honeyjars-sims

[honeyjars-sims]

Tattoo Highlights

Details: 3 tattoo highlights. Coral works best for darker skintones, golden for light skintones, and peachy for medium skintones.

TOU: My TOU is open, I just ask that you credit me!

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[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 1.12 A Welcome Distraction

10 Years Ago

Once we got to my room, Hollis and I both immediately went to my bed and started making out. We both knew what this was, so no point in pretending otherwise.

I felt that twinge in my gut that I'd always had with Carina. The same one that left me feeling used and alone. I pushed it away, trying to convince myself to just enjoy the moment for what it was.

Hollis propped her arms up on my chest and grinned. "I knew I'd end up here eventually," she teased.

"Oh yeah?" I smiled back. "How's that?"

"You're just too cute. I knew I wouldn't be able to resist you for long."

"And what makes you think I wouldn't be able to resist you?" I asked playfully.

She sat up and straddled me. "I just had a feeling," she told me as she pulled her sweater up over her head.

We started getting undressed, pulling off each others' clothes until only a couple of pieces of flimsy fabric separated us. I reached for her bra, eager to remove another barrier.

"Not so fast," Hollis teased, locking her fingers in mine.

Seeing Hollis half dressed was surely a welcome distraction from what was simmering below the surface; but Hollis wasn't Carina, and that realization wouldn't escape my mind. With Carina I felt like a plaything she was just passing time with. I could've been anybody; in fact, she probably would've preferred that.

Hollis, on the other hand, was playful and enthusiastic. As much as I was attracted to her, as much as I wanted to let go and be free in the moment, I just wasn't that type of person--not anymore. There's nothing wrong with casual sex if you're someone who enjoys it, but that wasn't where my head was at the time.

I knew I had to stop this before we went too far.

"Hey," I said softly. "I don't think I can do this."

Hollis sat up abruptly. "Why not? Is it something I did?"

"No, no," I assured her. "I really like you, but I prefer waiting until I know people a little better to have sex. Besides, I'm not in the right headspace for this right now anyway."

"Yeah, I understand that. To be honest, I think I was using this as an excuse to not be emotionally vulnerable with you. I do that sometimes."

"Yeah, me too. Maybe we can get to know each other and see where things go?"

Hollis shook her head gently. "Sorry. I like you, too, but I'm not looking for a relationship now. Or maybe ever. We can be friends, though."

I felt a rush of relief wash through me. I was worried about hurting her feelings, but it seemed we were both just looking for an escape.

After we got that out of the way, it only seemed appropriate that we open up to each other about our complicated pasts. I told her about Jimmy and how my mom got back together with him, and she told me about the pressures of living up to her parents' impossible standards.

I got the sense she was still holding back a bit, but it was a good start to being more vulnerable.

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[honeyjars-sims]

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Envy: You're not gonna try out for anything for the fall?

Sorella: I don't think so... I might have been stretching myself too thin the last few months.

Envy: Told you.

Sorella: [sighs] Everyone did. This year I'm going to need to focus on my senior cabaret. I lucked out, our director for Heathers is going to be working on that too.

Axel: What does that mean?

Sorella: Means a working San Myshuno director will have seen my work in a show and get to see my range. Good for opportunities down the line. Maybe enough that I'd be able to quit the pub.

Envy: Oh fingers crossed for that. I'm gonna grab something to drink from the cart- either of you want anything?

Axel: Nah.

Sorella: Love you forever if you bring me an iced coffee. No su-

Envy: No sugar, non-dairy creamer. I know! You got it. BRB.

Axel: Y'know I've never heard you say anything good about the pub you work at. Why d'you stick with it?

Sorella: The simple answer is I get paid well, and make good enough tips to stick with it. Nearly all of it is going into savings, so after college I'll have some freedom to pursue theatre properly.

Axel: And the less simple answer?

Sorella: I only started hating it after I found out about James. It's where I met him. He always sat at the same table in my section. It's sucks to be constantly reminded of him like that. I spend slow nights dissecting all the lies he told me in that first week alone.

Axel: That seems like a really good reason to quit.

Sorella: It does. But I also know that I can deal until... Maybe May? April if school is more demanding.

Axel: I think you should aim for April. School is more important.

Sorella: So why did you drop out?

Axel: [shrugs] It wasn't for me. The band is my future and there's nothing about it that needs a degree.

Sorella: And yet you also encourage Envy to stick with it.

Axel: It'd be silly for her to drop out when she's nearly done and she has a full ride.

Sorella: I suppose that's true. What if the band doesn't work out? Not that I'm doubting you guys.

Axel: I've never thought about it. Either just confident or delusional. Take your pick.

Envy comes back and sits on Axel's other side, handing the coffee to Sorella.

Envy: I'd call it confidence.

[honeyjars-sims]

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Transcript below the cut:

2 months later…

Alexander: Happy Anniversary. Megan: They’re beautiful, thank you my love. Alexander: Are you about ready? Reservation is at 7. Megan: Almost, I just need five minutes.

Alexander: We’re off. Spencer, you’re in charge, be sure to keep these boys in line. Spencer: I will!

Asher: Ha! I am the undefeated champion!

Spencer: Until tonight.

Asher: Have I ever told you how cute you are when you concentrate like that? Atlas: Yes, now stop distracting me. Asher: I can’t help it. You look so seri—

Asher: Ahhhhahahaha!!!

Atlas: Oops.

Asher: You know whoever’s in charge has to make dinner, right? So, what are you making for us? Spencer: Hmm... Ice cream for me, and broccoli for you! Asher: Ooh yes! I love broccoli. We should add brussels sprouts too. Make sure you steam them so the whole house will smell like vegetables. Spencer: [giggles] Eww!

Atlas: How about I’m in charge and I’ll order pizza. Spencer: Can I still have ice cream? Atlas: Sure. After dinner. Spencer: Deal.

Spencer: When are your babies gonna get here? Atlas: Not for a while. Li isn’t due until January. Spencer: So, is Li going to be their mom? Asher: No, Li is just carrying them for us. Our babies don’t have a mom. Just two dads.

Spencer: Oh. Do the babies have names yet? Asher: One of them does. The girl is named Sadie. Spencer: Why doesn’t the boy have a name? Atlas: We haven’t found one we like yet.

Spencer: Can I help? Atlas: We’re open to suggestions, but no promises. Asher: Yeah, we gotta find one that feels right, y’know. Spencer: Well, you should make sure it starts with an ‘S’. Atlas: Why? Because your name starts with ‘S’? Spencer: No! Because Sadie starts with ‘S’. Your names both start with ‘A’ and the puppies’ names both start with ‘P’ so both the babies should start with ‘S’.

Asher: [considers] Sound logic. Atlas: Yeah. That narrows it down at least. Asher: ‘S’ name it is. Atlas: How about you brainstorm ‘S’ names while you get ready for bed. Spencer: Already? Atlas: Yep. Go on. Spencer: Fine. But there’s a kid in my class named Scott, and he’s mean. He made fun of my drawing in front of everyone, so you can’t name your baby Scott. Asher: Got it. It’s off the list. Now go.

Asher: Hey. You’re home early. Everything okay? Iris: Yeah, just tired. It’s been a long day. Is Spencer in bed already? Atlas: Not yet. She’s getting ready now. Iris: Perfect. Thanks for watching her. Asher: No problem. We had fun.

Iris: Just so you know, I invited Ezra over for dinner tomorrow. Atlas: Why would you do that? Iris: Because he’s my boyfriend, and I want him to meet my family.

Atlas: [rolling his eyes] I don’t know what you see in him. I swear you have the worst taste in men. Iris: Not as bad as my brother.

Asher: Guys, seriously, can you not do this tonight? Iris: Whatever. You don’t have to join us for dinner if you don’t want to, but he is coming and it’s kind of a big deal for me, so please don’t ruin it. Atlas: I won’t. Trust me, I’ll stay as far away as possible. Iris: Perfect.

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 1.11 Sweet Escape

10 Years Ago

I didn't make it very far once I left the apartment. I spotted Hollis sitting on a bench outside and she called me over.

"What's wrong?" She asked, noticing my agitated state.

"I don't want to talk about it," I grumbled. At this point. I still had every intention of leaving to get high.

"Okay, we can just sit," Hollis offered.

But I didn't want to just sit. That restless feeling was still stirring within me, urging me to do anything I could to get rid of my discomfort. "I just don't know why she would do that," I blurted out.

"Who?" Hollis asked, but I wasn't trying to have a conversation. I just needed to let the words spill out of me.

"She's done some shitty things, but I didn't think she was capable of this level of cruelty. How can she love someone who treated me this way? Her own son?"

Hollis put her hand on my shoulder cautiously. "Hey," she said softly. "I don't know what you're talking about, but my parents are shitty, too. Trust me when I say that her behavior isn't a reflection of you."

"I know that. I just thought I could forgive her one day. But now, I don't think I can."

"You don't have to," Hollis assured me. She moved closer, wrapping one arm around me and caressing my arm with the other.

This would have been a good opportunity to talk things out, open up to someone who knew what I was feeling. But the restlessness hadn't left me yet.

I looked at Hollis, really looked at her. Her soft brown eyes were fixed on me, filled with concern and maybe a bit of desire as well. Her golden hair was cascading down her back. Her pink sweater was slipping off of her shoulder, exposing her bronzed skin and bit of her lacy black bra.

She was truly stunning. We looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, tension building between us--the good kind.

I put my hand on her thigh. "You're right," I tell her. "It's not a big deal. Do you want to come upstairs with me?" I asked, gesturing to my apartment.

"Yeah, I do," she replied, and we walked hand in hand into my apartment.

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if you've forgotten or don't know who Eli and Amina are, Check out The Steele Legacy!

Amina: Of course you can play some of your songs! Though, maybe stick to the ones this one [gestures to Axel] wrote.

Envy: [laughs] Obviously. Do you have a head count yet?

Amina: Not a final one, but invites have all gone out. If everyone can come it's gonna be a bit bigger than I imagined.

Envy: How come?

Eli: We made the questionable decision to invite all of Arturo's family.

Amina: If it wasn't for Cordy you would have put off proposing even more. Of course I'm going to invite her!

Eli: Ok fair. And Jamali continues to be starstruck over Ollie.

Envy: Wait, is Oliver Steele actually going?

Amina: Yeah! He RSVP'd immediately. Bringing a plus one too.

Envy: Spike is gonna flip when I tell him! Ollie is essentially his trans idol.

Amina: Awh! Then it makes extra sense to invite him.

Eli: Sure, but there's still 4 others!

Envy: They're gonna outnumber you.

Amina: Maybe. But Arturo is such a sweetie, I'm happy to have his family there too. They all really know how to party.

Eli: Can't argue with that.

Envy: Well I know I'd rather have a bigger crowd to play to!

Amina: Good! Obviously you're welcome to hang at the reception after you're done- OH! I remember the last thing I wanted to ask you, do you have someone who can play the piano?

Envy:Uh… Spike can but it's not his favorite… Oh! My roommate! Duh! I can see if she'd be willing to tag along.

Amina: If she can, let her know we'll pay her too. The more live music we can have the better.

Sorella: Did I hear you volunteering me for something?

Envy: Maybe!

Amina: You play piano?

Sorella: Yeah. My Grandma taught me when I was growing up. I take the SMPA extracurricular class every year too.

Amina: Sooo you'd be confident enough to play a wedding?

Sorella: Oh definitely. Especially since I overheard you'd pay me. What's the date?

Amina: January 16th.

Sorella: I'll put it in my calendar. Need to get to work, Envy can give you my number and we'll figure out the details later!

Amina: Sweet, thank you! I think that's the last thing to get sorted.

Envy: Now to get through the next 6 months without anything going wrong.

Amina: [laughs] I assume everything will go wrong. The only thing that matters is that you are finally my husband.

Eli: The rest is just a bonus.

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 1.10 Old Habits

10 Years Ago

There are some moments that stick with you forever, and when you recall them later in life you remember exactly what you were doing.

This was one of those moments. I was watching TV--some trashy reality show was running a marathon that I somehow got sucked into--when my phone rang.

It was Trinity. I had texted her earlier to ask if she wanted one of the kittens that Taco had recently (don't worry, I got her fixed soon after).

"Hey, Trin," I answered. "Are you calling about the kitten?"

"Yeah, I totally want one!" she exclaimed. "I just need to make sure mom's okay with it. And, um, someone else, too."

I could sense a bit of nervousness in her voice. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well...I need to ask Dad. He kind of lives here now."

I felt a gnawing sensation in my stomach. My mind was racing. Why would Jimmy be living at my mom's apartment? Certainly after everything that happened she wouldn't be stupid enough to trust him again, or cruel enough to betray me like that.

"Trinity, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Don't be mad, but Mom and my Dad kind of got back together."

My stomach was gurgling now. I was afraid I was going to vomit. It felt like ice was running through my veins, but I somehow felt too hot at the same time.

"Please tell me you're joking." My voice couldn't hide what was happening in my body; it was unsteady, shaking, along with the rest of me. I gripped my phone tighter, worried I would drop it with my quivering hands.

"I'm not, but it's not a big deal," Trinity replied with the naivety of a teenager who didn't understand that some things can't be swept under the rug. "He's changed, I promise!"

"I don't care if he changed." I didn't like the curt tone I was using with her, but anger was building in me, threatening to spill out of me like water from a boiling kettle. "He can save every orphan in the goddamn city for all I care. Mom never should have let him back in the house."

"Whatever. You'll see. Anyway, when can I get my kitten?"

"You can't. I'm not letting my cat in the house with your dad. There's no telling what he'll do."

"Johnny, that's so not fair! Why can't you just be happy for me? He's not going to do anything!"

"I'm sorry, but I changed my mind. I can't keep talking about this, but when your dad shows his true colors again, call me and I'll come get you."

I didn't wait for a response. I ended the call feeling restless, desperate to make the pain I was feeling go way.

Unsure of what to do, I texted a few people; my dads, my sisters, Paul. No one got back to me. They were all working, in class, or otherwise occupied. Frustrated, I found myself texting Stephen, Carina's dealer.

Soon I was on my way out the door, eager for a distraction.

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[honeyjars-sims]

Peekaboo!

I didn't end it like they wanted me to - for those "pretending" they didn't know their hateful rants sent people to my inbox telling me to off myself. To the comments asking why I deleted my account, it was to protect myself from randoms wishing me death. To those who found enjoyment in attacking someone they don't know, don't follow, and have never even engaged with their work before, may karma find you. To anyone who's been pushed to the dark place I was pushed to and came out stronger on the other side, I applaud you. I've enjoyed the break and I'll continue to enjoy time away. Just wanted to stop in an say thanks to those who've always been kind and continue to spread kindness.

Anyone so bold behind a computer screen, but lacks the common sense to educate themselves before spreading hate - I'll pray for you. Not everyone's style, humor, writing, art, etc matches everyone's taste and that's fine. If I wrote something that triggered you, if you had actual concerns or questions my inbox was always open. Instead, hateful people behaved cruelly and acted without context. Ironically, Ares would be proud. He's an idiot who says dumbshit all the time (something they'd know if they knew the story). Still, praying for you.

Much love to all those who've continued to be lights in my darkest hour. Continue sharing your crafts and don't let predators dull your shine. See you all soon.

[honeyjars-sims]

On the bike again, sun high, cutting through salted road tracks around Fairview Park. Over the Tolka, the Royal Canal, O’Connell Bridge across the Liffey—water like slush in there, churning instead of flowing. I could do this ride with my eyes shut. A hundred times, weaving the city’s arteries, knowing them like the veins on my wrist. But under snow, Dublin is extraterrestrial. A surreal experience as the lights turn amber to red, pedestrian crossing clicking with nobody to cross. Shadows are sharp and perfect as the old Georgians along the quay throw geometric shapes like paper cutouts. My gears clunk, chain clicking, careening around Westmoreland Street. Tyres bump over tram tracks. Barricades of snow, shovel-blackened, line the edge of every road. Icy wind in my face draws tears from the corners of my eyes as I pedal on. 

Jen’s living in Ranelagh these days. Basement flat of a little redbrick place off Sallymount Avenue. It’s horrendous in that sort of authentic Dublin way. Obligatory bathroom mould, kind of thing. Paint on one side of the house is bubbling with damp, and the perpetual smell of old cigarettes permeates every corner. A film of sticky yellow residue from a long departed smoker still clings to the low ceilings, which I ran my finger though the last time I visited. Rolled it into a gooey dust ball and stuck it in Jen's face when she was trying to wash the dishes.

She’s in her bedroom painting her toes when I haul my bicycle through the weeds and chain it to the fence. I pound my fist on the window and frighten her. Mouth in a startled little O before she grins at me, her usual wicked smile. A mouth full of short, rounded teeth. 

“Well you. Are you chilly?” she says, unlatching the door.

“Yeah,” I launch myself inside, grabbing her head and kissing the top of it a dozen times while she cackles. She’s done something weird to her hair again, half white, half black, split down the middle like Cruella De Vil. “Any luck with those dalmatians?” I ask. She ignores me and slams the door behind us. 

“Welcome home, stranger,” she heads for the kitchen, MDF cabinets bloated with water damage. Barefoot, her heels are blackened from the dirt of the floor. “Will you have a coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks. That’d be really nice.” Seat myself at the table then. Textbooks strewn about, eyes glazing over the titles as the kettle boils and she spoons instant coffee into a mug. “How’s college?”

“Shite. How about you?”

“It’s alright.”

“Are they still wanking themselves off over your paintings over in Berlin? Turner the Wonderboy.”

I just smile. “I’m doing fine.”

She throws her head back in a laugh. “Say no more. And the rest of it all? The job?”

“Oh, Christ.” Weakened from even thinking about it, I have to put my head on the table. 

“Not great, is it?” Jen sinks into the seat opposite and slides the mug to me. I hold it, slightly too hot to touch, and let the warmth prickle through my palms. Staring into its murky depths like a crystal ball, while chunks of undissolved grounds float about the surface. A pair of eyes laden with dark circles stare back. 

“Do I look corpse-like these days? I feel like I’m sort of rotting from the inside out.”

“No. Sure you’re only gorgeous. You get more gorgeous every time I see you.”

“Hmph.”

“Welcome to the working world,” she says, her glee barely disguised. I’m starting to see things for how they are now, in a depressing sort of way. Looking back on things I said to her before, about not affording things or not feeling welcome in certain places, and cringing about it. To know I was ignorant and spoiled, going about my life with my nose in the air while my friends faced struggles beyond my comprehension. Even last year, when Jen moved here, I told her to pick a nicer place. Somewhere with natural light, closer to town, assuming my logic was flawless. I want to tear through the fabric of time and sock myself across the jaw. 

Sipping her coffee, Jen leans back and gazes out the tiny window into the yard out back. It’s a tip out there. A nearby business uses it to store its bins and dump its miscellaneous waste, though nobody actually knows if they have permission to do so. “And how’s the lovely miss Astrid? The most recent pics I saw of ye were off in Slovenia or somewhere, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah, our anniversary trip. That was November. She’s fine. She’s…” I trail off and stare at the table. The upstairs neighbour crosses the room overhead, the thump of feet shaking the ceiling. The TV goes on. It’s so loud we can hear every word of the afternoon weather report. “She’s doing well with her ceramics,” I manage. “She’s got an exhibition on next week, which she’s pretty excited about.”

“Oh, wow, yeah. Good for her.” Jen’s smiling encouragingly, eager to show that my relationship with Astrid doesn’t bother her. Wants me to know she supports the choices I have made, even if lately I don’t even really support them myself. It’s my fault it’s like this anyway, with Jen, I mean. The times she’s expressed doubts about the fairness or ethics of my relationship, I’ve made her feel like her opinion is an imposition. Defending Astrid, like, no, she doesn’t mean it like that/I know it sounds bad, but it’s just the way she says it/She finds it hard to sound sincere. “I just care about you,” she said glumly during a call, and I made sure to smile, so it came across in my voice. “I know, Jen, and I love that about you. It’s just that it’s hard to ‘get’ a relationship when you’re not in it. I don’t want to feel you’re judging her when you actually just don’t know her.” Eventually, Jen stopped venturing beyond the realm of small-talk. This bright smile is her way of staying out of it.

“I’ve seen her ceramics online, actually. They’re cool,” she says.

“Oh, yeah? You think?”

“I followed her on Instagram a while back, yeah,” her smile strains before she adds, “they’re not ceramics you’d have clattering around your kitchen, though, are they? They’re a bit out there.”

“Yeah, so basically they’re not meant to be functional. They’re meant to reflect, like, states of metamorphosis and conflict, creating, um, organic shapes inspired by human figures and the landscapes of northern France where she has spent a lot of time. She fires them multiple times to kinda represent the passage of time. It’s a whole statement, rather than, you know, a mug to have your tea out of.”

“Aw yeah. Dead cool. I wouldn’t have got all that from looking at them.”

Silence. Jen takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes flicking toward the window. “All good to see Shane later?”

“Yeah. That dinner thing? Of course. Why?”

She nods, still looking out, like she’s working something out in her head. Then: “Did he—” She stops. Frowns slightly. “Never mind.”

I sit up. “What?”

“It’s nothing.”

I just look at her.

She sighs. “Did he text you about Evie’s birthday thing?”

A jolt of energy moves between us. “No,” I say, carefully. “He didn’t.”

“Oh.” A wince. “Shit. He probably meant to. You know what he’s like. Or maybe he texted me and assumed I’d text you, which is my bad…” she does not stop speaking, and I do not stop her, both knowing if I allow her to go on, we will not have to acknowledge the situation, as the room tips slightly, becoming unreal.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s totally fine,” I hear myself saying in between gaps in her words, weaving in and out of her cyclical ramblings, reassuring myself, really. “Simple mistake. It’s no big deal. It’s fine, it’s fine. Jen. Nobody’s fault.”

“No, but we don’t have to go,” she’s saying. “I told him maybe, you know, maybe if we felt like going, but it’s going to be mostly people from her college, I think. It could be completely be weird if we went, you know? Since we don’t know her anymore, really, do we?”

“No, you’re right, yeah. We wouldn’t have to.”

“And when I saw her months ago, she said she doesn’t care about any of it anymore, so.”

I stop. “You saw her?”

Jen blinks. “Yeah, yeah. I saw her at some bar. Did I not tell you that either?”

“Uh, no. I think I’d remember if you did.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, yeah… I was out one Friday in this bar on Dame Lane. One of those horrible swanky places where cocktails are like a million euro. Ran into her in the toilets fixing her makeup.” Her eyes flicker away, avoiding mine. “I didn’t even know it was her at first. She was like… I dunno, like, all sharp angles, tiny little dress with her whole back out. Different, you know?”

Leaning forward now, chewing on that word. Different. Fascinated by its implications. The feeling she’s some unlockable character, an outline with features unrevealed. Discover myself loathing the idea of change. I don’t want it. I want her to be where I left her, on that beach, lying on a beach towel in some perpetual summer, waiting for me to come back. 

“How?”

She shrugs, a forced gesture. “Oh, like, she just looked like she belonged there.” 

“That’s not what you actually mean.”

She presses her lips together. “Okay, well, like, she was cold, Jude. I tried to bring up that summer, just to clear the air, say I was sorry for sticking my nose in, but she shut it down. Properly shut it down. Acted like I was dragging up ancient history that no one but me even cared about.”

A flicker of something ugly moves through me. “Right.”

“She actually said, why are you talking to me about this?” she shakes her head. “Like I was a weirdo.”

“Oh.”

“And then about half an hour later,” Jen hesitates, then, knowing the next part will land wrong. Saying it anyway. “She was outside, tongue kissing some guy in the smoking area like her life depended on it.”

A sharp pulse in my stomach. I have to glance away. “Really?”

“Yes.” She lowers her voice to a gossipy whisper. “Aggressively. Like she wanted people to see.”

A beat of silence. We look at each other. “Well,” I say, my voice light and detached as I can manage. “I suppose she can do what she wants, can’t she?”

“Yeah, power to the women, et cetera. He wasn’t handsome, by the way. He was kind of vegetarian looking.”

I squint. “I don’t actually give a shit how vegetarian-looking the men she kisses are. That’s not something I’m up at night wondering about.” 

She laughs. “Oh, right, well, I’m just saying. Anyway, that’s just reminded me I have to tell you about this lad my mate was going out with. Talk about weird men. He was into improv comedy, and the first date, took her to an open mic comedy show…” 

I stare blankly while she talks. Words swimming around me like abstract sounds muffled behind a screen. Sharp angles. She said. Where? Her cheeks? Her hips? A vision of said backless dress, curve of her spine, leaning over a sink. Blue lights. The Evie in my head covers her face in embarrassment at the thought of wearing a dress like that. “God, no,” she cries. “You wouldn’t catch me dead. I’d never.” 

“... and he bombed.” Jen says with emphasis. “Like, nobody laughed. They actually heckled him.”

“Oh, gas.” I reply. 

And kissing this vegetarian-looking guy. What is it with that? Liam from the surf shack was relatively vegetarian-looking, thinking back on it, wasn’t he? Big leather sandals on him. Is that actually just what she likes? Feeling threatened now by men who get the lentil burger off the pub menu. I could take him down onto the floor in three seconds with the power of animal protein. I boast to imaginary Evie inside my head. She’s not listening to me. Her boyfriend is showing her how he makes deodorant out of coconut oil. 

“... she went on a second date too, after all that. And it was so much worse…”

I drain my coffee, drum my fingers on the side of the mug. Get up and wander towards the window and look out of it. “Mm. Some guys are just so fucking weird,” I say as Jen expands the universe of this nightmare date, introducing the element of one-sided polyamory. 

“... anyway, she’s better at telling the story. I’ll get her to tell you herself. Hey, maybe after dinner I'll invite her over. We could grab a few cans and just hang out here. What do you think?”

I’m fixated on a robin, hopping from one snowy twig to the next. “Hm? No. I think I’ll go to the party.”

She stops. Makes a sound that isn’t quite a laugh. “Wait, are you messing?” 

“No, whatever. We’ll just swing by and say hello.”

I don’t look around to see her reaction, but feel it, a charge in the air. “Jude, like… Sorry, but what’s the point of that?”

“A few drinks. It’ll be fine. Just say happy birthday to her, and then we can go. I just want to be civil.” 

“Okay.. are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like that anymore between us anyway, you know? She doesn’t care, and I obviously don’t care either. It’s just, like, two old friends running into each other.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, then with resignation, says, “alright, I suppose if that’s what you want to do.”

I stretch. Easygoing. Roll my neck and shoulders, shaking something off me. “Yeah. It’ll be fine. It’s casual.”

The silence sits between us, stretching out as she watches me, waiting for something. But I don’t give her anything. Nothing to give. 

 Outside, the robin takes fright and flits away, disappearing into the perfect blue sky. 

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[honeyjars-sims]

Trenton State Visit Part Two

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Elizabeth and Nathanael belong to @trentonsimblr 😊

Transcript under the cut

Alex: This is a lot

Victoria: At least you don’t have to do this with a bowling ball strapped to you as you step out in front of the cameras

Alex: You look beautiful

[honeyjars-sims]

Chapter 44.6

Greta Hawthorne thumbs through the pictures in concentrated silence. Her subtle yet obviously expensive perfume wafts through the air, carried by the air conditioning unit working overtime against the late summer sun that insists on bearing down on the valley.

She pauses to hold up one of the photos, squinting at it as if she’s inspecting counterfeit currency. Then she closes the folder with my name and places it on top of the rather impressive stack on her desk.

“Paul, these headshots are almost a decade old. And while they’re good – those full-body ones are particularly impressive – you’re not thirty any more. We need something current.”

I shift awkwardly, feeling heat rise in my cheeks at both her admonishing tone and the unexpected compliment.

“I’ve been meaning to update them,” I mumble, my voice sounding less confident than I’d intended.

She leans forward slightly, her piercing blue eyes locked on mine.

“Stop meaning and start doing. Book something for next week. I’ll send you some names of photographers I trust.”

“Got it,” I nod quickly, trying to hide my embarrassment.

She scribbles something onto the notepad, already moving on. “And you said you don’t have a manager?”

“Uh, no. Not yet.”

“Then who’s managing your social media presence?”

“I guess… I am,” I say hesitantly. “I’m not exactly active, though.”

She puts down the pen, shaking her head as if I just confessed to something truly scandalous.

“Paul, if you’re serious about getting back in the game, you need the right people around you, people who know what they’re doing. I have someone in mind, if that’s OK with you?”

I nod again, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest, painfully aware of how amateurish I must look. Heat pricks at the back of my neck. What am I even doing here? Over fifteen years in the business and it feels like I’m starting from scratch.

Greta leans back, the chair creaking softly beneath her. She glances down at her notes.

“Now, before we dive into the specifics, why did you step away from on-camera acting? Voice work is fine, of course, but with your history?” She shrugs. “People wonder.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Most worthwhile things are,” she replies bluntly. “What happened?”

“Llama Man happened.” I pause, searching for the right words. “Don’t get me wrong, it was mostly great. I will forever be grateful for everything that role got me, for getting to play such an iconic character. But that’s also the problem, isn’t it? After the show ended, that’s all I was known for. I’d show up to auditions where the director had no intention of casting me, they just wanted to meet me. Most of the time, they’d say they couldn’t take me seriously as anything else, or they’d want me to essentially play the exact same role. I couldn’t break free. So after a while, I just… gave up, I guess. And then they made the animated series and I’ve had plenty of voice work since.”

Her eyes narrow. “When was your last screen audition?”

“Maybe five or six years ago. I never liked them, the whole process feels like an exercise in humiliation.”

Greta arches an eyebrow. “Well, you will have to suck it up and get yourself out there again. Beggars can’t be choosers, Paul.”

“I’m not a beggar,” I reply gruffly, feeling my jaw tighten defensively. “I’m independently wealthy.” The words slip out before I can stop them, childish, I know, but the mere thought of stepping back into an audition room puts me on edge.

She peers at me over her glasses, choosing to ignore my outburst. Clearly a professional, unlike me. “Are there any directors or producers I should avoid reaching out to on your behalf?”

“Uh…”

She catches my hesitation immediately.

“Spill it, Paul. Everything that happens in this room is confidential, and I can’t help you properly unless I know. Neither of us want any nasty surprises.”

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat. “Well, there might be one. Floyd Kauffman.”

“Kauffman? Why?”

“There was an… incident.”

“Could you be more specific?”

I don’t want to, but something tells me Greta won’t let it go that easily. “I, uh, accidentally slept with his wife.”

Greta raises her eyebrows. “Accidentally?“

The memory is surprisingly clear. Irene had been flirting with me on set for weeks, and I was still somewhat new to being famous, to being approached by beautiful women instead of being the one to take the initiative.

All I knew was that she was the director’s personal assistant, and it made sense that she wanted to meet in secret to keep it professional on set. Her fingers softly brushing against me when she passed by soon turned into stolen kisses in the dressing room, the tension becoming more unbearable for each day.

I should have realised when I saw the house, but I followed her blindly to the bedroom, caught up in my eagerness to finally taste her, feel her, do all the things I had been fantasising about for so long. We quickly lost track of time.

And then Floyd came home. Irene tried to calm him down but I was certain that he was going to throttle me. He shoved me into the wall, raging, yelling incoherently – and then he hesitated, as if realising that there was still one more week of filming left and makeup can only hide so much.

Kauffman’s movies always came first. Maybe that’s why Irene did what she did.

A wave of embarrassment heats my face as I hide it in my hands.

“I mean, I slept with her on purpose, obviously, but I didn’t know she was his wife.” I didn’t want to know either, never paid enough attention or asked the obvious questions. Naivety or plausible deniability? I no longer remember.

Greta firmly marks something on her notepad. “Very well, he’s out then.” She smirks slightly, amusement in her voice. “Any other directors you’ve cucked, accidentally or otherwise?”

I groan through my fingers.

“… none that I’m aware of.”

“Good enough,” she says, returning to her notes, unfazed. “We’ll get new headshots, clean up your socials, and find you a reliable manager. Do you know Miles Donovan? He’s fantastic with comebacks.”

“Fine by me.” I suddenly feel exhausted. “Greta, I have to ask – why me? Sierra says you’ve been wanting me to call for years. But you’re the best. You can have your pick. So why do you want to work with someone who’s been out of the spotlight for nearly a decade? Surely you can find someone less… difficult to represent.”

Greta just smiles, then stands and turns towards the window behind her. She reaches up to open the blinds and the large diamond on her hand glitters, catching the relentless sun. I remember the small ring box still hidden in my bedroom. I really should get around to returning that.

“Come here, Paul.”

Her voice is suddenly soft, her back still turned. I join her by the large window.

“Both of my sons grew up watching you save the world every week. You were their hero. You were everyone’s hero. We all wondered what you’d do next. And then you just… disappeared.”

Across the street, on the old theatre building, an ancient billboard still proudly displays a weathered Llama Man logo.

She turns to me.

“Recognising talent is my job, Paul. More than that, it’s my life. And I can’t stand to see it wasted. I want to get you back on that screen, and I want to remind people why they fell in love with Paul Romeo in the first place.”

I feel an odd tug of emotion, a mixture of long-forgotten pride, shame, and something else. A sense of excitement that I haven’t felt in years.

“Well, I suppose if anyone can do that, it’s you.”

She sends me a wry smile.

“Welcome back, Paul.”

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[honeyjars-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟒   ❛ 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 ❜   |   RIVA DORATA, TARTOSA, MAY 1998

For a time, Renzo maintained a strict division between the life he shared with Leonor and the professional existence that adjoined it. This was the only thing he was strict about—at least, in theory, for a transient moment, until he devolved into a more comfortable, equivocal laxity about that, too.

[narrative continued, long as hell, below ↓]

𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟰 🅐🅤 ‣ start \ prev \ next

big thank you to the cameos in this one which apparently ended up being a glimpse everyone except siri's ?? sorry girl ! apologies there isn't more screen time or dialogue in this post, but stay tuned ♥️

@armoricaroyalty @theroyalsofcorrilea @earthmoonz @crvptydgaming @houseofrenaldi @simsishh @nilonne @crownsofesha

lastly: i am way too tired to do a proper Author's Note and will surely edit this when i am fully conscious and embarrassed by it BUT in the meantime, well, enjoy and let me know what you think! channeling the energy of jfk jr & carolyn public quarrel pics meets 90 day fiance meets every industry couple ever complaining about work travel … this is only a slice of the diversity of careful research that went into this nonsense … astonishing, amusing, bizarre findings. & i arbitrarily chose 1998 but feel like it should be earlier ...'96-97' perhaps … lastly 2x, hilarious to me that all of this drama is because Leonor Learned Creating Nepo Babies Is Hard Work, Actually—

CONTINUED:

Their departure from Uspana wasn’t a calculated decision so much as an abrupt flight with no thought spared as to what it meant for his career. It had, after all, panned out in the past. Dropping everything was a convenient reset button he could and did smash at will: Petunia to Los Angeles, Los Angeles to Nakawe, Nakawe to New York. This was just another chapter—a third act. How and when it took shape didn’t matter. Money wasn’t an issue. Even if it were, the demands and specifications of Leonor’s lifestyle were so extravagant that the shape of this new life slipped into her hands, or her purse, as it were. They learned that the hard way, but it was for the best. Renzo could return calls from agents and producers and photographers and journalists and designers and everyone else eager for a piece of him when he felt like it. They wouldn’t stop calling, and he wouldn’t care if they ever did.

As a passenger on this journey, Leonor watched how he moved with bewilderment. His lackadaisical disposition wasn’t new to her. Everyone theorized about him for good reason. Was it a persona—the coolness that kept his celebrity star on the rise? Or, if he was like that, how to account for the many incidents where he patently was not? Was he the unruly partier, the defiant miscreant, the reflective artist, the bashful everyman he seemed to be? He was all of it, Leonor knew: apathetic, easygoing, impetuous, and temperamental; motivated by hardheaded opinions, reckless disregard, and a pernicious yet constantly frustrated need to go unnoticed. It was a compelling archetype for someone like him. Aloof actors with turbulent insides were a Hollywood favorite. So, her concern ebbed and flowed. She had chosen to follow him on the conviction that they needed nothing except the other’s attention and affection. It was a romantic fantasy, but it was also an effective guard against meddling. It wasn’t her business because she didn’t have business anymore, and that wouldn't be a bad thing. It was good, in fact. It was exactly what she wanted. More than a want, it had been a necessity.

Yet, as time passed, she itched to pounce on the crumbs of information he left scattered. She heard snippets of calls he took. She listened to him mull over opportunities, grumbling to himself about considerations she didn’t understand. His money was less orderly than hers—not tied up in property and investments, except for the house he maintained for his parents—but she could see how it came and went. What exactly he did once he agreed to a job and humbled himself to be bound by legalese, she wasn’t sure. Although he talked about it in opaque ways, and she asked fumbling if earnest questions, her technical understanding came from overheard conversations with his peers. She met them on occasion, the many colleagues with whom he shared projects or just a profession. They all passed whatever test he required to access his leisure time and all possessed eccentricities that, for her, put his own in perspective. They were strange people. Nonetheless, the full picture remained far from complete, refusing to cohere, just beyond her grasp.

Leonor did know more than she had at the beginning, when they made a hotel suite home for three weeks and insulated themselves from the realities waiting beyond its walls. They needed a house. They needed something to do. They needed more money, probably. They needed more drugs and definitely needed more of the greasy takeout noodles they gleefully devoured in the plush hotel bed when they remembered to eat. As details of their new life finally began to solidify, she ventured a question, wondering aloud, “I thought you were going to do that film?” Renzo had been lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, scratching his fingertips against the thick rug fibers beneath his hands. As she sat down and lifted his head into her lap, he replied, “Pulled out.” They had snickered, and that was it.

Things changed fast. Their aspiration had been to rent a cool house for storing art and entertaining friends, not to build a nest for a family. At first, Leonor’s concern bubbled over. She envisioned another day-long flight back to Uspana, much of it to be spent in the tiny closet that passed for a restroom. That wasn’t what she wanted. Yet, her first reaction was a sudden, overwhelming desire for home. It didn’t take very long to sour that longing with hard truths. What she wanted didn’t exist anymore. There had been a world where she might have rushed home and into her mother’s waiting arms. Safya would know what to say as she stroked Leonor’s hair, and she would share memories of her own that Leonor had never heard before. She would insist it was natural to be terrified and, worse, distressed by a small seed of secret joy. Safya had a way of speaking with such sunny yet serious warmth that made the harshness of one’s troubles easier to face. ‘Just wrap your arms around it,’ she often murmured. ‘No worry is bigger than you.’ And that—that would provide an ideal break for Leonor to anguish over the inevitability of becoming even bigger. It wouldn’t be a joke, not really, but they would laugh together, and then Safya would hide her rueful understanding behind the comforting lie that everything would be okay.

Leonor never questioned how important their family was to him, but she did question even now whether he understood what it meant to have one. Neither of his parents had been the doting type. That seemed to motivate him as much as it hindered him. He took an enthusiastic yet solemn approach to the best and worst of parenting, and she delighted in those moments when something Gael or Liliana did left him wonderstruck. It was the small, unremarkable things: Gael’s insistent, matter-of-fact babbling while they played; Liliana’s drowsy, bemused blinking as she awoke from an unplanned nap in an unexpected location; the intoxicating scent they each had as newborns, one best inhaled while nuzzling their soft spots. Before Gael arrived, he spent many evenings chewing cigarillos with a pregnancy book in one hand while the other rubbed circles into her back. She would see his furrowed brow cast in lamplight when she invariably rolled over and back again, uncomfortable in her body but at least soothed by the sight. 

While her mother’s hands-on parenting meant she had tender memories of her infant brothers, Renzo was an only child. ‘My experience with babies starts when you pop that out,’ was his frank summary. She had assured him then that they would figure it out together and, now, she had become increasingly aware of what figuring remained. Leonor wasn’t quite naive enough to believe everyone had a personal banker responsible for managing their sprawling, complex maze of bequeathed family wealth. Yet, having her own children alerted her to how unnatural that was. Even her own trustee offered what was perhaps his first unsatisfying response when she asked him to help. ‘My hands are tied, my princess. I was appointed by your mother, with the Crown’s permission, and your son, well …’ Leonor had cleared her throat to stop him from stumbling through the words. She knew well enough. Like an organ removed from its body, she was weakened, enfeebled, isolated and drained by the separation. 

Renzo, of course, laughed at the situation. ‘You want a trust fund for him? Okay, sure. Fine. Paperwork for a baby. Don’t cry over it! Jesus. Some kids don’t have fucking food to eat, you know.’ She did know that, but she had wanted to shout at him, so she said something provocative. It wasn’t hard to devolve into personal attacks; how could she be blamed for not having a “real job” when he was a “failed musician” who “played pretend” for a living? Why was this “piddling princessy bullshit” his problem when she spent thousands monthly on “dumb shit” no one cared about? When one didn’t understand something said, they took a break to mock each other’s accents. Those were the light fights that ended in better-natured laughter.

On the worst occasion, they had stomped upstairs together, Leonor nearly knocking him down on the way, to begin an inventory of ‘useless junk no one cares about.’ Later, they both wept when she returned to the scene and started fretting over his broken records and the gaping holes in her canvases. They exchanged apologies and made promises, including the charming ‘pinky swears’ whose foreign absurdity easily cracked her scowl with laughter. If nothing else, their hard and fast reconciliations almost made it all worthwhile—or, that was the delirious conclusion Leonor’s mind would drift toward before she heard a familiar echo in her memory. Renzo had his own unpleasant cacophony of recollections. They locked their fingers, stifled any leftover giggles, and promised, among other things, to remember that their innocent, curious, impressionable child deserved better memories.

His hiatus didn’t drag on forever, and it was Leonor who called Sharon Greenwater—with Renzo’s blessing—to ensure it had an end in sight. She had never met Sharon, even though she had helped her land this job. The onslaught of attention that associating with a princess on her home turf heaped onto his already high profile necessitated it. He thought otherwise but, not for the first time, took a leap of faith. It had flattered her that he accepted her advice. On paper and in her immature mind, that was the only smart move. There were entire worlds he knew better than she ever would, and he had packed more experience into the near-decade he had on her than most people did in a lifetime. But this? ‘This is what I know,’ she had insisted. He listened better when they were eye to eye, skin to skin. He was less wise than she was, less of a professional, but more emotional. If she used the same tone and touched him the same way sometime later, saying, ‘Remember? You promised me,’ then he melted and caved. 

This strategy worked well after another blockbuster argument and the marathon reconciliation that followed.  Renzo had shot down her proposal to let the clan mothers back home rename their baby. Even as she pitched the idea, explaining in a prim and credible way that it could unlock a portfolio of “lucrative coffee estates” in a “scenic provincial sector” of Uspana for Gael to inherit “as a start,” she watched his expression slide from curiosity to revulsion to a look of amusement that riled her up faster than any words could. ‘Are you fucking crazy? Are you out of your goddamn mind?’  They talked over one another and lowered themselves, this time slinging mud in the form of class-based insults. Leonor called him something vile, a niche derogation about going barefoot whose heft back home she promptly prayed he wouldn’t understand. But, he did—enough to insist she had effectively “tarred her own kid” with the same stain, which was why her “family of leeches” thought inheriting “nothing but poverty” would suit him just fine. ‘He’s not even a Reyes. You made damn sure of that, didn’t you?  You did that!  Boo-fucking-hoo.’  What could she say to that? She picked up her cup from the coffee table and threw its contents at him, letting it hit the ground after the satisfying split-second splash. She left him soaked and, standing there with his bare feet, surrounded by thick chunks of broken crystal glassware. 

He later found her upstairs in bed on the telephone with her brother. She was already speaking in a hushed tone but hurried to end the call as the wooden steps finished their tell-tale creaking. Renzo lingered, waiting until she returned the receiver to its cradle and beckoned him over. She murmured the regards Mateo sent him, patted the bed, and didn’t resist when he pulled her closer, over one outstretched leg, squarely into his lap. It worked for her. After all, she didn’t look at him until after he had begun to talk.

He offered an apology, an earnest explanation, and his own proposal. The answer was to return Sharon Greenwater’s calls, but his resistance to that wasn’t altogether dissimilar from his resistance to submitting, infant-first, to the harsh glare of Uspana’s spotlight and her family’s scrutiny. Unlike his colleagues and peers and unwanted fans, they wouldn’t be generous. The sensitive little boy inside of him was well-used to insults that attacked those flaws and deformities he couldn’t change. That little boy felt just as protective of the one they now shared, too—felt empathetic, having learned the bittersweet lesson that too much attention could hurt just as much as too little. 

Leonor chose to look at him as he began to weave these concerns together for her. Did she know how often he still felt fright and panic living within himself like a parasite? He could numb it or run from what fed it, but he couldn’t kill it. Interviews and critiques, Hollywood or the House of Tecuani, fame or family, it was the same. ‘I don’t do this for my health,’ he’d chuckled, gesturing in the direction of his own bedside where bottles and bags and an overflowing ashtray sat. He kept tapes there: live shows of discordant, frenetic jazz and blues rock that she could hear through his headphones when he laid there, still and serene, at peace like the dead.

When he initially told her about his first major film premier, he’d only said he didn’t watch it. He left after one scene, he claimed, to go chain smoke on a stoop outside one of the service doors instead. Only, it sounded like sly proof of nonchalance back then. She had been too busy picturing what he looked like in those days, harboring a newfound desire to make him watch his cheesy romantic comedy with her, and taking note of the fact that she could have fit in seamlessly with those “teenybopper” crowds he had so disdained. Now, she understood. Her response sounded soft but solemn as she assured him, ‘You don’t have to worry about that. I want to be there with you. It’s the one thing in the world I know how to do. Just let me.’ 

So, Sharon Greenwater, a jack-of-all-trades agent with a wide network and a bullish demeanor, reentered his life. He liked her for some reasons he had liked Leonor: she was mean and honest, she never let herself be wrong, and she let him believe his choices were indeed his own. Though, there were exceptions. She found The Last Con for him around the same time that he finished reading Yuling Zhao’s latest script. Leonor, observing from the outside, wasn’t surprised that his agent begged him to sign onto a guaranteed money-maker helmed by a certified industry darling while he drifted toward an artsy period drama penned by a friend. Sharon wasn’t surprised either. She tried the “veggies-and-dessert” approach. If he gravitated toward soulful projects, she reminded him those “empty safes” required a big deposit. ‘Come on. You know the drill. Buck the fuck up, buttercup, right?’ He scrawled his name on contracts for high-concept advertisements and low-commitment television cameos when the bargaining was done. This time, what did surprise Leonor was his quick compromise. He was on the phone with Sharon for a follow-up to discuss the two options when he heaved a heavy sigh and exclaimed, ‘Fuck it, let’s do both.’ That gave Sharon pause, too, apparently. After a few beats, he told her he was sure. He said he missed feature lengths. He said the workload would be fine.  ‘Baptism by fire,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fucking born again, baby. These dumbass dimwits love that.’ 

Having been eavesdropping, Leonor experienced a pang of trepidation on the heels of her initial excitement. She was relieved but suspected his success would not be so simple for herself and, even more, their family. That pang became recurrent, and her unease reached a crescendo when his looming absence cast a dark shadow over unexpected news of a second baby. That shock felt different this time—not wholly unpleasant, not wrapped far too tightly in fear and uncertainty—but still inspired mixed feelings in them both. For her part, Leonor didn’t harbor those original worries about his reaction and their relationship. It wasn’t hard to see how another child would fit into a life that was already molding around an infant. What was hard to envision was spending so much of that months-long wait alone. She had acquired her own local art scene connections, ingratiated herself with Renzo’s long-standing friends in the city, returned ignored voicemails from his mother, and never hesitated to rack up telephone bills for international calls. 

None of it would be enough. 

That was what she lamented on the eve of his departure to San Francisco, which sounded ridiculous even to her ears. Her plaintive tone did bother him. That she sounded so forlorn while she sat rubbing yet another coat of body butters and oils into her belly didn’t help. She lacked the energy to argue. Doing so might have given her a jolt of agitation that could dispel the distress for a few wasted minutes. Instead, they fell quiet. It was tension, not peace, that filled the room as he continued tossing random items into his suitcase. ‘Don’t bring that! You can buy more when you get there,’ she thought of complaining. ‘Do you need to smoke that right now?’ she could have asked or, better yet, accused. Worse, it occurred to her that she could have stabbed him directly: ‘You didn’t even ask me to come with you. I know why—a hundred reasons, probably, skinny little brunettes and blondes and those ugly red hairs—’ While she stewed, he crammed in clothes that were already wrinkled alongside dirty boots and dog-eared paperbacks. She gritted her teeth as he threw in a handful of her candy. His thoughts boiled down to a simple kind of refrain: ‘This is what you wanted, Leonor.’

Instead, once the bag was closed, he returned to her with a resolute look on his face. Sinking to his knees at the bedside, he took over the gentle massaging that made their hands slick and sweetly scented. She could tell he had something to say, and she had picked out several of her own opening lines. In theory, she would swallow her apprehension and offer him one like a blooming flower or a white flag. He saved her the trouble. ‘If it’s too hard, just come, okay? Bring Gael, whatever. If you can’t, I’ll come to you. It’s easy. If it’s not, I don’t give a shit. Doesn’t work for them? Maybe the stars are just aligned wrong, or whatever the fuck, this time, and we try again.’ Leonor couldn’t suppress her grin, and she didn’t try to suppress her excited follow-up, one whose harmless absurdity made him laugh. ‘No, no, no! You behave, and I’ll be brave,’ she replied. ‘Because I really, really, really want to go to Tartosa with you next year!’ 

TRANSCRIPT:

[Chatter, cameras shuttering]

[Photographers shouting]

TYLER | Here comes another big one! Renzo Ledford is no stranger to Tartosa’s biggest event, but he is doing double duty this year. It’s the first time for Leonor Reyes. How exciting!

TYLER | —and this is the first time we’ve seen you right here, isn’t it? RENZO | Here? Well, yeah, here.

TYLER | Right, on this landing, where the cameras are. You’ve attended the festival some over the years, but you sure do a great job of dodging us. I’d love to know how we missed you last time! RENZO | Fishing boats.

[Seagull calls, indistinct conversations, clattering, splashing water, miscellaneous overlapping market sounds]

TYLER | Oh! [Chuckles] Um, I see, you mean—? RENZO | She wanted the grand entry—Right? Come on, you did. Don’t be bashful—but me? What you do is hitch a ride on the fishing boats.

[Loud, snorting laughter]

RENZO | See? Great guys, to a man, honestly. Fascinating work. And I could sorta blend in, you know? Incognito. But this one? TYLER | [Laughs] Not as fit for a princess as the luxury speedboats?

LEONOR | I just thought he should have the full experience for once. TYLER | Film week in Tartosa is a special experience! Lots of traditions, lots of attractions, lots of locals and fans, lots of— RENZO | Lots of horsesh—Marketing. Not a natural-born salesman. I just say my lines, but they tell me that doesn’t cut it anymore.

TYLER | [Laughs] I’d say I’m sorry I made you share your secret, but RENZO | Yeah, uh uh, alright, it happens. Let’s go. Thanks.

RENZO | What? Are you upset? LEONOR | No. I feel like I should apologize. RENZO | For that? Hey, look, Sharon’ll handle it— LEONOR | Will she? Should she?

You’re not listening! Do you walk your ass in here to piss me off? Is that your goal, because I swear to—You! It’s you. You get off my ass! No, you! You aren’t even lazy, but you are screwed up in the head, and I—SHARON! RENZO! You. Have. Contractual. Obligations. Do you want me to spell it out for you? Say it slower? Smack some sense into you? Fuck them. And you. No, no, not on the table. We can’t even ask nicely. They’ll say no second date. Fuck ‘em! Tear them up. You’re on the hook. So what! Bill me! Jesus. Bill you? Why, I ought to—Cancel. Make something up. There are contracts. Contracts! So, get me out of ‘em. Are you deaf and stupid? We will be sued! Yeah, okay! What the everloving fuck do I pay you for? To bitch at me? I got a mother, alright? Here we go. Get rid of the goddamn contracts. What in the hell do I look like? A prostitute? I’m not wasting my time eye-fucking some camera on a foreign beach to sell, what, wristwatches or boat shoes or whatever overpriced yuppie shit—Cologne. What? Cologne and wine. Underwear, maybe, but—SHARON!

You keep your nose clean when you come in here. Oh, you think—? [Laughs] All me! Stone cold. Work on that, okay? You are a menace. Are you crazy? Pretty does not work on me. Or everyone, you know. Oh, I know. You think I don’t know? I’m serious as a heart attack.

She thinks I’m pretty. Ain’t that sweet of her? Your … whatever he is to you, Leonor, he’s a fucking asshole. You damn right. Go take a lap. Bring me a coffee, hold the spit. Or something stronger. They sent gift bottles for us. Fucking nasty European frou-frou bullshit—[Sharon laughs] See, that’s why they want him. He’s such a talented actor. It’s so believable. Go on, talk your shit to her, Sharon—[Snickering] ‘Eye-fucking the camera.’ He knows good and well, doesn’t he, Miss Reyes? He knows what God put him on this earth to do. He‘s just a little pissy about it, that’s all. I don’t blame him. Maybe you have to be a son-of-a-bitch in those boots.

LEONOR | I get it. Or, actually: I, of all people, should know better. RENZO | No … No, fuck, you’re right. You are. We talked about this—more than once. ‘Behave and be brave.’

“Renzo laughed at the situation. ‘You want a trust fund for him? Okay, sure. Fine. Paperwork for a baby. Don’t cry over it! Jesus. Some kids don’t have fucking food to eat, you know.’ She did know, but she had wanted to shout at him, so she provoked him. It wasn’t hard to devolve into personal attacks; how could she be blamed for not having a ‘real job’ when he was a ‘failed musician’ who ‘played pretend’ for a living? Why was this ‘piddling princessy bullshit’ his problem when she ‘set piles of cash on fire’ every single month for ‘no damn good reason’? When one didn’t understand something said, they took a break to mock each other’s accents. Those were the light fights that ended in better-natured laughter.”

“On the worst occasion, they had stomped upstairs together, Leonor nearly knocking him down on the way, to begin an inventory of ‘useless junk no one cares about.’ Later, they both wept when she returned to the scene and started fretting over his broken records and the gaping holes in her canvases. They exchanged apologies and made promises, including the charming ‘pinky swears’ whose foreign absurdity easily cracked her scowl with laughter. If nothing else, their hard and fast reconciliations almost made it all worthwhile—or, that was the delirious conclusion Leonor’s mind would drift toward before she heard a familiar echo in her memory. Renzo had his own unpleasant cacophony of recollections. They locked their fingers, stifled any leftover giggles, and promised, among other things, to remember that their innocent, curious, impressionable child deserved better memories.”

He has so much, Nora. I wish you could see that. I do. But, I want him to have everything.

You don't think I do? I think … You know better than that. Hilarious. It’d sure as shit be easier if that was true.

—So, maybe, I’m being unrealistic. What? Why? I can’t have it only my way. If not “only,” then—No, I understand. I should adapt. I have a perfect life with everything I could want, but it’s not what I thought my life would be like, so I find reasons to be unhappy. With me? It’s not. It’s … What you represent. [Whistles] Really? Wow. Brutal. Not like that! Just … We would be so good, if we were one person. Yeah? Yes. But I want so much. I shouldn’t. And, I won’t give anything up. Neither will I. But, you have, though. And so have you.

Money problems destroy people—marriages, families, and—Yes, I know, so I—Shh. Let me finish. We do not have money problems, Leonor. You know when I realized that was behind me? No… When I had time to sit around and worry about my problems. If you are really, truly fucked in life, you can’t afford to whine and wallow. Wallow? Yeah. Like… You know, a pig. Oh, what? No, no. How disgusting. I wouldn’t ever—No, I meant—never mind. You get me? Yes. We have to be one person, in a way. I didn’t let you do anything, but I kinda did, so all of these growing pains are my responsibility. That’s funny. No, that can’t be true. I’m not the baby here. You’re not overreacting, I swear to God. You had a whole world at your beck and call. And now? Helluva a downgrade. Just me. No: us. Us.

So, what, I don’t have to make a budget now? No cuts? [Scoffs] No, you need to do some math—get a platinum calculator or something, for fuck’s sake. [Laughs] Really, do you know how much money you blow? So do you. Not like you. Oh, my things are silly and yours are good, practical purchases? Is that it? Do you know how many shoes you’ve gotten, just this month? Shoes are practical. You can’t play a dozen guitars differently; it’s just toys. What? What? The hell … Do we gotta rethink this “us” thing already? [Leonor chuckles]

RENZO | It was those fuckers. Parasites, a whole hive waiting on us. LEONOR | They’re doing their jobs. We do ours. Symbiotic, actually. RENZO | Uh huh. What I was saying is, I messed up. Simple as that. LEONOR | You did mess up. RENZO | [Chuckles] Ah—That’s a freebie. I’m all out of mea culpas now. LEONOR | You love to apologize to me. RENZO | We skip the handshake line, we can go do that instead.

RENZO | Would you believe that back there was being nice? LEONOR | [Snorts] No, of course not. RENZO | Good, since I wasn’t. I’ll try next time—play ball, all that shit.

LEONOR | You promise? A pinky swear? On Gael and Lili? RENZO | Hell no! [Laughter]

[honeyjars-sims]

cas couture.

cas couture is an upcoming community-based sim magazine focused on fashion. what sets cas couture apart is that we will not allow permanently paywalled cc to be featured in the magazine and aim to highlight the numerous, talented cc creators in the community :)

hiring/recruiting.

we want YOU! yes, YOU! 🫵

as cas couture is community driven, we need YOUR participation!

( more info under the cut !!! )

HOW DOES RECRUITING WORK?

we recruit on a monthly basis-- as in after each issue is published, we refresh and recruit again for the following month!

this is to keep it fun and respect everyone's time outside of tumblr! we understand scheduling needs change from month to month, theme to theme :)

for example, we are currently recruiting for our APRIL issue. if you enjoy working with us, you would simply fill out the form again when we recruit for MAY :)

RECRUITING OCCURS ON A ROLLING BASIS UP UNTIL THE PUBLISHING DEADLINE! You could sign up literally 24 hours before the publishing deadline and submit your beautiful magazine spread!

WHAT DOES THIS POSITION ENTAIL?

JOB TITLE: FASHION EDITOR.

create a minimum ONE PAGE magazine spread (dimensions would be provided to you) highlighting OUTFITS or CUSTOM CONTENT CAS PIECES (that are freely available)-- hair, makeup, accessories, anything!! the world is your oyster :)

there would be an overarching theme that would be provided to relate the outfits to! we're trialling the theme idea :)

JOB TITLE: LIFESTYLE EDITOR.

as this is a magazine-- and its primary focus is fashion-- fashion is a lifestyle :) if you would like to highlight items or decor or some sort of other .package that has elevated your experience-- your spread can also focus on this too! it can be in the form of an advertisement/ lifestyle edit-- its totally up to you!

this position would also require you to contribute minimum ONE PAGE to the issue :)

an overarching theme would be provided as guidance!

JOB TITLE: COMMUNITY AND CULTURE EDITOR.

there will also be a COMMUNITY SIGHTINGS/GOSSIP page (which won't involve actual gossip) but local simblr stories, bachelorette challenges, pack reviews, etc.! this would be a cute way to get simblr rolling again :)

this position would also require you to contribute minimum ONE PAGE to the issue :)

WHAT ARE THE REQUIREMENTS TO CREATE FOR C.C.?

you must be 18+ to apply

there will be a deadline to submit your content by, just because it'll be a big group effort! no hard feelings and no penalties if you're unable to get it in by the deadline, it might not be "published" in that issue :)

this is for fun!!!! pls remember that :) and also pls don't be zionists or trumpies or homophobes or racist or anything else awful because :( and that'll be another reason why we can't have nice things :(

literally all that is required of you is that you submit your magazine spread to me by the deadline :) and we're all set!

this is truly a passion project :) come join us!!!!!

okay, so, i'm interested. what do i do?

apply using our form here!

you'll hear back from @milkteatrait (either from this account or from their personal one) within 24-48 hours with the month's theme (moodboard, inspo)! so please make sure your messages are open (or in the form, provide an alternative contact method!)

april's recruiting deadline (you must fill out the form by): april 10.

april's publishing deadline: april 11.

if this gets a lot of traction, we might possibly do a bimonthly issue and build off the momentum!

we have so many ideas about magazine covers, designs, potential sim story advertising, CC creator spotlights!! we just need the support! <3

asking da community for some support <3

as this is totally a community project, I'm (I'm gonna drop the we here) going to tag a few big names/ creators/ simblrs in the community to help get the word out!!!! <3 I'm sorry if u guys hate being tagged for this kinda stuff!!!!!

@sentate @aharris00britney @daylifesims @caio-cc @clumsyalienn @dogsill @serenity-cc @twisted-cat @margotaspen @simstrouble @ophernelia @simsimulation @magnoliadale @kashisun @rottengurlz @flirtygh0ul @orbveil @mmfinds @alt-lanaccfinds @tricoufamily @birdietrait @orbitsuns @amanda-plays @neighborhoodstories @neishroom @keloshe-sims @thebramblewood @nsves @nolan-sims @surely-sims and there's so, so many more simblrs!!!! I'd tag everybody if I could!!! I tried to tag everyone who came across my dashboard!!!

also I'd super appreciate any reblogs and sharing to help get the word out!!! <333 thank you to everyone!!!!!!

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 1.9 Hot Diggity Dog

10 Years Ago

The day Lexie and I met Cammie, we were hanging out outside of work on our lunch break. We liked to sit out there and people watch, making up stories about the lives of the people passing by. We considered it character work, good practice for whenever we'd finally make it onto the other side of the camera.

I spotted Cammie, dressed in a hot dog costume and singing about a local food stand. "C'mon down to Nate's! Where the dogs and fries taste great!" She sang and danced with reckless abandon, unbothered by how ridiculous she looked.

"Hey, look," I said to Lexie. "It's hot dog girl!"

Lexie crinkled her nose. "Hot dog girl? That sounds like some sort of internet meme that I shouldn't view in public."

"Not this time." I gestured in Cammie's direction. "It's just this girl who shills for Nate's Great Dogs N Fries. I wonder what life choices led to her dancing on a corner in a hot dog costume."

"Oh, I don't know," Lexie replied, seeming distracted. Normally she was all in on giving the people we saw new backstories, but this time she seemed hesitant.

"Maybe she's the mortal enemy of a guy with a hamburger stand," I offered. "Everyday she dresses in this costume just to taunt him. She probably doesn't even really work for Nate's." I started giggling at my own stupid story until I realized that I'd been spotted.

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed. "She sees us. I hope she doesn't think we're making fun of her."

"Well, you kinda are," Lexie pointed out. She glanced back at Cammie. "Maybe we could talk to her and smooth things over." I recognized the look in her eyes and realized why she didn't want to join in.

"Oh, you like her!"

"I do not. I don't even know her."

"So? You think she's hot. You've unlocked a new kink, and it's girls in weird costumes."

"You're so stupid."

"Hey, I'm not here to judge. In fact, let me help you out." I waved to Cammie, who stopped Blic-Bloc dancing and waved back enthusiastically.

"What are you doing?" Lexie asked, panicking slightly as Cammie jogged over to us.

"Don't worry, I've got this," I assured her. "Nice costume," I told Cammie.

"Thanks! Nate's is running a buy one dog, get one free promotion today if you're interested."

"Oh, sorry, we just had lunch. My friend here was just wondering where you got your costume." I nudged Lexie, who stood up to talk to Cammie.

"Uh, yeah," Lexie concurred. "We work for Sunny Side Productions, so we're always on the lookout for new costumes."

"Oh, cool! I love that channel! My ex-girlfriend got me into it."

I threw a look at Lexie.

"Your ex-girlfriend has good taste," Lexie said to Cammie.

Cammie laughed. "Well, sometimes. I have to get back to work before Nate catches me, but maybe you can stop by the stand later when you get hungry. I usually take a break around 4 if you'd like some company."

"Yeah, sure," Lexie agreed. She mouthed Thank you to me once Cammie looked away.

I hadn't anticipated setting my friend up with a girl in a hot dog costume when I woke up that morning, but sometimes life surprises you.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 1.9 Hot Diggity Dog

10 Years Ago

The day Lexie and I met Cammie, we were hanging out outside of work on our lunch break. We liked to sit out there and people watch, making up stories about the lives of the people passing by. We considered it character work, good practice for whenever we'd finally make it onto the other side of the camera.

I spotted Cammie, dressed in a hot dog costume and singing about a local food stand. "C'mon down to Nate's! Where the dogs and fries taste great!" She sang and danced with reckless abandon, unbothered by how ridiculous she looked.

"Hey, look," I said to Lexie. "It's hot dog girl!"

Lexie crinkled her nose. "Hot dog girl? That sounds like some sort of internet meme that I shouldn't view in public."

"Not this time." I gestured in Cammie's direction. "It's just this girl who shills for Nate's Great Dogs N Fries. I wonder what life choices led to her dancing on a corner in a hot dog costume."

"Oh, I don't know," Lexie replied, seeming distracted. Normally she was all in on giving the people we saw new backstories, but this time she seemed hesitant.

"Maybe she's the mortal enemy of a guy with a hamburger stand," I offered. "Everyday she dresses in this costume just to taunt him. She probably doesn't even really work for Nate's." I started giggling at my own stupid story until I realized that I'd been spotted.

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed. "She sees us. I hope she doesn't think we're making fun of her."

"Well, you kinda are," Lexie pointed out. She glanced back at Cammie. "Maybe we could talk to her and smooth things over." I recognized the look in her eyes and realized why she didn't want to join in.

"Oh, you like her!"

"I do not. I don't even know her."

"So? You think she's hot. You've unlocked a new kink, and it's girls in weird costumes."

"You're so stupid."

"Hey, I'm not here to judge. In fact, let me help you out." I waved to Cammie, who stopped Blic-Bloc dancing and waved back enthusiastically.

"What are you doing?" Lexie asked, panicking slightly as Cammie jogged over to us.

"Don't worry, I've got this," I assured her. "Nice costume," I told Cammie.

"Thanks! Nate's is running a buy one dog, get one free promotion today if you're interested."

"Oh, sorry, we just had lunch. My friend here was just wondering where you got your costume." I nudged Lexie, who stood up to talk to Cammie.

"Uh, yeah," Lexie concurred. "We work for Sunny Side Productions, so we're always on the lookout for new costumes."

"Oh, cool! I love that channel! My ex-girlfriend got me into it."

I threw a look at Lexie.

"Your ex-girlfriend has good taste," Lexie said to Cammie.

Cammie laughed. "Well, sometimes. I have to get back to work before Nate catches me, but maybe you can stop by the stand later when you get hungry. I usually take a break around 4 if you'd like some company."

"Yeah, sure," Lexie agreed. She mouthed Thank you to me once Cammie looked away.

I hadn't anticipated setting my friend up with a girl in a hot dog costume when I woke up that morning, but sometimes life surprises you.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 1.08 Meddling

10 Years Ago

The next morning, I was feeling kinda guilty about the discussion Paul had with Danica. I hadn't talked to him about it yet, but I hoped my interference hadn't affected their friendship.

Once I heard him stirring in his room, I decided to ask him about it.

"Hey, you're up early," Paul said. He was right; it was quite unusual for me to be awake before him, but I couldn't sleep much.

"Yeah, maybe you're rubbing off of me." Typical of me to break the tension with a joke.

"Maybe my cleanliness will rub off on you, too," Paul teased.

"Doubtful. Trust me, my parents already tried that. You'd better get used to me leaving dishes in the sink."

As lighthearted as our conversation was, we both knew we were avoiding the elephant in the room. I decided it was best to just address it.

"So, I take it you overheard my conversation with Danica," I said.

"I heard some of it," Paul admitted. "Mostly you telling her to let me live my life."

"Yeah, I guess I'm not really that much better when it comes to meddling in your business."

"No," Paul replied firmly. "You didn't say anything I didn't already know. My conversation with Danica was a long time coming. You might've given me the push, but it was bound to happen eventually."

"I'm glad to hear that. How did it go?"

"It was awkward at first, but I told her things had to change if we're going to continue our friendship. She has to trust me to make my own decisions."

"That sounds fair. How'd she take it?"

"She seemed genuinely remorseful. She acknowledged she has some anxiety issues she needs to address. I told her I need some space for a while, and she agreed to that."

"Sounds like it went as well as it could have."

"Yeah, hopefully she sticks with our agreement. I'd hate to end our friendship after all these years, but I'm prepared to maintain my boundaries."

"Wow, look at you being all mature," I smirk.

"Well, one of has to be! And I don't think it's going to be you."

"I'd argue with that, but you're right."

I walked away from the conversation feeling pretty good about everything.

What I didn't realize was Paul was trying to get over me, and hearing me defend him against Danica didn't exactly help him move on.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 1.08 Meddling

10 Years Ago

The next morning, I was feeling kinda guilty about the discussion Paul had with Danica. I hadn't talked to him about it yet, but I hoped my interference hadn't affected their friendship.

Once I heard him stirring in his room, I decided to ask him about it.

"Hey, you're up early," Paul said. He was right; it was quite unusual for me to be awake before him, but I couldn't sleep much.

"Yeah, maybe you're rubbing off of me." Typical of me to break the tension with a joke.

"Maybe my cleanliness will rub off on you, too," Paul teased.

"Doubtful. Trust me, my parents already tried that. You'd better get used to me leaving dishes in the sink."

As lighthearted as our conversation was, we both knew we were avoiding the elephant in the room. I decided it was best to just address it.

"So, I take it you overheard my conversation with Danica," I said.

"I heard some of it," Paul admitted. "Mostly you telling her to let me live my life."

"Yeah, I guess I'm not really that much better when it comes to meddling in your business."

"No," Paul replied firmly. "You didn't say anything I didn't already know. My conversation with Danica was a long time coming. You might've given me the push, but it was bound to happen eventually."

"I'm glad to hear that. How did it go?"

"It was awkward at first, but I told her things had to change if we're going to continue our friendship. She has to trust me to make my own decisions."

"That sounds fair. How'd she take it?"

"She seemed genuinely remorseful. She acknowledged she has some anxiety issues she needs to address. I told her I need some space for a while, and she agreed to that."

"Sounds like it went as well as it could have."

"Yeah, hopefully she sticks with our agreement. I'd hate to end our friendship after all these years, but I'm prepared to maintain my boundaries."

"Wow, look at you being all mature," I smirk.

"Well, one of has to be! And I don't think it's going to be you."

"I'd argue with that, but you're right."

I walked away from the conversation feeling pretty good about everything.

What I didn't realize was Paul was trying to get over me, and hearing me defend him against Danica didn't exactly help him move on.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next