#i actually got all up to 90 a week or two ago it just took me a bit to put this together

[asleepinawell]

All jobs at 90!

Put some thoughts about them all below the read more if anyone if interested

Casters - favorite role. while not as mobile as ranged physical, you still have a good bit of freedom to move around (blm is...interesting for that) and who doesn’t love casting fancy magic spells.

smn - This was the main job I leveled as and I am very attached to my carby. After playing a lot of other jobs I see how people find it a little too mindless, but I enjoy it. Summoning a giant dragon? Yes please. Also excellent starting class for new people.

blm - This was one of the roughest jobs to level at early levels. It’s kind of cruel that it’s a starting job. It can be very confusing to figure out, but it really shines later on (66+) and becomes a lot of fun if you enjoy making big explosions. It was a wild experience leveling it where your rotation shifts around a lot as you go and new abilities are sometimes very ????. Definitely very hard to play well but so satisfying by 90.

rdm - This is the job I play the most these days. I love the utility of rdm and that I can just spam raise the group if needed. I’m a very average player at best so jobs that make me feel like I’m being useful to the group are my preference. Also the complete combo at 90 is intensely satisfying though I really need people to stop dying in the middle of my combo. I consider myself equally a rdm and smn main these days.

Healers - second favorite role. I enjoy healing a lot though I mostly stick to alliance raids for it. I healed some of the treasure maps and deep dungeons recently which were both a blast.

sch - Despite getting sch leveled for free with smn, this was the last healer I picked up. It’s the most confusing in my opinion despite the toolkit not being that dissimilar to sge. It’s very fun once you get the idea, but definitely my weakest healer. The faerie tether is hilarious and I like having a little buddy to follow me around. I know they’ve said pet classes are tough to make for some reason but I’d love more.

ast - The micromanager healer. There’s always more buttons to be pressing with ast. Not a healer I’d take into newer content where I need to pay attention. It is, however, extremely fun and has some of the prettiest effects. Being able to set up big heals on a timer in advance is strange and means you’re sometimes wasting stuff, but ultimately it works out. Also love handing out cards

whm - Not the most interesting of healers but definitely the easiest to take into stuff I’m not comfortable with yet. whm can just panic heal the crap out of the group if needed. blood lily hits like a truck and is immensely satisfying and holy spam in 4-mans for packs of mobs is so sexy to both the healer and tank.

sge - Sage was my first healer and still my favorite. It’s got fun lasers and a pretty straight-forward toolkit. I’m glad I learned shield healing first since I think it would be harder to have learned it after doing whm or something first. Also quite good for soloing stuff because kardia is amazing. Definitely pleased they switched the addersting to proc off group shields now too.

Tanks - I hate tanking with strangers so I mostly do it in trusts and fates. I occasionally tank alliance raids which are fun except for all the tanking drama.

gnb - Favorite tank. Very straight-forward, cool moves, no mp management. Great aesthetic. Definitely the tank I’m most comfortable with. I do a lot of fates with it.

war - Of all the jobs in the game this was the only one I’d say I flat out did not enjoy. The animations and attacks feel so slow and clunky. The rotation is boring. The self-healing is very ridiculous and nice though.

drk - First tank I picked up. Loved the story, got lost in how it worked at later levels. Aesthetics are A+ I just don’t know how the fuck to play it. The mp management also drove me bonkers

pld - Last tank I leveled. I enjoyed it a lot more than I expected. It’s pretty easy and once you get a little self-healing it really shines. I soloed a lot of hoh with it and had fun. The invuln is very nice and the effects are pretty. My biggest gripe is there’s too many abilities to fit on the controller crossbar. I just could not make it work and it’s frustrating.

Melee - Least favorite job role. I loathe positionals. I hate how much mobility is limited by needing to stay within melee range. Also I am just Not Good at melee and that makes me feel bad playing it.

sam - Tied with rpr for fave melee. Love the moveset, love the fact it’s really straight-forward. Definitely feel slightly less useless on this one than other melee. Love having a rainbow moon button for the finisher.

rpr - This was my first melee class and it possibly has the coolest animation effects of the melee classes. It’s very swish swish and fun and looks cool. The positionals are less annoying than other jobs for some reason.

drg - I love the drg moves and animations but I am just not very good at it and end up feeling useless in group content. Doing buff/debuff upkeep on it gives me a headache. Of the available options though it is probably the best melee to pick up when you first start the game. I feel like it could benefit from having some of the buffs condensed.

nin - I have a love/hate relationship with nin. It’s very cool and a lot of fun and I am so so so bad at it. I cannot stress enough how bad I am. I have no problem remembering the mudra combos I just can’t seem to get jackshit in dps out of it no matter what I try. And it gets a little ‘too many buttons to hit’ by 90. The opener and burst for it is ridiculous in those terms and I always am like wow I did it and then realize I somehow missed one thing.

mnk - I’m kind of neutral on monk. The animations are super cool. The forms are interesting in the flexibility they give you but I prefer the drg loop rotation rather than having to track the buffs/debuffs and choosing attacks each time.

Ranged Physical - I enjoy these but not as much as caster. I love how mobile they are and they all feel very unique.

dnc - This was the first one I picked up. Dnc is very pretty and fun and I like the group utility it has. It’s also a low-stress job for me since I don’t feel bad if my dps isn’t fantastic. It definitely doesn’t feel as interesting at 90 as some of the other jobs though. Also why is it when some asshole early pulls it’s always a dnc?

brd - Bard is fun though it was painful at lower levels. Definitely picks up later on. I don’t mind bard but it’s not my go-to. Also think it’s a decent choice for a new person playing.

mch - I ended up liking mch a lot more than I expected. Guns just aren’t very interesting to me, but the combat ended up being fun and I loved the bioblaster gun.

I think overall it’s pretty clear I value jobs that are a little more straight-forward and easy. I’m not a great player and I probably never will be so having something that’s easier to manage so I can focus on not fucking up mechanics is nice. There’s a balance needed for making the rotation interesting enough but keeping it simple enough for me to autopilot when needed. While I don’t feel any pressing urge to be the top dps in a group (though it’s a nice ego boost when it does happen) I do feel shitty when I’m clearly underperforming. I like the cooperative aspect of the game and I like to feel like I’m contributing and carrying my own weight, It’s one of the reasons I like utility stuff and healing a lot.

While it’s a ton of time and effort and a mind-numbing amount of roulettes to level all the jobs to 90, it’s also really cool to get to explore all the different jobs. Definitely glad I did it.

[transmechanicus]

this is. probably a very personal question.

Is it worth it? Transitioning? In spite of it all?

Completely, utterly, and absolutely. I’m one of those ppl who knew i was trans since i was like 8. I found out when i was probably 13/14 what transgender meant, but recoiled from it because i could not imagine a world that would accept me or where i would be happy with the result. At 15 i met my first other trans person, and they became my friend and partner and the first person to ever know i was trans. Being around them, known by them, was such a colossal psychological relief and source of joy unlike anything i had known before. It made separating from them after graduation all the more excruciating to lose that one person i had trusted with that truth.

Sometime over the next two years i came out to my Mom, but nothing really changed, and i had more or less resolved to rot and die under the identity i had been born into. I let my undergrad studies chew me up, neglected all but the most necessary body maintenance, and spent every moment outside work or class buried in video games or books. At some point something snapped out of place, or perhaps back into place. I knew i didn’t want to die like this. I wanted something more for my life and my flesh than being a half dead servitor stocking yogurt. I wanted to transition, and however slowly, however long it took, that’s what i resolved to do.

It took a while. I had no real finances, no privacy, and little independence. I was coming from a white low-self-expression, high-control household. I “messed up” while base coating warhammer models one time and gave myself black nails. My dad berated me about it for days before trying to pin my hands down and sand the paint off (didn’t work, thank you automotive primer). When i was ~22 i got my ears pierced, basically the first permanent part of my transition, and i had never known as much joy as i did driving home knowing the pain was a step of permanent progress. Around this time 2019/2020 i started being out online, more vocal about being transgender as opposed to just having a relatively inexpressive fandom blog with no info beyond my name.

When i was 24, two years ago i came out to my dad, and a week later i left for grad school halfway across the country. I had an apartment all to myself, and my own source of income. I spent my spare change building up a wardrobe of new clothes that i actually liked. I got my first year of grad school done mostly without anything remarkable. Went to some queer events at my school. Found a partner. Got loved to bits for a while. Re-came out to my parents over the summer, and this time it stuck. Started HRT that fall, 2023. Came out to my classmates and coworkers and was rewarded with support and acceptance. Lost the partner. Devastated. Resolve to get even hotter and cooler. Smash out 3 piercings and a tattoo inside a week. Develop personal fashion sense. Attend research conference. Get better at makeup. Go to some concerts. Increase HRT. Tiddy Arc. Buy bra with a supportive bestie. Start weekly therapy. Increase HRT. Cosplay at a major convention. Schedule another tattoo. More HRT. Bra no longer optional. Present day. Tattoo on Wednesday. 90% of progress packed into the last year or so. Undeniably hotter, happier, and more self-expressive than anything in the last 24 years prior.

Transitioning is more than worth it, it brings me so much relief and joy every day no matter how shitty my day is otherwise, and while i have known doubt, i have never for an instant known regret.

There is still time🖤🏳️‍⚧️💕

[sanjisboyfie]

one piece smau: dating ace edition

— male reader <3 i love ace so much sorry it took so long to finish this pooks

— im a firm believer that ace definitely types hehehehe and actually does giggle in real life. he's such a giggler.

liked by [l/n].ace, freeluffy, and 17k others

portgas.[name]: best part about dating ace?? his person(a)lity(rms) ❤️

tagged: [l/n].ace

[l/n].ace: damn id smash this fine mffff

-> portgas.[name]: im deleting this post u fucking narcissist

freeluffy: i still win our arm wrestles tho 🥱

roro.zoro: does [name] know he mispelt personality?

-> portgas.[name]: its something called a pun, zoro.

-> roro.zoro: well the delivery sucked i thought ur brain had an aneurysm

revo.sabo: BARRRFFFF this egotistical maniac didnt need this stroke to his ego [name]

-> portgas.[name]: trust me im regretting even dating ur silly ass brother rn

-> [l/n].ace: r u guys talking about me 🥺🥺🥺🥺

liked by portgas.[name], m4rco.polo, and 19k others

[l/n].ace: pov ur on a date with me and watching me try not to vomit all the sushi i shoved into my mouth all over the table

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: why r u on dates w other ppl???

-> [l/n].ace: ITS A JOKE BABY PLS

-> portgas.[name]: mhm

m4rco.polo: damn this shit sounds disgusting id never go on a date w u again if i saw this tbh

[liked by portgas.[name], eee.izo, yammyato, and 100 others]

yamayamato: r u cheating on [name] ace?

-> [l/n].ace: IT WAS A JOKE ITS AN INTERNET SAYING PLEASE

-> yamayamato: yeah well i dont think its very funny :// u should be loyal in a relationship

-> portgas.[name]: yamato <333 u were always my favorite boy ugh i love u sm 🥰

liked by portgas.[name], yamayamato, and 21k others

[l/n].ace: weekly me post bc i love me! (and my mans) 🤓😕

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: yeah im in there guys!!!

-> [l/n].ace: i love u hehehe u make me blush hehehehe

portgas.[name]: are u free tn? i'll take u out and treat u right ughhh

-> [l/n].ace: i got a date with my bf later tn, sorry not sorry !!!

revo.sabo: i need to mute you because i can't be seeing this shit when im in public

-> [l/n].ace: dont be ashamed that your brother is so hot wtf

revo.sabo: with all due respect, im already ashamed that hes my brother in general soooo

[liked by portgas.[name], eee.izo, and 200 others]

yamayamato: my arms are still bigger. get on my level ace HAHAHA

-> portgas.[name]: proof?

-> [l/n].ace: this is literally cheating, you're cheating on me right now. can you please stop cheating on me with yamato?

liked by [l/n].ace, portgas.[name], and 15k others

m4rco.polo: god forbid these two do anything by themselves

tagged: [l/n].ace and portgas.[name]

[l/n].ace: ur just jealous ur not in love like we are

-> portgas.[name]: agreed bc how r u gonna be like 40 and still not get any play

-> m4rco.polo: 40?????

dni_nami: i loveee them (whenever they come over they ruin the entire house and im this close to murdering them both)

-> portgas.[name]: but nami 🥺🥺🥺

-> dni_nami: no.

eee.izo: its like ace is trying to become one with him or smth, so unsettling

-> [l/n].ace: weren't you the one preaching about young love a week ago?

-> eee.izo: and now im telling u to GROW UP ace, he's not going anywhere if u let go of him for two seconds

[liked by m4rco.polo, revo.sabo, and 90 others]

liked by portgas.[name], freeluffy, revo.sabo, and 22k others

[l/n].ace: i love my snookums baby boy handsome pretty king to the moon and to saturn <3

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: ... i guess i love you too.

-> [l/n].ace: be more confident when u say it baby cakes

-> m4rco.polo: oh my god [name] break up with this fool already what the fuck is this

freeluffy: whats a snookums?

-> roro.zoro: don't ask luffy, you wouldn't want to know.

revo.sabo: awww what a cute post, if only ace were normal <3

[liked by eee.izo, m4rco.polo, and 100 others]

-> [l/n].ace: ????

-> portgas.[name]: im so glad we can agree on this sabo !!!

liked by eee.izo, [l/n].ace, revo.sabo, and 22k others

portgas.[name]: rare sighting of a photo of ace with his shirt on, everyone celebrate in the comments !!!

tagged: [l/n].ace

portgas.[name]: dont get me wrong hes sexy both ways but im not trying to see his nipples every where i go

-> [l/n].ace: but babe you said u liked my titties 🥺🥺🥺

-> portgas.[name]: can you not do this rn.

revo.sabo: yayyy finally he stopped being a WHORE

-> portgas.[name]: at least he can be my whore, but still i agree

-> [l/n].ace: you're the most confusing man i know

-> [l/n].ace: i love u sm hehehehe

-> revo.sabo: the way ik his ass is blushing so hard rn and kicking his feet in the air

eee.izo: thank god for that, i was getting tired of seeing him shirtles sin every single post

m4rco.polo: finally !!!

portgas.[name]'s story:

i love him A LOOOTTTTTTTT even though he's a lil freak

[l/n].ace replied to your story: when he posts you 😍😍 i love u too bby (even tho u literally cheat on me to my face with yamato but its wtv bc i love u enough to ignore it ❤️)

[frozenjokes]

Put Me In Perspective, Or At Least In My Place (Another Retrospective On Aromantic Love)

“Above your head like this. Both hands, look at me. Both hands, Grian. It doesn’t take a lot of strength, just step forward and release around eye level.” Cleo demonstrated, holding the axe at the end of its handle and releasing the weapon. It flew in what had to be a perfect arc before burying itself in the wood, a bullseye of course. She threw the axe like she’d done it a thousand times, and honestly, she probably had.

“Don’t people throw them with one hand, too?”

“Yes. It’s just harder. Try this first.”

Grian pursed his lips, stepping forward, throwing, then squeaking when the axe bounced terrifyingly off the wood, hitting the wall before rolling and bumping the curb that separated the stall and his feet. Ah. That was frightening.

“Nearly took out our ankles there,” Cleo said, not sounding all too concerned.”

“It- Can it bounce over that?”

“Not easily. But not uncommonly either. Try not to do that.” Cleo strode forward, plucking the axe off the ground and handing it to Grian. “Don’t throw it while I’m in there.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Maybe you won’t, but some people need to be told,” Cleo grunted, ripping the axe she’d thrown from the wall and spinning it thoughtlessly in her hand before burying it in the stump that split their twin alleys. “Try again. Keep your wrists straighter, release at eye level.”

Grian shifted his weight, frowning, “Surely you brought me here to talk about something else other than axe throwing. ‘Cancel your plans, I’m picking you up,’ is an extremely ominous message to receive from a stranger at 8:00 at night. How did you get my number again?”

“Pearl. And we aren’t strangers, we’ve met at least once at that big friend get-together thing, you know. That awful pizza place? Regardless, I’m friends with runners, so force is necessary 90% of the time. If you want to skip to the talking, we can talk, but I don’t know if you want to hear what I have to say.”

“I probably don’t.”

“Then start throwing and I’ll do the work. You’ll get it to stick, just give her a few tries.”

“You seem to have a lot of faith in me.”

“Everyone gets it eventually.” Cleo looked relaxed, unconcerned, and Grian tried to match the energy, but he couldn’t quite shake his anxiety. Well. He was here, so he might as well make the most of it.

It took six more tries before he got an axe to stick. Wow that was satisfying- but the air seemed a little too heavy to celebrate more than Cleo’s tasteful clapping. Maybe he should come back here with Pearl and Impulse.. Jimmy maybe? He’d kill to see Jimmy try this actually, even if he’d likely crush Grian in the end. When Grian went to collect the two axes from the stall, Cleo finally spoke.

“I’d like to know what’s going on between you and Scar. Properly. It’s been a particularly shitty week for our friend group and Scar’s been in a foul mood for more reason than one, so we haven’t talked. And I’m not just here to interrogate you about Scar either, I’d really like to know what’s going through your head as well. Have you seen each other this week? Have you talked at all?” Cleo was firm, but nothing about their voice was hostile. There was a worried longing there, the kind of urging that came from a deep concern for a good friend.

Grian took a deep breath. “Not much. I saw him a couple days ago when I was getting lunch with Pearl at the zoo. He only texted me one other time to tell me he wouldn’t be.. we have this mutual place we hang out, and he just told me he wouldn’t be around this week. Too much going on. I’m really sorry about Etho by the way, I hope you guys find him.”

“Thank you. Bdubs got in contact with him yesterday, so we know he’s alright. We still don’t know where he is or when he’s coming home, but from what I’ve heard, he’s keeping frequent contact. Hasn’t called me or Scar, but that’s typical. With any luck he’ll be back safely soon. That’s what Etho said anyway. Still all sorts of concerning, but we’ll take what we can get.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Grian tried not to be hurt that Scar hadn’t updated him, but failed miserably despite the fact it probably wasn’t any of his business. He just would’ve liked to know, that’s all.

“It is. So how did that clusterfuck of a night happen between you and Scar? How did that start?”

“Oh,” Grian mumbled, fidgeting with the axe still in his hands. Cleo took the other from the stump, throwing it almost lazily, like the question didn’t matter to her much at all. Grian decided to do the same, focusing on the secondary activity instead. “Well.. he invited me over. That was a couple hours after our first spat, and I was still feeling weird about it all. Wasn’t well.”

“I figured. He reached out to you first?”

“Yeah. We weren’t supposed to do anything though, just.. get it out of our systems. I was so mad at him- I’m still so angry, and not even for any reason in particular. I’m just mad.”

“Then how’d you end up in his bed?”

“Oh. I kissed him. He was pissing me off.”

“Right.”

Grian scoffed, snagging his axe off the floor of the alley after a failed throw. “How did you think this all went down? He told you the jist, basically. Not nicely, but he told you.”

Cleo shrugged. “I just wanted to know a few more details. Place my judgment a bit more accurately. From where I’m standing, you’re both idiots self destructing in the dumbest way possible. I would like it very much if this didn’t happen again, not only because it’s bad for both of you, but quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Come on.”

Grian curled his lip. “Listen, I don’t understand why it’s such a huge problem for Scar and I to work out our differences with a little violence. We're consenting adults and the sex was kinda nuts, so if we’re both having fun there’s no issue. In any case, I’m pretty sure this is solving all of our problems.”

“Oh? Do explain.”

Grian rolled his shoulders, throwing his axe and getting it to stick for the second time, “We’re just letting off steam, Cleo. Two months of awkward tension does a lot to a man, it does a lot, nothing good. This is like a shortcut to the whole ‘tiMe hEaLs aLL’ bullshit, we’re like- getting it out of our system.”

“Uh huh. And this is going to resolve your unrequited feelings for Scar how..?”

“I’m getting it out of my system, Cleo.”

“Ah, so having really good sex with a man who isn’t looking for the same things in a relationship as you is going to fix you.”

“You got it.”

“That’s the dumbest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” For the first time, Cleo’s axe bounced off the board. She strode to pick it up wordlessly.

“Alright.” Grian landed another axe, just inches from the bullseye.

“Grian,” Cleo sighed harshly, and Grian avoided her eye, uninterested in her scrutiny, “Listen. As dysfunctional as the both of you two are, I don’t actually believe this couldn’t work. You two have been as thick as thieves for ages, and as much as you’re scrapping now, I don’t think that’s indicative of how you actually feel about each other. You’re just hurt people hurting each other, and you don’t have to be. For goodness’s sake, Scar would have been happy to be in some sort of relationship with you, he just didn’t want to lose you altogether. Somewhere I think that got lost in translation.”

“Scar doesn’t want to date me. He only offered to appease me, it was as obvious as anything.”

“I don’t doubt there’s truth to that. He doesn’t do well under the pressure of a love confession, and that’s no one’s fault. But his feelings on romance are a lot more complicated than ‘wanting’ or ‘not wanting.’ You did the right thing to refuse him, Grian, he wasn’t ready. But I think it’s worth talking to him again. Laying everything out on the table. And I can’t speak for what Scar wants, his brain is a mess of tangled wires and sparks, but he’s obviously had plenty of time to think about this, and he might surprise you. If there’s one thing I do know about Scar, it’s that he loves to give things like this a try. And I mean that. He does love it.”

“But Scar won’t love me. Not like I want to love him.”

Cleo hummed, thoughtful as they considered the ceiling, “You know, I don’t know if that’s true.”

Grian huffed, “Unless I’m misunderstanding what ‘aromantic’ means, I don’t see what you mean.”

Cleo shrugged. “Scar loves everyone in big sweeping gestures. That doesn’t change from person to person, whether they’re family, close friends, lovers.. it doesn’t change. But there are still levels, right? There’s still loyalty. You’re thinking of Scar as loving you like a friend, but I think that’s the wrong approach. Making that distinction makes it seem like his love would be less intense, like he wouldn’t still give you everything he has. Try.. a scale, 1 through 10, maybe. For you, you’re looking to give Scar your 10 on the scale, right? A 9 or 10, whatever it is, that’s the kind of love you want to give, the kind of love you’re looking to receive. In Scar’s brain, he’s been giving you that 10 for months, and if you asked to spend the rest of your life with him, he’d probably go ahead and accept without hesitation. That’s just how he feels about the people he’s close with.”

Grian didn’t speak, still working out how to process those words, but Cleo did not mind continuing in his absence. “If you’re worried about not being #1, then I’m afraid you’re fighting a losing battle, friend. With anyone. You’re contending with mothers, brothers, sisters, friends that go back to high school, grade school, diapers. Being intimate doesn’t outweigh those bonds, not for most people. And this isn’t to say that a relationship with Scar would be exactly the same as it would be with anyone else, it won’t, and if you’re the type of guy that gets insecure when your partner is physically friendly with other people, then forget it, but in my truest of hearts, if you’re looking for someone to love, I believe Scar would be more than good for you. He would treat you well,” Cleo paused, thoughtful before continuing, “And honestly, things literally can not get any messier between you two. There are zero stakes to giving this a shot. You’ll either feel a lot better about yourselves or you’ll go your separate ways, both of which are a huge improvement to whatever the fuck is happening between you two now. Maybe you’ll even stay friends after talking all this shit out. Who knows.”

Grian returned his axe to the stump, needing to sit down. To think. He was quiet for a long time just sitting there, the only sound being the bustle of other customers and Cleo’s own axe hitting its mark time and time again.

“You really think he’d want to give it a shot?”

Cleo shrugged and shook her head noncommittally, “Who knows. But it wouldn’t surprise me. So long as you two actually talk this all out, I think anything could happen. And Christ, if you two decide to get together and still want to ‘fall down the stairs’ then have nasty sex afterward, that’s your prerogative, but for crissakes, at least wear some sort of padding or a helmet or something, don’t actually kill each other.”

Well. He had gotten Scar that helmet, hadn’t he.

“I’ll think about it,” Grian mumbled, eyes lidded. And he was. He was thinking quite hard about it.

[cleolinda]

A tale retold

I first told this story some twenty years ago, and it happened even earlier than that, so here's the Modern Retelling with Historical Context:

For many years, I had—well, you've heard of naturally curly hair? I had unnaturally curly hair. I had a stylist so brilliant that she was able to give me occasional perms that no one could tell were chemical. NO, FOR REAL, I constantly got compliments on my long, rippling hair. In reality, my hair is deplorably fine and flat, although I'm told I have a ton of it; putting in some wave made me feel better, you know? I just wanted to co-wash, air-dry, and go live my tousled life. But after my spinal surgery, I just couldn't spend 2-3 hours in a stylist's chair anymore. And so, after 20 years of my best Galadriel impression, I've had to make peace with my natural texture, the only thing about me (I realize now) that is actually straight.

But this story takes place back in 1996; I was a junior in high school, and I had the freshest of perms. Just absolutely exuberant. Downright Pre-Raphaelite. It had only been done the weekend before, and it usually took about two weeks for the curls to settle down and look less poodly natural, but I wasn't going to miss Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet. When I was in grad school years later, my Shakespeare professor went to the mat for this movie, declaring it the best adaptation of any of his plays. And she wasn't a Leo fangirl, either. I tend to agree. And I got to see it on a big screen, opening night, with my best friend and my fresh luscious elbow-length '90s 'do. Banger soundtrack, the big bold visuals that tip over into Maybe Too Much in Moulin Rouge—I'm enthralled, I'm absorbed. Claire Danes is weeping over Dead Romeo, and we all know what’s about to happen in this, a 400-year-old play, but you still hope against hope that somehow it won’t this time. And then I feel something that's not emotion.

Something behind me. In my hair.

It's clammy. This tiny moist hand... creeping... up my neck.

Bear in mind, these are classic movie theater seats, not the big recliners you get now. My head is vulnerable to rear attack. And these tiny fingers, like a gummy little doll's hand, are crawling up my neck, under, through my hair. I am now sitting bolt upright, frozen. What the fuck is going on. It’s still creeping like a little spider up my scalp to the back of my head—put your hand up to yours, get your fingertips to the roots of your hair and really get a sense of what this feels like—

These fingers close, slowly, around the greediest handful of hair they can get hold of, and YANK.

I whip around while Juliet is sobbing—darkness.

To this day, I have no idea who (or what?) that tiny hand belonged to. I mean, you gotta think it was a small child enticed by the siren song of my curls, right? Some parents just didn’t spring for a babysitter on a big opening night, and there’s a Millennial out there with some real interesting core memories, I guess? I couldn't make out anything in the darkness behind me, and we were at kind of a key cinematic moment, so I didn't have time for more than a stern warning glare To Whom It Might Concern. And then I held onto my hair for the remainder of the movie. I chopped it all off within a few months, and went to college with short, straight hair, unable to forget the Cursèd Touch of the Hand. lol jk I just wanted a change and regretted it instantly.

So, happy 20th anniversary to the story I told on the Fametracker forums all those years ago. I can still remember exactly what that hand felt like: tiny. And moist.

[sopfiista]

Academic Rivals (Pt. 2)

SUMMARY: Geto realizes he messed up- and wants to apologize so bad. So he takes you to an empty classroom and shows you how bad he really feels.

WARNING: Smut, PIV, dirty talk, pet names (baby. slut, whore)

NOTES: This is really short, but a part 2 of academic rivals because I wanted more >:)

PART 1

It’s been over a week and Geto hasn’t changed whatsoever. He’s still his same cocky self, his scores still perfect, happily holding them up for you to see. Of course, you played along for the first three classes- but after that you wondered if he just saw you as some hookup.

Everytime he tried talking to you, all you could remember is that fucked out face, the feeling of his long hair between your fingers, and that sultry tone he gave you throughout the entire time.

But he seemed fine.

Other than that, everything else was pretty normal. You and Kei, which you called Yakazaki now, were getting really cute and you couldn’t deny it- he was pretty cute. He’s pretty shy, but all over he’s very sweet and has become a bit.. Flirty with you.

“I got a 90 this time,” he said, smiling at you, “your tutoring really helped- thank you.”

You cheered. “That’s so good!” A sense of pride and excitement raced in your heart as you looked at his pretty face and smiled- completely missing the dirty look that Geto gives the two of you, the familiar pang of jealousy in his heart.

How can you move on like nothing happened? He wondered to himself, his hand gripping on his pen as he tried to focus on his notes. He did all of that to fix everything that happened, and you’re back to how you were before, ignoring him and talking to that fucking loser.

Class finished and the two of you left class, chatting about something random. You watched him smile and laugh, your heart fluttering momentarily.

“Hey, I have a question for you,” Kei suddenly said, turning to fully face you.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” You couldn’t help but feel nervous- what happened? Did you mess up with him?

“You didn’t do anything,” he said, shaking his head, “I just want to ask.. Do you like me..?”

You froze. How did he know? Did he not like you back? Why was he asking this question?!

“W-well, uhm..” you swallow nervously. Fuck it- you only live once. “I do, yeah..”

Kei stood there, stunned. “Oh wow..” he muttered, ears going pink, “well, I like you back..”

Your jaw went slack, and before you could speak, his warm, soft lips captured yours in a soft, tender kiss. You instantly melted, kissing him back almost nervously.

Geto had seen it all. He stood at the end of the short hallway, eyes wide, heart broken, and pure rage and jealousy as he watched. Yakazaki ran off somewhere, leaving you awe-struck and pink in the cheeks. Something that he should be doing- not some kid you met three months ago.

What the fuck was wrong with you?! He just fucked you a few weeks ago- now you were going around and kissing some boy?! WHAT THE FUCK?!

You looked over at him, seeing him silently fume only a few strides away from you. You froze, eyes going wide.

“Geto..?” You muttered, covering your mouth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He asked, storming up to you and grabbing your arm, yanking you into an empty hallway. “You’re a fucking slut- y’know that? You go around and fuck whoever you want to- I shoulda never took you up to my room. What is wrong with you?!”

“What are you going on about!” You snapped, “you didn’t even bat an eye at me- you treated me like a fling, Geto!”

He scoffed.

“I didn’t think you cared-”

“Well I did! You acted like you moved on- so I did the same!” You said, your eyes going glossy, “It meant so much when you did that- fuck! For the first few days, I thought you actually wanted to be my boyfriend!”

Geto fell silent. Had you really thought that..? Now he felt bad.

“Baby..” he muttered, cupping your cheek in his hand, wiping the tear rolling down your cheek, “I didn’t know you thought that way..”

“Well I did!” You snapped bitterly, your voice wobbly, “Fuck you- I look like a crybaby now!”

He hummed, pulling you close and kissing you- making sure to wipe off the filth that that other kid put on your lips. You instantly kissed back, missing the perfect fit your lips had on eachother.

He pulled back, humming at your lidded expression. “Baby, let me make it up to you? Let me apologize-”

Geto huffed, pressing your front onto the whiteboard, rutting into you with that scarily fast pace, making your mind go numb.

“Baby- I’m so sorry,” he panted, his fingers rubbing small circles on your clit, his breath fanning on the back of your shoulder, “I’m so sorry baby.. Didn’t know you thought of me that way..”

You could barely register his apologies anymore, the only thing you can think of being how good he feels, shoving his dick into your cunt repeatedly, making your back arch against him more, ripping another moan out of your kissed out lips.

“Sugu..” you muttered out, weakly pressing your hand onto his stomach, trying to stop him. You could feel his sinister smile from behind you.

“Jus’ cum one more baby, then I’ll let you go, m’kay? I wanna show you how bad I really feel..” He huffed, somehow picking up the pace just a little bit more.

WORD COUNT: 892

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter One

90s!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He got out, hopped one state over, and planned on continuing an anonymous existence of cold beds and numbers scribbled on forearms. One small problem in that plan, or maybe one big problem.

warnings | 18+ smut, angst, columbus OH deserves a TW in and of itself (i love it so)

a/n | I am so excited to be sharing the first chapter of this series. A very special thanks must be given to @pr0ximamidnight who lets me scream about these characters all the time, and who also made the absolutely amazing artwork for this fic! As always, I'd love to hear what you think of this one, drop me a line :)

......................................

“You coming tonight?”

“Who’s playing?”

“Up and coming, you haven’t heard of them.” 

“Oh, so they’re shit then?” 

“Don’t be a snob, Steven. Even your beloved Elliott Smith started out as a nobody. Hell, he still is a nobody.”

“You told Art that I’d cover the front tonight, didn’t you?” The silence is enough of an answer. Steve sighs.

“Eddie.” 

“Come on, Steve. Money is money, I don’t see why you’re complaining when I was gracious enough to get you a little more of it.” His so very gracious roommate is already halfway out the door, a grin and shrug that tells Steve there will be no squirming out of this. Great. 

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy a trip to the Newport Club, especially not when it’s free and all he has to do is check tickets and let girls feel him up a little on the way into the music hall. But it’s  Wednesday, and he has work tomorrow, and he’s feeling a little more pitiful than usual since their AC unit busted out and has yet to be fixed. Their landlord told them he would be getting to it about two weeks ago, and Steve is starting to wilt around the edges in the close grip of the heat and humidity. So no, he’s not really feeling a gig at the moment. But yes, money is money, and he doesn’t have much time to whine to himself about it when he’s already running late to his shift at Katzinger’s. 

Columbus has been good to him, something he is reminded of every morning when he bikes across town to get to the deli. Urban enough to be anonymous, but still cheap enough for him to pay rent with the patchwork jobs he does. And not Hawkins, so it’s already miles ahead just because of that. 

“I got lox no schmear for Tiffany. There you go, sweetheart, have a nice day.” Tiffany left her phone number at the bottom of her receipt for him, a little heart too. Yet another way Columbus has treated him well, the bevy of OSU students that seem to like what Steve has going on. Eddie calls it his “soft-prozac look,” whatever the hell that means. Certainly different from his polo shirts and varsity jacket days, but a whole lot else has changed since then.

Things are easy, simple, and he likes it that way. Making sandwiches and smiling at coeds until three, a new Tiffany every week, no strings, no stress. And the music scene at the fringes of campus. While his roommate prefers a sound with a little more edge, Steve prefers the softer, sadder stuff, and there’s plenty of it getting passed around on burned CDs and in the dim, dank bars downtown. That’s how he first started picking up gigs at the Newport Club. Art took one look at him, the remnant strength from the days of the king, and stuck him out front with a scowl and a folded wad of cash. Not to mention the perk that once the crowd is packed in, he gets to lean in the doorway and turn his good ear to the music.

…

She’s running late. Actually, she was running late twenty minutes ago. Now it’s just laughable. And somewhere in the slow slump of afternoon into evening, it has started raining. So there’s that, the hem of her skirt sticking and sweating around her ankles, skin turned tacky in the humid air. But she’s a little too focused on digging her ticket out of the bottom of her bag as she does a sort of jump-walk toward the club.

Who was it again? A friend of a friend’s boyfriend who had an extra ticket to this new band’s gig. She can’t even remember the name. Probably something precious and pretentious like toaster aneurysm. 

Shit, not good, not even the remnants of a crowd still waiting outside the venue, just some guy with his arms folded over his chest, leaning in the doorway with one doc marten crossed over the other. His eyebrow cocks, a crack of his gum rolled with his jaw when she approaches. She can hear the dull thrum of a bass coming from inside, already started.

“Hi, I’m here for the show, here’s my–”

“The show started fifteen minutes ago, sweetheart.” It’s a little stunning, not snappy, but entirely bored in the way he says it, sighing and slumping back against the wall, a flick of his chin to toss his thick flop of hair out of his eyes. 

“Okay, so? Just take my ticket and let me in.” Not in the mood, not that she ever is, for this bullshit tough guy act. Said tough guy squints at her, tongue poking in his cheek like really, this is a grave inconvenience to him, when he could have already taken her ticket and let her in and gotten back to his brooding hunch. 

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“I’m Steve.”

“Good for you, Steve.” Great, he thought that was funny, a huff of a laugh and half a smile, perfect teeth and frustratingly perfect dimple. She was going for bitchy, actually. When he finally uncrosses his arms from over his chest, hooking his knuckles into the pockets of his pants, she gets a better look at his t-shirt. He must have shrunk it in the wash, or maybe it’s intentional, the way it fits so snug that the muscles in his arms bulge over the sleeves, the I heart metal  logo stretched to burst across his chest. Elliott Smith fan, so at least he’s got that going for him. 

“Are you really not gonna let me in?” 

“Are you really not gonna tell me your name?”

“It’s Ruth, okay?

“That’s an old-fashioned name.”

“So is Steve.” By now, the band has already gotten through two more songs since she got here, and she’s starting to think she’s going to have to resign herself to listening to scraps through the propped open door. For his part, Steve seems perfectly content with the situation, his chin tilted toward the sound as he pulls a menthol out of his back pocket and lights it up. For her part, Ruth is just annoyed enough to reach out and swipe the cigarette from his fingers before it makes it to his mouth, taking a smug inhale as he lets out a petulant whine of hey.

“If you’re gonna keep me out here, the least you can do is offer some refreshments.” To be fair, the more she hears of the music dripping out from the club, the less interested she is in joining the crowd, some kind of post-punk shoegaze dirge-fest from the sound of it. And no, it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the long line of his throat when he lets smoke seep out in a hiss, head tilted back to keep his exhale from washing over her face. No, nothing to do with that, and nothing to do with the way the tendons in his forearms jump, all spilled shadow when he offers her back the cigarette. No, definitely nothing to do with that either. 

“Are you a student?” 

“No, are you?”

“No, so what do you do then?”

“I work at the library.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hmm. What about you?”

“I work at Katz, you know? Over in german village?”

“Yeah, everyone knows Katz. I like Brown Bag better though, they’ve got that tofu cream cheese.”

“Who the hell likes tofu cream cheese? Are you vegan or something?” Rapid fire, somewhere in the volley she has mirrored his posture, her shoulder brushing against his as she rests back against the wall, fingers flickering back and forth, trying to sip down the last few drags of their shared cigarette. 

“No, I just like the taste better. Regular cream cheese gives me the heebies.” He hums, the dip and bob of his throat catching the warm shock of the streetlights. She lets herself watch him for a beat, the quick flit of her eyes away from his when he looks right back at her. Back and forth like that, she collects up every freckle she can find, the two on the side of his neck, on his cheek. Pretty boy at rest. The music is mere afterthought.

…

He’s glad he decided to be difficult tonight. The truth is, he really isn’t supposed to let people in after the set starts, something about code violations and fire hazards. But usually, he’ll nod along a few stragglers hurrying into the club, no big deal. Chalk it up to the heat, to no AC, to whatever, Steve was not feeling so generous tonight, and he’s never been so grateful for his snappy streak as he is right now.

“What size shoe did you say you are?” He’s not entirely sure how things unraveled to this. Him, with his shoeless, socked foot hovering just above the sidewalk, and her, holding her sneaker in one hand, with his doc marten on her foot, giving a few experimental shuffles in it, the hem of her skirt swirling around her shins with it. 

“Men’s twelve, probably too big for you, honey.” Her nose scrunches, mouth screwing to the side like she can’t possibly stand being called that. He tucks that away in his mind through the constant din of the concert going on inside.

“Hmm, I think I could make it work if I doubled up my socks.” 

“You gonna steal my shoes, is that your angle?”

“Well, I do need a refund for my ticket since someone wouldn’t let me in.” He scoffs, dipping his chin to hide behind his hair, just a little, buying time to think of something clever to say back to her. 

“Judging by that noise, I think I did you a favor actually.” Ruth grins, and as if on cue, a particularly discordant warble of guitar whines through the door, both of them wincing at it.

“Maybe you’re right. How much longer you think they got?” She wobbles to the side as she toes out of his boot, and Steve moves before he can think, one hand to her waist, one cupping her elbow. Up close like this, he can see the way her eyeliner has smudged at the edges, a stray speck of it on the arc of her cheek. But it’s catch and release, a laugh light in her chest as she pulls away to put her own shoe back on. 

“I’d say they’re wrapping up. We could, you know, get out of here if you wanted to.” Fun, right? That’s what this is. The flirt and flair of it, a game they both seem to be intent on. 

“Where are we going, Steve?” She tilts her head, sing-songing his name.

Steve is good at this, the logistics of it all. Hers or his. His, they decide, because hers is further away. And mercy, Eddie has been shacking up with the produce stocker from the natural grocery store over in Bexley, so they don’t have to worry about being quiet when they stumble through the door to his apartment. 

Graceless, groaning into her mouth when his hip hits the corner of the kitchen counter, and then a different noise entirely skittering up the back of his throat when Ruth’s palm finds the hurt and rubs it out with quick heat up under the hem of his t-shirt.

Here’s the thing, most of the time, he prefers to keep his shirt on. It’s not that anyone has been rude or repulsed by the scars that splay over his skin. Something much worse. A pitying thing, a pitiful thing. The drop of their brow and a pulled frown and oh my gosh, what happened to you? Yeah, he’d prefer to keep his shirt on most of the time. But right now, he wants a little more. A little more sense, a little more touch, a little more of her palms on bare skin. So it’s more feel than thought when he tugs his shirt off over his head, shivering down with it when she noses down his neck to drop her lips to the top of his shoulder. Bruise-colored kisses, he doesn’t resist the urge to thumb away the smear of her dark lipstick in the corner of her mouth. She chases after his touch, a kiss to the pad of his thumb before her grin turns sharp with the nick of her teeth. 

…

Pretty boy is pretty all over. Freckles all over, she maps them with her mouth, a slow sneak down his stomach to the waist band of his briefs. And he’s got a bedframe too, bonus. Yeah, pretty all over, flushed-pink tip when she slides his briefs down his thighs, just enough for the thick weight of him to smear pearling pleasure over the coarse hair trailing down his clenched stomach. She’s no better though, thighs clenching together in useless friction where she’s kneeling between his legs, cotton underwear that used to say Wednesday on the front and a bra that’s just as old. She really hadn’t been expecting something like this, though Steve doesn’t seem to mind, lips parted in a ghost of a swollen smile, eyes hazy with want.

“Can I?”

“You can do whatever you want, honey, fuck.” She has to temper her grin when she takes him into her mouth, pleasant pain and pressure in the hinge of her jaw because Steve certainly has something to brag about. Impossible to take all of him, she settles for laving her tongue over the vein running the underside of his cock, spit-slick palm curling around the rest. Pretty boy pretty all over making pretty sounds too. Huffs of breath that turn into groans when she swallows around him, muscle jumping under her palm that’s pressed over his stomach, her nails grazing in an implicit command. Take what you are given, pretty boy. And he does, perfectly, preening under her touch, little pants of fuck, s’good, really good that shiver straight down her spine and into her pelvis. She only realizes that her hand that isn’t working the base of him has dipped down into her panties when Steve lets out a ragged shit, that’s hot, lashes dropped down to his cheeks with the way he’s staring at her. And then it’s all quiet c’mere, c’mere, honey, insistent hand at her jaw coaxing her up, clashing teeth when they both misjudge the first kiss, and then a sigh when they get the second one right.

“You have condoms, right?” 

“Yeah, I got it, just let me–” She doesn’t exactly make it easy, mouthing at his neck as he leans over to rifle through his nightstand, jostling her in his lap with a frustrated huff that she doesn’t like the sound of.

“Fuck.”

“Are you, like, out?” He settles back against his headboard with a sigh, an answer in and of itself. 

“I bet my roommate has some though. Gimme a sec, I’ll be right back.” Quite the show, his bare ass shuffling out of his room. She lays back on the mattress, maybe wishful thinking in taking off the rest of her clothes, though Steve is quick to return with a grin and a foil packet pinched between two fingers. 

“You sitting pretty like that for me, honey?” A little wolfish, animal and annoying in how smug he smiles as he climbs onto the end of the bed, catching her knee before she can close her legs, palm smoothing down the inside of her thigh. 

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Steven.” 

“Steven, huh?” He tilts his head, almost absent-minded, his eyes hooded and heavy, dropped to the crux of her hips. She can’t help her quiet gasp when he drags his thumb through her swollen cunt, pad of his finger notching at her entrance, teasing, testing, before smearing back up to her clit in a lazy arc. 

“Fuck, that’s pretty. Are you ready for me?” Cocky, but also clear care. She leans up on an elbow, puling him down by his nape before her stupid heart can kick up too much at the sentiment. His hair tickles against her sternum, forehead pressed there so he can look down at his fumbling with the condom wrapper, clearly distracted, maybe by the way she’s trailing her foot up and down the back of his leg, dark nail polish against tan skin. 

It’s a stretch, of course. Perfect ache in her hips, all she can manage is an uh-huh high in her throat when he asks her if she’s alright. And then deeper, taking more of him, all of him until it’s Steve letting out the pathetic sounds, something like a whimper that she laps up, tongue flickering behind his teeth. 

The rest is a slow, spiraling, slump. It’s obscenely warm in his room, humid too, so pretty soon sweat starts to pearl and pool. In clavicles, in dips and bend of muscle, skin sticking to skin with salt and sighs, almost smothering with how Steve drapes over her. He moves good, smooth and strong like he knows what he’s doing, though it eventually devolves into a deep grind more than anything else, both of them chasing down pleasure. He smells like that clove gum he was chewing, the menthol too, and like he spent the day out sweltering in the  midsummer heat. She can’t help but dip her nose down into the center of his sternum, breathing him in as her nails dig and slip against his shoulder blades. Though soon he’s coaxing her, lemme see, honey, there you are, pretty eyes. 

Embarrassing really, that’s what snaps and snarls her into and over the edge. His eyes, blown out black, steady and certain on her. She comes so hard that she starts to shiver in the heat.

…

“Mmf.” It isn’t enough to rouse him, still slumped on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow. But it does feel good, light scratches across his shoulder blades, then trailing up the nape of his neck and into his hair. He sighs, content in his tangle of sheets.

“I know you’re awake.” He can’t help it, smile spreading, one eye squinting open to find Ruth looking right at him, kneeling alongside the bed.

“Why’re you dressed?” 

“I need to go home before my shift. I smell like a swamp.” 

“Sorry, AC is busted.”

“Yeah, I guessed as much.” He squints sitting up, washed down in the early morning light, already missing the feel of her hand tangled in his hair.

“Can I get your number?” For once, he’d like to do this again. Ruth smiles, settling into her hip as she looks down at him.

“You got a pen?” He does, tucked into a notebook that he keeps in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, not even worried about how uncool he looks fumbling for it and a scrap of paper to give to her. Purple nail polish, he notes, so dark the color is only a suggestion. He watches the flicker of it as she passes back the pen and paper to him.

“Thanks for a nice night, pretty boy.” Still sleep-shaken, but with it enough for her words to send a flush of heat up his neck.

“Yeah, Ruth, I had a good time too. So I’ll call you?” Already halfway out his bedroom door, she still smiles over her shoulder.

“Uh-huh, you do that.” 

It’s early enough that he can linger in the scent of her in his sheets, pressing his face hard into the mattress before finally willing himself to get up. By the time he shuffles out into the living room with one and a half boots on, Eddie is back and crunching through a burnt piece of toast in front of the microwave. 

“Hey, who was that spooky-looking chick that slinked– slunk? Whatever, left earlier this morning?” 

“Her name is Ruth.” All that he offers up, pointedly focusing on pouring himself a cup of coffee. Eddie scoffs, crumbs scattering.

“Okay, and? Flavor of the week, or what?” 

“Mmm.”

“No, you’re telling me Morticia is gonna turn an honest man out of you?” Steve’s turn to scoff this time, choosing to take a long pull of coffee rather than indulging Eddie with a real answer. 

“You get her number?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna call her?”

“Jesus, Ed, yes, lay off.”

“Oh, now I know you really like this one. You’re only bitchy about the ones you really like.” 

“Fuck off. How’s Herb, or whatever his name is.”

“Don’t be so gauche, Steven, and for the record, his name is Leif.”

“Right.”

“Anyways, Harrington Doctrine, yeah?”

“Yeah, man, exactly.” 

Now normally, according to the Harrington Doctrine, Steve should wait a full forty-eight hours, minimum, before even thinking about calling her. He does not follow the Harrington Doctrine. In fact, he barely makes it through the rest of the day without picking up a phone. When he gets home from his shift at the deli, however, he paces himself. Takes a shower first, checks the answering machine, willing away a little more time, anything to temper his apparent want. But when he does finally dial up the number on the scrap of paper he kept tucked in his notebook, he is sorely disappointed by the answer he gets on the other end.

“Brown Bag deli, how may I help you?” First, shock, reasoning to himself that he must have punched it in wrong. He tries again, careful in each button pressed.

“Brown Bag deli, how may I help–” He slams the phone back into its receiver this time, just as Eddie walks through the front door, home from his shift at the tattoo shop where he apprentices.

“Damn, tell that phone how you really feel.” 

“She gave me a fake number.”

“What? Who?”

“Mort– Ruth. I can’t believe this, she seriously gave me a fake number.” With all the tact that he usually has, Eddie plucks the scrap of paper from Steve’s hand, a grumbled lemme see as he dials the number. At first, a lift off of hope in his chest when Eddie stays on the line, brow furrowed.

“Hi, yeah, do you guys still do that portobello melt thing? Can I get that without tomatoes? Yeah, to– hey.” Steve only half pays attention to Eddie’s protest when he takes the phone and clicks it back in the receiver, something heavy settling sick in his stomach.

“She really gave me a fake number. What the fuck?” 

“Sorry, man, I guess no Addam’s Family Values for you.” 

…

He doesn’t usually get like this. Lord knows, Steve has taken his fair share of rejection. So why this one is stinging harder, lingering longer, especially when he barely knew the girl, is beyond him. 

Maybe the boldness of her rejection. A brazen, brash no. The humiliation of unassuming hope, small flames are so quick to be smothered. Or maybe the way he feels like a fool, plain and simple, for thinking there was something more happening when there so apparently wasn’t. Fun, he tells himself. She had been in it for fun. And she got her fun, and got out. And is that not one of his favorite moves in the book? Plenty of fun of his own, after all. 

But what is maybe the worst part, he can’t stop thinking about it, about her. Nearly filled up the rest of his notebook with what he can remember, nearly a whole month’s worth of remembering now. Piecemeal, by this point, the line of her nose, the curve of her brow, half a smile. What he can always recall clearly, the patterned print of flowers that was on her skirt. He scribbles it everywhere, in the margins of old receipts, in sharpie on parchment paper, slow days at the deli getting passed somewhere hazy in his mind. 

He has a headache by the time he gets back to his apartment most afternoons, opting for a few advil and closed blinds over any of the phone numbers that continue to get tucked into his hands.

“How much longer are you gonna do this?”

“Mmm.”

“Steve.”

“What?” He doesn’t have to  look to know exactly how Eddie is standing right now. In the doorway to his bedroom with his arms crossed and his hip cocked to the side, his version of concern.

“It’s been a fucking month, man. Greener pastures, fish in the sea, et cetera et cetera. You haven’t even gone to any shows since the double-M, for Christ’s sake.”

“Double-M?”

“Morticia meltdown.” Steve sighs, more interested in another swatch of flowers that he’s filling a blank page in his notebook with. Mercy, before Eddie can continue to needle him, the phone rings. He only catches scraps of what is said, but his ears prick when he hears Eddie let out a quiet oh.

“Steven, my liege, my lad, it’s  for you!” Great, probably Art calling to find out where the hell he’s been. Still, he gets up, only paying an ounce of attention to Eddie’s shit-eating grin when he takes the phone from him.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Steve?” Still only half-way paying attention, snapping his fingers in Eddie’s direction when he starts rifling through a box of cereal that Steve bought, looking for the dinky plastic toy inside, no doubt. 

“Uh, yeah, who is this?” He snaps his fingers again when Eddie keeps digging through the cereal box, mouthing the words stop it when his roommate still persists in his hunt. Steve’s going to have to buy new cereal. 

“It’s— it’s Ruth? Um, from the Newport, remember?” It’s a strange feeling, first his stomach sinking, a tight fist in his throat too, and most embarrassingly of all, that flip in his chest, that kick of hope, even now, stupid.

“Oh, oh, yeah, I remember. How did– how’d you get this number?” 

“I asked Art for it, figured he’d have your info. Listen, Steve, I need to apologize for what I did. That was just– fucking childish of me, and I hope you know that it had way more to do with my own fucked-upness than it did with anything about you.” 

“Yeah, it’s okay, you know, but it was pretty fucked up.” Stupid, how that hope floats to the top of his throat, because maybe apology means trying again. Maybe he’d like to try again. 

“There’s something else I have to tell you.” 

“Okay?” She sighs, a crackled sound over the line that makes his brow pinch.

“Look, there’s no nice way to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out.” At this point, Eddie has crept closer, hand still buried in the cereal box, eyes wide and rapt at what is probably a stricken expression on Steve’s face.

“I’m pregnant, Steve.” What does hope turn into? A dizzying feeling, dumb and dull and done. His ears ring with it.

“I– you’re– you– what?” 

“I’m pregnant. And before you do that guy thing of asking if it’s yours, I’m pretty damn sure that it is.” Somewhere in the slow unraveling of this, he has pressed one palm to the wall, whole body slumping toward it, head dropped between his shoulder blades to try to make as much of everything else quiet so he can focus on this.

“Okay, um, okay. Do you wanna– you know– because it’s your body and if you wanna— you should–”

“I’ve decided I’m keeping it.” The way his heart seizes, stops for a beat, and then trips back over itself into rhythm scares him, palm finding his chest like he could rub that feeling out and away. 

“Right, that’s– yeah. Do you, like, need help, or–”

“No, I don’t need your help. I just– it seemed like the right thing to do to tell you, so that’s what I’m doing. But, yeah, I don’t, like, expect anything from you.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut, hard, trying to tamp down the heat starting to rise behind them, a foreign feeling, a falling feeling.

“Yeah, okay, thank you for telling me, Ruth.” Because what else could he say? It’s like he hears the words coming out of his mouth from somewhere just over his shoulder. And there’s more that he’d like to say, the right things to say, but Ruth is already beating him to it.

“So, yeah, I guess that’s all. Take care of yourself, Steve.” Already hanging up, and that sounds permanent. That sounds like no intention of ever seeing him again. The phone hangs by its chord, swinging limp a few inches above the ground.

“Steve, what the fuck was that?” One long exhale for him, shitshitshitshit. Eddie sets down the cereal box and takes him by the shoulders, squared off and trying to catch his vacant, glazed stare.

“I– we– she–”

“Did you use protection?” He blinks, nods, relieved that Eddie has already gotten explanation enough from eavesdropping on the call.

“Yeah, fuck, yes. I took a condom from your stash, it was a brand new box.” Something strange passes over Eddie’s expression, blanching and jaw slackening. 

“Steve, which box of condoms did you open?”

“What do you mean which box? The one in your closet, on the top shelf.” Eddie’s hands drop from his shoulders, brows shot straight up his forehead.

“Oh jesus christ.”

“Jesus christ? What– Ed, what the fuck does that mean?” Steve gets no reply, Eddie already scuttling into his room, followed by the distant sound of rummaging, and then a low curse. 

“So here’s the thing, Stevie, these condoms–” Eddie comes back out of his room brandishing said box of condoms, the box that Steve had opened that night with Ruth. He has a smile that slants sheepish on his face, and Steve is already starting to feel sick.

“Yeah, these condoms are from eighty-nine.” 

“As in– as in nineteen-eighty-nine?” 

“That would be correct, yes.” Eddie has already taken a few tentative steps backward, putting the kitchen counter between him and Steve. But Steve is too struck dumb to even consider anything like vengeance on his roommate, dragging both his hands through his hair and tugging hard until it hurts.

“Who– why– what the fuck are you doing with five-year-old condoms?”

“Ha, well, you see, I figured after a decade or two maybe they’d be worth something, you know? Like a collector’s item.” Wordless, Steve shuffles over to Eddie and takes the box of condoms from his hands, something like a laugh that sounds so sharp Eddie winces at the sound.

“Ed, a signed poster is a collector’s item. This is a box of condoms– this is– this is junk.” 

“Well it’s junk now, Steven, since someone opened it.”

“Oh no, uh-uh, you don’t get to be pissy about this, not when there’s literally a girl who’s pregnant because you’re such a fucking hoarder.” 

“Uh, excuse me, I’m not the one who didn’t check the expiration date when they went fumbling around for a condom.”

“I didn’t think I needed to worry about five-year-old condoms, fuck!” The volume of his voice surprises even him, silence falling heavy and hard in the echo of it. Steve rests his hands on the counter, letting his shoulders shrug up to his ears, slumping down into his bones. Eddie rests a cautious hand on his arm.

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Ed. I really don’t know.”

[misqnon]

Royal Blue

A gen Sanji fic, around 6K words. also on ao3, here

“Hey, guys? The News Coo just dropped off a letter with the paper, but I think it was a mistake. It’s not addressed to any of us.”

“Who’s it addressed to?” Robin asks. 

“Vinsmoke.” Nami says simply, and Sanji actually staggers in his place on the deck. 

-----

Five times Sanji’s secret past as a Vinsmoke almost got revealed to the crew, and one time he can’t help but tell them.  

AKA I love dramatic character revelations and I’m bitter not everyone was there to react to Whole Cake Island. 

Disclaimer- I’ve never actually written for an active fandom before, nor have I finished reading/watching One Piece. Please forgive any blatant errors. I’m currently in the middle of Water 7 and I skip around a lot. 90% of my knowledge comes from secondary sources.

pls enjoy!

The first time it happened, it was less of a danger to his cover, and more a painful reminder that he had anything to hide at all.

After all, he’d left that history behind him so long ago that by now, more than 10 years later, he was sure he wouldn’t ever have to reveal that history. Hell, not even Zeff knew. As far as he was concerned, Sanji was just an orphan boy who’d ended up in that unlucky cruise ship kitchen, and he didn’t need to know how he’d gotten there. 

So when they’d all been traveling through the Alabasta desert, Luffy and Nami and Vivi and all the rest of the crew, Sanji hadn’t been thinking about it much at all. When they’d found out Vivi was a princess, well, it had put a little ping into his mind. That little, “You’re technically a prince, too, remember?” But he had quickly squashed it. Not anymore, and never again, so he didn’t need to dwell on the commonality between them.

That was, until weeks later, during that boundless desert trip, when they’d all been sitting around the campfire, resting up for the night on the cool desert sand. It was so much more pleasant than the heat that’d been oppressive over their heads all day. Everyone was chatting, idly enjoying the soup he’d made for everyone. Luffy had downed two bowls of it, and was now snoozing with his hat over his head to the right of them all. Zoro seemed to have a similar idea, though it wasn’t clear if he was actually asleep, or just leaning back with his eyes closed in his usual introverted manner. 

Nami and Vivi were sharing stories over the meal, shawls pulled over their shoulders, and Usopp and Chopper were messing around beside them, occasionally joining the conversation to interject one of Usopp’s grand adventures or Chopper’s impressed gasps. 

He decided to stroll over to the two women, now with his own bowl carefully balanced in his hand. The chef always ate last, after all.

“Hello, Vivi my sweet! And Nami, my swan! How is the soup?” He asked, practically floating through the air to slide in beside them both. Usopp silently rolled his eyes.

Vivi just smiled, answering for both of them. “It’s delicious, Sanji! Thank you for making dinner again.”

“Why of course! It’s my job as the chef, after all!” He sang, still balancing the soup in his hands that he has yet to even touch, now distracted. 

Then, he continued, “You know, this recipe is sometimes called ‘Marry Me Soup.’ They say it’s so good that it’ll convince you to marry the chef.” He said, wiggling his already swirling eyebrow.

Vivi just giggled. “I’m flattered, Sanji, but I don’t think my father would appreciate me getting married right now. Besides, I’ve always been told I’m expected to marry a prince.” She didn’t seem particularly happy about this, nor did she seem very enthusiastic about marriage, period- but Sanji still deflated at the undercut of a rejection. For multiple reasons.

The hopeless flirt within him almost blurted out, ‘Well, it’s your lucky day then, Princess Vivi!’

Except it didn’t, at all, because even for Vivi’s hand in marriage he wouldn’t let that secret slip. 

Instead, he just clamped his jaw shut, sat down beside them, and took a sad sip of his soup. Usopp and Chopper laughed, unaware of the true reason for his melancholy. Nami reassured Vivi he’d be fine after she momentarily worried she’d offended him, before scooching closer to inquire further if she really had to marry a prince someday, against her will. They began chatting again, Nami looking fiercely protective all of a sudden.

Sanji only had a couple more spoonfuls before he stood, silently, and walked off a few feet away from the group for a smoke.

A certain green-haired swordsman poked an eye open to glance over at him as he walked by.

That was odd. Sanji didn’t usually smoke while people were still eating. Especially the ladies. It was inconsiderate, he said, cigarette smoke wafting into people’s faces while they tried to eat, tainting the taste with the smell of nicotine.

But there he was, huffing away at the cigarette a bit too fast, in Zoro’s opinion. Then again, he didn’t really know anything about smoking. Nor did he care. He shrugged, shut his eye again, and went back to resting.

Now that Sanji thought about it, looking back, maybe it’d been on his mind more than he thought. After all, why else had he used the codename “Mr. Prince” while he impersonated Mr. 3?

—

“Liar Noland?”

“You know it, Sanji?” Nami asks, peering at this book that she’s never heard of. “But it says it was published in the North Blue.” 

“I was born in the North Blue.” He says, and actually smiles, wide and true. His memories of back then are anything but good, but…

“Didn’t I tell you?” He tries to play off, though he knows he’s done no such thing. “It’s where I grew up.”

“No, I thought you were from the East like the rest of us.” She muses, and Usopp agrees. 

Sanji continues. And a smile comes to his face again, for the same reason. “My mom used to read me that book when I was a kid.”

For a moment Nami and Usopp both think this is the first Sanji’s told them much of anything about his childhood- they know he had a pretty rough going when he met Zeff, but that’s about it. They’re too focused on the task at hand, though.

Nami opens it and begins to read, the rest of the conversation forgotten.

—

The seven of them stood around the ancient stone door as if peering at it would do anything.

“WHY WON’T THIS STUPID DOOR OPEN!?” Luffy yelled eventually, stomping his feet with impatience.

Robin stepped forward, looking closer at the intricate carvings of winged creatures and giant serpents. Most compelling was the small bowl that seemed to be carved into the center, right below a sharpened bit of rock in the enclave. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this before…” She said, hand to her chin in thought. Unlike Luffy, she wasn’t upset, only engulfed in academic curiosity. She stepped back then, walking away to inspect the other parts of the carvings, further down the wall. 

“Can’t we just break it down?” Zoro asked, poking at the old stone with little regard for its value. Nami frowned at him, slapping his hand away. 

Robin didn’t waste any emotion at his comment, still looking at the newfound bit of text she’d found behind some ivy. 

“This stuff is ancient, you idiot! It’s irreplaceable!” Nami growled, scowling as Zoro narrowed his eyes back at her. For a moment, Robin felt a bit of appreciation for the navigator. She was definitely the most levelheaded of this group so far.

“It could be booby-trapped! Besides, it’s probably worth a ton of Berry.” She said, eye’s suddenly aglow with a mischievous shine.

Nevermind, Robin thought with a sigh. 

Sanji, Usopp, and Chopper stood back with little to contribute. Usopp seemed to be trying to think of a way to get them over the impossibly tall wall, while Chopper distracted Luffy with the sighting of a big beetle.

Sanji just stood there, a lit cigarette lazily lilting smoke between his teeth. They’d probably figure it out between Usopp, Robin, and Nami. Meanwhile, he could continue to plan out what to make for the rest of the week with the meager rations of fruit and meat they’d gathered.

That was, until Robin finally stood, hand still on her chin but a look of accomplishment dancing on her features.

“Here. It says that to open the door, we must provide a drop of royal blood.” She explained, pointing to the ancient language inscribed on the ivy-covered wall.

Everyone rose their eyebrows at that, including (and especially) Sanji.

“Royal blood?” Usopp asked, confused. “Like a king or something?”

“Aw, man!” Luffy cried. “If only Vivi was still with us!”

“That doesn’t make any damn sense.” Zoro said. “How does the wall know whether the blood is royal or not?”

Robin shrugged. She was an archaeologist, not a scientist. “Who knows.” She said simply.

“I’ll just try it.” Luffy said, rolling up his sleeves and stomping over to the little enclave that held the bowl and the piercing rock. 

“Wait!!” Chopper yelled. “You can’t just go stabbing yourself with ancient rocks! Especially ones that have already had other people’s blood on it!” He cried, now trying to pull Luffy away from the wall. He continued to drone on about bacteria and blood-borne diseases as Sanji began sucking a little harder on his cigarette.

Honestly, he didn’t really see the need to get into the old temple anyway. He was starting to think they should just leave. For completely unselfish reasons.

“For once, I agree with the marimo. Let’s just break the damn thing open.” He said, stretching his leg. 

“No, damnit!” Nami said, stomping over to him. “You could set off a trap!”

He frowned at that, putting his leg down obediently. 

Usopp was next to Robin now, looking between the inscription she’d found and the spot where Chopper was still frantically pulling Luffy away from. “I don’t get it.” He decided finally. “Besides, what do they mean by ‘royal blood,’ exactly? Will any royal blood work, or only the royal blood of whoever ruled this nation?”

Robin found it to be a very good question coming from the teen. She nodded in agreement. “True. The inscription doesn’t clarify.”

As soon as Usopp said it, he began to wonder the same thing. And it made him more nervous. His poor cigarette was almost spent now. 

Would his blood work? If it did, would they suspect anything? Should he put it in now, and claim the door was just stupid, like Zoro had claimed earlier? If so, he’d better do it before Luffy, in case the rubber man’s didn’t work-

“HAHA!” Luffy exclaimed, finally pricking the tip of a rubbery outstretched finger on the rock. Chopper deflated in resignation, now joining the rest of them in peering at the bowl as Luffy’s blood fell into it. 

The drop of blood fell into the bowl, sat momentarily on the bottom, then was suddenly absorbed by the porous stone as if it was dying of thirst. Everyone looked on in various states of amazement and fear as they waited, one second, two seconds, three seconds, five, ten-

“...I don’t think it’s doing anything.” Nami finally grumbled.

“Well, the good news is, it doesn’t look like it set off any traps.” Replied Usopp, looking around anxiously for any sign of movement in the jungle around them.

Robin was peering at the bowl with curious blue eyes. “Intriguing…”

“Aw, man!” Luffy huffed. He turned suddenly to Usopp. “Usopp, you try.”

“WHAAA? WHY ME?”

“You like Kaya. And Kaya’s kinda royalty. That’s close enough, right?”

“KAYA ISN’T A PRINCESS, LUFFY! SHE’S JUST RICH! AND I’M NOT EVEN HER! THAT’S TOO MUCH OF A STRETCH.” Usopp yelled in frustration. 

Zoro, Chopper, and Nami were various degrees of frustrated and fed up listening to the two of them bicker. Sanji was still anxiously tapping his foot, hoping the captain wouldn’t systematically make them all try. And if he did, hoping that his didn’t do shit.

That is, until they heard the familiar call of Marines from up the path behind them. 

Sanji turned, eyes wide with panic. “Shit-” He said, lighting another cigarette. 

“Marines? All the way up here? How?” Someone said. Sanji wasn’t even paying attention anymore.

“HURRY USOPP! C’MON, GO!”

“NO, LUFFY! MINE WON’T BE ANY DIFFERENT!”

Zoro started unsheathing Wado, ready for a fight, though even he seemed to realize that that was far too many Marines and they were far too close to be able to run.

As the group devolved into arguing, panic, and frantic attempts to prepare for a fight, Sanji looked back one last time at that stupid door and its stupid little blood-sacrifice bowl. 

The Marines were visible now, charging from the bottom of the hill and quickly approaching- the path they’d used to get here- the only path out- now blocked. 

Sanji cursed, pushing through the mess of the crew and jabbing his thumb onto the rock. 

The group went quiet as the giant stone doors began to shake, then pulled slowly open into a dark, but open, temple. 

They all looked in surprise to Sanji, who bit down on his cigarette and began running through the opening. 

“C’mon, idiots! The Marines are right behind us!”

The group took one look back and followed, sighing in relief as the giant stone doors began to pull shut again just as they’d all made it through. 

Everyone was still running, unsure if the Marines would be able to power through, though Luffy had bound up beside him to ask,

“WOOOAH, SANJI! ARE YOU ROYALTY OR SOMETHING?”

“No, idiot. The door’s just stupid. It probably just didn’t work for you ‘cause your blood’s all rubbery and shit.”

Luffy frowned at that, though he seemed satisfied with that answer. 

Sanji didn’t turn around after that, but by the feeling of several pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head, he got the feeling the rest of the crew wasn’t quite as convinced.

—

Luckily for him, (and quite unluckily for everyone else), the temple was indeed filled with booby-traps. No one had any time to ask him why the hell his blood had worked because they’d spent the next hour or so of their lives trying not to die.

When they finally made it out the other side, sweaty and beat-up and a few crewmates still a little bit on fire, it was the last thing on everyone’s minds. Especially considering the map they’d found as spoils for their trouble.

Later that night, though, when they’d made it back to the Going Merry and everyone had feasted on grilled pork and pineapple and rice, Zoro stayed behind after dinner, arms crossed and leaning broodily against the doorframe, all despite the drinking that was now taking place out on the deck. 

“What do you want, Marimo?” Sanji spit, though he had a feeling he might already know what it was.

“Why did your blood open up that door?”

“Like I said, I don’t think that hunk of rock can actually differentiate between royal blood and not. We just got lucky.”

“Luffy’s blood didn’t work.”

“Yea, and like I said, it’s probably because his blood’s all fucked up and made of rubber.” Sanji bit back, emphasizing the fact that he’d already explained this.

“He’s still human. And I’m pretty sure I heard the Marines trying to prick themselves on it too after we got through.”

Sanji shrugged. “I guess I got some royalty in my family line somewhere, then. Like I said, lucky for us.”

Zoro glared at him. ‘Like I said, like I said.’ It was suspicious. 

“Whatever, shit-cook.” He finally replied, shoving off the wall and heading back out to deck to join the party. 

Sanji bitterly lit another cigarette.

—

“Newspaper’s here!” Someone calls from the front deck of the Sunny. Sanji’s already walking around with a tray of drinks, currently stopped at Zoro, who takes it without much of a thank you aside from a glance.

He rolls his eyes and moves on, wanting to take a peek at the paper anyway. Nami has it at the moment, so he heads over, even though he’s already given her her drink- first, as always.

“Anything interesting, Nami?” He asks, forgoing the swan~ that got him an eyeroll earlier. He’s also just genuinely curious, which has him distracted just enough to act normal around women.

She skims it and frowns. “Nah, not much. Unless you consider Buggy interesting news.” She says, throwing the stack of parchment to the nearby table without a care. She takes her drink and leaves, presumably to go work at her desk.

Sanji does not find Buggy the Clown to be worthy of his attention, but the damn weirdo happens to pop up way more than he or any of the crew seems to think reasonable. 

Regardless, he takes a peek at the newspaper anyway, since he’s already there. Nami’s right, nothing’s of interest- save for the stupid comic strip they’ve included on the last page.

Sora, Warrior of the Sea.

Sanji frowns, his face twisting up into the kind of gangster-like grimace he reserves for Zoro when he’s most exceptionally pissed him off. 

He’s not nearly as bothered about it as he should be, but the comic is included in almost every issue of the paper they’ve received since they hit the Grand Line. The first time he’d spotted the Vinsmoke name he’d nearly had a stroke, but apparently, the few crew members who actually read that bit of the paper seemed convinced it was all fictional, the villainous Germa 66 army included.

Sanji was quite fine with leaving it that way.

It’s just a shitty attempt at Marine propaganda, and the fact his family’s been written in as villains as if they aren’t a real royal family kinda does make him laugh. They’ve become so synonymous with evil that they’re written as cartoon villains by the same news company that works with them in the crime underworld. Sanji’s surprised they don’t see it as a slap in the face- maybe they do, but the strips continue to come out unchanged.

On the best days he laughs acridly at the insult it does his biological father, on the worst he bites his lip in anger that he and his crew have to be exposed to their existence.

Though…

He reads the title over again.

Even if it’s just some bullshit marine propaganda, the way they’ve named the main character who beats the evil Germa family again and again brings a small grin to his lips.

—

All in all, the various times his past had almost come out had been relatively easy to cover up.

The closest call, however, had been when they’d landed on an unsuspecting Spring island, a little too close to the North Blue for his liking.

Franky had stayed behind to work on the ship, but the rest of them had gone ahead and went inland to restock supplies, stretch their legs, and find what this island had to offer. 

And for once, they'd decided to stick together instead of splitting up. Mainly because some signs around town had said something about a big festival taking place in the square, and Nami, Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper had convinced the last few less sociable crewmates to come along. 

Despite the proximity to North Blue, Sanji wasn't actually that worried. He'd never heard of this island before, and he doubted his father would be anywhere near it either. Germa may be a wandering country, but it hadn't left the North Blue in a while as far as he knew, and at the moment they were still in the Grand Line.

So when they all walked up the brick path to the town square, finding before them a wonderful spread of tents, stages, and food stalls, he actually found himself a little excited. Good food, good entertainment, and- he squinted his eyes at the closest stage, where a group of women in traditional garb were performing a folk dance.

Beautiful women? Hell yea, maybe this pit stop would be worth it after all.

“Wow, this looks amazing!” Nami cried, clapping her hands together. “I wonder what it’s all for?”

Usopp jutted a hand over his shoulder. “I think one of the signs we passed said it’s somebody’s birthday. Probably one of the kingdom’s rulers, if I had to guess.”

“Usopp, look!” Chopper interjected, pulling lightly on the leg of the sharpshooter’s pants. “They have cotton candy!”

“Cotton Candy!?” Luffy grinned, patting his hat. He ran off like a cartoon character, leaving a trail of smoke and guffaws of laughter behind him. Usopp and Chopper followed behind.

“Wait! You guys don’t have any money!” Nami said, jogging after them with her Berry pouch already half-opened to loan some out (with interest).

Eventually, she’d caught them, and handed out a bit of Berry to the rest of the crew, too. She sent Zoro back to the ship to grab Franky, both so he wouldn’t miss out and so that Zoro wouldn’t get lost on his own. (If he could even make it back to the ship, anyway).

Then she and Robin began making rounds to all the shops and stalls while they waited, leaving Sanji to do whatever he liked by his lonesome. 

And he had absolutely no problem with that. 

Obviously, he went straight over to the dancers, making obnoxious heart-eyes in the audience while he watched. 

Soon enough, though, he calmed down and ended up wandering the food stalls, trading recipes with the vendors and even picking up some local produce from others. 

He'd spent nearly an hour doing so, occasionally running into another Strawhat or two, when a man stopped him near one of the textile stalls. 

Sanji had been about to head back to the ship, looking over one last fancy gourd with a scrutable eye, when someone called out his name. Well, a name.

"Young Master Vinsmoke?"

Sanji felt his blood run cold. He snapped his head up, his eyes meeting a man he didn't recognize. 

He looked friendly enough- actually, he looked quite pleased to see him. He was posed nervously, as if he couldn't believe what was before him. 

Now that Sanji thought about it, he did look somewhat familiar- the frilly outfit and the pins, bobs, and needles stuck into his pin-cushion bottoms. Some measuring tape hung loosely from a pack on his side, and bifocal glasses sat atop his head. 

Not familiar enough, though. And Sanji didn't care who the hell he was, not after calling him that. 

"Are you talking to me?" Sanji asked, cold anger already growing, though at the moment he was trying to keep his cool. 

The man shook his head in amazement. "It is you, isn't it? Young Master Sanji? Why, they told me you'd died!"

Sanji just gaped at him, his latest cigarette falling gracelessly out of his mouth. 

He suddenly grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and dragged the two of them behind the nearest stall, to an unoccupied alleyway nearby. The man squeaked in surprise, which Sanji ignored.

"Who the hell are you?" He gritted out, suddenly realizing his friends could be nearby. He prayed nobody had heard them. After last time, there'd be no way he'd be able to sweep it under the rug again. 

"O-Oh, you don't remember me! My apologies, sir. I'm Taloose. I work as a royal tailor. I worked for your family when you were young, Mr. Vinsmoke.”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT.” Sanji growled, resisting the urge to pull the man up by the lapels of his frilly suit. He knew the other man didn’t know any better, but it still pissed him off. 

Taloose squeaked again. “I’m sorry, sir!”

Sanji let out an irritated breath. “And stop calling me sir.” He grumbled, though with considerably less bite. 

“I don’t answer to that name anymore, and I’m not a prince either. So just Sanji is fine.”

The tailor seemed hesitant to comply, but he nodded, silently. 

There was a long and uncomfortable silence then. Sanji did recognize him, now that he thought about it. He barely saw the guy- maybe every couple months when he was really young, coming in to fix up little suits for special events for him and his siblings. At that age Sanji was still quite friendly, despite the abuse, but he didn’t form close bonds with the various workers at the beck and call of the Vinsmokes. If anything, he was too focused on his mother’s health and his failings in training. Any memories of this guy were quick snippets and stills of standing on a platform with measuring tape around his waist, and little else.

Realizing the silence had stretched a bit too far, Sanji figured he should probably say something. He had dragged the guy back here, after all.

“Tell me…If you worked for my family, then what are you doing here?” He tried not to let his anxiety seep into his question.

“Well, I’m a traveling tailor. I serve many royal families, including the family here. I helped craft the princess’s dress for this party, as well as some of the other family members. Once I was done, I decided I’d stop by and peruse the textile booths around the market- quite a fine selection if I do say so myself-!” He watched Sanji’s face become irritated and decided to shut up. “But, yes. Just here for the event, really.”

Sanji eyed him carefully. “Do you…still work for my family?” 

Taloose shook his head. “No, actually. I don’t mean to flatter you, but you were always my favorite of the Vinsmoke children. Miss Reiju was alright, but the other three boys were quite rude, and with age they only got worse.” He made an unsettled face, as if to imply ‘rude’ wasn’t the full extent of it. 

“It became increasingly difficult to work with them, and my work reflected that. I was on the verge of quitting anyway when your father fired me. I wasn’t qualified to be sewing raid suits anyway.” He scoffed.  

“So you don’t have contact with them any more? You won’t tell them that you met me here?” Now his voice was betraying his anxiety, but he didn’t care.

Taloose just shook his head, smiling kindly. “No sir. I wouldn’t go back even if they paid me a million berries!” He said, standing tall and adjusting his frilly collar with pride. 

Sanji felt himself relax a bit. He nevertheless pulled a new cigarette from the pack in his front pocket. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where they are nowadays, would you?” He asked after a drag. His fingers twitched ever so slightly despite the coolness he now desperately attempted to front.

Taloose was luckily a man without judgement. He shook his head gently. “No, I don’t have a clue. Hard to tell with the place always on the move.” He paused then, looking over Sanji with keen eyes. 

“...I can tell you don’t wish to see them again. I apologize if my presence here made you uncomfortable. I assure you, I haven’t had contact with the Vinsmoke family in years. Should for whatever reason I come into contact with them again, I will not reveal your presence.” He says, bowing. “I promise.” A smile graces his face within the bow.

Sanji grumbles as he grabs Taloose by his collar, yanking him up to stand again. “Ya don’t gotta bow to me, idiot.” 

“...But I appreciate that. Thanks.”

—

Sanji and Taloose part ways after that. 

He’s glad to be rid of the reminder of his past, glad to have the reassurance the Vinsmokes aren’t actively searching for him or anything- but still troubled to have these memories brought back yet again. Running from your past is easy until you’re traveling the world with infamy, and suddenly the spotlight seems to put you back on the radar of harm long thought dead.

Make no mistake, Sanji didn’t regret his choice to join the Strawhats in the slightest. But he was beginning to wonder how much longer he could conceivably keep this secret.

It’s two years before it finally comes back to bite him in the ass.

—

“Hey, guys? The News Coo just dropped off a letter with the paper, but I think it was a mistake. It’s not addressed to any of us.”

Everyone’s heads pop up from their respective locations around the ship, peeking at Nami and the stack of papers now held in her hand. Luffy swings over from his spot on the figurehead. 

“What’s it say!? Open it!” He yells excitedly, now looking down over her shoulder at it himself. 

“You can’t open someone else’s mail, Luffy, it’s against the law.”

“We’re pirates!” He retorts, and for once Nami feels silly, realizing he’s right in this matter. She purses her lips and eyeballs it again, some recognition starting to come to her face. 

Sanji has come down from the galley by now, hands in his pocket as he and most of the rest of the crew approaches the only entertainment they’ve had so far on an unusually boring day of sailing.

“Who’s it addressed to?” Robin asks. 

“Vinsmoke.” Nami says simply, and Sanji actually staggers in his place on the deck. 

“Strangely enough, isn’t that the villain from that popular comic in the newspaper sometime? Why on Earth would someone try to send a fake character a letter? And how’d we end up with it?” Nami continues, though Sanji doesn’t hear her. He’s too busy falling into the depths of a panic attack here and now.

He’d say that his stomach dropped when he heard her say the name, that his blood ran cold, but with his worst trauma suddenly cropping up in front of him in real life, truly occurring and unable to be stopped, right before the gaze of his crew, his family- he just feels nothing. A switch flips in him and all he feels his nothingness, and then pure hot fear.

“...Sanji? Are you okay?” Chopper asks from beside him, his kind face full of worry at the cook’s near instant reaction. He looks pale, his face is staring straight down at the deck like if he doesn’t look up it isn’t real, and from this angle Chopper can actually see both of his eyes for once, and they’re both blown wide and full of fear. 

But he doesn’t answer, because as Chopper asks this Nami slips her thumb under the fold of the envelope and is about to rip it open, and Sanji lurches forward and has to stop himself from Diable Jambe-ing Nami’s hands and burning the letter to ash. He still does something quite out of character for him when it comes to the redheaded woman- which is that he actually yells at her to stop.

Nami, and everyone else, for that matter, freezes.

“Sanji?” Nami asks, incredulous, and a little worried.

He settles for taking it from her hands, as gently as he can manage, which is not at all.

“Don’t.” He says darkly, even though he already has the letter safely in his own hands.

Everyone is silent. They all expect someone to break the silence and yell about not being rude to Nami, but the person they expect to do so is standing right in front of them, doing exactly that. Sanji sighs, and without looking at his crew, slowly rips open the letter.

He looks it over, eyeing it as if he’s in his own pocket dimension at the moment, and no one else is there. Then, when he’s read the contents, he pauses, folds the letter, and sticks it in the pocket of his slacks. 

Everyone is waiting with a question on their lips when he finally looks up again, but no one says anything, even Luffy.

Then Sanji sighs, and crosses his arms. He looks all of a sudden more nervous and unsure of himself than they’ve seen him since before Saboady, maybe even since they’ve met him.

“Do you guys remember…back in Skypiea, when we found the book Liar Noland?”

It seems an odd place to start, but they all give various sorts of a nod.

“And I told you all how I was actually born in the North Blue.” He says, reaching an arm up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. He really wished he had a cigarette right now, but he didn’t want to interrupt by lighting one.

They nod again, aside from Franky and Brook, who hadn’t been on the crew yet at that time.

“Well…” He can’t help it anymore. Quicker than they’ve ever seen him do it before, he slips a cig from his pack and lights it with ease, pulling some smoke out of it like he’s thirsty for it. They’ve all started to put pieces together by now, or at the very least, realize he’s about to open up to them about something quite big.

“My real name…No. My birth name is Vinsmoke Sanji.” He says, wincing at the words put together outloud. “And I’m…I was a prince.” 

Everyone’s eyebrows raise at that, eyes widening; save for Zoro and Luffy, who stay relatively straight-faced, listening intently.

“I left when I was 8. I snuck onto a cruise ship, and then Zeff found me.” He continues, mincing the more ugly details that he doesn’t quite feel ready to tell them yet. He doesn’t want this to become a sob story.

“Basically, I’m a runaway prince. Though my father told everyone I was dead anyway…” He sucks in another breath full of smoke. He keeps stuttering and trailing off in his words in a way that so isn’t like him, it’s making him sick. He just wants to get this over with.

“The point is, this letter…It’s for me. I’ve been invited back…”

For a moment, Sanji considers not telling them the truth. He doesn’t want to put them in danger, he doesn’t want them to pity him, he doesn’t want them to feel the need to help him, to do so because he’s too weak to do it himself.

But he also trusts them. More than anyone else in the world, save for his father. His real father.

“For an arranged marriage to one of Big Mom’s daughters.” He grits out, biting down on his cigarette with distaste.

Usopp looks ready to burst with questions, Nami and Robin are incredulous, and even Zoro looks vaguely emotive. Franky and Chopper and Brook are just waiting for someone else to say something first.

But Luffy is, strangely enough, smiling. He adjusts the position of the straw hat on his head, ensuring it’s nice and tight. Then he gives Sanji a grin.

“I’ve been waiting for a reason to pick a fight with Big Mom.” He says. 

And somehow, that’s the most reassuring thing he could have heard Luffy say to all of that.

[hazzybat]

Thanks for coming Mr Jordan

okay so remember this idea by @cinder-rose of Nace having certain exciting dreams about Jan? well I wrote a little intro and then kinda wrote chapter 1 I guess? maybe I'll make it into more but for now have this! (casual 1000+ words lol)

this is 18+ btw as it involves porn dreams

Nace relaxed on the couch, his shirt off and warmth enveloping him. He was seeing Jan over the holidays but he couldn't remember which holidays they were. The house was large, full of impossible rooms and the largest, softest couch Nace could imagine. Then Jan was sprawled out next to him, his body warm flush against his own. His arm was loose around his neck and his lips were so close to Nace's. He felt a pang of guilt. He had a girlfriend who was.... he didn't know where she was. But Jan was so inviting and soft, his chest hair rough against his own flushed skin. Those beautiful lips whispered out "Thanks for coming Mr Jordan" before they pressed themselves to Nace's. Jan was everywhere. He was hot and perfect and he ground their hips together and Nace could think of nothing but how amazing it felt. Jan's hand snaked down his pants and right as he held his cock and began to stroke him Nace woke up. He wondered for a moment why his bed was so empty, his sheets tangled around his hips and drool on his cheek. Then his mind caught up and he groaned angrily. He was now single. His girlfriend had split with him a week ago, a mutual decision that still broke his heart. They hadn't been good for a while, drifting further and further apart until he hardly felt he knew the woman in front of him. Her side of the bed was cold. His mind replayed the dream and he groaned again. Why had it been Jan? Sure he was close to Jan but why did his sleep filled mind decide to put the man in his sex dreams? Even in his dream he’d felt guilty for kissing him. His hand trailed down his body until it found his very erect cock, precum already leaking from the tip. There was no point in wasting a perfectly good boner he mused. Maybe once he got off he could clear his head. He brought up his favourite porn, choosing to look at the amateur threesome from some time in the 90s rather than dwell on dream-Jan's perfect fingers and lips and body.

The video did the trick, the two men touching and feeling the woman before they made out with each other over her, the low quality footage allowing him to imagine their faces however he wanted and the moans a perfect mix of deep masculine need and high feminine want. He came easily and for a moment allowed himself to remember Jan's deep raspy words, "Thanks for coming Mr Jordan" It was just a dream. He needed a shower and a coffee, his mind already sweeping away the details like cobwebs. It didn't mean anything anyway. ‐--------- "Thank you for coming Mr Jordan" Jan said from the couch when Nace walked into the studio. The statement sent a pulse of pleasure straight to his dick and his brain short circuited. Did Jan know somehow? Could he read minds? Could he see the blush that was steadily covering Nace's cheeks? What the fuck was going on? Jan was sitting in one of the armchairs, his laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. He had a black tie slung around his neck and a black blazer on top with no shirt to speak of. A pair of Nace spare glasses were perched atop his nose. Looking closer it was actually one of Nace's blazers he'd stolen as well. "Nice glasses, where'd you get them?" Nace asked in at attempt at humour, something to bring a sense of normality back to this very strange day. Jan didn't answer, instead he leaned back in the chair, pulling the blazer back to show off a nipple, which he began to stroke with a lazy finger. "I'm so glad you're here Mr Jordan, I've been going through your accounts and I'm afraid the numbers are all wrong" Jan was overacting, his voice exaggerated and breathy asthe hand as his nipple began to kneed at his non existent breasts. His other hand took off the glasses and bit down on the arm of it seductively, looking at Nace with dark eyes. Nace was thoroughly confused but his cock was enjoying the terrible acting a bit too much, twitching at every breathy moan Jan gave between words. Had he actually woken up this morning? Was he still in his strange porn dream?

"I think I can fix the numbers, but only if you do me a big, long, hard favour," Jan continued, rising from the couch and sauntering over to where Nace was still frozen to the spot. This was hell, Nace had died and this was his punishment for staring a bit to long at Jan's fingers when he played. Or maybe it was heaven with the way Jan looked at him, glasses still in fingers, the end in his mouth and tongue dancing over it obscenely. Jan reached him and wrapped his arms around Nace's neck. His hand instinctively found Jan's hips. His brain finally kicked into gear when he managed to ask "what the fuck is happening?" "We got 2 minutes boys!" Jure cheered from his spot behind the door, walking into the room with his phone, using it as a stopwatch and proudly displaying the time to the others. Bojan followed close behind, handing over a note to Jure and grumbling to Kris about "why couldn't he wait another 20 seconds". Jan hadn't moved from his arms and Nace was still thoroughly confused. Jan took pity on him and explained "Bojan found the tie and your spare glasses and somehow we ended up with the idea of a bad porn intro. Sorry you ended up our leading lady but we wanted to see how long it would take you to question things." Jan was grinning along with the others as he fished around in his wallet and handed Jure a note alongside Bojan's. Kris tutted at Nace as if disappointed, also handing over a note to the drummer who was gleefully counting his winnings. Nace was bright red. They were going to be the death of him he knew it. He reluctantly dropped his hands from Jan’s waist and tried to laugh along with the others. This was going to be a very long day.

[booksandabeer]

Catching up

I got tagged approximately one million years ago by @burberrycanary 💙 and @somanywords 💛. Sorry it took me so long! 😬

Last song: I don't know the exact song, but I've been listening to the album Cat Power Sings Dylan: The 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert a lot. I'm not a particuarly big fan of Bob Dylan, or a fan at all, really. However, I am absolutely a die-hard fan of Cat Power and I think that Chan Marshall is probably the best cover artist of...all time? Well, certainly of her generation. That's not to shade her original compositions, which I also love, but she's brilliant at taking songs that you thought you could no longer listen to because they've been played ad nauseam everywhere for decades, and then teasing something fresh and original and truly moving out of them. Listen to her covers of "I'll Be Seeing You" or "Mr. Tambourine Man" or even "New York, New York" and tell me they don't excite you in any way (if they don't, I suspect you have no soul). She's even great at covering herself! Please go and listen to her 2008 cover of her own 1998 song "Metal Heart" right now. It's one of my all-time faves and also, yes absolutely a Stucky song.

Relationship status: I have a person.

Sweet/spicy/savory: Everything all at once, please.

Favorite color: Blue, blue, blue. International Klein Blue to be precise. I cannot get enough of it. Also, I will die on the hill that chartreuse is actually a great color.

Last movie: The Last Stop in Yuma County which was a fun neo-western/crime thriller that didn't take itself too seriously and didn't outstay its welcome. Imagine that! A 90-minute movie. They still make those! Wild. If you like Tarantino and/or the Coen Brothers, but played at a faster, snappier tempo, you will probably enjoy this one too.

Last show: So many. Bodkin, which is the epitome of "this show doesn't know what it wants to be." Is it a quirky comedy? A crime show? A (very tepid) satire? It's not like you can't combine these genres, but the show doesn't combine them, it swings wildly between them. The ending was terrible. I've finally started watching Hacks (a delight!) and I'm still slowly making my way through Kings (only 2 episodes left). Also following along with the new season of IWTV, which remains an absolutely bonkers show. If *this* is what made it into the final cut, can you imagine what didn't? Oh, to be allowed to read the studio notes for this one!

Last thing I googled: The origin and meaning of a Norse/Russian name. For reasons.

Current obsession: The Terror brainrot is still going stong. I have learned so much about Arctic Exploration in the 1800s over the past few weeks. Also, in a curious turn of events, I have started reading Masters of the Air fanfic? I was unfortunately pretty disappointed with the show. I had hoped it would trigger a level-11 hyperfixation but instead it just kinda came and went and I didn't even think about it anymore. Then an author, who I still follow because they used to write Stucky, started posting one Buck/Bucky (yes, they are two different characters) fic after another, and one day I said, 'Why not give it a shot?' Well, here we are, tens of thousands of words later, and for the first time in my life I'm beginning to understand the people whose general fandom attitude is 'I don't care for the source material at all, but the fic! Oh the fic compels me!' I have been compelled. I'm now a person who reads fanfiction for a pairing that includes a character played by Austin Butler (sorry Butler heads, I just don't get it).

Wonders never cease.

--

Like I said, I got tagged for this ages ago, so I don't know who's done this (recently). I'm gently tagging @bromcommie, @aimmyarrowshigh, @zenaidamacrouras1, @shackleton2 and @hail-americas-ass. Also, I mean it when I say I want to know what everyone else is watching/eating/obsessing over/etc. Tell me! Open tag for everyone who wants to do this.

[woodsfae]

B5 s02e22 The Fall of Night table of contents • previous episode

Wow, the season finale of another season! That's 44 episodes and the Gathering in eleven months! Or a year? With the little break I took shortly into season one, and the big break I took in season two, I'm actually surprised that averages out to one every week and a bit. It's been a riot, but I'm beginning to suspect that they aren't going to fight the great war by the end of season two….a few episodes ago Lord Refa told Londo it had been six months since the war with the Narns began, and Sheridan says in the credits it's the year the great war began. So there's another six months to fill before the all-out war begins?

I cannot believe that last episode, Jack the Ripper from 1888 London tortured Delenn half to death. that. That was wild. But it only makes me more stoked to see what they do next, for the season finale! No, really, how are they going to top the whole season so far?

I'm just picturing Bruce Boxleitner sitting in a little set and his plastic helmet acting earnestly into the studio lights for some reason.

Huh, Lennier and Vir have a lot in common. And they meet every to gripe about their ambassadors. So cute. Lennier plus anyone is a winning strategy.

The Centauri arm of colonialism is spreading again, and it's been less than an episode since they took the Narn homeworld! They're doing 90% of the shadows' job for them.

B5, over and over again: "Imperialism is - hey, look at me. Imperialism is bad. Say it with me: "Imperialism is bad." It's not a good thing, only bad."

Hm, Garibaldi's take on Londo that he's holding on for dear life as the situation spins wildly out of control, since he has no fall-back plan or safe harbor that he knows of, gives him more credit than I had been.

There's more sightings of the shadows now, passed off as scary stories pilots tell each other half joking, half warning.

EarthCorps is here to meddle and get direct reports from their fashy spies.

There's pilot elitism!

"A spider big as death and twice as ugly. When it flies past, it's like you hear a scream in your mind. I saw it too."

They really must exude a visceral wrongness. Natural, or cultivated? Lt Keffer (?) is a little batshit to want to find one again. But all pilots are a little nuts (I say as someone about halfway to a pilot's license)

Hm, Ivanova sort of gets along with this EarthForce guy. Or she's charming him on purpose? She's usually blunt or bluntly professional.

A Narn war cruiser survived! Help them, Sheridan! It'll flare tensions like crazy, bring war to Babylon 5 almost certainly. But it's also the right thing to do.

Hm, the other Earthforce guy is also making an effort to get along with Ivanova. Deal with the devil shit. Join our political faction and add your rising star of influence to our cause. And oh, also spy for us and send us information on everything and everyone on B5.

Ivanova gives an excellent, very civil smack-down. Booo fascist faction in the already fascist government.

Lovely. A meeting of everyone who signed up to be spies, and they all get grilled and criticized in front of each other about the quality and quantity of the information they reported. And there are informants who inform on the informants. This isn't concerning at all.

Wasn't Lt Keffer banned from going out and doing sweeps looking for the shadows in hyperspace? This man cannot be stopped by mere orders.

Going by EarthForce Guy's mien, Earth isn't interested in supporting the Narn. Lame. And an Earth-Centauri Alliance! Terrible! Typical!

"A non-aggressive treaty with the Centauri? That's like trying to make nice with a piranha."

A great simile, Sheridan. And awww, he's having baby's first shame over one's totalitarian and morally bankrupt government.

Sheridan and Ivanova's relationship warms me heart. She got him a piece of the Black Star, the Minbari warcruiser which he defeated, to remind him that the impossible is within reach.

Way too many fucking spies on this station. Earth Force does not need to find things out this quickly, and it's disastrous that the Centauri have.

Yeah, go Sheridan! EarchForce is going to be PISSED, but he's defending B5 space. It can't be a neutral station if they bow to whomever shows up with a big warship. Plus, he's the Captain, and he hasn't gotten any direct orders from his superiors, so it is his decision!

There is tension! I feel tense! Wow! What a space battle! They do well at those. Love that Zeta Squadron went and escorted the Narn ship into hyperspace. Good relations being established there!

Sheridan: "[The Centauri ship] fired first, Mr Lantz. I have an obligation to protect this stations." Mr Lantz: "You had no business helping a Narn cruiser." Sheridan: "Are you telling me to disobey regulations?" Mr Lantz: "What regulations?" Sheridan: "General Order 47. EarthForce personnel are required to answer distress calls and assist any vessels not currently involved in hostilities against Earth. Now, it may not have been politically convenient, but legally and morally it was the right decision."

That it was. No matter the amount of Centauri blustering. It is 100% bullshit of these people to be catering to the Centauri so much. Sheridan is ordered, on pain of losing his position, to apologize to the Centauri, which is super lame.

Lt Keffer's computer's voice is fantastic. Good job, human voice actor playing a computer voice!

Sheridan's practicing his apology in the mirror is excellent.

Londo being a sad outcast in the middle of parties because no one wants to associate with his shitty ass is also excellent.

Awwww, Lt Keffer. Excellent work tracking down a shadow ship, brave and quick thinking saving the information, but bad death.

Whoa!!!! Sheridan just jumped out of the shuttle! But Kosh pulls a Dues Ex Machina! And everyone recognizes him with a local name or designation. Has this actor been in the encounter suit all along?

Huh, the inside of the shell of B5, an interesting view.

Sheridan really keeps it together. His calm acknowledgement in just saying "Kosh."

Hmmmmm. Good Vorlon lore.

A Narn in speaking with another being agrees that seeing the being of light was a good omen. Londo claims he saw nothing. I wonder how much truth there is to that.

Ivanova voice-over! We started the season with her voiceover, and I'm glad to end it the same way.

"…[Babylon 5] became our last, best hope for victory. Because sometimes peace is another word for surrender, and because secrets have a way of getting out."

At least there's a publicly released footage of the Shadows now!

This episode did a really good job of making me want to immediately watch another! Season one was great. Season two was better, and with this finale, I'm completely invested in where Season three will take me!

this just in! my top five from s02 and final thoughts before starting s03!

[nocturnalghoul]

Oh! I have a prompt!

Sister of Sin falls in love with Cowbell and hes an adorable clueless idiot until he isnt

I’m sorry this took a minute, it sat 90% finished in my drafts for like a solid week before I was able to get back to it. I happened to look at the mushy may prompt for today and went WAIT THAT'S LITERALLY THE COWBELL FICLET I HAVE SITTING AROUND so I hope you don’t mind this also working as my unofficial mushy may for today (Crush/ "I made this for you") :)  Hope this does your prompt justice! I had fun thinking about it :D Words: 1.2k Feat. Earth ghoul Cowbell my beloved

Cowbell scowls briefly at the wide expanse of garden in front of them, sighing heavily before getting to work pulling weeds. It was going to be a long and tedious day.

A year ago, all of the Earth ghouls had been assigned their own personal part of the grounds to do with as they pleased. The former band ghouls got a larger section than the rest of them and Special, ever the sweet talker, decided to do their adoptive little brother a “favor” and convinced Sister Imperator that “Bell graced the stage with the band and therefore qualifies for a former band ghoul size upgrade.”

They had appreciated the gesture at the time, but quickly found that all the space was almost too much for them to keep up with alone. Imperator after assigning the sections had also instituted a sign up list for siblings to volunteer to help, but only once or twice had anyone ever signed up for Bell’s list. Even then, it was rather clear that the sibling was only trying to get out of some other engagement and didn't really want to work with the strange ghoul, asking them about the others instead. 

It made sense to them, the other band ghouls had much larger plots and were more popular with the siblings in general so why not ask about them. The list to assist Mountain with his vast plot of land had over a two month waiting list he heard. It was by far the largest and most impressive garden considering he was the current earth ghoul in the band, but the sisters were always fawning over him anyways. 

Cowbell was lost in thought considering all those points when a shadow fell over where they were working. They looked up and caught the shy smile of a sister of sin, holding a flyer for the garden program, waiting politely to be noticed. She was somebody they recognized from around the abbey but had never spoken with directly. They assumed she was probably lost on their way to the other gardens.

“Oh um, if you came out here for the garden program the other ghouls areas are farther down the path. There's signs” they mutter before looking back down at the plants in front of them. 

“I'm actually here to help you I think, it’s Cowbell right?” she cheerily chrips, extending a hand out in greeting. 

“Really?” they exclaim doing a horrible job of hiding the shock they feel if the small giggle she lets out is any indication. “Yes really! It’s never seemed fair to me that the other siblings only ever sign up to help Mountain and the others. Your list is always empty so I decided to fix that” she asserts, already moving to crouch down and assist in weeding the flower bed Cowbell had been working on. 

The day actually ends up being the best one Cowbell has in a long time. The sister is a great conversationalist and seems to be generally interested in what they have to say. 

Just as they are about to thank her for helping out and offer general pleasantries about seeing each other around the abbey she gives them a tight hug then skips off shouting something about next time. 

Next time Cowbell thinks, the corner of their mouth quirking up into an odd smile. So there will be a next time, good. 

~~~

Sure enough on the next garden program day the sister waltzes up eager to help and seemingly even more so to get to know Cowbell. They continue on like this for weeks, slowly settling into an easy rhythm with each other. Each time Cowbell is certain she will realize that there are much more interesting ghouls to hang out with, but then she comes back.

Finally after a month, Cowbell decides to speak up. “I appreciate both you helping, and your company, but you don’t have to humor me. I know that I’m strange and that there are much more desirable ghouls all around the abbey. Please don’t feel like you have to keep coming out of obligation or something.”

The sister frowns briefly but there is something else behind her eyes that Cowbell can’t quite place. “I like strange, Bell. Besides, those silly other ghouls could never be as interesting as you are.” they lilt after a handful of moments before blowing them a kiss and walking off. 

~~~

She ended up coming down with a bad cold for the entire week following that conversation. It was still fine, Cowbell had tended the garden all by themselves before and did so again. Time and time again as they go through the familiar motions of gardening their mind wanders back to the sister. How was she doing? Oh she would love this bloom. Eventually they decide to give up for the day on the main garden and work on a side project they had been considering for a while. When the sister was able to return they wanted it to be ready. 

~~~

Cowbell receives a text that she is ready to return to help today and triple checks the side project. They had over the past week assembled a long window planter for her to take back to her room full of flowers that they think she will like. 

As they see her walking down the path they feel the anxiety starting to build in the pit of their stomach but shove it down. It’s fine, you're making a much bigger deal out of this than it is they think to themselves as they wait. As her eyes fall on the planter beside them, Cowbell can see the wide smile take over as a sparkle settles into her eyes. “What’s all that, Bell?” she laughs as the ghoul almost fumbles the planter in an attempt to hold it out for her. 

“You just always complain how you wish you had more flowers in your room so I assembled this for you” they rush, blushing slightly.

The sister squeals in delight, taking her time to closely examine each bud. “These ones are by far my favorite” she whispers, pointing to the small blue flowers in the center. “Oh, those are cowbells” “I know” she laughs, “Believe or not I have learned something while helping you. It’s perfect cause you’re my favorite ghoul.” “I- I am? Why” they question before looking back up at her and taking in the vibrant blush overtaking her face.

“Oh” is all they can come up with as the realization overtakes them. The sister just laughs harder watching them flounder. Cowbell can feel a blush of their own starting to grow under their mask. “You know… I was going to take a walk down to the lake.” they start shyly, moving to take the sisters hand. “Would you- would you care to join me?” “It’s a date” she beams, already picking her stuff back up and placing it with the planter inside the storage shed. “Um yes, I believe it is” Cowbell stammers before tacking on a quick “if that’s okay that is.”

The sister just giggles before kissing them softly on the cheek and pulling them down the path towards the lake. “There's nothing I would love more.”

[sinceileftyoublog]

Liz Lamere on Alan Vega and Her Solo Career: Whatever Happens, Happens

Liz Lamere; photo by Jasmine Hirst

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Liz Lamere's got a story to tell, and one that won't end any time soon. The former Wall Street lawyer and boxer and current singer-songwriter is also the widow and former creative partner of the late, great Alan Vega, the visual artist and vocalist of landmark proto-punk duo Suicide. Since Vega's death in 2016, Lamere has, in conjunction with Jared Artaud of post-punk act The Vacant Lots, worked to bring to light a wealth of unreleased material from Vega's vault.

After the release of 2017's It, the final album Vega recorded before he died, Lamere and Artaud discovered the material that would constitute the 2021 release Mutator. In 2022, they unearthed the songs that would be released this past May as Insurrection (In The Red). It hasn't been until now, however, where there's been a simultaneous awakening of all things Vega. In addition to Insurrection, Artaud co-curated "Cesspool Saints", an exhibition of Vega's fine art works, which opened two months ago at Laurent Godin's Gallery in Paris. Lamere, meanwhile, co-wrote Vega's biography with Laura Davis-Chanin, entitled Infamous Dreams: The Life of Alan Vega (Backbeat Books). (The foreword? By none other than Bruce Springsteen.) With a rich collection of songs waiting for ears--material that Lamere and Vega recorded and Vega meticulously documented between actually released Vega solo albums throughout the 90s and 2000s--it's become clear that Vega's backlog rivals of those like Prince and Arthur Russell, full of albums that are contextualized by what was recorded before and after them but that stand alone as cohesive statements.

Lamere; photo by Jasmine Hirst

At the same time as everything Vega-related, Lamere has finally found not just the time but the will to release her own solo records, an artistic career that Vega always encouraged but never was able to witness. Her songs are certainly different than Vega's in terms of subject matter and aesthetic, but Lamere credits Vega's approach to music-making--be spontaneous and fearless and realize that nothing is a mistake--for informing her artistic process. She started working on her debut, Keep It Alive, during COVID lockdown, and finished the album in mere weeks. Her follow-up, One Never Knows (In The Red), released last month, took a little bit longer to make, understandably when Lamere was working on Vega's biography and Insurrection all at the same time. Thankfully, Lamere was able to separate the entities, another thing she took from Vega. "It wasn't too difficult to compartmentalize because I wore so many different hats and did so many different things, like Alan," Lamere said over the phone last month. "Alan could be hyper-focused on visual art, and then hyper-focused on music and sound. They might be different sides of the same coin, but whatever he was focused on, he was so in the moment and heavily focused on that creation."

To really understand Vega's perspective on art and life, you have to go far back into the oft-ignored details that inspired Lamere to start writing his biography. Vega was, infamously, 10 years older than everyone thought; various articles incorrectly referred to 1948 as his birth year rather than 1938, confirmed when the 70th birthday release of his recordings was announced in 2008. The parents of the man born Alan Bermowitz were Jewish immigrants. His first wife, Mariette Bermowitz (née Birencwajg), is a Holocaust survivor from Belgium; they met attending Brooklyn College. Lamere credits such a close familial proximity to persecution as a reason for the trauma Vega felt, and also why he chose to not use his birth name as his stage name. But such closeness was also why Vega chose to sing about difficult topics in his music. "Alan was always hypersensitive to any type of oppression or challenging situations," Lamere said. "He had tremendous empathy. He wasn't doom and gloom but more readily shining a light." Out of college, Vega worked for the Welfare Department, eventually quitting because he felt the menial work he was tasked with doing didn't allow him to make a true difference in the lives of the poor. But the experience helped him understand how to secure funding when working with the Art Workers' Coalition, and from the New York State Council on the Arts to help found 24-hour artist-run multimedia gallery MUSEUM: A Project of Living Artists.

Alan Vega; photo by Walter Robinson

Vega possessed the ability to apply what he learned from one effort to another, and his mind was well-rounded. He actually enrolled in Brooklyn College not for art, but for astrophysics, having received a scholarship as a result of his building his own telescope(!) But one day, the head of the Art Department witnessed Vega sketching portrait drawings in the cafeteria and immediately recognized Vega's artistic brilliance and convinced him to study art. (Vega's portrait drawings appear in the video for Lamere's "King City Ghost".) Vega ended up studying with legendary artists like Kurt Seligmann and Ad Reinhardt. When substitute teaching a class for Reinhardt during his senior year, Vega assigned students a self-portrait to be turned in the next class, but instead of collecting them, he told the students to rip them up. "When he was telling me the story," said Lamere, "He said, 'You should have seen the look on these kids' faces!'" But Vega viewed art as, in the words of Lamere, "coming from a pure place of expression," not of preciousness, and one worthy of consuming your life. Vega met Martin Rev and formed Suicide in 1970, garnering notice for their wild live shows throughout the New York punk scene. After they released their self-titled debut in 1977, they toured with The Clash, an infamous time during which the crowd, unable to understand the Suicide's artistic vision, would throw switchblades at the band. "Alan was willing to be...out there front and center and put his life on the line, literally," Lamere said. "He believed so strongly that what [Suicide was] doing was breaking new ground and important in its own right."

Vega had been releasing solo albums for a decade before Lamere came in the picture; he met her while making 1990's Deuce Avenue, the record that returned to the beloved electronic minimalism of Suicide. Though the actual release of solo albums was sporadic, he and Lamere never stopped making music. "When we were in the studio together all those years, I was very much the type of person thinking about releasing albums, whereas Alan wasn't structured in that way," Lamere said. "His thought was, 'We're going into the studio to create sound, and whatever happens, happens...' Part of his process was he would just keep moving forward. Unless I said, 'Hit stop,' so we could put out an album of what we'd been working on right at [that] moment in time, he would keep evolving and moving forward on new material." Vega constantly wrote poetry in his notebooks, often using what he wrote for ad-libbed song lyrics; Lamere was actively involved in mixing their recordings. At the same time, Vega was a staunch documenter. He would burn a CD of what he and Lamere had worked on in the studio and note down changes he thought they needed to make to each song. Even the titles of the songs from Mutator and Insurrection came from his notebooks.

Insurrection artwork design by Michael Handis

The extent to which, upon being done with a song or an album, Vega moved on, proved to be extreme, and would have ripple effects on Lamere's solo career. The two, along with French director Marc Hurtado, would tour Europe after recording a solo album and perform the unreleased songs they'd recorded. ("The Europeans have heard a lot of this stuff before," joked Lamere about Mutator and Insurrection.) For the songs that had been released, Vega would rely on Lamere to feed him lines so that he could give the audience at least something recognizable. "I would be chanting little phrases, he would hear that, and he would riff on it, and the audience would be happy even though the lyrics [were] mostly completely different," Lamere said. "I learned to 'sing' because Alan never wanted to rehearse anything...I kind of learned a little bit how to project my voice." Meanwhile, upon hearing it for the first time, Vega didn't even remember "Nike Soldier", a track long-time engineer Perkin Barnes had digitized and Lamere chose for a split single with The Vacant Lots in 2014. Lamere's the opposite. "When we first started mixing [Insurrection], I could literally remember and envision the days in the studio I was laying down [those riffs]." But the ultimate story comes from when Springsteen, touring Devils & Dust, invited Vega to one of his shows, as he had been covering Suicide classic "Dream Baby Dream" during the encore. "[Vega] literally was sitting with Jesse [Malin], they're waiting for the show to start, and on the PA comes the song 'Dujang Prang' that he and I had done in 1995," Lamere said. "Alan turns to Jesse and says, 'This is really good, do you know who this is?' Jesse said, 'Alan, that's your song.' That's classic Alan: been there, done that, don't wanna hear it."

It was during the release of The Vacant Lots split single where Vega gave Artaud and Lamere his blessing to unearth songs from the vault. The single happened when Artaud reached out to Vega, sharing The Vacant Lots' cover of Vega's "No More Christmas Blues". The two men became fast friends, as Artaud, living in Brooklyn Heights a subway stop away from Vega and Lamere in Lower Manhattan, often visited. "Jared would come over here and sit and talk to Alan for hours about everything," Lamere said. "He had listened to every piece of music that Alan had pretty much ever done. He understood Alan's philosophy of creation and the minimalism and the existential philosophers that Alan had studied." As for Lamere, Vega knew that her approach to producing his music was intuitive. "After Alan heard 'Nike Soldier', I said, 'Alan, you have no idea how much material is in the computer in the studio of what we've done over the years,'" Lamere said. "He said, 'I know. Once I'm gone, you should feel free to put it out because I trust your judgement. You've worked with me for so long, you're my co-producer.' I could go in and make these tracks sound completely different. But I make what Alan would want. He's still so present with us because he had such a strong influence on us. It's part of our DNA. That's the reality."

Lamere; photo by Jasmine Hirst

Insurrection was recorded in the late 90s, and you can hear its influence on the material that would make up 1999's 2007. The album is a snapshot of an era for Vega, New York City, and the world at large. Dante, Vega and Lamere's child, was about to be born, so Vega's mind was occupied with the post-Gulf War, pre-9/11 state of a city and country rife with racism and capitalistic rot. (The mention of 9/11 is not teleological; Vega literally had premonitions of a terror attack in New York City.) Songs like "Sewer" and "Invasion" sport thumping, propulsive beats and clattering, machine-like percussion, the most messed-up club songs you've ever heard, Vega chanting like a street urchin. The presciently titled "Murder One" and "Genocide" are circular, droning, and forward-lurching. The instrumentation is perfect for Vega's mantras and pleas to "Make a new reality!' Lamere's One Never Knows, though a personal album whose singles' videos feature Lamere sort of half-boxing, half-dancing, a callback to her earlier career, echoes Vega's idealistic spirit. "Don't destroy the dream tonight," she sings on the dystopian "If Only", an almost 50-year-later spiritual sibling to Suicide's best known song.

One Never Knows, like Keep It Alive, was engineered by Dante at their Dujang Prang home studio, where Alan held his sculptures. Before the pandemic, Dante had been working with hip-hop artists, but as they weren't coming in during lockdown, Lamere asked him to help her with her solo debut. Dante sang in The Choir of Trinity Wall Street for 10 years and purportedly has perfect pitch, whereas Lamere is not formally trained. "He wants to help other people with their vision," Lamere said of her son. "I do say to him once in a while, because I run a lot of sounds through the keyboard, 'What key is this?'...He knows I like dissonance, so he says, 'If you like it, it works.'" Lamere's taking a key from Vega and not wanting to get technical any time soon. "I'm sure Miles Davis had his pick of brilliant musicians to work with, but Alan used to say, 'Miles Davis liked working with people who weren't necessarily formally trained.' They didn't say, 'You're not supposed to do that,' or, 'This is what you're supposed to do here, this chord progression.' No! It's none of that. There are no rules," Lamere said.

Lamere; photo by Jasmine Hirst

Lamere's planning on taking the same approach to her recording as playing live, but with a little bit of her boxing knowledge thrown in. "When I was performing with Alan, I was always playing effects machines in the background. It's a whole different animal carrying the show front and center," she said. "For me, it's like getting in the ring sparring. You have to be hyper-focused. The adrenaline kicks in. It's a great feeling...It scares the shit out of me ahead of time. In the moment, I absolutely love it. Alan was the same way. He wouldn't even be thinking about getting on stage, but as soon as he did, he kind of embraced it."

As always, her musical endeavors will constitute at least some work with the Vega vault. For one, according to Lamere, there are about 4 or 5 albums worth of material from the 8 years between the release of 2007 and Station alone, from when they were first raising Dante, as well as even more from after Station, despite Vega suffering a stroke in 2012. "I love the opportunity for people to hear what I'm doing and discover what Alan did and is continuing to do," Lamere said. "I love the fact that he's still influencing people from beyond."

One Never Knows artwork: Jasmine Hirst

[dhampiravidi]

"Just relax. Let me take care of you." (Pogue to Jayn ❤️)

One minute, some asshole on an electric scooter made her the victim of a hit-and-run, slamming into her before they mumbled an apology and zoomed off. Of course, Jayn was shocked and angry during that minute, not to mention teary-eyed because she'd hit the ground hard. Her butt and her hands weren't going to be happy when she went to her 90-minute Comp Lit lecture. At least her messenger bag had been zipped up when she fell, so she didn't lose or break anything. Except maybe her poor MP3 player, which she'd dropped when she fell, earbuds and all.

And then, he found her.

She was sniffling, trying to hurry and get to her feet, because she was so embarrassed, and shit, did my thing break? Sophomore year was stressful enough already; Jayn had had "an explosive incident" (literally) a couple months ago, thanks to the sudden inheritance of magical powers that her family had never once told her about (apparently they thought it died out after it skipped a generation). On top of that, one of her professors was RUDE, and she hadn't really found anyone to hang out with other than her dorm-mates and two classmates. Jayn was thinking about all of this and scrambling on the concrete when someone's sneakers stared her in the face. Someone had stopped in front of her, squatted, actually.

"H-huh?" She looked up and saw one of the hottest guys she'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. The sunlight played with his hair, making the brown glow, and his beautiful, concerned eyes were some mix of green, brown, and amber. He was toned and pretty, somewhere between an Abercrombie model and a Disney Prince.

"Are you OK?" he asked. His voice was lower than she'd expected, but it was pleasant, too.

"Yeah, I'm OK," He took her hands without asking, turning them over to show her scraped, angry pink palms. He did a cute thing where he bit his lip, trying to figure something out.

"D'you have a class right now?"

"No, I was going to lunch..." she whispered. Jayn blushed a bit, realizing that lo and behold, a cute person was holding her hands, and gently pulled away from him. She sort of got to her feet, enough to grab her MP3 player and stuff it in her bag. Then she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and stood. When the guy stood up, he towered over her by almost a full foot. He also smelled like French fries, which was oddly comforting, and there was only a small space between him and her.

"You wanna go with me?" he asked, flirty smile on his face. The closest she'd ever gotten to a real romance was hugging someone who casually discarded her months later. But why would he even like her that way? After all, her private interactions with attractive people were fairly rare.

"Uh...no, it's cool. Bye." She hurried off, deciding to let nature take its course. He could go find his cheerleader girlfriend or clever actor boyfriend, while she went to get a cold drink. Something cool would feel nice against her hands.

About a week later, she got an email from a professor she'd had the semester before for a Philosophy class. They were asking if she would tutor a student who was taking a Classics class for money. Jayn had free time and no reason to turn down free cash, so she said yes. So that Saturday, she went to Stubler Library, a couple minutes before 11 AM.

[Jayn]: Hi, I'm here! Standing in front of the statue, outside.

[Pogue]: So you're the cute girl who turned me down? 😋

Confused, Jayn looked around. The library doors opened and IT WAS HIM--the Abercrombie-blessed Disney Prince!

Oh. She'd texted Pogue Parry a few times over the past few days, just to understand what exactly he was studying, what he was having problems with, and where they could easily meet. She never once imagined that he was the one person who'd stopped to see if she was OK when she got hit.

"...hi. I'm Jayn," she managed, blushing again. He chuckled, hands in his pockets.

"Hey. I'm Pogue."

Their tutoring session was only supposed to be an hour long. That was all she was getting paid for--one session each Saturday. But he always asked about some myth that sent her into a rant, or they got off track completely and muffled their laughter so the librarian wouldn't scowl in their direction. Eventually, they stopped meeting at the library, because Pogue finished his class. He decided to pay her back by asking her out (again, but that time she said yes), and down the line he started tutoring her in magic.

Pogue had made the choice to escape his suffocating, horrible parents by going west, instead of staying in Ipswich and enduring. But he still met Jayn, and they still fell in love.

[darsynia]

This afternoon is a TRIP. Just hit a follower milestone 💚 ty for following!! 💚 right after getting back home from DRIVING AROUND FOR THE SECOND DAY IN A ROW LOOKING FOR MY CHILDREN.

Rant about the school and my kids lying to me under the cut.

At the beginning of the school year Youngest's teacher and I held multiple conversations about dismissal, and during none of them was I told a family member had to make eye contact with the teacher (2nd grade) to dismiss Youngest. This only became an issue a few months ago when Middle Kiddo was sick and didn't walk home with Youngest, Oldest forgot to pick her up after being reminded, and so Youngest just... played on the school grounds instead of coming home for funsies.

Then I was threatened by the school about following the handbook (there's nothing in the handbook about dismissal), told I would need to have a WRITTEN PERMISSION SLIP for my older daughters to walk Youngest home (also not actual policy they made it up because they were mad), and finally everything was worked out because the Vice Principal was embarrassed that I knew what I was talking about and called her out on the gaslighting. So we agreed that one of the two sisters had to pick up Youngest every day. They worked out a schedule.

Yesterday, I found out that Middle Kiddo has been running away and leaving Youngest to walk home alone for weeks now, and just slowing down when she gets close to home so they walk in the door at the same time. This after some random old guy (we live near a thriving main street) gave Youngest twenty dollars and wouldn't take it back. So you know, already some danger there.

So I said we'd have to have me come in the car every M W F because Tuesdays and Thursdays the Oldest walks Youngest home. Except Oldest was sick today, so we agreed that Middle Kiddo would do it. Oldest felt better, walked up to say bye to friends, and when she got there, she said Middle Kiddo was looking for Youngest. The teacher said 'oh, Youngest told me her mom was picking her up so I let her leave.'

Guys.

The school THREATENED ME and said I had to have WRITTEN PERMISSION for even the OTHER SIBLINGS to pick this kid up. But the teacher just let her go? (I should add, on the first day of her kindergarten, all 3 kids were set to wait for us to walk home with them, and the teacher just let Youngest leave with her siblings against policy because they looked happy to see each other. The three of them proceeded to get lost and it took us 90 minutes to find them. Which, HILARIOUSLY. HI LAR I OUS LY is why there's stricter policies on letting kids leave with siblings now. It's because of that. Which they just did. Again. To the same kid.

I CANNOT.

Anyway, Youngest just walked her ass home without looking for me or her sisters. And my husband just said 'I don't think you should try to get her teacher in trouble again.'

I never tried to get the teacher in trouble! The VP asked me how I was under the impression that second graders could leave of their own free will and I said that, you know, I'd stood there for 2 school years picking her up at Kindergarten and First Grade and NEVER SAW SECOND GRADERS EVER WAITING. Also I read the fucking handbook. Which doesn't even have K-1 supposed to be escorted but whatever. Apparently the VP went to talk to the teacher and the teacher was like 'whoops yeah I was supposed to tell her' but ME NOT KNOWING THAT IS NOT GETTING HER IN TROUBLE.

I'm just.

I have parking anxiety. It's my biggest stupid fear. I hate it. I used to leave for the school an HOUR EARLY so I didn't have to struggle to find parking. I REJOICED when she hit 2nd grade so I didn't have to park and walk up and pick her up in person. I was CLEAR about that to her teacher (I actually just... incidentally mentioned it to her teacher. Who didn't tell me 'actually I need you to come this year too' even though we had multiple convos where she could bring it up). So for this to STILL BE A THING in MARCH.

I am going to have to go every day and park and pick her up. Cause I can't trust the school, I can't trust the kids, and I just... don't want Mr. 'here kid here's $20' guy to turn out to be malicious.

BONUS STORY:

When Oldest was in kindergarten, we had bussing because actually the street that kiddos have to cross is huge and dangerous. So dangerous that they required us to bus even though we're close. Now that they don't have funding for busses after covid, they just have them walk across it anyway with no crossing guard but WHATEVER. The bus picked our kids up last and dropped them off first.

But! It had a little dogleg kind of route it took and sometimes the bus driver was lazy. This meant that instead of dropping my kid off at the first bus stop, she just got to sit there in terror and watch as the bus drove farther and farther away from her house, OR tell the bus driver he forgot OR just get off and make her way home instead of being in trouble for still being on the bus when it skipped her stop.

Oldest usually chose option #3. So there I am, I've got a 2 year old and I'm 9 months pregnant, and it's pouring down rain, and there's no Oldest at the bus stop. She's 5. I call the school. They call the bus driver. Bus driver is confused, says he'll just swing by when he's done with Oldest.

We wait 25 minutes in the rain.

Bus driver drives up. Shrugs. No kids left.

We start driving around looking, and finally decide well heck maybe she figured out how to get home--and yep SHE DID.

So yeah this school and dismissal... it ain't great. They did that to her about 5 more times that year. She thought it was fun.

[inwintersolitude]

- July 20th 2023 -

Do you think you could handle a job in the medical field? Why or why not? I think I would do well in a medical research type of job. But I'd never want any sort of patient-facing role, I'm not a very people-oriented kind of person.

Would you rather edit photos on your phone or computer? I have Lightroom on both my phone and my laptop and I like them both the same.

What is one electronic device you own that you have not used in a long time? My Kindle. I actually kind of forgot I even had it until I was thinking of an answer to this question.

What is one thing you are currently behind on? Housework. My Granddad passed away a few days ago and I've been too heartbroken to really do anything other than mope around. I'm just taking things day by day right now.

When was the last time you wore a dress or a skirt? I wore a skirt last Friday to the birthday party that my brother and sister-in-law threw for my husband.

When was the last time you had a migraine? Thankfully it's been a while. Maybe like a month?

What is your favorite thing about Instagram? I just like the format of the platform. It's great for all sorts of different type of photo-based content. I use it for mostly nature photography and some photos of just day-to-day life, but I also like all the recipe pages, home decor pages, and I follow a ton of parrot-related pages too.

When was the last time you wore a flower in your hair? Maybe as a kid, if ever?

List three words to describe yourself using the first letter of your middle name. Mellow, mathematically-inclined, methodical.

Have you ever had a friend with the same middle name as you? Not my current middle name, because that's my maiden surname which is kind of rare and not even a given name in the first place. But my middle name used to be Elizabeth, and I do think I had a few friends growing up who had the same middle name.

What color was your locker in high school? Blue? I think?

How many framed pictures of you and a family member or friend can you see from where you're sitting right now? Two.

What is the first thing you think of when you see the rainbow emoji? 🌈 Rainbows..?

When was the last time you got a new pair of glasses? A little over a year ago.

Do you prefer to play chess or checkers? Either.

What color was your first cell phone? Light silver.

Do you remember when smartphones were a new thing that had just come out, and only rich people had them? I definitely remember when smartphones were new, but they weren't really a "rich people only" sort of thing. The very first iPhone was $599, you don't need to be wealthy to afford that.

If you could choose to have been born in a different month, which month would you choose to be born in, and why? I'm fine with my January birthday, I just wish it wasn't in the very first week of January. It gets overshadowed by Christmas and New Years.

….and which month were you actually born in? January.

Does your first name rhyme with anything? (If so, what?) Belly. lol

Have you ever met anyone who didn't like the color blue? I'm not sure.

What color was the last pill you took? White.

How often do you use emojis? Every now and then.

When was the last time you took a selfie? According to my cameral roll… a little over a week ago. I've been taking periodic selfies to track how well my new skincare products are working at fading hyperpigmentation.

How many E's are in your full name? 3.

What is the first letter of the name of the street you grew up on? A. Well, that's the street I lived on the longest. I lived there from ages 6-18.

Which decade were you born in? 90s, barely. My due date was on one of the last days of 1989 but apparently I didn't want to come out. 😂

Who was the last friend of yours to have a birthday? My husband (and best friend) just had his birthday a week ago.

Are you looking forward to your next birthday? Why or why not? 🥳 I guess. I don't feel any certain way about it.

When was the last time you blew up a balloon? I don't remember. It's been years.

If you had to go an entire week without using any technology, what do you think you would spend most of your time doing instead? Reading books. Cooking. Hiking. Going out to restaurants. Playing with my birds. Spending time with relatives. All of which I already do.

What is the first thing you think of when you hear the word "mast"? Ships.

Where is the weirdest place you've ever slept? In the cockpit of a small 2-seat airplane, while flying over Indiana/Ohio LOL. My husband (boyfriend at the time) and I were copilots on our university's competitive flying team and we were ferrying one of the planes back from a national-level competition. I needed a short nap so he took the controls for a little while.

Would you rather travel to Asia or France? Well, Asia is the world's largest continent! So it would totally depend on what part of Asia. I've always wanted to go to Bhutan, I'd rather go there than to France. But I'd rather go to France than, say, Myanmar… or Afghanistan… or Bangladesh.

What is something new that you've learned recently, that you didn't know before? I'm sure there are plenty of little info tidbits I've learned recently, but I can't think of anything specific right now.