him to wake up alone and in pain and craving those goddamn drugs with no knowledge of whether he’d saved the boy, just that he’d killed the kidnappers. 

“What about you?” Marcy was saying, and if she hadn’t been using that measured, even tone she took when she was treating or assessing someone, you’d have said it was gentle. “Are you gonna be ok?” 

You shrugged. “I’m fine. I’m not the one that got shot.”

Another measured look, then she nodded and stepped back. “Alright. I didn’t want to put anything on the wound too fast, and it’s sealed for now, but it’ll need a dressing if he’s gonna be moving around or anything. Can you do that?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” 

She nodded again. “Don’t let him do anything stupid. And don’t do anything stupid yourself.” 

Despite the anger and residual panic still heavy in your stomach and the blood crusting your hands, you shot her a smile and waved. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” You thought you saw her roll her eyes before the door clunked shut behind her, and you were alone.

You let out a slow breath, sagging further against the edge of the table. You had to wash your hands. You had to scrub Philip’s blood off your skin before it legitimately drove you insane. So, with a groan as your bruised knees protested the shift of weight into them (you probably didn’t have to drop and slide quite so hard to Philip’s side when he’d fallen. That, you could admit, had been excessive), you walked stiffly to the shitty sink and began scrubbing. 

Your skin was raw by the time the water finally ran clean, or at least not bloody, and while there may have been flecks of blood still hiding under your nails, your hands were cleaner than they had been in days. Maybe weeks. You really didn’t know if your host had washed them before she was supposed to die. 

You glanced over your shoulder as you dried your hands, wincing a little as the rough fabric of your jacket scraped against over-scrubbed knuckles. Philip hadn’t moved and was still breathing, which you were taking as a good sign. You crossed the room after a moment, gingerly lifting his shirt to peer at the spot on his stomach where the bullet had gone in. It was raw and red and far from pretty, but it wasn’t a gaping hole anymore. It wasn’t bleeding, even if it was still covered with blood. Sighing, you grabbed a pair of scissors from the kit Marcy had left lying open on the table, snipping neatly up the centre of the bloody shirt and pulling it (not uncaringly) from his shoulders. You didn’t let your eyes linger on the pale chest, the track marks in his arm, the faint chafing around his bicep. Instead, you turned away and walked quickly and quietly to the adjoining room where he slept, rifling through the pile of blankets and sheets and clothes and god knew what until you found a shirt that didn’t reek. 

You ran a clean corner of the ruined one under the tap, spongeing and wiping at the mottled russet stains on Philip’s skin until it was passably clean, the streaks of it on his face from your hands in the back of the van, then wrestled him (again, not too roughly) into the garment and stepped back. He could have been sleeping, really sleeping, instead of passed out from the drugs and blood loss and pain. Maybe you should move him. But then again, he was probably too heavy for this body to lift. Maybe not. 

He didn’t really look like himself when he was unconscious, you decided. Even in an unfamiliar body, there was something of the man you knew behind his eyes. You could recognise him past the strange face, make out your Philip in him when he was awake. Like this, with his eyes closed and his face slack, it wasn’t the same. It was like looking at a real, true, genuine stranger. A stranger who wasn't exactly bad to look at (in fact, you quite liked looking at him), but a stranger all the same.

Hesitantly, you raised a hand and brushed at a strand of hair hanging across his forehead. His skin wasn’t icily clammy as it had been in the van, but was still cool to the touch. Softer than you’d expected, though you didn’t really know what that was. You let your fingers trail across his forehead, smoothing a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows, down over his cheek to his shoulder. You felt the expansion and contraction of his lungs through his body’s movement, regular and deep and alive and you knew what MacLaren meant. 

You and Philip were… complicated. That’s how anyone would describe you. He was too reckless, too hasty, felt too much too fast and didn’t think enough (and yes, you were aware of the irony there). And you understood, you really did. It was hard to look at it all objectively, and you couldn’t imagine how it must be to walk around with all that just floating around in your head. All those deaths, when they’d happen and where, and not be able to stop it. But you could also see the bigger picture. What you were doing was important. You had the protocols for a reason and the director for a reason and getting bogged down in the details and the individuals and the humanness of it only ever ended badly. Case in point. 

You really should have seen it coming, and now, in the aftermath, you wondered how you’d missed it. His disillusionment. The discomfort when you’d reminded him of the protocols. The discontent and grumbling and (very understandable and reasonable) grievances he’d raised around the whole protocol 3 thing. And you really did get it. It sucked, and the whole reason you were in this was to save people so why couldn’t you do just that? But at the end of the day, you also understood that you didn’t have all the information. Good things could lead to bad things. It might be superstition, but the butterfly effect was all too present in the forefront of your mind. 

And that was where you differed from Philip. He didn’t believe in “just letting someone die because someone else decided they’re not worth saving” (a recent and quite heated argument that still rang in your ears) and you… Well you wouldn’t say you did, but you didn’t not either. Maybe that determination and righteousness (“pig-headed”, you’d shouted at him not too long ago) was part of what drew you to Philip, too. It had never not been like that as far as you could remember, and so you butted heads. A lot. And as soon as you had one fight, one of you was rushing back to the other with an olive branch and you were both trying to not bash into each other so often and so hard, then before you knew it it was happening again. 

But this hadn’t been a fight. It hadn’t even been an argument. It had been Philip rushing into something his conscience told him was a good idea, lying to everyone else and dragging them all along and then getting shot and almost bleeding to death in your arms in the back of a van. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you were going to say to him when he woke up.

Pull your head in.

What the fuck was that.

I’m so angry I could punch you.

I wish you’d told me. 

That was stupid.

Don’t ever do something like that again.

You almost died. 

You fucking idiot.

You fucking idiot, you almost died.

Don’t go and almost die ever again.

I don’t want you to die.

I can’t take it if you die.

You blinked, hot tears prickling in your eyes. Before you could even really think too much about it, you bent and pressed your lips to Philip’s cool forehead, straightening almost immediately.  You took a slow breath in, held it, released it with a hiss and set your shoulders. There was shit to be done besides hovering over him, and standing here waiting wasn’t going to make anything better. It was going to make you worse. 

“Ok,” you whispered, and turned away.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour when Philip stirred. A soft groan had you turning your head from the disassembled gun you were cleaning, watching as he tried to sit up, winced and lay back down. 

Maybe you should have started with a nice, simple, normal, “how are you feeling?” You supposed you could have at least smiled at him, even just nodded or raised your eyebrows. And you could admit that the snort had been a little out of line. Still. You’d been festering – that was the only way you could describe how the last vestiges of panic and adrenaline had cooled and settled low in your gut, right beside the simmering anger that just refused to go away. No matter how much you told yourself to cut him some slack and just wait until he was actually awake to hear his side of it. Don’t do anything stupid, Marcy had said, and you were determined to abide by that. 

“What…?” he started, then groaned. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yep.” 

Another groan, and this time you raised your head. He’d swung his legs over the side and had managed to sit up, breathing heavily and gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were white. As you watched, he pulled up the bottom of his shirt and frowned at the spot where the bullet had gone in. It didn’t really look like a gunshot anymore, thanks to Marcy’s attention, but there was definitely some bruising around the edges.

“Marcy said to put something on it if you’re gonna be… doing stuff,” you said. 

He looked up, dropping the shirt and eyeing you warily. “Ok.” He turned, reaching towards the open kit at the end of the bench, face tight with pain. It scraped along the rough surface as he dragged it closer, the scissors you’d left resting on top of everything sliding out and onto the floor with a clatter. Philip paused, glanced at you, then kept pulling. 

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, slamming down the gun in your hand and crossing quickly to him. You slapped the scissors back on the bench, turning the kit to face yourself and rifling through the neatly compartmentalised packets of first aid supplies until you found a wound pad that looked big enough. 

“Up,” you said, gesturing to his shirt as you withdrew a roll of tape. Then, with a ‘turn around’ motion, “down.” 

He got the idea, swinging his legs back onto the table and lying flat, watching as you tore open the packet and laid the pad against his skin, placed his hand over it with a simple command to “hold it” and cut a piece of tape. He drew in a sharp breath as you smoothed the tape down the edge of the pad, perhaps a little harder than you’d meant, and you paused. 

“It’s still…” He trailed off, looking away. 

“Sorry.” You were gentler this time, glancing up at him as you stuck down the dressing. You may have been pissed, but actually hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do. It wasn’t as neat as you’d seen Marcy do it, but it was functional. That was what mattered. You lingered a moment, scissors and tape in one hand, the other resting gently by the slightly puffy white square. He’d warmed up, here at least, which you supposed was a good thing. 

“(Y/N),” he started, and you quickly withdrew your hand. You were still angry at him, no matter what else was now causing that deep, tight feeling inside you. Like someone was pulling on a string attached to the very centre of your being, right behind your sternum. 

“How’s that?” you asked as you stepped back, crossing your arms. 

“It’s fine, but–” 

“Good.” You turned away, stalking back to the guns on the table before he had a chance to finish. He groaned again as you sat down, not out of pain this time. And ok, you could definitely have been nicer about it all, but you were determined not to be the one to take the first step. He’d gotten himself and everyone else into this bullshit, he could at least be the one to bring it up. 

“How long was I out?” 

“An hour. Give or take.”

“The others…?” A soft grunt, the rustle of fabric and the sound of feet hitting the floor.

“Gone.” 

There was a pause, a few hesitant footsteps, and when he spoke again his voice was much closer. “Not you?” 

You didn’t look up as you grabbed another gun and began the smooth, practised movements of dismantling it. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

He gave a noncommittal little hum, and this time you did raise your eyes. He was leaning against the end of your table, watching you. It may have just been the dimness of the room, or the clouded haze of thoughts and feelings swirling in your own head, but there was something in his face that you couldn’t quite pin down. That wasn’t usually a problem with Philip, he was the kind of person who you could always tell where his mind was. And he always knew yours. 

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest once more as you swivelled to face him. “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” he shrugged, his brows pinching together and his arm tensing as the movement tugged at his wound. He cursed softly and glanced down. 

“Are you in pain?” 

His eyebrows rose incredulously. Ok, yeah, dumb question. Of course he was in pain. You’d be more concerned if he wasn’t. Wordlessly, you rose and crossed to the first aid kit again, withdrawing an almost empty packet of painkillers. You handed them to him as you sat down, and didn’t watch him swallow two. You just heard it. 

The silence stretched between you, the occasional clunk of the guns and the quiet ticking of the clock the only sounds in the building. Outside, someone was shouting and the traffic roared. 

After what felt like ten minutes but was probably only two, Philip blew out a breath and shifted. “Ok, just… spit it out,” he said. “What’s wrong?” 

Wow, ok. That was a loaded question if you’d ever heard one. You stopped what you were doing, cooley and slowly placing the gun you’d been about to slide apart onto the table almost soundlessly. “What’s wrong?” you echoed, turning to face him. 

He either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the frost you couldn’t have kept out of your voice if you'd tried. “Yeah, cause something clearly is.” 

God, where did you even start? He’d lied to you. He’d gone directly against protocol, protocol that could be stupid but was ultimately there to protect you and everyone else. He still hadn’t even actually addressed any of it. Hadn’t checked if you were alright, hadn’t checked if anyone else had been hurt (and ok, you couldn’t really blame him for that, but that was besides the point.) In the end, you decided on starting with the elephant in the room. “You almost died.” 

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Looked away, back to you. “I didn’t.” 

You shook your head. That wasn’t the point. “You could have.” 

“And?” 

Now it was your turn to open your mouth, only to find no words. You floundered for a second, then, “And? And? Philip what the fuck do you mean and?” 

“It’s not like people aren’t dying every day, huh?” He pushed off the table, standing up straight and tapping the side of his head. “Huh, (Y/N)? You get this worked up about them too?” 

You shook your head, rising from the chair so fast it skidded backwards. “That’s different. You know it is.” 

“Oh, so now you’re–” 

“This is not about that.” The words were tight, forced between your teeth as you stepped around the corner of the table to face him. “This is about the fact that what you did was reckless and stupid and you got shot.” You lifted a hand, poking him squarely in the chest hard enough that he swayed. “What part of that is not getting through your head?”

“He was a kid, (Y/N)! A little kid! You saw the place, they’d already killed one. How can you just sit and let that shit happen?” 

“It’s not our place, Philip. Bad things happen every day. People die. We wouldn’t be here right now if people didn’t die! I know you're–” 

He didn’t let you finish. “You don’t. You don’t get it. If you knew, you wouldn’t be standing there saying what you’re saying. You’d be on my side.”

“Your side?” You raised your eyebrows, incredulous. “There isn’t a your side and a my side. We’re trying to do the same thing! We’re a team, for fuck’s sake!” 

“Well you sure as hell don’t act like it.” 

“Oh my fucking God.” You could have screamed. You’d really wanted to avoid this. Hadn’t wanted to get into a shouting match when he probably wasn’t even supposed to be walking around, no matter how many dressings you taped onto his stomach or how many painkillers he downed. “You’re being insanely stupid. Insanely fucking stupid.” 

“At least I stopped a kid from dying.” 

You slammed your hand down on the table so hard it went numb, then burned all the way up your wrist. You ignored it. But still, even through the haze of anger and whatever else, you recognised the words for what they were. He was trying to confirm that he actually had managed to save Aleksander. As pissed as you were, you weren't cruel enough to leave that unanswered. “Ok, fine, you did. He's being reunited with his mother and they're riding off into the sunset and they're gonna live happily ever after. But you could have died, Philip! How many times do I have to say that?” 

You didn't miss the tiny flash of relief  — or something close to it — at your words. “This shit isn’t exactly risk free. Do you know how many others die on missions?” 

“I don’t care.” There were tears in your eyes now, hot and prickling and you couldn’t even care enough to wipe them away. “You were bleeding out on top of me in the back of the van. And it could have been any one of us, too! What if it’d been Trevor? MacLaren? Carly? What if Marcy had taken that bullet and fucking kicked it, huh? Where would that leave us?” 

He hadn’t stepped back as you’d pressed closer, and for a moment you wondered if this was it. If you should just walk away now before either one of you did some real damage. Then he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Guess it’s lucky it was me, then.” 

You half stifled your sob (an actual sob, which you were not proud of), raising your hand again to slam into his chest, press to your face, run through your hair. “What can’t you understand? Why can’t you understand?” 

His own hand moved, slowly and hesitantly towards your arm. He paused and thought better of it before it got past waist height, searching your face. “What’s this really about?” 

“I…” You stopped, breathing hard. He was right. It wasn’t just that he’d lied about the messengers or dragged you all on an unsanctioned and ill-prepared mission. It was more than that. It was, when you got down to it, his head in your lap in the back of the van. His blood coating you. His hand in yours. His eyes unfocussed, his breathing too shallow and the possibility that that was the last time you’d ever get to see him. When you spoke, each word felt like you were vomiting up a bowling ball. 

“I don’t want to do this without you.” 

There was a pause, then, “Fuck. Fuck, (Y/N).” And his arm was moving again, his hand coming to rest behind your head, and before you even realised what was happening his lips were pressed against yours.

It only took you a moment to melt into him, to step that little bit closer and tilt your face towards his, your hands settling on his chest between the two of you, fingers twisting in the material of his shirt as his tangled in your hair. He kissed you like you belonged to him, like he wanted you to be his and his alone. A tiny, involuntary sound slipped from you as his tongue slid between your parted lips, searching and exploring your mouth like you’d been dreaming of doing to him for far too long now. You pushed back against him, sliding your hand up to caress his neck, brushing over the stubble littering his jaw and cheek. The hand that wasn’t in your hair had settled on your waist, pulling your body flush with his, fingers digging into your flesh enough to send heat coursing through your whole being.

You moaned softly, your hold on the back of his neck tightening ever so slightly as you pulled him down further towards you. He was growing hard against you, you could feel it, his own choked hum of pleasure reverberating against your mouth as you moved your hips. You did it again, and this time it was a sharp breath sucked through his nose.

And God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly it almost hurt, but as soon as you had the thought another one rang through your mind like an alarm through a good dream. You relaxed your hold on him, drawing back even as he chased your lips. 

“Protocol 4,” you murmured, the tears that had slipped from your eyes already crusting dry on your cheeks.  

“We’re not reproducing.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down to where his hips pressed against your own. You watched his hand move from your waist, down over the front of your hip to where your leg joined it. Your stomach swooped, desire pooling low in you as his fingers traced over your inner thigh, soft and teasing.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, your hands already back in his shirt and pulling him to you, lips crashing against his once more. 

He gave a little grunt of surprise, the hand that had stayed close to your hair sliding back into it. But you were moving now, turning and sweeping one hand across the table behind you before jumping up onto it, parting your legs for Philip. He fit perfectly between your thighs, his hardness now flush with your clothed core in a way that had you arching shamelessly into him. His hand trailed down your neck, over your shoulder and down over your ribs, your waist, fingers curving there once more and pulling you closer. You didn’t think you could get any closer, but you needed to feel his skin on yours, touch him and have him touch you. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt where your chest pressed against his, but it wasn’t enough. You needed all of him. 

You managed to wriggle your hand into the tiny space between your bodies, fingers searching for the hem of his shirt and pushing unceremoniously under it. You had your tongue in his mouth now too, stroking and tasting every inch of him just as he’d done to you, and this time you were sure your lips were going to be bruised. Somewhere between your hand on his skin and his shirt being bunched up to his chest, Philip got the hint and broke away just long enough to shrug it off, dropping the piece of fabric on the table beside you. 

“Tell me you changed that,” he said, voice low. 

You nodded. “I threw the other one out.” 

“Mhm.” 

“It was so bloody it was starting to go stiff.” 

“God, just stop talking.” 

You smiled at that, and this time when he kissed you it was less… urgent. Still thorough and firm, still fraught with want and need, but less like a man starved and more like a man who was determined to enjoy a good meal. And hey, you were more than happy to provide that. You were barely sitting on the table anymore, your own wriggling and Philip’s hold on your waist to blame for the edge of it digging into your ass. 

Without his shirt, there wasn’t anything for you to tug Philip by as you shifted backwards. He hummed softly when your hands slid up his bare chest, over his shoulders, pulling at him to come closer, come here. He stumbled a little as he leaned against the table, his own hand moving smoothly from its place on your waist down over your hip, along your thigh to your knee and back up again. You lifted the leg slightly, hooking it behind him and squeezing. There wasn’t much muscle to work with, not what you were used to anyway, but his breath still hitched in his chest as you did it again. 

His hands were firm on your legs as he broke from your lips, staring at you with that same look you couldn’t quite pin down. Gently, you moved your hand up over his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you cradled the base of his skull. It was so different to how you’d held him in the back of the van, your fingers leaving bloody stripes across his cheeks and neck and forehead, his gaze unfocussed and wandering until his eyes had just closed and you hadn’t been able to get him to look at anything, much less you. But somehow, it was the same. It was still Philip, warm and conscious and standing between your legs, face clean and eyes clear, lips kiss-swollen and just begging to be touched. 

You swallowed, tearing your eyes away from his mouth and curling your fingers in his hair as you ground your hips into his. A muscle in his jaw twitched, his grip tightening on your thighs, his face still only inches from your own. His eyes, as they flicked down to your mouth, were dark with want. 

“God, (Y/N),” he whispered as you did it again, your lips curling into a smile. He bent his head, breath warm against your neck as he kissed under your jaw, down the muscle at the side of your neck, sucking gently at the spot. 

“Philip,” you sighed as he did it again, harder this time. Fuck, you hoped he left a mark. You cursed as the thought that that was probably a bad idea hit you, pulling gently at his hair to raise his head.

“Is that…?” he frowned, uncertain. 

“No, no I like that. A lot. I just…” You stopped, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, dropping it beside his. “I think here is better?” you offered, pointing to your chest. 

“Oh, ok.” His smile was quick as he bent once more, overtaken by a wince as it pulled at his side. 

“Are you alright?” you asked quickly, ducking your head to meet his eyes. 

“Fine,” he said tightly, leaning forwards once more. 

“No, wait a second. You got shot, Philip. You’re not… Jesus, I don’t know if we should even be doing this.” 

A pause as he searched your face. “I want to. I want you, (Y/N), if you want me.” 

“I do. I really, really do. But I don’t want to hurt you.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile. “You won’t.” 

“You’ll tell me if I do?” 

“You won’t.” 

You huffed and crossed your arms, covering your chest. “Promise.” 

“Ok, fine,” he sighed. “I promise I’ll tell you if you hurt me.”

“Ok.” You smiled again as you closed the little distance between you, unfolding your arms to run your hands over his chest. “Bed,” you murmured against his lips. Then, when you felt him hesitate, “it’s better than the table.” 

He barely pulled away, even as you slipped from your perch and followed him to the door in the corner, through the mess you’d rifled through earlier and towards the bed. You turned, pushing him gently onto the edge of it, your hand resuming its place in his hair as you bent to kiss him again. His own hand had settled once more on your waist, and as you licked lightly at his bottom lip it slid up your side, hovering over your ribs. His thumb skimmed the skin just shy of your breast, where your bra sat, and you smiled even as you mapped the inside of his mouth with your tongue.

“Off,” you muttered, still kissing him as he undid the clasp behind your back (albeit with a little difficulty) and slid the piece of fabric from your shoulders. You raised your free hand, placing it over his and moving it those last few inches to your breast, squeezing your fingers over his. He drew a sharp breath and you squeezed your own breast for him again before dropping your hand to cup his jaw. You tilted his head gently further upwards, stepping between his legs as his thumb swiped an arc over your skin. Then he squeezed – just as gently as ever – and you let a moan slip from you. He took that as encouragement, pulling you even closer with his free hand as he moved, kneading the soft flesh, moving his hand until his finger brushed over your nipple and you half moaned, half gasped against his mouth. 

He paused, then when you pushed harder against him did it again. You whispered a breathy “yes,” hardly drawing back at all before you were sinking to your knees between his, Philip following until he couldn’t, simply staring at you. 

“What are you doing?” 

Oh, you liked the view from here. You smiled as his fingers spread over your jaw, turning your face to place a kiss on the palm of his hand as you slid your own up his thighs. You paused when you reached his hips, nodding to the now very noticeable bulge in his pants. “Can I?” 

You thought there might have been a faint flush dusting his face, but it was really too dim to tell. Either way, he nodded and watched as you undid his pants, lifting his hips as you pulled them down to pool around his ankles. His cock strained against his underwear, and your mouth watered as you looked up at him. His cheeks were definitely pinker than usual, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, not looking away even as you removed the last piece of clothing between you. 

“Fuck, Philip,” you breathed, glancing from his face to his dick and back again. 

He frowned, unsure. “What?”

You grinned. “I can’t wait to put that in my mouth.” 

His thigh tensed under your hand, breath hitching in his chest. “Jesus, (Y/N), you can’t just say shit like that.” 

“What?” you asked, bending forwards to place a kiss on his stomach, your thumb moving in slow circles on his skin. “That I’m gonna take you until I choke? That I’m gonna ride you so hard you’ll see stars, let you fill me up and fuck me six ways into next week?” 

Before you could look up again, his hand was under your chin and he was raising your face for you, fingers careful where they gripped your jaw. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he said softly. 

You raised an eyebrow, finally reaching out and gently taking hold of his cock. “Don’t I?” you asked as you moved your hand, want surging hot through your whole body as he moaned low and deep. You shifted closer still, settling yourself between his legs before you bent your head and kissed the tip of his dick, licked it, relishing in Philip’s quick hiss of breath. 

“Oh fuck,” he gasped as you sank your mouth over him, heavy and hot and already salty with precum. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N).” 

You drew back, glancing up at him. Holy shit you never wanted to forget the look on his face – pure want, and directed entirely at you. “Ok?” you asked. 

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Shit, ‘s more than ok.” 

“Good,” you smiled, licking a long stripe up his shaft and sliding your lips over the head once more, tongue soft and pliant against him. Your hand worked what wouldn’t fit in your mouth, slow strokes to match the slow bobbing of your head.

His stomach twitched as you hollowed your cheeks, another groan reverberating through his chest. You’d wanted to be gentle with him despite what you’d said, and were all too aware that he was still injured and maybe this had been what Marcy had meant when she’d told you not to do anything stupid. Not to let him do anything stupid. Well, it was too late now. What the medic didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, or anyone else. 

You snuck another glance at Philip, the sight that met you sending a fresh bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. His head was tipped back, neck and jaw barred to you, his nose ring glinting in the dim light, chest heaving and hands tight where they gripped the sheets. You wanted to memorise him, here in this moment, and never let it go. You clenched your thighs, shifting in your search for a little friction, any relief at all. 

Philip cursed softly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he lowered his head to look down at you. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed, one hand trailing over your upper arm, your shoulder, weaving through your hair. He didn’t pull it, as such, but the pressure and the praise together was enough to make you moan around his cock. His hips jerked with the sound, fingers tightening and a muttered “fuck,” slipping from his lips. 

“Hm?” You didn’t stop, eyes watering as you sped up your movements, his dick slick with your spit and only getting messier. Maybe with anyone else it would have been gross, but not with him. Never with him. His hips bucked up again, followed by a quickly gasped apology and a loosening of the grip on your hair. You rubbed your free hand over his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s ok, it said. I’m fine. Then, as you squeezed his cock and relaxed your throat even further, please. 

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please, (Y/N), that’s—”

You hummed again, pulling your head back and sucking at just the tip, tongue flicking over the sensitive slit across it. He cursed again, loudly, your name falling from his lips once more. He thrust up into your mouth, hard enough that your eyes watered and you wondered if you were going to gag. You hoped not. 

“Don’t stop,” he practically pleaded. “Shit, don’t stop.” 

You wouldn’t dream of it. You sped up again, sucking hard and sagging over him, mapping every inch of his cock, every ridge and vein and sensitive spot. God, you could stay here forever, the warm weight of him in your mouth and his hand in your hair, listening to his moans and grunts and uneven breaths. 

“I’m— shit, fuck, fuck, (Y/N) I’m so fucking close.” 

That sent a thrill through you, the wet heat between your legs almost unbearable now. You took him deep, a gentle squeeze to his thigh the only reassurance and confirmation you could offer as you looked up, your vision slightly blurry, blinking rapidly to clear it. There was no way you were going to miss this. 

Then he was groaning deeply, hand tightening in your hair and head thrown back, dick twitching in your mouth as he spilled hot and thick down your throat. His chest heaved as he said your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it blurred into one sound. How many times had you wondered what he’d sound like? What he’d taste like? What he’d look like here, like this? It was better than anything your mind could ever conjure. 

You swallowed, slowing your movements as he rode out the high, only drawing back when his breathing had slowed and he’d ceased trembling. You licked over him gently, cleaning up the worst of the mess of spit and cum, wiping the corners of your mouth delicately. You sat between his legs, tracing little arcs over his skin with your thumb. 

“Alright?” you asked softly. 

He took a long, shuddering breath and looked down at you, nodding. “Are you?” 

“Yeah,” you smiled. You pressed your cheek into his palm as he slid the hand that had been gripping your hair down over your face, turning quickly to kiss it. 

His brows creased, and he paused. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

You shook your head, rising on stiff legs and taking his face between your hands. “You could never,” you said softly. Then a thought occurred to you. “It wasn’t… too much?” 

He huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head. “No. You were great. Better than great.” 

“Mm, good.” You smiled as he raised his hand to cup the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and into a gentle kiss. 

“Off,” he murmured against your lips, free hand running along the waistband of your pants. 

“Magic word?” 

He just rolled his eyes. “Please.” 

“Say it again,” you grinned. 

This time he paused, drawing back ever so slightly, searching your face. 

You just shrugged. “They’re not coming off if you don’t ask me nicely.” 

His hand dropped from your neck, skimming over your chest and stomach to rest on your hip. He held your gaze as he leaned closer, large hands firm and warm against you, then dropped his eyes to your skin as his lips met your stomach. You felt your insides turn over as he kissed you there, your teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough that it almost hurt. 

“Philip,” you started, then hissed as he did again, his tongue soft and hot where it touched you – so quickly you wondered if he’d even meant to do it. But no, there it was again, the sensation sending more electric heat shooting through you. You moaned outright when he sucked at the spot, hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in it. God, you’d never get tired of that, and from the way he hummed against your stomach neither would he. 

“Philip,” you breathed again. “Philip, that’s not asking nicely.” 

He glanced up at you, and you could have come undone from that alone. His tongue darted out over his lips. “Then can I please take off your pants?”

Oh you really didn’t want to give in that easily. A few kisses and half a hickey on your stomach and you were caving? Really? But then he was whispering “please” and his breath was raising gooseflesh all over you and you were tingling all over and his voice was so soft and husky like this and–

“Yes.” 

“Yes?” he echoed, frozen as he waited. 

“Yes, Philip. Sí, ja, oui, just—” Your breath caught as he pulled you close before releasing your hips, making quick work of your fly and easing your pants down over your hips. Your underwear followed suit, pooling around your ankles before you kicked both pieces of clothing off to the side and stood, completely bare, between Philip’s legs. 

“God, (Y/N),” he murmured almost reverently, stroking down over your hips and thighs, around behind your knees and up to your ass. And wow that did something to you.

 “Can I?” You motioned to his lap, already bending your knee at the edge of the mattress. 

Philip nodded quickly, already inching backwards to make room for you on the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”

You smiled, bringing your lips to his for what had to be the millionth time as you straddled his thighs and draped your arms around his shoulders, his lips parting easily under yours, his tongue dancing alongside your own as if he’d been born to kiss you. 

“I wanna touch you,” he said softly into the space between your mouths. He was all over you, kissing along your jaw and neck and under your ear, touching your back and sides and legs and hips and ass, pressing flush against you. The only part of you that hadn’t touched him yet was, ironically, where you wanted him most. 

“Please,” you replied almost immediately. “I want you to.” 

A breath of laughter hushed over your chest as he ran his hand up over the top of your thigh, along the spot where it joined your hip, tantalisingly close to the throbbing heat between your legs. You bit your lip, watching his face as his fingers crept ever closer. 

“Philip,” you warned. 

“Hm?” 

“Stop teasing.” 

“I’m not, I’m just… taking my time.” 

“Well— fuck.” The word was torn from you as his hand moved that last tiny distance, fingers sliding easily through your wetness. 

“Jesus, (Y/N),” be breathed. “You’re…” 

“Really fucking wet?” you suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. I didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Didn’t think I did anything that special.” 

You snorted, shifting closer still. “It’s you, Philip. I just really, really, really, want you.” 

He stilled for a moment, studying you like he was trying to memorise every cell making up your face. Then he stretched up and kissed you, stifling your moan with his lips as his finger slid over your clit. He did it again, a small, precise movement that had you grinding against his fingers as your own tightening on his shoulders. 

“There?” he asked, barely breaking away from you. 

“Oh God, yes. Yes, right there.” 

His eyes didn’t leave your face as he circled your clit, your breathing ragged and your body arching into his of its own accord. You bit your lip hard enough that it hurt, trying desperately to stifle another embarrassingly desperate moan. God, how was he so good at this? 

“Don’t do that,” he muttered, leaning forward to kiss along your collarbone. 

“What?” 

“Try to be quiet. I wanna hear you, wanna hear everything.” 

“Shit, Philip,” you panted. 

“Ok?”

“Ok. Ok, I— fuck.” He’d sucked hard at a spot on your chest, the faint pain cutting through the sharp pleasure spiralling from his hand. “Fuck,” you whispered again, your own hand flying to his hair as you scrambled for purchase. 

“Mhm, that’s it.”

You felt the praise, something about the quiet huskiness of his voice and the way he gripped your hip making you squirm. “Philip please,” you gasped. “Please.” 

“Please what?” 

“I want you inside me. I need you inside me, now.” 

He cursed, fingers leaving your clit to circle your entrance, almost tentative. Double checking. 

You shook your head. “No, that’s not what I mean.” 

He frowned, raising his head. 

You let go of his hair, brushing a stray piece from his forehead as you slid your other hand down his front. You glanced at the tiny remaining space where his cock sat, hard again between you. You spat into your palm before wrapping your hand gently around it, moving your fist slowly. “I mean here, Philip.” 

“Oh.” He swallowed hard, searching your face. “Are you sure?” 

“Mhm. I’m sure. Are you?” 

“Yes,” he breathed. “Fuck yes, I’m sure. Just—” He pulled away, reaching for the overcrowded nightstand (which, now you were looking at it, you were pretty sure was just a small filing cabinet) and rifling through the first one. When that didn’t turn up anything, he reached for the second. 

“What’re you looking for?” you asked as he moved on to the third. 

“Condom,” he grunted, then withdrew his hand triumphantly to show you a square of faded red foil. 

“Jesus, how’d you know that was gonna be there?” 

He shrugged. “Seemed like the kind of place to put one.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.” 

“Ok?” 

“Mhm.” You surveyed the package as he opened it, placing the foil pieces on the filing cabinet. “They don’t just… stop working, do they? If they’re a bit old?” 

He frowned. “Don’t think so. It’s only a month out of date, anyway. Less, actually. And it wasn’t open.” He looked up, meeting your eyes. “We could get more?” 

“No, no it’s ok. I trust you.” 

“Trust Trojan.” 

“Fine, I trust Trojan.” 

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he rolled the piece of latex over himself. The dressing on his side gleamed eerily in the dimness, and you silently cursed yourself. How had you not thought of that?

“Is that gonna be alright?” you asked, gesturing to it. 

Gingerly, he ran a finger of it. “I think so.” Then, as if it explained everything, “Painkillers.” 

“Ok, just—” 

“Let you know if it hurts,” he interrupted. “I will.” 

You rolled your eyes as you lifted your hips, bracing yourself on his shoulders. “Alright. Ready?” At his nod, you sank down slowly onto him, pausing as you adjusted to the stretch.

“You ok?” he asked, breath unsteady, grip firm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Gimme a second.” A soft moan slipped from you as you lowered yourself the rest of the way down, glancing at Philip. “This ok?” 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes dark, lips parted. “Uh-huh. You?” 

“Yeah. Can I move?” 

“Yes. Please, (Y/N), you can—” He broke off with a groan as you rocked your hips over his, slowly at first, finding your rhythm. It may have been a little tight initially, but now as you moved atop him you slid easily, Philip’s uneven breath and your own soft moans mingling in the space between your faces. 

“Fuck,” you panted. “Fuck, Philip you feel fucking amazing.” 

“(Y/N), oh, you— you feel amazing.” 

You brought your lips to his, messy and uncoordinated and hardly a kiss by any stringent definition. You moaned into his mouth as you took him deep inside you, the delicious friction of his cock lighting every inch of your insides on fire. You needed him, needed to go harder and faster and—

“Harder?” he half asked, half offered. It was like he’d read your mind. 

“Yes,” you whispered, lifting and lowering your hips with a little more of the desperation filtering through every fibre of your being. 

“Oh, yes, fuck yes—” His hips jerked up into yours, hands almost rough on your hips as he guided your movements. “Used to dream about this,” he confessed to your neck. “Having you like this.” 

Oh shit. You hadn’t been expecting that. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. What you’d look like. Sound like. What you’d— ah— feel like.” 

“What do I feel like?” you breathed, then cursed loudly as he reached down between your bodies and rubbed at your clit. 

“Like Heaven. You feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I—” 

You cut him off, tilting his face to yours and kissing him so hard you thought he was about to overbalance. But he held you tight, lips and teeth and tongue clashing against yours, swallowing your increasingly desperate moans and whines — because yes, you’d gotten to the point where you were almost whimpering. 

“Philip,” you practically sobbed, pleasure coiling tight and hot and hard with every push of his cock inside you, every movement of his finger on your clit. “Philip fuck don’t stop—” 

“Yeah, no, shit (Y/N), keep doing that.” 

“I’m gonna cum,” you managed. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum—” 

“Me too, you’re gonna— again—” 

“Yeah, Jesus Christ 33— Philip—” And then you were crying his name over and over, white hot bliss flooding out through your body, back arching and legs spasming as Philip continued to move you. You were vaguely aware of his arms tightening around your waist and his face pressing into your neck, his chest heaving against your own, your name and what you thought might have been your number  — both familiar and strange and so deeply tied to home it almost shocked you — mixed with his deep groans as he too climaxed. You hovered, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, breathing heavily as the aftershocks faded from trembling limbs and your heartbeats slowed to normal. 

After what felt like an age, you turned your head and kissed Philip’s temple, combing your fingers gently through his hair. He hummed appreciatively, raising his head from where his spit and your own sweat mingled at the joining of your neck and shoulder. He rubbed the spot softly, placed a featherlight kiss there and drew back to look at you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured. 

You smiled. “Mm, I think I have some.” 

His laugh was little more than a huff of air. He shook his head and he lifted you carefully off his lap, turning on the tiny mattress and pulling you close. You frowned at the sudden empty feeling inside you, but then he was tying shut the condom and dropping it on the nightstand, wrapping his arm around you and wriggling impossibly closer. You slid your hand up over his side, pausing when your fingers brushed the tape you’d used on the dressing. You were tempted to check it, make sure you hadn’t disturbed the wound at all — you’d never hear the end of that from Marcy. 

You drew back just enough that Philip’s face came into focus, cheeks still faintly flushed, nose ring gleaming dully. He was already looking at you, his thumb moving in tiny half circles on your back, something close to awe shining in his eyes. 

“What?” you asked, smiling. 

“Nothing.” 

“Come on. What’s going on in that super brain of yours?” 

“Super brain?” 

“Yeah. Your big historian super brain.” 

His lips twitched up into a smile, soft and a little confused and all for you. “Not much,” he replied. “You, mainly.” 

“Wow, ok.” You snorted, relaxing your neck and letting your face fall against his chest. He didn’t exactly smell nice, but something about it was incredibly comforting. There was that little breath of laughter again, his body moving with it and jiggling you. 

“At least now I know you think I’m smart,” he said. 

“Of course I think you’re smart. I think you’re a goddamn genius. The things you think of…” You trailed off, shaking your head. When you continued, it was in a whisper. “I think you’re amazing.” 

He stilled, and for a moment you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. Then, “I think you’re amazing, too.” 

You lifted your head again, stretching up to brush his lips with yours. You shifted, but groaned as your thighs rubbed together. Your wetness was cooling between them, uncomfortable and slimy now that you weren’t moving with Philip anymore. 

“I’m gonna clean us up,” you said softly, already drawing away. 

“(Y/N), wait a second—” 

You turned as he caught your wrist, watched him sit up with a faint wince. “What?” 

“Nothing just…” He shrugged, still watching you.

You smiled, reaching up under his chin with your free hand as you stepped closer. You leaned down, and this time when you kissed him it was soft and tender and slow and careful. His lips parted, his hand still gently holding your wrist as he kissed you back with just as much care and deliberation. You could have stayed there forever, tongues and lips locked in a slow sort of dance. But the air was cooler when you stood, and the mess between your thighs really was uncomfortable. 

“I’ll be back,” you whispered as you drew away. 

He just nodded, eyes following your every movement as you swiped the used condom and wrapper, wrapped yourself in a blanket and stepped out into the main area. You were quick to find a towel, wet it, wipe yourself down, dispose of your rubbish inside an empty chip packet and pad back into the bedroom. 

You slid onto the edge of the bed, glancing to Philip for permission before gently cleaning around his crotch. You wished there was a shower. You just wanted to stand under a flow of hot water (one of the things you’d been looking forward to most about the 21st century), maybe with the man currently watching you like you’d personally hung the stars, and not think about anything. 

“Still just thinking about me?” you asked, half joking, as you dropped the towel over the edge of the bed and draped yourself along Philip’s side. You could hear his heart directly under your cheek, feel the expansion and contraction of his ribs on your front. You shifted closer and hooked your leg over his. 

“Mm, pretty much.” 

“What else?” 

He paused, then, “Did you almost call me 3326?” 

It was your turn to hesitate. “Maybe. Almost.” 

“Thought so. Wasn’t sure if I was just hearing things.” 

You looked up, frowning. “You hear things a lot?” 

He just shrugged, then muttered an apology as you moved with his shoulder. “A bit, yeah.” 

“Ok.” You weren’t sure what to do with that information, so you just turned your face and kissed his chest. “I could have sworn I heard you call me 3430.” 

“Maybe.” You could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe you’re hearing things too.” 

“Maybe, Philip, but I don’t think so. Leave the future in the past.” 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.” 

You squeezed him gently, and his arm tightened around you momentarily in response. You could get used to this, you thought as you closed your eyes. Your body was so heavy, and Philip was actually warm now. Warm and firm and real and very very comforting. “Can I stay?” you whispered. “Here? With you?” 

When he answered, his voice was just as soft as your own. “Yes. I don’t want you to go.”

“Mm, I’m not going.” 

He stroked your shoulder, the movement almost hypnotic. “Good.” You were vaguely aware of his arm moving, then something thick and a little itchy was being dragged over your bare body and his other arm was coming to rest over your waist, hand heavy and so warm on your back. The last thing you were aware of was the faint brush of stubble and a kiss on your forehead.

Note: obviously don’t use expired condoms that’s stupid. Anyways I binge read acotar like a few weeks ago and I genuinely think my writing skills have gone downhill because this is NOWHERE NEAR some of my other stuff. Not to toot my own horn and like I know I'm not the most amazing writer in the world but I am usually decent as far as smut goes. This is not on the same level. Also I had no idea how to address the host thing or the names thing or the numbers thing so I chose to simply mention it and hope for the best. I apologise (there really isn't much about this show floating around, huh). Also I'm only just realising this is weirdly similar in a lot of ways to my Ethan Hunt x reader one, but I really like this specific trope so yeah... deal with it lol