the difference between zosopp and sanuso (romantic OR platonic) is that Usopp is Zoro's specialest little guy and Zoro is someone Usopp hangs out with and looks up to and hides behind when things get scary, but Sanji and Usopp are best friends. They horse around, they beat each other up, they confide their worst fears trying to one up each other. Usopp hides behind Sanji sometimes, sure, but idk, Sanji's weaknesses are more obvious (bugs, fighting women, etc) so there are times when Usopp has to stand in front of Sanji too, yknow?
Like, how do I say this, all the crewmates are equal- Usopp and Zoro are equals- but with Sanji it feels like more... comradery? Zoro's a rock in a terrible storm- even rocks tend to get weathered and chipped and worn down, but they overall stay strong and steady. He has trouble being vulnerable and there are times when the burden he's placed on himself to keep the crew safe is crushing his chest. Usopp would help with that and be very understanding, but the point I'm trying to get with that is that those moments are few and far between. So I feel like Usopp, especially after Water 7, would take Zoro's lead on something like that, and keep most of his worries to himself or only talk about them sparingly unless they're really bad and/or he can't hide them.
Sanji is like a tree in a storm; he can be strong, yes, but it feels like he bends and sways with the storm, and has more obvious breaking points. He can relate more to Usopp's struggles rather than resorting to blunt honesty that might border on callous like Zoro. And while, with Zosopp, I tend to think of scenarios with Zoro being blunt like that as a good thing- because sometimes when you're spiraling, it's nice to have someone say exactly what's great about you and shoot down all your worries with straight facts that you can't argue with- I can also see this as being a bad thing. Anxiety can really twist up your brain sometimes, you know? And despite the words, the tone could still mess someone up if they're already feeling like a burden on others in some way.
With Sanuso it's a lot more understanding and thoughtful words. It's distractions and comfort food and patience- the kind reserved for Usopp- until Usopp talks about whatever's troubling him. Compared to Zosopp, it doesn't take as long for Usopp to open up, since he's done the same thing to Sanji at times and it's more familiar to him to talk and commiserate with Sanji about his worries and doubts and such. However, there are times stuff like this has absolutely no effect and Sanji will end up at a loss, no idea what to do or how to help over the course of several days with Usopp being quiet and keeping his distance, and he'll end up working himself up about it which will only serve to make Usopp feel worse and. yeah. bit of a vicious cycle with them.
So it's like. Usopp can be weak with both of them, but since I see Sanji as the type of guy who'd be more open with his worries (at least compared to Zoro), there's less of a need to 'perform' and be his best self around him. He's comfortable around Zoro, yes, but he is constantly wanting to show that he won't be a problem to him. On the other hand, while he's more open with Sanji, and Sanji with him, they tend to relate a bit too much with each other and they both have issues with causing trouble for others and being 'deserving of love' so failed attempts at consoling one hurts the other and creates an unpleasant cycle of misery and avoidance before some other crewmate (Zoro) tells them to quit being stupid and just fucking talk to each other.
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you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.
you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.
so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.
you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.
you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.
you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.
you know you broke the rule by interacting.
but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.
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Sick While Camping Part 3
(I am terrible at titles, they were camping so long ago, I'm so sorry.)
Part 1 | Part 2
Leo discovered that the one bright side of being in the hospital with an infectious disease is that you get spirited away to a negative air flow room quickly and don't have to sit around waiting. At triage Jack had significantly elevated heart rate and respirations and his oxygen saturation was in the mid 80s. They got him on oxygen and IV fluids and to x-ray immediately, leaving Leo to pace the room nervously. He tried calling Denise just to let her know, but her phone number was no longer in service. That figured. He called Ari too, hoping for some comfort from his ex, but he was out or just not answering.
When they brought Jack back from x-ray he was half asleep but shivering and trying to scratch. Leo held both of his hands to keep him from scratching himself until he finally dropped off to sleep. Not long after, the doctor came in, shaking Leo's hand and showing him the upsetting looking x-rays of Jack's lungs and referring to the whitish looking lung tissue as "ground glass."
"Does he smoke?" The doctor asked.
"I don't think so, no, but when he moved in with me last year all his stuff reeked of it, so I'm pretty sure he grew up around a lot of second hand smoke. He had pneumonia about eight months ago. We caught it early and we were able to treat him at home, but could that...I don't know, lead to this? He seemed okay before tonight, or at least the breathing stuff seemed like it came out of nowhere."
"Respiratory symptoms can hit anywhere between the first and sixth day of illness, so it's not surprising that they started all at once. Second hand smoke and previous pneumonia could definitely have put him at a higher risk of varicella pneumonia, and his age is probably a contributing factor. Much like adults, teenagers are at an increased risk of complications from chickenpox."
"Will he be okay?" Leo asked, his eyes on Jack's sleeping face.
"He will likely be fine," the doctor said kindly. "We're going to get him on some IV antivirals and we'll keep him on oxygen. He's very dehydrated-"
"I've been forcing him to drink but it's been harder and harder to get him to swallow anything."
"It's not your fault, Mr. Montelione, I'm sure you've been doing a great job. We're going to get him rehydrated and we're also going to put him on some antibiotics because it looks like some of the vesicles are infected, especially on his side and his lower back. It might take a could of days but we'll get the ship righted, don't worry. You've obviously been taking very good care of him and it's good that you brought him in when you did instead of waiting for things to get worse."
The doctor shook Leo's hand and left. A nurse came in wearing a gown and mask and administered some meds and adjusted the nasal cannula and the flow of oxygen. She made some notes in the chart and left. Jack was restless. Muttering in his sleep, his brow furrowed, seemingly more feverish and out of it than when they arrived.
Leo stroked Jack's hair for awhile, trying to soothe him without irritating his skin further. It seemed to calm him down a little which made Leo feel a little better in turn. He turned the tv on with the volume muted and watched Star Trek reruns while Jack slept. A nurse came in every half hour or so through the night to check on Jack. Sometimes the vitals checks woke him up, but mostly he slept right through them. Eventually Leo laid down on the built in sofa in front of the window and tried to get a little sleep. Mostly he just ended up lying there and watching the numbers on the monitor.
When his dad was dying of lung cancer Leo had spent days in this same position watching similar numbers with a similar pit of dread in his stomach while his only family lay unconscious and seemingly in pain in a hospital bed.
Finally, early in the morning, Ari called Leo back and he stepped out in the hallway to cry on the phone for a few minutes. They may have been exes but Ari was still his best friend. The only person he was truly close to besides Jack. Just hearing his friend's voice brought a flood of relief to Leo's nervous system. Ari was reassuring and kind and promised to visit that afternoon. When Leo returned to the room, Jack was half awake and calling his name, which made him feel awful for stepping out even for a moment. Jack was crying a little, holding his hospital gown against his eyes.
“This sucks,” he rasped at Leo. “Why am I so sick? It's summer.” He said it as though being sick in the summer time was antithetical to the laws of nature
“I know it sucks, kid. I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well, but the doctor’s got you on some strong stuff and hopefully it’ll knock this out.” Leo went back to running his hand over Jack’s hair.
Jack closed his eyes and coughed, a tight cough that didn't sound like it moved anything. "Sorry," he muttered, "I don't know why I'm crying."
"It's okay, you're sick, it's normal to be emotional when you're not feeling well." Leo hoped he sounded reassuring. He bit his lip, staring at the 96% o2 saturation. The kid should be doing better than that with supplemental oxygen, right? His legs felt heavy just thinking about it and he stepped aside to sit in the chair.
"Don't stop?" Jack asked when Leo removed his hand.
"Okay," Leo said simply, sitting on the edge of the bed instead of the chair so he could continue comforting his son. Jack fell asleep again and eventually Leo returned to the sofa and slept a little more in between visits from the nurses. Jack was out for nearly twelve hours.
Ari came by in the afternoon, bringing Leo a sandwich from his favorite deli and a change of clothes and his cell phone charger. He brought a stack of magazines for Jack that Leo was sure he would enjoy when he was feeling a little better. Leo hadn't asked for anything, but he appreciated that Ari had stopped by his place and meddled anyway.
Ari gave Leo a long hug and wiped his eyes as he pulled away. "Shit, I didn't realize how attached I'd gotten to your kid. i don't like seeing him like this."
His friend's distress over Jack somehow lessened Leo's own. He was glad to have someone to share the worry with. "I know. I miss his bad attitude. He gave me so much shit yesterday. I want it back."
Ari squeezed his shoulder. "He'll be okay, yeah?" It was a statement as much as it was a question.
"Yeah. They said he would be."
Ari stayed for a couple of hours, then ran to the hospital cafeteria to bring Leo dinner before he left. That night was touch and go and Leo didn't sleep at all. Jack's oxygen levels kept falling and at one point the doctor said they would consider moving him to the pediatric ICU and putting him on a ventilator if his blood gas didn't improve. Leo wasn't religious in the least but he found himself muttering prayers as he sat by Jack's bedside, holding his feverish hand.
Leo called his work and had to beg for another week off, promising to work extra long hours when he came back to make up for it. Luckily he had plenty of vacation time saved up and his boss liked him.
After nearly four days in the hospital he was able to take home an exhausted but mostly scabbed over Jack and park him on the couch. He wanted to be annoyed by how moody Jack was and his non stop complaining about how itchy he was and how everything sucked, but he delighted in every barb the kid threw at him.
He tried to get as many calories into the kid as possible and make sure he got plenty of rest, but it was still another week and a half before Jack was up to doing much more than lying around the house and reading or watching tv. The last couple of days of his confinement Leo got out his big middle earth map and Jack helped him watercolor some of the areas. Leo found himself less afraid of doing the wrong thing around Jack and more willing to be himself and risk rejection. Jack seemed to have loosened up a little too and joked with Leo a little more readily, actually seemed happy to see Leo when he came home from work, and didn't make himself scarce when Ari came over to hang out.
When Jack finally grabbed his skateboard, yelled "Leo, I'm going out," with no elaboration, and didn't come back home for fourteen hours, Leo was surprised to find that it was the least worried he'd been about the kid all summer. But he still gave him hell about it when he got home.
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