on the level

-̶a̶g̶e̶n̶t̶ ̶ wes philips, 35. bartender at troy.

[wes-philips-blog]

baxtheaxehole:

Despite the fact that his divorce had been finalized weeks ago, it became abundantly clear that his ex-wife was still furious. It was the only conclusion he could come to as he paused in front of the coffee shop to stare at a photo of himself. On a flier taped right below the Rise & Grind logo was an unflattering picture of him eating a hot dog and the words, MY NAME IS ANGEL BAXTER AND I HAVE RAMPANT CHLAMYDIA, emblazoned across the top. His badge number and the direct line to his phone at the precinct were posted below.

Bax sighed and plucked the flier off, turning to throw it into the trash bin and spotting someone holding an identical sheet of paper. “Jesus, Misty.”

Wes made his way down the street, bag of food in hand. He didn’t eat the food at Rise and Grind anymore after working there close to a year and seeing all the typical things behind the counter that most people didn’t want to see. Roaches, local bumpkins picking their noses and handling the food, it was something that left a rotten taste in Wes’ mouth. Considering the fact that he’d worked there previously, though, they were pretty chill with him bringing in food, and nobody seemed to mind. As he approached the location for his intel meeting with Baxter, his eyes glanced to observe whatever he was fiddling with, eyes squinting to a near-close to read the banner he was taking down. “Wow,” he mouthed, feeling sorry for his cohort to have to be dealing with that. “At least it was something curable, right?” he joked nervously, peering back down to his bag of food for them to split. He lifted it up with the best smile he could muster. “Don’t worry about it, man. At least we got bagels?”

[fuckyeah-char-dev]

INFP: the Dreamer

[wes-philips-blog]

fuckyeah-char-dev:

INFPs are introspective, private, creative and highly idealistic individuals that have a constant desire to be on a meaningful path. They are driven by their values and seek peace. Empathetic and compassionate, they want to help others and humanity as a whole. INFPs are imaginative, artistic and often have a talent for language and writing. They can also be described as easygoing, selfless, guarded, adaptable, patient and loyal.

STRENGTHS

Warmly concerned and caring towards others.

Sensitive and perceptive about what others are feeling.

Loyal and committed - they want lifelong relationships.

Deep capacity for love and caring.

Driven to meet other’s needs.

Strive for “win-win” situations.

Nurturing, supportive and encouraging.

Likely to recognise and appreciate other’s need for space.

Able to express themselves well.

Flexible and diverse.

WEAKNESSES

Don’t like to have their “space” invaded.

Extreme dislike of conflict and criticism.

Strong need to receive praise and positive affirmation.

May react rather emotionally to stressful situations.

Have difficulty leaving a bad relationship.

Have difficulty scolding or punishing others.

Tend to be reserved about expressing their feelings.

Perfectionistic tendencies may cause them to not give themselves enough credit.

Tendency to blame themselves for problems, and hold everything on their own shoulders.

Keep reading

[wes-philips-blog]

theflirtyhaneul:

“Layers” Character Meme

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: Wesley Kane Philips

Eye Color: Hazel

Hair Style/Color: Black, cropped and curlyyyyy. He prefers it long.

Height: 5′11

Clothing Style: He has to dress nice for work, and he’s almost always got his brown leather bomber jacket on.

Best Physical Feature: His smile. It’s cute and crooked and he’s always smiling.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears: He’s got a lowkey phobia of church and organized religion because of his history with his abusive adoptive parents who ran a church. He still doesn’t speak to them. 

Your Guilty Pleasure: Smoking. Chess Club, on occasion. He’s only fought once (and won), but he also goes to gather intel and drink. He’s clever enough to be good at gambling, but it isn’t frequent. Lil’ weed fiend.

Your Biggest Pet Peeve: Toxic masculinity in the assholes he occasionally finds at the station. Some cops just like giving people hell, and it irritates him considering he tries to let people off easy most of the time. 

Your Ambition for the Future: Retire from the force and move to Hawaii.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “Fuck.”

What You Think About the Most: He’s always running from the past.

What You Think About Before Bed: The events of the day and what they mean. He’s an over thinker.

You Think Your Best Quality Is: His compassion and ability to love unconditionally. The only exception to this rule are his parents. He’s grown past resenting his biological parents for giving him up for adoption, however.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: Either/or, he just likes devoting time to his person and making them feel special.

To be Loved or Respected: Both are valued equally by Wes.

Beauty or Brains: Both would be nice to him, though if he doesn’t have an intellectual connection with someone, he won’t be happy.

Dogs or Cats: Both, though he has three cats. All strays that wandered up to his door. Phyllis, Bing, and Peanut. He rushes home to tell them about his day.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: As necessary. 

Believe in Yourself: Sometimes.

Believe in Love: Absolutely.

Want Someone: Absolutely.

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: Once, he went on a date with an actress to an improv night and actually enjoyed it.

Done Drugs: He smokes a lot, and because he struggles with anxiety and depression, he occasionally has a hard time getting to sleep. Pills are threatening to become a thing, as well.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: Part of being a good agent is adjusting to your surroundings as needed, like a chameleon. So, yes.

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: Green

Favorite Animal: Birds

Favorite Movie: There Will Be Blood

Favorite Game: Fallout

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: 21st of March

How Old Will You Be: Thirty-six

Age You Lost Your Virginity: Twenty-one. He wanted to wait till it was important. <3333

Does Age Matter: A little. He won’t date anyone more than a decade younger than him.

LAYER NINE: IN A PARTNER

Best Personality: Someone he can laugh and have fun with.

Best Eye Color: No preference

Best Hair Color: No preference

Best thing to do With a Partner: Again, as long as he’s laughing and having fun he’ll be a happy Wes. Also, let him take care of you. He loves doing that and he’s very protective.

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: everyone.

I feel: alone.

I hide: my past, who I am.

I miss: my brother.

I wish: people saw me for who I really am, and who I can be.

[wes-philips-blog]

mwshay:

It was late and if Shay had to guess it was sometime after two in the morning which is why it was ironic that her mom’s saying was ringing in her head. Nothing good happens after midnight. If that was true then surely around two she’d be screwed then. Instead, she was pumping gas outside the EZ Pump still half naked but seeing as she was the only one there she wasn’t too worried. Nothing ever bad happened at a gas station and while she knew that wasn’t the case Shay was too tired to be bothered about it. At this point if someone wanted to mess with her she’d probably just let them.

Though she would have covered up a bit more if she’d known that someone else had thought the fill-up station was a good idea at this time of night. Lights from a car flashed as they pulled in and she couldn’t help but watch until the owner got out. Her nerves vanished when she saw Troy’s very own bartender scramble out. “Hey, you were just at St. Sabrina’s.” Making a statement rather than a question as she directed it towards Wes. Mostly because she’d just been there herself and it was her job to know who was there during her shift. “Got tired of seeing the same women doing the same things, or did you leave because the real show left?” Chuckling a little as she referenced herself now.

@wes-philips

Wes had left the glow of the neon lights and the cacophony of noise for a quiet brief moment in his car. He was jittery and anxious again and he couldn’t understand why. He pushed up his jacket’s sleeve, checking the time on his watch. Two A.M. He brushed a few fingers through his hair and cranked up the engine, leaving the bar in search of something that could help him relax. The pot was hardly doing it the same way it used to, and nothing seemed to be working. 

He had been deliberating in his head for weeks as to whether he should buy sleeping pills or not. It wasn’t something so awful, and it wasn’t like he was an addict, or ever displayed addictive behavior. Sure, he used herb to self medicate on occasion, but didn’t everybody? He wasn’t alone and he knew it. It was only a matter of time until the problem manifested in a worse fashion, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. He had heard talk of where to get what he needed, a tip received from one of the girls at the club. 

He had stopped to get gas on the way home, and was surprised to hear someone speaking to him.

 “Yeah, I was,” he answered as he tried to make out the figure from across the gas station. Once he distinguished that it was the girl from the bar, he knew exactly who he was speaking to. “For the record, you had the best routine out of all of them.” He left his gas pumping, leaning on his car as he spoke. “Aren’t you cold in that? You wanna wear my jacket?” he asked, noticing the girl had to be uncomfortable. He figured if she tried to steal it, he knew where she worked, so he wasn’t concerned.

[salvagingsloan]

Rise & Shine ——;;

[wes-philips-blog]

salvagingsloan:

The momentary comfort that came from knowing a stranger would’ve taken the same course of action was fleeting; Wes recanted his statement and left Sloan chewing the corner of her lip. “I try not to pull that kind of shit.” The half-truth was easier to swallow, so she gave that to him in a rare moment of clarity. To be fair, she did try to avoid fighting if it wasn’t in the ring at Chess Club – - sometimes, however, fights just couldn’t be avoided. Sloan had never been one to back down, either. 

While he thumbed through magazines, Sloan chanced a second to shake a couple Advil capsules from a bottle on her desk. She chased them with an open bottle of water while she rummaged for her wallet and began thumbing out bills. “How much do one of those cost, anyway?” It didn’t matter, apparently; Wes decided to retract the costs, leaving Sloan with her fingers in her wallet and an incredulous look on her face. “No, really; I broke it, so I’m gonna pay for it.” 

To say she simply defended herself seemed drastic, but Sloan supposed that’s what she had done in a very roundabout way. “Lemme pay for it – - seriously. If someone came in here and started breaking bottles, I’d expect them to pay for something.” She wasn’t going to budge, and if he refused to tell her how much she owed then she would be forced to make an estimate based solely on what she thought a pool cue would be worth. 

“It felt cool as shit,” she could remember that much. “So just hit me up if you ever need a bouncer, I guess.” It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t ever given him her name – - she’d opened tabs almost nightly, but she usually kept the conversation brief rather than striking up anything meaningful, “I’m Sloan, by the way. I already know your name – - Wes, yeah?”

His brow furrowed as she tried to change his mind, threading together into a tight knit before a smile overcame him. “Really. I insist,” he added, smiling away the awkwardness of now standing in her office for no reason. He felt like he was in the way, like he needed to get out of there and leave her to her business. He wasn’t about to let a woman who was simply defending herself against a group of creeps pay for the fallout, it just wasn’t his style. A good cop always put others before himself, and that’s the kind of cop Wes sought to be, even if the situation was a little foggy. Her intentions were clear.

Presently, she seemed just as busy as he was, and he hated wasting anyone’s time. Just as he began to think of a way to head out, his eyes fell on hers, and he couldn’t help but notice how familiar they seemed to be. Something about her caught his focus off guard, eyes twitching close just a tad into a squint as he considered where he’d seen her face before. He ran a few fingers through his hair, giving his scalp a scratch as he tried to place her. Who was this girl? 

Wes listened to her for a bit longer, smiling and nodding and laughing at her joke. Then it hit him. This was Sloan Martin, leader of the Chess Club, and he was actually bringing her broken pool sticks. He had visited the club before, gathering what intel he could about the syndicate and the rascals, incriminating words being passed around on loose lips that carried the scent of alcohol and other unknown substances. It was chaos and madness, and came together to paint a fascinating picture to Wes. He was always seeking the next thrill, the next heartbeat that skipped being music to his ears.

This was the girl that introduced all the meetings so dramatically, tough as nails and ready to set any man straight at the first sign of trouble. Wes admired her even more now. “I think I know you from somewhere,” he began, hands returning to his pockets. “Chess Club?” he questioned, head knocking back as he examined her eyes the way he always did when he was really looking into a person for the first time, the way only an agent could. “I won against Taylor a couple months ago. I was a little scrawnier then, but I’ve always been scrappy,” he said with a laugh. “Tournament coming up soon. You ready?”

[wes-philips-blog]

alicescotts:

Alice was happier than she’d initially thought she’d be when he agreed to walking her home. It didn’t only mean that she’d get home safe, but she’d also get the priviledge of walking home with the new guy. It couldn’t hurt getting to know him, and besides - he seemed nicer than most the people in this God forsaken town. She hummed at his response of shock, and a smile crossed her face once more.

As the minute hand got further around the face on her watch, the last other person in the bar left, and they were alone in the little building. Her eyes watched his actions, not really bothering to wander around to anywhere else in the room, and yet Alice didn’t mind if she was clocked doing it. She stood when he told her he had her tab, and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” She questioned. The blonde wouldn’t exactly complain, but she felt terrible about not paying. “Always.” Another smile in response to his question.

“Wes, by the way,” he spoke to the girl, extending a hand after walking across the bar to officially introduce himself.

“Promise not to tell anyone, it’ll be our secret,” he said, nodding in the direction of the back door. “Follow me.” He led her into the kitchen and down a little corridor hidden in the back. The hallway got more and more narrow as they went on before leading to a pair of stairs. He looked over his shoulder, a smile budded from his lips, knotting until they turned into a crooked grin. “Watch your step,” he said as he padded up the stairs, pushing open the door before them and stepping out into the cold of the night. He turned to face her, eager to see her reaction. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights,” he said, extending his arms to feel the breeze cover him and return back into the starry sky.

[leoholzer]

We’re all doomed. You and me and everybody.

[wes-philips-blog]

alicescotts:

Alice’s main questions for the man in front of her would, of course, like every naturally curious person in this small town, where he was from. Why, out of every single place in the entire of America, he’d chosen the town in the middle of nowhere. But she’d had the interrogation, too. She’d moved last year, and heard nothing but the question of why. It was something she tired of within the first three days of her brand new position, and she knew she probably wouldn’t stop hearing it as long as there were new people or people she’d never seen before. So she decided not to ask Wes about his reasonings behind popping up in a town renowned for it’s crappiness.

Watching as he fiddled with the cash register, Alice looked up and scoffed when he mentioned her having plans. “I’m flattered that you think both of those things, but no, I don’t have any plans. So, if the offer’s there, I’d love you to walk me home.” The blonde smiled over at him.

Wes’ ears perked up as his eyes drifted to the blonde sitting across from him. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he paused from thumbing through the bills to focus on what she’d just said. “Really?” he asked, a smile growing across his face before he stepped out of the way of a lagging employee still sweeping the floors. “I think that sounds like a hell of a plan.”

A few more minutes of worked passed, the remaining employee left, and they were truly alone. He re-counted the money one more time, eventually settling on a number and locking the drawer for the night in the safe for Wyatt to handle. He tucked it in an enclosed space behind the counter, eager to get the hell out of here. “I got your tab,” he spoke before clocking out and grabbing his coat, putting it on over his beer-stained sweater. “Before we go, you wanna see something cool?” he asked, making his way to the other side of the counter where she patiently waited.

[drlelandsoffice]

The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme

[tigersniper-deactivated20150224]

Send me some numbers, and I will tell you:

What does their bedroom look like?

Do they have any daily rituals?

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Eating habits and sample daily menu

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Makeup?

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Intellectual pursuits?

Favorite book genre?

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Favorite beverage?

What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

What is their biggest regret?

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Most prized possession?

Thoughts on material possessions in general?

Concept of home and family?

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

What makes them feel guilty?

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

How misanthropic are they?

Hobbies?

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

Religion?

Superstitions or views on the occult?

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

How do they express love?

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

[wes-philips-blog]

last call +  spotify

for nights spent under smokey bar lights. welcome to troy.

darkside - paper trails / meet me in the alleyway - steve earle / anemone - brian jonestown massacre / i love you more than you love yourself - austra / necessary evil - unknown mortal orchestra / oh baby - lcd soundsystem / the less i know the better / black ballerina - ariel pink / jane - jefferson starship /   nightcall - kavinsky / strong - london grammar / sunglasses at night - corey hart / hold me now (metro boomin remix) - thompson twins / stranglehold - ted nugent / kashmir - led zeppelin / i ran - flock of seagulls / the heat - jungle / junior kickstart - the go! team

[kanjabeto-deactivated20180421]

[southby]

my type; wes + southby

[wes-philips-blog]

Wes sized up the place, taking in the familiar smell of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke as his gaze fell on a woman flinging herself upside down into the air on a beaming, golden pole. His eyes lit up like a kid’s at Disneyworld as she did her dance. He noted that the strippers around here were nice to look at, especially that one. “Her,” he nodded in her direction. “What’s her name? The human shish kebab?” he asked before leaning forward to watch. “You ever seen ‘em slide and make those little fart noises as they skid,” he remarked, marveling at her superior form on the pole even more than her free-falling boobs, which threatened to come unclasped at any moment. “Impressive,” he muttered under his breath, nodding along to the music and leaning back into his seat. He glanced to his friend, picking up on his perpetually interesting fashion sense. “You going to Margaritaville or some shit?” he asked, respectfully eyeing the Hawaiian shirt and hunting jacket combo, a delightful contrast to Wes’ brown aviator jacket and jeans. “Mad respect.” He felt himself loosening up a bit, and something about Oliver helped him loosen up anyways. He’d hit a joint before he’d come just to ease the nerves about going to church for the first time in forever; but after the realization that it was the farthest thing from it, he felt relief seep through his system, and he was actually enjoying himself.

The last time he’d been in a strip club was when he was going undercover for the mob in Chicago, where he’d bar tended and cleaned tables. It lasted about a week before he’d been fired for fraternizing too much with the talent, but he couldn’t help if they wanted to come talk to him on their breaks. He was an easy conversationalist, and he actively listened to their concerns, always the sensitive type. The ladies dug it. Just as he started getting comfortable, he stopped to make sure he was hearing Oliver correctly, brows furrowing together and head cocking to the side. Wes noticed that ‘Hail Mary’ was ironically wafting through the airwaves of the club from the fuzzy loudspeakers, though there was no mishearing what his buddy had asked out of the blue. Just then, he heard the ding of a new text message, and he pulled it out of his pocket to check it. “I think God is trying to protect me from this conversation,” he spoke as he peered down to his phone before deciding it wasn’t important enough to respond to right away. He noticed Southby changing the subject before he could really respond, a perplexed expression having bloomed across his vacant face as he blanked out.

He snapped back after a few moments of contemplation, taking a swig of the beer that sat vacantly on the table between them, too mellow to be phased by Southby’s question. Oliver was a solid friend, always looking out, and Wes appreciated having someone he could count on to be there for him. His fingers traced the rim of the bottle as he peered down into it, then back up to make deliberate eye contact with the other man. “Look Oliver,” he began, leaning in closer before smelling death breath. “Shit dude,” he snorted, “Look. You’re a nice guy and all, but I’m just not your type. I’m a loner, Ollie. A rebel,” he cooed, followed by a firm pat to the shoulder. He paused to reflect on the fact that he’d just quoted Pee-Wee Herman in a strip club, and Tupac was now backing him up with a slick beat. He was definitely a music guy, and when he heard the chorus of the song, he couldn’t help but lift his arms into the air, doing a little groove in his seat.

He rolled up his sleeves, sitting pretty in the sticky, cheap leather chair. He was definitely rocking up in some kind of body fluid. “Wait, is that why you asked me to come here?” he asked, pulling out a pack of Marlboro Menthols, offering Southby one. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, searching for his lighter as he spoke. “I was gettin’ blow jibbers and finger blastin’ in these streets while you were still wet behind the ears, esé,” he joked through his teeth as he lit the cigarette. Wes was openly bisexual, but it had never come up with Oliver. He wondered if that would affect their friendship, and the thought of it bummed him out. He followed Oliver’s gaze to the sequined, curvaceous girl that gyrated in front of them. The time to pay the piper had come. “Oh, c’mon,” he said with another swig of the beer, “I always throw into the offering plate.” He tugged out a few ones from his wallet, holding it up in plain sight of the stripper across from him. “Hey, honey. He said they call you lil’ Turmeric. C’mon over here,” he called to the girl, peeking over to Oliver with a spark in his eye as he mouthed the word, “Lapdance?”

[wes-philips-blog]

deputyxjones:

Regardless of who was to blame for the collision (probably her, or at least a combination of both), Clara was quick to drop down to the ground, putting her pack of cigarettes away and instead gathering a small stack of papers in her hand. All the while, her mind was working to place the man somewhere in her memory—feeling for all the world like the answer was right there, just out of reach. Obviously, she didn’t know him from anywhere in Muddy Waters, but that didn’t exactly narrow it down given her history. What did narrow it down was when he looked up and mentioned Chicago.

If he was from Chicago, and if he was in law enforcement—which he seemed to be, judging by the file—that really only meant one of two things. Either he worked with her foster father, or he’d once had the misfortune of placing her under arrest. Or both.

“Kind of,” the deputy replied with a small shrug, handing over the papers in her hand before standing up. Her time in Chicago was difficult for her to remember, not least because she’d suppressed most of it to preserve her own sanity, leaving only the haziest of recollections in her mind. But it was also easier to simply say that she was from Chicago than explaining the real story. “I’m Clara.” She smiled softly and offered him her hand. “Jones. Although, if you met me in Chicago, you probably knew me by a different name.”

Wes admired the stranger’s willingness to help him, it wasn’t every day you came across someone like that. Good people were hard to find, and he genuinely appreciated every small kindness that came his way. He looked up to observe her face again more closely, squinting his eyes as he tried to place her. It was rather easy to surmise she was from Chicago, as she couldn’t have been from his small hometown in Michigan, and he definitely hadn’t seen her in Muddy Waters before. He felt as though her face was incredibly familiar, but he couldn’t decipher where in Chicago he had seen her. Then, it came to him.

“Hold up,” he said as he pointed his finger towards the girl, the pieces slowly drifting together. “I remember you now.” He had a wild spark in his eye, like he had just cracked a case as he practically bounced with glee. “I got you for possession on multiple accounts... But I just took your herb, dumped the shitty shit, and let you go?” The words trickled out as he remembered the events that had unfolded more than eight years ago, two years after he had joined Chicago P.D.

“Well, damn. How you doin’ now?” The thought really tickled Wes as he stood wondering how he hadn’t gotten his badge taken yet. He liked to think it was because of his charming personality and effectiveness on the job, but realistically, it was probably just blind luck. “I’m Wes, by the way.”

[wes-philips-blog]

hartchitect:

Wyatt hummed thoughtfully in response, making a mental note to put his resident snoop on Wes once he got the chance. He watched with interest as the jigger tumbled to the floor and his bartender went diving after it. Suddenly, he broke out into a grin, wasting no time vaulting over the counter and grabbing the man by the back of his shirt. He physically hauled Wes up and plucked the phone out of his hand, carelessly throwing it over his shoulder with a clatter.

“So you’re a bad bartender,” he surmised with a Cheshire Cat’s grin. “Cute trick. You’re also a bad a conman.” He still hadn’t let the other go, grip firm and reveling in the wide-eyed gape of the audience they were gathering. The bar hadn’t opened yet, but there were enough employees mingling about that made it clear that Wyatt didn’t care who saw. “Convince me why I shouldn’t fire you. Without dropping to your knees.” Despite the words, whether he was serious or not was up for debate.

Wes jumped a little when Wyatt scooped him up, not suspecting the man to lunge at him, nor physically suspend him into the air. This wasn’t a first, but it was one of the more abrupt times it had happened, and it left him on edge. He almost cracked, eyes wide and horrified at first, then they adjusted once he regained his composure. He tried to keep himself from stuttering, or losing his focus, knowing good and well he was being watched by his fellow employees. He furrowed a brow, putting on his best poker face. “I can offer you something nobody else here can,” he spoke with a cool tone, looking deep into the larger man's eyes. “I know how to keep a secret, and I’m damn good at cleaning up messes.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, eyes locked with a sincerity even an actor would find hard to imitate. “I do what I’m told, and I know my place.” It was the perfect execution, he just needed to wait for Wyatt’s response to gauge where he’d go from here. He watched in silent contemplation, trying to create a calming atmosphere and hopefully be released from the other man’s steely grasp without further conflict. 

[salvagingsloan]

Rise & Shine ——;;

[wes-philips-blog]

salvagingsloan:

Sloan wasn’t exactly known for keeping her cool, but she usually managed to leave nasty situations without launching into an all-out rage. She knew how to be a lady when the situation called for it, but she cold only do so much after being pushed to her limit; of course, the shots she’d taken hadn’t helped matters. All it took was one too many blatant attempts at grabbing her ass as she leaned over to shoot pool – - Sloan didn’t even bother asking the guy to stop, she just tightened her grip on the cue and swung around with every intention of using it as a weapon. Her memory was hazy after the first bottle was thrown, but the bartender evidently had every intention of reminding her what happened and collecting what she owed. 

Realization came in waves – - her jaw slacked, eyes grew wide, and her hand dropped so she could get a better look at him and the carnage he came bearing. “Oh, shit.” From the cue to the bartender, Sloan processed what was going on, “Fuck, yeah – - shit, I am so sorry. Here, let me… uh…” 

It was very rare for Sloan to be anything other than in control, which was why she felt so out of place while she rummaged for a towel to wipe her hand on. Her head nodded toward the side-door, “Just go in there – - I’ll grab my wallet and square up.”

Square up? What the fuck was this, some fucking spaghetti western? Her cringe was hidden behind her hair, easing at his approval of the music on the radio. “Huh? Oh. It’s just the radio. I didn’t pick it. Zeppelin’s not bad, though.”

Her stained hands were wiped clean – - or as clean as she could manage - – while she made her way to the door in long strides, “Just in here. I need an Advil anyway.” And then he asked the question she so hoped to avoid – - what the hell had happened the night before. “You probably remember more of it than me. All I’ve got are bits and pieces.”

If he was being completely honest, Wes felt pretty guilty even being here. He hated how tacky it looked, hunting down the woman and asking her to settle the score; but he knew if he didn’t, his boss would have his neck for letting that kind of thing slide. “To be fair,” he began, mouth screwing up into a thin line as he thought on what had happened, “I would’ve done the same thing.”

He pondered on that for a moment. “Actually, I probably wouldn’t have. It took balls to do what you did.” He really meant that too, all of the bartenders had been talking about it after she’d left. He remembered working behind the bar when he saw the first bottle fly in his direction, dodging it as though it was all in a day’s work. For once, it was nice to not have to do anything about a fight on a legal level. It was also equally great to be able to let himself laugh when he saw the stream of urination trickling down a co-worker’s pants; and without this chick, that wouldn’t have been possible.

He nodded as she excused herself to do whatever she needed to do, observing some magazines in a stack nearby. He picked one up, thumbing through the pages as he eventually followed her into the office, standing in the doorway. His ears perked up as he caught wind of what she’d just said, and he suddenly felt even worse for the woman. He set the magazine down on a nearby table, sticking his hands into his coat pockets as he found himself in deep contemplation. He couldn’t even imagine what someone as nice to look at as she went through on a daily basis, especially in a podunk town like this; and he imagined how hard it must’ve been to resist the urge to give it back. He changed his mind. She wouldn’t pay for it, he would. “Yunno, don’t worry about it,” he said, tossing a hand in the air with a shake. “It wasn’t your fault. You were assaulted, and you defended yourself.” If there was anything Wes couldn’t tolerate, it was abusive creeps. He’d had enough of those for a lifetime. “Not gonna lie, it was still cool as shit.” 

[southby]

my type; wes + southby

[wes-philips-blog]

southby:

@wes-philips

Blinking smoke from his eyes, Southby watched bills dangle from eager fingers in an array of lights. Flashes of dancers on stage in his peripheral synced almost too well with the bass line that thumped through his ribs. He supposed that was the point but then again… he glanced at his beer; yes he was due for another. In an attempt to not appear entirely too impatient, Southby stole a glance over his shoulder for the waitress that new him by name. & not just knowing it was stamped out on his nametag, she called him Oliver. She called him Wes & Oliver had no qualms about showing up in his uniform. Today though, he was off & that could’ve explained why he was early enough to the strip club to order a mimosa & not be judged. He hadn’t, but he could’ve. 

Khaki & precedent had been replaced with a vaguely Hawaiian style shirt under a gravel colored Carthartt. Luckily, he wasn’t the only person in the joint. He might’ve had to stop & reflect on the sadness of it all if he had been. Fortunately, he didn’t have to dwell on the analytics of being in Saint Sabrina’s before noon. Glancing at the empty chair next to him, Southby looked up in time to see the waitress walk by, still putting her hair up. “I’ll take another &, well you may as well make it two.” He made the suggestion alongside him pointing at the vacant chair in an effort to make sure Lola knew he was just racking them up for himself. No doubt he would, but still. 

As soon as she’d left with the order, Southby sank into his chair a bit, fingers drumming on the dark maroon of the leather seat. He was staring forward but not entirely looking when he realized a girl had dropped down low enough for her eyes to catch his. It took him a second to realize that she was merely squatting, but she was in fact looking directly at him. As his amazement dissipated he said: “Oh, hey Stacy!” Face coming to life as recognition dawned on him. “How ya doin’, baby?” She asked with a friendly smile. “Same old, same old.” He assured the woman, his chin lifted slightly to account for the difference in her perch from on stage. “Good!” The song changed & it appeared the volume had been bumped up in tandem & she waved the rest of their conversation mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ his direction before retreating from the edge of the stage. Frowning his understanding, he waved her away, twisting around in his seat to see that the owner was watching. He faced forward once more & threw an ‘OK’ over his head using his thumb & index finger at the manager. He could be awfully chatty, he knew that & it sat with him easily as he waited for his friend. “Wes is coming!” Southby added, shouting over the chorus. This was met with another ‘OK’ given this time by the scantily clad stripper Stacy. “Oh shit,” Southby said half standing when he saw the door open & unwelcome sunlight seep in. “There he is!” He patted the chair beside him as if it could be heard or even seen by adjusting eyes.

Wes followed the GPS to Saint Sabrina’s, veering off road a little bit as he watched the phone too closely. Those who knew him called him a bit technologically challenged, but he thought he was doing well for thirty five. “Turn right,” spoke Siri, despite there not being a right turn available. His eyes flicked between the road and the iPhone as he neared the turn. “Turn right,” Siri piped up again, and his eyes grew wide as he noticed a road off the beaten path. Where the fuck was he meeting Southby, Narnia? Eventually, he saw the lights to the place. Just as he thought he’d seen it all, he noticed a massive blinking neon cross on the front of the otherwise indistinguishable building. Southby really wasn’t kidding, it was a church after all. His wild cohort’s preposterous texts had led him to venture out on his day off, and he was hoping to utilize the break to the best of his ability. It was never a dull moment with Oliver, who was like a breath of fresh air in Wes’ otherwise dark and gloomy world. He hadn’t stepped foot in church since he was forced to attend as a child, however; the memories still haunted him. He wondered if he should turn around and drive home, fake a sickness, but he wouldn’t do that to someone in the force, and especially not to someone as fun as Southby. He’d just walk in, meet some cute chicks, smoke with Oliver, and leave. 

Wes’ eyes came to a squint as he examined the area around him, scoping for escape routes if need be. “Walking in,” he texted Southby before shoving the phone into his pocket, pulling up to the closest open space in the parking lot. He saw no trace of his friend in his empty car, assuming he must’ve already gone inside the church. Okay, Wes. Just be cool. These are Christian chicks, you’ll probably be the coolest person in the room. Remember John 3:16. For God so loved the Wes, that he gave him poontang once in a blue moon. Wes wondered if he had sealed his fate and was - once and for all - going to hell as he checked for anything in his teeth before exiting the driver’s seat. It was a bright day, too bright for his liking; and as he approached the dark door surrounded by tinted windows, he wondered how embarrassing this was about to be.

He pulled the door open, and he found himself struggling to keep his mouth from falling agape. His eyes scanned the room only to find that he was swimming in a pool of half naked women, not that he was complaining. He cracked a nervous smile at his friend’s exuberant greeting, eyes adjusting to the dark space with booming music. “Wow,” was all he could muster up. He walked closer to him, squeezing past a stripper or two. “That chick’s nipple just grazed my jacket,” he whispered before peering down at the empty seat to make sure nothing unsightly was in it. He dusted it off for safe measure before plopping down. “Things are really looking up at church these days, huh?” he remarked, confused as to what exactly was happening. “You gonna introduce me to your friends?” he asked with a mix of shock and enthusiasm, a laugh escaping his chest as he took in his surroundings.

[wes-philips-blog]

evaxreid:

Contentedly sipping her drink, the blonde woman seemed to be enjoying her night. “A good listener, huh?” The number of times people said they were good listeners were far too many to count, and she didn’t entirely count on them so much. Listening entailed her needing to talk, which wasn’t what she usually did. “Unfortunately, I don’t like talking about myself much.” At least, not the things that mattered on an emotional level.

So maybe Eva initially disliked this eclectic character stood in front of her. Slowly but surely, however, he was warming up to her. His little jokes were managing to get a laugh out of her, which wasn’t an everyday occurrence. 

“How are you here? Like, in this town?” she finally asked, brows slightly furrowed in confusion. By the looks of it, he clearly didn’t fit to Muddy’s usual residents. He was warmer, lighter in spirit. “Did you get thrown here or something?”

“Well, shit. I don’t like talking about myself, either. What in the world are we gonna talk about?” he asked with a cheeky grin, back to slinging beers and mixing cocktails. Someone had just asked for something at the end of the bar that was even more complicated than his boss’ usual requests, and he wasn’t about to let the ball drop so close to closing time.

How did he get here? In all his years of experience, the goal was to tell as few people his cover story as possible, so that’s what he’d stick to. The utilization of her persistent annoyance with him would have to save him from this one.  “I got in a plane and flew here,” he replied with a completely serious expression. “How are you here?”