#why do we feel the need to push her into a binary of passing? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vulpixisananimal · 6 months ago

Text

[A:3 C:65]

[Alex] |Jasmine|

“You, y-you . .” [Perci drew his swords, and was looking at you, eyes full of rage.]

“I could teleport us out, but I'm not prepared.” [Merlon was back to back with Perci, and their light was already crackling.]

[You and Odile were facing Perci, and the rest of the party faced Merlon. You grinned.] “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet you stray.”

[Siffrin let out a chuckle as Merlon shot you a dirty look.] “No need for name calling now!”

“Oh, oh there is quite a need for name calling.” [Despite his damaged appearance, Siffr-Asterion was able to smile.] “my good binary star.”

“Stop that, Stargazer!” [They snap back.] “Who raised you to be so rude.”

“And who raised you to be such a, a CRAB!!” [Mirabelle yells.]

"My!” [Odile chuckles.] “You’ve even got Mirabelle up in arms. You’ve really done it now.”

“Fine.” [Merlon tapped her foot.] “If we need to fight you, then we will. Right, Cici- Perci?”

[So they noticed it too. Perci had gone quiet. He was staring at you, teeth gritted, breathing shallow, and his hands. . . They're shaking.]

“Perci, Cici, Percival!” [Adversaries forgotten, Merlon turned and shook Perci’s shoulder.]

“Uh. . .” [Isabeau stands at ease.] “Is everything alright?”

“Really, big guy? Asking the big bad if everything's alright?” [Nille gives him a look.]

“What! It's only poli-”

(Do it again.)

[Wh- what was-(WHAM WHAM WHAM!!)-BLINDING! What is--]

(I-I'm sorry I'm sorry I-I-I won't WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM!!!)

[You grip your head and stumble back into the table. S-stars those aren't, your thoughts, they're, ah, how are you. . ACK--]

[Odile glances at you.] “Headache?”

“No.” [You shake-(No use lying. Again.)-your head Nille said you could now, but you hadn't until, now.] “I think I'm, hearing his thoughts.”

“Cici it's not real, it's not real you're okay. You're here with me, listen to me.” [Merlon puts a hand on his.]

(Please, no, more-)

[Perci snaps back, gasping and stumbling back. (Not real, not real, not real not real not real.)] “. . . I'm fine!”

“You are not!!” [Merlon keeps a hand on his as they turn to the other half of the group.] “I will transport us out of here-”

“NO! No.” [Perci slipped the mask of confidence back on and leaned back, whispering to Merlon.]

“. . . . . . . . . Weren't we gonna fight?” [Bonnie asks, annoyed.]

“Give them a second, Bonnie.” [Odile huffed.] “I'm sure the conversation is very important.”

[The two stopped whispering and Perci turned back to you, smiling.] “A bonded couple's argument, I'm sure you understand.”

“D-do you need a second? Or are we good to fight now.” [Mirabelle asks.]

“No no no! I’m alright now. Sorry about that.” [Perci chuckled, clearly covering for a slipped mask.] “Please, continue.”

“Well now that you're back to your senses. Ahem.” [You gesture dramatically to Asterion.] “Mind repeating yourself for the class?”

[Aster laughed, face softening.] “Oh I was just commenting on these binary stars!”

[Perci made a face.] “Why do I feel so. . . Attacked?”

“I believe it’s an islander insult, Cici.” [Merlon huffed and turned back.] “And it is, unfortunately, devastating.”

[The Monets glanced at each other, then both took a combat stance, Perci glared at you.] “Let’s just get this over with.”

[Odile pushes up her glasses. Odile analyzed the enemy!] “Percival Monet. Scissors craft. A highly advanced mind craft user, he’s reading your thoughts as I speak. Assume any plan of attack you have, he already knows about it. And for expressions sake don’t let him touch you!”

[You gave Odile a smug look and adjusted your glasses. You studied the enemy!] “Merlon Monet. Paper craft. Somehow, they have found a way to weaponize wish craft. Don’t take them lightly, or you’ll end up dead. She does have one weakness, eventually the wish craft will wear her out, and they’ll pass out.”

[You’re not fully sure how you remember all that, but right now it didn’t matter. Perci looks back to you, then his frown turns back into a smile.] “You want to fight so bad? Fine. We’ll fight!”

[In a smooth motion reminiscent of a dance, the Monets swapped places. Stepping to each other's left, Merlon turned to you and extended a wave of dangerous craft energy, while Perci rushed at the rest of the group.]

[You dived into Odile, both of you hitting the floor as the crackling energy passed above you. In a quick response, Odile held out a hand for [Scissors III]. Despite being defended by that light, Merlon stumbled back just a bit.]

[You get up off Odile and hold out your own paper sign. [Bramble Ramble!] And in a moment whisper rose brambles wrapped over the battlefield, that should slow them down.]

“Paper?” [Odile stands back up.] “You're not a paper type.”

“But I know paper moves.” [You reply, staring Merlon down.] “Why so surprised?”

[Merlon chuckles. Odile glances at her.] “Finding something funny, are we?”

“Oh yes, very funny.” [They waved a hand.] “I won’t spoil it.”

“How polite.” [Odile huffs, extending her sign. [Paper III]]

[Whatever hand waving Merlon did, their shields of light were now much stronger as Odile’s attack did almost nothing. You grumbled and rushed in, pen-knife in hand. You strike, only to stop an inch away from Merlon's body, that light shielding them.]

“Stars. . !”

“Are you quite done yet?” [She reached forward and flicked your head with a finger. With a spark of light, you flew back, crashing into the table.]

[Starsdammit, you’re way underleveled. You struggle to stand as Odile gets in front of you.] “I believe we’ve never properly met each other, Merlon.”

“No, we have not.” [They hesitantly bow.] “Merlon Monet, as you very well know.”

“Odile.” [She bows back.] “No last name necessary. Now that we’re properly acquainted I can ask just how you’re able to use wishes in combat like you do.”

“Oh you know I can’t just pass out such secrets, Miss Odile.” [She puts a hand to their chin.] “But, let’s just say I’ve had many, many years of practice.”

“Is that so?” [Odile glances back as you finally stand again.] “So it’s no different from the wishes than any other person could do?”

“The only theoretical barrier is one's knowledge and willpower, Madame.” [She holds her hand out to the side.] “I’ve met none who have been able to match me, Madame, and it’s very dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. So don’t try.”

“Oh trust me, I don’t plan to.” [Odile held out a hand, and you heard what could only be described as a thunderclap. Odile use [Craft Break Δ!!!]]

“How-!” [Merlon stumbled back, that light dissipating for a moment. You take the chance, and rush in again, taking a stab with your pen. You connect!!]

[Merlon stumbles back, clutching their side.] “You, how did-”

[They’re cut off by Mirabelles scream from across the room.]

“HE’S WHAT?!?”

<<<

(Siffrin) {Mal Du Pays} <Null> |Asterion| [Loop] [(Saffron)]

|Perci rushed right at you, a wild smile on his face that told you all you needed to know about this fight. You raise the katana in both hands to block his attack. Mirabelle lunges from the side but Perci twists one of his swords to block her, too. Now locked between two swords, Nille came rushing with her hammer.|

|He jumped back at the last second, and all three weapons struck thin air. As soon as Perci landed, he ducked just in time to avoid Isabeaus fist on the back of his head. He spun and slashed at him back. Before dancing back and kicking you in the gut as you went to strike him in the back.|

|Stars. . .|

“You’re a nimble crab aren’tcha!” |Nille yells.| “They weren’t kidding about knowing what we’re about to do.”

“Of course, Pétronille.” |Perci chuckled.| “I’m an expert, after all.”

“Don’t talk to him, Nille!” |Mira yells, jumping in to strike.| “He’ll just get under your skin!”

“Oh my!!” |He blocked the attack and swiped back.| “Don’t worry, I’ll keep Nilles tales of the seas a secret~”

“Shut your mouth!!” |Nille ran in again to smash him down, only for Perci to sidestep her attack and strike her in the gut, thankfully, with the flat of his blade.|

{Tag out. In a swift motion you switch from sword to dagger and jump in, Perci raised his sword to block. You were locked, blade to blade, and you saw his expression change from smug, to confused, then to pained as you punched him in the stomach.}

{He stumbled back.} “. . . Hah, HAH! You tamed your sadness?”

“Tamed?!?” {Isabeau steps to your side.} “It’s not some wild animal, Perci!”

“Oh really?” {He grinned. Looking at you.} “By all metrics, it is! And you trust it? Enough to share blood with it?”

{Isa glances at you. You nod, and he shows his palm, a faint scar on it that is almost imperceptible.} “I’d trust it with my life, Perci! That’s why we’re gonna beat you!”

“Cute.” {Perci smiles, and takes off a glove, showing his own palm with a similar scar.} “I could say the same.”

{In a twist, Perci extended his scissors sign, and slashes of lightless ink shot at you and Isabeau. You block, yet the craft passes right through you.}

{A blink later, Perci was swinging at you. You go to block it, and the swing disappears. Only for you to feel a sting in your leg.}

“MAL!!” {Mirabelle rushes to your side, and Nille passes you to strike at thin air. Then suddenly Perci is at your side! And then is gone, then, Isabeau is holding his head, kneeling. Oh. You shake your head.}

{As Mirabelle uses her healing craft, you point to your head then hands together, then wave over your eyes. “A trick, a veil over the eyes. Illusion.”}

“You’re seeing things?” {She asks, you nod.} “Got it, can you switch out?”

{You sigh, but nod. Some protector you’ve been, perhaps it’s not in your nature. You close your eye.}

|After a brief headache, you’re back. O-oh. . It’s too hectic to focus properly, or switch easily without pain. Stars, you’re only mostly sure you are. . . You. Your eye snaps open to see Nille barely holding Perci off, and Mirabelle tending to Isabeau. You switch dagger for sword and run in again.|

|Perci jumps back from your swing. You hold out a fist.| “I will not let you win!! |You used [Cries of the Lost!] Tears drip from your fist, then fly at Perci. He deflects some, but others catch his legs, taking him to a knee.|

|And that was the golden moment for the frying pan wielding savior to run in and smash Perci in the head. He didn’t even see Bonnie coming, stumbling back and holding his neck, and watching the kid run back behind Nille.|

“. . . Haa, you’re all quite tricky, you know.” |He stands up, relaxed.| “For one I wouldn’t think being plural would be so helpful in the middle of a fight!”

|You don’t reply, don’t talk to him. He looks at you, and smiles.| “Cat got your tongue? Or do you not like someone poking in your head.”

“STOP TALKING CRABFACE!!!!” |Bonnie was barely holding themself back from attacking him again.|

|Perci glanced at them, then you.| “. . . Why are we even fighting, anyways.”

“Because you're trying to take over our minds!!” |Mirabelle rebuked, having helped Isabeau recover.| “We can stop fighting, j-just as long as you stop using mind craft!!”

“A chance to change my ways?” |He laughed, sheathing a sword and shaking his head.| “So is that the same offer you gave your once-enemy now-friend?”

“Ramos?” |She huffed.| “They only did the things they did because of you!!”

“Oh no no!! I don't mean Ramos.” |He smiles.| “I'm talking about Asterion here! Unless. . .”

|Your eye goes wide.|

“Unless you don't know who he is.”

|You rush at him, metal clashing against metal, he blocks and strikes back. You rush again, and with one hand he keeps you at bay.|

“Oh? Why so aggressive!! Did I hit a nerve?” |He pushes you back.| “After all, I may tell half-truths, but you're the one stabbing them all in the back!!”

|You hear Mirabelle behind you.| “. . . A-asterion? What does he-”

|No no no NO NO!! You rush again. You need to shut him up, shut him up or, o-or do something!! You swing, but he effortlessly sidesteps you, and hits you with the hilt of his sword. You collapse to all fours.|

“Aster!!” |Isabeau runs to get to you, but Perci cuts him off.| “Leave him alone!”

“And why would I do that?” |He twirled his sword.| “I've always wanted to commit regicide.”

“Wha. . ?” |Isa steps back.|

“R-regicide?!?” |Mirabelle hesitates.|

“Crab you mean?!?” |Nille grips her hammer tighter.|

“. . .” |And, Bonnie. They're just, looking at you.|

“Why, exactly what you think I do~” |He looks back at you, no nononononononononono--|

|You're shaking, you're shaking, you can't breathe.| “P-please, no-”

“Shall I tell them for you, your majesty?”

|You're frozen to the spot.|

“HE'S WHAT?!?" |Mirabelle screams.|

“LIKE CHANGE HE IS!!” |Nille yells and runs at Perci.|

“Oh trust me, he is.” |He dodges.| “I can see it all over your face, you know it's true.”

“SHUT UP!!”

“Asterion. . ?” |Isabeau is looking at you. You're crawling away, slowly. You can’t, you, you can’t look at him, you can’t look at any of them, you feel, pale, you feel cold and, numb. Your breathing stopped, you can’t focus you can’t, c-cant-|

|You grip your hair, close your eye, you can’t can’tcan’tcan’tloopbacloopbackloopback-|

“Well I don’t care if he is!!” |Mirabelle joined Nille on the offensive, stabbing relentlessly at the historian.| “If he really is the King, he’s already proven to us multiple times that he’s changed!!”

“Mirabelle’s right.” |Isabeau sounded like he was right next to you. Opening an eye, he is. He’s holding a hand out to you. You took it.| “When I first met him he didn’t even know who he was or what to do. So we’ll deal with that later. AFTER we deal with YOU!!”

“Interesting.” |There’s a pause in the fight, Perci breathing faster.| “. . . And what do you think? Boniface?”

|Glancing over, Bonnie’s. . . Still, looking at you.|

“Tell me, Bonnie, why does your mind feel blank?” |Perci chuckles.| “Why is it that when puppeting Ramos, I mistook you for the islander I was looking for?”

“. . Bonnie. . ?” |Nilles voice. A moment later, she was crouched down in front of their sibling.| “Bonnie what’s he talking about? What’s-”

“SHUTTUP!! GO AWAY!!!” |Bonnie yelled, pushing Nille away and stepping back.| “YOU DON’T KNOW ME YOU CRAB!!!”

“B-BONNIE?!?!?” |Nille was taken aback, Bonnie was crying.|

“Interesting! Tell me, Bonnie, did you make a little wish?” Perci was practically gloating.

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!” Bonnie clamped their hands over their ears. “I DID NOT!!!”

“Oh! You clearly did.” His smile was venomous. The fighting from the other half of the room was making its way over to yours. “And if I had to guess the wish, it’s something to do with. . . memory~?”

“N-NO!! NO!! SHUT UP!!!”

“Odile is very observant, you know, and thus now I know. It was only a matter of time before she told everyone what she found-”

“NOTHING IT’S NOTHING IT’S NOTHING!!!!!”

“B-bonbon, Bonnie, Boniface please.” [(The Carpenter crouched down in front of the Kid.)] “It’s, listen whatever it was it’s okay I just-”

“SHUT UP!!!!” [(They’re crying. You cling tighter to the Fighter, eye wide.)] “JUST CRABBING SHUT UP!!!! I JUST WANTED TO BE HELPFUL!!!”

[(The scholar laughed. You looked at him.)] “That’s no way to talk to someone trying to help you! Here, I’ll say it for you”

“NO-”

“You remember. Don’t you.” [(He chuckled.)] “You remember all the times your traveler has looped back.”

[(The Kids head snapped to attention, they’re crying and can’t stop. Their bottom lip is trembling. The Carpenter gets closer.)] “Bonnie. . .”

“E-every. .” [(The Housemaiden was keeping the Scholar at a distance.)] “Every, one?”

“That’s something to ask them.”

“Okay! That’s enough!” [(You bolt from The Fighters arms, smiling to yourself as you lunge at the Scholar, no care for your own health. He blocks, but you’re relentless.)]

[(Eventually, he pushes you away from him.)] “Ah! That’s our cue to leave. Mimi~!”

[(You hear a snap, and move back just in time to avoid the explosion at your feet that somehow, leaves the ground without a scratch!)]

[(The Sage joins The Scholar, both near the exit. The Sage smiled.)] “Bravo, Cici.”

“I told you I’d get us an exit, Mimi.” [(He chuckled.)] “Saviors! I bid you all adieu, don’t try to follow, I’ve spoiled two secrets tonight, pray that I don’t spoil a third.”

[(He backs up towards the exit, you see The Trainee start to chase him before The Researcher catches their shirt. The Housemaiden is at your side. You can see she wants to chase as well. You stand, and go to chase, but another grabs your cloak before you do.)]

“JUST GET OUTTA HERE YOU, Y-YOU CRAB!!!” [(The Kid yells.)]

[(The Scholar bows, and exits, the Sage pauses a second, looking at you before they follow.)] “. . . Perhaps that’s something you can learn from Perci and I, saviors; communication.”

[(They leave, and the doors slam shut.)]

[(. . . . . . You, breathe out.)]

[Mirabelle is now level- oh you’re not doing all that. You shake your head, and fall back onto the ground.]

“Stars above. . .” [You close your eye and breathe. Bonnie’s crying, Nille is worried, everyone’s wounded, and Ramos is. . . Stars. . .]

“A-asterion?” [You hear Mirabelle crouch down next to you.] “Are you-”

“Wrong headmate, Housemaiden~ Try again.” [You giggle, exhausted.]

“O-oh! Loop are, you alright? I-I’m guessing you, just switched in?”

“Correct. . .” [You’re still breathing heavily.] “I think the other three all got a bit. . .”

“Overwhelmed?” [Isabeaus voice. You open your eye a crack, he’s smiling down at you.] “I wouldn’t blame them.”

“I can see the battle replaying in my head.” [You laugh a little.] “Overwhelmed I think is an understatement.”

“Hey!” [Ramos- hmm, voice was off. You sit up.] “Let’s head home everyone. Rest up, deal with everything later. Alright?”

[There’s general agreement around the room. Mirabelle and Isabeau both help you up. Nille was carrying the crying Bonnie, and Odile and. . . “Ramos” led the charge home.]

[As she passes you, her younger siblings face buried into her shoulder, Nille gives you a look.]

[Stars. . .]

54 notes · View notes

bluberryfields · 2 years ago

Text

"What the hell did you just do?"

Part 2 of whatever. Continuing on with Tadfield Manor scenes, we get to the infamous "Wall" scene. I know it has been analyzed by many so far, but that's never stopped people in the world of literary analysis from spewing their own thoughts on well-reviewed texts. Also, I just want to.

Okay, so once they enter the manor building and see the management training branding, Crowley decides to "help out" and make all of the paintball guns into real machine guns. He snaps his fingers and points double finger guns at the passing "soldier".

Aziraphale is dumbfounded. "What the hell did you just do?

Such language, Angel! And no physical reaction to it like Crowley did when he said "Heaven's sake" in E6. Huh.

Crowley, meanwhile, is thoroughly pleased with himself. They want to battle? He's happy to oblige.

This plus the scare in the courtyard lets us see Crowley enjoying the few perks of being a demon. It's fucking adorable.

Aziraphale cannot comprehend how Crowley - who just miracled a stain away on his coat because it bothered him - could do something so thoroughly evil. And with a jaunty step!

If Aziraphale had pearls, he'd be clutching them so hard.

To which Crowley takes the opportunity to once again point out the flawed binary system of morality. We the audience will see this argument again in the Body Snatcher minisode, so it's fun to see how these two keep having the same old debates throughout time just with different causes with which to start from.

Pointing out hypocrisy while slinking down a hall? Crowley, you delicious tramp.

Aziraphale is still thoroughly horrified, but Crowley concedes with a sigh that everyone will, in fact, be fine. To me, his tone is a mix of disappointment at him not being quite as much of a bastard as he paints himself. He can't really hide his true self from Aziraphale.

I love how he can't stop moving his body. Snakes gonna slither.

Then here is it. The big moment. Smug little Aziraphale feels the need to mention how nice Crowley is underneath his demonic persona.

We now know that this is a reoccurring exchange, where Crowley must defend his title of Big Bad Demon in front of Azi's kind compliments. There's serious consequences to Crowley being labeled "nice" and Azi knows this by now. So why does he keep bringing it up? To provoke Crowley? To finally break him into admitting Azi is right? It's not like Azi can protect Crowley from Hell's wrath, but he pushes anyway.

I thought Crowley was the shit-stirrer in this relationship.

And now my favorite part. Sister Mary shows up and rightly implies these two are about to nail each other through the drywall. But when she recognizes Crowley, he stops her in her tracks.

The sass! It's off the fucking chart! Only an Angel could withstand such a display!

Aziraphale just straightens his clothes and lets the sass go unchallenged because he's still has a bit of self-preservation instincts left.

So I already talked about the "Luck of the devil" line from Aziraphale here, but it truly is a fun moment in the context of the whole scene. Crowley is worked up from the "nice" comment and Aziraphale's seeming refusal to stop analyzing him.

Horny Aziraphale is sassy and Crowley looks like he wants to bite through a door frame.

So, obviously, I've spent way too much time rewatching these scenes, but I do find it so interesting how we see so much of their relationship on display within just a few minutes. The different personality traits to draw them together while also pushing them apart.

The way Aziraphale knows how to work Crowley, who in turns knows how to indulge appropriately. (*cough* bullet catch *cough*)

The way Crowley happily taps into his demonic toolbox to spread a bit of chaos without actually causing serious harm. (*cough* Job *cough*)

The way Aziraphale reflexively tows the party line of Heaven even in the face of Crowley's demonstrations of humanity's instincts. (*cough* all of time *cough*)

And basically the way they bring out the best (and sometimes worst) of each other. Some might say they're a team. Or a group. A group of the two of them.

#good omens #crowley x aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #david tennant #michael sheen #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #good omens meta #the cutest chaos goblin #luck of the devil #sassy aziraphale #supernatural sass #microcosm of the universe #nice is a four letter word

176 notes · View notes

dumbestthingiveeverheard · 2 years ago

Text

Dumbest Thing I've Ever Heard: 7/25/2023

Fifth Place: The Babylon Bee

Today, the right-wing satire website ran the article "Scientists Unveil Periodic Table Of Genders." Even ignoring the fact that this is the millionth or so time they've run a joke similar to this--you do realize what this implies, right? That the side in favor of transgender rights and who affirms non-binary identities have science on their side while you guys don't. In fact, this is even quite similar to a pro-transgender rights meme I saw posted a few years back.

Fourth Place: Matt Gaetz

The Hill reports today "Gaetz introduces legislation to end ‘unqualified’ birthright citizenship." Of course, given birthright citizenship has been upheld by the Supreme Court, repealing it would require a Constitutional Amendment, not just an act of Congress--something Matt would know if he took even the basic class on how our government works.

It should also be noted that Matt is trying to use this bill “to reflect the original intent of the 14th Amendment’s ‘subject to the jurisdiction thereof’ clause,” which refers to a part which quite literally reads that citizenship applies to everyone “born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof.” If the original intent of that language was not that everybody born in the United States is automatically a citizen, which was the understanding held by the Senate when the Amendment was passed (as seen by a Senate Judiciary Report regarding the Amendment) and by then-President Andrew Johnson, then somebody should really have told those who wrote it to use different words.

This is a small aside, but one thing you'll notice if you listen to the rhetoric the right pushes on the Constitution is that they always seem to think the people who wrote it put some Asterix next to each part that implies something they wish it didn't which the rest of us are just too blind to see but totally shows the amendment is counter to everything they don't like. Although I am not going to sit here and pretend like the left can be guilty of the same thing--especially regarding the Second Amendment--it is not only worth pointing out that the right does it far more, but also that the right does it exclusively to take away the rights and freedoms of American citizens--or, in the case of Matt right here, to take away the status of citizen from millions of people.

Third Place: Hillary Clinton

Regarding the recent heat wave sweeping the country, the former Secretary of State wrote on Twitter:

Hot enough for you? Thank a MAGA Republican. Or better yet, vote them out of office.

First off, why the MAGA Republicans specifically? Don't Reagan and Bush Republicans also have a great deal of responsibility? How about Gingrich Republicans--you know, the ones who literally did everything possible to stop the environmental progress your husband's second in command tried to make!

Let's not forget that this is the same woman who dropped references to Climate Change from her speeches during her 2016 Presidential Campaign after Bernie Sanders endorsed her, who refused to endorse a carbon tax, and who encouraged other countries to embrace fracking as Secretary of State.

Second Place: Greg Gutfeld

It's not everyday the Auschwitz Museum feels the need to condemn something said on cable news, but Gutfeld's provided just such an occasion. Specifically, the organization criticized the Fox News host's use of Viktor Frankl's book Man's Search For Meaning while defending Florida's educational standards which say that slaves learned useful skills during their enslavement, in response to the Jewish Jessica Tarlov bringing up a hypothetical similar situation related to the holocaust. His statement was the following:

Did you ever read Man’s Search for Meaning? Vik Frankel talks about how you had to survive in a concentration camp by having skills. You had to be useful. Utility, utility kept you alive!

Can we just talk about the implication that the Jews who died in the Holocaust did so because of lack of skill? What the fuck, Greg?

Winner: Ron DeSantis

I am honestly starting to believe that the DeSantis campaign is run by people who really don't want DeSantis to be President. Remember that ad late last month which called Donald Trump to much of an LGBT ally that was put out by a pro-DeSantis Twitter account? It turns out the DeSantis campaign made that ad internally and then gave it to this account in hopes of passing it off as something done by a crazed supporter. Said ad was mocked all across the internet both for the idiotic claim that Trump was some stern fighter for the rights of LGBT people and also because DeSantis was trying to run to the right on an issue that many Americans no longer agree with the right on.

At this point, all one really has to do if they one to debunk the idea of a DeSantis nomination is point out how badly Mike Huckabee, Rick Santorum, and Ted Cruz all did when they ran on platforms rather similar to DeSantis back in 2008, 2012, and 2016 respectively. The fact is that every Republican Presidential Primary for the past decade or so has featured one candidate who is the preferred President of the nutjobs and, although they do a good job being second place, they never progress past that. The average American--fuck, the average Republican--does not want what these people sell, and the reason is because they understand that hating other people isn't going to improve their lives, while hate is the only thing these people offer.

Ron DeSantis, you've done the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

#the babylon bee #matt gaetz #hillary clinton #greg gutfeld #ron desantis

10 notes · View notes

inherpower · 29 days ago

Text

The Spook Who Sat By The Door

I’ve blamed myself for the death of my biological mother for years. I don’t anymore (or so I believe). I carried the self-imposed guilt for years though I had nothing to do with her death. Even she didn’t have anything to do with it. But my seven-year-old mind had to make sense of why she was gone… forever. Seven is the age when you still view the world from a selfish lens. It’s not bad it’s just biology. If things happen that are out of our control we blame ourselves because our young minds can’t wrap itself around the fact that the bigger humans have the capability of making their own decisions and choices. We are the center of our worlds which means that we believe that everything starts and ends with us. This is why childhood trauma can be so difficult to untether ourselves from because the trauma is happening at a time when we have little to no sense of identity. The bigger humans are meant to cater to us and when that doesn’t happen we believe that is it a failing on our part.

I’ve been working for years to rewrite the narrative that has shaped my entire existence up until this point. But no matter how many positive words, affirmations or creative visions boards I created I kept returning to this false story. Naturally from this (and the events surrounding her death) was born people pleasing, perfectionism and placing my power in someone else’s hands. I didn’t know I was doing these things of course. I simply lived my life with a pressurized need to have people like me. Recently some of the most important relationships in my life have been turned on their side with my role in those relationships changing over night. I had no control over how others viewed me and it sent me into a tailspin.

If I’m not perfect then bad things can happen. Questions of worthiness and value began to plague me as I descended into the shadows of my inner world. It was hard for me to separate the need for acceptance with the need for validation. Little did I know that my perfectionism came with a side of not being able to slow down. As someone who has been practicing meditation for years I was under the impression that I was slowing down. But the truth of the matter was that I was only giving myself enough space to freeze. To stop the clock only to have it resume right where I left off when life started back up again. I lived on an endless loop of being sad then pressing on. I never integrated my experiences, my feelings, my grief. I simply pushed forward. It’s what I had been trained to do.

Ancestral patterns passed down through the generations made it easy for me to do what the women in my family had done time and time again. Not only did I need to look at my own lived experiences and take them into account when it came to perfectionism and slowing down but I also needed to recognize the expectations of external narratives. I’m a black queer person. I present as femme though I identify as non-binary. Looking at me I have certain privileges that afford the ability to move through the world with slightly less push back from society. I don’t come across as queer. I’m light-skinned. I’m non-threatening in my presentation and overall presence. I’m agreeable to a fault. There’s no doubt in my mind that the respectability that I perform is a function of safety that many if not all of the women in my family used. As long as I wasn’t like “those” black people I was safe. “Those” qualities were never verbally expressed but were telepathically understood.

By the time I reached adulthood and became a parent I was swimming in an ocean of perfectionistic, people pleasing skills. Succumbing to the exhaustion of treading water to stay afloat I was beginning to drown. Nothing I did could allow me to come up for air. So slowing down looked like death. If I stop treading water I will sink down to the watery grave of the ancestors that never made it to dry land. Maybe their deaths were intentional. Maybe they could see the writing on the wall unlike me who was still in the middle of the ocean waiting for a ship to save me from myself. Over the last couple of months I’ve been doing rituals around cord cutting. Cutting myself off from ideas, beliefs and stories that only keep me in the exhaustive struggle. I won’t be able to keep this performance up for long. And who would emerge from the disembodied corpse that I would leave behind? Who was the “me” inside this shell of flesh, bone and blood?

After one particularly meaningful ritual I began to feel the old me slipping away. Though she fought tooth and nail to remain in tact, to remain connected to this corporeal body I knew that “we” had to surface. No more living at either end of the human spectrum and having others determine who I am. I knew integration of the all was the only way to live. But that’s easier said than done. Especially when the ocean that I am swimming in is that of white supremacy, patriarchy and puritanical ideology. Though my outward expression showed myself to be excelling as a black woman I was failing as a child of the most high. And failure is a construct of the human. In truth I was not failing, I was rising. I was, and still am, remembering who I am not who I constructed myself to be in order to fit a model of acceptance and love of human standards.

This work is hard. Being a human is hard. Not because of the practical skills which are laughably simplistic in their design and execution. But because we are constantly inundated with energies that seek to pull us away from remembering. To remember is to recollect. To recollect is to return. And there is nothing that this world wants more than for us, for me, to never return to that knowing. Knowing is dangerous because it’s resistance. It flies in the face of erasure which this world seeks to do each and every moment that we breathe. Be perfect, hurry up, forget and melt into asimilation. I’m not completely out of the woods from my perfectionistic, people pleasing historical patterns but I have been able to shed some of the lies that I have told myself about myself.

And I think that in and of itself is progress that I am proud of.

0 notes

in-the-name-of-styles · 4 years ago

Text

Need You.

Author’s Note: Hello! After answering tons and tons of asks, and explaining how Tumblr had deleted the second part “Please Stay” to my one shot named “Only If” for god knows what reasons. I had to do this for you guys. I stopped writing years ago, and but kept my masterlist open for you to come and read my writings whenever you wish to. Trust me, this was so effing difficult for me to do! but I’m kind of proud that I removed the time and managed it. but let me inform you it’s not the same, because I do not remember what happened in the original one clearly. I hope this is a better and hopefully more well-written (amongst my other writings *cringe*) version of the old one.

It’s not proof read. I haven't edited it, so I’m sorry in advance for the typos.

So, guys, gals and non-binary pals, I present to you (apology for it being light years late) the part two to your favourite little creation of mine “Only If”, with a new identity... please welcome “Need You”!

Do let me know how it makes you feel in the ask box or comment section. I love reading them. Happy Reading!

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: tons of angst with tons of fluff, sensitive harry???? (or do you guys call it sub!harry nowadays??) anyways it’s a cute!harry :P !

It’s been four hours, and you still weren’t back. Though it wasn’t new for you to go for a drive after an argument with him, you often came back within an hour or two. The blizzard outside was making Harry quite anxious. Even though the fight was extreme, he wanted you back safe and sound. He now realised how harsh he was on you. You didn’t intentionally leak the song. It was a mistake and it could happen to anyone, himself included. He felt guilty over the way he yelled at you; it wasn’t like him to react like that.

Suddenly, Harry felt the need to do something special for you. Though he planned on apologising to you verbally, he wanted his actions to prove it too. He made his way to the kitchen to cook you your favourite meal. He got a hold of his phone and switched on the playlist which include all the songs both of you enjoyed. the sound of the vessels clucking against each other minimised over the song playing on through the speakers.

A smile lit up on his face as he reminisced back to the moment when you were dancing to this song while making the two of you breakfast.

FLASHBACK

Harry rubbed his eyes as he walked down the stairs, his dimpled smile already making its appearance when he heard your voice blasting through the kitchen entrance. He didn’t know why you bothered turning the song on so loud, you were anyways going to be louder. He stopped at the kitchen entrance, a silent laugh escaped him as he leaned against the door frame and took in the scene going on in front of him.

“You say you want a good time! Well here I am, baby, here I am, baby” you belted out loud, cheeks turning red with the happiness radiating out of you. You’d decided that the whisk was your microphone of choice with batter stuck to it and everything. You’re moving those luscious hips which drive him crazy right to the rhythm of the song.

“Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me talk to me, tell me what's on your mind!” you missed a note but you don’t care. This scene right in front of him, he wished he could capture and watch it forever. Bruno Mars did bring a wild side out of you, and he couldn’t bring himself to be jealous of the multi-talented singer. He would give anything to see you like this. Knowing you’re the shy type who doesn’t enjoy too much of attention, getting to watch you like this was definitely a sight.

He walked right up to you and wrapped his arms around you slowly. You jumped in a scare, as you were lost in your own world. “Harry! You scared me.” You complained, trying to ignore the blush on you cheeks after you realised he must’ve been watching you from a far.

He nuzzled into your neck and sighed, while pressing a kiss there, “Hmm… I’m sorry, m’love. But you just looked so beautiful I didn’t want to stop you.” He murmured while pressing more kisses to your neck, then trailing them up to your jawline. “Y’ look utterly ravishing right now. Forget pancakes, instead I’ll have you for breakfast.” He smiled and went on to kiss your cheeks. His comments made you smile. He saw his chance and lightly bite the side of your cheek. You squealed and tried to push him away.

“H, stop!” you laughed. He tightened his arms around you and swayed to the beat of the song then went on to sing next lyric “Tell me baby, tell me, tell me baby what you tryna do!” he slightly lifted up your t-shirt and moved one of his hands under it, and muttered, “huh? What are you trying to do to me, baby?” and pressed yet another kiss to your cheek.

“Gosh, your hands are extremely cold!” you gasped. He then turned you around to face him. You instinctively wrapped your arms around him. The two of you smiled quietly towards each other, then he leaned down to kiss you properly. You shifted one of your hands into his the nape of his neck and the other went on to cup his cheek. He moved one of his around your shoulder and the other around your waist. Both of you sighed and bathed in each other’s presence.

“G’morning, froggy” you teased as pulled away first and smiled up at him. He frowned and tutted, then smacked your ass lightly. You always teased him for his morning face, said it looked like a cute frog. He rubbed the area he spanked and quickly pecked you once again before pulling away to look at you.

Brushing away the hair stuck to your face, “Morning, precious. How’re you feeling?” he asked, hugging you towards his chest. Let’s just say the rest of the day went on just like this. Him being needy for your attention, and you loving on him without any hold backs.

END OF FLASHBACK

Right as he was getting ready to plate the dish, the doorbell rang. He smiled, happy to finally have you home. He quickly washed his hands and walked up to the door as he rubbed his hand dry with the towel which was once on his shoulder. He buzzed you in thinking you’ll unlock the main door with the security code. But after two minutes of waiting and not seeing you walk through the door, he turned on the camera above his buzzer to see what was wrong.

He frowned when he saw two police officers standing outside his door. His heart suddenly started racing at rapid speed. He rushed towards the door and unlocked them. Coming face to face with the two sombre looking men, he tentatively asked, “G’ evening, officers. How may I help you?”

The two men exchanged looks and the tall one replied, “Sir, there has been an accident and we found an ID on the victim. Is this Ms. Y/N Y/L/N residence? we’re here to inform you about the unfortunate event.”

“I-I don’t understand? What happened?” he stuttered, his legs almost felt as if they were about to give up.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have much information for you. May we ask what’s your relation to the victim?” the other officer asked, and gave him an apologetic smile.

“Fiancé.” He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself down. He could feel his panic attack rising. “I’m her fian-” he shook his head, “Just tell me where she is please…” he pleaded and quickly put on his shoes. He took his car keys and raced up to his rover.

“She’s over at St. Thomas, Mr. Styles.” The officers had clearly recognised the distressed man. “Here’s her ID. We hope everything is well.”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to thank them as he started his car and backed out of the parking spot. He raced up to the hospital, and once he reached, he ran up to the reception.

“Y-Y/N Y/L/N? S-She just c-came in? I’m her f-fiancé?” He gasped out your name. The lady was busy tending to others to notice him. “Hey! Hey! Please ma’am just tell me where she is!” he was on the verge of weeping in front of her.

The old lady looked at him with a bit of annoyance, “Take a breath, young man. I’m trying my best here!” She walked up to him. “Now tell me, what was her name again?”

“Y/N Y/L/N!” He rushed. He couldn’t stand straight. Once he got what he wanted, he ran towards the elevator, up to the fifth floor. The corridor was busy and he couldn’t care less about pushing people aside. He just wanted to get to you as soon as he could. He found your door and barged in, not caring about the doctors around your bed.

“Y/N!” He rushed to your side, dropping beside your bed.

“Sir you can’t be her-” the male nurse tried to pull him back.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, precious!” He cried, trying to get the man off of him and get back to you. “I’m here now, okay? I’m not going anywhere- GET OFF ME. SHE NEEDS ME!” he yelled pushing the guy away.

“Hey man you’re no good to her at the moment yeah? Let the doctors do their job!” the nurse tried to make him understand while pulling him back yet again. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to reach to you. He sobbed over your state, blood was streaming down your forehead, and all he wanted to do was protect you and wrap his arms around you.

“No I need to be here! Please let me!” he cried. All of sudden a beep brought his cries to a halt. He looked around frantically wanting to know what had happened. “W-What’s wrong?!” he hiccupped.

The doctor and the nurses around him started rushing around the room. He then heard those words which made his heart stop, “She has flat-lined! Someone pass me the defibrillator!” the doctor raised his voice.

Harry couldn’t believe this was happening. The nurse had enough of the unwilling man and pushed him out the door, “Sir we cannot help her if you’re being difficult. Please calm down and go to the waiting room. We will inform you about her doing as soon as we can.” and then shut the door to his face. Harry could no longer see you. The group of doctors, covered your body.

He slid down the wall next to your door and sobbed into his hands. Only if he would’ve stopped you from leaving. Only if he would’ve told you that he forgives you and that he loved you more than anything. Only if he would’ve let the argument die and kiss you instead. Only if…

Later, the upset man walked himself to the toilet. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t care about his red swollen eyes, his sweaty forehead and matted hair. The image of you lying on that bed yet again brought tears to his eyes. The thought of you not making it made him retch and he rushed into one of the restrooms. He dry-heaved and cried. Once he was able to breathe, he took out his phone.

Sniffling as he dialled the only number he could think of, The voice on the other side made him breakdown. “Mum I-” he couldn’t complete his sentence, as he tried to wipe his eyes.

“Harry? Darling what’s wrong?!” she asked shocked at her son’s rapid breathing.

“Y/N s-she is- Mum I can’t lose her. I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have let her leave. What if she doesn’t make it?” He wept while running his sticky fingers through his hair.

“Love, what-” she tried to ask him, but he cut her off.

“What if she…What if she dies, mum?” he cried and coughed.

His mother had figured out by now that you were not okay, and might be admitted in the hospital. She tried to calm her son through the phone. Unfortunately, she wasn’t near him and by the time she would reach it might not be enough. So she did the only thing she could once Harry hung up the phone, she rang up his friends.

Harry sat himself down on one of the wating room chairs. No one was telling him anything, he had no idea how you were doing or if you were okay. He was out of tears, and soon enough the exhaustion took over him. He didn’t even realise when he had fallen asleep until he felt a hand brush the back of his head. He opened his eyes and saw his two friends crouching in front of him.

“Hey buddy…” Louis smiled softly. Harry jolted back up, and got up to run towards your room. But before he could stand up straight Mitch stopped him. “H, they just came in here to inform us about her condition.”

“How’s she? Is she okay? Is she awake? She needs me, I need to be beside her.” He rushed. His two close friends, tried to calm him down.

“They said she’s stable now, mate. But we aren’t allowed to meet her yet, okay?” Louis stated.

Harry took deep breaths and looking at their extremely destressed friend, Louis pulled him into a hug. Getting the comfort he desperately needed, Harry started sobbing again. He was tired of crying but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Everything is going to be okay, Harry. She’s our little tigress, she’s going to pull through, yeah?” Mitch ran a hand drown his friend’s shoulder. Harry nodded lightly and tried to slow down his heart.

48 Hours Later

It’s been two days, yesterday Harry was allowed to visit you since they moved you out of the ICU. Thankfully, your internal recovery was rapid, and you could wake up anytime. He was getting a bit impatient. He wanted to see you open those shiny eyes and look at him the way you always did, with so much love that made him giddy and flustered. These past two days he’s been talking to you, continuously apologising for his behaviour, and how he’s going to make up for everything that went wrong. You just had to come back to him.

“and then Louis got frustrated because Mitch was not answering him. But that’s Mitch for you, right?” he slightly smiled and ran the hand which wasn’t holding you hand, through your hair. “You’re going to hate your hair, once you wake up. You always like them a certain way, don’t you? But don’t you worry, I’ll help you wash your hair as soon as you wake up and come back home.” He stated and kissed your hand. He was silent for a while, just continued to run his hand through your hair.

“You’re going to come back to me, right precious?” he asked quietly, “Why aren’t you waking up, huh? Your froggy needs you to open your eyes....” he continued, as he forced a laugh out of his throat which had a huge lump in it. His eyes turned misty as he continued, “I hate it here. Seeing you like this is a nightmare. I miss you so much. I miss you calling me annoying little names. I miss you smacking me when I’m being a narcissistic little prick. I miss your voice. I miss everything about you, and even though it’s just been two day, I feel like it’s been forever. Wake up, baby. Please…” he pleaded.

As the day turned into night, Harry decided to stay back. He asked for an extra blanket and a pillow for his makeshift bed on the couch. He didn’t know why he bothered because he spent the entire night sitting beside you, holding your hand as he fell asleep leaning against it.

You could listen before you could see. The only thing you could hear was the air conditioner and someone lightly snoring against your right hand. You tried to move your fingers as you opened your eyes. The bright light made you squint, you blinked rapidly as your vision cleared. You turned to your right and saw Harry’s peaceful face sleeping against your hand. You felt the need to clear your throat, and your eyes searched the room for a glass of water. But the sound made Harry wake up from his sleep. He lifted his face and wiped the little drool from his face and the little amount on your hand.

“whoops, you’d kill me now if you were awak-” he turned to look at your face, and he had to double take. He gasped, almost falling off this chair. “Y/N…Oh my- you’re awake!” he nearly yelled. He pressed the button to call the nurse and then cupped your face going on to press kisses to your face, “Baby I was so scared. I thought I had lost you!” He laughed his airy laugh and looked at you with utter happiness.

For some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. The words he said to you were the only thing swimming through your mind. For you time had stood still, like the fight had happened mere hours ago. You moved your face away from his hands. Harry frowned noticing this change in your mood.

“Hey what’s wrong? The doctor is on her way, yeah. Do y’need anything?” he asked frantically following your eyes round the room. He saw you eye the plastic cup beside your bed, “Y’ want water? Hold on I’ll get it for you.” He ran to the other side and brought the cup up to your face. You didn’t realise how thirsty you were until the first sip hit your throat, you started gulping it down quickly.

“Take it easy, precious. They took out the tube just yesterday.” He explained softly.

Once your thirst was quenched he kept the cup aside then went on to pull his sleeve over his knuckles and wiped the wet corners of your mouth. You moved your face aside yet again, he couldn’t understand what was wrong. But before he could ask you, the doctor came in to check on you. She did her tests and asked a few questions. She left as soon as she was done, and told you even though the injury looked worse than it actually is, you had take it easy for a couple of days.

Neither of you spoke for a few minutes, “How’re you feeling, love?” he asked quietly. You nodded, “I’m okay.” He came up to you and raised his hand to caress your cheek. But before he could touch you, your head turned to the opposite side. He couldn’t take it anymore, so he asked you.

“Will you please look at me? What’s happened, precious?” as he caressed your hair.

“Why should I look at you, Harry? So you can tell me how careless I am, or how I’m not trustworthy?” you rasped quietly. For a minute he was unable understand what you were trying to say. Then flashbacks from your fight the other night came back rushing to him. The things he said to you, and how guilty he felt later. His words had left a huge impact than he thought they did.

He took your face in his hand with very much to little force, he had to tell you this, “Y/N y’have absolutely no idea for how sorry I am for that night-” but you didn’t let him complete.

“That’s only because I got into this accident.” You snapped. He shook his head rapidly, he saw you getting worked up over this. You’ve always been a little firecracker, and you never failed to tell him when he was being a dick or to defend yourself quite amazingly, he always loved that quality. Apropos, he couldn’t let you hurt yourself in this condition.

“First of all, please calm down-” he started, “don’t tell me to calm down, harry!” you raged. He hated himself for smiling when you’re clearly very upset. But for the past few days he had to witness you lie there lifeless which had taken a toll on his mental state. He loved the fact that you were awake, so you yelling at him was more of a reward than a punishment. You looked at him sharply and saw him not taking you seriously, this brought tears to your eyes.

You sniffled and looked away from him to rest your head against the pillows on the raised up side of your bed roughly. Harry’s small smile melted away as quickly as it appeared. He rubbed the side you almost banged to the pillow, “I’m so sorry, precious. I swear I did not mean anything I said.” He pleaded and took a seat down on the chair beside you.

Right then the nurse which pushed him out of the room the other day and now was much like a friend to him entered the room with a tray which had a bowl of soup and jello in it. Harry smiled at him gratefully and took the tray from him as the guy set up the table on your bed.

“How’re you feeling, Ms. Y/L/N?” he asked once he was ready to leave. You gave him a small smile and said you were feeling better. The moment he left Harry looked back at you with a longing look on his face, when you refused to look at him he sighed and set the tray down on the small table and took a seat in front you on the bed. He looked at you as he removed the metal spoon from its cover, and then went on to remove the cover set on top of the soup. He blew light air on the spoonful of soup, then brought it up to your mouth. You refused to touch it. He sighed and looked at you pleadingly, “Y’ know someone told me we shouldn’t remove our anger on food.” He stated, turning your words against you.

You glared at him in anger for minute as he looked at you with a loving smile. “Please?” He moved it closer to your mouth, “You’ve got to eat it, I’m not budging unless you do, Y/N.”

Even though you wanted to stay stubborn, you were kind of hungry. So you let him feed you the soup. When he got to the jello, you refused profoundly. “But it’s the chocolate flavoured one! Remember the time we used to share one when I was here for my fractured foot? C’mon we’ll share this one too, if y’want?” he tried convincing you with his soft eyes.

“I don’t want to share it with you. Actually, I don’t want anything to do with you at the moment to be completely honest.” you snapped. You were aware of the fact that you were being very unreasonable and bitchy but it was his words that has caused extreme hurt to you. Your words hurt Harry, and it was evident on his face. He wrapped up the jello and cleared everything. The day passed, and in the evening your last visitor entered the room.

“There she is!” Louis came up to you and hugged you lightly, making sure not to hurt you. “Hello, darling. How’re you?” he kissed your forehead. Harry left you alone with him as he went to get the two of them some coffee.

“What’s happened to him? Why the long face still? I mean I get that Harry loves to pretend that he’s this macho man and all. S’ a bit ridiculous to be honest. Like who’s he kidding, he’s a puppy.” Louis laughed. You smiled at this.

“I’m still a bit upset with him over our fight. So I haven’t been talking to him.” You explained. Louis frowned at this and then sighed, “Oh love don’t do that... This has been very tough for him. Should’ve seen his state these past few days. The man has been a mess ever since the officers came to your house that night.”

“I’m trying, Lou. But I just can’t forget all the things he said. I was so hurt, I still am!” you rubbed your forehead, as it was beginning to give you an ache.

“He’s very sorry, Y/N. Trust me when I say that I’ve never seen him like I saw him that day. He just wanted you to wake up. He was just blaming himself, how he shouldn’t have let you leave the house.” He took a hold of your hand, “he loves you so much, darling. He’s absolutely mad over you.” He rubbed your hand, “A’bit obsessed if you ask me. If I were you I’d have him get that checked with a therapist.” He joked, you laughed loudly. He smiled with you, and passed you the water you signalled for.

“Forgive him, Y/N. He can’t even bring himself to go home. The only time he went there was to get some clothes, and to put the dinner he made for you in the rubbish bin.” He sassed. “and I know I’m speaking for Mitch too here when I say this, but both him and I could use a break from all the non-stop stress weeping calls we’ve been getting from him.” You gasped at him with a mock offence for Harry, and lightly smacked his shoulder. You were always thankful for Louis in moments like these. He was a great friend to you and Harry.

Harry came back with two coffees and passed one to his blue-eyed friend. He took a seat on the sofa which was against the wall, and the three of you, though it was mostly you and Louis, had a light conversation while the men finished up their coffee. Louis bid his farewell with another kiss on your forehead and a well wish, you thanked him and waved goodbye. Harry walked him out the door, and came back in a second later.

“Y’ need anything?” He asked as he took a seat on the chair beside you. You shook your head as you observed him fidgeting with the cuticles of his nails. He did that when he was anxious.

Neither of you spoke for a while. But the minute you heard a sniffle, you snapped your head towards him. You tried to get a look at his face, the tip of his nose was a bit red and he was now fidgeting with his feet too. He wasn’t crying but he sure was on the verge of it.

You suddenly felt an overwhelming amount of love for the man in front of you. You leaned against your bed and sighed, smiling a little. It’s pathetic how in love you were with each other. You couldn’t even stay mad at him.

“Harry?” You whispered softly. He hummed without looking up. So you continued, “I need you to do something” you faked a stern voice to play with him a bit more.

“Yeah sure, what’s it?” he muttered as he got up and rubbed his hands down his thighs, then finally looked at you. You looked at him without an expression and said, “I need you to come here and give me a good cuddle, a kiss too if I like the cuddle.” And then smiled at him lovingly. He looked at you for a second. You almost thought he was going to yell at you, but the opposite happened. He started tearing up and heavy tear drops ran down his cheeks.

You gasped and quickly leaned forward to take a hold of his hand which was near you. “Oh Harry..” You whispered as you pulled him near you. He the minute you sat him in front of you, he started crying heavily. You were so shocked yet you’ve never been more mesmerised by him. You quickly tried wiping his tears away and comforted him, “Honey, don’t cry. I’m not upset anymore!”

“I-I’m honestly s-sorry! I promise I didn’t mean what I said that day, Y/N!” he tried to speak while wiping his tears.

“I know, babe. I know!” you tried to say it properly but it came out in a laughing manner and tried to draw the crying man close to you, but seeing you laugh made him more upset and he pushed you away lightly, so you forcefully pulled him into a cuddle.

He told himself he’s letting himself be pulled because he didn’t want to hurt you, but it was actually because he wanted you close, so he went in head first. You lay down against the pillows and cuddle him against your chest. He went on sniffling into your neck and wrapped his arm around your waist.

“Harry why are you crying!” you tried controlling your laughter. He whined and pulled his face away, “Y’were so fucking mean since the moment you woke up. I didn’t expect it.” He said and hiccupped, thanks to the sobbing breakdown he just had. You pulled on your lips so you wouldn’t smile.

“Well now you know, honey. It hurts, doesn’t it? You were so mean to me too!” You teased. He nuzzled back into your neck, pressing kisses there which always made you giggle.

“I’m really sorry, precious. Honestly, I really am.” He said into your neck, yet producing another hiccup. You couldn’t control yourself anymore so you smiled and pressed a quite a few smooches to his temple, and inhaled his comforting scent.

“It’s okay, baby. I forgive you. I’m sorry for my foolish mistake too, I really didn’t mean to ruin your hard work like that.” You apologised. He pulled away and brought the hand that was around your waist to your cheek and said, “I forgave you a long time ago, but you honestly don’t have to apologise at all. It could happen to anyone, m’love. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Y’know I made dinner and everything as an apology. But then the officers…” his tone dropped and he couldn’t continue. So, you sadly smiled and pulled him in for a kiss.

He sighed and reciprocated the kiss with so much love and passion that you couldn’t help but wrap the arm which around his shoulder a bit more tighter and ran the other through the back of his head gently. The two of you pulled away and looked into each other’s eyes, he moved the hair that escaped from your braid and tucked it behind your ear, “I was so scared. I thought I had lost you.” He whispered softly, and swallowed the small lump, “I missed you a lot, baby” he said and you couldn’t help but peck his cute pout.

“I missed you too, froggy” you replied. The pet name made him reward you with a dimpled smile. He nuzzled into your neck and whispered, “I love you.”

“and I love you.” You kissed his forehead.

“Just for your information, I’m not letting you out of my sight for a really long time.” He stated sternly.

You laughed but stopped when you saw he wasn’t joking, “You know I have to work, right?”

“Y’can easily take a break for a month or two.” He said, as he yawned and cuddle closer to you. “A MONTH OR TWO?! Have you gone mad?” you gasped, lightly pulling on his hair.

“No I haven’t. Try to get rid of me, baby. I dare you.” He laughed a scheming laugh. You knew he wasn’t joking. He tended to become quite paranoid and obsessive over you when situations like these occur. But you wouldn’t have him any other way.

“We’ll see, mister.” You said, and caressed the back of his head.

“oh we will, missus.”

The End.

Author’s Note: I really put in a lot of efforts on this one, so you guys kind of owe me *wink* y'all gotta humour my praise kink now!!! ;P

Love you guys!

517 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Little Bones 6

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, anger, humiliation, control.

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: This is likely the second to last chapter in this series! I’m excited to have another Birch series finished in the near future! And then I can work on Loki’s installment because you all are so dang convincing.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Chapter 6: I can cry, beg and whine

Thor was insatiable. That was the only word you could think to describe him but it didn’t feel strong enough. His hunger, his persistence, his complete control over you was indescribable. He held your apartment, your job, your very existence in his grip.

You woke up to him beside you in your double bed, too small for both of you but it only gave him a reason to be on top of you. You went to work late more days than not that week. And even when you didn’t go home to find him on your couch, he wasn’t long behind.

There was no hiding from him in Birch and there was no way out. It was a truth you denied for too long because you weren’t from there. But it wasn’t about the town, it wasn’t the town that trapped you. It was the people, it was the attitude. It was those bikers.

Friday came and he was there waiting but he wasn’t sprawled out on your sofa as usual. He wore his colours, ready to go somewhere.

He combed his fingers through the tails of his blond hair as you unzipped your jacket and set your bag on the shoe rack. He checked himself in the mirror that hung along the entryway and planted his hand on the wall as he leaned over you.

“Put on something nice,” he purred as he grabbed your chin and tilted your face towards him, “if it wasn’t so cold, I’d say something slutty.”

You didn’t have a chance to grimace before he kissed you. You swallowed your revulsion and waited for him to let you go. As you knelt to remove your boots, he tickled along the back of your head.

“Mmm, I’m almost tempted to let you stay down there,” he taunted, “but we’re already late.”

“Late for what?” you stood and brushed past him. He followed closely and groped your ass. You were almost used to his incessant touching.

“I got business tonight,” he said.

“Your business,” you insisted as you entered the bedroom. You made no move to change and sat on the bed as you rubbed your eyes, “I have no interest in whatever it is you deal in and I’m dead tired.”

“I know I’ve been… hard on you,” he smirked as there was no true remorse in his tone, “but how am I supposed to help myself?”

You looked at him sharply and snarled. “I really don’t feel like going to the bar--”

“We’re not going down there,” he interrupted, “but the girls are expecting you.”

He went to the closest and slid open the door. You shook your head at the wall and didn’t move. You knew there was no arguing with him. It made your blood boil. You hated that feeling of helplessness. You hated his kind of men and how they used women like things, painting their desires as your own.

“This is nice,” he tossed a forgotten pair of leggings with leather strips along the side on the bed and a silver top with trumpet sleeves slit along the inside, “bet your ass looks wonderful in those.”

“Can’t I have one night--”

“It’s business. The women have their time and we have ours. Get up.” He said sternly, “though I don’t mind helping you into these.”

He lifted the leggings and stretched the high elastic waist and bit his lip. You stood and snatched them from him. He did not leave, didn’t even back away as you turned and dropped them back on the bed. You stripped off your wool pants and the striped blouse.

You wiggled into the leggings, embarrassed at how your ass jiggled and he purred in response. The top was tight across your tits and pushed them up dangerously against the neckline. You never wore it because that very reason; too much attention where you didn’t need it.

“See,” he snapped his knuckles against your ass, “sexy as hell.”

“You gonna tell me where we’re going?” you asked as you crossed your arms.

“Just a little get together,” he framed your face with his large hands, “with your Birch boys.”

He said nothing else as he latched onto your arm and turned to drag you behind him. You barely lifted your feet in your reluctance but you sensed his impatience growing. You contented yourself that in the least he would be distracted by other people long enough to leave you alone for just a few minutes.

💀

The motorcycle ripped through the early evening air and you shivered against his back. The air was still bitter but the roads were cleared of snow enough to maneuver the steel beast. He drove out of town and along the country roads, those were more treacherous than the main row.

You pulled up to the farmhouse, the old lot recently renewed as the house shone from within. Thor slowed and killed the engine. He flipped out the kickstand and nudged you. You climbed off and he followed your lead. He shoved the keys in his pocket and unstrapped his helmet as he let out a ‘brrr’.

“Come on,” he nodded to the porch steps as you undid your own helmet.

You walked up to the house and he knocked. He took your helmet from you as you waited for an answer. You heard voices and the approach of footsteps from the other side. The door opened and Steve’s girl smiled out at you and pushed open the screen door.

“Oh! You’re here!” She chimed, “I used your mother’s lemon meringue recipe. And oh,” she beamed at you, “we haven’t seen you lately.”

“Work,” you said, it wasn’t exactly a lie, “it’s nice to see you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything, I--”

“I have everything under control,” she clapped her hands, “we’re just trying to figure out the shaker. Come in.”

She backed up and Thor held the door as you passed through first. You took your boots off at the mat and she beckoned you further in. “Thor, the guys are just in the living room,” she pointed to her left, “we’re in the kitchen,” she motioned behind her, “working on dinner.”

“Mmm,” you grumbled and nodded. Before you could step forward, Thor caught you and drew you back to him. He kissed you and you bore it in simmering humiliation.

“Have fun,” he squeezed your ass and let you go as he turned to find the other men.

You huffed and turned your attention to Steve’s girl as she waited awkwardly. She rubbed her hands together as she walked with your down the hallway. “Steve’s like that, you know? Touchy feely. I get so… embarrassed…” her voice trailed off, “sorry, I shouldn’t--”

“I always wondered about you and him. You’re an odd pair,” you said.

“Well, it’s not anything I expected but, um… well, this is our house--” she gestured around her as she led you into the kitchen, “you know, he bought it for me.”

“Hey, don’t change the subject,” you said a bit too tersely, “you said Steve embarrasses you but you--”

“And Thor does it to you so… you know that’s how they are,” she squeaked.

“All of them,” Bucky’s girl said and you only noticed her as she shook the metal shaker, “it’s why we need alcohol.”

You exhaled and came up to the counter as Steve’s girl went to the stove and lifted the lid on the skillet to stir the contents, “please, don’t put a lot of gin in mine. I don’t do well with alcohol.”

You leaned on the marble as you watched the other woman pour the bright pink liquid into a finely shaped glass on a stem, “looks better than last time.” She turned and set it beside the stove for the hostess.

“So…” you frowned as you thought and she began to measure gin and all the other ingredients before her, “why are you with them--”

“Why are you with Thor?” she interrupted, “we saw how much you hate him at the bar. We felt the same but don’t act stupiid like you don’t know what’s going on. These men are given everything they want and when they aren’t they take it anyway.”

“He takes care of my ma, though--” Steve’s girl intoned.

“And that makes it all hunky dorey,” the other sneered, “she sucks at saying it out loud but she can’t stand Steve as much as we can’t stand the rest of them.”

The other woman was quiet as she replaced the lid and reached for the drink. She fidgeted and looked down at her frilly apron. She was dressed like some housewife out of the suburban fifities, although her dress was still uncomfortably short.

“What good does it do to say it?” she mumbled.

Bucky’s girl mixed another cocktail and poured it pristinely before she slid it over to you, “I’m getting the hang of this but I’m happy the men are sticking to beer. My arm’s getting tired.”

You took the glass and tasted the drink. You hummed as it surprised you. “Aren’t you a bartender?”

“Server. I open beers and believe it or not but they don’t serve margaritas down at The Asp.”

You shrugged and kept drinking as she made her own drink and turned to rest her elbow on the counter lazily.

“I should’ve warned you. Not that it would’ve helped but I could’ve,” she said.

“No, it doesn’t matter. It’s like you said. They take whatever they want. Nothing we can do, is there?”

You were silent as you all sipped. The gin warmed your chest and you let it sink into your veins. Your commiseration was grim but comforting. To think that you weren’t entirely alone was as heartening as it was saddening.

💀

The alcohol heightened your irritation as dinner ended. You were left to help clear the table in your matronly duties with the other women. You were insulted at the outdated binary of the arrangements and it felt less like a get together and more of a job.

The men, Steve, Bucky, Thor, and Loki returned to the living room and their voices threaded the air as the dishes clinked in your grasp. The blonde biker’s brother was unexpected but he seemed just unhappy to be there as you. There were a few minutes during the meal where you sympathised with him as he rolled his eyes and failed to hide any ounce of his spite for Thor.

When you finished up, Steve’s girl took several more beers to the men before she returned to grab her glass of water. You took the vodka cooler, your third drink of the night, and went along with them to the living room.

You hung back as Steve’s girl neared him and was drawn down beside him impatiently, his arm around her shoulders as he almost spilled her water. Bucky’s girl sat beside him and tolerated his arm around her waist though he was less clingy than his accomplice. Loki stood by the window and stared out into the dull snow as Thor perched in the cozy armchair.

You went to sit beside Steve’s girl but you were stopped by a tut.

“I’ve got a seat for you, kitten,” Thor slurred. The beer was thick in his voice, as potent as the liquor in your stomach. You turned to him as he rubbed his thigh.

“I’m fine, here,” you insisted and his smile fell.

“You know I wasn’t asking, kitty,” he warned, “come on and be a good girl. We’re guests. Let’s not make a scene.”

You stood in front of the couch and glared at him. You sighed softly and pushed your shoulders back. You marched over to him and turned your bottle to splash it over his front. You acted surprised at your feigned clumsiness and took a step back.

“Oops,” you uttered coyly, “how careless--”

He was up on his feet in a moment as he slammed his own bottle down on the small table beside the chair. He knocked yours from your hand entirely and the air stilled with tension. His blue eyes flared as he grabbed your wrist.

“Better help me get cleaned up,” he growled and looked over your shoulder, “excuse us.”

You resisted him for a moment but he yanked and nearly took you off your feet. He spun and kept hold of you as he forced you after him and stormed from the room. You stumbled out into the hall behind him and he flung you ahead of him.

He gripped the back of your neck and ripped open a door to his right. He shoved you inside and you hit the sink as the clasp clicked loudly. He crowded you in the half bath as you braced yourself against the porcelain, the scent of beer tingling in your nostrils. You stared at his dark shirt, stained with his drink.

“I thought I trained you better, kitten,” he snarled, “just when I thought you were starting to purr.”

“Fuck you,” you said as the alcohol thinned the filter between your thoughts and your words.

“Oh, I can make that happen,” he hissed as he lifted the hem of his shirt and tore it off. He hung it over the towel bar and felt along his damp torso, “I can’t let you bite and not give you a good swat for it.”

“Don’t be an ass. It’s a drink. You can’t just talk to me like that. I’m not some animal--”

“Shhh,” he hushed as he covered your mouth and pushed you against the sink, “I’m not listening. That’s not how this works…” he leaned in and lowered his voice, “you realise how bad this is? You challenged me in front of men; I won’t have it. We’re past niceties, kitten.”

His hands slipped over your hips and to your ass. He scooped you up and rested you atop the porcelain as he crushed his body against yours. He grabbed your chin and smothered your lips with his as he rolled his pelvis against you.

His hand fell and crawled along your throat. You turned your head away and gasped as his fingers hooked under the elastic of your leggings.

“What are you--”

“Don’t play dumb,” he nipped at your throat, “we’ve done this enough.”

“Not here,” you pushed on his shoulders, “you can’t--”

“I can do--” his other hand fell to your waist and he gripped the elastic, “whatever--” his hands snaked around you as his fingers slid between the fabric and your skin, “I want.”

He ripped your leggings down with your panties and forced them down your legs. He pulled until your legs wet bent in front of you and you were curled awkwardly atop the sink as you struggled with him.

“Stop-- I’ll be good--”

“Too late,” he shoved his hand between your legs and felt around roughly.

The fabric of your leggings trapped your thighs and kept you bent against him painfully as he hunched over you. He pulled his hand away to fumble with his fly and shifted as he pushed down his zipper. He set his feet firmly and hooked his other arm around you as he pressed his tip along your folds.

He guided himself blindly over your cunt, his beer-laced breath choked you as your head spun. He rested his forehead against yours as your head was propped up against the mirror. He lined himself up with your opening and thrust bluntly inside of you. You exclaimed in surprise as the intrusion blazed through you.

You were drunk enough that it felt good but you were aware enough of what was happening. You slapped him and his head snapped to the side. He pulled back and slammed into you even deeper. He brought his lips to yours again and kissed you sloppily as he rocked against you. The counter groaned under both of your weight as you tried to hold in your voice.

He sped up as your breath quickened in time with his. You closed your eyes as he once more descended to your through and kissed and nipped at your skin. His hips tilted into you steadily as you wriggled against him.

He pushed his hand between your bodies and pressed two fingers to your clit. He rubbed as he kept his pace and you murmured as your drunken body responded. You dug your nails into his shoulders and your feet arched as the ripple began to flow over you. Your peak rose fast and you cried out without restraint as it took you off guard.

His own grunts added the furor and he moved faster atop you. His knee hit the front of the counter and he sunk to his limit as he quaked. He stopped and held himself as deep as he could, sliding back slowly only to ease back in as he came in long strokes.

He stopped and rested his head in the crook of your neck, his blond hair falling forward as he caught his breath. You shuddered and nudged his shoulders until he stood. He slipped out of you and sent a chill up your spine. Your body fell limp and you dropped from the counter onto shaky legs.

You felt his cum trickle down your thigh as he reached for the toilet paper and wiped himself clean. Your vision hazed as you reached for some as well and kept the mess from dripping into your panties. He cleared his throat and turned to examine his wet tee shirt. You pulled up your leggings and sniffed.

It was all so sudden it was as if nothing had happened at all. You held yourself up against the wall and a knock came from the door. He opened it without pretense and greeted Steve’s girl as she peered inside nervously and glanced at you briefly.

She held a folded shirt in her hands as she blinked meekly. She knew, they all knew. You had no doubt that they’d heard it all.

“Um, hopefully this fits,” she said as she handed the tee shirt to him, “and, we… we’re just about to have dessert.”

“Great. I’ve got quite the appetite,” he replied, “we’ll be out soon.”

He closed the door and turned back to look at himself in the mirror. He brushed past you so you were flush to the wall as he pulled on the shirt. It was too tight around his thick arms and his broad chest. He tidied his hair and rolled his shoulders as he admired his reflection.

“I think now you’ll be good, kitten,” he winked and reached to touch your cheek cloyingly, “best not to get my hackles up again.”

382 notes · View notes

schemmentisimpasours · 4 years ago

Text

Please...Just Say Yes

@sweetprentiss‘ Emily Prentiss Birthday Bingo Square: Just Say Yes

Warnings: Mentions of Disassociation, Depression, Dark and Twisty

Characters: Non Binary Reader, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia, Tara Lewis, Spencer Reader

Relationship: New Emily Prentiss x Non Binary Reader

Summary: Y/N works for the BAU and has not been feeling themselves lately. Penelope convinces Emily to figure out what is wrong and helps the reader.

I really just wrote this because I needed the moral support and to give myself the motivation to do literally anything. Who knows... maybe it will help one of you as well. As always.. if anyone needs help I am always here and willing to listen. You are never alone.

Word Count:1,157

----------

You looked at the ceiling of your bedroom counting the number of bumps from the popcorn ceiling. Oh, how you hated those little textured bumps but it gave you something to do in the morning. You got to fifty before your alarm blared loudly. It was the third one that had gone off. The one that you meant you really had to get up to go to work. You groaned turning your alarm off and removing your phone from the charger.

You splashed water against your face and looked into the mirror trying to figure out who was looking back at you. Dark rings were under their eyes and their lips were pale. You touched the glass and watched as the person imitated the movements. Nothing felt real anymore. You pushed all these thoughts away as you took one final glance at the figure before going to get dressed. This feeling would pass… it always did at some point or another.

Half an hour later you were walking into Quantico to begin yet another day of work. You prayed that another case wouldn’t land on your desk today and that you could spend most of it doing paperwork. Anything to prevent you from interacting with more than a handful of people. You gave a small smile to Tara and Spencer as they greeted you but said nothing. It was only with her skillful eye that Penelope could tell anything was wrong.

She observed you for a couple more hours before she went into Emily’s office determined to fix the problem. As she entered the room Emily smiled and placed the file she was looking at down on her desk, “How can I help you Pen?”

“Have you been watching Y/N lately?” Penelope asked looked back at the window to where you were sitting.

In all reality, Emily spent most of her time watching you. She was mesmerized by the way that you worked. The way you always bit your bottom lip when you were deep in thought. Or the way that you cocked your head to the side when one of Spencer’s stories confused you. Her favorite however was the way that your face lit up and you threw your head back in laughter when someone told a funny joke. Everything about you melted Emily’s heart but she was your superior so she kept all of her thoughts to herself.

“I can’t say that I have been,” Emily lied briefly glancing out to you, “Is something wrong? You know they are still new don’t be too hard on them.”

Penelope rolled her eyes, “They are excellent Em. That is not why I came in here. Something is wrong with them. They aren’t being themselves.”

This comment piqued Emily’s curiosity so she looked out the window to intently take in your surroundings. Your head was pressed against your head as you looked into the file. She could have sworn she had seen you on the same page when she looked ten minutes ago. Her theory was confirmed as she saw you get frustrated and bring your attention back to the top of the page to read yet again. Tara and Spencer were animatedly talking a couple of desks over but your eyes never once left the paper. All of your typical light and sparkle seemed dim that day.

“Have you asked them about it?”

“It is not me they want to talk to,” Penelope countered, “You should go say something.”

“Me?” Emily said amazed, “Why do you think they want to talk to me?”

“Oh come on Em! You can’t be that dense. We all know the way you two look at each other. You love them. And I am not talking about best friend love like we have. I’m saying you LOVE them.”

“I can’t…”

“Bullshit. You are just scared of being let down,” The blonde argued, “And I am here to tell you that Y/N feels the same way, and right now they need you. Something is wrong. I just know it and I have a feeling you are the only one who can bring them back to planet Earth.”

“Okay….okay. I get the point Garcia. I will go talk to them.”

Penelope smiled knowing she had won but stopped before she stepped out of the door, “Do it soon Emily… I worry that the longer we wait the further away they will get.”

Emily promised she would and Penelope finally left her office. For the rest of the day she pondered how she was going to get you to open up to her. She was nervous, to say the least, but she knew Penelope was right. You were sinking into a place she had never seen before. The quicker she was able to reach you the sooner she would be able to see that smile she loved so much.

Finally, everyone cleared out of the office except for you. You had just begun to gather all of your stuff when Emily came out of her office. You looked up at her the world coming to a stop as you gazed up the woman that had enraptured you for months. Even in your dissociative state, there was a sense of calm and happiness that came with Emily paying attention to you. You tried to muster a smile as she approached you but it came out as merely a twinge of your upper lip.

“Y/N you are here late.”

You shrugged, “Long day. It was hard to focus.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emily asked gently hoping to not scare you away.

You paused looking at her worried expression, “I just don’t think that I could explain it to you properly.”

“Try me. I am a better listener than you would think.”

“It’s not that,” You sighed, “I just… I really like you Emily and what I am going through isn’t light and fluffy. It is dark and twisty and I don’t want to scare you away. Or make you think I am crazy… or that I am some awful person…” “Y/N,” Emily cut you off placing a hand gently on your shoulder, “I like you too and nothing you say will scare me off. I know dark and twisty. I live there a lot. Let me help you. Please.”

“You promise? That you aren’t going to call me crazy or run when I tell you,” You asked tears threatening to spill down your face.

“I promise,” Emily reassured you cupping your cheek gently, “Now please… just say yes.”

You finally nodded and let Emily take your hand in hers. As you stood in the elevator you pressed yourself against her dropping your head gently on her shoulder. She turned and gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead and for the first time in weeks, you finally felt hope. Like you could see the darkness slowly beginning to fade.

#emily prentiss birthday celebration 2021🍭#emily prentiss birthday #just say yes #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x non binary reader #tw: dissociating #tw: depression #tw: dark and twisty #penelope garica #emily prentiss #tara lewis #spencer reid #i really just needed something to help comfort myself #it is my self indulgent fic #what can I say #i am trying okay #it is all that I got

123 notes · View notes

caffeinatedseri · 5 years ago

Text

The Significance of Sunsets

We’re introduced to the significance of twilight during the Cannibalism Arc via the Tripartite Tactic.

The essence of the Tripartite Tactic supports 3 core themes of BSD: moral ambiguity, the cyclical nature of life, and the beauty of humanity.

First, the Tripartite Tactic establishes the moral balance of the BSD universe through the government, PM, and ADA’s interactions with one another to ensure the balance of Yokohama.

Day and night are binary opposites, similar to how the government and mafia operate on opposite sides. That would imply that the government and mafia are always at war with one another, working to bring the other down, but the Tripartite Tactic suggests otherwise.

Both the government and mafia’s survival are necessary to secure the balance of the city, just like how day and night, good and evil have to coexist in a state of balance.

However, there is a middle ground that bridges these opposing concepts together: twilight — as represented with the agency.

As the evening acts the neutral point from day to night, the agency acts as a morally neutral organization between the government and mafia. They don’t necessarily abide by the laws and rules of “justice,” but they still work to establish a semblance of “good” in this world.

We’ve seen the government act in suspicious ways, we’ve seen the mafia act in good natured ways, and we’ve seen the agency do both of the sort. Even though the government and mafia are supposed to represent “good” and “evil”, the fact that they break these molds serves to once again prove the moral ambiguity within the BSD universe.

Twilight also symbolizes another important idea — the cyclical nature of life. As the passing period between day and night, it represents the end of a day, which will always lead to the start of a new day.

This cyclical nature lends itself to a feeling of hope that drives the journey of redemption — the hope that the night will pass and a new day will begin encourages our characters to persevere and hope for something better.

Cycles also show themselves through character interactions throughout the generations.

Mori abused Dazai → Dazai abused Akutagawa → Akutagawa abused Kyouka, In this case, the cycle of abuse is born (although it fortunately stops at Kyouka).

In parallel, Oda helped Dazai → Dazai helped Atsushi → Atsushi helps Kyouka, For this, the cycle of redemption is born.

As twilight is a time for sunsets, sunsets are an inevitable motif for these themes. The arrangement of colors in the sky, characteristic of a sunset, tends to evoke feelings of awe or admiration for the beauty of such sunset. The beauty of a sunset symbolizes an appreciation for the beauty of humanity, aligning with the theme of accepting human nature as is. (think Dazai)

Keeping in mind these 3 aspects: moral ambiguity, the cyclical nature of life, and the beauty of humanity, the significance of every scene with a sunset becomes more prominent.

Sunsets in BSD always appear at important points of the narrative, with my favorite being:

This scene’s significance is primarily Dazai’s transition out of the mafia as represented through the light shining through the window — as if light is being shined on the darkness that had surrounded his life.

This scene happens to be one of my favorites because it touches upon all three themes that the twilight-esque light represents.

Moral ambiguity: Oda knows that Dazai doesn’t care about justice or evil, or defining aspects of morality, so Oda argues Dazai should work for justice. Oda doesn’t try to argue that justice is morally correct, but he simply says it is “better” in an extremely vague way.

The idea of Dazai joining the side of justice with no strong moral conviction opens up the concept of moral ambiguity. Is it important for him to have a moral code if he wants to find the purpose of his life? Can he help others if he doesn’t believe it’s the “right” thing to do? Does it matter?

Most importantly, does saving others whilst not believing in the standards of morality place you within the boundaries of justice or evil? Or are there no such defined boundaries?

Cyclical nature: Oda pushes for Dazai to save people, instead of killing people, mirroring the actions of Natsume-sensei who helped Oda come to that same resolve. This starts the cycle of Dazai helping Atsushi, Atsushi helping Kyouka, and hopefully Atsushi getting to help Akutagawa as well.

This scene also reflects the idea of the “end of the night”, or the start of a new day as Dazai abandons the PM, and starts anew in the Agency.

Beauty of humanity: PM Dazai was arguably the most “inhumane” version of Dazai that we’ve seen, due to his heavily logic driven intellect and distrusting tendencies.

However, in this interaction with Oda, we finally see his humanity shine through. Oda gives no reasonable, straight-forward explanation as to why Dazai should leave the mafia, but Dazai follows his advice regardless because of their trust.

The ability to trust and love, an innate part of human nature, can be seen as foolish from the eyes of the logic-driven, but ultimately that’s what makes being human beautiful.

I admit the last scene may have been a little vague with whether the setting was actually a sunset, but this one is more obvious!

This takes place after SSKK’s fight with Francis, and they regroup with Dazai, Fukuzawa, and Kyouka.

Cyclical nature: As the finale of the Guild Arc, the sunset represents the end of a day and the start of another as they close this chapter of their lives. It also parallels Dazai’s “redemption” scene, as Kyouka finds her redemption in sacrificing herself for others and becoming part of the agency.

Just as Oda was able to help Dazai in the previous scene, Dazai is the one who tells Kyouka exactly what she needed to hear in order for her to survive and find a home in the agency.

Beauty of humanity: Being human means to be compassionate, and I’d argue that Kyouka was uncompassionate in the past, just because no one had shown her what compassion was like. However, Kyouka grows from that — with the help of Atsushi and Dazai showing her empathy and kindness, she’s able to reciprocate that feeling and be willing to give up her life for the sake of others.

Dazai also praises Akutagawa for a short moment in this scene, which is also an act of compassion from Dazai although Akutagawa deserves more than that.

This scene follows the party at the end of the Cannibalism Arc, as Dazai and Atsushi have a nice heart-to-heart.

Dazai’s toast here is technically an anime-only moment, but obviously all of the sunsets are anime-only. Regardless, I’ll be discussing his entire talk with Atsushi here, along with the toast.

Moral ambiguity: Akutagawa’s promise to not kill anyone for 6 months mirrors that of Oda — a mafia member who doesn’t kill. By doing so, he directly challenges the morality involved with being a mafia member (what would be “bad”) and breaks away from the black and white labels of “good” and “evil.”

If we followed the code of justice, presumably the morally “right” way, then it would dictate that Akutagawa would need to be punished for the crimes he committed. However, Atsushi’s decision to form that promise with Akutagawa gives him an opportunity to grow and redeem himself, even if Akutagawa fits with the “evil” label.

Akutagawa and Atsushi are obviously foils — they’re different in almost every way, which you could use to define Atsushi as the hero and Akutagawa as the villain, but it’s undeniable that they also share many similarities. As the line between “good” and “evil” blurs, moral ambiguity is developed.

Cyclical nature: Once again, this scene closes out the Cannibalism Arc, with the sunset symbolizing both the end and beginning.

Atsushi’s promise with Akutagawa parallels that of Oda’s dying wish to Dazai; they’re both founded on the basis of trust, and they push towards a brighter future for Akutagawa and Dazai respectively. Thus, the cycle of redemption repeats itself once more.

Dazai’s “To the stray dogs” statement also parallels his toast with the Buraiha trio (Dazai, Ango, Oda). It could be just a callback to Oda, but it also expresses Dazai passing on the toast to Atsushi, from one stray dog to another. Nevertheless, this still represents a cycle of actions in which the previous generation affects the present.

Beauty of humanity: Dazai toasting to Atsushi with the phrase “stray dogs” offers a sense of compassion and hope. Dazai and Atsushi have undoubtedly grown closer to one another throughout the entire series up to this point, so it makes perfect sense that Dazai shows that he cares by sharing a piece of his past with Atsushi.

Toasting directly to the stray dogs implies a celebration of sorts for these dogs, who are stray but ultimately not alone. The toast is indicative of a hope for a better future whilst also acknowledging how one can feel lost in life (and how that’s okay).

Atsushi’s promise with Akutagawa also serves as an attempt to teach Akutagawa the beauty of humanity, since Atsushi believes that Akutagawa doesn’t see the value of life (which is preventing him from getting Dazai’s approval). I would argue that it should be the other way around, but Atsushi has good intentions here.

After Atsushi discovers the death of the Headmaster of his orphanage, Dazai gives some comforting advice.

Moral ambiguity: Atsushi struggles with his conflicted feelings towards the Headmaster’s death, which is perfectly understandable.

The Headmaster can’t be defined as completely good or completely bad, because he did impact Atsushi’s life in a way that led him to where he is today (once again, no definitive black or white answer as to whether that’s good or not).

Atsushi struggles with the thought that he has to pick whether to feel glad or upset, in order to fit within the neat labels of black and white, happy and sad. In response, Dazai (the definition of a morally ambiguous man) simply says:

Although Dazai says “There’s no one who can fully grasp the deepest feelings of another person,” in the anime, I think the meaning of that is better stated in the manga. Dazai reasons that he can be both glad or upset, his feelings can be mixed, and there is no clear cut answer for how to feel (as Dazai only gives a general piece of advice).

Cyclical nature: Dazai’s statement, “when someone’s father dies, they tend to cry”, could honestly be interpreted in a multitude of ways.

Dazai’s reference to a father figure suggests that this “father” is simply a person who impacted their life greatly and made them who they are today. (since both of their fathers are unknown).

Following this definition, Oda is the father figure to Dazai in the same way that the Headmaster was to Atsushi. Although their methods of “helping” Dazai and Atsushi differ very drastically, the same cycle of this “father” figure impacting the life of their metaphorical son repeats.

Oda giving advice to Dazai, and Dazai giving advice to Atsushi is also another cycle — the cycle of reaching a hand out to someone in need. (which is the more sensical of these two conclusions)

Beauty of humanity: Dazai’s ability to be compassionate truly shines in this scene and shows just how much he’s grown from his time in the PM.

In contrary to PM Dazai’s unfeeling self, Dazai is able to empathize with Atsushi on a personal basis; just as the Headmaster was a integral part of Atsushi’s past, Oda was the same for Dazai.

Dazai’s growing ability to understand others demonstrates his willingness to grow more accustomed to human nature, and love it for what it is.

Atsushi’s confusion in dictating what he should feel also speaks on the nature of humanity; his feelings don’t have to make sense for him to feel them. In fact, the more illogical his emotions are, the more human he is.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd dazai #bsd atsushi #bsd kyouka #just me gushing over how much i love sunsets #there are many more sunset scenes that i didnt cover hmmm

280 notes · View notes

sukiitoru · 3 years ago

Text

A mistake

Chapter one: ignorance

Chapter two: realization

Chapter three: monster

Chapter four: ancient

Chapter five: truth?

Chapter six: history

Chapter seven: family✵

Chapter eight: cure

(this will be a short series I haven't decided how many chapters yet but i hope you have a good time reading if you have any suggestions please tell me thank you for reading)

Mc is non-binary pronounce is they/them

Solomon was in his study reading a book trying to find a cure for mc he was panicking when he found out about mc being under the effect of the potion

The potion was a very dangerous potion the magician who made the potion died from it's effects the cure was made by another magician after then the original book was stolen by someone he knew

A friend of his you could say and they ripped cure from the page and burned it why would they do that he never understood he never will anyways

He felt hands being put on his shoulder before wrapping around his neck someone pressing their head on his shoulder

He didn't panic the presence was familiar the black curly hair tickling his neck before he heard the voice of someone he hasn't met in years

"sol rest for a little bit you'll pass out if you stay like this for too long i already fixed your little human don't worry" the soft voice says Solomon sighed before leaning back in his chair holding the hand of his friend sighing when he feels their warmth on his back and shoulder

"ju....you do always come at the right time when i need you the most" Solomon says looking at the figure of his best friend baby blue eyes staring back at him the familiar blue dress and a black cape around their shoulder

"heh well your my best friend of course I'll know when you need me now go to bed or I'll use my magic on you" the woman says smiling softly at Solomon the man looked like he aged 20 years while searching for a cure for mc

"Julia where were you all of those years i searched for you i knew you were coming back when i saw that tiger you always had with you but where did you go did you know how worried i was about you" Solomon started to ramble holding Julia's hand while glaring at her the woman pouted before whining at the glare Solomon was giving her

"solllll shut up about that i was busy helping some friends in another place and i always send you letters with thirteen did she not give them to you?" Julia says looking at Solomon the man sighing softly leaning back in his chair closing his eyes this was giving him a headache a really big one too

"you look tired......come on let me tuck you in like when we were children i can sing you your favourite song too" Julia suggested pulling Solomon up from his bed pulling him to his bed pushing him softly to sit down pulling a chair for herself before sitting down looking at Solomon waiting for him to answer

"......are you really here or is this just me in a really nice dream......i hope this dream never ends" Solomon says starting at the woman who was like a sister to him they felt like they were twins sometimes they were always together they were inseparable Julia started to get distant before completely disappearing he searched everywhere he couldn't find her

He thought she was dead he was convinced that she was dead he would dream sometimes of her standing beside him holding his hand before disappearing again

Being immortal and watching everyone he knew and loved die he held into the only thing that was always by his side which was Julia she was his best friend his sister his only family

"I'm here sol i promise you I'm never leaving your side again I'm so sorry....." The woman says hugging Solomon tightly being the older one and having to take care of Solomon she knew how much she worried him but if she had things to do now she's here to stay she won't leave his side

"i missed you ju...." Solomon says hanging tightly into the back oh Julia's dress the woman rubbing his head softly using her magic to make him fall asleep she knew he wouldn't go to bed he'll question everything she did in the past years

Solomon can be annoying like that she knew he was worried but for now he needs all the rest he can get

"now time to clean this mess" Julia says staring at the very messy room sighing softly before getting up and covering Solomon with his blanket kissing his head and starting to clean his room

A little girl was walking through the forest gathering herbs for her sick mother

The little girl had short black hair and baby blue eyes wearing a blue dress and a black cape that her mother made her

The little was humming a song that her mother sang for her swinging the basket that she held in her hand gently

Noticing a tuff of white hair in the middle of a flower field the girl tilts her head at the white in the middle of the grass and flower filled field

The girl walks towards the tuff of hair looking down baby blue eyes clashing with blue and brown gradient eyes

A loud yelp shocked the girl a little boy getting away his back touching a tree the girl tilting her head in confusion

The boy looked down starting to fidget with his hands nervously his hands filled with scars from the thorns on the flowers he was playing with before

The little girl got closer and sat down infront of the boy taking hold of his hands using a simple healing spell that her mother thought her

"there we go do you want me to kiss it? Mommy does that for me when i get hurt" the girl says tugging on the boy's hands eyes shining excitedly

"no..... it's okay...." The boy says quietly pulling his hands away nervously looking at his hands they were completely healed

"my name is Julia mommy calls me ju what about you?" The little girl asks holding the boy's hand again

"I'm Solomon you can call me sol...." The boy says softly the girl smiling widely before getting up and pulling the boy up with her

"how about you come meet my mommy? We can eat cookies together" the girl says tugging on the boy's hand jumping up and down her basket in her other hand

"umm i would like that......." The boy says softly blushing looking down at his feet

The girl squeals excitedly pulling the boy with her starting to walk towards the little cottage that she lives in with her mother the boy struggling to keep up with her but running after her anyways

Thank you for reading this all support is highly appreciated 💙

This is my writing please don't repost copy or claim as your own

14 notes · View notes

giggles-and-freckles · 4 years ago

Note

Ooooh prompts! Maybe “We need to get out of the heat, you’re starting to look sick.” Or the “I just need to sit down” one for Anakin and obi-wan?

from these extremely exhausted starters

Obi-Wan had always known his Padawan had a proclivity for dramatics. One thing he hadn’t exaggerated, however, was how absolutely terrible of a planet Tatooine was.

“You’re gonna wanna pick up your feet higher when you walk, Master,” Anakin called over his shoulder, yelling to be heard above the winds. “Or else you’re going to be dumping your shoes every few minutes.”

Obi-Wan scowled, but adjusted his gait nonetheless. Sand. He regretted every time he’d ever poked fun at Anakin’s abhorrence of the substance as a child.

“Are we–” Obi-Wan huffed in frustration, feeling the grains sticking between his toes. “Not to sound like a petulant youngling, but...are we almost there?”

Obi-Wan could have sworn he saw a grin on his Padawan’s profile before he turned fully away.

“Tired already, Master?”

Yes.

“Of course not. Just curious.”

“Of course.” There was no way Obi-Wan could mistake that distinct chuckle.

They continued to trudge through the sands, stopping every few minutes to pass water between them (and dump sand from Obi-Wan’s boots). The binary suns didn’t seem to stray from their placement directly above Obi-Wan and Anakin for hours.

“We’re out of water,” Anakin said, tossing the empty canteen into the bag strapped across his back.

“Check the–”

“I did.”

“And–”

“Yeah,” Anakin nodded dismally. “It’s all gone.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan sighed. “We ought to be fine for a couple more hours.”

“Remember when I said let’s just get a speeder bike?”

“No, but I remember a suggestion to steal one.”

“You’re so pessimistic.”

Obi-Wan still couldn’t believe they were here. It had been several months since Anakin’s defeat of Sidious, the long-plotting Chancellor and Sith Lord. He wasn’t sure quite sure what normal meant these days, or whether it would ever mean what it once had–but when Anakin had asked Obi-Wan to come with him on a visit to Tatooine, the older Jedi hadn’t hesitated.

It was too easy to think of how close he came to losing his Padawan altogether. To Sidious, to the dark side, to himself.

“Kitster and I used to come out here all the time.”

“Kitster?”

Anakin blinked, like he hadn’t known he’d said his thought aloud, but quickly nodded. “An old friend. He was a slave, too. We’d come out here in the evenings and mess around with whatever we could find in the valley.”

Because he talked about his past now. Obi-Wan didn’t think it was a conscious change, so much as a reflection of the new peace his former Padawan had found somewhere in between the end of his time as a General and the beginning of his time as a father.

Obi-Wan thought serenity suited his Padawan well.

“How you doing back there?” Anakin called, turning back to glance at Obi-Wan.

“Fine, fine,” he replied, ignoring the push to ask Anakin why he was suddenly walking so fast. It had become more difficult to keep up over the past half hour.

“So it’s your age slowing you down all of a sudden? Not dehydration?”

Obi-Wan scoffed. “My–”

“Hey.” Anakin stopped, turning fully toward Obi-Wan and frowning at him. “We need to get out of the heat. You’re starting to look sick.”

“And where do you suggest we go?” Obi-Wan asked with a roll of his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Anakin’s eyes flickered over the barren landscape. “We can go back to the spaceport. I can–”

“No. I want to do this.”

Anakin’s frown deepened. “Obi-Wan...”

“This is important to you,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “I’m okay. Let’s just keep going.”

The younger Jedi looked skeptical, but he nodded anyway and continued his path

Within fifteen minutes, they had found it. The Lars had moved, Anakin had discovered in town. Owen had married his girlfriend Beru, and they were caring for Cliegg in a nicer home closer to town. Moisture farming was something they gave up to spend time with their father in his last few years.

Obi-Wan didn’t think there were many things he wouldn’t sacrifice to have more time with his loved ones anymore.

“When I–when she...” Anakin swallowed as he locked his gaze on the small stone. “I only wrote it in Huttese because...but–”

“Will you read it to me?” Obi-Wan asked quietly, coming to stand beside his friend.

Anakin nodded bravely, taking a deep breath. “Shmi Skywalker...may the twin suns shine their...face upon you forever...Mom.” And then, “Master?”

“I just...” Obi-Wan swallowed, as he caught his own weight on his hands. “I need to sit down.”

Anakin’s eyes flickered over his Master as he crouched beside him. “What’s wrong? There’s a port a half-klick away. I can run and–”

“No,” Obi-Wan whispered, holding up a hand. “Anakin, you–” He shut his eyes. “You experienced so much pain and...and I–” He looked up at his Padawan in remorse. “I let you be so lonely.”

Anakin’s face fell. “Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighed in compassion. “No. You...you didn’t know. I...” Guilt flashed across his face. “I didn’t let you. I was scared and–” A deep breath. “It doesn’t matter now. The point is–you were there for me. Always. Even when I...when I didn’t know I needed you to be.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure when Anakin had grown up. Not really. It had happened right before his own eyes, but he’d completely missed it. Only now, as he reoriented himself to this new normal and reset his priorities, had the weight of that begun to truly hit him.

As he watched Anakin step down from his Council seat, with grace, humility, and a grin as he said, “it’ll still be there for me someday, old man” even after Mace had pleaded with Anakin to stay. As he watched him knight Ahsoka, tears unashamedly running down his face as he pulled her into the hug that had taken too many years to happen. As he watched him sing to Leia every night in the worst voice Obi-Wan had ever heard.

He was proud of him, through and through.

Obi-Wan turned more fully toward the grave of the woman who he had never met, yet had somehow given him everything. “Thank you.”

#my fic #post rots fix-it au of sorts #sorry I've been rolling these out so SLOW #I got several done and then somehow FORGOT about the rest #so Im gonna try and finish tomorrow #but for now–#SLEEP!!!!!#good night my friends #<3 #obi & ani #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #sw fanfiction #abi’s aus

121 notes · View notes

valdomarx · 4 years ago

Text

Number Theory

On another version of Atlantis, John is a mathematician who is better with numbers than with people. But he's going to have to learn to get on with his team and their bossy leader, Rod, if he wants to survive here.

Stargate Atlantis, McShep, mensa!verse, 9k, rated E.

Also on AO3.

Dr. John Sheppard straightens his glasses, pulls his lab coat around himself, and makes one final, futile attempt to tame his hair.

He takes a last look around the SGC, bustling with scientists and marines and boxes of supplies, and wonders how everybody seems to know their place and what to do already.

Then he steps through a wormhole and into another galaxy.

Atlantis is stunning. Terrifying, and dangerous, and liable to kill them all, but stunning all the same.

He protests that there’s no need for a mathematician on an offworld team, but the head of science insists. John sourly suspects this Rod guy enjoys watching him wheeze and stumble every time they have to run for their damn lives.

But it turns out it’s useful for a field team to have someone around who can crack codes and work computers. And John hates field work less than he expected to, despite the unpredictability and the peril and all that awful running.

Sometimes, like when he breaks the encryption on a Wraith code in the nick of time and diverts an enemy ship away from its path toward Atlantis, he even feels a tiny bit like a hero.

Other than his team duties, though, Atlantis isn’t that much different from Caltech or MIT or the Air Force base at Wright-Patterson, or any of the other places he’s worked.

Everyone knows each other, except for him. Everyone bands together to look out for each other, and he stares in from the outside. Eating in the mess hall is like being catapulted back to high school.

So he makes himself at home in his lab. It’s quiet there, and there’s a plentiful supply of coffee, and there are only a couple of other mathematicians who occasionally pass through and largely leave him alone.

They’re next door to the noisy, boisterous science labs, where all the cool civilians hang out. But that’s fine. He gets used to ignoring them the same way he ignores the marines.

It’s just him and his numbers.

And sometimes, inexplicably, Rod or Teyla or Ronon, who will come by and sit at his desk and drink his coffee. He never understands what they’re hoping to achieve, but he doesn’t mind as long as they don’t touch anything.

Teyla appears in the doorway, staring at his whiteboard. It’s covered top to bottom with equations, and he’s had to stick up bits of paper around the walls to fit more on.

“Rod requested that I see how your work is going,” she says, voice giving nothing away.

He grits his teeth against the annoyance of the interruption. “It would be going faster if I could work unimpeded.”

She ignores the petulant note in his voice, squinting closer at the whiteboard. “What is this?”

“This is number theory. It’s the underlying basis for mathematics.”

Teyla raises an eyebrow. “And this is different from what Rod does?”

He sneers. “Very different. That’s just theoretical physics.”

“You do not respect Rod’s chosen field?” She seems genuinely curious.

“It’s fine, for, you know,” his lip curls, “an applied science.”

“I see. So this work can help us locate Wraith hive ships?”

He shifts his weight. “Well. I might need to, uhh, collaborate with Rod on that. I provide the conceptual models and he does the,” he waves dismissively, “practical calculations.”

“It seems that you two accomplish more when you work together.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t go that far. But he’s useful as an assistant, I suppose.”

When they learn there are three Wraith hive ships on their way to destroy the city, there isn’t much time for personal conflicts. They have a long-shot strategy: They’ve sent an emergency distress message in the vague hopes of rescue from Earth. But the Wraith ships are almost here and they need a plan now.

“Use the jumpers,” John suggests, because it’s obvious.

Rod snaps his fingers. “Yes! Put a nuclear warhead on board, fly the jumper right down the hives’ throats, and detonate.”

Elizabeth blanches. “That’s a suicide run.”

“No, no.” John thinks out loud. “Not if we can remote pilot the jumper.”

“Using the control chair!” Rod chimes in. “Sheppard, you’re a genius.”

John is so focused on the threat he forgets to preen over that.

It doesn’t take long for them to hook up the jumper to the chair and start running tests. Just as well, because death from above is coming imminently.

He knows something is wrong the moment Rod’s face falls while he’s poking at the cables running to the chair.

“McKay...” he says, voice low but insistent.

“I know! I know. Just give me a minute.” Rod disappears back into a bundle of cables. “I can fix this.”

Everything is suddenly, startlingly clear. The remote control won’t work, at least not in time. Someone will have to fly the jumper personally.

He and Rod both have the ATA gene, and both the same dubious piloting skills. But there’s not much skill required in flying directly into a hive, is there?

One of them has to do this.

“So long, Rod.” He turns and runs from the chair room to the jumper bay, not bothering to notify anyone of his plans.

“Sheppard! Sheppard!”

He hears Rod yell after him but he can’t think about that now. He has a job to do.

He gets beamed out by the Daedalus at the last moment. The battle is ugly, but the city and the expedition makes it out mostly intact.

Afterwards, Rod drags him into a conference room and yells at him for an hour about his reckless behavior.

John couldn’t give a shit. He has no regrets about his actions.

He gives an insouciant shrug. “Why the earful? It worked, didn’t it?”

“Because I am your team leader, and you didn’t even ask me for permission before nominating yourself for a suicide run!”

“That’s what this is about? Your precious chain of command? Grow up.”

Rod rounds on him and gets up on the balls of his feet. “There are people here who care about you, you dick!”

John blinks at the non sequitur. The idea that anyone would care more about him than about the city and everyone else in it is laughable. “Then they’re idiots,” he snaps and walks out.

Rod can write him up for that in one of the reports he so enjoys filing.

It would be nice if he could say that he learns and grows. That he makes friends. That he gets accepted by his peers and makes a home in the Pegasus galaxy.

But that’s not how this story goes. Not yet, anyway.

He does manage to make himself useful. He invents a new cryptographic algorithm to keep their computers and communications secure from Wraith interference. Elizabeth even gives him a grateful nod when he presents it to her, and says thank you.

He makes some progress on a quantum chaos approach to the Riemann hypothesis, not that anyone here understands that or how profoundly ingenious his work is.

And it turns out that many of the Ancient systems here are based on binary, just like computers on Earth, so he’s able to help Rod parse some of the more complex code. The two of them spend hours poking through the Ancient operating system, Rod fluttering around and theorizing aloud while John sits quietly in the corner, chewing on a pen and thinking.

It’s more fun than he would have expected.

And then, inevitably, he fucks up to a new and truly epic degree. He and Rod find the Ancient’s Project Arcturus, their great hope for extracting vacuum energy from subspace, and he convinces himself he can get it to work.

He’s self-aware enough to know he’s making poor choices, but not mentally strong enough to do otherwise. Because yes, of course virtually unlimited power is tempting, and of course discovering the last great experiment of the Ancients is thrilling. But he's a cautious person. He's not one to take unnecessary risks.

And yet the moment Rod turns to him with that look of delight, saying he's impressed, clapping him on the shoulder like he's done something wonderful, John is just gone. He ignores safety limits and all common sense, and he pushes and pushes and pushes for them to power up the generator, as if his wishes for it to work could make it so.

He wipes out most of a solar system with his hubris, not to mention nearly killing them both, and he's furious down to his bones because he can't figure out why he would have done something so stupid.

Bad enough to fail so spectacularly at your work that you devastate an entire star system, worse to have burned whatever credibility you may have built with your team, but worst of all to have to walk every day among people who know all about your inadequacy.

He's in the queue for the mess and a couple of the marines behind him are sniggering, one of them making a not-very-quiet crack about Sheppard’s ego being a weapon of mass destruction. John is staring straight ahead and pretending to ignore them, but the blood is pumping furiously in his ears and he's gripping his tray so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“You got something to say?” Suddenly Ronon is there, all six-foot-three-million-pounds of him, glaring down at the sniggering marine like he might crush his skull with his bare hands. “If you’ve got something to say to Sheppard, you can say it to me as well.”

The marine backs away, hands held high and spluttering apologies.

Ronon throws an arm around John’s shoulder and walks him to a table so they can sit and eat.

John stares down at his food and wills the panic to subside. “Thanks,” he mutters once his breathing has settled.

“No worries, bud,” Ronon says and steals a piece of carrot off John’s plate. “So, how’s that bomb design you were working on coming along? You know I love a big boom.”

John tells him how his models have predicted the highly energetic variety of naquadah they’ve discovered could be harnessed into more efficient field explosives, and Ronon nods along as if this is all fascinating.

In that moment, John knows he would die for this man without hesitation.

Perhaps the worst part about the Arcturus incident is how unbearably nice Rod is about the whole thing. He tells John that it was both of their decision, that he doesn't blame him, that sometimes these things happen when dealing with advanced technology.

But John can see the disappointment in his eyes and hear the judgement in his voice. He gets a sick, twisting feeling in his stomach when he thinks about it, and that must be Rod's fault.

Rod picks a bad time to come visit the lab.

"Sheppard," Rod leans against the door frame. "I need your report on the Arcturus mission."

The sick feeling in his gut deepens. He hasn't written the report yet. "Bet you’re enjoying making me catalogue my failures."

"What? No. I just need you to submit a report so I can turn it over to Elizabeth."

"I see. You're looking for someone to blame, right? Going to write about how I pushed you and it's all my fault?"

"Of course not," Rod steps closer and there isn't enough air in the room. "I wouldn't do that. What's going on with you?"

He can't bear the look of concern on Rod's face, which he surely doesn't deserve and will surely evaporate soon enough. "Maybe I've had enough of you reminding me of my screw ups via the excuse of paperwork."

Rod's voice sharpens. "Don't blame me because you're feeling guilty. I can't deal with that for you."

The reminder of his lacking emotional skills stings and he lashes out. "Don't try to therapize me. You're hardly in the position to be doling out life advice." It's a mean, petty thing to say, but he's feeling vindictive.

Rod's eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

John's pulse is notching up and his face is getting hot, the last of his short temper fraying away.

“You’re a people pleaser, Rod!” He realizes he’s yelling. He doesn’t care. “Everything you do is to make other people like you.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Rod puffs up. “I try to be a decent human being. I try to think about others and support them. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s fake! It’s all bullshit. Do you even have a personality of your own, or do you just reflect whatever the last person who smiled at you wants?”

Finally, the cracks in the facade of nice begin to show. “Making an effort to treat those around you with consideration isn’t demeaning!” He gets up in John’s face, waving a finger at him. “Not that you’d know, because you never consider anyone other than yourself.”

“At least I’m honest,” he spits, and it’s venomous. “At least I know who I am. Do you? Do you have any idea who you’d be if you weren’t so absorbed in distracting everyone from your flaws?”

He sees the barb hit its mark. Rod stumbles back like he’s been physically shoved, his face crumpling.

“God, you’re an asshole.” It’s not even angry. It’s small, and quiet, and John is suddenly acutely aware of how much taller he is than Rod, how much he towers over him.

Rod turns on his heel and walks away, and John knows that means he’s won. But he doesn’t feel the usual curl of smug satisfaction he gets when he puts someone in their place.

Instead, he just feels empty.

Whatever. It’s not his problem that Rod is having some kind of breakdown. Why should he care that Rod is skulking around the base looking small and miserable? He only said what they both know to be true.

If Rod wants to be a dick about it, that’s on him. If he’s going to remove John from the team, that’s fine. There’s nothing that John can do about it anyway.

He gets back to work, running simulations of ZPM power levels and how long they can expect to sustain the city under different circumstances, given that they won’t be enjoying unlimited power any time soon. He likes modelling, and he knows this work is important.

But for some reason he can’t focus. His gut keeps churning and his temples ache and he’s haunted by the word worthless, worthless, worthless.

When his lab door chimes at well past midnight, he’s ready to tell whoever it is to fuck right off. In fact, the excuse to yell at someone sounds great right now.

But when he opens the door to find Rod standing there, twisting his hands anxiously, he’s too shocked to even be snitty. He’d assumed that Rod and he were done, that it was only a matter of time before he was kicked off the team.

But here Rod is, mouth downturned and saying, “You were right, okay?”

John notes the sad wobble of Rod’s chin and bites back the urge to say something dismissive. “About what?”

“About me. I do try to please everyone. I do want everyone to like me.”

It sounds pathetic, said out loud like that, John thinks but doesn’t say.

Rod is still going. “But it’s not what you think. It’s not some ego trip. When I was younger, I used to be -” He lets out a huff of air. “- very different. I said whatever I wanted to whoever I wanted, and I didn’t care if everyone hated me for it.”

John tries to imagine an angry, mean Rod. His brain can’t picture it.

“I pushed people away because I was afraid they’d reject me. I was always alone and I got very good at telling myself I liked it that way.”

An uncomfortable feeling of familiarity crawls up the back of John’s spine, and he ruthlessly quashes it.

“That changed when I went to the SGC. The people there… They believed in me. They wanted my help, and they wanted to help me. I learned that if I was going to work there, to do important work, then I was going to need connections. And to make connections, I had to think about others, and try to be what they needed. It wasn’t only about me any more.”

Something in the preachy tone of Rod’s voice sets John on the defensive, and his shoulders begin to rise, counterarguments springing to his lips.

“Wait, stop -” Rod lays a hand on his shoulder, and all the aggression leeches out of him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just trying to explain.”

The earnest look Rod is giving him makes his skin itch.

“I care about everyone here. Including you, John. Perhaps I try too hard sometimes, but that’s only because you all matter to me. I don’t want to let you down.”

Rod is talking in plurals, but John gets the impression he’s speaking to him personally. It’s too weighty, to be handed that kind of sincerity without warning.

“I do...” He coughs and looks at his feet, “I do care about the people here as well. I might not be demonstrative about it but I’m not…” he searches for the right word, “... indifferent.”

He doesn’t say the other words he’s thinking, which are cold, callous, heartless, the things people always call him.

Rod’s hand is still on his shoulder, heavy and warm, and he squeezes gently. “I know you do. I just wish that sometimes you’d let other people see that too.”

John tries. He really does. Ronon tells him that he needs to get out of the lab more, so he resolves to make time to socialize. He doesn’t really know how to do that, but Teyla quietly slides him a copy of the city’s social activity schedule and suggests he goes through the list.

Painting with Major Lorne - no.

Choir with the medical staff - sounds awful.

Extra combat training - absolutely not.

Mensa club - now there’s a possibility.

“Join us for FUN and FRIENDS,” the tiny advert reads. “All welcome (as long as your IQ is over 150).”

That he can do. He joins the club.

It's him and Kusanagi from R&D and Parrish from botany, plus a couple of the gate techs and one of the nurses from medical. Every Thursday night, they get together to solve puzzles and play chess. It's dorky and awkward but it's kind of nice, actually, and the people there don't seem to dislike him.

He thinks maybe he's getting better at this whole people thing.

And then Rod leaves, and everything goes to shit.

It starts off with a crisis, like there always is around here, exotic particles exploding out of a containment chamber which isn’t containing anything. There’s chaos, but there’s also data, so it doesn’t take long before he and Rod are turning to each other as the explanation clicks for both of them at the same time: An experiment to generate vacuum energy being conducted in a parallel universe.

“We can’t do anything from this side,” John reasons. “The bridge is one-way.”

“The inhabitants of the other universe might not even know what the effects here are. We need to go there directly and get them to shut it down,” Rod says, firm and sure. “It’s the only way.”

“But how could we-”

Rod snaps his fingers. “The Ancient shield. That’ll protect whoever travels there.”

“Right. Let me run some calculations.”

His head is buried in his computer when Rod comes running back in with the shield in his hand.

“Fire it up whenever you’re ready,” Rod orders. “I’ve got the shield to protect me.”

John’s head whips up. “You? You’re going?”

“Of course me! Come on, the chance to visit an alternate reality? Who could resist that?”

Icy cold water settles at the pit of John’s stomach. “That’s a one-way trip.”

Rod shrugs, like that’s nothing. “If that’s the cost to save our universe, it’ll be worth it.”

Something like rage explodes inside John’s head. “Absolutely not! I should be the one to go.” He searches desperately for a reason. “You’re needed here.”

Rod gives him a small, sad smile and says, “So are you.”

“That’s bullshit, McKay, and you know it. I’m not letting you do this.”

“Tell you what, let’s flip a coin for it.”

And that’s about as reasonable as he can hope for, so he turns his back to dig a coin out of his lab coat pocket.

That turns out to be a mistake.

“Be safe, John,” Rod says, then he activates the shield and steps into the containment chamber.

That bastard.

He spends three days thinking that Rod is gone for good.

He can’t… He can’t think, and he can’t sleep, and he’s angry all the time. When Zelenka asks for his help running calculations on the spacetime tear above the city John bellows at him, calls him incompetent, and says they might as well just accept that the city is going to be torn apart. Then he stays up all night doing the calculations anyway, because it’s better than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for another interminable evening.

He doesn’t bother eating, or showering, because what’s the point if they’re all going to die within a week? There’s a restless, raging scratching under his skin and it’s not like he hasn’t faced the possibility of death before, but this feels bleak and empty and insurmountable in a way he simply can’t deal with.

And then the rift mends itself, and Rod returns on a beam of light, and everyone acts as if they’re back to normal now and that brush with annihilation was just one of those quirky things that happen in the Pegasus galaxy.

But it eats at John, that feeling of powerlessness, that rippling anger of a problem he couldn’t solve.

Rod slides back into life in the city like it was nothing but another mission, and everyone rushes to say how brave he was, what a hero, how selfless he is, and John’s blood boils.

Rod swings by John’s lab with his usual breezy demeanor.

“Hey Sheppard! Wanna grab some dinner?”

The incongruity of Rod in his doorway, smiling casually like this is just another Tuesday, sends something hot and sharp spiking through his brain. “No,” John snarls. “Busy.”

“Okay. How about tomorrow?”

“Busy then too.”

Rod gives a self-deprecating little smile, and John wants to wipe it off his face. “Too busy to make an hour for your team?”

“A team?” he spits. “Is that what we are?”

Rod pales, finally taking in how furious John is. “Of course we are. I thought, since I’m back now, we could -”

“Oh, so you stride back in and decide to grace us with your presence, and we’re supposed to be thankful for that?”

“John, what -”

“You left!” he explodes. He’s shocked by his own vehemence. “You left us all. You weren’t planning to come back and you just left.”

Rod takes half a step forward, his face doing something complicated. “John, listen. I never wanted to-”

“Go fuck yourself!” He shoves at Rod’s shoulders, hard enough to keep him at a distance. He needs space; he needs quiet; this is all too much. “We don’t want you here anyway. You should have stayed in that other dimension. I’m sure it was great there.”

“That’s not-”

“Shut up, McKay.” He tunes his voice to the iciest, most dismissive tone he has. “You should have stayed gone.”

He enjoys a mean spark of satisfaction at the way Rod’s face falls, then he storms out of the lab.

Fuck that guy anyway.

Everyone on the base keeps looking at John like he’s volatile, as if he’s about to blow at any minute. Even his team starts handling him with kid gloves, like he’s fragile, and he hates it so much he could scream.

He meticulously constructs the bubble of hostility which has long been his go-to when he needs people to leave him alone. He snaps and snarls, and perfects a glare so hostile that no one dares approach him.

It’s restrictive inside that bubble, but at least it’s stable. At least he gets to decide the reason why people are going to hate him.

A few days later, Teyla strides into his lab wearing her patented “take no shit” expression.

“John,” she says, and the false cheery brightness of her tone has him scared already. “You will join me for tea.”

This is not, he recognizes, a request. He begins to mumble excuses but she cuts him off without hesitation. “You will come to my quarters, and we will drink a mug of tea together.” She crosses her arms. “Now.”

There are battles you can win, and ones you cannot. This is most certainly the latter, so he meekly follows her as she sweeps out of the lab and back to her quarters.

Once inside, Teyla forces him into a chair with an excessively firm hand.

“Sit,” she orders.

It’s easier to do as she says.

She carefully prepares the tea and warms the earthenware mugs, strong hands making practiced, confident movements. John watches the motions as she pours the tea and slides a mug over to him.

“Drink,” she orders, and again it’s easier to obey.

The tea is soapy and bland, but he fears her retribution enough not to mention that. He sips as they sit in silence. She regards him heavily over her mug.

Eventually she reaches some kind of conclusion.

“You are a valued member of our team, John.” Her face is impassive but her words are warm. “We would not see harm come to you.”

“That’s. Uhh. Good.”

“But your behavior of late has been,” she narrows her eyes, “ill-advised.”

John opens his mouth to defend himself, because it’s not as if Teyla could understand what’s been going on. But she holds up a hand which stops him short.

“I do not care to listen to your justifications. But you should know that if you continue on the path you have been on, it will be to the detriment of us all.”

John feels like he’s been pulled into the principal’s office to be scolded like a schoolboy. He didn’t care for that shit when he was ten, and he certainly doesn’t care for it now.

“If that was all,” he pushes the mug away and gets to his feet, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait.” Teyla’s hand shoots out with a warrior’s accuracy and closes around his wrist. “I am concerned for the team, yes. But I am also concerned for you. I would like to think that we are…” she tilts her head, “friends. And I should like for you to be happy.”

John is embarrassed to find a lump forming in his throat. He’s never truly had a friend before, and that someone of Teyla’s stature and courage would consider him as such has him flabbergasted. He suddenly wants, very badly, for her to think well of him.

“I’ll try harder,” he says. “I’ll try to be better.”

She releases his wrist and gives him a generous smile.

“That is all any of us can do.”

He starts small.

He saves up a few of the precious Earth-imported cookies they get for dessert in the mess sometimes and brings them to the next Mensa club night. Kusanagi beams and says that was very thoughtful of him, and Parrish splits a chocolate chip cookie with him while they speed-solve sudokus.

The next day he types up a report about the team’s most recent mission with as much detail as he can remember, and he makes special note of how brave Rod and Teyla and Ronon were.

He saves it to a flash drive and takes it to Elizabeth himself.

“What’s this?” she asks as he hands it over.

“Mission report,” John says, eyes fixed on a tapestry hanging behind her desk.

“Submitting a report without having to be asked five times first? Who are you and what have you done with Dr. Sheppard?”

Anger flashes for a moment, because he’s trying here and she doesn’t need to remind him of his past failings. But he looks down and sees she’s smiling. It’s a joke. She’s joking around with him.

Huh. Okay. That’s unfamiliar, but he doesn’t hate it.

“Maybe I’ve slipped in from an alternate dimension,” he says, and even though that’s not very funny Elizabeth laughs anyway, and that makes something glow inside him.

He grudgingly admits to himself that there does seem to be a pattern developing: when he makes an effort to connect with people here and, god help him, be nice to them, then they are happy and so is he. When he yells and pushes people away, they are sad and he is angry.

It’s sort of obvious, really, and he would be embarrassed that it’s taken him so long to figure that out, but humans are bizarre and complicated and not at all like numbers.

He has a hypothesis and now he needs to test it. He should try being more considerate to those closest to him and see if that improves everyone’s moods. If only he could figure out how to do that without the entire experience being mortifying.

He’ll work on Ronon first, he determines. Ronon has always looked out for him and they have a sort of unspoken bond. Finding something nice to do for him should be simple enough.

He decides on a data-driven approach. He takes to following Ronon around, looking for inspiration, trotting after him with a small notebook in hand to record his observations. Ronon finds the whole thing hilarious.

Ronon spends approximately 40% of his free time in the gym, which certainly is a lot, and a further 30% in the mess. Another 10% of the time he goes running around the city, and the remainder of his time is spent visiting with Teyla, stopping by the science labs to tease Rod, or visiting John.

“You like people,” John observes one day, when Ronon is warming up for a combat session with some of the marines. He’s added up the figures and plotted the data into neat hand-drawn scatter plots and histograms. “You spend almost all of your time around other people.”

Ronon’s lips tighten for a second, and then he relaxes. “Yeah, I do. For a long time it wasn’t safe for me to be around anyone, and I hated it.” He looks around the bustling gym and nods. “Now I don’t have to be alone any more. I’ll never fail to appreciate that.”

John squints and scribbles that down in his notebook too. “You like spending time with people even if they’re -” He glances over at the marines, loud and bossy and distastefully laddish, “- strange? Or mean?”

Ronon grins at him. “Even then, yeah.”

“But you go running on your own. Is that what you prefer?”

Ronon stiffens slightly. “No. It reminds me of running from the Wraith. But it’s important to stay fit, and no one here likes running with me.”

Ahah! The perfect opportunity. John bounces on the balls of his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“What, seriously?”

“Sure. It sounds fun.”

It is not fun. Running is brutal, and he is terrible at it, but Ronon smiles the whole time and he keeps telling John what a great job he’s doing.

By the time they’ve completed one lap of the route, sweat is pouring off John and his lungs are fit to burst.

“Go get some rest,” Ronon says, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “I’m going to do another couple of laps.”

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks between heaving breaths.

“You really want to do this again?”

“You run every day, right? So I will too.”

Ronon stops for a moment, then hauls John into a giant bear hug, apparently not caring that he’s sweaty and gross, and says, “Thanks, man.”

John is a little awed by how easily he expresses his approval, and how much it means to be on the receiving end of it.

He’s noticed on trade missions that the Athosians greatly value textiles, which they weave from plant fibers and dye bright colors. On his next trip to the mainland he slips away to ask the village elder Charin about the rugs which are spread throughout her tent.

She seems surprised by his interest but happy to show off her collection. She tells him how Athosians give rugs as gifts to celebrate relationships and achievements, and then she shows him how they're made.

He trades a whole month's worth of credits for supplies, and when he returns to Atlantis he spends hours each evening delicately weaving yarn through a wooden frame, building up a soft, textured rug. When it's done it's a little lumpy, but it has four clear bands of bright color running through it to represent their team.

He carries the rug to Teyla's quarters and fidgets outside her door.

"John." Teyla squints at him as she opens the door. "You appear nervous."

"I made this for you," he says and thrusts the rug at her. "Charin told me you're supposed to make them for family. This one has stripes for the four of us on the team. Sorry if it's not very good."

Tesla takes the rug and presses a hand to her chest as she examines it. A slow, warm smile spreads across her face.

"It is beautiful. You have my thanks, John. This means more to me than you know."

He has an uncomfortable flutter of emotion and he can't quite meet her eye. He focuses on the wall behind her instead.

"You are as family to me as well," she says, and steps forward to press their foreheads together in the Athosian way.

The frank sentimentality of her manner makes him squirm, but he sort of likes it.

Rod is trickier. He is not a person who cares much for stuff, and he always waves off supply runs from Earth, saying he has everything he needs.

But he has been complaining lately that the unstable nature of Lantea's sun has been interfering with some of his measurements. John has an idea that can help with that, even if it does involve working with grubby experimental data.

Once he's ready he invites Rod to join him in the control chair room.

"I did some modeling," he says quickly when Rod arrives. He doesn't bother with a greeting. "To predict solar influence on the Lantea system and help with your experimental readings."

Rod's eyes light up. "You modeled a star for me?"

"I thought it might be," he shrugs one shoulder, trying not to look too anxious about whether Rod will find it weird, "useful."

He plugs a flash drive into a socket on the chair platform and guides Rod into the chair.

"How does it work?" Rod is bouncing with excitement, the same look of delight on his face as when he finds a new piece of technology.

John indulges in a small, proud smile, and says, "Think about where we are in the solar system."

Rod leans back in the chair and its power hums on. Overhead, the holographic display bursts into life showing Lantea and its star, along with all the other planets and comets and asteroids filling the system, with notations on their size and mass and trajectory.

Rod whips the model around, running it backward and forward through time, watching the orbits of the planets dance.

Then Rod zooms in to see the sun up close and gasps. John has linked the model to the city's long range sensors so the display can simulate the star's fluctuations in real time, and as they watch its surface bubbles and releases a tendril of plasma which reaches out into space.

The display follows the plasma as it propagates out through the system, moving first through the asteroid field and then meeting the planet, interacting with the magnetosphere and lighting up the planet's atmosphere with an aurora of dancing colors.

The soft lights of the display are reflected in Rod's eyes, wide and joyful and curious, and the sight makes something like pain but not twist in John's chest.

"This is incredible." Rod pokes further through the interface, looking at zipping comets and distant moons. He sits up and the chair's power fades off. "Thank you."

Heat creeps across John's cheeks, and he busies himself unplugging the drive. "I wanted to do something… nice."

Rod stands and walks over to him, taking the drive from his fingers. But he doesn't let go, keeping hold of his hand. "This is very nice," he says, startlingly close.

And then something very strange happens, and Rod is leaning in and kissing him. John is distracted from the soft press of his lips by absolute bafflement at this turn of events and he freezes up.

Rod steps away and John stares at him, desperately trying to figure out how to respond. "You kissed me," he ends up on, which does have the merit of being true.

Rod rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry. I thought that's what you were going for. Was it not?"

John's brow wrinkles. His thoughts are whipping past at a million miles an hour.

That hadn't been his intention - he'd assumed that Rod was straight, not that he'd given it much thought - not that someone like Rod would be interested in him even if he wasn't - but there's something compelling about the concept, something intangible sitting on the edges of his perception. He can't quite see the shape of it.

"I need more data," he decides. "Kiss me again."

Rod breaks into a charmed smile. "I can do that."

This time when Rod leans in he's ready for it. Their mouths meet carefully, tentatively, and he angles his head so they line up better.

Oh. Interesting. The data is looking positive.

"Hmm." John draws back to breathe and consider. "Yes. That's good. Let's do that some more."

“An excellent plan," Rod says, putting his arms around John's waist to pull him closer and kiss him deeper.

Rod tastes incredible. Or maybe he just tastes of stale coffee and power bars, but John’s senses are so heightened that every sensation feels earth shattering, and he's starving for more. His hands scrabble at Rod’s collar, at his arms, at the hem of his shirt, trying to touch everything in a mad dash. He’s determined to get as much of whatever this is as he can before it comes to a crashing halt.

“Hey. Hey,” Rod’s hands are on top of his own, and he’s pulling away like John knew he would. John folds into himself, ready to turn his back as he listens to this is a mistake or we both know this isn’t going to work out or I’d never feel that way about you.

“If we’re going to do this…” Rod is giving him one of those lopsided smiles, soft and genuine. “I’d like to do it properly.”

John, still braced for rejection, has no idea what that means.

“Let me take you to bed,” Rod says, wobbly and uncertain and hopeful, of all things.

“Oh.” He could do that. They could do that. An ocean of unexpected possibilities opens up, glittering and unfamiliar and enticing. “Okay.”

Rod takes his hand and leads him back to his quarters. John’s palm is sweaty but his steps feel light as air.

Kissing Rod is excellent. Doing so while lying on Rod's bed is even better, and at some point they both lose their shirts and then there’s even more skin to explore and the comforting scent of Rod all around him.

It's what's next that's stressing him out, because while he's aware of the theoretical steps involved in sex, he doesn't exactly have practical experience to draw on.

There's the ever-present worry that he's missing something, that there's something he ought to know, like there's a handbook for this which everyone got a copy of except for him.

"You good?" Rod is looking at him with those very, very blue eyes. "You went away there for a minute."

His cheeks are blazing, but it seems important to set expectations. "I've never done this before," he admits.

"You mean with a man?"

He squirms. "With anyone."

He waits for Rod to laugh at him, but he merely looks contemplative. "Were you not interested, or…?"

"It never seemed that important, you know? Just another of those things that everyone else did except for me, like going to parties, or having friends, or spending Christmas with family."

Rod's face softens with sympathy.

"And even if I wanted to sometimes, it didn't matter, because who would want this?" He indicates himself with a disparaging hand. He knows what he looks like: too thin, too lanky, messy hair that will never keep a style. He's no one's ideal. "I'm not even sure why you’d be interested."

"God." Rod reaches for him and takes his face in his hands. "You really have no idea, do you?" Rod carefully removes his glasses, sets them aside, and says, "You're gorgeous," like he really means it.

Taking off his glasses makes John feel more vulnerable than taking off his clothes. Suddenly his shield is gone and there's the world, and Rod, and it's all very close and immediate and a little disorienting.

"Hey." Rod pets his face, soft and gentle, "It's okay. We can go slow."

He makes an effort to pull himself together. "I won't be very good at this."

"You don't have to be good." Rod traces his lips with a finger. "You just have to be you."

And that’s mystifying, frankly. But he’ll give it a go for Rod.

They kiss some more, and he relaxes into it, lets Rod take the lead, lets him explore his mouth until he’s boneless and breathless. He breaks for air and is lightheaded, the room almost spinning, but he wants more.

Then Rod is kissing along his jawline, and down his neck, and oh, when Rod’s lips brush against a spot near his throat his entire body tenses and twitches, and Rod makes a curious, happy noise and does it again. It’s a hair away from overwhelming but he likes it, he likes it a lot, and then Rod gently runs his teeth over that spot and John’s hips twitch off the bed entirely of their own volition.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, but Rod doesn’t look put off. In fact, he just grins, says, “Don’t be, I like it,” then pushes John back onto the bed and mouths at that spot some more.

His skin is hot all over and he’s shaking, and god, this is all going to be over embarrassingly fast and they haven’t even gotten all of their clothes off yet.

“Rod,” he says, and it comes out as a whine. “Will you -” He gestures vaguely at the bulge in the front of his jeans and hides his face in the pillow, too bashful to let Rod see him.

Rod pauses from his engrossment in John’s neck to breathe hot words into his ear instead. “Is that what you want?” he asks, and John is fit to burst already. How is Rod so good at this?

“Please,” he says, mumbling into the pillow. Everything is too much and not enough, and he wants, he wants, he wants. “Please, Rod, please -”

“Okay, of course I will, it’s okay.” Rod strokes his flank, petting him like a skittish horse, and that should be mortifying but it’s exactly what he needs. “I’d like to see you though,” he says, and reaches over to touch John’s chin.

John lets himself be turned, lets Rod roll him over so they’re facing each other and their eyes meet. That’s almost overwhelming too, but Rod looks so pleased he thinks he might be able to manage it, and then Rod is kissing him and unzipping his pants and oh, oh, oh.

Rod wraps a hand around his cock and John just melts, like every brain cell he possesses has decided to pack up for the night. He can't even bring himself to blush because Rod is touching him right there and it’s so good, it’s so good, and all he wants is more.

Rod handles him confidently, exploring what he likes: a bit faster, a bit slower, a bit more pressure, a bit less. If John could speak he’d tell him that it doesn’t matter, right now he likes everything, anything, whatever Rod wants to do to him he’d take it happily.

But Rod is a scientist, and he loves his data just as much as John does, so he does some experimentation and finds the ideal speed John likes, and the angle, and then he squeezes gently around the head and John’s orgasm explodes behind his eyes like bright, white light.

He floats for a while, like a spring that’s been twisted and twisted and finally bursts free, and he’s vaguely aware of Rod stroking his face. It’s nice, every muscle in his body slack and comfortable for once instead of clenched down tight.

“You good?” Rod asks, and John can’t help but smile.

“Very,” he mumbles, mouth lax and lazy.

Rod drops a kiss on his temple, and there’s something so casual and caring about that it makes John’s heart squeeze.

“You mind if I get myself off?” Rod asks and heat races up the back of John’s neck. He does not mind that one bit.

“Should I. Um.” He ought to offer, right? That was the polite thing. But, “I don’t really know what to do,” he admits.

Rod smiles softly at him and says, “How about you kiss me?”

And yes, John is definitely on board with that, he can do that. He puts an arm around Rod’s shoulders and pulls him closer, then kisses him: carefully at first, peppering soft pecks to his lips, and then deeper, lips sliding over each other as they grow more heated, and then finally wild and messy, slipping his tongue into Rod’s mouth while Rod pushes his pants down and works himself over.

He feels Rod’s fist bumping up against his thigh, faster and faster as he speeds up his hand, and John can’t help but glance down. He watches in fascination at the way the head of Rod’s cock peeks through his hand on each stroke, red and hard and leaking from the tip. Reflexively, he licks his lips.

Rod is making these soft groaning noises which have John entranced, like he wants to spend every spare minute he has learning how to coax them out of him. And then Rod is biting his lip, and twitching, and staring at him open-mouthed and breathing hard.

“Can I come on you?” he asks, and something in John’s brain short-circuits.

“Yes,” his mouth says for him. “Rod, god, yes.”

He can’t stop staring at the movement of Rod’s hand and, emboldened by a force he didn’t know he had in him, he reaches down to wrap his hand around Rod’s. He lets Rod guide their movements, adding a soft pressure from his fingers so they can bring him off together.

“John,” Rod sighs, full of warmth and contentment, and then he’s relaxing and coming. Fluid splatters across John’s thighs and he did that, he made Rod feel good, and that feels like the best gift of all.

Rod is soft around the edges now, smudgy like a charcoal painting, and when John asks, “Was that okay?” he pulls him closer and nuzzles into his neck, covering both of their bodies and their clothes hopelessly in come, and says, “That was perfect.”

John wakes up sticky, rather too hot, and filled with a roiling, anxious feeling. The bed is too small and Rod is too close, and his heart rate picks up as he looks fuzzily around the room.

He should go. He should just go, right now, before Rod wakes up and they have to talk about this and he says something wrong and ruins everything.

He’s squinting and patting at the bedside table, looking for his glasses, when he feels movement behind him.

“Morning.” Rod drops a soft kiss on his shoulder. Then he rolls over, John’s glasses in his hand, and opens them up and pops them onto his face. He slides them up John’s nose, smiles, and says, “There you are.”

And oh. All that panic seems further away once he has the armor of his glasses back, and now he can see the pillow crinkles imprinted into Rod’s cheek. He seems less like an agent of impending judgement and more like Rod, just Rod, Rod who knows him and has seen him at his worst and still, for whatever baffling reason, seems to like him.

“Hi,” he manages, and Rod beams like that was exactly the right thing to say.

“Coffee?” Rod offers. “Or shower first?”

As rare as it is for John to turn down coffee, he really is unpleasantly sticky. Deal with that problem first, he decides. “Shower,” he says, grateful that he’s not required to string together more than single words.

“Sure.” Rod gives his ass a cheeky pat as he rises, then throws him a towel.

He showers quickly and efficiently, but as he steps out and wraps a towel around himself he spots a purpling bruise on the side of his neck in the mirror. He stops to trace it with his fingers, remembering the feeling of Rod’s mouth there, hot and demanding.

“Ahh.” Rod stands in the doorway to the bathroom. “Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away.” There’s a flush on his cheeks, and he looks nervous.

John tilts his head, looks at the mark from another angle. There it is: incontrovertible evidence that he's wanted. What a fascinating concept. “Don’t be. I like it.”

“Oh.” Rod’s eyes go very round and the blush deepens. “That’s good. That’s. Ahh. Very good. I’ll just -”

Rod drops the towel from around his waist and makes for the shower, and John gets an eyeful of his half-hard cock, and then, as he walks past, an ass he has the sudden urge to sink his fingers into. A heat that’s beginning to feel familiar creeps up his neck, and he wants -

What the hell, he thinks, and he tosses his own towel aside to follow Rod back into the shower, delighting in his yelp of surprise when he slides up behind him.

“Shep! Think fast!”

John manages to get his hands up just in time to prevent the power bar from hitting him in the face.

“Thought you might want a snack before the mission,” Ronon says with a wink. “Just in case we have to run anywhere.”

“Hey, I’m getting better at that! I’ll catch up with you one day.”

“Sure you will.” Ronon checks the straps on John's tac vest like he always does, then says, "Looking good, buddy," and ruffles his hair.

John used to hate that, but he's given up trying to tame his hair and now he lets it stick up in whatever direction it wants. It's weird but it works.

Teyla bumps her shoulder against his as they walk toward the gate room. "What do you have for us today, John?"

“Remember that strange energy signal Major Lorne’s team picked up last week? I was able to map its topography through space and pinpoint its likely origin, and Rod took a look at the electromagnetic readings and he thinks it might be a power source -”

“So we are going to investigate the signal on P2X-884?”

“Bingo.”

Rod is standing in front of the gate like he belongs there. He claps his hands. "Ready for another thrilling adventure in the Pegasus galaxy?"

"Maybe we'll get to hunt some Wraith," Ronon says, entirely too cheerfully.

"Or discover some hideous alien parasite," Teyla joins in with a gruesome smirk.

"Or accidentally blow something up," John supplies, because that's usually how their luck goes.

"Sounds delightful." Rod grins and yells up to the gate techs, "Dial her up."

As the gate engages with a whoosh and a glow of blue light, Rod reaches out to graze his fingers against John's: a reminder, and a promise. Out of the corner of his eye, John catches his smile.

He stands a little taller, knowing his team has his back, and steps through the wormhole.

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #my writing #i will NOT shut up about mensa!john i LOVE him

42 notes · View notes

i-did · 4 years ago

Note

hi hello i couldn't sleep last night so i was scrolling thru all ur asks and stuff and ur opinions and analyses are so interesting!!! and then afterwards i was thinking about what u were saying about mlm smut and i'd also been thinking about such things a little bit recently bc like.....at a certain point it becomes quite clear that the vast majority of smut-writing is just imitation. like there's the sex noise verb list and all and the whole general mechanics of the sex and those things just .... replicate over and over. and the whole thing w people writing mlm vs wlw smut regardless of their own sexual orientation..... like i feel like a big part of that is just a self-perpetuating thing. like if u have not had sex and u r getting all ur (pleasure-related) sex ed from fandom (even if u do watch porn, that doesn't rlly tell u how to describe stuff? idk) regardless of What fandom , the majority is going to be mlm smut. which is itself majority imitation of other mlm smut, imitating and imitating back to whoever knows what the first smut fanfic was etc. there's just way More to mimic than there is on the women side of things. which then becomes a self-perpetuating thing, bc the mimicry continues and generates more and more. and---if there are fundamental misunderstandings of anatomy involved---those self-perpetuate as well. and maybe even exaggerate. and yeah. does this all make sense? idk i was just thinking about it. like all the stereotypes and stuff continue bc writers are getting their inspo from other writers rather than their own brains. or something. idk!!!!! it's just all... divorced from reality? bc words. or something!! i hope u get what i'm trying to say. just thoughts i've been thinking. anyway i think ur thoughts are cool. and ur writing. ok bye have a good day!!

Okay yeah this is kinda messy but hope u see this, uhh yeah I think you're right about the echo chamber effect fr about stuff. I think it's a mix of projecting too sometimes. talk more under the cut and also link to a video essay since I love video essays.

Here’s a video that sort of touches on this topic:

“Gay fanfiction” by Sarah Z. (has CC)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8E_C00dKwI

This video begins to talk about fetishization at the end, but also… not really. The words “gay fanfiction” is used as a catchall, when really gay fanfiction is largely mlm written by non-mlm.

Fandom is a largely women's space dominated by the female gaze in a media industry world that is dominated by men and the male gaze. I'm really glad women have this space to explore creativity and queerness, and I don't expect the female gaze to go away, but I am still ultimately bummed out I can’t read most fanfic or interact with most fandom spaces without having fetishization in my face.

So about 80% of fandom is women, and most of those women aren't straight, but 90% of those women prefer mlm ships. Why don’t they prefer wlw ships? Well definitely part of it is the fact that queerbaiting is centered around white straight men, and then there is also the fact that women tend not to be written as well charcter wise. But the fact still remains that you get jerjean getting priority over Layla and Alvarez who are in canon just as much and are a canon wlw couple who actually interact as well as Alvarez could likely be a woc because of her Hispanic last name. Korasami doesn’t get nearly as much hype as zuko and saka, despite the fact that they are 2 fully dimensional characters who canonly kiss and hold hands, something the creators fought for and ended up having to sacrifice another reboot for.

I do believe the fandom echo-chamber is largely responsible for… a lot of things, like you're saying. But what's interesting is that the complaints I've heard about visual porn from non mlm in the fandom space is that they can’t get off to it because its for the male gaze and misogynistic usually. But they also don't seem to notice how the mlm smut circles has the female gaze and is also… almost always mlm. If it was a pure anatomical not knowing thing, I get that, but I also think that leads to the question of “then why the male body for porn, and not your own? The one you know and are familiar with?”

I know some people want to get outside of their own body for porn and don’t want to think of their own anatomy at all, but overall I'm still uncomfortable. If an anglo said “well I watch porn of only Mexicans so I don't self insert” I'm gonna be like … hhhh in a similar way. I understand people “like what they like” but I wish they also noticed said patterns in the first place. I understand the t4t tumblr porn circle, and how it's different from cis people who only watch trans porn.

I actually wished that instead of fandom focusing on mlm ships where some asshole guy hits on bottom troupe charcter for top troupe character to save, was instead… a wlw character experiencing said shitty getting hit on and other wlw swooping in. what's interesting is fandom writes a lot about misogynistic experiences without often realizing it. Ive read fanfic where guys get called sluts for sleeping with people or called bitch for speaking their mind, these arent things men usually experience, but rather women. Fandom has a lot of internalized misogyny and also queerphobia imo. Women characters often get pushed to the sidelines and men become the canvas for female fans to project onto.

There is this natural inclination to mlm. When people are talking about “gay shipping” or “gay books” or “gay feels” or even just “gay” mlm is what’s largely in mind. I honestly am kinda saddened by this because if gay fanfiction was really solely about writing more to feel represented, then you would see a lot of bi and ace and lesbian rep, but this isn't the case. Queer women are seriously underrepresented, and I want to hear their stories and read them in fanfiction as well as published. 50% of lgbt literature is mlm, and of that its largely written by women. Becky Albertalli, Rainbow Rowell, Maggie Stiefvater, are the YA big names and are all women writing mlm. Red white and royal blue is written by Casey McQuiston and Captive prince (which is not YA) is written by C. S. Pacat, who is non-binary, but is also TME and not mlm. These are all the big names in mlm lit, behind them is some gay men, but honestly their stories aren't preferred, they're not the right “flavor” for the consumers usually, who are largely women. In general YA consumers and authors are women, but I wish that they… just wrote about women too. I think there is a certain… snowball effect to the overrepresentation of mlm representing the whole LGBT community that leads to fetishization, as well as misogyny playing a factor in: less women characters being written well to write fanfic on, when they are written well they're taken less seriously or the audience struggles to relate to them, they're less marketable then men.

Idk I never feel “seen” or “represented” by any of the books above, which don't address boyhood and manhood and queerness intersecting really, and AFTG doesn’t either. I relate to AFTG as a trauma victim who has experienced a lot of what many of the characters go through and have gone through in the EC as well as them just overall being very well written characters, but I don't relate to it as a mlm really. I've never seen like.. gay voice or being straight passing or femphobia or how boyhood can be affected from a young age by those around you sensing you're ‘other’ or if you didn't experience this you feel outside the mlm community. Let alone sub cultures like bear and leather and pup, at most you see the word “he's such a twink” in fandom which... i fr hate non mlm using that word because it's usually used to replace the f-slur essentially, used derogatorily or to call him “such a bottom” and stuff like that. It’s like a joke or an insult.

Long story short, idk mang this was a ramble and I think I'm coning down with something. I wanna see more queer women rep and women authors writing about being a queer woman too. I think it's a complex web of fetishization and a bit of forbidden love yaoi culture (or it used to be in the BOYXBOY days) as well as misogyny on an industry level, creator level, as well as reader/consumer and fandom level. I don’t think it’s inherently wrong to explore other peoples stories and what we read has to be segregated, “only mlm are allowed to read and write mlm, only wlw are allowed to read and write wlw,” but I also think author’s intent and audience and background is telling, as well as overall statistics. Like about an hour ago I was looking for cookbooks in spanish or in english, and I was looking for some mexican food cook books, but I had to look for them using words in spanish because otherwise what came up was a bunch of “fiesta party, easy as uno dos tres authentic cooking!” and I was like… hm. Since I could tell they were marketing to anglos. (also the author’s last names were like michelle smith, james cooper, and this could be for a variety of reasons, but I trust Hispanic names more tbh and deadass would look at the authors pictures and if they had other books in Spanish or what their specialties were.)

anyways. not sure how to end this. uhm if anyone has any book recs (my to read list is like 500 books tho no joke) preferably not YA white mlm written by a white lady, hopefully queer women written by queer woman, LMK, I need more wlw and queer women stories on my list. I have a decent amount but always looking for more. I kinda wanna link my goodreads or my storygraph but I also don't want to get doxxed and it has my legal name on it so.

Also, I'm dyslexic and using spell check but if there's like some wild typos my b.

#ask #fandom politics #fandom culture #fandom psychology #mailob

46 notes · View notes

luxekook · 5 years ago

Text

chapter seven.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 3.6k

⇥ warnings: 18+, lots of cursing, general chaotic energy, poly relationship, a short confrontation, mentions of slut-shaming, switch!reader, dom!joon, switch!jin, sub!jimin, library shenanigans, an abundance of coffee, punishments, spanking, bad puns (jin is in this chapter, DUH), many nerd references uwu

Chapter Seven

Quinn Library – 3:54pm

The end of September passes in a blur of studying, partying, volunteering, and spending time with friends. The month’s conclusion also includes the increasing presence of seven boys in my everyday routine.

Since giving Taehyung the suck of his life in the bathroom of Hannigan’s, I have been basically fighting off the seven of them for a moment to breathe. But, sometimes breathing is overrated when being smothered by affection.

Going from being single to essentially dating seven people is quite the adjustment. I found myself growing attached to them – something that both excited and scared the shit out of me. We haven’t discussed labels or anything, but I figure it’s only a matter of time. The boys have apparently been planning an elaborate first date for this upcoming weekend, and I feel like they’ll probably ask to make it official then.

My stomach erupts in butterflies at the thought, and I take a calming breath. No need to overthink such things.

While it might be unconventional by some societal standards, polyamory is simply a way to love. Why should love come with confines? With binary expectations? The saying ‘love is love’ gets thrown around a lot, but I believe it bears repeating.

Jenni and Luna have been nothing but supportive to me over the past two weeks. They even came with me to volunteer this past weekend because they - and I quote - wanted to ‘check out our vibe’. But, I wholeheartedly expect that the real reason had actually been for them to feel out the boys’ intentions.

Why did I suspect this? Well, because Jungkook had come up to me within the first fifteen minutes at the worksite quivering in fear over how ‘scary my friends were’ and how ‘Jenni had cornered him to interrogate him while Luna hovered behind her, menacingly holding a nail-gun’.

I had never felt more loved and supported by my friends.

My phone dings, and I quickly hasten to put it on silent, shooting an embarrassed and apologetic look around the library. It seems like most people have headphones in, and I let out a sigh of relief. No one wants to be that one loud person in the library.

Checking my notifications, I smile when I see it’s a SnapChat from Hobi in the group chat the boys created a few weeks ago. My thumb swipes it open, and I barely contain myself from announcing to the whole library how vibrantly handsome one of my potential boyfriends is.

I quickly send a SnapChat back of me and my stack of books in the library with the caption ‘send help in the form of coffee’.

Immediately, Taehyung sends a flurry of heart eyes emojis in the chat, Jungkook sends a ‘noona is so cute’, and Yoongi sends back a picture of a black screen with the caption ‘come nap with me’.

God, I would love to nap with Yoongi right now… Alone time with the older boy is so elusively precious. One day last week at their house, I had mentioned wanting to learn piano. Yoongi had just grabbed my hand and tugged me to his room. We had spent a couple hours together in the small corner of his room playing on his keyboard.

Well, he had been playing; I had been fumbling around like a buffoon - half uncoordinated in general and half flustered by how good Yoongi looked playing. His hands had been so nimble as they flew over the keys, crafting melodies I could only assume he had composed. His focus had been so fucking hot as he nodded slightly along to the tempo in his head, his eyes shooting over to look at me every once in a while.

My hand kink? Activated.

My willpower to not kiss the shit out of Yoongi? Nonexistent.

When Yoongi had paused in between songs, I may or may not have grabbed him by his shirt collar and kissed him. His blushing attempt to dodge me had been so cute; and when I had stopped trying to kiss him, he had pouted and then kissed me instead.

What a cutie…

A giggle draws my attention from my reminiscing. At first, I pay it no mind, taking it as a directive to dive back into my studies. But then, the whispering starts.

“I heard she’s fucking her way through the whole house.”

“Isn’t there a term for that?”

“Yeah, a frat rat.”

I slam my 500-page textbook closed and stand, leveling the duo of gossiping girls with a glare that could make grown men cry. It had before when I had to properly eviscerate my uncle in defense of feminism at our last family gathering. What a time that had been.

“Is there a problem?” I force the question through gritted teeth, stalking over towards their nearby table. I relish in the way they gape at me, eyes wide and pupils quivering, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid my complaint jar is at capacity. Please don’t try again later.”

The girl on the right gulps, “No-nope, there’s no problem! We were just leaving. Right, Janika?”

“No,” The girl who had called me a ‘frat rat’ just moments before crosses her arms and stands, “I do, like, have a problem.”

“Janika,” The other girl tugs on the sleeve of the one standing, “Don’t.”

“Yeah, Janika,” I smile, “Don’t.”

I can see the moment she snaps.

“You’re, like, such a fucking bitch! I don’t know what they all see in you. Oh wait, yes I do. You’re fucking easy.”

I consider myself to be a patient person, but having to endure this type of rant against my character - and against women’s sexual freedom in general - has pushed me well past my limits.

“Now, listen here, Janika,” I take another step forward, “You can keep talking your shit. I really don’t give a flying fuck what you think about me. But I really advise you to google ‘how to stop slut-shaming for dummies’ because it seems like you need a crash course.”

Janika’s face darkens, “Whatever. They’ll get tired of you anyway.”

“Yeah,” I let out an amused laugh, “I’m sure they’ll get real tired of me choking on their dicks every night.”

Letting out a gasp, Janika whirls back around to face her silent friend, “Let’s go. I don’t want to, like, be around her any longer.”

“Buh-bye now,”I wiggle my fingers in their direction as they shuffle out of the library.

Smiling in satisfaction, I head back towards my table. Without hesitation, I gather my books and belongings and head upstairs to the quiet floor. Any more distractions or confrontations would probably make my blood pressure pop off the charts.

The quiet floor, as one of my safe havens, is home to several small private study rooms. Peering into each, I start to lose hope that any would be available. Finally, the very last room proves me wrong, and I swing open the door and almost in tears over the sweet, sweet solitude.

This particular study room is tucked away in the very far corner of the library’s second floor. Not many people are aware of its location, and it seems that paid off for me today. Plopping my things down across the table in the center of the tiny room, I follow suit and drop down into one of the two chairs adjoining the table.

What a clusterfuck of an afternoon… This sadly isn’t the first time I’ve heard some comments being made about my association with the BTS boys, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Yet, part of me knew all along that this would be the trade-off.

After all, what are a few irrelevant opinions to seven gorgeous and loyal partners? Inconsequential - in my opinion. That is the reason why I haven’t breathed a word of the backlash to anyone.

Sighing, I flip open my textbook to where I had been before being rudely interrupted.

The amygdala plays a key role in emotion and behavior…

“Noona?”

I jump a half-mile out of my chair, slapping a hand over my pounding heart. Jimin had somehow managed to enter the room without my knowledge. Had he fucking teleported?

Holding a giant iced coffee in one hand and a cinnamon bun in the other, Jimin beams at me and ignores the fact he just scared the living shit out of me. “Hi, noona! I saw your SnapChat while I was in class, and I came here as soon as I could.”

I stare dumbfounded at the angel before me. Jimin is slightly out of breath with reddened cheeks and a sweaty brow. His black track-pants are slung low on his hips, his long-sleeve white t-shirt clings to his torso, his black duffle bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder. He must have run over straight from dance class.

Standing abruptly, I stalk over to where Jimin is still posted up by the doorway to the study room. Toe to toe with him, I blurt out while still half in a daze, “You really brought me coffee and food?”

He eyes me warily like I might suddenly jump on him at any moment. Shifting his weight back and forth, Jimin hesitantly replies, “Um, yes?"

I take the coffee and cinnamon bun from his hands, place them on the table, and then tackle him with the biggest hug. "You absolute sweetheart!" I murmur into the crook of his neck, "This made my day. Thank you, Jimin-ie."

His hands tentatively wrap around me, pulling me closer. "You're welcome, noona. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Well, I really appreciate it, baby,” My lips brush over the crevice of his collarbone and relish in his shudder. Bringing my head up to face his, I smile widely at him, “Can I kiss you, Jimin-ie?”

“Yes,” He sighs out, eyes already closing in anticipation. I press my lips to his, still smiling softly against his mouth. His lips are plush under mine, velvety soft. My tongue swipes across his bottom lip and— Is that coffee I taste?

I pull back, ��Jimin, did you sip my coffee on your way here?”

The boy looks rightfully alarmed, “I– y-yes. But only a little, noona!”

Cute.

“Hmm,” I trail my fingers down his chest, “I guess I’ll make an exception for you this time since you were the one to bring it for me.”

Jimin relaxes slightly, but his expression is strangely disappointed. I stare at him quizzically, and he blushes.

“What is it?” I lean against the table, facing him.

He clears his throat, staring intensely at the ground, “You can still punish me if you want, (y/n)-noona.”

My eyebrows shoot upwards at his offer, and then I let out a slight chuckle, “Oh, Jimin… That would be a favor to you, wouldn’t it? My baby boy wants to be punished, hm? Did dance practice make you all hot and bothered? Jungkook tells me that has been happening to you lately.”

Jimin’s face explodes in color as he mutters, “That little bitch will pay for this.”

Suddenly, the door swings open with a resounding thud, nearly clipping Jimin in the shoulder.

“Your savior has arrived!” Kim Seokjin announces loudly in spite of the studiously silent atmosphere of the quiet floor. His hands hold two steaming hot travel mugs, which I can only guess are filled with the elixir of the gods (aka coffee).

Seokjin’s eyes glance around the room as he takes in the fact that I’m not alone as he obviously had expected. “Wait, Jimin-ie? What are you doing here?” Jin’s eyes flick down to the coffee and cinnamon roll that lay on the table. “Goddamn it!”

“You were too slow, hyung,” Jimin smirks happily as he takes a seat in the chair I had previously vacated. He slouches smugly as he stares up at the fuming older boy.

“Too slow?!” Jin roars.

“Jin,” I chastise, circumventing around him to shut the door.

“Sorry, babe,” Seokjin says while still glaring daggers at the all-too-pleased Jimin. Suddenly, his expression changes into a sneaky look that makes me both want to run and jump his bones. “Well,” He waves the two coffee mugs around in the air, “I made these myself - with love. I didn’t buy that generic shit; I brewed it, baby.”

It’s Jimin’s turn again to look disgruntled, and I can’t help but laugh at their antics.

“Any and all coffee is appreciated and loved by me – the more the merrier. So, thank you both,” You say, taking one of the travel mugs from Seokjin. Kissing his cheek, you turn back to sit opposite Jimin at the table.

“She kissed me on the lips!” Jimin bursts.

“Park Jimin!” I cry as Jin splutters some sort of incoherent rant about fairness and equality.

Jimin holds eye contact with me, still leaning back in his chair like he’s the king of the fucking universe. But, he’s not; I am.

My chair hits the wall behind me with a bang as I stand, planting my hands on the table to loom over Jimin. “Do you think it’s fun to push your hyung, Jimin? Does it amuse you to be a little shit?”

I can see the moment that Jimin decides to be a brat. His eyes heat up in a challenge, and he firmly answers, “Yes, noona.”

“Get up.” The change in my tone is apparent. Jimin gulps. Getting to his feet, he stares back at me expectantly.

“Jin,” I address the older boy while still maintaining eye contact with Jimin, “What kind of punishment do you think I should give our Jimin here?”

Seokjin rounds my other side, grinning, “Well, (y/n) darling, I believe he should get spanked.”

“Interesting choice,” I murmur, turning to face Jin, “That’s what you’re going to get then.”

“What?” Jin squawks, arms waving rapidly around in the air, “But I didn’t do anything!”

“Nothing is what you should have done, Jin,” I push him against the wall, “You know better than to let Jimin rile you up like this.”

Those plump lips of his pout dramatically as he whines, “But, (y/n)…”

“But nothing,” I say and then whirl around to face the other boy. He’s still standing where I left him with his eyes glued to the pair of us. “Jimin,” I hold his gaze, “You’re going to watch. You’re not going to touch yourself, your hyung isn’t going to touch you, and I’m not going to touch you.”

His eyes widen comically, “No! That’s not fair!”

“Do you want to be gagged, too, baby boy?” I ask, cocking my head slightly. Seeing his emphatic head shakes, I grin. “That’s what I thought. Now, stay.”

Turning back to Jin, I smirk slightly as I ask, “Punishment now or later?”

Seokjin’s eyes scrunch cutely in confusion, “What?”

“You see,” I move closer to him, my body brushes his, “I think you earned a punishment, but I think you also earned helping me punish Jimin.”

A wide grin crosses Jin’s face as he glances back at the corner Jimin is stewing in. “I would be honored to help you punish him, babe.”

“That’s what I figured,” I smile briefly at him before slowly sliding my hands up his chest to rest on the nape of his neck. Holding them there, I press the lightest of kisses to the corner of his lips.

Jin’s breath hitches in his throat.

I run my tongue against the seam of his mouth, taking my time and savoring the sweet taste of him. His lips part to let me in, my tongue sliding across his. I grind against him as we kiss, moving my hips in such a way that makes him groan and lean back harder against the wall.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

Ripping my mouth from Jin’s, I turn to face the newcomer.

Namjoon stands in the doorway holding yet another cup of coffee, his face thunderous. "What do the three of you think you're doing? This is the goddamn library, you heathens!”

Seokjin jumps out of his skin in fright, pushing me away faster than I can anticipate. Stumbling back, I crash into Jimin – who apparently had ventured out of his assigned corner. Brat.

“The shades were open!” Namjoon continues to rant as he flicks the aforementioned item down to cover the door’s window, “Did you want people to see you?”

He reads the expression on my face correctly, “Oh, but you did, didn’t you, (y/n)?” Namjoon approaches where I’m still captured in Jimin’s embrace. Glaring down at me, he taunts, “So quick to stake your claim; but, make no mistake, they were mine first.”

Shaking out of Jimin’s hold, I straighten, raising my chin to meet Namjoon’s gaze full-on, “That’s interesting. I didn’t realize you were so lenient with your partners.”

Jimin makes a choking noise behind me. Jin stands behind Namjoon, waving a hand in front of his throat to clearly tell me to stop talking. I keep going, “Perhaps I need to teach you how to discipline.”

Namjoon flips me around, shoves Jimin out of the way, and bends me facedown across the table.

“Jin,” He says, his voice growly, “Stand in the hall and let me know if you can hear us.”

The sound of the door opening and closing alerts me that Jin followed Namjoon’s instructions without a word.

“Jimin,” He continues, “Hold (y/n)’s hands out in front of her.” Jimin ascquieces, staring apologetically down at me as he tugs my hands towards him.

“This is cute,” I say, “I always love holding Jimin-ie’s hands.”

Thwack. The stinging imprint of Namjoon’s palm on my ass burns deliciously. I arch my back, looking over my shoulder at him with a half-smile. “Do it harder, daddy.”

A breath sucks in between his lips as I utter the word I know will get him feeling as hot as me. “You’re playing a dangerous game, baby girl,” Namjoon grits out, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Oh, daddy,” I say, “Don’t you remember? I’m the fucking Queen.”

“Was that a chess pun? Nice.” A muffled voice followed by a squeaky laugh sounds through the door.

“Seokjin,” Namjoon seethes, flying over to open the door and drag the older boy back inside, “I thought I told you to let me know if you could hear us.”

I tug out of Jimin’s gentle hold, straighten back up, and then situate myself into a sitting position on the table.

I watch amusedly as Jin shimmies his way out of Joon’s grasp, “Yah! It’s not my fault I get intense FOMO. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Besides, I only heard you because I had my ear pressed to the door.”

Jimin stifles a giggle. I let out a full-on laugh. Namjoon mumbles what sounds like a plea to some higher power under his breath.

“See what I have to deal with?” Namjoon turns to me, shaking his head. “Are you sure you want to sign up for this?”

“That depends,” I swing my legs back and forth as I stay perched on the table, “Are you going to keep spanking me?”

The boy who had just unhesitatingly bent me over to punish me now blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, probably? You have quite a mouth on you, baby.”

Hopping off the table, I laugh, “Good answer. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Woo!” Jin cheers, “Nice job on the House Points, Joon-ie!”

“I am in love with idiots,” Jimin sighs.

Grabbing my phone from my backpack, I let out a slight yell as I read the time. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” I scramble to shove all of my textbooks back into my bag.

“What is it, noona?” Jimin worries, appearing next to me. “Are you late for class?”

“No,” I cry, “It’s so much worse. I’m late for my weekly Animal Crossing discord chat! Heath is gonna kill me…”

“Heath?” Jin scowls, “Who is this Heath you speak of?”

“Chill, fam,” I shrug my backpack onto my shoulders and stare contemplatively down at the three different coffees. “You can’t get jealous every time I mention a new person. What’s next? You’re gonna come for Tom Nook?”

Namjoon - who must play Animal Crossing - stifles a laugh as Jin pouts. “She has a point, Jin.”

“And so does a pencil. Big whoop,” Jin scowls with his arms folded.

“Aw, Seokjin-ie,” I coo, reaching over to pinch his cheek, “Don’t be mad. You’ll get to spend all day with me on Saturday after volunteering! What are we doing, anyways?” I level Joon with my best side-eye as I ask that question, knowing he is more likely than not the mastermind behind our planned date.

“It’s going to be great, noona!” Jimin pipes up, hugging me from the side, “You’re going to love it…You’re going to love us.” He murmurs the last part, probably not meaning for me to hear; but, I do.

God, I do.

“We’ll pick you up before volunteering,” Joon says, “Just bring yourself and a change of clothes.”

“What?” I decide - fuck it - and attempt to grab all three coffees, “No overnight bag?”

Jin, who had just taken a sip of his own coffee, spews it everywhere. “Pack one,” He gasps out in between coughs.

Laughing, I walk to the door, which Jimin kindly opens for me. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Ah, I’m so late. Jimin and Jin, I’ll punish you at a later time. Joon, you can try to punish me at a later time.” Living for their astonished expressions, I wave as best I can with three coffees in hand, “Bye, babes! Text me-e-e.”

As I make my way out of the library, it hits me that I only have one more day to prepare for this date. Fucking hell…

a/n: this is such a filler of a chap with a tinge of drama mixed in, hehe. the next one is gonna be that date tho uwu stay tuuuuuuned and thanks 4 reading

taglist: @catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @cage7241 @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @honeyspillings @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang @oii-f-eli-x2 @joonsroses @theevilyouknow @jooniescupcakes @expensive-grl @i-dont-even-know-fck @doingmybestalltheftime @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @laced-brds @breeeeh17 @lpayne612 @peachyharmoney @rilakoya @chulchuchi @tabula-rasa0 @guccishookv @nomimits7 @i-like-puppy-mg @s-noir @anna-sorel @im-a-space-child @yeontanismypresident @drowning-in-oxygen @team-wang-puppy @lvvegood @anongirl007 @may114 @r-e-d-i-s-h @unatempesta-dipensieri @dragon-rider-with-a-book @blueberrygeniejam @wondrsblog @vi-hoshi @kirbykook @katemwatson @kawaiikpoplover268 @amsteramyy @sami4life @a-feeling-of-euphoria @the-jackals @bubbletae7 @platinum-grenade @bunnyboyenthusiast @brightly-byun @oofmeintheheadpls @sadboibts @lidda @goldenwidow3 @t-mel19 @lmkjimin @psiphidragon @jeon-joker @sathom013 @lustremyg @ggsmashgg @justyouraveragerando @shadowstark @our-little-meow-meow @baby-hobii @toddsgirl27 @mythicalmeep @asifetch7 @kassandravictoria @eltrain80 @briannasthings @bumblekey93 @ohmwreckr @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @softchimmee @kookoo-kachoo @lenuminous @ass-hole-in-one @peaches-422 @spacejooon @sleepyje0n @uxwi @tellmeyoulovemepls @yady24 @lovesick-heart0 @redirect-min @hopetookourvibe @noonaduck @mini-coop25 @multifandomgirl29 @rhd31 @yoongixvevo @sweetnspicy93 @kuppyjiminie @love-and-other-possibilities @fuckyouandtheboatyoucamein @rvnchr4nd4 @geminidrawsstuff @livorna @naajix @minjoonhome

another a/n: if u asked to be added to the taglist and u did not get tagged, u might be one of the couple ppl that i couldn’t tag [check ur settings, fam!]

#bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #180knet #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #bts #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts series #kings of campus

893 notes · View notes

punksarahreese · 4 years ago

Text

Coming Out | Sarah Reese

Prompt #1 from Nova’s pride 2021 list

Word count: 2224

***

Sarah always felt like maybe she just wasn’t right. There must be something wrong because she never seemed to fit in. With her absent mother and her father who left as soon as he had the chance, she somehow felt alienated in her own home. Back in public school she never had many friends and always spent her free time with her nose in a book. Popular girls turned their nose up at her comfy clothes and unruly curls, claiming she didn’t put enough effort into her look. As she grew up, her social skills never really felt like they improved, instead Sarah would just mirror the actions of those around her in hopes that they would accept it. Yet she still went through high school being called a freak and being called out for “copying” everyone. It never made sense to Sarah, how people could make friends and converse so easily. She felt like she would sound so cliche whenever she thought about it, stating that she never fit in with the other girls, but it was true.

Sarah knew about her bisexuality from a young age, that was no secret to her. She read the term in a mental health book of all places, while she was hidden in a nook of the middle school library. It was common sense to her, of course she liked more than one gender; who didn’t? She would come to learn that sexuality was a bit more complex than that, though it would take a bit more research. It felt so black and white in Sarah’s mind but a lot of people didn’t agree with it, so she let her sexuality remain a secret for a while.

Still, she had her fair share of crushes on girls and boys in almost every stage of her life. One casual girlfriend in her undergraduate program was still the only real experience Sarah had though; until Joey at least. Neither relationship went very far, either due to Sarah’s confusion with all things social or the lack of spark there. She was so busy with school and work, and her partners in both situations just didn’t feel a connection after some time. Joey was an odd one in particular and Sarah wasn’t sure if it had been more of a him thing or her inexperience that ended it. It was weird and the end didn’t hurt as much as it maybe should have.

Her autism diagnosis was not a shock to her, though it had been to her mom. The week of her 16th birthday, Sarah had made a doctor's appointment and asked to be screened. It was the first time she could make medical decisions on her own and she wanted to know already, even though deep down she had a logical hunch. Years of research and even self-screening through countless medical journals had told Sarah she was probably autistic, so she wasn’t too surprised when she got an official diagnosis less than two years later. It was sensical to her really, the way she thought and felt and acted was so different to everyone else, and an actual label made her feel so seen. This was part of why she didn’t fit in, it wasn’t her fault it was the inaccessibility of normal life that made things so much harder. Her mother didn’t agree, she hated the idea of having a neurodivergent daughter; though she would never say it. Instead any mention of autism was ignored and Sarah’s needs were not accommodated until the day she moved out. It was how life at home had always been, as unfortunate as it happened to be.

There was something else Sarah should have seen coming, with her knowledge that she wasn’t the same as everyone else. Autism often came with a disconnect between the definition of gender and one’s identity and Sarah was no exception, since social constructs almost always went over Sarah’s head. She never felt right calling herself a girl and her brain always had a half second protest whenever she ticked the “female” box on any form. Still, she tried not to think about it too much. She didn’t feel like a boy either, she knew that for certain, so that was that.

It was, in fact, not that. As she got older and the internet queer community expanded, Sarah was exposed to more research and experiences of others in her shoes. Genders outside the binary existed, it was made clear to her, and pronouns were not restricted to those assigned at birth. It was a whole new realm of possibility and it scared Sarah more than she was happy to admit. She wasn’t a girl and she knew it, yet she also wasn’t not a girl. It was so confusing, which is why the thought was almost always pushed to the back of the mind, hidden away to worry about another day.

Curiosity got the better of her one day, though, after reading a forum about neopronouns. Someone was talking about their experience using she/they pronouns, stating that it helped them relate to her identity way more than birth assigned pronouns ever had alone. The poster had noted that they always felt detached from femininity and it was almost as if they were culturally female yet mentally out of the binary. It was that comparison that clicked with Sarah and she couldn’t stop herself from testing the theory.

“Sarah uses she/they pronouns,” she stated tentatively, “Their name is Sarah and she uses she/they pronouns…”

The instant gratification shocked her a bit, unsure of why it felt so right to say such a sentence. A few minutes passed as she sat in silence in front of the laptop, mulling it over. Something about the dual pronouns felt freeing, the idea of not being bound to just the ones she was so used to using. Maybe it would be okay to try them out for a while… just to see if it stuck and still felt as validating as it did alone in her living room.

Telling someone was the next step, though, to see if they were actually comfortable with these pronouns being used about her. Sarah was apprehensive, it would be scary to ask someone to use something different, especially after all these years at Med. Still, she had no reason to fear her friends and colleagues, they should be able to accept Sarah’s wishes.

It took a couple weeks before they were ready to bring it up, after a lot more self reflection and some serious deliberation. She thought this felt right, using new pronouns like this. They weren’t too sure if non-binary was the right label for her, but it didn’t matter in that moment. One step at a time was enough and really there was all the time in the world. So one day while a group of them were at April’s apartment for dinner, Sarah decided to speak up during a lull in conversation.

“Um… Can I ask you all something?”

Eyes were on them in a second, with a chorus of nods and agreement following almost immediately. She trusted everyone there, it was only April, Noah, Natalie, and Connor. Connor had brought Doctor Bekker too but Ava had always been nice enough to Sarah so she wasn’t worried. Besides, the rumour was that Ava wasn’t straight, if Sarah chose to listen to gossip, so she of all people should understand.

“What’s up, Sarah?”

Smiling shyly at Noah, who had looked at her curiously when he spoke, they nodded slowly before starting, “Uh… well I have done a lot of thinking lately… I want to try using she/they pronouns. So I want to ask you all to use both sets of pronouns for me.”

The silence scared her at first, instant regret setting in. Sarah wasn’t sure if that was bad or not, especially with the confusion on Nat’s face. Surprisingly enough it was Ava who broke the silence and Sarah caught the sharp nudge to Connor’s ribs that the surgeon gave before speaking.

“Okay, will do. Thank you for trusting us with that, Sarah, especially me since I know we don’t speak often.”

It was the nonchalant words from the blonde that helped them relax a bit, looking at Ava in silent thanks. She glanced at the rest of them shyly, hoping the worry knitting her brow together wasn’t too apparent.

“Um,” Natalie’s interjection was the most feared, though Sarah hated to admit it. It’s not that Nat couldn’t be trusted, she was just a little new to things out of the cisgendered-heteronormative binary and it made Sarah worried she wouldn’t be immediately accepting.

“What exactly does that mean?”

Sarah stifled a sigh of relief, an explanation was understandable and not the worst answer, “So basically I am comfortable with both she/her pronouns like you use but also they/them pronouns in the singular sense. With me you can use them interchangeably, I just like both as opposed to just she/her. I don’t... completely identify as female, I guess you could say.”

“Oh!” Noah nodded, “Like ‘Sarah said she was going to the lab, they will be back soon’?”

Sarah smiled at his excitement to understand, “Exactly like that.”

“It might be hard to adjust at first…”

“But we will still try,” April added to Natalie’s words with a pointed look, “Thank you for telling us, Sarah. We will do whatever you need to feel comfortable.”

“Reese?” When Sarah looked across the table at Connor he continued, “These two sets of pronouns, do you want us to use both at the hospital or just the ones everyone knows you as?”

“Oh yeah,” Ava agreed, “Don’t want to out the resident before they’re comfortable.”

Hearing someone else use “they” while referring to Sarah made them inexplicably happy, unable to stop the little happy hand flap she often tried to mask as she looked at Ava again. The surgeon seemed to notice the grateful glance and she nodded, a charming smile on her lips. Somehow it helped that Ava wasn’t close to her, maybe because her quick acceptance made the whole situation feel safer.

“Um, maybe just keep it between all of us at first,” Sarah answered slowly, “I’m gonna tell Maggie and Doctor Charles eventually, Ethan and Will too, but I want to give it some time before everyone else knows.”

“Got it,” Connor agreed and raised the glass of whatever alcohol he had brought with him, “Cheers to Reese’s self discovery, then.”

That made quite a few of them laugh, especially Sarah, because it eased the tension. It was still a bit weird for them, she knew that it would be an adjustment, yet no one had stormed out or gotten upset so it was a win in their book. It might take some more explanation for some time and some gentle correction, from what she knew, but it was a good start. When the conversation drifted back to lighter matters, talk of work and jokes about other things, it felt like a weight had been lifted off Sarah’s shoulders. It wasn’t perfect but they felt accepted for the most part, which helped.

When April hugged them before everyone left for home, Sarah just thanked her quietly. It went without saying that arguably her closest work friend accepted them wholeheartedly and they would probably talk about it again one on one. April just hugged Sarah a bit tighter, a reassuring murmur that things would be just fine reaching Sarah’s ears.

It was a clear night when they stepped out of the apartment complex, stopping to admire the stars for a moment before heading to her car. A call of her name had Sarah turning, though, and a familiar blonde was hurrying to catch up with her.

“Sarah, hey,” Ava’s friendly smile was visible thanks to the street lights, “I just wanted to tell you I’m proud of you for doing that. I don’t know if anyone has said it to you but I know how hard coming out can be, even as an adult. If you ever need to talk to anyone, I’m around, okay?”

“I-” Sarah felt her cheeks redden a little and they were grateful for the dim lighting that may have hid it a bit, “Thank you, doctor Bekker, that means a lot.”

“Please, call me Ava,” she laughed a little before glancing behind them, “I need to drive Connor home before he tries to walk, I’ll see you at work maybe?”

Sarah pursed their lips, stifling a laugh herself as she watched the other surgeon, clearly more than tipsy, hovering behind them looking lost, “See you then.”

“We can maybe get coffee some day,” Ava added nonchalantly as she turned to walk away, “Bye, Sarah.”

Sarah was left hovering by her car, the blush having returned to settle on her face. Once again their social skills evaded them, wondering if that was an allusion to a date or if Ava was simply being friendly. Either way, the immediate acceptance and friendly gesture from the supposedly cold and competitive surgeon was enough to make her giddy, shocked with how easily things went over. Not only did Sarah successfully come out to half her friends, but they may have made a new one in the process. It wouldn’t always be easy, she knew that, yet this was a situation that they decided to count as a good experience; all things considered.

It made her feel like maybe there had never been anything wrong with them at all. They were Sarah, that’s all, and in that moment maybe she was more than enough for the right people.

#am i projecting?#i guess we’ll never know #:]#anyway #I wasn’t going to make reesker happen but my little gay brain said it’s pride month #<3 #the pronoun thing was hard because I wanted to use she/they from the start but that would have spoiled the build up #i hope i did this justice #she/they sarah rights babey #sarah reese #this is so bad and so unedited <3 #but it’s also the most I’ve written in weeks

16 notes · View notes