having to be home from work for medical reasons is causing the mountain of work stress to just build up on me bc apart from handling the physical lessons, nobody is doing all the shit that needs doing. nobody's answering my emails etc etc
and i can't get 2 words out of my principal unless i physically go to his office and he's not in a meeting
which is obv difficult since i've been home from work for like. several days now
and being stressed about it and having only like. 2 hours of non-lesson time tomorrow will make it harder for me to go looking for him. bc i'll only have 2 hours out of the whole day to do all the shit i need to do to somewhat catch up
and then i need to prepare for the sub on friday when i'll once again be home for endometriosis reasons
and then i'll fall behind again
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I love and hate the fact that it's 2 days until Christmas Eve and I'm sitting at my desk at work wrapping presents for my family because of the entire company I'm the only one who doesn't take a vacation this year-end week.
I'm being paid to sit around for nothing.
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probably time for this story i guess but when i was a kid there was a summer that my brother was really into making smoothies and milkshakes. part of this was that we didn't have AC and couldn't afford to run fans all day so it was kind of important to get good at making Cool Down Concoctions.
we also had a patch of mint, and he had two impressionable little sisters who had the attitude of "fuck it, might as well."
at one point, for fun, this 16 year old boy with a dream in his eye and scientific fervor in heart just wanted to see how far one could push the idea of "vanilla mint smoothie". how much vanilla extract and how much mint can go into a blender before it truly is inedible.
the answer is 3 cups of vanilla extract, 1/2 cup milk alternative, and about 50 sprigs (not leaves, whole spring) of mint. add ice and the courage of a child. idk, it was summer and we were bored.
the word i would use to describe the feeling of drinking it would maybe be "violent" or perhaps, like. "triangular." my nose felt pristine. inhaling following the first sip was like trying to sculpt a new face. i was ensconced in a mesh of horror. it was something beyond taste. for years after, i assumed those commercials that said "this is how it feels to chew five gum" were referencing the exact experience of this singular viscous smoothie.
what's worse is that we knew our mother would hate that we wasted so much vanilla extract. so we had to make it worth it. we had to actually finish the drink. it wasn't "wasting" it if we actually drank it, right? we huddled around outside in the blistering sun, gagging and passing around a single green potion, shivering with disgust. each sip was transcendent, but in a sort of non-euclidean way. i think this is where i lost my binary gender. it eroded certain parts of me in an acidic gut ecology collapse.
here's the thing about love and trust: the next day my brother made a different shake, and i drank it without complaint. it's been like 15 years. he's now a genuinely skilled cook. sometimes one of the three of us will fuck up in the kitchen or find something horrible or make a terrible smoothie mistake and then we pass it to each other, single potion bottle, and we say try it it's delicious. it always smells disgusting. and then, cerimonious, we drink it together. because that's what family does.
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"Obviously Americans don't have a real culture, so in order to heal yourself spiritually you have to find another more exotic culture to become a part of. But ONLY!!! if you have a genetic connection to that culture!!!! Whether you are being respectful or appropriative depends not on your actions but only on whether you have the mystical Blood Connection or not. Again, you HAVE to heal yourself spiritually, because I know for a fact that you are spiritually damaged by not caring about your heritage as much as I do, and specifically you have to return to your ancestor's traditions and reject any culture other than your own. This is progressive."
Bestie this is starting to sound a lot like blood and soil nationalism with extra steps
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Hmmm just gonna spit this headcanon out in text post form since A. I don't think I could exposit it well enough in image form and B. It's not actually textually/thematically substantiated and I don't like actually staking my stuff on just vibes alone*
But anyway. I'd say it's pretty evident that all the islanders forgot their names, right? King obviously. Because why the hell else would he do that, but also Siffrin No Middle Names No Last Name.
They're 'pretty sure' they've 'always' been 'Just Siffrin' 'as long as they can remember'. It's a pretty cruel twist of the knife to say that they don't even get to keep their birth name as a memento, which is why I'm saying as such.
My utterly unsubstantiated claim is I think it'd be cute to say that Sisyphus *is* the name Siffrin initially picked, assuming the myth of King Sisyphus is recontextualised as idk, just a play or something in the setting. But I like the idea of Siffrin going 'oh shit 🫵 he's just like me fr' at a tortured fictional character long before the irony kicks in.
As for how Sisyphus -> Siffrin. I think that chronic mumbler and emotional doormat Sif just did not correct people who misheard the name during their time travelling, and went through enough places with incompatible phonologies (pronounceable sounds in the language) without ever really writing it down that it just got kinda. Changed until it was unrecognisable, and Siffrin just went with it until the earlier pronunciations slipped out of their swiss-cheese brain. And they just kinda don't remember any of that.
Also, something something the horrid realisation that Siffrin also named themselves after a King. Just not as blatantly.
*(though I think there's something here about Siffrin, a guy from a belief system that seems to thoroughly disincentivise autonomy and self-motivated choice continuously having their hand forced to make changes/choices they don't want but have no choice but to... It's not solid enough to really back this up tbh, but it informs it.)
Anyway.
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Let me get a taste
{ao3 link}
“Hen asked if we’re fucking,” Tommy says as he sits down at their table with his cake.
“Uh, what?” Buck asks. There’s no way he heard Tommy correctly.
“Hen asked if we’re fucking,” Tommy repeats. He gestures between them with his fork. “You and me. Well, I guess technically she and Karen both asked. They ambushed me to ask about my intentions.”
He takes a bite of cake and eats it slowly, moaning at the taste, just to be an asshole and rub it in Buck’s face that he can’t have any. Buck sometimes wishes he was the kind of person who found that annoying, but he likes it when Tommy does stuff like this; teases him and plays with him just this side of mean. Really likes it. And Tommy knows it.
“What’d you say?” Buck asks, a little dazed, caught in the fantasy of licking frosting off of Tommy’s lip.
He wants cake so badly. It’s bad enough he had to skip the mac & cheese at the buffet, now this? The cake on Tommy’s plate looks soft and fruity. Fuck keto. Fuck bodybuilding. It’s not fair.
Tommy licks frosting off of his fork and Buck salivates. “I told them we’re taking it slow. You’re setting the pace, and I’m just trying to keep up.” He lifts an eyebrow and savors another bite of cake
Buck laughs. “You made it sound like we’re fucking like rabbits.”
“Mhmm,” Tommy says around the cake in his mouth.
“And you… also said we’re taking it slow?” Buck’s eyebrows pull together in confusion.
“I did. They’re gonna have a hell of a time figuring that one out.” Tommy smiles as he takes the next bite of cake, obviously proud of the trick he’s played on their friends.
“You might be evil,” Buck teases.
“You love it,” Tommy says, scrunching his nose. “And anyway, it’s none of their business. You’re not a teenage girl in 1954, going out with some biker from the wrong side of the tracks. You’re a grown man. You can suss out my intentions for yourself. I’d hope you know by now that I didn’t agree to a second date at your sister’s wedding just to get in your pants.”
“I do know that,” Buck assures him. Their sex life is pretty active—very satisfying—but they’ve spent far more time talking, working out, cooking, and even cuddling than they have with their dicks out. It’s probably the most well-rounded relationship Buck has ever had. He feels respected. “You’re a total gentleman.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I have to admit,” Tommy pitches his voice down, “seeing you in that medal… I’m feeling a little less than honorable right now.” He gathers the last bite of cake onto his fork.
Buck feels a thrill run through his body at Tommy’s words, but he’s watching that cake with rapt attention. “Give me the last bite,” he says. He sounds pleading even to his own ears, so he doubles down. “Tommy, please.”
“No,” Tommy deadpans. “If you’re gonna break ketosis, you’re gonna do it with someone else’s cake.”
“I don’t want someone else’s cake, baby, I want yours.” Buck goes for charming, flirty, seductive, but he’s desperate. He hasn’t had any carbs in days and the cake smells so good. He’s about to launch himself at Tommy and take that last forkful of cake himself.
“Mmm, lucky me,” Tommy purrs. “Pretty boy wants my cake all to himself and here I am, just trying to keep up.”
Tommy pops the cake into his mouth just as Buck lunges at it. His hand lands on Tommy’s empty plate.
“Evil!” Buck gasps, laughing.
“You love it,” Tommy repeats around his mouthful of cake.
“I really do.”
Tommy barely has time to swallow before Buck is kissing him; open-mouthed and honestly a little too dirty considering where they are and which homophobic captains are still around. Buck is chasing the taste of cake and frosting on Tommy’s lips, on his tongue, and he can’t help but moan as the flavors swirl and burst to life in his mouth: vanilla and strawberry and Tommy. He’s never tasted anything better.
Tommy pulls back before Buck starts licking the sugar off of his teeth. He presses a hand into Buck’s chest to gently push him back into his seat.
“Easy there, Evan. We’re still in public.”
“We got medals for breaking the law.” Buck’s eyes are dark, hungry. Now that he’s had a taste he wants seconds, thirds. Tommy’s been teasing him and all Buck wants is to get his mouth back on Tommy and never come up for air. “We can do whatever we want.”
Tommy laughs. “If only that were true. Save your appetite, though. I might have some cake you can eat at home.” He smirks, eyebrow raised. “If you behave.”
Buck smiles, wide and flirty. “Is it keto-friendly?” He leans closer again.
“All protein, baby.”
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