#letters from pegasus

[dailystargatebooty]

[lightthewaybackhome]

Stargate-Atlantis S1: E16 Letters from Pegasus

While there are some really funny moments in this episode, much of it brought me to tears as I'm much more familiar with all these people and what they'll be enduring. Weir, Carson, and Bates all made me cry. I love that Elizabeth sent a message to the families of everyone who died, but her message to Simon really got to me. When Rodney finally just talks to his sister and tells her these people are like his family, yep, crying, but it's John giving us eulogy for Sumner. That is the worst.

The interesting part is Teyla wanting to save people and Sheppard being so against it. Part of that was him not wanting to jeopardize the mission and put Atlantis in more danger, I get that. But man, his face at the end when they can't rescue even all the people running towards them and they have to stand there and listen to them scream makes me wonder if he didn't want to avoid putting himself and Teyla through the agony of not being able to save people. There's no way they can save more than a handful in the puddle jumper anyway, and just the serious set of his face as people scream outside, and he finally leaves, was shattering. He knew he couldn't save everyone. He could hardly save anyone, and it was torture to be forced to sit, knowing they couldn't help. I think that's why he seems hardened in this episode. He knows what they can't do and they agony they'll endure if they try. Makes me sad.

[dr-futbol-blog]

38 minutes

The episode 38 Minutes (S01E04) is a strange one. This is the first time we see the team on an away-mission (and we see this only in flashbacks), and yet there is this established dynamic within the team and between the characters that would be much more at home later on in the season. They all care too much, they trust each other too much. There's an intimacy to their interaction that is difficult to explain.

The functioning of the puddle jumpers is deconstructed when we have barely learned how they work in the first place. We learn obscure Wraith lore when we've barely scratched the surface with them. And then there's the question of the strange almost-confession from Sheppard to Weir that is left hanging at the end of the episode.

There are some parallels between this episode and the previous, Hide and Seek (S01E03) that kind of provide a motivation for them happening in sequence, the episodes mirroring each other. I suppose a modern binge-watching audience might spot such parallels much more readily than one would have watching episodes in a weekly schedule and if these two had been separated by more episodes between them, but it is still weird.

There are in both episodes, for one, the subtle and private touches, unnoticed by the others.

Both lead characters also end up unconscious on the floor at the end of the episode, tended by the medical staff. There's also the innuendo: where Sheppard referenced dicks ("That's [size not mattering] a myth!") in a tight spot, here Rodney describes John's bug bite as a hickey. How ever you want to interpret their relationship, these off-hand comments reveal that they sure do think about each other in sexual terms.

Where Rodney has his Big Hero Moment and saves everyone, Sheppard is saved by everyone. They all work so hard so save the man who believes he has to save everyone even if it kills him but does not believe himself worth saving.

It is very touching but it would have made more sense and carried more weight later on in the season, perhaps after we had seen him save the day and the others a bunch of times. Now we start deconstructing the hero myth right from the outset.

But it's actually the almost-confession that I want to dissect here.

Often when homoerotic subtext was used end employed in mainstream shows, especially during this era, the more something was in fact hinted, the more the main-text had to compensate by showing or referencing something over-the-top heterosexual. It's the plausible deniability. There sure is something gay going on in here so we'll distract the normative viewer with bells and whistles elsewhere (cf. the nurse at the end of this episode; Sheppard smiles at her and the mainstream audience is going to interpret that as sexual interest -- after all, nurses are sexy in Western culture. But note also Rodney side-eyeing her as she walks away. What this is is another case of Sheppard using his charm to get someone to do something for him -- in this case, making sure that he gets sick bay privileges). We sure don't want to make John Q. Public uncomfortable. They have to be given the chance to read the text in a normative way.

John Sheppard and Elizabeth Weir are the main characters of the show. It is easy to read their relationship as a friendship but a kind of a will-they-won't-they dynamic was also inserted into it. There are looks, there is unexplained tension, we are clearly meant to see them as close even if the nature of their closeness remains unexplained. All of this is of course true of Rodney and Sheppard, as well. It keeps things interesting, narratively speaking.

In the episode, there is this strange throughline of Shappard wanting to make what equates to a death bed confession of some kind. It is not an offhand remark but something that is returned to time and again:

Weir: Hang in there, Major. We're working on the problem. Sheppard: I know you are. Listen. I'd like to say something while I still can. Weir: Don't! You're gonna get through this.

...

Sheppard: What I wanted to say was... Weir: Save your strength, John, and tell me in person. Sheppard: This is important.(Weir sighs and closes her eyes.) Weir: I'm listening.

...

Weir: By the way, what were you going to say? Sheppard: When? Weir: Before, when you thought, you know ... Sheppard: Oh, that. Weir: I didn't want you to say it at the time, but now I'm curious. Sheppard: I was going to say, um ... take care of each other. Weir: That's nice. Sheppard: Yep. McKay: And, uh, indeed, we did. Sheppard: Yes, you did. Thank you. Again. McKay: You're welcome.

Weir: You weren't really going to say that, were you? Sheppard: I have no idea what you're talking about. Weir: I didn't think so.

Clearly, this means something.

Is this meant to be romantic? It can be interpreted as romantic. The mainstream audience likely will interpret it as romantic because that's what they are primed to do. Man, woman, something unsaid = unresolved sexual tension, unrequited love. Right?

Only, this interpretation makes no goddamn sense.

First of all, Elizabeth Weir was still in a relationship at this time. Granted, she didn't know whether she would ever be able to return to earth, she had not broken up with her man. It would make romantic interest in Sheppard morally dubious at best.

Second, by this time they barely knew each other. A confession of undying love would be wildly out of place, and a confession of interest would fit ill with the direness of the situation.

Third, for mainstream television, Elizabeth is too old to be Sheppard's love interest. Yes, they're practically the same age and the actress is technically the younger of the two, but this is how the world of entertainment works. If they had pursued this, it would have been a May-December romance of the wrong variety for the general audience.

Fourth, the question of the chain of command. Given that the expedition had civilian leadership, the major had been thrust into a command he had not signed up for, there existed a rather precarious chain of command on Atlantis at this time, as it was. Adding romantic entanglements into it would have been a Really Bad Idea. And the chain of command coming between a pair romantically interested in one another was something that was true of the entire franchise. Sam and Jack only got to have each other in some alternative situations, never in the main text. We all knew they loved each other but their position in the military would not allow them to get each other.

While they were both military, we have the same dynamic with Daniel Jackson and Vala, who are both civilians. They got to have each other in a timeline that was erased but in the main text their professional relationship precluded them from consummating their relationship.

And note that this franchise knew how to do unspoken romantic tension perhaps better than any other, it was their bread and butter. This wasn't it.

But wait, I hear you say. Isn't this true of Sheppard and McKay as well?

Yes and no. Yes, there is a chain of command. No, neither of them cares about it in text. That is, the chain of command between them, not chain of command in general.

First, there is the infamous scene in Miller's Crossing (S04E09) where Sheppard attempts, as a last resort, to pull rank on McKay with very little luck.

Sheppard: You're an invaluable of my team, and you report directly to me. McKay: Really? You want to talk about chain-of-command right now? Sheppard: You are not doing this.

Not only was McKay going to do this, the fact that he didn't do it right away had more to do with his respect for Sheppard as a person than a respect for the chain of command. But there's an even more incriminating scene in Harmony (S04E14):

Harmony: Tell me: which one of you is the superior officer? McKay: You mean, who outranks who? Harmony: Yes. McKay: I'm a civilian; I don't have a rank, but basically we're equals. Sheppard: Technically I'm in charge. Harmony: I thought so. You have all the makings of an excellent leader, John.

They are basically equals, John is technically in charge. This, according to them. Of course in reality being in charge of McKay is like being in charge of a bag of cats, but that's another thing entirely.

So what was Sheppard going to say to Weir? I would venture a guess, based on the episode Letters from Pegasus (S01E17) toward the end of the season, that what he wanted to say had something to do with Col. Sumner. That was the thing that was weighing on him this whole time. At this time we knew nothing of Sheppard's family back home or even if he had one -- and he certainly didn't feel he had anything to say to any of them when they were sending their final messages to earth.

Where other people are sending messages to people they love back home, Sheppard's focus is entirely different: "I'm not sure if Colonel Sumner's parents are still alive. I'm not sure he even has a family back there -- not all of us do. But if he does have a family, they should know that he died with honour and courage in the performance of his duty."

At the end of the day, when the chips were coming down, when they were sending their final messages to their loved ones, this is what John Sheppard wanted to say. In the episode he tells Elizabeth that what he had to say was important. This is important. Much more important than any confession of feelings could ever be.

But what did Elizabeth think he was going to say? That remains unclear. What is really curious, though, and notable, is that McKay seems real tense when they're waiting for John's answer. He stands there with what can only be described as baited breath. And it is his reaction -- not Elizabeth's -- that we get to what John says, lying about it though he clearly is.

What is that about? Why do you care so much my guy? Why do you have an investment in this?

Dear God, he's almost as relieved here than he was when they had just saved Sheppard's life.

Like I said, this would have made much more sense further on in the season. But as it is, the dynamic between these two characters got to a really intense start!

[scifidancer]

STARGATE ATLANTIS / "Letters from Pegasus"

[almoststedytimetravel]

The deep realms aren't real, they cannot hurt you.

Azura!Soleil, who gets raised in Ylisse instead of being put into the dimension.

[bagheerita]

Hey genius cameraman, maybe try not filming people in front of the equipment it's going to require a security clearance just to look at?

Stargate Atlantis: "Letters from Pegasus"

[hanzajesthanza]

pegasus is straight confirmed

[demilypyro]

MLP lore lesson: this cross-eyed pegasus.

Originally another unnamed background/townie character, this pony became an early fan favorite after appearing in the background of the very first episode sporting a silly face; her nose scrunched up and her eyes crossed. In reference to the "derp" meme, which was popular at the time, fans named her "Derpy Hooves." Some opted to call her "Muffins" because this was her one spoken line in a later episode. Officially, she has been referred to as "Ditzy Doo," "Derpy", "Muffins" and "Bubbles" on different occasions.

While originally her crossed eyes were an animation error, the crew thought she looked funny, and left it in. When they found out the fans agreed, they went back and made her cross-eyed in all the coming episodes that hadn't been sent to Hasbro yet. Derpy became somewhat of an easter egg: keen-eyed viewers would find her cross-eyed face somewhere in most episodes in the first two seasons, encouraging fans to comb the background of each episode.

In the season 1 episode Feeling Pinkie Keen, Derpy is shown dropping a crate while unloading a truck. This led to the common fan interpretation that Derpy worked for the mail service, and was rather clumsy. Both of these traits would later be canonized, and she would become the standard character that's used when the plot calls for a delivery.

Appearing regularly in season 2, Derpy finally got her first major speaking role in the season 2 episode The Last Round-Up. The script called for a clumsy character (referred to in the script as "Ditzy Doo") and Derpy's design was chosen to fill the role, with her being referred to as "Derpy" in dialogue by Rainbow Dash.

After the episode aired, Hasbro supposedly received letters from parents who felt the character was offensive to people with disabilities. In later releases of the episode, Derpy is not named, her eyes are less crossed, and her voice is different.

From season 3 onwards, Derpy appeared less regularly, only appearing in about 1 in 3 episodes, still mostly in the background. While she continued to appear in episodes and even receive her own merchandise, she would never again be referred to as "Derpy" in official materials. She did get further speaking roles in episodes like Slice of Life, but she was never again referred to by name in the show. She remained beloved by the fanbase whenever she did appear.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter One

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Mentions of death and violence

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Layers of gosammer fabric rippled with movement as you smoothed the bodice of your dress. Warm sunlight flooded through the stained glass windows, getting trapped in the sheer material until you glowed shades of yellow and blue. You tugged the sleeves over your hands and took a deep breath. 

It was a great honor to be invited to the Sun Palace, and for the Summer Solstice no less. The other Librarians of the 12th sector athenaeum - lovingly nicknamed The Alcove - had been absolutely astounded when the letter came addressed to you, hand delivered by pegasus. It was an honor. It was a great honor. You knew this. But your heart buzzed uncomfortably within your ribs like a bird desperate to take to the skies.

“Do I really frighten you that much?”

You swiveled your head to the side, finally acknowledging your High Lord after minutes of silence. Helion shot you a smile full of light and warmth. Light and warmth. Everything about Helion screamed it - from the sunburst crown on his head to the glow of his brown skin. He may as well have been carved from burnt amber. Helion’s very presence was enough to melt the hearts and open the legs of any fae - male or female. Even now you saw some of the female courtiers shooting you envious looks full of heat and longing. It made you cringe uncomfortably.

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the pearls woven into your hair settle at the base of your neck.

“No.” You said quickly, “I apologize, High Lord. It’s not you. I just… haven’t been around this many people before.” 

“You take after your mother,” Helion said, that bright smile slipping into something fonder, more full of regret, “She was never one for parties either.”

You’d taken after your mother in just about everything - your eyes, your hair, the way you walked, even the way you took your coffee. Maybe if your mother had allowed you to be around Helion earlier on you would have learned his charm, absorbed his charisma like a sponge. As it was, the only thing you’d inherited from Helion was a stubborn power you couldn’t control. 

You clasped your hands together behind your back, as if that would be enough to hide your talent. With the ability to absorb knowledge and memories through touch, Clairvoyants were incredibly rare and highly sought after in the Day Court. Helion had worked hard to conceal your power and your identity, so when you’d been given first pick of athenaeums following your apprenticeship, it was to no one’s surprise you’d chosen the one furthest from the city. 

The Alcove. Your home. How you wished you were there now, nestled away in your attic apartment above the library. Comfortable. Alone.

Helion’s gaze softened as he regarded you. He shouldn’t have been as much of a stranger to you as he was. But he was no stranger to your work - always methodical, always precise, always handled with the same degree of love and attention that fae showed their children. You’d nearly died protecting The Alcove when Amarantha ransacked the Day Court libraries, smuggled books and knowledge across court lines during her reign. 

Perhaps you had inherited some bold streak from Helion after all. 

“How many times have I told you to call me Helion?”

“Six.” You said without hesitation.  

“Of course you would remember such a thing,” He said, clicking his tongue, “Would you take a turn around the room with me?” He asked, extending a poor man’s olive branch, “I have guests I would like to introduce you to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You’d planned to remain glued to this pillar until nightfall, half hidden by the quartet that was beginning to rush the tune in time to the next song. The spirited piece was coming just in time for champagne drunk party goers to make their way to the dance floor. 

You sighed, “Must I?” The performance of it all - the dress, the hair, the party, the pearls  - was more than you were used to, something orchestrated by Helion to finally get you to leave The Alcove. He would have dragged you to more parties if you weren’t so stubborn about ignoring non-business related correspondences. Hence the pegasus. 

“Your High Lord commands it.” Helion said smugly and moved his arm out to the side, gesturing for you to leave your little bubble of safety. “And you may very well come to thank me.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Fine.” You waited a moment before saying, “Helion.” The casual name felt unfamiliar on my tongue.

He clapped his hands together, attracting the attention of one of the sons of Autumn. He shook his head of flames and scowled into his whiskey, handsome features twisting into something uglier.

“Finally!” Helion’s voice boomed, “Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

You chased after his long strides, hoping to stay within the radius of space fae gave to a High Lord. And it worked. For some time. You bounced between various pockets of fae, dodging servers with platters of cheeses, wine, pastries, and more balanced on shoulders. Helion’s deep voice reverberated off the walls as he laughed and clapped people on their shoulders, whispered in their ears, and threw casual, flirtatious winks. He shielded you from the vipers and introduced you to his friends as a talented researcher instead of his bastard daughter. But despite your best efforts, someone still touched you, and your power reared its ugly head.

It happened when one of the Summer Court delegates, drunk and giggling, crashed into a female in a flurry of teal silk, who - like a domino - fell onto you. You landed on your knees, palms stinging from broken glass as flashes of memory and knowledge raced through your mind.

A diagram of the Day Court cities taken in secret from the 29th sector cartography athenaeum. A page ripped from one of Helion’s private collection tomes. A sketch of a still, black lake, and the being of death and destruction that resided there. 

Koschei.

The name spilled onto your mind like ink in water, followed by horrible memories of slaughter and violence. Enough blood to turn the lake red.

The flood of information dulled and the female became nothing more than a willowy tower of tulle with ivory hair retreating into the crowds.

You gasped for breath, limbs shaking. 

The air. It was too thin here. Too suffocating.

Koschei

Koschei 

Koschei

“Are you alright?” A male asked. His deep, careful voice felt like the calm before a hurricane.

You jerked back from the scarred hands that reached for you, wrapping your arms around yourself as you scrambled to your feet. A horrible rip sounded through the now quiet ballroom as you tripped on your dress and tore the bottom layers. And if it couldn’t become more embarrassing, when you stood up you came face to face with none other than the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

Devastatingly beautiful - were the first thoughts that came to mind. So beautiful in fact that he shook you from your visions and the horrible power attached to the lake. The edges of him flickered in and out of existence, clouded by shadows that fluttered about like smoke above a flame. You flinched when they came closer to you before being wrenched back on some invisible leash. He was as gorgeous as the rumors claimed, every inch of him seemingly carved out of black obsidion. 

The flash of shame that crossed his hazel eyes quickly faded into nothing and he clasped his hands behind his back, cursing Cassian for convincing him to go without gloves tonight.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Helion neared closer to you, pointing to your bloody hands. But the pain was nothing. You thought your heart might burst in your chest from the nerves. The more you thought about your splattered remains on the crisp marble tiles, the worse you felt.

The other members of the Night Court looked on with concern. You recognized the other Illyrian warrior - The Lord of Bloodshed he was called. His wings were partially extended, shielding you from the worst of the crowd. And the High Lord and High Lady needed no introduction, decked out in their slim-cut robes and dress. The silvery embroidery reminded you of the stars in the night sky you gazed at when you couldn’t fall asleep and the rest of the Day Court denizens had long since snuffed out their lights. There was a dangerous beauty that wrapped around the group as tightly as the Spymaster’s shadows clung to his body. And you’d just embarrassed the High Lord of the Day Court - your father - in front of them.

Azriel stepped back, reigning in his shadows despite their many desperate protests, “I apologize, I didn’t mean to-”

But you ignored his words, gathered up your skirts, and ran towards the palace gardens, leaving nothing behind but a thin trail of blood and silk, the scent of vanilla, and a brooding, heart-broken Shadowsinger.

Heavy air mingled with copious amounts of perfume, gave way to crisp clarity. The sun was just beginning to dip towards the horizon, like two lovers whispering in each other’s ears as you sprinted down the stairs past two drunk Peregryn soldiers half-hidden behind a rosebush. Their tawny feathers dipped in and out from behind the leaves like ocean waves.

A child’s doll half-buried in ash. The ring of electricity in the air and the metallic, buzzing stench of blood and rot in your nose. Suffocating. Suffocating. 

It was terrible. Worse than any memory you’d slipped into before.

“Y/n!” 

Koschei.

Koschei.

Koschei.

Everyone had experienced horror under Amarantha’s rule and during the war against Hybern. You’d been subjected to it too many times to count. Every brush of skin, every well-meaning touch from someone else had been a cruelty. 

The lake. What’s buried beneath the lake? 

So why did this knowledge feel so different?

Andrian. ANDRIAN!!!

“Y/n! Stop!” Hellion’s robes billowed out behind him like sun rays, dazzling brighter than gold. 

What’s buried beneath the lake? 

What’s buried beneath the lake?

What’s buried beneath the lake?

You didn’t realize you were murmuring the words until Helion gripped you by the shoulders and spun you around. You were brought back by more comforting knowledge - Helion’s memories. Memories of you as a babe, chubby legs wobbling beneath you as you took your first steps into your mother’s waiting arms. A flood of pride entering his chest that felt more like sadness than anything else. 

“Y/n!” He shook you again.

He has a room made up for you in the Sun Palace. He hides all the birthday gifts there that he planned to give to you, but never did. You are one of his greatest regrets.

You blinked rapidly, clearing out your thoughts and shoving the High Lord back with all your might. You didn’t need this right now. You didn’t need two hundred years of fatherly guilt to catch up to you. To the both of you. Not tonight. Not ever.

Without another word you winnowed away. 

__________

“I’m sorry about that,” Helion said, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his hands together.

He was grateful the party had returned to its previous rhythms in his absence, but Rhysand took note of the discomfort ladeled upon his shoulders, the hints of regret in his eyes. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with. 

The sun continued to slip behind the peaks of the mountains, changing the temperature of the room as the ivory and gold-plated walls began to take on a warmer shade. 

“Y/n is not used to such spaces.” He explained, “I should have done more to prepare her for tonight.” 

Rhysand waved off the apology. “There’s no need for apologies, Helion.”

“I do hope she’s ok.” Feyre said. With a snap of Helion’s fingers the blood had been wiped from the floor along with the spilled wine and broken glass. “Her hands-” 

Azriel stiffened, his arms suddenly hidden from view by the shadows that wound up his arms. Feyre quickly changed the topic. “This Y/n, is she the Librarian you’ve told us so much about?”

Helion’s smile was a prideful one, “The one and only.” He lowered his voice, careful to shield his words from any curious ears with a faint blanket of magic, “I would love to claim the credit for helping with your last pregnancy, but in truth it was all Y/n.” 

Feyre blinked in surprise. Her second pregnancy - although much better than the first - had still been a struggle. Rhysand had reached out to Helion in desperation, hoping once again for a safer method of birthing their winged-daughter. After spending months on end combing through the deepest depths of the oldest Day Court libraries, she’d delivered to them a text on cesarean sections. The tradition was a human one, and had been considered too primitive for fae, but with Feyre’s success Madja was reevaluating its usefulness. The High Lord and High Lady had much to thank you for when it came to little Velaria. 

Cassian raised his brows and Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that teased his lips. For such a timid bookworm you’d saved them a great deal of trouble. All at once that sense of pride for a female he didn’t even know fell away. You’d looked at him with such… fear. Flinched away from his touch like you knew exactly the kind of monster he was when all he’d wanted to do was help you.

“We’ll have to thank her personally then.” Rhysand said.

He raised Feyre’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm and looking at her like the love-sick male that he was. He still had nightmares about Nyx’s birth - how pale Feyre had become, the stench of blood in the air, and Nyx’s tiny, motionless body. He was ready to offer you a mountain of gold for preventing such a thing from happening again. 

Azriel lowered his gaze, overwhelmed by the look that passed between the two mates. It felt like an intrusion to be standing in front of them. It was hard to see his brother and Feyre so openly affectionate with one another and not feel slivers of envy enter his heart. Cassian would have similarly been glued to Nesta’s side if she’d accepted the invitation, and although Mor was reluctant to venture out into the public world of courtiers with Emerie, she would have made it clear that she was taken. It meant that Azriel was often left to stand alone at events like this, gracefully rejecting the advances of males and females who hoped to lure the mysterious Shadowsinger into their beds. He’d been close to joining you in your solitude when Helion had charmed and whisked you away.

Azriel shifted his attention to the quartet, specifically to the little alcove to the left of the stage where he’d first noticed you. You’d stood there so quiet and observant, politely declining any male who offered you food or drinks or a dance. And there was no confusion as to why. You’d looked breathtaking in a pearly gown that clung to you like wisps of fog over the Illyrian mountaintops. 

“After the party I’ll take you to her apartment. Allow you all to properly introduce yourselves.” Helion said in a burst of brilliance.

Cassian prodded Azriel’s ribs, a knowing look in his eyes as he watched the now visibly uncomfortable Shadowsinger. 

But if Helion noticed, he didn’t care. If there was any collection of fae with the power to break you out of your shell, it was them.

“But until then! We dance! Come now Cassian, dance with me.” 

Cassian snorted as Helion clasped a muscular arm around his shoulders and heaved him over to the dance floor where fae were already congregated in a tangle of limbs and wine. Feyre and Rhysand joined soon after, the High Lady throwing back an apologetic smile as she joined the crowd with her mate and Azriel was left to stand alone once again.

Next Chapter ->

______

Author's note:

I have too many thoughts and ideas and got sucked into writing this one. Also, I wanted a nice Azriel fic to follow up Flame, Shadow, Beast so... enjoy!

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755

[stargatesource]

STARGATE ATLANTIS || “Letters From Pegasus” 1.17

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 1

Paring: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 8.8k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) mentions of stress & anxiety, mentions of a broken home, mentions of an ill, disabled parent, mentions of an oxygen tank & medications, jake is an asshole, (if I missed anything, please let me know)

a/n: it's here! i can't begin to express how excited i am to share this with everyone. this story has been in the works for quite some time now, & it's been such a joy to write. i sincerely hope you all love it. please don't be afraid to let me know what you think. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor, & being my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

As you walk up the stone steps of Angell Hall, you feel as though you’re walking into a book filled with ancient Greek Mythology. The pillars that resemble the Parthenon temple, the delicate stone work motifs that portray Athena's owl and Pegasus; you’ve truly never felt more at home than you do at this very moment as you take your first steps inside the building that houses the English Literature courses. The inside is rich with artwork personifying poetry and myth. The intricate neoclassical design of the ceilings, complete with gold leafing and imperial medallions. The most incredible building you’ve ever seen, and one of the many reasons you decided to make the transfer to the University of Michigan.

It’s been no easy feat to get here. In fact, it’s been damn near impossible. It’s by the skin of your teeth that you’re here today, walking the very halls of your dream school.

The road to get here has been hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. You’ve saved every last penny to afford the move here, while trying to take care of your mom and her declining health. It didn’t help that your dad decided it was all too much for him and left a year ago, leaving the two of you alone with hardly the means to afford even the bare necessities. With two full time jobs, online classes at some bullshit university, and tending to your mom’s every need for the last year, it’s a fucking miracle you’re standing here today. 

It’s only been a month since you received your acceptance letter in the mail. You worked your ass off the last two years maintaining a 4.0 gpa to be sure you’d be accepted. You’d applied back in January and waited six excruciating months to hear back, obsessively checking the mail at least three times a day. 

One day, you noticed a rather large, crumpled envelope stuffed in your tiny mailbox. It was wet from a rainstorm that had hit earlier that day, but you could still make out the sender information. 

The University of Michigan

515 East Jefferson St. 

1220 Student Activities Building

Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1316

You knew that the contents of this envelope would seal your fate for the next two years. You were hesitant at first to open, scared of rejection. You let it sit for a few hours before finally ripping it open as quickly as your fingers would allow.

You pulled out the sopping piece of cardstock, stamped with a golden “M” at the top left corner.

Congratulations, y/n! 

You’re in! We are pleased to inform you that you are admitted to the University of Michigan College of Literature, Science and the Arts Junior class entering fall of 2023.

Within two weeks of receiving the letter, you and your mom packed up what little you had and left the sleepy town of Cherry Tree, Oklahoma. 

Up until now, you’d lived in this tiny town your entire life. You’ve been so ready to leave, to find adventure elsewhere that would allow you to spread your wings. You’d been held back there for so long. You knew it was time, and as much as she could, your mother supported your choice to leave and she was eager herself to get away.

You managed to secure a low income apartment in Ann Arbor that has accommodations for those with disabilities. It’s a shithole. But it’s your shithole. 

You’re solely responsible for any and all bills as your mom isn’t fit to work. You’ve got enough saved up to last about a month, so one of your first priorities is to find a job that will sustain you. 

Right now, though, your current goal is to find your first class in this massive building. It’s intimidating. Everyone here is walking past you in a hurry to get where they need to go as you’re stuck, still trying to figure out where room 3182 is. There aren’t signs anywhere to help guide you through the utter maze that is Angell Hall. You haven’t the slightest clue of where to start.

You try asking a few people, only to be met with vague points in general directions, or people simply telling you ‘up stairs.’

Where are the damn stairs? 

You start trekking along in an attempt to find them, when you see a large wooden door that’s cracked open just enough to see, finally, a staircase. 

Some progress.

Making your way to the third floor, you assume you’ve finally found where your class will be when you look at a room number… and it says ‘2548.’ 

Dammit. 

You head back to the stairs to make your way up to the next floor, and to your relief, the class numbers all begin with a three. 

You head down the long, dimly lit hallway in frantic search for room 3182, to no avail. The hallway has so many twists and turns with no guidance for direction. There may as well be a scarecrow with arms pointing in all directions saying ‘this way!’

You’re stuck yet again, unsure of where to go. You assume everyone is in their respective classes as the hall is barren, so there’s not a soul to ask. With only two minutes until class begins, you’re nearing the point of giving up. 

Anything is better than waltzing into class late on your first day, no less your first day at a university where no one knows you. What a fantastic first impression to make.

Suddenly, a man comes barging down the hall towards you. He looks a bit unapproachable, wearing a large brimmed black hat on top of his shoulder length hair, sunglasses that mimic ones worn by John Lennon in the seventies and a matching all black ensemble of linen pants and a button up, with only the last few buttons actually secured. He jingles as he moves due to an obnoxious number of necklaces sitting on his bare chest.

You’re not sure you want to bother him but desperate times call for asking strange men for directions.

“Hi, excuse me. Could you tell me where room-”

Without even acknowledging your basic existence, he seems to be in a hurry as he slams into you, knocking your brown canvas bag off your shoulder and effectively dumping everything out of it. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he quickly turns the corner, not even bothering to help you pick up the mess he’s created.

“John Lennon wannabe motherfucker,” you mutter under your breath as you bend down to gather your belongings. 

You hear footsteps coming closer to you, thinking just maybe he's decided to come back and make amends.

“Sorry about him, girl.” 

You glance up just as she’s kneeling down, offering to help with your scattered books.

“Don’t pay him any mind. He thinks he walks on water,” she says as she helps you shove the last of them in your bag, now all disheveled and out of your perfect order. 

“God, thank you so much. Would you happen to know where room 3182 is? I haven’t the slightest clue where I’m going.” 

“Just keep going down the hall until you reach the bathroom, take a left and it’s the second room on the right,” she says, with a warm smile.

You thank her again and quickly head in that direction.

At last, you breathe a sigh of relief as you approach room 3182.

With a deep breath, you open the door to the massive lecture hall that appears more like an auditorium with its pitched floor.  

All eyes are on you, the room dead silent as the professor glares at you. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I had the worst time-”

“No matter. Just take your seat and do it quickly,” he cuts you off.

You scan the room in search of an empty seat as everyone continues to silently stare at you, eyes burning holes in your soul.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

Finally you spot one on the far right corner of the room. Swiftly heading towards it, you make a horrid discovery.

Mr. John Lennon wannabe is in the seat right next to the empty one. 

Of fucking course.

Grudgingly, you take your seat next to him. He shifts his body slightly away from you as you situate yourself, letting out a long, dramatic sigh once you're settled.

You decide to try and humble him with your southern hospitality, asking his name with a kind smile, to which he only responds by cocking his head in your general direction and not bothering to answer you.

What an ass.

“Now that it seems we finally have everyone here, let’s get things started. Welcome to English 450, The Quest for King Arthur. My name is Dr. Movack and I will be your instructor throughout the semester.” 

You start pulling out all of your books on King Arthur, annoyed that some of them now have bent pages thanks to the mysterious man wearing all black sitting to your left.

“One of the requirements to be accepted in this class, aside from the prerequisite courses, is to have more than just the basic knowledge of Arthurian lore.” Dr. Movack continues, “Taking that into account, there is no need to waste time in starting from the beginning. However, I would like to take a moment to test your knowledge. Each person who answers correctly will receive a point towards extra credit.” 

Dr. Movack begins going around the room, asking everyone basic questions and facts about King Arthur when he finally gets to you.

“I would like you to tell me which text offers the earliest reference to Arthur.” 

With booming confidence, you answer, “I believe it’s around the 7th century when he is briefly mentioned in the poem titled Y Gododdin.”

The John Lennon look alike on your left lets out an obnoxiously loud chuckle while shaking his head.

“Dr. Movack, it’s a well known fact that Arthur isn’t specifically mentioned until Historia Brittonum in the 9th century. She’s clearly wrong,” he blurts out. 

You know your stuff when it comes to this lore. You’ve studied it for the better part of your life and you’ll be damned if you let this man who, for whatever reason has developed a vendetta against you, try to outwit you.

“No, you are wrong. You obviously haven’t read the poem or you’d know he’s named when referencing the bravery of Gwawrddur.”

He waves his palm in your face in an attempt to silence you, the gesture causing your lip to curl in frustration. “Tell her, Dr. Movack. Tell her she’s wrong and has no idea what she’s talking about.” He asserts.

Talking about you instead of to you is a great way to piss you off and he’s on the right path towards it. His refusal to even look at you has you nearly in flames with rage.

“What’s your name, miss?” Dr. Movack asks.

“Y/n,” you respond.

Your heart is thumping out of your chest as you await the professor's response.

“It seems there may be someone here who knows even more than you, Kiszka.” Lennon’s jaw nearly hits the desk beneath him. “Y/n is absolutely right. Y Gododdin does, in fact, mention Arthur. The introduction is so slight that it’s often missed, but scholars argue that this piece does indeed contain the first true reference.” 

Even through his obnoxious sunglasses, you can see the frustration painted on his face. Proving him wrong in front of the whole class serves him right. 

Poetic justice at its finest.

You laugh through your nose and give yourself a metaphorical pat on the back, anticipating more praise from Dr. Movack when he says “However, miss, you will not receive your point for being late to my class.”

Lennon cackles at this, of course, feeling he’s somehow won this educational battle.

He answers his question correctly, receiving his point and commendation from Dr. Movack. 

He sits back in his chair, arms crossed with a smug face, wearing a ‘kiss my ass’ grin on his lips.

You just roll your eyes and look the other direction, envisioning yourself ripping those ridiculous sunglasses off his face. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Something you’re not used to yet, and perhaps will never get used to, is the Detroit traffic. Stuck in your beat to hell ‘92 Firebird in bumper to bumper traffic, you’re at a near standstill as you’re desperate to get home after a long day of classes. What should only be a fifteen minute drive home has already lasted more than thirty, and you’ve hardly moved an inch.

You’re sitting in silence as you don’t even have the luxury of the radio to keep you company. You’re lucky enough that this car even runs with as much shit as it’s been through. A hand-me-down from a hand-me-down, losing parts and gusto after each set of hands it passes through. You figure you’ll be the last to drive it before it meets its timely end in the very near future.  

WIthout much else to preoccupy you at the moment, your mind is wandering with recollection of your first day at the school you’ve had your sights set on since your first comprehensible memory. Feeling like a fish out of water would be the most comfortable way to describe your day. It goes far beyond that. 

You know it’ll take some time to settle. But you’re afraid that time won’t fix the fact that you may not truly belong here. You’ve never really fit in anywhere, even in your tiny hometown that you’d lived in your whole life. You were never fully accepted there, so what makes you think you’d be accepted here? You’d always felt so isolated in Cherry Tree, too small of a town to feel such a way. Now, you have the intimidation of a rather large city to amplify your isolation.

Aside from the nightmare that was finding your first class and the man who made you late to it, your other classes went about as well as you could’ve hoped for. You’d still managed to get lost a fair amount, but on the brightside, you’d found the campus coffee shop so you had been able to stay there for a while this afternoon.

The man, who you can only refer to as Lennon given he so rudely refused to give you his first name, was also studying in the coffee shop today, much to your dismay. 

And the way he’d locked eyes with you for a brief moment before quickly looking away…

You were not sure why, but now, you can’t pry him from your ambulant mind. Something about him, aside from his insolent demeanor, is oddly enticing. He’s dark, almost mystifying. There are secrets in the air he breathes. Whether or not you want to know them, you can’t quite decide. Nonetheless, you’re intrigued.

Traffic finally begins to move at a steady pace, breaking your trance and causing your disoriented image of him to return to one filled with anger.  

Mystifying or not, he was an ass for absolutely no reason. You’ve made up your mind that you will never give him the time of day again. 

You pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex, your car sputtering its cry of exhaustion as you’ve put it to the ultimate test far too many times lately. 

“I need you to hang on just a little longer, old friend.” You say as you throw the gear shift in park. “Just a little longer, then we’ll lay your heaping metal bones to rest.” 

You trek up the stairs to your apartment, stopping at door 264. You smile as you look down to see “Don’t Knock Unless You Brought Wine” stitched on the doormat beneath your feet. Your mom insisted on it, and as ridiculous as you think it is, you’re grateful for the smile it’s brought to your tired face. 

You search through your disarranged canvas bag for your key, silently cursing the fact that it’s not in its designated spot.

Finally spotting the shining silver, you pull it out and twist it in the rusted bolt to open the door.

Your mom is sprawled out on the couch, her oxygen tank filling the quiet apartment with a subtle humming. The living room television is on some old sitcom she loves with the volume muted, as per usual for her.

You don’t want to wake her, as it’s imperative that she gets as much rest these days as she can. You keep as quiet as possible while heading to the kitchen to start dinner for the two of you.

You decide on something simple; bowtie pasta with alfredo and grilled chicken. 

Your mom always had a knack for all things culinary. Her skill remains unmatched, although it’s not as easy for her these days.

You sadly missed out on that trait from her. You’re lucky if you don’t burn the water. But, over the course of her illness becoming increasingly debilitating, you’ve taught yourself some easy and quick recipes to get by. 

You spoon a healthy amount of pasta on each of your plates, even garnishing them with a few basil leaves for a little aesthetic.

You pour yourself a much needed glass of merlot before taking your mom’s plate to her. 

You gently wake her by carefully nudging her hand. 

“Dinners ready, mom. I hope it’s okay.”

She slowly begins to stir awake, looking happy to see you as you sit next to her. “I’m sure it’ll be great. Thank you, sweetie.” You help her to sit up and get stabilized before handing her her plate. “How was your first day?” She tries not to wince as she takes her first bite. Her years of being a culinary expert have made her awfully picky when it comes to food, but she’s never once outwardly complained about your cooking. Although you can tell she’s less than impressed, she would never tell you that. She knows you’re trying your best and she’s so grateful for it, especially since your dad left.

“It was alright, I guess.” You take your first bite and instantly understand her initial aversion to it. Undercooked noodles and over cooked chicken. You’re glad it’s not the other way around this time.

“Just alright?” she asks.

You don’t have the heart to tell her how draining today truly was, so you just tell her that classes were a little stressful but that it really was a great day.

You switch the subject and talk about the beauty of the campus and how badly you wish she could see it. “Maybe someday,” she says.

You want nothing more than to get her out of this dingy apartment for a day and take her around, to show her the wonder of the city. It’s been incredibly difficult watching battle her illness. She seems to grow weaker with each passing day. Although she tries to conceal it from you, you know your mom, and you can see her deteriorate before your very eyes. It breaks your heart in a million pieces, but you still hold out  hope that she will get better someday. 

Hope is all you have.

Until then, you just try to enjoy each and every moment you share with her.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re situated outside of room 3182 nearly thirty minutes early this morning, drinking your steaming coffee and reading House of Leaves that was assigned to you yesterday in your Classic Horror course. 

The real inescapable horror, however, would be sitting next to him again, so you’re here early to avoid the unnecessary cruelty you faced the other day. 

Taking advantage of your extra time, you allow yourself to become immersed in the daunting novel. 

You read of a man on a slow descent to insanity, discovering a manuscript that details a home that transforms on the inside, yet stays the same on the outside.

Unlit hallways that continue for ages, doors appearing where they hadn’t been before. An architectural conundrum, this house.

The words in the book appear in strange prints, some pages with them upside down, placed in strange patterns; some pages with no words at all.

The word “House” is always in the color blue, even on the cover. 

The novel both fascinates you and terrifies you all at once, having read it twice before. You’ve yet to make your own interpretations on this book as they seem to change with each read. A bit of a mindfuck, as it were.

Just as you’re diving head first into the maddening depths of Danielewski's story, you hear keys jingling followed by the door to the classroom opening. 

You’d been so lost in your book you hadn’t even noticed that most of the students had joined you in the hall, waiting for class to begin.

You’re the first to head inside, much to Dr. Movack’s shock. You take your seat in the front row near the podium, the furthest one away from where you assume Lennon will sit.

The rest of the class piles in, taking their respective seats and gearing up for class. Here comes Lennon, clad in all black once again– sunglasses and all. He walks right past you, humoring you by ignoring your presence. 

Good. Keep walking. 

As more students pile in, you notice one mindlessly walking towards you before he abruptly stops and eyes you in your seat. You simply smile and nod as he stands there with a curious look about him. 

He slowly walks away, leaving you a bit puzzled but you choose to ignore it.

The hands on the antique brass wall clock strike 10:00 am, and you notice Dr. Movack is still out in the hall speaking with someone. Of whom, you can’t quite tell.

You and the rest of the class wait patiently, when finally Dr. Movack walks in, but he’s not alone. He’s with the student who glared strangely at you just moments ago. 

The student is standing near the professor, as if he has something to say, when Dr. Movack clears his throat and begins speaking. 

“I feel I needn't say this, but it’s clear some of you aren’t aware of how things are done around here, so I will say it this once so that we all understand. Once you choose your seat on the first day of class, that becomes your designated seat for the remainder of the semester. It is disruptive to your fellow classmates to decide to take the seat they specifically chose as their throne for learning.”

Your chest tightens and your face becomes flush with unease. 

You know instantly that he’s talking about you. 

“So, I will end this here: if you are not sitting in the spot you chose on the first day of class, I suggest you move to said spot immediately so we can get started with our business.”

Shit.

You’re utterly humiliated as you slowly stand up, you being the only one to stand up and making it abundantly clear to everyone in class that you were the cause of this.

You take your things and move to the spot you so desperately wanted to avoid, right next to Lennon who is covering his mouth with his hand, giggling at your shame.

The student standing by Dr. Movack takes his rightful seat as you take yours.

The class you had been most excited for this semester is quickly turning out to be the one you wished you had never signed up for.

You made a terrible impression on the first day by being late, and now on the second day of this class, you’ve broken an unspoken rule that you had no previous knowledge of. All of that topped off with the man sitting next to you who has made his distaste for you rather clear… the only thought tormenting your mind is how badly you wish you could crawl in a hole and never have to show your face in this class ever again.

“I have an important announcement,” declares Dr. Movack as he takes post behind his podium. “Through the entirety of this course, you will be working on a semester-long project relating to the appropriation of Arthurian legend. This project is fairly at your liberty, meaning there are very few stipulations for you to follow.”

Okay, this is something you can handle. Something to sink your teeth into, something you know you’ll excel at. 

“This will not be a solo project, however.”

Oh no.

“There are exactly fifty students in this class, so you will be paired in twos for a total of twenty five projects.”

Please no.

“As far as who you will be assigned with, that is very simple. The person seated next to you is who you will work with for the remainder of the semester.”

With Lennon being the very last seat in your row, and you being directly next to him, this means…he will  be your partner. For the entire semester. 

You were cursed from the first day you stepped foot in this room and had to sit next to him. Fate would have it so things would not work in your favor, it appears. 

“This project is not to be taken lightly as it is worth sixty percent of your final grade. Everything in this class will lead up to it, so I suggest you take your readings very seriously.”

He will ruin this for you, no fucking doubt. 

He won’t even give you the grace of telling you his first name, and now you have to work on a huge project with him for four months? A project worth more than half of your grade? 

That hole you debated on crawling in is sounding better and better by the minute.

“Well, guess that makes us partners.” To your disbelief, Lennon speaks his first words to you in lieu of his typical 'at you' approach. “The nice thing is that it guarantees me a good grade.” 

“Is that your way of admitting I know more about this than you do, Kiszka?” you snark. He cocks an eyebrow above his black lenses as you dare to utter his last name.  

“Not quite.” He snorts a condescending chuckle, “I can tell you’re the type to work towards the best grade possible, hence, ensuring my success in the process. Shall I thank you now or later?”

Lennon’s got you there.

You take projects like these rather seriously, and this one will be no exception. As much as you’d love to set him up for failure, that would warrant your failure right along with him. 

It’s the perfect scenario for him and a living nightmare for you.

Lovely.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You walk through the open doors of the lecture hall for your next class, spotting yet another familiar face amongst the students, only this one much more kind and welcoming. 

You recognize her as the kind soul who helped you the other day when your bag was senselessly knocked off your shoulder by your favorite Lennon impersonator. 

“Hey!” she says as she notices you, “Come sit next to me!”

You’re nearly taken away by her beauty as you sit beside her, finally able to get a better look at her this time.

Her glowing caramel skin, her eyes light and honest with a sepia tone, her dark brown curls that are unruly yet flawlessly styled, held perfectly on top of her head with the most beautiful satin scarf. 

“Thank you again for helping me the other day. You’re a saint for that.” You hang your book bag on the back of your chair, pulling out its contents for class. “You’ll never believe this, but that guy that slammed into me with no remorse, he’s in my class. The one that he made me so late for. And because of that, we’re partnered together for a semester-long project.” 

“Ah yes, Jake,” she says under a giggle, adjusting her dark green, slouchy sweater off her toned shoulder. “He’s something else, that’s for sure. He’s got a good heart but he covers it with that mysterious, dark facade that he thinks makes him look so cool.” 

Alas, Lennon does have a first name after all. Although, you prefer the nickname you’ve given him. 

“Well, Jake has made it rather clear that I am not his favorite person and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’m not sure how we’ll manage to make it through this semester together with his shitty attitude.”

She hums under her breath, slowly shaking her head as if to say ‘just you wait.’

“My name’s Natalia. Where’d you fly in from?”

The way her name rolls off her tongue with her slight accent is nothing short of beautiful.

“Just a miniscule town in Oklahoma. Is it really that obvious that I’m not from here?” you answer in a hushed tone, half embarrassed to admit such a thing.

She grins as she sings a few words from the title track from the beloved Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, showcasing her stark white teeth that compliment her glowing, tanned skin perfectly.

“I hate to tell you Ms. Oklahoma, but you do kind of stick out like a sore thumb,” she quips. 

Having gone from a small, southern town to the outskirts of Detroit, you’re bound to look like an outsider until the culture shock wears off, much to your discontent. 

As much as you wish you could quickly adapt and easily blend in, it’s just not possible. Your face twinges as you remember your first day, specifically that one class you’d care to not mention any further. 

“Welcome, students, to Women in Literature. My name is Dr. Lacey and I’ll be your instructor through the duration of this course.” 

Class begins and you both submerge yourself in a study that’s particularly important to each of you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I can’t call you Ms. Oklahoma forever, you know.” 

You and Natalia have the rest of the day free from classes, so you decided to walk with her to the Central Campus library to do some studying.

“I guess you’re right,” you say through a laugh. “My name is y/n.”

You walk across the large courtyard full of lush green grass, intricate steel benches and the most lovely hydrangeas colored a deep purple. 

The Michigan landscape is a far cry from anything you had ever seen in Oklahoma. Everything's so green and flourished, so full of life. Vibrant colors paint the scenery in the most beautiful vision. 

The weather is nearly perfect, with the temperatures never exceeding the mid seventies and the humidity far below the excruciating levels of the southern states. 

You’re in awe as you go day to day with the sheer beauty of the nature that surrounds you. 

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, your curiosity begins to take over your every thought. Jake Kiszka. Your semester-long partner. You need to know more about him, as much as you attempt to relinquish the desire.

You finally build up the courage to ask. “So, how do you know him?”

She looks at you upon your inquiry, squinting her eyes as she studies your face. “Who, Jake?” She says with a sinister grin about her. 

“Yes, Jake. What is it about him that he feels the need to treat people like they’re beneath him?”

“Ah, Sir Jacob,” she says. “He’s a bit of an enigma, I guess you could say. And yes, he is single.” She throws you a wink as you stare at her with utter disgust at her wisecrack.

“I do not care if he’s single,” you respond, causing her to snort a chuckle. 

“I’ve known the guy for years. We go all the way back to the golden days of our youth. He and his twin brother graduated high school a year before me, and their younger brother was a year below me.” A twin? There’s two of him? “I’ve known their family for the better part of my life. Good people, truly. I can’t begin to tell you how much they’ve helped my family and me.”

You’ve only just met him, but the words ‘good’ and ‘Jake’ don’t seem to belong in the same sentence. 

“Incidentally enough, his twin, Josh, and my brother, Malachi, have been partners since they graduated together. So, they’re kind of my family, too.” You walk up the steps to the library as she holds the large wooden door open for you.“I promise you, y/n. He’s not all bad. You’ve just seen what he projects to people he doesn’t know. Like I said, he thinks it makes him look cool.��

Your thoughts momentarily stop as you take your first steps into the library. You’re in shock. Though, you shouldn’t be. Every single building you’ve stepped foot into on this campus is absolutely immaculate, and the library is no exception.

It’s almost bewitching, with thousands of books lining the walls, reaching chandeliers that seem to hang from the clouds at their height. 

The alluring musty scent of aged novels fill your senses and take you back to a time long since forgotten. 

It’ll be far too tempting to spend all of your time here, getting lost in the pages that fill the space of grandeur.

You’ve been stuck in a near trance by the beauty surrounding you, you hadn’t even noticed that Natalia moved behind the circulation desk.

“It’s also his way of keeping his guard up. It’s rare that anyone gets to discover the true Jacob,” she says as she types away at the computer sitting at the desk.

“Um, Natalia?” You quietly ask. “Should you be back there?”

She laughs as she takes in your slightly terrified expression, “Well I would say so, ya know, since it’s the start of my shift.”

“You work here?” How could anyone be so lucky as to work in such an immaculate setting?

“It’s a pretty sweet gig. It’s not the most thrilling job but it’s nice and quiet. I get to spend my days among books, and the tuition break is a pretty nice incentive.” She secures her gold plated magnetic name badge to sweater, making her look rather official.

A job on campus would be utter perfection for you. You’ll be spending a vast majority of your time here anyways, and the tuition break would be a significant help in your situation. 

“Do you happen to know of any other jobs on campus that are hiring?” you ask, almost embarrassed, but you have a feeling you can trust her. “I’m kind of in a pinch to find something soon. Desperate, actually.”

She rests her chin between her index finger and thumb, seeming to ponder your question. “I know of a few,” she says. “One that just so happens to be in this very library, if you’re interested.” Her voice carries an almost sarcastic tone, she knows you’re interested. 

“Oh my god, are you serious? I would love to work here!” you say.

“I figured you would.” She rummages through the credenza and pulls out a sheet of paper entitled ‘Employment Application’ and sets it on the desk in front of you. 

“Go ahead and fill this out, and I’ll consider putting in a good word for you.” She winks at you as she hands you a pen. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Classes have become increasingly difficult. It’s nothing you can’t handle, but you find it hard to make time for much of anything outside of work and school. 

You started your new job at the library one week ago today. You pick up as many shifts as possible, mostly evenings and nights as your days are taken up with your classes. The library stays open until ten o’clock, so most nights you don’t get home until at least ten thirty. 

You set aside a little time after class everyday to run home and take care of your mom before work, making her dinner and being sure her nightly medications are set out before you head back to campus.

As busy as you are, you truly love your job and you’re immensely excited about your studies.

Your friendship with Natalia has bloomed beautifully over the last week. 

You’re so grateful for her. She has been your saving grace lately as this last week has been a bit treacherous. Her companionship has been a major help in your adjustment to this new way of life and your somewhat rigorous schedule.

Jake, on the other hand–well, things are about the same. You’ve set aside your pride a few times this week in an attempt to get along with him for the sake of your project, but he just brushed you off, every single time. 

This project is massive, and not having it started yet, or even having a single idea about what you’ll do with it, is giving you serious anxiety. 

The tension with him seems to grow by the day and you’re almost at the end of your rope with it. You don’t know how to fix it, but you need to figure out something soon so you can bury this unnecessary hatchet and focus on your shared assignment.

–

After running home to make dinner for your mom and tend to a few chores, you make it back to campus just in time to begin your shift.

Tonight, you’re in charge of contacting students with missing books and tacking on late fees to their accounts if necessary. 

You’re sitting at the computer, scrolling through the seemingly endless list of students and calling them to let them know of the fees they’ve accrued. 

Most of them are rather displeased with you upon your notice, some of them even giving you a small piece of their mind before abruptly hanging up on you. 

You make phone call after phone call, trekking through the list organized alphabetically by last name.

At last, you’ve made it to the end of the J’s. Your task for the evening was to make it halfway through the list, and you’re nearly there as you begin contacting students whose last names begin with K. 

Upon reading the name of the next student, your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach.

Kiszka, Jacob T (1): Le Morte d’Arthur (Norton Critical Edition) - Mallory

“You can’t be serious,” you mumble.

You debate on ‘accidentally’ skipping him, but you don’t want anything to jeopardize your brand new job.

You have to call him, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You suddenly hear the voice of your boss in the back of your mind, “It’s proper etiquette to always state your name when calling students, so be sure to introduce yourself with each call you make.” 

You quickly make up your mind that you will not mention your name during your call to him. The last thing you need is any more awkward air between you two.

You dial his number and wait, listening to the ominous ringing from the other end. 

Your eyes are pinched shut, your palms sticky with sweat as you secretly hope he doesn’t answer. 

Then, the ringing comes to a stop, “Hello?”

Shit. 

“Is this Jacob?” You use your best professional tone, hoping to disguise your voice as much as you can.

“This is he,” he responds, the statement ending in more of a question.

“Hi, Jacob. This is y/n with the Central Campus Library.”

Fuck.

You throw your head in your hand, mentally cursing yourself for letting your name slip through. Maybe he didn’t notice, you think to yourself.

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment before you clear your throat and continue speaking.

“I’m calling about your overdue copy of Le Morte d’Arthur.”

“Y/n? Aren’t you in my class?” he asks.

So much for him not noticing. 

Ignoring his question, you proceed “It looks like you checked it out over the summer and it’s now twenty eight days overdue. Per policy, there has been a fee of seven dollars and fifty cents added to your account. If it is not returned by the thirty one day mark, you will receive anoth-” 

He patronizingly cuts you off before you can finish, “You’re in Movack’s class, huh? You sit right next to me.” 

With a sigh of frustration, you finish telling him that he must return it within three days or he’ll receive a much heftier fee.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll see about that,” he says before hanging up on you. His short tone has infuriated you beyond belief.

“Asshole,” you exclaim as you slam the phone down on the receiver causing a booming echo to erupt throughout the building. Luckily, the only other person here with you is Natalia. She’s been in the back sorting books while you’ve been dealing with overdue rentals.

Her boisterous laughter adds to the echoing bouncing off the walls. “I heard that,” she yells.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re especially dreading Dr. Movacks class today after your phone call with Jake last night. You know for a fact that things will be even more tense with him today, and you’re just not in the mood to deal with it.

The exhaustion from everything piled on your plate has really begun to set in. Jake is the last thing you want to worry about. With each unpleasant interaction with him, your impatience grows to new levels.

With the support of your large cold brew in hand, you gather the nerve to walk into class. 

“So you work at the library, huh?” Jake says as you take your seat. 

“Yep,” you say in response. You pull out your phone and scroll mindlessly, giving him the hint that you’re less than interested in talking with him.

Class begins, and Dr. Movack starts his lecture on Arthurian timelines. You’re trying to pay close attention, but you find yourself becoming increasingly distracted– by Jake. 

He smells so good– a mix of sandalwood and vanilla. You’ve noticed it before, but for some reason it’s particularly exhilarating today. 

You chalk it up to delusion from fatigue and force yourself to pay attention to the lecture. 

But fuck if it isn’t hard has hell to ignore. 

You reach for your coffee, glancing Jake's way when you make yet another intrusive realization.

The way he grips his pen so tightly– the veins in his hand and forearm protrude in the most captivating way. 

Your eyes slowly follow a trail to his pecks, the curve of them seen just beneath his partially open, black—of course—button down. You watch them tense slightly with each word he writes. 

Dr. Movack ends the lecture and you suddenly realize you’ve been staring far too long.  

“Can I help you?”  

You’re instantly mortified at him catching your stare. Desperate to find any excuse, you happen to see his copy of Le Morte d’Arthur sitting underneath his notebook. Thank god. 

“Your book,” you point to the novel. “You need to return it.” 

He huffs a laugh as he takes his sunglasses off, leaving you stunned. This is the first time you’ve seen his face without their obstruction—and the first time you’ve ever seen his eyes. 

His eyes are kind and warm. They glow amber brown like a glass of whiskey on the rocks, intoxicating you just as the smooth drink would.

“I still have two days, right?”

You saw his lips move, but the sound that came from them was muffled in your head as you’re entirely mesmerized by his eyes.

“Right?” he asserts, breaking you from your trance.

You blink your eyes a few times to bring yourself back to earth as your brain registers what he had said.

“What? Y– yes, you still have two days,” you say. “You know it’s not a required reading until later on in the semester, right? Why do you need it right now?”

“Maybe I wanted to get a head start,” he says while tossing it in his black leather satchel. “Maybe it’s not any of your business.” He swiftly gets up and walks away, leaving you completely frustrated yet again. 

Your journey to your next class feels more like a rigorous trudge. You’re walking fast and hard, stomping your feet with each step as your anger towards Jake exudes through your body. 

Not only are you pissed at his stupid fucking attitude, you’re pissed that you find him so damn attractive. 

How could you possibly find someone like him appealing? Appealing to the eye, yes, but that’s where it stops. He’s a walking rain cloud hovering over you, stealing all the sunshine from your day in only a matter of a single class period. 

You’re impatiently counting the days until this class– until this project– is over and done with so you can move on and live a peaceful existence. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It’s just about time to close the library and you could not be more ready. The last few days have been incredibly draining. With homework piling up in heaps, multiple tests to study for and working nearly every night, your stress is at an all time high. 

Thankfully, tomorrow is Saturday. This will be your first day off all week and you’re beyond ready for some much needed relaxation. You just need to get through these next five, excruciating minutes.

It’s been awfully quiet tonight and you’re grateful for it since you’re the only one working, but the lack of students has made the shift feel much longer than usual. 

You glance up at the clock that says it’s two minutes until ten. Given you haven’t seen any signs of a student in hours, you figure it would be okay to go ahead and lock up a few minutes early.

Just as you're about to twist the lock on the bolt, someone from the other end hastily turns the knob and pushes open the door with great force, causing you to stumble backwards.

Standing before you with their overdue book in hand, and to your utter disgust, is Jake. 

“We’re closed, Jake.”

He takes a few steps inside as he points behind you at the clock. “According to that, you’re still open for one more minute and I need to return my book.”

Of fucking course he waited until the literal last minute. 

You want nothing more than to turn him away and tell him he’s shit out of luck, but technically, he’s right. He’s entered the building before closing and according to policy, you have to serve him.

Son of a bitch. 

You bring your hand up to rub your forehead, trying to relieve some tension before you begin this process with him. “Follow me,” you say as you head back to the desk.

There’s an awkward silence lingering between you two as you sign into the computer, the only sound being his fingers tapping away at the desk as he impatiently waits for you.

“You could’ve just put it in the drop box outside, you know. They would’ve gotten it on Monday morning,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but then it would’ve been late. I’m not letting you all charge yet another absurd late fee,” he retorts.

“You should’ve turned it in on time, then.” 

You seem to have struck a nerve with him given the way his jaw clenched at your statement. You just can’t bring yourself to care– he’s the one forcing you to stay late when all you want to do is go home and go to bed. 

You go through the return process as quickly as you can. You finish, giving him his copy of the document that states he brought the book back. 

“Thanks,” he says. “Now I would like to check it back out, please.” 

Are you fucking kidding.

You know he’s doing this just to spite you.

You throw your hands down on the keyboard, “Seriously? Why can’t you just come back on Monday?” 

“Because I need it this weekend,” he claims.

“What could you possibly need it for?” Any semblance of patience you may have had left has officially walked out the door.

“Didn’t I tell you it was none of your business?” 

You take a deep breath and push it back out in a long sigh. You just don’t have it in you to argue anymore, so you accept defeat and begin checking it back out to him. 

You don’t say anything as you hand him a pen and the checkout slip for him to sign. He grabs the pen, looking at you with a slight guilt-ridden expression before giving his signature. 

“I’m working on a film with my brother, and I need the book to help him write the script.” This is the first time you’ve ever noted a hint of sincerity in his voice. The features of his face have softened– you can tell this is important to him. 

You flip delicately through the tattered and stained pages of the book. “I have my own copy of this out in my car,” you say. “I’ll just let you borrow mine. It’s in much better condition than this one, anyways.”

He agrees as you take the slip from under his fingers and crumple it, throwing it in the trash can under the desk. He waits a few minutes, letting you lock up. 

Then, he follows closely behind you to your car to retrieve the book.

You bend at the waist to dig for the book in the mess of your backseat. When you do so, you hear him take a deep inhale, and then blow it out in an exhale.

Is he annoyed with you having to dig? Because he can get the fuck over it. 

Just as you hear him clear his throat in impatience, you’ve found the book. You stand and hand him the book, annoyed with him and ready to leave. He thanks you, and you nod, bidding him a hasty ‘good night’… you’re just ready to get home. 

He begins to walk away, but stops and turns back around to face you.

Fuck. You’d been so close to being in the car, on your way home. Dammit.

“This film my brother’s doing,” he says. “Its focus surrounds the adultery of Arthur and Guinevere. He asked me to help him, and I was thinking…” You nod your head to let him know to keep going. “Well, if we both helped him, we could use it for our project.” 

Your interest is certainly piqued. “Yeah, that could work. I’ve written a few scripts and designed theoretical sets for a couple film electives before… so I could definitely do that.”

“He could use more help with all of that for sure, but what he really needs are actors, specifically ones to play Arthur and Guinevere. He’s been begging me to play Arthur and I agreed, but now he’s on my case about finding someone to play Guinevere and, well...” He gestures his arms towards you, signaling that he thinks you should play her. 

“Um…,” you take a minute to figure out how to politely turn him down as you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. You’d never admit it, but just the mere thought of interacting with him so intimately in those roles has your stomach doing weird flips. “Jake… I– I don’t know about that. I’m much better behind the camera, acting just isn’t really my thing.” 

“Just give it a try,” he insists. Why does he seem so adamant? Geez. “And if you hate it, you can do something else. But I think you’d be great at it, really.” He smiles at you, the first time you’ve seen a true, genuine smile from him.

Well, fuck.

You want to say no, you should say no. With how he’s treated you thus far, you don’t owe him anything. But– you can’t deny how it would help your project. And this project in Movack’s class… It's important to you. It would be fantastic to have it to back up your own project… 

And, aside from that, his smile is making it awfully hard to turn him down right now. 

If you were alone, you would have slapped your forehead at the utter chaos in your head, leading to your ultimate decision.

With a little hesitancy, you speak up, “I guess I could stop by. Feel out the role…”

His features seem to lift more at that. You pay it hardly any mind. 

And with his final reply, his velvet-toned voice has a brand new, excited, air to it. “It’ll be really amazing, I promise.” Then, he chuckles, almost to himself. “It’ll definitely be interesting,” he shakes his head, a grin still lifting his cheek. “But really… I think it’ll be great. I know my brother and you will get along. He’s also one hell of a director.” 

Minutes later, as you’re climbing into your driver's seat, you take a few minutes to sit in the silence of your car. 

Trying your damnedest to block out the obnoxious fluorescent lighting of the parking lot, you stare through your windshield into the black night sky. 

And when normally, the blanket of black would bring you a sense of peace and comfort, tonight it’s different. Tonight, you can’t help but feel a burgeoning sense of timidness as you fail to find answers to your new predicament in the night sky.

What in the hell had you just agreed to?

taglist:

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love you all SO MUCH

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

Masterlist

[dailystargatebooty]

[lightthewaybackhome]

Letters from Pegasus (S1:E17)

This episode is so adorable with all the messages going home, but what I find fascinating is Sheppard not wanting to save people. I think it's accurate. He has a mission. His mission is to gather Intel. This isn't a rescue mission, and turning it into one could greatly damage Sheppard's ability to defend Atlantis. Turning it into a rescue mission puts Teyla and all of Atlantis in danger. Sheppard's kinda in a lose-lose situation.

Sheppard: this is hard to sit and watch.

Mayhap, this is why Weir felt it necessary to give you a direct order not to engage the Wraith armada, hmmmm, sir? She knew you'd be tempted.

Teyla and Sheppard are basically:

T: Let's save people!

S: No!

S: Let's save people!

T: No!

It's Weir's message home that gets me every time, the reviewing of the people they've lost.😭 Rodney's final message to Jeanne also makes me cry.

The moment when, despite their disagreements, Sheppard and Teyla are both horrified at the culling and all the people they couldn't save. Just so sad and intense. This is they horror they'll be facing when the Wraith get to Atlantis.

Then, finally, we have Sheppard recording a message for Colonel Sumner. "Considering what we're up against, and what kind of man he was, I wish he was here."

Lots of tears for this episode. It's probably the best "let's you lots of clips from previous episodes" episode ever.

[dr-futbol-blog]

Letters from Pegasus, Pt. 4

So, from McKay not having anyone on Earth to send a message to the scene cuts directly to Sheppard and Teyla discussing the topic of family in the jumper as they wait for the alien armada to arrive.

Sheppard is still uncharacteristically cranky, and Teyla is probably for the first time doubting his leadership. This callous man sitting next to her is not the Sheppard that she thought she knew. She doesn't know about his family, she doesn't yet know about how he was punished for going against orders to try to rescue people--among them a dear friend. For these and perhaps other reasons he could not make a promise to the friend of Teyla's family, and it seems to be eating him up inside:

Sheppard: This wasn't supposed to be a rescue mission. Teyla: Orin was a good friend of my father. Sheppard: I agreed to warn him. Teyla: If someone close to your family--a dear friend--was in danger of being taken by the Wraith, would you have not done the same? Sheppard: Not if it jeopardised the mission. Teyla: So in fighting the Wraith, we are to give up that which makes us different from them? Sheppard: I agreed to stop and pick him up if there was time--but only if there was time. I could be saving everyone in the damned galaxy if we could. Teyla: One man and his children are not every person. Sheppard: I agreed to help if there was time. You can only fight the battles you can win.

While he left himself the loop-hole before they left Atlantis, Sheppard didn't actually have any intention of disobeying Weir's order not to engage. He had no intention of placing them in any danger during this mission. Changing mission parametres in the middle of a mission is not strategically sound, and as much as Sheppard feels for everyone in the galaxy that he has personally jeopardized, he really doesn't like what this is turning into. He sounds jaded, he sounds like he's trying to be the hard-ass leader that he thinks he is supposed to be, but this isn't how he really feels. Like he tells her later, he would do anything for any one of them. He feels too much, and it's making him numb.

Sheppard also has a reason to want to get back home in one piece and on time. Between two scenes of Teyla and Sheppard discussing the topic in the jumper there is a scene in which Ford records a message to his grand-parents. He ends the message with "But I want you both to know that you're right here, always--all the time."

He pats his heart to indicate that he carries the thought of them in his heart all the time. And from there, we cut to Sheppard telling Teyla that he simply cannot risk going back for Teyla's 'dear friend'. He is full-on prepared to let this man and his whole family die to get back to Atlantis. The scene with Ford is meant to give us insight into Sheppard's motivation here, to let us know what is going on with him on the inside.

They watch the armada arrive and are horrified by it. Sheppard seems anxious to get right back to Atlantis but alas, the wraith keep the gate occupied and this seems to keep them from returning:

Sheppard: So we're stuck here. Teyla: Once the ship is rendered invisible again, we will be perfectly safe. Sheppard: I'm worried about getting the intel about the Wraith fleet back to Atlantis. Teyla: They will keep dialling in through the night at the very least.

Sheppard is worried about getting back. They are having to spend the entire night away from Atlantis. And all through this, there is someone that he is carrying in his heart all the time.

The video clips recorded by Ford seem to be interspersed with scenes of Sheppard and Teyla on the planet which suggests that they are commenting on Sheppard in particular. Ford tells his grand-parents, "I'm hoping that I'll be able to get home some time soon but, y'know, if I'm stuck here a while, I want you to know that I'm good. I'm doing things, seeing things I never thought I'd see." Teyla and Sheppard just watched the alien armada jump out of hyperspace, a sight that they will never forget as long as they live. The only difference seems to be that Sheppard is not feeling good, physically unharmed though he is.

In the next recording session, we get this:

Beckett: What shall I say? Ford: Uh, uh, "I miss you"? "I wish you were here"? Beckett: I wish who was here? Ford: I don't know. Who do you wish was here? Beckett: Nobody! I wish I wasn't bloody here!

This very much seems to reflect Sheppard's feelings at that same exact moment on the alien planet. He wishes he was not stuck on the planet and while he might miss people back home, he certainly does not wish that they were there with him. It's much better to know that at least they are safe back home. They could not have made it more obvious that Sheppard has a desire to get back home. But Beckett says something even more interesting next:

Ford: Tell her you love her! Beckett: No, no, I can't do that. I'd go all emotional. Ford: So? Beckett: She's very delicate, my mother--as sweet a soul as you'll ever meet, as pure as the driven snow. If I get upset, then she'll get upset and I can't have that.

Now, it will take until Tao of Rodney (S03E14) for McKay to hear Sheppard say it--after a fashion (and I'll come back to why the "in a way a friend feels about another friend" is just completely unnecessary if they were just friends, see previous entry) but it is implied here that by this time, Sheppard is already thinking it. But he can't just come out and say it because then McKay might say it back to him, and there's just no walking back from that. But he is starting to think it to himself. He has accepted this state of affairs. He loves this man. He is in love with this man. All of that.

This is lampshaded by Ford commenting on the message Sgt. Bates sends to his little brother:

Bates: I'm probably never gonna see him again. Why make it worse than it has to be? Ford: That's not what this is about, man. Bates: That's exactly what this is about. Don't sweat it, Lieutenant. I'm happy I got the chance to say goodbye. Ford: Yeah, but you didn't say it. Bates: Not in so many words.

Not in so many words. Sometimes you got to read between the lines. Sometimes the words you use communicate a lot more than the surface level reading. It's the thought that counts, the intention, even if it's sometimes disguised in something mundane, like a reference to basketball. But this particular scene is also very much a reference forward to the season finale where Sheppard does not say goodbye to McKay, he never does and never will, but instead says "So long, Rodney". This is foreshadowing that moment, but we'll return to it later.

Now, I've previously discussed the concept of the A-plot, this being the overarching story of the season; in this case, the threat posed by the wraith. Episodic television usually constructs stories so that there is a reference to the A-plot in most episodes, unless they are straight-out filler, and then there is the B-plot and the C-plot in each episode. The B-plot or storyline is typically more character-driven, or emotion-driven, and the C-plot or story is often lighter and comedic. In this episode, Sheppard and Teyla's scenes represent the B-plot and the recorded messages represent the C-plot up until they are all woven together in the final scenes. Now, A-plot spans the entire season, B-plot reaches across several episodes and may be carried over from one episode to the other whereas the C-plot is usually confined to just the episode in which it plays out. But they are all constantly in conversation with each other.

Constructing an episode involves working out the beats for each of the three storylines and then weaving them together for satisfying narrative build and character development. And these storylines are made to cross over, or dramatically contrast or impact on one another, to give the audience the strongest possible dramatic or comic experience. That is, there's a reason we see a certain B-plot scene followed by a particular C-plot scene, as they are connected. They are commenting on one another, they are in conversation. We are not shown these recordings from the expedition willy-nilly, they are meant to tell us something about what is happening in the other story threads. They are meant to explain to us the hidden motivations at play during Sheppard and Teyla's scenes. So, it's not unimportant where we cut from one scene to another. The previous scene lays the foundation for the subsequent scene.

So, in this episode we cut from Sheppard being reluctant to help this family on the alien planet to McKay's reluctance to record a message to Earth. We cut from McKay not having anyone special waiting for him on Earth to Sheppard making sure that he can get back to Atlantis in one piece. We cut from Ford carrying his loved ones in his heart all the time, telling them that he's talking to them "from a place… far, far from home. I'm good, though. You don't have to worry" to Sheppard and Teyla becoming temporarily marooned on this alien world, unable to return home.

And yes, we cut from Beckett telling his mother that he misses her terribly to Sheppard becoming more and more agitated as he waits on the planet. These scenes are in clear communication. These scenes explain to us Sheppard's hidden motivation that is never made explicit because he has spent his entire life concealing his emotions and unless they constructed the story beats like this, we would never know what's actually going on with him. But now we do.

He misses Atlantis and the people therein. Carries them in his heart all the time. He is unable to verbalize his feelings even though he very much feels them. And his emotions are contrasted with Zelenka's retelling of Atlantis rising from the ocean in an undeniable, powerful and unquestionably phallic surge culminating in the sun shining through all the windows, a sight that he will remember to his death.

If John Sheppard is not so much in love that it has shaken him to his very core, has dislodged something in his very foundation like the mechanism that released Atlantis from the ocean floor, the show's narrative doesn't work, makes no goddamn sense. Otherwise we just have a series of unconnected scenes, and that's not how writing for episodic television works. Never mind what we are hinted may or may not been happening in background, this is the story, the actual story of the show. This is the journey of its main character.

And, like. You can tell me it's all about his feelings for Weir like we haven't consistently been shown in a hundred different ways that his entire mental, physical, and emotional focus is somewhere else entirely. His whole world is oriented toward someone whose absence is making him so cranky that he's willing to sacrifice actual human lives in his desire to get back to this person.

You can tell me but that's just a very different show from the one I was watching.

Continued in Pt. 5

[ashleyfableblack]

Applejack wiped the sweat from her brow. She set the hammer aside and groaned. Her hooves were sore from the day's chores and adding putting up a billboard on top of the list had been a bit more tiring than the middle-aged mare had expected.

Rainbow Dash wrapped a hoof around her wife and appraised her work. With a peck on the neck and a poke in the ribs she gave up a smirk of approval. "Not bad. Not bad. Nice work, hon."

"Heh" Applejack chuckled, rising to her hooves. "Eeyep."

Rainbow Dash joined in her knowing chuckle. "So, what made you finally decide to put it up?"

Applejack gave her partner's hoof a pat, looking over the bright yellow billboard. In white letters, trimmed it black it read "No Hate In Our Holler". She had wanted to be sure it would be in a highly visible place somewhere well-trafficked so she had chosen the Northeastern trail. Dubbed "The Naughty Nor-easter" for it's reputation as a place for young lovers to take romantic walks together, it was a long, broad dirt path which bordered their family orchard closest to Ponyville and facing New Canterlot.

"You 'n me, Dashie. We're, well, celebrities. We're heroes to a whole mess of folkes."

Rainbow Dash grinned, giving AJ a squeeze. "Well, yeah." Rainbow said matter-of-factly "We are pretty awesome."

Applejack's jade eyes trailed to the nearby field. Amid the waves of short green shoots and fluffy patches of clover, their little Filly, R.J. giggled and squealed. The tiny orange pegasus awkwardly stumbled about in circles, playing with the family dog, Winona and one of their family's two on-site security-hoofs, a Changeling they called Blue. Blue usually took the form of a grey-muzzled Blue-heeler hound, as she did now and could often be found by Winona's side. Blue seemed to have a certain fondness for the old border collie which Applejack only understood well enough to understand that she didn't understand.

"We've done a lot to make this world a better place. For all the young'uns. But for her? OUR little R.J.? Is it enough?" She gave her partner's hoof a concerned squeeze. "What if she grows up and falls for one of them Changelin' gals?"

Rainbow Dash's brow furrowed. "Well, we wouldn't care."

"Well of course, we wouldn't. Most folkes wouldn't. Still, there's some ponies out there with their noses in the air and sticks up their backsides who'd be awful to them. The same ones who'd be all rude to you'n me on accounts of us bein' what we are."

"A Pegasus and an Earth Pony?"

Applejack nodded, her nostrils flared and jaw clenched. "Yeahp. And that ain't right, Dashie. That ain't right and that ain't no way to treat a body. And if THAT's the legacy we're leaving for our little R.J. then, elements or not, what kind of mamas are we?"

"Yeah. You know, that last time we all went out to The Lavendar Saddle, Chryssi was telling me that in the Stormlands, some of those creepy jerks would actually even hate on us just for us both being mares?"

Applejack jerked around to glare at her wife in wide-eyed shock. "Say what?"

Rainbow Dash raised a wing, folding a few feathers like fingers in a promisory salute. "Swear to P.W."

"You gotta be kidding me. What kinda stone-age, bass-ackwards tom-foolery is that?"

"I know, right?" The pegasus ruffled her crest of chest fluff with a snort of disdain. "I mean, it's not ALL of them but enough that it's actually a problem for the rest of their kingdom."

"Well, I'll be…" Applejack shook her had and whistled. "I know that us ponies had a problem with that nonsense WAY back in the old days but… Coo-whee."

"Yeah." Rainbow's feathers ruffled, flush with Equestrian patriotism. "But that was, like a THOUSAND years ago, maybe. And even then it was just the stuffy old-money unicorn jerks from up in the richie-rich mountains.

Applejack nodded. "Well, anyhoof, this country that Twi and that bughorse wife a'hers are building, this 'New Equestria', it's gonna be a place for all critters to live together. Ponies 'n Pegasi, Unicorns 'n Yaks, Changelings, Lovebugs, Griffins, Kirins and… well, all folkes. Just a-living and a-loving, together. Nobody fightin'. Nobody feudin'. Nobody looking down on anybody. It's gonna take a lotta work but for our little R.J.? That's a place worth fightin' for, even for old gals like us."

"Hey, don't go calling my wife old, cowgirl." Rainbow mussed her wife's mane with the feather fingers of her wings. "That's the right way to catch these hoofs, you, get me?"

Applejack gave her partner a playful punch in the shoulder and gestured towards the sign. "I recollect an old gal, some of our kin- a loooong ways back, once saying something like "Whenever one pony stands up and says 'Wait a minute, this is wrong’ it helps other ponies do the same."

Rainbow Dash nodded, proudly draping her wings around her wife in a protective embrace. The two mares looked to the horizon as the sounds of their daughter's laughter echoed on the sweet summer breeze. "And who better to stand up and say it but the Sweet Apple Acres Elements of Harmony?"

Inspired by the work of the Concerned Appalachians and everyone who came before to stand up and say "Wait a minute, this is wrong."

[whiteraven90]

Notable classes of beings of the nameless world home to Tetra, in order of their appearance.

I. FREE GODS

Characterized by stereotypical dragon behaviors, the free gods are boundlessly aggressive, lazy, and greedy titans. They've never created anything, own nothing, and typically they are senselessly hostile and don't negotiate. They have no need for food, but the stronger god devours the weaker one anyway. They usually tear into and start eating each other the moment they get close enough.

II. GODS

Tetra got its name from the fact that everything on it is owned by and was made of its four gods: ELI the dreamer, SOL the judge, ORM the sculptor, and ARK the warden. These are not names but three-letter codes assigned to them. They are referred to as "the gods", or as Tetran gods.

III. SPIRITS

Spirits were created by the gods as blueprints for species - flora and fauna both. Their primary objective as such was to preserve themselves. They were given a high level of sentience and godlike control over their own selves to this end, although that initial objective has been obsolete for a while.

They are incorporeal beings who can temporarily create themselves in corporeal space. They have no lifespan, no single default form, no sex, no orientation, no physical needs. By default, they communicate via telepathy, although they don't typically communicate at all.

IV. MORTALS

All mortal species have been created out of chosen spirits by the gods. Not really a "class of being", a companion - often called spirit-master - is a mortal with whom a spirit has some kind of bond and/or frequent, willing interactions.

The nature of these relationships varies wildly, but every spirit has the same ulterior motive, as all of them are in the same boat. As of now, spirits are perplexed and unsettled by the sudden and unprecedented silence of the gods, and the simultaneous appearance of people.

The most involved companions are Pegasus's master Holly, and Phoenix's son Ryan; whereas the three highest-profile, busiest spirits are Phoenix, Griffin, and Pegasus.

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I like to focus on the little stories of spirit-human relationships, instead of the big questions. I'm mainly working on a comic about how Holly got Pegasus to be her spirit. In the meantime, there will be the usual disjointed sketches and illustrations.