Sunlight streams into a mostly empty Port Manteau subway car. Above the doors, there is, notably, an ad for Didneyland featuring mascot characters Boswald the Rabbit and friends. Their cartoonish smiles have all been defaced with black marker.
Sparrow waits impatiently at the door as the train pulls into a station, every muscle livewire tense. As soon as the doors slide open, he takes off at a dead sprint through the station, up onto the street, and onward through the streets.
After a couple minutes of sprinting, he runs straight at a wall, climbing up a pole up and over a wall. Now he's no longer just sprinting, but climbing and leaping his way through Port Manteau's urban landscape.
One last straight stretch, then he runs down into a subway station, leaps the turnstile, slides down a pole to the platform, and hurls himself into the waiting train just before the doors close.
As he collapses on the floor, to the consternation of the other passengers in the car, Sparrow glances up—and starts laughing, giddy with adrenaline and triumph. Above the door is the same defaced Didneyland ad at the start of the memory. He beat the train.
A much younger-looking Sparrow, around 18 or 19 years old, is sitting on a roof at night, staring at his phone as if bracing himself for something. Notably, he's missing his piercings and tattoos, and his clothes are much more, well, mainstream-looking: dark jeans paired with a white-and-blue polo.
When his phone rings, he watching it buzz through a couple rings—the name of the caller displayed is 'Mom'—before reluctantly swiping the green pick-up icon and holding the phone to his ear.
"...Hi, Mom."
A warm, middle-aged woman's voice responds. "There you are, sunshine. I've been trying to reach you all week!"
"Sorry, been busy." This is a lie; he's been pretending not to see her calls for the past two days and ignoring her texts for the past five.
"That's alright, sunshine, I just wish you'd let me know if you don't have time to speak. You know your father and I aren't strangers to being too busy to connect."
"Yeah, I know." A little guilt twists in Sparrow's gut.
"Anyway, I just wanted to follow-up on what we talked about when you came for dinner last weekend... Have you thought about your major yet?"
It's exactly what he's been trying to avoid. Sparrow looks down, picking at the edge of worn patch in his jeans. "A little."
Sparrow's mother barrels onwards, still cheerful and warm. "Your daddy's really hoping for Journalism. You'd be so good at it, sunshine, remember how good you were at getting people to open up in the Cloud Cadets? You just need to work on your writing a little, I know you can do so much better. Have you talked to Professor Rossby yet? He loved your father when we were in school, I'm sure he'd be happy to give you a few tips..."
That's exactly what he needs, a professor who's going constantly compare him to his father and be disappointed when Sparrow turns out to not be his father. "I'll think about it."
"No rush, sunshine, but you do have to make a decision soon. It's so competitive, you need to start taking your pre-reqs now, sunshine. And Journalism's a good field, especially in the Cirrus Network. We both know you could be so good at it if you tried."
"...Actually, I was thinking..."
"Hmm? You have a major in mind, sunshine? Goodness knows we're out of touch, maybe the Media school's developed a few new tricks since we were there."
About taking a break, Sparrow doesn't say. He hates college; he wants out, a break from the tests and classes and constant pressure to perform, from always never being good enough. He's never been a particularly great student anyway, at least where it matters to his parents. But he knows there's no point saying that to his mother. He already tried the gap year discussion and look where that got him.
"...I was thinking that we should try that new taco place this weekend."
"Oh! We should, your father keeps talking about it and now I'm constantly beset by cravings. That reminds me, Nora's back in town this week, so Theo's treating us all to dinner with his family, and you know how he is. Make sure you pack something nice when you come back this weekend."
The last thing Sparrow wants to to sit in a fancy restaurant hearing about how his old classmate Nora Gale is doing so well at her Ivy Association school. "Yeah, I know."
"I know you do, you have such a gift for remembering details, sunshine. You just need to find the right way to apply it. —Alright, I better go, these last few emails aren't going to answer themselves and I'm sure you have lots of studying to do. Love you, Arthit."
"Bye, Mom."
Sparrow ends the call, and sits there on the roof for a moment longer with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. It's fine. It's fine. He should be fucking used to this by now. He'll pack a nice outfit for this weekend and smile through dinner with Uncle Theo and his family and then he'll slink back to his dorm where he sits on the roof at night and thinks about stepping off the edge way too much.
It's fine.
A knock sounds from the window below. "Yo, Drought, you done? Party's waiting."
Sparrow scrubs a hand over his face, boxing the conversation away and tossing the box into a pit. Then he gets up, starting the climb back down to his room. "Hold your fucking horses, I'm coming."
It's a bright sunny afternoon. A table's been set up outside of a grocery store, covered in a blue tablecloth and piled high with boxes of cookies. That's right, it's that annual event that everyone (or at least, every Atmosphere) looks forward to: Cloud Cadet cookie season.
Manning the table are a cute twelve-ish Sparrow and an unsmiling seventeen-ish Frost, both of them resplendent in blue Cloud Cadet uniforms, complete with badge-covered sashes. Sparrow's has a lot more badges than Vincent's. Seated behind them is a middle-aged woman with a strong resemblance to Sparrow, mostly preoccupied with her phone, but occasionally looking up to check on how the boys are doing.
The answer, it seems, is not very well, as Sparrow is in the middle of lecturing Vincent about his salesmanship. "Listen, you gotta learn how to smile. Moms love it when you smile at them. And you're old enough that it's kinda flattering and makes them feel hot and young again instead of thinking you're cute. Okay?"
"...Okay."
Sparrow's lecture is interrupted by an older couple with matching rainy cloud bracelets approaching the table. He turns toward them, all sunny smile. "Hello~ Would you like to buy some cookies?"
The lady of the couple sighs nostalgically. "I remember when I was in the Cloud Cadets. Honey, a couple boxes can't hurt, can it?"
"Now, now, you know what the doctor said...," her husband says, but he's eyeing the boxes on the table longingly.
"Sun-Ups! Oooh, I love Sun-Ups...and Downybursts! Remember how you used to buy them from Clara every year?"
Doctor's orders or not, the husband caves like wet paper. "One box."
"Each."
He sighs. "One box each."
"One box of Sun-Ups and one box of Downybursts, please," the wife says sweetly.
"I love Sun-Ups, they're the best!" Sparrow chirps, bagging their chosen cookies. Next to him, Vincent summons an awkward smile as he takes their cash and hands back change.
"Aren't you just adorable," the lady coos to Sparrow. She turns to Vincent. "It's so sweet of you to look after your junior cadet like this. Oh, seeing you boys here brings back so many memories." She sighs happily, taking her cookies from Sparrow. "Good luck! Cloud Cadets forever!"
With a cheery wave, the couple heads off. Once they're out of earshot, Sparrow looks up at Vincent. "Okay, better. Keep practicing." Before Vincent can respond, Sparrow turns back to another potential customer approaching the table as Vincent watches him. "Hello! Buy some Cloud Cadet cookies and support your local troupe~"
The party in this warehouse is in full swing: music thumping, lights flashing, and dance floor heaving with bodies. Sparrow is among them, and the memory has a soft, unfocused quality that suggests he's a few drinks in already—definitely tipsy, though not all the way to drunk.
A tall blond dressed in black approaches him, confidently pulling him close by the hips. By Sparrow's reaction, he has no objection to a hot guy grinding on him, and even less objection when said hot guy suggests that they go somewhere a little more private.
Sparrow laughs, sliding the blond his drink and picking up his own. "Moving a little fast, aren't you? At least gimme a name first."
The blond downs half his glass and smiles down at Sparrow around the rim. "Totality."
At this particular moment in time, Totality is the hottest star around. Even people who don't care about rock music are jacking his look—Sparrow couldn't throw a rock into the crowd without hitting at least one twink wearing black, gold, and a shitty bleach job. This guy's got the look down pretty well, better than most even, but there's no way in hell he's actually the Totality.
That's fine, though. Sparrow has no objection to playing along with someone's else's fantasy, especially when that someone else is this hot and playing along is going to get him laid. "Sure you are. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Totality, sir."
The hot blond's smile turns sardonic. "Your turn."
"Precipitation Jones. You can call me Cip."
"Well, Mr. Jones—" The hot blond leans in and whispers a totally obscene suggestion that has Sparrow paying for their drinks and pulling the hot blond toward the exit.
The memory smash cuts to the two of them making out heavily in the back of a cab, hands already wandering despite the poor cabbie in the front seat. The cabbie pulls to a stop and coughs impatiently to get their attention. While the hot blond sucks on his neck, Sparrow fishes out his wallet, tosses a couple bills at the cabbie and pulls the blond out of the cab and up a couple flights of stairs into a spacious, well-appointed apartment.
The hot blond shoves Sparrow down along the couch and kneels over him, kissing him deep into the cushions as he starts tugging at Sparrow's belt.
"I hope you meant what you said back there," Sparrow pants into his mouth, pulling at the hot blond's shirt.
The hot blond sits back long enough to pull it off and toss it to one side, smirking confidently. "Don't worry. I meant it."
The memory fades to black as the hot blond presses Sparrow down into the couch again, reaching down to pull his jeans off.
*
Note: If you delete the drunken blur, the hot blond definitely looks like a five-years-younger, height-of-his-Totality-fame Jackson Umbra.
It's a cool Leaves Cycle evening. Sparrow is standing outside what looks like a ritzy bar, dressed to the nines: he looks way more put together than he usually does, and incidentally smoking hot. Somebody really put in the effort to look as classy and fuckable as possible tonight.
The reason for why he went to all this effort quickly becomes clear as Sparrow checks his phone, specifically one of Estoria's many fine hook-up apps. The last message from whoever he's meeting tonight says that he's already inside.
Sparrow enters the building and makes his way confidently toward the bar, where Vincent C. Frost (also dressed to the nines) is sitting with a drink already in front of him. As Sparrow slides into the seat next to him, Vincent turns to look at him with obvious appreciation as well as a slight double-take, quickly hidden.
It rapidly becomes apparent that they have a ton of chemistry, flirting heavily through a couple drinks and snacks. After about his third drink, Vincent asks if they know each other and Sparrow give a sly, evasive answer, which if anything seems to intrigue Vincent even more.
At one point Sparrow casually implies that Vincent knows his parents, which opens a whole other rabbit hole of Vincent visibly wondering if he's banged this mysterious hot goth's parents. This still doesn't seem to be a turn-off, though. The rest of the conversation is more flirting and playing cat-and-mouse with Sparrow's identity—he seems to know who Vincent is, even if Vincent doesn't know who he is.
Eventually, though, the penny drops. Vincent leans in close and murmurs, "It's been a long time...Arthit."
Sparrow laughs. "Took you long enough."
"Can you blame me? You look...very different now."
"I should fucking hope so."
Vincent pays off both their tabs. "Let's get out of here. My place?"
Sparrow blinks, surprised, and grins with anticipation. "Lead the way."
The setting is a cute little independent coffee shop. It's a very busy morning, the line is long and the seats are packed. Judging by the lack of ink on his arms, this was quite a few years ago for Sparrow. He's standing behind the register, waiting while a middle-aged woman hems and haws her way through a long, complicated drink order. No one is happy about this.
When she finishes, Sparrow rattles the order back to her perfectly, only for her to change her mind yet again. When is she going to fucking shut up? Sparrow wonders, while maintaining a polite expression on his face.
Meanwhile, the people behind her are getting visibly annoyed, and the line keeps getting longer......
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timeasmymeasure
racing the subway
Date: 2025-04-18 04:02 pm (UTC)Sparrow waits impatiently at the door as the train pulls into a station, every muscle livewire tense. As soon as the doors slide open, he takes off at a dead sprint through the station, up onto the street, and onward through the streets.
After a couple minutes of sprinting, he runs straight at a wall, climbing up a pole up and over a wall. Now he's no longer just sprinting, but climbing and leaping his way through Port Manteau's urban landscape.
One last straight stretch, then he runs down into a subway station, leaps the turnstile, slides down a pole to the platform, and hurls himself into the waiting train just before the doors close.
As he collapses on the floor, to the consternation of the other passengers in the car, Sparrow glances up—and starts laughing, giddy with adrenaline and triumph. Above the door is the same defaced Didneyland ad at the start of the memory. He beat the train.
*
Reference video. Warning for shaky cam and heights.
call from Mom
Date: 2025-04-19 03:31 pm (UTC)*
A much younger-looking Sparrow, around 18 or 19 years old, is sitting on a roof at night, staring at his phone as if bracing himself for something. Notably, he's missing his piercings and tattoos, and his clothes are much more, well, mainstream-looking: dark jeans paired with a white-and-blue polo.
When his phone rings, he watching it buzz through a couple rings—the name of the caller displayed is 'Mom'—before reluctantly swiping the green pick-up icon and holding the phone to his ear.
"...Hi, Mom."
A warm, middle-aged woman's voice responds. "There you are, sunshine. I've been trying to reach you all week!"
"Sorry, been busy." This is a lie; he's been pretending not to see her calls for the past two days and ignoring her texts for the past five.
"That's alright, sunshine, I just wish you'd let me know if you don't have time to speak. You know your father and I aren't strangers to being too busy to connect."
"Yeah, I know." A little guilt twists in Sparrow's gut.
"Anyway, I just wanted to follow-up on what we talked about when you came for dinner last weekend... Have you thought about your major yet?"
It's exactly what he's been trying to avoid. Sparrow looks down, picking at the edge of worn patch in his jeans. "A little."
Sparrow's mother barrels onwards, still cheerful and warm. "Your daddy's really hoping for Journalism. You'd be so good at it, sunshine, remember how good you were at getting people to open up in the Cloud Cadets? You just need to work on your writing a little, I know you can do so much better. Have you talked to Professor Rossby yet? He loved your father when we were in school, I'm sure he'd be happy to give you a few tips..."
That's exactly what he needs, a professor who's going constantly compare him to his father and be disappointed when Sparrow turns out to not be his father. "I'll think about it."
"No rush, sunshine, but you do have to make a decision soon. It's so competitive, you need to start taking your pre-reqs now, sunshine. And Journalism's a good field, especially in the Cirrus Network. We both know you could be so good at it if you tried."
"...Actually, I was thinking..."
"Hmm? You have a major in mind, sunshine? Goodness knows we're out of touch, maybe the Media school's developed a few new tricks since we were there."
About taking a break, Sparrow doesn't say. He hates college; he wants out, a break from the tests and classes and constant pressure to perform, from always never being good enough. He's never been a particularly great student anyway, at least where it matters to his parents. But he knows there's no point saying that to his mother. He already tried the gap year discussion and look where that got him.
"...I was thinking that we should try that new taco place this weekend."
"Oh! We should, your father keeps talking about it and now I'm constantly beset by cravings. That reminds me, Nora's back in town this week, so Theo's treating us all to dinner with his family, and you know how he is. Make sure you pack something nice when you come back this weekend."
The last thing Sparrow wants to to sit in a fancy restaurant hearing about how his old classmate Nora Gale is doing so well at her Ivy Association school. "Yeah, I know."
"I know you do, you have such a gift for remembering details, sunshine. You just need to find the right way to apply it. —Alright, I better go, these last few emails aren't going to answer themselves and I'm sure you have lots of studying to do. Love you, Arthit."
"Bye, Mom."
Sparrow ends the call, and sits there on the roof for a moment longer with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. It's fine. It's fine. He should be fucking used to this by now. He'll pack a nice outfit for this weekend and smile through dinner with Uncle Theo and his family and then he'll slink back to his dorm where he sits on the roof at night and thinks about stepping off the edge way too much.
It's fine.
A knock sounds from the window below. "Yo, Drought, you done? Party's waiting."
Sparrow scrubs a hand over his face, boxing the conversation away and tossing the box into a pit. Then he gets up, starting the climb back down to his room. "Hold your fucking horses, I'm coming."
selling Cloud Cadet cookies (feat. Vincent C. Frost)
Date: 2025-04-21 01:32 am (UTC)Manning the table are a cute twelve-ish Sparrow and an unsmiling seventeen-ish Frost, both of them resplendent in blue Cloud Cadet uniforms, complete with badge-covered sashes. Sparrow's has a lot more badges than Vincent's. Seated behind them is a middle-aged woman with a strong resemblance to Sparrow, mostly preoccupied with her phone, but occasionally looking up to check on how the boys are doing.
The answer, it seems, is not very well, as Sparrow is in the middle of lecturing Vincent about his salesmanship. "Listen, you gotta learn how to smile. Moms love it when you smile at them. And you're old enough that it's kinda flattering and makes them feel hot and young again instead of thinking you're cute. Okay?"
"...Okay."
Sparrow's lecture is interrupted by an older couple with matching rainy cloud bracelets approaching the table. He turns toward them, all sunny smile. "Hello~ Would you like to buy some cookies?"
The lady of the couple sighs nostalgically. "I remember when I was in the Cloud Cadets. Honey, a couple boxes can't hurt, can it?"
"Now, now, you know what the doctor said...," her husband says, but he's eyeing the boxes on the table longingly.
"Sun-Ups! Oooh, I love Sun-Ups...and Downybursts! Remember how you used to buy them from Clara every year?"
Doctor's orders or not, the husband caves like wet paper. "One box."
"Each."
He sighs. "One box each."
"One box of Sun-Ups and one box of Downybursts, please," the wife says sweetly.
"I love Sun-Ups, they're the best!" Sparrow chirps, bagging their chosen cookies. Next to him, Vincent summons an awkward smile as he takes their cash and hands back change.
"Aren't you just adorable," the lady coos to Sparrow. She turns to Vincent. "It's so sweet of you to look after your junior cadet like this. Oh, seeing you boys here brings back so many memories." She sighs happily, taking her cookies from Sparrow. "Good luck! Cloud Cadets forever!"
With a cheery wave, the couple heads off. Once they're out of earshot, Sparrow looks up at Vincent. "Okay, better. Keep practicing." Before Vincent can respond, Sparrow turns back to another potential customer approaching the table as Vincent watches him. "Hello! Buy some Cloud Cadet cookies and support your local troupe~"
banging a Totality cosplayer
Date: 2025-04-21 02:00 am (UTC)A tall blond dressed in black approaches him, confidently pulling him close by the hips. By Sparrow's reaction, he has no objection to a hot guy grinding on him, and even less objection when said hot guy suggests that they go somewhere a little more private.
Sparrow laughs, sliding the blond his drink and picking up his own. "Moving a little fast, aren't you? At least gimme a name first."
The blond downs half his glass and smiles down at Sparrow around the rim. "Totality."
At this particular moment in time, Totality is the hottest star around. Even people who don't care about rock music are jacking his look—Sparrow couldn't throw a rock into the crowd without hitting at least one twink wearing black, gold, and a shitty bleach job. This guy's got the look down pretty well, better than most even, but there's no way in hell he's actually the Totality.
That's fine, though. Sparrow has no objection to playing along with someone's else's fantasy, especially when that someone else is this hot and playing along is going to get him laid. "Sure you are. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Totality, sir."
The hot blond's smile turns sardonic. "Your turn."
"Precipitation Jones. You can call me Cip."
"Well, Mr. Jones—" The hot blond leans in and whispers a totally obscene suggestion that has Sparrow paying for their drinks and pulling the hot blond toward the exit.
The memory smash cuts to the two of them making out heavily in the back of a cab, hands already wandering despite the poor cabbie in the front seat. The cabbie pulls to a stop and coughs impatiently to get their attention. While the hot blond sucks on his neck, Sparrow fishes out his wallet, tosses a couple bills at the cabbie and pulls the blond out of the cab and up a couple flights of stairs into a spacious, well-appointed apartment.
The hot blond shoves Sparrow down along the couch and kneels over him, kissing him deep into the cushions as he starts tugging at Sparrow's belt.
"I hope you meant what you said back there," Sparrow pants into his mouth, pulling at the hot blond's shirt.
The hot blond sits back long enough to pull it off and toss it to one side, smirking confidently. "Don't worry. I meant it."
The memory fades to black as the hot blond presses Sparrow down into the couch again, reaching down to pull his jeans off.
*
Note: If you delete the drunken blur, the hot blond definitely looks like a five-years-younger, height-of-his-Totality-fame Jackson Umbra.
reunion with Vincent
Date: 2025-04-21 02:36 am (UTC)The reason for why he went to all this effort quickly becomes clear as Sparrow checks his phone, specifically one of Estoria's many fine hook-up apps. The last message from whoever he's meeting tonight says that he's already inside.
Sparrow enters the building and makes his way confidently toward the bar, where Vincent C. Frost (also dressed to the nines) is sitting with a drink already in front of him. As Sparrow slides into the seat next to him, Vincent turns to look at him with obvious appreciation as well as a slight double-take, quickly hidden.
It rapidly becomes apparent that they have a ton of chemistry, flirting heavily through a couple drinks and snacks. After about his third drink, Vincent asks if they know each other and Sparrow give a sly, evasive answer, which if anything seems to intrigue Vincent even more.
At one point Sparrow casually implies that Vincent knows his parents, which opens a whole other rabbit hole of Vincent visibly wondering if he's banged this mysterious hot goth's parents. This still doesn't seem to be a turn-off, though. The rest of the conversation is more flirting and playing cat-and-mouse with Sparrow's identity—he seems to know who Vincent is, even if Vincent doesn't know who he is.
Eventually, though, the penny drops. Vincent leans in close and murmurs, "It's been a long time...Arthit."
Sparrow laughs. "Took you long enough."
"Can you blame me? You look...very different now."
"I should fucking hope so."
Vincent pays off both their tabs. "Let's get out of here. My place?"
Sparrow blinks, surprised, and grins with anticipation. "Lead the way."
starving artist classic
Date: 2025-07-12 03:20 am (UTC)When she finishes, Sparrow rattles the order back to her perfectly, only for her to change her mind yet again. When is she going to fucking shut up? Sparrow wonders, while maintaining a polite expression on his face.
Meanwhile, the people behind her are getting visibly annoyed, and the line keeps getting longer......