#might as well put it in the tag to see if anyones watchin out for that i guess??

[snailyman]

preeeetty sure this is not the correct price for fairy rose honey, but i aint complaining

anybody know what the heck happened here, though? is it just a glitch or something else going on? for context, ive also got the artisan profession, but that should still only make one worth 952g, right?

[whirlybirbs]

✶  —  las rosas están cayendo   ;   j.m. 

summary: you're a figurehead in a far-reaching criminal underground operation that's offered jesse mccree haven and work in the last few years. your relationship with the cyberized cowboy is complicated but oh-so lovestruck.

pairing: jesse mccree / reader, est. relationship

tags: fluff, angst, good guy falls for the bad guy who’s not so bad

a/n: i’m simping, it’s fine

                               (    read on archive of our own !   )

Jesse McCree likes the Silkroad's End. Always has.

The place's very namesake pays homage to some dark web marketplace that operated back in the 10s; it's fitting, Jesse thinks, since the entity itself certainly fits what he'd imagine the personification of that very digital market to be. Dark, a bit shady, and always crawling with folks who aren't really who they say they are.

Staff changes every three weeks. Location, too. Lucky for him, the only thing that stays the same is the barkeep. Everything else is rotating, always moving, always changing. It's best that way.

Truth be told nothing in the States offers true anonymity, anymore. All that's long since past. Every damn street corner has a camera watchin'. But, the Silkroad's End is good — and discretion is their business. They offer what people like Jesse McCree need:

Trustworthy resources.

Even still, knowing about the Silkroad's End is one thing.

Getting in is another entirely.

Jesse's learned not to be startled when a stranger ambles up and slips something in his palm — might get 'im killed someday, but for now, he offers a gentle tip of the hat to whatever camera is eyein' his current move in whatever city he's in.

The chips — obsidian colored and round — are few and far between. There's a chain-code implanted in the micro-computer inside that registers a location on his personal data-device; but without that chip, he ain't gettin' inside. It's one use, one time only.

This time, the den is a quiet little place on a side street in New Orleans.

This chip was delivered to Jesse in a seedy bar bathroom — and as he shoved it into his pocket and muscled up his tawny-colored jeans, he was left grimacing. Bastard that gave it to him didn't even wash his hands. Just pissed and dropped it on top of the urinal.

The den is downstairs, and Jesse turns in his chip after finding the little location to a towering omnic who reminds his a little bit too much of a certain butler he once knew.

"Might wanna wash that."

Spurs tinker on the wooden steps, and when the door's eye slot slams open, Jesse is met with the gaze of a human this time — an unknown staff member with a tattoo that crawls up the side of his head. There's a tense silence. Then, the slot slams shut.

With a quick yank of the three-inch durasteel door, Jesse finally steps foot into the Silkroad's End.  

And, with an elated sort of smirk, he swaggers right in your direction.  

Jesse reckons it's been four months since he's seen you — the ever-present barkeep and present owner of the Silkroad's End  — last ;  could be that you're one of many owners and operators, as he suspects but... Well, Jesse never had enough to go on that hunch.

There he was, as always, distracted.

You know the sound of his spurs from a million others. In an instant, your lashes are flicking up from the bar and through the crowded back room. Tonight is busy — seems a good few members decided tonight would be the night they cash in their chips. You shouldn't be surprised to see Jesse McCree, but...

He's always had a way of knocking you off your game.

"Have I ever told you," comes the low croon as a set of cyberized knuckles rap on the mahogany bar, "that you make the best drinks around?"

Your smirk settles into your words. You move slowly, reaching for that top-shelf whiskey he likes so much.

"Is that why you keep coming back, then?"

Jesse smirks. His trademark hat finds a spot beside him at the bar, and he leans back to run a hand through his dark, wild hair. "One of a handful of reasons I could list, sure."

The drink that lands in front of him is coupled with your full attention.

Jesse feels awfully big in it.

His fingertip tinker against the glass. The sound is pleasing.

Your elbows meet the bartop. You lean. Your eyes drift across his face, and for a moment you find a rush of relief bloom at the realization that there are no new scars. He looks tired, but well.

Alive.  

A lot for a man with a bounty of sixty million on his head.

You work hard to keep that very bounty out of the Silkroad's End 's docket. That ledger of his, deep and relentless, has become harder to ignore in recent months. With word that Overwatch was recalled... Jesse's name had been floating around more than you liked recently.

It made you worry.

Your voice is soft. So is your smile.

Jesse, the sap he is, is glad he's sitting down for the sight of it.

"You look good, Jesse."

He scoffs into the whiskey. His eyes, a dark brown and warm like the run, roll at the remark. You grin.

"M' gettin' old," he rumbles, "And things are changing' faster than I can keep up with."

You don't pry. A habit. A good one, mostly. Jesse has a habit of being an open book. Given the chance, you'll pry later. For now, you opt to air on the side of wistful interest. Fleeting and light.

Your chin finds your palm.

Long ago, you wouldn't have dared to let a soul see you so engaged with a member like this, but... This operation ran on trust. Discretion was a part of the bigger equation and the people in this room?  You've known most of them for years now.

Bounty hunters, arms dealers, drug peddlers.

They know better than to bite the hand that feeds.

"You been busy, then?" you ask, watching the way his eyes stick to you, even when he reaches to dig out a cigar from a pocket beneath his serape. In a flash, he's procured a gilded lighter and flicked it open. The flame dances between you both, and you watch as he puffs the cigar. The embers burn red.

He exhales and smoke swirls around his head like horns — Jesse's lips slip into a lopsided sort of look; more playful than anything.

"That lead you gave me," he drawls, "It worked out. Paid good, too."

Your smile is slow.

This song and dance is always fun.

"Been savin' a few for you," you say, "You're one of the few I can trust to actually bring people in alive."  

"I haven't even been here fer more than a minute an' you're already talkin' business, pumpkin," Jesse grins, all toothy and scruffy, and takes another puff of his cigar, "That all you ever do?"

"You know me, Jesse," you slide your fingers across the underside of the bar, sending the partition up and allowing you to step around. You shrug your shoulders and hang your hands. The way his eyes flick across your figure isn't lost on you.

You cock your head towards the back office as you speak. "Always scheming."

If that ain't the god damn truth.

You're a smart little thing. All devilish wit and pulled strings. You have enough dirt in your back pocket to bring a few governments down, Jesse supposes. Nothing to bat an eyelash at.

He follows with ease; hat tucked upon his head once more, cigar and whiskey held in his hands. He follows you, looming over your shoulder, as the sea of patrons part with sidewards glances and half-aware nods. Everyone has their own business to attend to. You're simply attending to yours.

The back office isn't really much of an office — if anything, it's a refitted storage room. There's a desk, a handful of monitors, and enough security barring entrance to the windowless room that Jesse's roughed up every time.

The omnic patting him down isn't gentle. He tugs the peacekeeper from his hip holster and grunts. Jesse scowls.

That ain't never been a problem before, though.

You, all poised with your arms crossed, wave it off. The gun is shoved roughly back into Jesse's holster. If both hands weren't preoccupied, maybe the bouncer would get more than the nasty snarl Jesse manages as he's waved through. Maybe.

As the door slips shut behind him, the sound of your heels is all he hears.

"Beefed up security, huh?"

Your sigh is tight. He can see the tension along your shoulders when you round the sleek desk in the middle of the room and unlock a drawer. If you'd thought he'd move past your silence, you're wrong.

Jesse isn't like you.

He has a bad habit of asking plenty of follow up questions.

"What happened, pumpkin?"

That damn nickname is enough to spur you to straighten yourself, to set the datapad down gently on the desk in front of you, and to frown.

"There was an incident."

His worry is palpable.

"Nothing dramatic," you wave it off, shooing him slightly when he nears the desk. You walk around it and lean, settling on the edge, "But it was enough to spook a few staff members into being more mindful of who carries in the establishment. Especially behind closed doors."

You've had enough guns pulled on you in your life to know that one could have been the last — but it wasn't. It was fine. Might have earned you a few restless nights and a few connections to clean up, but the disgruntled member was dealt with. That was a month and a half ago now. Distant.

Jesse frowns. He sets his whiskey down on your desk, then leans and smothers the cigar in a fizzle of ash and smoke in the ashtray there.

His voice goes low, gruff, and serious.

"Pumpkin, I ain't a good man," he breathes, eyes low beneath the brim of his hat, "You're better off not trustin' men like me."

He does this every time.

A glimmer of self-consciousness towards his own character.

You know him better than to believe that shit.

"Jesse, if anyone was to put a bullet between my eyes," you mutter, unlocking the datapad with a flick of your finger, "I'd be honored if you were the one to do it."

That earns you a low grumble.

His weight moves to shift beside you. His hip bumps yours. His shoulder saddles right up against your own. You can smell the cigar on him, the burn of the whiskey on his tongue. Jesse is warm. He laces his own fingers together. You can feel his eyes on you as you sift through the files of bounties — and you try not to seem startled when he says your name soft enough it could pass for a lullaby.

"... You alright?"

It's not often you're asked this question.

You were right before — you were always talking business. Personal matters were kept far from any business dealings you did on a daily basis. It was pertinent. Kept the machine well-oiled.

Things with Jesse, though... They'd been different for a long time.

Things changed when the two of you had forgone professionalism once a handful of years ago now. It wasn't long after the first time you'd met him the cowboy had stolen himself into your well-guarded feelings. You blamed the charm. He believed it was luck. Despite knowing nearly nothing about you, he'd become enamored, and — when you'd initially thought the sex was something to sweeten the deal, Jesse quickly made it plenty clear he intended on keeping the sex and the business separate.

The feelings grew between those two things.

Now, in the center of his attention... Well, you feel small.

You let out a slow exhale.

"I missed you, y'know," you say slowly, eyes still trained on the names staring back at you on the datapad.

"Yeah," he breathes, "I missed you, too. Ain't fun bein' gone so long."

"As if either of us has a choice?"

Another hum. This one a bit sadder. Jesse supposes you're right, that it isn't exactly ideal  — and it's not as if he's allowed himself to be vulnerable to anyone else these last few years. Not when he's a wanted man. Not when gettin' someone tangled up in the danger is the last thing he wants.

It was different with you. You knew the danger. You...

Christ alive, he wishes now things were different.

Back then, it was easy.

Coming to terms, now, with the numbing loneliness that hangs itself over the both of you hurts a bit worse. Time is ticking by. He'll be older than he is younger soon.

"You ever wish you could leave it all behind?"

His question is met with a tired scoff. Your cheek finds his shoulder. Your hair falls along his arm.

"And become the world's most wanted woman?"

"What you've got is an empire," Jesse drawls, a hand slowly reaching for your own, "M' sure someone would wanna call it theirs ."

"And then what happens to the tired, old queen? The queen who knows what makes that empire strong?"

Your quirk your brows. Jesse sighs.

"... Point taken."

"I made my bed," you say with a measured sense of finality, "And I've gotta lay in it, Jesse."

His eyes dance alight when something then that's tempered with fire; he blinks down at you through thick lashes as he speaks.

"Wouldn't mind layin' with you..."

It's husky. Drawn out. Nearly a sigh, especially when his fingers slip along the curve of your wrist and draw up to your cheek.

"I'm starting to think you come here," you mumble with an edge of sarcasm as his nose brushes yours, "For more than just business ."

"Oh, sweetpea," Jesse grins as he whispers, "It's been that way for a long time now."

The kiss is bruising — the sort you missed horribly in those months apart. It's lip and teeth and scruff; the brush of his beard is enough to make you smile, enough to make you abandon the datapad on your desk.

Enough to keep you distracted enough that you don't notice Jesse McCree tapping an encrypted data transfer skimmer over your datapad.

You'll notice in the morning.

And by then, he'll be long gone.

[mrsalwayswrite]

These Hands Were Made For You (Bill Guarnere x Reader)

Based on this post by @problematicfavesareproblematic​ because its amazing!

This is my first time writing Wild Bill. Lemme know what y’all think!

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension, palming (is that a warning?)

Words:2600

Tag List: @happyveday​ @sydney-m​ @saritanotserena​

  As soon as you stepped into the barn-converted-to-mess-hall in Albourne, you knew what was coming. 

 "There she is, fuckin' goddess of war herself! Come to see how the toughest, most handsome sonofabitch in the 506 is doin' this morning?" 

 You just chuckled and shook your head at his exaggerated smug look. "Yeah, Bill. Something like that."

 Guarnere winked at you and you could not figure out how it was possible for such a simple action to be so dirty. The way he tilted his head just slightly, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smirk followed by a quick wink...you could feel heat pooling in your belly and your breath catch. 

 The cocky grin on his face grew as he saw the hint of pink on your cheeks. He knew what that wink did to you and he LOVED using it against you. 

 Bastard. 

 "Something you need, Y/L/N?" Martin asked from the table closest to the door.  

 "Yeah, any of you seen Lip?"

 Luz answered from the table, cigarette dangling from between his lips. "Think he went back to the house to grab something. Why?"

 You waved Luz off as you could see him start to stand, stepping further into the barn. "Just need to ask him something. Winters is in a meeting otherwise I'd ask him."

 "Why don't you take a seat, he should be back soon."

 "Perfect spot saved right here for the Valkyrie of Easy!" Bill announced, patting the open spot on the bench next to him. 

 You rolled your eyes but relented, moving past the other table to drop next to Guarnere. On his other side sat Heffron, still looking a bit wide-eyed and nervous that he somehow won the coveted spot with the Toccoa men. Toye sat across, giving you a brief nod when you sat down. Perconte, Christianson, Skinny, and Grant also took up residence around the table. Perco seemed to have been in the middle of telling some overly, exaggerated story. 

 Most of Easy relaxed in the barn. The Toccoa men were grateful for the break from the front-line and hot food instead of K rations. All the replacements were eager for the next jump, ready to soil their ODs, not truly understanding that war would only take from them, never give. The division between Toccoa men and replacements was painfully obvious. 

 Heffron leaned around Guarnere to meet your eyes. "Hey, sorry again about the fellas yesterday. They've been like that since training."

 "Not your fault, Babe." You shrugged, running a hand through your hair. 

 "What's he talkin' about?" Guarnere narrowed his eyes at you. Even Toye across the table was staring at you in concern. 

 "Nothing, Bill. It's fine."

 "If you're sayin' its fine then it ain't fuckin' fine." He growled. When he realized you were not going to elaborate, he turned on Babe. "What the fuck happened?"

 The redheaded replacement looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world in that moment than being interrogated by Wild Bill. "Some of the men were...ah, tryin' to...um… proposition her." He finished with a wince. 

 A long beat of silence.

 Then Guarnere exploded. 

 He pounded the table with a tight fist, the table shaking at the impact.  A snarl on his lips, he started to rise from his seat, eyeing the tables further away full of replacements. "Who the fuck was it? Someone from our platoon? Imma fuckin' kill 'em. Who was it?"

 "No," you cut in, grabbing his arm and restraining him, hoping to stop him before he worked himself up into a frenzy, "some replacements from third."

 He growled but let you pull him back down. "Goddamn replacements. They touch you?"

 "No, Bill. I handled it."

 Toye spoke up, eyeing his friend carefully as if to see if he was going to have to prevent a replacement's murder or help hide the body. "What you do?"

 You smirked, squeezing Guarnere's arm for good measure then pulled your hand back into your lap. "Told them if they tried to pull that shit again, I'd rip their cocks off and mail them to their mothers."

 All the men at the table either winced or shifted uncomfortably at the mental image. 

 "Hey, don't you be touchin' no one's cocks." Bill said, fury still on his face but also amusement. 

 You raised an eyebrow, "what would you rather I have done? Swung at them? Give Sink a reason to send me packing?"

 "Nah, you swing at 'em, they might fall in love." He winked at you again, telling you he knew exactly what he was talking about. Underneath the table, hidden from view, his knuckles skimmed the outside of your thigh. You attempted to hide the shiver that caused but knew you failed when Guarnere chuckled quietly.

 "Why would that matter?" Babe asked innocently. 

 "Oh, here we go." Toye sighed. 

 "Shut up Joe, the kid asked alright." Guarnere started his story, pleased to have a new, rapt audience. "So here we are, back in Toccoa, right? Most of us have already arrived and started trainin' with goddamn Sobel. Then one day this beautiful broad shows up and we're told she's joinin' the paratroopers. None of us believe it. Why would a broad be joinin'? Don't make no fuckin' sense. So the next day we're supposed to be startin' to learn self-defense and guess who I get paired up with? Huh? Lovely Y/L/N over here. Right, so I'm fuckin' pissed cause I don't wanna be fightin' no broad but Sobel is watchin' like a hawk. I tell her I'll pretend to swing at her and she should just fall down. Play fightin', ya know? Like when youse a kid. I take a swing at her, thinkin' she knew the plan. She easily dodges my swing and before I can right myself, she lands a punch on me. Knocked me flat on my ass and seein' stars. I look up to see this goddess standin' over me, bloody knuckles and all, and she says 'you better get up and fight me like a man before I knock you on your ass again'."

 "So, what you do?" Heffron asked, surprise clearly written all over his face. 

 Guarnere tapped the table with his finger. "What did I do? Well, I got up and told her that when this war is over, I'm gonna fuckin' marry her, that's what I was gonna do."

 Those who had heard the story before chuckled while Heffron sat there, head tilted and eyes bouncing between you and Guarnere like he was waiting for the punchline still. 

 "Why? No offense, Y/L/N." 

 Guarnere threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "Cause she hits harder than any fella I've ever known, includin' me brother Henry. Boxin' champion that one was. Now if that ain't a reason to marry someone, I don't know what is."

 "And she puts up with your bullshit." Toye deadpanned. 

 You rolled your eyes, sliding out from underneath Guarnere's arm. "That's just words unless there's a ring and I don't plan on marrying for a while yet. Still gotta win a war first." You stood up, smoothing down your ODs. "'Sides, maybe by then I'll find someone who doesn't annoy me so much."

 "Nah, you'd miss my handsome face too much."

 "You keep telling yourself that, Bill."

 "One day you'll come around." He winked, making your insides warm. You would never understand how that was possible. The Philadelphian pointed a finger at you. "You lemme know if any of those replacements bother you again. Can't have those bastards propositionin' my future wife."

 "See you later, boys." You said, not even bothering to answer him. You headed towards the door, intent on finding Lipton; but also to get away from the man who gave you such feels without even saying a word. Then when he did speak, complimenting and claiming you in front of the others…. it was becoming harder and harder to keep your hands and your lips to yourself. 

 ***** 

 You leaned against the doorframe, admiring the man who was too caught up in writing a letter home to have noticed you yet. He twirled the pencil between his fingers as he thought about his words. The chair creaked under him as he shifted, leaning forward against the wooden desk to continue writing. The small bedroom only consisted of the desk, chair and bed. Guarnere's duffle bag was thrown in a corner with things haphazardly pulled out. The NCOs had been billeted in a house together, everyone able to have their own rooms unlike the enlisted men who were forced to share a converted barn.

 When you had first met him, and your first real encounter resulted in you punching him, you had thought he was the most unhelpful, condescending, little shit; and you had no problems telling him that for weeks after. When he had bounced back to his feet and proposed...you had laughed so uncontrollably, it had taken a sharp bark from Lipton to get you to focus again. 

 Over the following weeks, the bastard would openly flirt with you and practically pummel anyone else who tried to. Sometime around Fort Benning, your own feelings toward him started to change. No longer was he a man you loathed. You found yourself happy he was in your platoon, that he hovered around you keeping assholes from other companies away, that you enjoyed his flirting and when you two were alone... you reciprocated. 

 Actually, the first time you flirted back, he almost choked on his tongue he was so surprised. After that, things shifted between you two. 

 He continued openly flirting but understood you could not since you were under far more scrutiny and Sobel was looking for ANY reason to get rid of you. 

 For two years Guarnere had been in your life...and you hoped for the rest of it too. 

 "Enjoyin' the view, sweetheart?"

 You smiled at him as he leaned back in the chair, legs still under the desk. "Should I be?"

 He scoffed. "You know you like what you see...I'll tell you though," his eyes raked over you, "you're a fuckin' goddess with a body to drive a man crazy."

 You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand to minimize the sound, as he winked at you before turning back to his letter. 

 "The other NCOs said you were going out tonight for drinks."

 "Yeah, yeah. Told 'em if I didn't finish this letter for my ma, she'd jump on a boat and come find me. Got three letters from her already. Last one she threatened to come find me. So, I told the fellas I'd meet them there."

 The muffled sounds of the other NCOs drifted up the stairs; they were gathered in the common room getting ready to head out. With that in mind, you moved silently across the room to where he sat at the chair. Coming up behind him, you dragged your hands over his broad shoulders then down his firm chest, stilled his motions. 

 "Y/N…"

 You loved touching him, could not get enough of it when you were able to. What you also loved doing was paying him back for teasing you. 

 One of your hands continued to travel downward until you palmed his cock. He froze, pencil hovering just about his letter. Without a word, you slowly, torturously, stroked him over his trousers. 

 "Fuck, sweetheart." He groaned, tipping his head back slightly. 

 "You said earlier I wasn't supposed to be touching anyone's cocks...does that include yours?"

 Turning his head, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye but before he could speak, you took the tip of his earlobe between your teeth. 

 "Hands on the desk, Sergeant." You growled in his ear. 

 Immediately, his hands slammed on the wooden desk, palms down. The pencil fell to the floor. Letter now forgotten on the desk. 

 "Mmm, yes, sir… you keep them there." You continued slowly stroking his cock over his trousers. "You have no idea how bad I wanted to kiss you earlier when we were at the mess hall." You licked up the curve of his ear, feeling him shudder under your touch. Your hand gave him a gentle squeeze as you continued whispering in his ear. "Think I should punish you for teasing me earlier? That wink you gave me...all the dirty images it put in my head. Want me to tell you about them?"

 "Fuck, sweetheart, yes."

 "I thought about you bending me over one of those tables. Notice how they are at the perfect height? How good you would feel inside me. How deep you would be."

 One of his hands started to move off the table, drifting towards where your hand played with him. 

 You nipped his earlobe sharply, making him hiss. "Hands up, Sergeant, or no reward later."

 "You're gonna kill me, darlin'." His hand slammed back on the desk. 

 You licked a line up his neck before pressing your lips against his ear again. The pace of your hand increased, his chest rising and falling to match. "Remember that time in Mackall where we snuck into the parachute packing building and fucked on the silks. You couldn't wait to get inside of me and almost tore my new ODs. So I made you wait and watch as I started touching myself. After someone came in and we almost got caught."

 His hips were now rutting against your hand, the chair shaking with his movements.  His hands were in white-knuckled fists on the desks, trembling with his desire to get them on you. 

 Unable to help yourself, you grabbed his face with your free hand, turning it to press a bruising, messy kiss to his lips. He greedily took ownership of your mouth and deepened the kiss. He plundered your mouth with his tongue, reminding you how his mouth and skillful tongue alone could drive you wild. 

 Finally you broke away, pressing your forehead against his temple as you attempted to refill your lungs with the oxygen he had stolen. "God, I wish I could kiss you out there. Let everyone know I am yours. Maybe share quarters with you instead of sneaking around like teenagers. Fuck whenever we want."

 "I'd be the luckiest, fuckin' bastard in all of Easy. You're mine. My goddess."

 "There is one thing I need right now. I need the toughest, most handsome sonofabitch above me. I need my man inside me." You squeezed your hand, making him tip his head back and loudly groan. "Now the other NCOs are just downstairs. Think you can keep quiet?"

 He pressed a hard and fast kiss to your lips. "Oh darlin', it ain't me whose gonna have to keep from screamin'."

 "Mmm, think you can help me out?"

 "I'd do anythin' for ya…." He turned in his seat, hands now stroking your waist with a completely wicked and sinful smirk on his face. "Go lock the door."

 You stepped back, admiring the disheveled look on Guarnere, how his eyes blazed with passion and desire. For you. Without tearing your gaze from his, you shut the door and locked it behind you. 

 "Jesus Christ, you're a dream."

 "Only for you. Come on, Sergeant, show me how good you are with your...arsenal."

 Before you could move, he leapt out of his chair, making it clatter on the floor as it tipped over in his enthusiasm. He picked you up easily and tossed you on the bed. You laughed only to be immediately silenced by his mouth slamming against yours, a moan drawn from you as his talented fingers rid you of your clothing with an almost inhuman speed. 

 *****

 Later that night Guarnere was quite late for getting to the pub but he did not mind one bit. Especially since his bed now smelled like you…. And he had been able to remind you how much he loved you. 

 Quite vigorously. 

[myukulelegentlyweeps]

Nowhere Man - Part IV

Pairing : George Harrison x female reader

Summary : George was sick of the Let It Be sessions, took the day off and met (Y/n), waitress and amateur musician, who happened to be performing the song Nowhere Man at the exact time when he felt like one. 

Previous chapters : Part I, Part I bis, Part II, Part III

In this chapter : Geo cuddles his girlfriend (a.k.a you)

Tag list : @givemequeen

Word count : 1.3k

A/n : The long awaited Part 4! So basically this is pure fluff and I really enjoyed writing (Y/n)/George dialogue, but you could consider it a “filler-transition” chapter...I strongly advise you read it anyway :)

Warnings : Descriptions of a healthy, happy relationship in its honeymoon phase

February 1969. You and George had been dating for two months now, and it was heaven.  Every conversation was full of meaning, every touch filled with intention, and every kiss made you feel like you were the most important person in the world in his eyes. You would not have imagined it beforehand, considering his laid back public persona, but the man was clingy : especially now that the Let it Be sessions had ended, he called you at the most random times asking to see you - he even rang you at work occasionally, which your boss found less amusing than you did.

You told each other everything, to the point where you seemed like the oldest of friends to the outside eye. Come to think of it, this relationship was different to your previous ones, since you actually felt completely at ease with George. There was no need to impress the other person and keep them interested in you, as you both loved and admired each other as equals. Silence was as comfortable as conversation : if either of you was too tired or not in the mood to talk, you would find the nearest couch and simply exist in each other’s arms, listening to each other breathe.

So you found yourself here. It was Saturday afternoon. You and George were spooning on the couch of his living room; he had picked you up the previous day at the end of your shift and you had driven to Kinfauns to spend the week-end together. His arms were wrapped around your waist and his hands rested on the naked skin underneath your white button-up shirt. His fingers were slightly cold, but he made up for it in body heat : with your back pressed against his chest, you had your eyes closed and a small smile painted on your face. You could have stayed there all day.

“If you could be anything in the world instead of a human, what would you be?”, he asked you out of the blue. It was not completely unexpected : you two had a sort of running competition for who could come up with the most ridiculous open-ended question - this might have been the best one yet. You shifted your position to face him. “It’s a good question, I’ll give you that”, you admitted. He flashed you a toothy ‘I know, right?’ grin, but you were not finished: “But how would it work? Like, do you mean if I could turn into that something right now, and know that I’ve been a human beforehand? Would I still have my (y/n) conscience while I live in this new body? And would I be able to transform back into a human again at some point?” “Always the smart one aren’t you, with your follow-up questions”, he teased, a slight smirk appearing on the corner of his mouth. You chuckled in disbelief : “But that’s the entire point, isn’t it?” “Dunno, it seemed like a pretty straightforward question to me before you started takin’ it apart.”, he shrugged, making you sigh in defeat. “Right. You answer it, then”, you stuck out your tongue and went back to your original  little spoon position.

You expected him to have an answer prepared, instead you were met with only silence as he buried his nose in the back of your neck, making you squirm. “That - tickles -”, you complained breathlessly, but he only tightened his grip around you. Slowly, the initial tickles morphed into a warm tingling sensation moving down your spine, and you settled into the hug in pleasant defeat. “Your hair smells great. I wish they made nice shampoo like that for men.” You shook your head at the remark : “Is that what you would be, then? A bottle of orange blossom shampoo?” Considering your suggestion, he cocked an eyebrow. “Well, no, because bottles run out. It’d be a very short and uneventful life, seeing only someone’s bathroom…Although I wouldn’t mind it if it were yours”, you could almost hear him wink at you. “George, you see me naked all the time. No need to find strategies get into my bathroom, we’re not in middle school.”

After a few minutes of more cuddling, he broke the silence again. “It’d be nice to be a tree.” “Hm?” “Think about it. I’d live a quiet life, constantly surrounded by nature, watchin’ it change with the seasons…Have all sorts of birds make their nests on my branches…” You nodded slowly, trying to picture his words in your mind. Life as a tree. It did sound pleasant. Growing slowly ; never fazed by the elements, being able to enjoy the rain and wind. Grounded by your roots, though still able to touch the sky with your crown…“But you like travelling,” you pointed out. “Could you really enjoy staying put in one same spot for hundreds of years?”

“There’s other ways to travel. That’s what meditation’s all about. Without going out of your door, you can know all things on earth,” he explained, brushing a stray hair strand out of your face. You  instantly recognised a line from The Inner Light, the song on the B side of Lady Madonna. “Quoting your own songs, are you now?”, you mocked jokingly, making him chuckle. “Didn’t know you knew that one.” “I was a Beatles fan before I was your girl, remember?” “Oh yeah?”, he smiled, acting all fake-surprised despite it being very old news. “Who was your favourite?”

You did not reply right away. Not that you didn’t know the answer, which was George, through and through : something about his voice had always pulled you to him, and there was a magnetism to being “the quiet one”. Even before you had met him, Mary (the bigger Beatlemaniac out of the two of you) used to tell you you were a “George kind of girl” all the time, referring either to your moderate shyness, your spirituality or your constant snacking. But you did not want to give him that much satisfaction quite yet.

“Paul.”, you finally decided, managing to keep a perfectly straight face through the lie. “Really?”, his smile only widened. You could tell he didn’t completely believe you, but at least you had installed a tinge of doubt. “Funny, I’d pegged ye more as the John type.”, he teased. “John? Never. I do love his songs, but he seems like the most likely to grab a girl’s arse without her consent.” “Well, you’re not wrong…Ringo?” “He’s the sweetest. Love him to bits.” “And rightfully so.”, he agreed.  

George went silent, as he often did when the mention of something or someone became a train of thought. Ringo had been the easiest to work with at the studio during the recording of Let it Be - being his good old laid back self, occasionally trying to diffuse the tension, not getting on anyone’s nerves. Had someone asked George about his favourite Beatle at that time, he would have definitely gone with Ringo. Of course it did not mean he disliked John or Paul, as he tried to separate his friendship with them from the recent developments of the band dynamic… They had known each other for ten years, it would not just crumble to the ground the moment someone was being petty. John was still his mate, Paul was still his mate. “But you said Paul was your favourite. What’s it you like so much about ‘im, then?”, he asked as he shook his head back to reality.

“That it would push your buttons the most. Of course you’re my favourite, dummy.”, you brought your lips onto his, pulling him into a sweet kiss.

“I figured. Since you’re dating me and all that.”, he gave you a toothy grin once you had pulled away. “So you don’t like Paul then?” “Never said that. He seems nice enough, and his songs are beautiful. But he’s too attractive, I don’t trust him.” He couldn’t help but laugh at your straightforwardness.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t hate him, because I was thinking, it’s about time I introduce you to me mates.”

[fromcrossroadstoking]

George Luz Visits the Emergency Room (A Lot)

I`m having the worst writer`s block while trying to write Welcome to the 5061st, so I wrote a little piece of Luzroe fluff to try and break it.

Tags: @gottapenny @itisjustmethistime @indigosandviolets 

--------------------

George Luz made his way through the maze of corridors towards the Emergency Room, two cups of coffee and a bag of muffins clutched firmly in his hands. He found Lipton  in his usual spot in the break room, going through some paperwork as he waited.

"Paging Dr. Lipton! Your incredibly healthy breakfast of one low-fat blueberry muffin and small black coffee has arrived!" Luz made the announcement with more pep than should be allowed on a Monday morning as he pushed through the door into the break room.

Lipton looked up from his papers with a smile, "You're a lifesaver Luz."

Luz opened his mouth to agree with the statement when he caught sight of the two men in the hallway through the break room window. Dr. Winters, head of the ER, appeared to be talking to a doctor Luz hadn't seen before.

"Hey Luz, you might want to... " Lipton made a motion indicating that Luz should wipe his mouth. Luz stopped himself just as moved his arm up to do just that.

"I`m not drooling!"

"Whatever you say." 

Luz rolled his eyes and handed over Lipton`s breakfast, only momentarily taking his eyes off of the dark haired doctor in the hallway before they darted right back.

"In case you were wondering, that would be Dr. Eugene Roe, our new resident. Supposed to be one helluva doc."

"Huh. You don`t say... " Luz watched intently as Roe smiled at something Winters said. Luz didn't know if Roe was one helluva doc but he sure had one helluva smile.

Lipton sighed knowing Luz was going to stand there being a drool-fest unless he intervened.

"I could introduce you, if you want."

"Well, I mean, if you think that would be a good idea. I, uh, do visit a lot down here so he should probably know who I am. Don`t want him thinking they let just anyone wander around here. I mean - "

Lipton held up his hand to cut Luz off. He could tell when Luz was about to start rambling and Lipton had too much paperwork to do to listen to that right now.

"Come on. I don`t think they'll mind us interrupting." Lipton put down his coffee and led Luz out in to the hallway.

"Hey Dick," Luz nodded at the redhead in greeting and then turned to the other man, "Dr. Roe, I want you to meet a good friend of mine, George Luz. He`s a nurse up on the pediatric floor."

Luz wiped his hands on his pants quickly before holding one out.

When the hell had his hands started sweating?

"I`m George! Nice to meet you!" His voice came out funny sounding and he mentally kicked himself.

Roe took the hand Luz had extended and shook it.

"Nice to meet you too George. I`m Eugene Roe, but you can just call me Gene."

Luz`s eyes widened a bit.

Oh fuck. The accent.

~

Later that night as Luz laid in his bed he couldn't help but bemoan how unfair it all was.

How dare someone that hot, with an even hotter accent, work a mere two floors away from him? How was he supposed to get any work done knowing Dr. HandsomeFace McHotPants was so close?

Luz huffed and rolled onto his side.

Unfair.

~

It was tradition that every Monday morning, Luz and Lipton would meet in the ER`s break room for a quick breakfast before their shifts started. It was a nice tradition that gave them both something to look forward to on Monday mornings.

Today, however, was not Monday. And yet, here Luz was, breakfast for the two of them in hand.

"Morning Lip! Long time no see!" Luz grinned widely as he set the coffees and bagels down on the table.

"Luz?"

"Yeah?"

"It`s not Monday buddy."

"It isn`t?!" Luz`s eyes widened in dramatic fashion, "Oh shoot! Silly me! Well, either way, shouldn't waste this breakfast!" Luz gestured for Lipton to take a seat.

Lipton shook his head, amused, as he sat down. "Luz, he`s already been in and made his coffee. I don`t think he`ll be back again for awhile."

"Who?"

"Luz. You know who. We both do." 

"Hmph," Luz chewed his bite of bagel thoughtfully for a moment, "I can eat slow."

"Luz!" Lipton balled up a napkin and tossed it at the younger man, "You have a job to get to!"

Luz laughed as the napkin bonked him in the face, "Alright! Fine! Maybe I`ll just have to come visit on my lunch break."

Lipton could tell from the grin on Luz`s face that he really was going to do just that. Hell, he had a distinct feeling he was about to see a lot more of Luz for the foreseeable future.

~

Lipton`s feeling had not been wrong. Luz seemed to find every excuse in the book to wander down to the ER - breakfast, lunch, "just getting exercise", dropping off coffees, looking for so-and-so.

And yet, Luz never managed to make it beyond small talk with Roe. Luz was a natural talker and could make friends with anyone (a habit that occasionally worried Lipton) so the whole thing puzzled him. If Lipton didn't know better he might've sworn that Luz`s nerves were actually getting the better of him...  

~

Luz sat in the Emergency Room not as a visitor, but as a patient. As he sat there waiting, he hoped desperately that one of the docs he liked would be the one to see him. Preferably Lipton, or Winters, or Grant. He was torn as to whether or not he wanted Roe to walk in - on one hand it mean time with Roe, time with Roe touching him, but on the other hand Roe would probably ask about his injury and, well, it was frankly embarrassing.

Luz had been lounging on the couch, watching trashy daytime television, when he heard the toaster strudel he had in the toaster pop up. In his rush to get to his precious toaster strudel, he leaped off the coach, promptly tripped over his own feet, fell, and hit his head on the corner of the coffee table.

Luz wasn't sure he wanted to tell the hottest man he had ever seen in his entire goddamn life that he needed stitches because of toaster strudel, so it was to his great relief that Lipton was the one he walked in to the room.

Lipton looked Luz up and down, "Please tell me this isn't a new way of trying to get Roe`s attention."

"Believe it or not this is a legitimate toaster strudel injury."

"Of course it is."

"Really! You can go to my apartment right now and see the evidence yourself! My poor toaster strudel is probably ice cold now."

Lipton let out an exasperated sigh, "Ok, well since it`s just you - "

"Hey!"

" - I need to run to the bathroom so just wait here a second."

~

Lipton did not have to go to the bathroom. Lipton did have to act on what he considered a brilliant idea.

He found Roe coming out of room 5 and flagged him down.

"Hey Gene! I hate to ask but I`m drowning a bit. Could you take a look at the patient in room 2 for me?"

"Of course," Roe nodded and gave Lipton a small smile.

"Thanks Gene, I owe you one."

As Lipton walked away he knew beyond a doubt that Luz was probably going to kill him later. But it was worth it.

~

"George?"

Luz`s head immediately snapped up towards the door as the familiar voice filled the room.

"Gene! Hey, uh, where`s Lip?"

"He asked me to take over. Said he was pretty swamped. Let`s see what we got here, huh?"

Luz made a mental note to murder Lipton later as Roe walked over and began examining Luz`s head wound. Roe was so damn close. So damn close. Luz was pretty sure his brain was going to short circuit with the proximity.

"It ain`t bad. Just a few stitches should do it. Won`t even really be a scar."

"Ha! What a shame, I heard chicks dig scars." 

FUCK. Why would I say that?

Luz tried to recover, sort of... "And guys. Guys, uh, dig scars too."

Luz had never wanted to sink in to the earth so badly before. Until Roe chuckled.

He fucking chuckled.

"We do. Dig scars, that is." Roe gave him what could only be described as a mischievous smile before refocusing on patching up the cut on Luz`s forehead.

~

Over the next few days, there definitely seemed to be a shift between the two of them.

Or maybe it was Luz`s imagination.

No, no, there was a definite shift to a more flirty style of interaction.

Hopefully.

No, definitely. There was no way this was in his head.

Right?

~

Luz showed up to the ER`s break room with three coffees clutched in his hand - one for him, one for Lip, and one for Roe if managed to "run in to him" (he always managed to run in to Roe, even if meant doing a few circles around the ER). So he was absolutely delighted to see that Roe just so happened to be in the break room. He was not, however, delighted to see that Roe was busy playing with a little kid. A dark haired little kid. A pale, dark haired little kid.

Luz felt like he had punched in the gut. Maybe the flirting had been in his head after all. Roe had a kid and probably a girlfriend (or wife, maybe he was the kind of guy who didn't like wearing rings) to go along with the kid.

He did his best to shake off the sudden tidal wave of disappointment as he threw the best smile he could muster on his face.

"Good morning! Coffee?"

Roe looked up from the matchbox car race he was having, "Thank you George. You`re the best." Roe grabbed the coffee with a smile, beaming with appreciation.

"Don`t I know it," George swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say, "Didn't know you had a kid. He`s cute. What`s his name?"

Roe let out a laugh.

Jesus Christ, what an amazing laugh. Luz doubted he would ever get sick of that sound.

"He ain`t mine. I`m just watchin' him for my buddy Ralph. He`s a paramedic. Should be here soon."

The relief hit Luz instantaneously. 

"Speak of the devil..."

"Papa!" The kid in Roe`s lap squealed in delight and wriggled out of Roe`s grasp as a dark haired paramedic came through the break room door.

"Hey kiddo! There`s the cutest little munchkin in the whole world!" Spina picked up his kid and covered him in kisses before turning his attention to the other two men in the room.

"Hey Gene, how was he?"

"An angel as always."

Spina snorted, "Maybe you should spend some more time with him," Spina looked at the squirmy kid in his arms, "What do you think kiddo? You want to spend more time with Uncle Gene."

"Yes, pwease!" The kid nodded enthusiastically.

Roe grinned and then glanced over at Luz, gesturing towards Spina, "George, this is my best friend, Ralph Spina."

Luz held up a hand in greeting.

"Ralph, this is George Luz."

Spina broke into a wide grin at that, "So this is George Luz! Nice to finally meet you George! Heard a lot about you!"

"Oh, yeah?" Luz couldn't help the massive grin on his face as he looked over at Roe who was glaring daggers at Spina. Luz could feel the butterflies in his stomach kick up.

~

Luz immediately liked Spina - he seemed like a genuinely warm, friendly person. The three of them chatted for a bit before Spina excused himself, leaving just Luz and Roe in the break room.

"So," Luz smirked at Roe, "Just what exactly did you tell your best friend about me?"

Roe tried to nonchalantly take a sip of his coffee as he shrugged, "Not much, really."

"Huh, didn't seem like not much from the way Ralph reacted to meeting me..." There was a pause before Roe spoke.

" I might`ve told him about how you`re always tellin' real corny jokes, an' how you put way too much sugar an' cream in your coffee, an' how I ain`t never seen someone eat three chocolate chip muffins for breakfast like you do, an' how you spend all your time on this floor instead of the one you actually work on." 

Another pause. Roe looked Luz straight in the eyes.

"Might`ve also told him my favorite part of the day is when you`re visitin' an' I`m always countin' the minutes until you come visit again."

Luz could feel his heart flutter and for the first time in his life he was at a complete loss for words. So he did the next best thing.

He closed the space between them in two quick steps and pulled Roe into a kiss. He could feel Roe`s lips form into a smile as the kiss deepened.

Oh, Luz was definitely going to be visiting a lot more now.

[submissivedjberry]

With You || Jolia

Tagging: DJ Berry & Jo Fabray ( @jofabray )

Date: August 30

Location: Jo’’s Suite

Summary: Cuteness before the drama that started with Archer and Tina.

Jo

The end of their short vacation had Jo feeling a bit melancholy, were she honest. The return to the grind of classes would leave her less time for the things she liked, and her final project had been a flop that wasn't going to get her any closer to being eligible for a claim. That, more than anything, had her depressed. And with the calendar ready to tick over into September it meant that parents' week was coming closer and with it the ominous spectre of Russell Fabray. She was prepared for the real possibility of violence, but needed to find a way to make certain that DJ didn't have to witness it. With all of that in her head, she was glad to have her girl coming over. She had fun plans for the remainder of the break, and DJ was at the center of all of them. Humming to herself, she sipped from a bottle of water as she worked on the day's crossword - anticipating that she wouldn't be done before DJ arrived.

DJ

She walked over, holding only her back pack with her school things. She had accumulated more than a few things at her Domme's suite and so she didn't always need to bring something with her. And since Jo was picking out her outfits for the next few days, she was good to go. Walking into Jo's suite, she dropped her back pack at the door and then made her way to where her Domme was. "Kiss please." She said excitedly before leaning down to press their lips together.

Jo

Jo looked up curiously as her door opened, eyebrow quirking up toward her hairline. DJ wasn't usually so bold as to try walking into her suite without knocking and kneeling. She didn't say anything at first, though, only leaning up into the kiss and smiling. Once they'd come apart again, though, she cradled her girl's face with one hand. "We'll hope no one was watchin' that, my girl. But it's good to see y'all - it's already been much too long."

DJ

She blushed when Jo said that they would hope that no one was watching, leaning into the touch on her cheek and chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I'm sorry. I didn't....I didn't think. I can go back out and try again." She said, feeling herself deflate a little. She had been excited about their evening together, feeling like she was walking on air after how sweet her brother had been when she had told him about the relationship that she was building with the Domme.

Jo

"Shh," Jo murmured. "It's alright, darlin' girl. I'm not upset with you. Today's a good day, a happy day, and so I'm pretty sure what happened was that ya knocked and I called come in, and it just happened really quick. Now come sit on my lap, and you can tell me what put that great big smile on your face. Which I love to see, by the way, because that smile is just about the best thing in the whole world."

DJ

She took a deep breath when Jo said that she wasn't mad at her, biting down on her bottom lip slightly as she let her Domme soothe her. If Jo wasn't mad at her then it was okay. She would just need to remember the next time to kneel and be patient. She carefully sat down on the Domme's lap. "I'll remember next time. I'm sorry that you had to remind me of my place." The submissive said, biting down on her bottom lip. "I just...I was excited because of Ben...and how supportive he was. It just made it all that much more real."

Jo

Wrapping DJ gently in her arms, Jo ran a hand slowly up and down her back. "It's nothin', my girl. A tiny little detail of a day, one that we'll have forgotten about five minutes from now." Her smile tugged at her lips and she pressed a soft kiss to DJ's cheek. "I'm so happy that he was so good, darlin' girl. That he was happy for you, for us - that means the world to me. And I know how much it means to y'all."

DJ

"Okay...okay." DJ nodded and let those thoughts slip from her mind as she focused on the only person who mattered in that moment. She grinned and nestled into her Domme's hold. "It feels so good. I can't even begin to describe it. It feels like there's this weight that was just lifted and I'm so happy and so yours." DJ said with a chuckle and then pressing her lips against the blonde's.

Jo

"I can only imagine. I don't put much stock in what my own family thinks, so I do worry a little more about yours. Because I'd never wanna be between you and family, that's no way to live. If your brother's happy, I hope your dads are gonna feel the same." That made her as nervous as anything else. "And I am so happy that y'all are mine."

DJ

"They're going to love you." She said with a smile. "I was going to say that they would adore you. But I want to be the only one adoring you." She mused, nuzzling against her. For now, she was Jo's. And no one else had that spot. So she could claim adoring Jo while no one else could.

Jo

Jo's arms tightened a little around her girl. "I want that too, darlin'. They can love me if they wanna, but only you get to adore me. Just like I only I get to adore you. For now, and for always." Jo was never going to let anyone else be the one to adore her girl.

DJ

The tightening of arms around her was always welcomed. It was as though they were safe from the outside world in these moments. When no one had any effect on either of them at all, because they were safe and together. She grinned brightly at her words and then pressed a kiss to her jaw. "My Miss."

Jo

"My girl," Jo smiled, the kiss on her jaw sending pleasant tingles through her. If she could have, she'd have locked the door right then and let them stay in that moment forever. Holding DJ in her arms was the greatest feeling she'd ever known, and it never got old no matter how many times it happened. It never would. "I'm glad you had a chance to talk to your brother; I know it would have been a strain if you couldn't say anything."

DJ

"I'm not hiding how I feel about you. Or the fact that I'm hoping for a future with you. I would never want to do that. So telling my brother now that he's here just made the most sense." DJ explained. "It's...you are really important to me and the only reason I haven't told Rachel or my dads yet is because you aren't just something I want to mention over the phone without being able to then immediately talk to them in person. You deserve better than that."

Jo

Smiling, Jo pressed her lips to DJ's cheek. "I'm glad y'all feel that way, my girl. And I understand about not wanting to tell people over the phone, so please don't stress yourself about that at all. I'm not gonna read anything into it, or worry that you don't want to tell them. I promise ya." She rested her head against DJ's. "I wish I could do the same, but the last thing I want is for my father to even know y'all exist. It'd just make you a target."

DJ

She chewed on her bottom lip and breathed out slowly at Jo's words. "So...does that mean I won't be able to see you during parents' week?" DJ questioned, really hating the idea but not wanting to argue with the Domme.

Jo

Jo considered that. Parents' week was a spectre on the horizon that she didn't want to acknowledge, but DJ deserved to know what was going on in her head, too. "I..." she started, quickly reconsidering her first thought and what she'd previously said. "No. It doesn't mean that. I don't plan on spendin' any more time around him than I absolutely have to. And I think y'all are much braver than me. He scares me, but...you know what, if y'all think you can manage not to retaliate if he says awful things then I won't hide ya away. We just have to be real, real careful around him."

DJ

She chewed on her bottom lip slightly when Jo expressed that if she could manage to not retaliate that she wouldn't be hidden away, she chewed on her bottom lip. "I can promise that I will do my best, my Miss. But I hate the thought of anyone being rude or hurtful towards you." DJ admitted honestly. Especially when Jo had mentioned that it could get violent.

Jo

"I know, darlin' girl," Jo promised, resting her forehead against DJ's in a comforting gesture. "That's all I can ask of you. Because I hate the thought of him being rude or hurtful to you even more than that." She knew what was on her girl's mind, and it was on hers as well - the possibility that he'd lash out at Jo physically and leave DJ to try and resist the urge to fight back.

DJ

She hummed softly and then pulled back from her a little bit. "So I heard a little something about us working up an appetite, Miss Jo. How are you planning on making us do that?" DJ questioned, leaning in to press her forehead against her Domme's. "Because I'm open for absolutely anything at all."

Jo

Jo giggled softly, running her hands up and down DJ's sides. "I wonder where ya could have heard such a thing. Someone with inside knowledge is spreadin' rumors, I think." She had no intention of keeping her girl waiting, though, so she spoke up again quickly. "Funniest thing - I opened my toy chest yesterday and I saw a strap in there. And I thought to myself "y'know, Jo, I don't think you've used that at all." And I think that inner voice was right. Which is a real shame. Don't y'all think so?"

DJ

She shivered as Jo's hands moved up and down her sides. Jo touching her, in most ways, caused a sense of comfort and ease within her that she didn't experience with anyone else. She giggled at her words and shook her head. "Even if I hadn't heard it from somewhere, I would have suspected. You have a way of making me work up a sweat and an appetite. And I am always so very satisfied by you." DJ assured, laying it on thick but still meaning every word that she said. Her eyes widened when Jo said that she was thinking about using a strap on, wriggling in her lap. "I think it is a travesty that you haven't used it, Mistress." She paused at that. She didn't hate it, but Domina was still in the lead.

Jo

"If you're suspecting, I might have to become less predictable," Jo joked softly. "But I do love that I can do that for ya. Because I would never, ever want you to leave here unsatisfied. Unless that's the the point of the game," she winked. One day they would spend a nice, long time on a denial session that left DJ a mess. The way that she wriggled in Jo's lap was pleasant all on its own, but her agreement to using the strap was even better. Jo's brow furrowed a little at the title, trying to decide where it ranked. So far Domina still seemed like the best one her girl had come up with. "I think y'all are very right, my darlin' girl. So how about we go rectify that right now?"

DJ

She shook her head. "Is me knowing things about you that bad?" DJ questioned, thumbs rubbing along the back of her Domme's neck. "Because I happen to love the fact that I know things about you. I want to get to know everything about you. Big things. Small things. And everything in between. Including knowing that I will leave here satisfied. Because...even if I'm being denied, I'm still going to be satisfied if it makes you happy." She promised. She eased off of her Domme and removed the shirt from her body. "I am very on board with that idea."

Jo

Jo had been about to fire back a teasing answer, but DJ's questions were touching and wonderful, and in the end she had to shake her head. "No, darlin'," she smiled with shining eyes. "Not a bad thing. Because I want that too. I want to know your favorite song so I can play it the night I give you a collar. A movie to play when you're feelin' blue. Everythin'." It warmed her from head to toe the way that DJ could put her own satisfaction behind Jo's happiness, because that made her feel more like a Domme than anything else could. "A girl could get real used to that view," she grinned. "Let's go have some fun. Are there any kinks ya wanna include today? Anythin' you've learned about? Or should we just enjoy the strap?"

DJ

She grinned at Jo's words and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You are welcome to anything and everything you want to know about me." She expressed. "Well, then I guess it's a good thing you'll get to see this whenever you want for the rest of forever." DJ quipped with a playful wink. "Is it okay if we just enjoy the strap today, please, Domina? I do um...at some point want to maybe try pet play. But that's not something I want to try out today or anything. I also...hmm...I want to try out TPE on a more significant timeframe and with more rules too. But again...not just yet." DJ entrusted everything she had, health...happiness...to the blonde and so she was eager to try out anything and everything with Jo. Things that she wasn't willing to try with others.

Jo

Her cheek tingled where it had been kissed, and the smile on her face simply couldn't be wiped away. She loved her girl, adored her, and it made her incredibly happy to know that one day they would cement that love into something that the world would be forced to recognize. "I'll be sure and ask y'all all the things I want to know then, my darlin' girl." Jo chuckled quietly. "Such a sassy girl - good thing I like that." Settling as DJ spoke, Jo soaked in her ideas. "That's fine, darlin' - anythin' you want to try, you let me know when. I am very content to focus on the strap today. Because I've got this mental image of my girl on her knees with my cock in her mouth, and I surely do like that picture."

DJ

"I'm glad." She grinned and then giggled when she was called sassy, playfully winking. "I will definitely let you know, Miss Jo. And please do the same. Because I want to give you the scenes that you want too." Her thighs clenched at the Domme's words and she let out a soft moan. "Yes...please. I want that so bad. Want to please you with my mouth. Want to feel your cock in my mouth. As far as it will go." DJ assured the Domme and then followed her into the bedroom. She removed the rest of her clothing on the way and then knelt in the room, waiting for instruction from her beautiful Dominant.

Jo

"I absolutely will, darlin' girl. We'll talk about what we both want, and make sure they're things that both of us are into." It felt good to know that Jo's mental picture was having such a powerful effect on her girl, and DJ's moan produced a softer, answering one from her. "That's my girl," she praised softly, watching her strip as they made their way into the bedroom and loving the view very much. Reaching for a throw pillow, Jo passed it carefully to DJ. "For your knees, darlin'. I might have you there for a few minutes, and I don't want y'all getting sore. I'm just gonna get myself ready here, if ya don't mind waiting?" She stripped slowly and methodically, setting her own clothes aside and opening her toychest to find the strap. It wasn't huge, but a pleasant size and a soft blue color that had caught her eye right away. Jo made quick work of the harness and stood in front of DJ, stroking herself and moaning softly. "Beg for my cock, darlin' girl. I wanna hear how much you want it."

DJ

When Jo passed her a pillow, she grinned upwards in thanks and carefully settled onto it. It already felt much nicer on her knees and she was grateful that her Domme had thought about it. She was always taking care of her in scenes and that meant so much more to DJ than she could describe. "I don't mind waiting. I would wait forever for you." She breathed out, somehow already feeling floaty. She knew the words to be true, but she also knew that Jo would never keep her waiting that long. She watched as Jo changed, biting down on her bottom lip. She truly didn't understand how someone could be quite that beautiful and she felt overwhelmed almost immediately. When Jo turned to her with the harness and strap on, she whined softly. It wasn't fair that Jo was touching herself, that was DJ's job. "Miss...please let me have your cock. You're so beautiful, so gorgeous. My mouth wants you so bad. I want you fuck you....I want you to choke me with it...whatever you want that would make you feel good. Please let me please you. Please let me make you feel good."

[modmad]

I stopped watching the show, not because I didn't like it, I was loving it! But then I felt really guilty for liking it because all I ever see is people and friends not enjoying it.

well gosh that’s no good! go watch it! if you love it, love it! don’t let anyone else rain on ur good time duck watchin’ buddy- if it’s giving you happiness and isn’t hurting anyone else, keep on enjoying yourself! ain’t nobody’s business putting out that party!

also for those asking “if I have a negative opinion am I not allowed to say it?”- of course you are! however, be mindful of how you phrase things, and be sure to precede said opinions with a warning of where it’s going (eg: negative opinions ahead! hit J if you want to skip), and use tags like ‘vent post’ or something along those lines. Some folks might agree with you and find validation in that, but some people are using shows to survive- if waiting for the next episode is what that person needs to make it to the next day, it doesn’t matter what your reasons are: don’t take that away from them.

basically use your common sense and courtesy! and that’s all imma say bc discourse is absolutely not what I’m about, so! Uncle Mod OUT.

[stalwart-sword]

Counting Meme: Taiken Zephyr

1 INSECURITY

“Y’know, that’s not the best first question to ask when yer just meeting someone, but I guess I’ll let it pass.”. 

1. “I have trouble dealin’ with the possibility of never finding out who I was before I lost my memory. Like, shit....wonder if I have a mother I need to take care of? Or friends that I need to protect? That fuckin’ keeps me up at night, man”.

2 FEARS

“I would usually say somthin’ like... ‘a man never reveals his secrets’, but if we’re gonna be openin’ up and shi’....”

1.”I want to make something out of my life, anything worthwhile... I feel like a stick in the mud, my life is so stagnant...”. 

2. “I know people usually answer the cliche one, that bein’, ‘I’m afraid that I’m not strong enough to protect my friends’, but its gods damned true. Do you know what its like to see people you care about cut down in front of you? Something that coulda been preventable if you worked harder... Yeah, I’m sure ya know.”

3 TURN ONS

“Oh, now you want to know things like that? Well then, color me surprised...”

1. “When someone has a softness to them, like their demeanor, I can’t help but to be drawn to them. It’s so easy to become calloused in this crazy world we live in...” 

2. “Shi’ this is harder than I expected. Uhh... I guess another turn on would be wit. I hate the feelin’ that I’m talkin’ to myself, y’know?”. ”

3. "I really ain’t picky, seriously. I hardly think about shit like this. Agh, I guess if I have to choose another ‘turn on’... I love seein’ genuine smiles. Not fake ones, not smiles that are forced cause you don’t wanna cause concern to others...A real, bright, grin. Theres nothing more pure in my opinion.” 

4 LIFE GOALS

“Aw shi’, something I can happily talk about, finally!” 

“Becomin’ an Ishgardian Knight is my ultimate goal. It would sure as hell be a lot better than bein’ a Brass Blade.” 

“Speakin’ of bein’ a Brass Blade, I sure as hell would love to dropkick my Commander one of these days....” 

“I’m workin’ on tryin’ to get pass out drunk with just one bottle, so I don’t need to spend so much gods damned gil on liquor...Err, does somethin’ like that count?”. 

“I think I already mentioned, but findin’ out where I come from is something that would be nice to accomplish.” 

5 THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY

“Shi’...I wonder if I can come up with five things... I’ll look pretty pathetic if I can’t come up with just five things that make me happy...” 

“Well the obvious one first, Liquor and gettin’ drunk makes me happy”. 

“I guess lookin’ up at the sky is nice... I like it when its a sunny clear day, and white, fluffy clouds are framed against a blue sky... That’s the best right there.” 

“I like talkin’ to people. You really learn a lot from others, hearin’ what they have to say. Everyone has their own story to tell, and I wanna hear as many as possible. It helps me figure out my own.” 

“See? Now it’s gettin’ hard to think of things... I guess a good meal makes me happy. I went outta my way to learn how to cook, and cook well.”

“You might make fun of me when I say this, but I just can’t help but to love a good brawl. It doesn’t matter if I’m watchin’, or participatin’, it just gets my blood pumping. Though...hah, I don’t really know how to hold back, or when to stop”.

6 WEAKNESSES

Taiken gives you a suspicious look for a moment.“You ain’t tryin’ to catch me off guard or somethin’, are ya?”. 

 “Well, I guess one weakness of mine... Everyone that’s close to me knows you can get me to do anythin’ if you challenge me. Or if you offer me a free drink” 

“Hmm...I suppose I get a little soft with kids. They’re just so....impressionable. I don’t wanna accidentally mess one up... They deserve to grow up to be happy people.”

“I guess, when someone is jaw-droppingly beautiful. Theres a lot of pretty people runnin’ around of course, but I’m talkin’ like, stop in your tracks, in awe, holy shit kind of beautiful. But I’m picky as hell, and I’ve only felt like someone was jaw-droppingly beautiful only, uhh, about once in my life. Its rare, okay? Really, really rare!”. 

“Hmm...If you put me in the same room as an animal, I might just have to drop everythin’ I’m doing and give the critter a few pets.” 

“I’m a sucker for a really nice looking weapon. If theres an armor set that matches, even better! I like to think I got a good eye for craftsmanship and design”. 

Taiken would sigh a moment before looking up sheepishly. “I can’t help but to melt at a good tune playin’...I just wanna get up and move my feet, and sing along with the melody... Err, don’t tell anyone that though!”. 

7 PEOPLE/THINGS I LOVE

“Doesn’t this count as things that make me happy? Well, fine...I’ll try to make this short” 

“First, liquor, duh.” 

“Wanderin’ around without a care in the world...Hate bein’ tied down to a single place. I’m a traveler at heart”. 

“I guess my sword makes me happy?” 

“And..Ahem. My small lute makes me pretty happy, but don’t tell anyone I have one! I’m serious!”.

“Watchin’ or bein’ in a good fight makes me happy...Specially if I win, or win a bet”.

“The sky makes me happy...Its the only thing that can calm me down if I get in a frenzy”. 

“Y’know, I’ll admit... Looking good makes me happy. I know I ain’t a looker by any means, but havin’ my hair and clothes look nice is a ego booster. I’m kind of used to dirty clothes and shi’”. 

Tagged by: @tales-of-wanderer-sal , thanks for the tag!

Tagging: @grantffxiv , @gaillaffxiv, @infiniteleftdoesffxiv, @scouteliut, @mai-takeda, @foxboned, @banishedpaladin, @sel-sal-studies, and whoever else would like to give a hand at this meme!

[pooklet]

unaesthetic asks (anon edition)

i usually use a psd for asks to make them look nice and transparent and number them but tbh it’s just keeping me from answering asks quickly, having to shift layers around and stuff. so this is me literally cutting and pasting the text of some asks into a text post instead, sry.

if i did not answer yr thing here i lost/never got the ask, need a separate post to answer it (community lot anon), or worked myself into an anxious lather when i did not have an immediate response at the ready and fled into the woods to hide inside an old damp log and mutate slowly into a creature composed entirely of moss.

1) hey friend i think i can actually help with this one! slig did my poor lover for momma lisa, and has a few of my other skins linked to different body meshes in this tag here. @asimplevampire​ also did rehash for androgyny. those are the two i know off the top of my head but if anyone else knows any others pls reply to this post!

i don’t personally make showerproof skintones for body meshes because i a) am lazy and b) don’t usually take pics of my sims in the shower or naked in general so the occasional floating head just gives me a lil chortle when it does happen.

2) yis, it is the second to last one in this post by @magpieplayssims​ with a bunch of face masks piled on.

3) i use a personal edit of gunmod’s 3.1 A camera which alters the, like, central pivot axis so i can swing the camera underground into any basements i might be using. as a result, whenever i load the lot, it starts me off zoomed inside the floor, you just gotta zoom out with the scroll wheel to get above ground and it works normally from there. i haven’t figured out how to mitigate this while still being able to access underground rooms. which is why my edit never got its own post, but i did share it here.

4) nah, not really. i mean i have an outdated one at the back of my catalogue but my face is boring to me cuz i see it every day n stuff & i’m less and less interested in making human features now that custom sliders have let me go absolutely mad with power.

5) ye sorry i put that on my to-do list and promptly forgot about it cuz my brain seems to think that putting something on a list means it’s done forever now!!!! but now it’s actually done and i’m fixing the other links too.

6) yr phone is a craven liar and i will not stand for this libel. earlier today i was genuinely bewildered by a discussion about channing tatum cuz i thought his name was tatum channing. i sat there for minutes, convinced that there were two guys in hollywood one named channing tatum and the other named tatum channing and wondering if that ever got confusing for them.

7) u would be surprised, friend! my memory is a lawless wasteland but i do not end up chatting back and forth w/ many ppl b/c i am a seething pit of social anxiety. if we talked, like, more than twice, i probs remember u!

8) omg i was about to be like “nah i never made nosemasks for those” but that is a fucking lie of the highest caliber, i totally did make one (1) set and then forgot entirely about it. i will post them with the next batch of bodyshop content which should be Shortly (and if i don’t just yell @ me and i’ll just lazily put them on sfs and link them in a reply).

also thank u anon i am glad u like my content! :D

9) omg thank u so much anon that is so sweet of u to say!! truly i don’t feel like i have accomplished a whole lot beyond managing to snag @resurrection-failed​ but that is definitely the Best thing i could accomplish so i am 100% fine w/ that

10) oh ts4. i want to play it real bad but i have discovered that playing games that are still being updated and could break at any moment due to a new patch or ep gives me hives. esp when it’s sims games b/c those are held together exclusively w/ wishes and prayers as it is. they’re like the bottom panel of an expanding brain meme on spaghetti coding. at least when the game is Done there nothing else for EA to break (... right?). plus i only have base+pets and no money to throw at the other expansions so i could maybe download 1/10th of the cc available out there ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but i am excited to be late af to the party. lemme tell u. thank u for saying such nice things, anon!! i hope u have a good day also. like, lots of ‘em.

11) hey anon! it’s built into tumblr’s text editor. u type the text first, highlight it, and click on the fourth button that looks like a slouchy figure 8 to insert yr link. i’m not sure if it’s the same on mobile, tho, cuz the tumblr mobile app is self-elected torture.

12) i do not right now but i can make one. idk if it would interest you but i am also doing a big ol’ blend of the hq eyes and wifezaya’s favorite ephemera mist eyes and will make a default version of those too when they are done.

13) nah i am still using my v3 texture for straight hairs and for waves or natural hair i just use nouk’s originals. i’m old-fashioned and boring. if u need help w/ making yr own, tho, i would suggest checking out @furbyq​’s tutorial here!

14) hey friend! i did have plans to do that, in that vague way where i have plans to do many things but most of the time end up taking a five-hour nap under a cat instead or watchin game grumps. luckily, @digitalangels​ is a doll and did it for me so consider this my official endorsement. i am pooklet and i approve this action.

15) hey anon. when did i call it that?? i think usually i just call it marriage or equal marriage if i need to specify (or gay marriage if i’m feelin Spicy cuz nonbinary-for-nonbinary is pretty gay). if i did say same-sex it was probs w/ implied air-quotes since that was the term du jour when we got married, which was 3+ years before the supreme court mandate, when it was only legal in some places and everyone was still ‘‘‘‘debating’’’’ the ‘‘‘‘issue’’’’ of queers gettin all married.

16) i been gatherin’ links for u anon but lemme look around a lil more. i will either give this its own post or add it as its own section in the resource post that is like .... five years overdue. meanwhile if anyone reading this has anything they either know is made for dark skin or works well universally or knows of a list like this that already exists, i would appreciate links!

17) I KNOW THAT’S YOU, AZAYA

[gracetrack-higgins]

Secrets

welcome to my super angsty Sprace fic! it’s posted on Ao3 but I figured I’d put it here too! it’s pretty long (5k+ words!) and very angsty. I’ll put any warnings in the tags :)

*

You know Spot Conlon, right? I heard he’ll soak anyone who ain’t Brooklyn.

I heard he killed a gangsta’ who was botherin’ his Newsies.

I heard he got inta a fight wit’ a kid from the Bronx so bad the kid was laid up inna hospital for a month.

I’s heard he ain’t even real. Brooklyn kids made ‘im up so’s they look nice an’ tough.

Nah, he’s real. I saw ‘im on the Bridge one time, yellin’ at a scab or sommit.

Nuh-uh!

Yeah-huh!

I heard’s he’s a better pape’s sella’ than Jack.

Betta’ than anya us.

I heard he jumped inta the river to save a drownin’ kid!

That ain’t true!

I still don’t think he’s real.

Racetrack Higgins smirked to himself a little as he listened to the younger Newsies’ whispered speculations about the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. At one time, Race probably would’ve believed the tall tales surrounding Spot. If he didn’t know him, that is. Race thought it rather funny how many stories there were about Spot, ones that any kid would believe. Only two of ‘em were true so far.

Race glanced at the little Newsies huddled around an overturned crate that the boys used as a table in the Lodging House. They were playing cards, a watered down version of blackjack that Race had taught all the kids how to play on their days off. How he got stuck babysittin’ he’d never know, but here he was, 17 year old Racetrack, watchin’ a gaggle of little Newsies. The youngest of ‘em wasn’t older than 6.

“Mr. Racer!” the littlest Newsie piped up, his missing front teeth giving his smile a big gap as he grinned, “Do you know ‘bout Spot Conlon?”

Race smirked. “Sure I’s do.”

The little Newsies all gasped, edging closer to where Race sat on the beat up sofa in the common room of the boy’s floor in the lodging house.

“Really?” Another boy asked, “Have ya ever met ‘im?”

Race grinned. “Maybe.”

Gasps.

“An’ ya didn’t get soaked???”

“Nah.” he shrugged. “Me an’ Spot, we’s pals.”

“You’s lyin’,” A rather skeptical eight year old replied simply. “You’s just sayin’.”

Race looked offended. “Lyin’?? Me an’ Spot’s best friends! I sell in Brooklyn twice a week wit’ ‘im.”

Tiny Newsie jaws dropped.

“No way!”

Race took the cigar out of his mouth as he leaned forward and smiled at the boys. “Yes way.”

“You ain’t Brooklyn, though’s! Ya’s from Manhattan. Ain’tcha?”

Race nodded, “Sure am. We’s got a spec’al arrangement, is all.”

“What’s the ‘rangement, Mr. Racer?” the youngest boy asked, eyes wide.

“I ain’t givin’ away all my secrets,” Race smirked, “Just know that as long’s I’m ‘round, you kiddos ain’t gotta be too scared’a ol’ Spot Conlon.”

“You ain’t scared’a ‘im??” another boy asked and Race shook his head.

“Nah.” Race put the cigar back in his mouth.

The little boys minds buzzed with new theories and just a little bit of fear toward Race, who was apparently best pals with the scariest, toughest Newsie in all’a New York.

*

Race tossed a little cloth bag with coins in it at his best friend, silly grin on his face.

“Luck’s changin’, Spotty!” Race said excitedly, “There’s ya cut.”

Spot raised a brow and opened the little bag. “Woah. How many races ya win?”

“FOUR.” Race grinned, “Can ya believe it?? I could feel somethin’ in the air today. Somethin’ lucky.”

Spot snorted, starting up the stairs of the Brooklyn lodging house, Race following. “So how mucha that’s goin’ to settle ya debts from last week, eh?”

“‘Bout half. But that means I’s got plenty for next week’s bettin’!”

“Or ya could, I dunno. Save some? Get a hot meal? Some new clothes ‘o somethin’.” Spot suggested.

Race snorted. “I don’ need that. Just wait Spotty, one’a these days I’ll hit the jackpot an’ you an’ me, we’ll be set for life.”

Spot smirked a little. “You an’ me, eh?”

Race met his eyes. “Yeah.”

Spot nodded proudly. “Yeah.”

Race followed Spot through the familiar Brooklyn lodging house. He nodded in greeting to Hotshot, Bruises and Joey where they sat around a card table, reading headlines and eating something before heading out to sell the evening edition. Race knew the Brooklyn house about as well as he knew Manhattan’s. All the other Newsies knew him by name, he was welcomed in without a second thought, and everyone, everyone, in Brooklyn knew that if you messed with Racetrack Higgins, it meant you were messing directly with Spot Conlon. No one questioned that.

Race patiently waited as Spot checked in on the younger kids in his lodge, making sure they didn’t get into any trouble on the streets today, and as he checked on one of his kids who stayed in from selling due to a head-cold. For all the tall tales of how terrifying Spot Conlon was, Race was one of the few people other than the Brooklyn kids who saw Spot’s softer side. He was a protector, through and through. He’d protect those kids with his life, and Race found it incredibly endearing.

“Poor kiddo,” Spot muttered as he climbed the ladder to his room, a small but cozy attic space that he’d claimed when he took charge of the Brooklyn Newsies. Race followed him.

“Twigs is still sick?” Race asked. Poor kid was already tiny, hence his nickname, no wonder a head-cold put him out of commission for the day.

“Yeah.” Spot frowned. “Might have to dip inta’ them winnin’s an’ get that kid some tonic.”

Race shrugged. “Ain’t gotta slush-fund for that? Them’s your winnin’s.”

Spot glanced at the bag of coins in his hand, tossing it onto his bed. “We do, but I don’ mind helpin’ the lil kid out. He ain’t got no one else. None’a them do.”

Race nodded in understanding. “You’s a nice guy, Spotty.” he said with a smile, “I’ll neva’ understand how kids’ is scared ‘a you.”

Spot puffed his chest. “‘Cuz I’m scary.”

“No you ain’t,” Race said, sliding a hand over Spot’s muscled shoulder and resting his chin on top of Spot’s head. “You’s a sweetheart.”

Spot snorted and pushed Race off him, “Shuddap.”

Race smirked, flopping dramatically onto Spot’s bed, reaching out for Spot to join him.

Spot did, sitting down next to Race, letting him play with his hand.

“You oughta get back to Manhattan ‘fore the sun goes down,” Spot mentioned as the sunset shone through his window and gave the attic an orange tint. “‘s Gettin’ late.”

Race nodded. “I’d rather stay here wit’ you.”

“You an’ I both know you ain’t suppos’d ta.”

Race shrugged, resting his head on Spot’s strong shoulder.

“Yeah well,” he gave him a secret grin. “We both knows we do things we ain’t suppos’d ta.”

Spot laughed lightly. “Yeah.” he glanced around his room, the only place in all of Brooklyn where he was allowed to relax. It was an off limits area. None of the other Newsies were allowed anywhere near his room, let alone inside. There were only a handful of people who’d ever seen Spot’s room, and only one who’d ever been allowed repeat visits. Race knew it was a very high honor.

“Only in ‘ere though.”

Race nodded, almost sadly. Spot had a funny way of making him happy no matter what. He loved annoyin’ him, playin’ pranks, makin’ jokes, sharin’ stories, and sellin’ papes with him. But he loved lots of other things about Spot too. Like that he cared so much about his Newsies. That he took such good care of his friends. Little things too, like that he was allergic to pollen in the springtime. That he loved to read. That he loved animals. That he stood up for the little guy time and time again.

Race was really proud to be Spot’s friend.

And sometimes, when they were alone, more than his friend. Race traced one finger across Spot’s bicep, tracing over the faded scar on his shoulder and connecting the dots of his freckles.

“Yeah,” Race agreed, “Only in ‘ere.” He sighed, still lazily tracing Spot’s freckles. “Why do ya think I don’t wanna leave?”

Spot smirked a little, allowing himself a moment of softness to rest his cheek against Race’s head.

“‘Cuz you’s a sap.” Spot teased. “You oughta go back to Manhattan ‘fore I soak ya.”

Race grinned, his nose crinkling. “Then ya’s gonna miss me.”

Spot grinned back. “Only a lil bit.”

“Til I’m back in Brooklyn ta bug ya on Friday.”

“Too long.” Spot said, sliding his hand into Race’s gently.

“Now who’sa sap?” Race snickered, but laces his fingers through Spot’s, squeezing gently.

Spot squeezed back. “Still you.”

“Nahhh.” Race pecked a very careful kiss to Spot’s temple, just barely brushing his lips against his hairline.

Spot turned to face him, their eyes meeting and fighting unspoken feelings and buried fears. Their faces grew closer, Race’s forehead resting against Spot’s. Race smelled like newsprint and tobacco, two scents that Spot now associated with comfort and safety. He closed his eyes, relaxing, only opening them when Race parted their heads.

“You’s prob’ly right though,” he said softly, “I oughta go back ta Manhattan.”

Spot tried not to look disappointed and nodded. “Yeah.”

Race gave him a smile, squeezing his hand. “See you’s Friday?”

“Friday.” Spot gave Race’s hand one more squeeze before letting him go. Race took the cigar from his shirt’s pocket and stuck it in his mouth, giving Spot a smile before he started down the ladder to take him downstairs.

Spot sighed as the door to his attic closed behind Race and he flopped down against the creaky mattress of his bed. He hated this. He hated the way that Race made him feel, so safe and terrified at the same time. Spot Conlon wasn't really afraid of anyone or anything, but getting hurt by Race, or worse, Race getting hurt by him, was at the top of the list of his fears.

Sneaking around wasn't smart, and both of them knew it. Lying wasn't smart either. Especially when they were lying to each other. All the late nights and drunken kisses in the world wouldn't get either boy to admit they had feelings for one another, at least not out loud. Spot hoped that it was clear how he felt, and that their quiet moments and his careful signs of affection were enough for Race to know how much he meant to him.

They couldn't talk about it, not explicitly. They both knew that they couldn't be together, not truly, not anything more than the friends they already were. And if they talked about it, if Spot ever told Race how he felt; how his heart fluttered every time they touched, how his lips burned for hours after every time they’d kissed, how he'd stay up late thinking about him and them and their lives and their futures, Spot knew he'd be done for. If he talked about it, it'd be real. If they discussed it, they'd both realize they had no future, at least not one together.

Spot was afraid that when they faced their fate head on, the secrets in Spot’s bedroom would go away. And then Race would stop sellin’ in Brooklyn. And soon he'd stop going to Sheepshead. And Spot would be alone.

Spot sat up and looked out the window from the top of the Lodging house just in time to see Race waving his goodbyes to the other Brooklyn newsies as he started his trek back over the bridge. Before he left he looked up to Spot’s bedroom window, waving a little goodbye.

Spot didn't think Race could see it, but he waved back.

Race turned and walked back over the bridge all alone.

Spot sat back down on his bed, all alone.

*

Friday was a rainy day in New York City. It was summer, so the rain was expected, but dreaded. Rainy days were always slow sellin’ days. No one wanted to stop too long to buy papes when it’d just get soaked in a few minutes anyways. Newsies typically hid under awnings or building entrances to sell what they could, but usually gave up and went back home before the weather got too nasty. There’d be a new headline and more papes to sell tomorrow, when the sun was (hopefully) shining.

Friday was Race’s day to sell with Spot in Brooklyn. And even though it was already raining when he’d left that morning, he still made the long trek over the bridge and showed up at Brooklyn’s Newsie hub in time. He and Spot sold the few papes they’d bought, they were veterans at selling in bad weather, and then retired to the Brooklyn Lodging house for the rest of the afternoon. They spent the rest of the day playing cards and checkers and taking turns keeping the peace, as there were too many young newsies hanging around in boredom.

It was getting late and the weather was worsening. Race was deeply involved in a game of blackjack between a handful of the older Brooklyn newsies, determined to win for the third game in a row. Spot had been checking on the kids, making sure no one was doing anything stupid, and that the younger ones had all eaten, before he joined in on the card game.

“Ay,” Hotshot asked, “What time is it? Shouldn’t this crook be headin’ back ta Manhattan?” Hotshot elbowed Race, who snorted.

“You’s just bitter cuz I wiped ya pockets for the third time tonight.” Race teased. He looked to Spot, who glanced up from his cards.

“It is pretty late,” he admitted, “But the weather’s awful. You wanna just stay the night, Racer?”

Race raised a brow. “I really oughta go back, Jack’ll be worried sick.”

“Psshh,” Spot waved a hand. “Kelly’ll be fine a single night without ya. You don’t wanna get pneumonia or nothin’, do ya?”

Race shrugged. “I ain’t gonna get sick,” Race said simply, setting down another card. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“You’s gonna get a different kinda soaked if ya try an’ cross the bridge in this storm.” Spot told him. Thunder crashed outside and Spot was the only one who saw Race flinch at the loud sound. He narrowed his eyes a little bit.

“You’s stayin’.” Spot said firmly, making it clear there was no room for argument.

“You want us ta make room for ‘im?” Hotshot asked, “We can kick ol’ Bruises ta the floor for the night.”

“Hey!” Bruises protested, punching Hotshot in the arm.

“Nah,” Spot brushed them off. He didn’t look up from his cards. “He’ll bunk wit’ me.”

Race felt his chest growing warm with pride.

“Whateva’ you says, boss.” Hotshot said, going back to the game. No one said anything else about it.

After their game, which Race won easily, Spot made his final nightly rounds throughout the busy lodging house. He checked on the younger kids, making sure they were going to sleep and weren’t getting into mischief. He made sure that Twigs, the little newsie who was still fighting off a cold, had enough blankets and had eaten something that evening.

Race followed Spot on his rounds, admiring how gentle but firm Spot was with the younger kids. He seemed way older than his 18 years as he cared for the kids, lifting them into their bunks and gently assuring them that they’d be back to selling papes in the morning. Race tried not to smile as he watched Spot checking Twigs’ temperature with the back of his hand, putting another ratty blanket over the little boy’s shivering form. Race also noticed that Spot had bought tonic for him, and it was sitting next to the cot the little kid was curled up on.

“He’ll be okay,” Spot said as he left the younger kids’ room, “He’s a tough little kid.”

Race had a feeling that Spot was saying it for his own benefit than anyone else’s.

Spot sighed as he closed the door to his room as Race climbed up after him, turning on the small gas-lamp in the corner so they could see.

“He’s gonna be fine, Spotty,” Race tried to encourage, “Don’t worry. You got him some tonic an’ everythin’. I’m sure he’ll beat it.”

“Yeah.” Spot said, taking off his newsie cap and tossing it onto an overturned crate. “Yeah. He’ll be fine.”

Race took his cap off too, tossing it next to Spot’s before he sat down on Spot’s bunk.

“You’s sure ‘bout me stayin’ the night?” Race asked, and Spot nodded.

“Yeah. I’d rather know you’s safe an’ dry, here. ‘Stead’a bein’ wet an’ catchin’ cold in Manhattan.” Spot said simply, sitting down next to Race on the bed. “Got it?”

“Got it.” Race nodded. Lightning crackled across the sky and thunder echoed so loud that it made the attic walls quake a little. Race jumped at the sound, groaning a little in embarrassment. Spot looked him over curiously.

“You okay, Race?”

“Mmhm.” Race avoided Spot’s eyes.

“No you ain’t.” he frowned. “You don’t like the storms?”

“Nah.” Race shrugged. “It’s dumb. Don’ worry ‘bout it.” He tugged off his over shirt and pulled off the suspenders he wore so he was in his pants and undershirt. “Can we go to bed now?”

Spot nodded, taking off his suspenders and shirt as well. He turned off the lamp so the room was lit only by the lightning cracks and faded moonlight through the rolling dark clouds. Spot climbed into the bed, which was probably too small for both of them, but they didn’t care, immediately getting comfortable next to one another. There wasn’t any awkwardness. Both boys were used to sharing their bed, and neither of them could think of anyone they’d rather share with than each other. They each respectfully maintained a small amount of distance between them, but Race’s hand reached carefully for Spot’s as another loud crash of thunder made his skin crawl. Spot gently took his hand.

Race gave him a smile in the dark, but Spot’s eyes had already adjusted so he could see the little grin.

“Tell me a secret,” Race whispered.

Spot smirked. He’d joked once that Race was the only one who knew his secrets, and now Race held that title very proudly, but privately.

“Like what?” Spot asked flatly. He noticed in the back of his head that his hand was still holding Race’s, and Race squeezed tight when another crash of thunder echoed outside.

“Anythin’. Tell me why ya didn’t let me go back to Manhattan tonight.” Race’s voice was tight, and Spot could tell he was trying to distract himself. He opted for honesty to answer Race’s question.

“You’d get sick.”

“You don’ know that. I’s got great health.”

“People what get soakin’ wet an’ don’t own enough clothes ta get dry is only gonna get sick. I...I’s seen it lotsa times.”

“You’s gotten sick from a rainstorm?” Race asked, and Spot shook his head a little.

“Nah.” his voice was quiet. “A kid in the house did, few years back.” Spot hesitated, deciding whether or not he wanted to finish. “He was little, like Twigs is. He got pneumonia real bad, an’ by the time I got ‘im to a nurse, it was too late for ‘im.”

“Oh.” Race said softly, feeling his chest ache with sorrow. “I...I’m sorry, Spotty. I didn’t realize. I wasn’t meanin’ ta joke ‘bout it.”

Spot shook his head. “It’s fine. I just know I ain’t gonna let no more kids get sick if I can help it.” he said simply. “Ain’t worth it.”

“You’s right. It ain’t.”

They were quiet again, another crash of thunder making the walls shake. Race jumped again, letting out a shaky sigh.

“That an’ I’d miss ya.” Spot said lightly, and Race gave him a little smile. He was grateful to Spot for trying to distract him.

“You’d miss me?” Race teased, and Spot snorted.

“‘Course, dumbass.”

“Why’s that?” Race asked, his tone light but intent serious.

“Tuesday’s a long way from now. ‘Sides, we’s pals.”

“Pals.” Race said softly, nodding. He subconsciously let go of Spot’s hand, but Spot grabbed it back.

“Yeah.” he held Race’s hand tight in his.

Spot wanted to elaborate. He really did. But he wasn’t even sure what this was. What they were. They were pape-sellin’-partners, and best friends, but past that? Spot had no idea. He didn’t think boyfriends was the right word for it. He didn’t think there was a right word for it. Especially when nothing about it was right.

“Your turn,” Spot said, changing the subject. “Tell me a secret.”

“I ain’t got any secrets,” Race said lightly.

“Sure ya do.”

“You know pretty much all’a ‘em.” Race admitted. He was a pretty open book when he found people he trusted, and he trusted Spot more than anyone else he’d ever met. He loved times like this, when it was just them, and nothin’ else. He loved learning new things about his best friend. He loved knowing things about him that no one else did.

“So why’s you scared’a thunder?” Spot asked, catching Race a little off guard.

“I don’t like storms.” Race said quickly. He sighed a little. “I hate ‘em,” Race said softly, “They’s so loud. I just wanna sleep but they’s loud, so’s I can’t.”

“Guess they is pretty loud,” Spot admitted. “I didn’t realize it bothered ya.”

Race shrugged a little. “Neva’ liked ‘em.” he admitted. “Bad mem’ries.”

“Yeah?” Spot wanted to know what sort of memories could be attached to rain, but he didn’t want to make Race uncomfortable so he didn’t push it.

“Yeah.”

The room lit up around them with a lightning strike that was too close for Race to be comfortable and when the crack exploded into the loudest thunder crash yet, Race practically lept from the bed. He cursed under his breath, angry at himself for being upset, and even angrier at the memories of lightning, smoke and flames that filled his head and refused to leave. The same memories that woke him up when fire sirens blared all night long in the city. The same memories that plagued him every single thunderstorm filled summer since he was a kid.

“Hey, it’s okay Racer, it’ll pass.” Spot offered, but Race paced back and forth across the room, trying to calm down.

“‘S so dumb.” he muttered under his breath.

Spot stood and took Race by the hands, leading him back to the bed. They sat next to each other, Race’s shaking hands still in Spot’s strong ones.

“Whadda ya do in Manhattan when it’s stormin’?” Spot asked.

“Dunno. Try ta sleep, walk ‘round an’ try not to wake up the boys, hide ‘til it’s done. I can’t smoke inside, so I don’t get ta calm down as much as I wanna.” he frowned, leaning his face into Spot’s shoulder. “‘m sorry. ‘S stupid.”

“No it ain’t.” Spot assured him. He put one hand gently on Race’s back. “Whadda ya want me to do? How can I’s help?”

Race leaned into Spot closer as another flash of lightning lit up the room. Spot’s strong arm held Race tight.

“I’s fine,” Race told him after a moment. “Being with you’s already helpin’.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I know you’s got my back. I’m safe.”

Spot smiled a little, leaning into Race comfortably.

“I don’t think no one feels too safe ‘round me.” Spot admitted quietly. “I’s got a reputat’on, ya know.”

Race smiled, feeling his fears slowly fading the longer Spot held onto him.

“Well, I know I’m safe.” Race told him, “Ain’t a doubt in my mind you’s lookin’ out for me.”

Spot wasn’t thinking as he pressed a very small kiss to Race’s forehead.

“You know I is.”

*

Race left the Brooklyn lodging house early that morning, before the sun was even up. The storm was long gone, only puddles remained as a memory of the pounding rain and cracking lightning from the night before. Race wished his heart didn’t ache every time he made the walk over the bridge to go back into Lower Manhattan. He wished he didn’t feel the way he did. He also didn’t regret it. He held the secrets and reassurances from that night with him, hiding them in his heart for later as he started to walk back.

When Spot woke up just as the sun began to rise, he instantly noticed that Race was gone. For a second he wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing, but he quickly noticed that where their hats had been sitting last night on the overturned crate next to his bed, a cigar remained instead. Spot picked it up, letting himself smile a little before he pulled on his shirt and suspenders and got ready to start the day.

*

Race reached the Manhattan Lodging house just as the sun was coming up. He opened the door and started up the stairs, searching his pocket for his key when the door opened and Jack Kelly bumped directly into him.

“Racer!” Jack exclaimed, “For the love of Pete, where were ya??” Jack hit Race with his hat, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug.

“Geez Mom, good mornin’ to ya too.” Race teased. “Stayed the night in Brooklyn ‘cuz ‘a the storm.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You’s okay? Storm was pretty bad.” Other than Spot, Jack was the only person who knew how Race felt during thunderstorms. He’d been worried about him all night as he listened to the thunder rolling and rain pelting the city.

“I’m fine,” Race assured him. “But starvin’. We got any food?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jack pulled Race through the door. “Come on.”

Race was greeted by the other boys the second he walked through the door, immediately peppered with whoops, hollers and questions.

“Where were ya??” Albert asked, “You had Jackie all worried ‘bout ya.”

“Poor Mom didn’t know what to do with ya lost in Brooklyn.” Romeo teased, elbowing Jack, who rolled his eyes.

“We was ready ta send out the search party!” Elmer added.

The littler Newsies chased one another around the small kitchen until Albert shouted for them to scram. A few lingered though, surprised to see Race.

“Where’d ya go Mr. Racer?” one of the younger Newsies asked. Race snorted.

“Got caught in the rain, so I’s stayed in Brooklyn for the night.” He explained simply.

“An’ ya didn’t get soaked by them Brooklyn boys?” A kid asked, and Race laughed.

“‘Course not.”

“Where’d ya stay?” Crutchie asked, handing Race a plate with toast and half an apple on it.

“Thanks,” Race said as he started to eat. “Stayed at the Brooklyn boys’ lodgin’ house. It’s nicer ‘n ours is.” he joked, mouth full.

“You stayed there?” one of the younger kids asked.

“Yep.”

“Spot Conlon let you stay with his boys?” Another little kid asked, wide eyed.

Race flicked a piece of his crust at the kid, hitting him in the forehead. “Yeah, he did. No big thing.”

“Wow.” the kid gaped. “Why didn’t he beat ya up??”  he asked.

“‘Cuz we’s friends.” Race said simply.

The kid turned to his friend next to him. “So why’d you beat me up?” he asked, poking at his own healing black eye.

“Cuz you’s a dummy!!” his friend shouted, and the two lightly brawled until Jack kicked them out of the kitchen.

“Enough, ya knuckleheads.” he shook his head. “Go get yerselves lookin’ presentable or no one’ll wanna buy from ya today.”

The boys obeyed and ran up the stairs, leaving the older boys in the kitchen.

“You really stayed with Spot last night?” Elmer asked, a little surprised.

Race bit into his apple half. “Yeah, what of it?”

“Just curious.” Elmer said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“He ain’t the friendliest kid in the city,” Crutchie said, and Race gave him a grin.

“He’s friendly ta me.”

“You’s lucky.” Albert commented. “He’d prob’ly soak any’a us on sight for invadin’ his territory.”

Race snorted. “Nah, he ain’t so bad.”

“Sure he is.” Elmer said, “You’s heard the stories, ain’t ya?”

“Sure,” Race shrugged, “But that don’t mean they’s true.”

Jack didn’t comment, watching Race carefully. He’d been worried sick about his friend, knowing just how he felt when bad lightning storms hit, and was ready to go out in the middle of the storm to find him until Crutchie stopped him from doin’ anything dumb. He was relieved that Race was okay, and more relieved that he was indoors and not hidin’ out under the bridge or nothin’. But now Jack was curious. Race had been spending more and more time in Brooklyn lately, a lot more than his occasional excursion to the Sheepshead Races he’d take after a particularly good headline dropped and filled his pockets with extra cash. Jack had never commented on it, a little wary of questioning anything Spot Conlon did, even if it included friendship with one of his boys. Jack wouldn’t necessarily consider Spot a friend, more of a reluctant ally. He came through for them during the strike last year, and now he an’ Race were friends, which meant Manhattan an’ Brooklyn stayed allies. But that didn’t mean Jack wasn’t skeptical of Spot and his intentions with his friend.

“Alright ya slackers,” Jack interrupted, brushing Race off his perch on the kitchen counter, “Let’s get to work. Ya can bug Race ‘bout Brooklyn later.”

Race smirked and finished his apple half in one more bite, spitting the seeds onto his plate and putting it in the getting-rather-full sink.

“Let’s hope we’s got a good headline today,” Race commented as he followed Jack from the kitchen to round up the boys and head to Newsies Square. Jack fell back to walk with Race on the way over to the square.

“Ay, you sure you’s aight Racer?” he asked gently and Race gave him a toothy grin through the cigar between his teeth.

“‘Course I am, Jackie. Why?”

Jack gave him a look. They both knew why.

“I mean it,” Race insisted. “I’m a’ight. Spot was real nice to let me stay wit’ ‘im last night. I even was able to sleep.”

“Ya were?” Jack was impressed.

“Yeah.” the corners of Race’s lips were tempted to tug into a smile but he forced his expression to remain neutral. “I was.”

Jack watched him curiously. “Good.” he said, “I’m glad Spot was nice to ‘ya.” he chose his words carefully, observing Race’s reaction.

This time Race couldn’t hide his little smile. Jack tried to place where he’d seen the look in Race’s eyes before and it took him a minute to figure it out. The way Race’s eyes lit up when he talked about Spot Conlon was the exact same way Katherine’s eyes lit up when he brought her flowers at work last week. It was the same look she gave him when he made her dinner at her apartment, and the same look he was sure he gave her when she’d show him her articles to read before anyone else did, or got excited about his latest drawings.

Love.

Racetrack nodded. “Yeah, me too. He’s a good pal.” he fought the little smile away.

Jack wasn’t sure how anyone could feel anything other than respect and healthy fear for Spot Conlon, but he was pretty sure that whatever Race was feeling, it was more than that. Jack took a second to process that, wondering if he was jumping to conclusions or if he was right. He knew Race pretty well, and he could tell how much happier he was after spending the day in Brooklyn. Jack’s stomach hurt with a pang of sadness, knowing that as happy as Spot seemed to make him, he and Race could never really do anything about it. Race’s life was hard enough as it was, this would only make it harder. Spot Conlon was a dangerous kid, but being in love with him was far more dangerous. Especially Race being in love with him. Jack tried to push the thoughts away. He couldn’t protect Race from this, but he’d be there for him if he got hurt.

“I’m glad he’s your pal,” Jack settled on saying, and Race nodded.

“Yeah.” he looked down at his boots as they walked.

That’s all he’ll ever be.

*

http://archiveofourown.org/works/12941445  ao3 link :)

[darkspear-dancers]

Character Quotes - Zul’Jawa

Tagged by @warriorwaheda and @draikaina!! [Thanks for the tag!! ^^]

General Quotes-

General Interactions:

Greeting: “How ya doin’, mon?” [The classic Troll greeting.] Farewell: “Loa watch, an’ spirits guide.” Asked to trade/carry items: “No problem, what do ya need?” Something is dropped: “Whoa. Careful wit’ dat.” Encumbered: “Might be a good time to consida’ unloadin’ some o’ dis stuff.” Trap spotted: “Be watchin’ your step, now. Someone don’t want us ‘ere.” Asked to wait: “Acknowledged. I gotcha.” Asked to do something: “What’cha need?“ Possible command: “Unda’stood.” Impossible command: “Dat ain’t gonna be possible.” Upon dismissal: “Sounds good. Lookin’ forward to our next encountah.” Combat: Combat initiated: “Let’s dance.” Combat ongoing: “Ya face de Spear of Vol’jin! Gonna have to do bettah den dat.” Scared: “Fallin’ back.” Wounded: “Tazaga’choo...” Dying: "Ain’t... ain’t gonna die like dis...” Combat ended: “Peace be upon ya.” Dragon appears: “Would ya look at de size o’ dat moddah’!” Location Specific Quotes- Stormwind: “Impressive... would like to raise up monuments to our great heroes as well.” Ironforge: “Absolutely impregnable... what a remarkable sight to be seein’.” Darnassus: “Neva’ thought I’d climb dis tree.” Exodar: “Ingenious. An’ dey got it workin’ again?” Dalaran: “It’s pretteh... smells nice... but somethin’ ain’t right about it.” Orgrimmar: “Ain’t no place like it... home away from home.” Undercity: “Abominations freak me out. Why dey got dere guts spillin’ outta dem? C’mon, now.” Silvermoon: “Don’t get it. Neva’ have. Why not call it Goldsun? I don’t see much silver, I don’t see anyone worshippin’ moonwells.” Thunderbluff: “Jus’ bein’ here puts me at ease. Beautiful place.” Booty Bay: “Now... we can have some fun ‘ere.” Tagging: @neleko, @ziata-mists, @stalker-arani, and @amccrescentmoon.

[cosmosogler]

hello. yesterday sucked.

i don’t even remember yesterday that well. i ended up hanging out with keegan and harrison for like an hour and a half, between 5:30 and 7, right before we proctored... we were swapping goofy youtube videos. at the end of my video my youtube recommendations popped up and i was like “NOOOOOOOOOOO” and tried to cover up my screen while having a panic attack, because i’m really cool.

i listen to video game soundtracks. i do not really want them knowing which video games i like. even though portal 2 is objectively the best game ever i just feel like... it’s hard to share fan made content with other people.

like when i mentioned i read fan fiction everyone got all weird about it like i was reading hardcore porn or something. i don’t like that feeling. that like... misunderstanding of what my interest is. then i end up rambling for two hours to explain my love for this piece of media and i bore the other person and then we’re back at square one.

but if i join, like, a fandom, i’ll be expected to only talk about that one thing. but i like lots of things!!! i dunno. let me listen to the blue sky “podcast” in peace.

i’ve never talked about that book with ANYONE, except to mention that it’s really good. and it is a novel. it takes that long to read.

anyway proctoring was boring so i spent some time counting all the left-handed students in the lecture hall, and then i played pokemon go, and then i wandered around staring intimidatingly at people. i am not intimidating at all, i wear a bow in my hair. but they looked at me like i was either gonna rip their heads off, or stark naked, and i’m not sure which.

also the stapler was loud as a gunshot and i flinched every time i had to staple someone’s exam together, which was 115 times.

i talked to the professor i was teamed up with though and we just talked about, like, moving to a new place and getting established i guess? i don’t know about you guys but i unironically like talking about the weather. leave me alone.

i actually can’t tell if i want to be alone or not. i feel sick like i want to be alone. but i also desperately want to talk about this stuff i like. i talked to keegan about competitive pokemon for 20 minutes and let him see my collection. well, “see,” because he is basically blind and didn’t even realize my ds had a top screen. he asked how many of my 270 pokemon are hacked and i said like 8. and that’s... true. in the ballpark of ten, i think.

he stopped playing after diamond and pearl so i had to explain hidden abilities and triple battles. i miss triple battles.

oh right, yesterday i had group therapy. i got some advice. i think i will try to implement it soon. basically the idea is to carry a notebook or a phone memo with you and to periodically question yourself and write down everything you are feeling. it might help me narrow down my emotions to more than “angry” or “confused.” and she said it helps you get to know yourself better too.

hey today i woke up on time again. i think snoopy had been laying on my feet because they were extremely warm when i woke up. i didn’t get enough sleep at all. i finished getting ready early so of course that means i got distracted and left for class a little late.

but i biked turbo fast i guess because i got to class right on time and started teaching right away. i think it went ok. i was completely exhausted about 3/4 of the way through my second lab though so the last half hour was a real struggle to help everyone finish. i don’t know why my last section has so much trouble finishing on time. it cuts into my lunch break before my meetings with danielle at the drc. or whatever other appointment i have to attend to that day. last week i didn’t even get a lunch break, i had to eat at the seminar thing, i mentioned.

but it’s my middle section, which i feel i teach the best, that’s been getting consistently the lowest grades out of my sections. so i dunno. i use the same rubric for all three.

so i forced down some lunch and graded for 45 minutes (skipped coffee cookie time on accident, i didn’t really feel like dealing with sam today anyway, maybe next week). and then i went to the drc. we arranged for my course to get dropped and i contacted financial aid about the change to my minimum full time credit hours. i haven’t heard back from them yet, but the minute i do i’m going to set up an appointment with my graduate advisor to get that settled. in the meantime danielle told me not to waste my time going to class and to worry about the long term stuff.

maybe since everyone is here all year round i can cajole one of the professors into leading an “independent study” where i can try to keep up with my e&m credit.

we finished that up in about 25 minutes so danielle spent a while asking about my emotions. i think they were good questions because for once i had answers i could put into words, sort of. she pointed out that i laugh when i mention something painful to me. i said i get that a lot. it’s... easier than acknowledging that it hurts. ESPECIALLY in front of other people. crying is awkward and makes people uncomfortable.

we went a little bit into, like, the reasoning behind my trust issues and how it affects me now. it really was painful giving a list of the people that have majorly wronged me. and now how i don’t tell people when i’m sad or angry with them because that might make them angry and why should i be angry if i don’t want to be around angry people. and i know that when people are angry with you it’s scary and i don’t want to spook the people i care about. and like, i don’t like people being angry around me, because even if they’re not angry at me specifically they will take it out on me. it’s not safe.

“wronged” as in, like, how jim ghosted on me. or the year craig spent telling me i was “too much” or taking my words out of context and making me look like a real monster to my friends. 

she asked why i haven’t told sam directly to cut out the “cute” thing yet since it’s really rustling my jimmies. she said it was really disrespectful and i dunno it felt nice to hear someone else agreeing with me. well, it’s more like, she asked why i haven’t told sam how her words make me feel. i said it’s because it ain’t her business. danielle said that was fair enough.

telling people how their words make you feel is kind of, making yourself vulnerable to a person who literally just hurt you. hey, glad you’ve found my buttons! let me just make myself more vulnerable there for you. is that an easier target now? glad to help. let me know if there’s anything else i can do to make it easier for you to hurt my feelings.

i also mentioned the guy in the discord several weeks ago who went off on me for complaining about past romantic partners, because how *dare* i feel sad for being assaulted, because *he* can’t even get one date! i should be GRATEFUL for the attention!

involving a lot more curse words and insults to my mental faculties and character, of course.

man, i kinda hate having to add that tw tag to my posts because i mentioned something that happened to me. it does affect me though. and it’s better to warn people what they’re getting into. even if i just mention it once.

i felt a little bummed, but also, a little more on both feet mentally/emotionally after i left. i filled out my medical drop form and sent it to danielle to review. then i dicked around on the internet for like an hour while harrison came and sat in the office and dicked around on his phone. we didn’t really talk but we did throw candy at each other for a few minutes.

it’s so hard to show people the stuff i love. i mention it sometimes and if they don’t, like, immediately show interest i drop it forever. oz has been kind about the stuff i recommend. i’m trying to figure out which movie i want to watch with him over my thanksgiving break. i know it’s just an hour and a half or two hours, but it still feels like a huge energy investment. 

one time i linked him a music video and he said it was “beautiful” and i was like, “I KNOW RIGHT???”

i’ve remembered that moment for a long time. that was many years ago.

i graded until after 8 and finished one more section. two more to go before i am officially in the clear. then i will only be 2 weeks behind! for those 3 sections each!!! i also uploaded the grades to keep my supervisor posted on my progress a little better, and adjusted some formatting preferences on the excel file to make it easier for me to find stuff right away. 

i think my grade averages are maybe the lowest out of my friend group. i’m so concerned about doing right by my students and then i end up being kind of a hardass when it comes to actually taking off points haha... it’ll get curved back up at the end so i’m not too worried. i just feel bad that my students have to look at their 12/20 because i know how demoralizing that is. i think i will send out an email later and offer some resources if i can find any.

the problem is that i had 4 or 5 curve breakers so i couldn’t just scale up everyone’s scores at the end. 

anyway once i got home i made a microwave meal because it was like 8:50 and i just wanted food. i did all my dishes and hid some cookies for snoopy and cleaned her litter genie thing since it, uh, malfunctioned the other day and i just didn’t have time to fix it until tonight. and i swept the bathroom afterward so that looks better and doesn’t smell like cat pee.

ok it is six minutes after my “stop writing” time. i would like to get enough sleep tonight for once. i just have a lot on my mind and not much desire to deal with my dreams. 

i saw my friends again. i was just watchin em, i couldn’t really interact with the dream at all. they were trying to figure out some deja vu feelings. i couldn’t say anything to them that might help clear it up though. unable to get the message across.

i think keegan asked what kinds of dreams i have that i don’t like sleeping very much. oh i mentioned i don’t like naps because i get horrible nightmares. he asked how i ever sleep then and i said i guess eight hours is long enough for the dreams to calm down. THEN he asked what kinds of dreams i have. i said i dream about my eyes rotting out, or the skin coming off my hands, or blood and gunk just coming out of my mouth in a constant stream. he and harrison said please stop.

i am not sure how to bring up dream friends with them. i mentioned it to suzanne one time on the way to spaghetti day when we were swapping dream concepts. and i am not sure if they are even interesting enough to bring up. i’m not sure what to make of them at all. i guess it makes being awake feel less real. because i’ve met all these people in my dreams and i don’t always remember what i say to them but they feel real to me. 

you know, i did bring them up a little bit. i mentioned that i meet a lot of people in my dreams and that most of them are dead now. that prompted a joke about how we are all dead to keegan until he sees us again in the morning. it was funny and it made me feel a little better, but with most of them like, i watched them die. it’s not a matter of “haven’t been in touch.”

i just don’t know how to describe how i feel about the dream guys. it feels dumb to care about something like that when they’re not even real, they’re people i made up in my head. like it’s almost egotistical to pay attention to them or be concerned for their safety. i guess it depends on how you interpret dreams. collective consciousness? random nonsense? processing our day by making random associations? who knows. maybe a little of all of them. 

maybe it’s easier for my brain to handle being concerned about people i made up and put into danger myself than it is for my brain to be concerned about me and the problems i make in my own head.

i was talking to keegan and jennica and harrison at our meeting before the proctoring started. we were talking about how we have all adopted keegan’s “that’s no good” whenever we see something we don’t like. harrison joked that that’s how he would introduce keegan to a stranger. then he said he would introduce me to a stranger by saying something like “this is sammie. she’s depressed.”

i guess i felt kinda bad. i said “wow, good to know that depression is my defining character trait. it’s the one thing about me everyone notices!”

maybe the others felt bad too because i don’t think we talked about that much more. it’s hard to remember.

i still say things nic used to say in high school when we dated. like “wow! WOW! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW” is a good one. i think “smooth like sandpaper” is a phrase he picked up from me but we both said it a lot.

people stay with me. even when i don’t want them to. i still make jokes that shade toward stuff craig used to say. i still make jokes that jim really liked. when i caught myself using that old stupid punch line i had to stop and feel kinda sick for a few minutes actually.

i wonder if that’s all that people pick up from me? “this is sammie. she has depression.” i say things that i think are hilarious all the time but i don’t know if other people pick it up. i have like fifteen different words for “angry.” maybe my speech pattern is just odd enough that people don’t really copy me. 

i’ve never really talked like a normal person. most of my vocabulary comes from reading. books, internet message boards, video games, international students in high school. i still mispronounce words and i have so much trouble with names that i, like, try to avoid referring to people by name at this point.

danielle said i should try to make myself more vulnerable to my friends. so maybe they can understand me better. and maybe i will understand them better. 

but i tried that already. it didn’t work. i’m not stupid. i’m not gonna try something a million times if i know it’s not gonna work.

just kidding, i’m still studying physics. of course i’m gonna beat my head against a wall until either the wall or my head breaks!!!

danielle said she admired how strong i am for continuing to get up and work hard every day. she asked how i was feeling. i said “not very strong.” 

it doesn’t feel like strength. it just feels like. boredom. maybe. i don’t know what else to do and i get restless. may as well do stuff.