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raincitygirl76 · 1 year ago

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I hadn't seen this excellent article from mid-November 2022, which discusses events that occur in S2 and Edvin and Omar's take on the events of S2, and the development that occurs in their characters.

Just in case Teen Vogue ends up paywalling or removing the article at some future point (as does sometimes happen), I've violated their copyright by copy-pasting the whole thing. It's below the cut.

Teen Vogue YR article Nov 2022:

Culture

Young Royals Stars Edvin Ryding, Omar Rudberg Talk Wilmon & Season 2 Ending

“I guess we’re both hopeful and realistic. Boring answer?”

BY K-CI WILLIAMS

NOVEMBER 2, 2022

ROBERT ELDRIM/NETFLIX

Spoilers ahead for Netflix’s Young Royals seasons 1 and 2.

Karin Boye’s poem “Of Course It Hurts,” considered one of her greatest contributions to Swedish literature, opens in contemplation. “Of course it hurts when buds burst / Otherwise why would spring hesitate?” Boye writes, translated into English. It’s the way of nature; buds burst, dewdrops succumb to gravity, and spring reigns anew. “The bud was the casing all winter / What is this new thing, which consumes and bursts?” Sure, there’s pain in relinquishing the familiar, but abandoning that comfort can be liberating, too. It’s a fitting metaphor for the love story at the heart of Netflix’s Swedish series Young Royals, which dropped its six-episode second season on November 1.

Young Royals follows Wilhelm (Edvin Ryding), the Crown Prince of Sweden’s royal family, as he attends Hillerska boarding school. There, he meets Simon Eriksson (Omar Rudberg), a fellow student with whom he falls in love — causing him to face the choice between love and duty. It’s a hard line to toe after having everything decided for him, living his life for the good of an entire country. Wilhelm has everything one could ever need, but has little agency to do what he wants. Simon on the other hand, who lives off-campus and is not blue-blooded, does not have everything he needs, but is free to do what he wants.

Teen Vogue connected with Edvin and Omar over Zoom, and later, the creator and head writer Lisa Ambjörn, to chat all things Young Royals, and the first thing to know about this show is that sexuality is not the conflict. “A message we’ve constantly been trying to prove [is] that Wilhelm’s problem isn’t that he’s in love with a boy. His problem is that he’s a Crown Prince,” Edvin tells Teen Vogue. “He’s not supposed to be falling in love that way.”

Heading into their sophomore season, conceptual director Rojda Sekersöz instructed the cast to write one sentence that encapsulates their characters’ journey so far. “For both of us, it’s been a lot about our characters gaining back control,” Edvin says. “They’re both in very different situations, but they’re both out of control.” The world has seen their (illegal) sex video online, Wilhelm was forced to deny it was him in that video, and Hillerska has become heartbreak city. “Wilhelm's all alone, everybody's left him. And that drives him to be a certain way,” Edvin says, tracking what he identifies as Wilhelm being “selfish” from episode to episode.

Edvin spent so many nights poring over the script, questioning, lamenting, attempting to justify Wilhelm's behavior. “Why is he like this? Why is he acting like a child? Why is he so selfish? Why isn't he seeing things from a bigger picture?” he asked himself. That’s when the apple fell for Edvin. “I realized, like, oh, I don’t have to defend him. I just have to understand him. And once you realize that he is all alone and he needs to take back control, it becomes very clear why he does what he does.” Viewers might be a little more lenient with some of his choices; it is, after all, immensely difficult to conform to parental expectations, least of all when you’re the heir apparent and trailing the footsteps of a brother you idolized.

It’s not lost on Omar that these characters are also teenagers, and with that comes a rawness and heightened emotional sensitivity. “You gotta understand that that’s what I really like about Young Royals, because we always try to show everything as true as possible,” Omar says. “There are teenagers, they look like this, they act like this. They are sometimes really good. Sometimes they make really bad decisions, and they get really anxious about it. And then they try to fix that. It's basically how life is.” Edvin feels the same way: “Everything feels so acute. Everything feels like it’s the biggest thing in the world,” he says, noting that while the audience might see their crises as miniscule, “to them, it’s so so important, because that’s what it is [like] growing up.”

Playing the secret love of a Swedish prince has in turn been a dream come true, something Omar admits would never happen in his own life. “It's something that means a lot to people, I would say, because it shows it doesn't matter what your sexuality is, it doesn't matter what class you are, it doesn't matter where you're from, it doesn't matter — nothing — love is love basically.”

Omar, who is Venezuelan-Swedish, thinks back to his 10-year-old self, attending school in Sweden as the only immigrant student. “Me as an immigrant here in Sweden hasn’t been the easiest,” he says. A slight laugh escapes the end of his sentence, the kind of mirth with which we reflect on life’s trials and tribulations, and the strange humor of having come out on the other side. “It’s not so easy for anybody that comes to another country from their home country not speaking their language, or not looking like a lot of the people in that country, and you know, me as a kid, it was hard being, how do you say…” Omar searches for the appropriate words and Edvin makes suggestions (“Alienated, like outcast, or not the same as the people around you”). Omar lands on the word “community,” admitting he found it hard to be accepted.

At the end of this season’s fourth episode, Omar performs Simon’s retooled version of Hillerska’s school song (with a soul-stirring voice, like hot chocolate), featuring lyrics inspired by his romance with Wilhelm. “What we were, no one can rewrite,” he sings, translated into English. “Afterwards, we go our separate ways. But I’ll remember you all my days. What we had and who we were.”

Omar is no stranger to singing; he spent several years in Swedish boy band FO&O before going solo in 2018. I ask him if Simon’s performance was a special moment for him, years on from being the only immigrant kid in the school, singing a love song in a language that he once didn’t know. Edvin pouts at this, clutching his heart. “Everything about this whole thing is a moment for me,” Omar says. “Doing the solo is something that I really appreciate because I love singing … and expressing the emotions and feelings through singing, through music in the series is also a dream come true.”

Shooting that scene was a powerful moment for Edvin, too, who was out of shot for the initial filming of the performance. He addresses Omar directly, “Once they did my shot, I walked down, and I heard it for the first time, and I got the biggest goosebumps I’ve ever had, like, the power of the moment. I could feel your passion. It was beautiful.” Series creator Lisa Ambjörn felt like they were writing the song to all the people responsible for bringing Young Royals to life. “We are going to remember having been part of this journey at some point,” she says. “In a film crew, people come and people go sometimes behind the camera, but it's like, we are going to remember this.” Those words will become emblematic of all the love poured into this show.

Fans will notice Simon’s fish tank as a callback to the first season, when he lists the names of his fish to Wilhelm. Ambjörn says this was an improvised line from Edvin and Omar as the result of location issues and having to restructure scenes. Season 2 love interest Marcus faces a similar introduction, only now Simon says the fish don’t have names. “We know the second Marcus goes into that room, he's gonna see the fishes,” Ambjörn says. “It may be a bit over the top that he asked ‘Oh, do they have names?’ but it’s also something you would say.” On Simon’s perspective in that scene, she asks: “Who makes him creative? Well, it’s Wilhelm.”

There’s a keen local Swedish feel to Young Royals, and that’s by design, according to Ambjörn. “I feel like people really do want to feel like they are being drawn into something very local,” she says. “As long as they universally understand it, like in the end, Lucia, in the Young Royals [world], it's just such a classic school tradition.” Lucia celebrations in Sweden bring hope and light in the darkest time of the year. One girl is selected to be the Lucia of the celebrations, though Ambjörn says one story route not taken involved the debacle of boys and non-binary people wanting to be the Lucia. Of course, there’s only so much you can do in six episodes.

Karin Boye, the aforementioned poet and novelist, serves a great purpose for Ambjörn this season. She shows me a screenshot from an old conversation in which she asked her friends which Swedish historical writers should be studied at Hillerska. Boye ascended to the top of the list. Boye’s book Crisis neatly parallels the romance of Young Royals; protagonist Malin navigates the clash between her religious faith and rising feelings for her female classmate, Siv. It’s that phenomenon when the text you study at school somehow aligns with whatever personal upheaval you’re facing, and it allows Wilhelm and Simon to vocalize their growing compromise and empathy of each other’s challenges as they grapple for control. Everything has come full circle, as fans are now reading Boye’s work thanks to this show, much to the delight of Ambjörn’s friends, the very people she wrote Young Royals for. It’s a manifestation of what they would have wanted to see as teenagers.

One thing Ambjörn is certain of is the cyclical nature of storytelling. The building blocks of story are present in every new interpretation of theme and concept; love stories, the tragedies of the Greek, and Romeo and Juliet come to her mind, but the good stuff comes when you reinvent those tropes. “Use the tension, use the setup, but then just twist it,” she says. She spoke with Julie Andem, the creator of Norway’s SKAM, who told Ambjörn that SKAM has some of the most typical stories ever. What people identify with is the universality of stories, not necessarily the specifics. “We’ve told stories for like 10,000 years,” Ambjörn says, “We’re not going to come up with something that no one has ever thought about.”

What Edvin’s most grateful for about working with Omar is that they have so much fun working together. “We laugh a lot and we still challenge each other which is good. It’s a good combo.” No matter where they are, Omar enjoys the good vibes of the cast, whether they’re “on set at the little castle,” or at lunch where they all hang out and eat together. Halfway through production on this season, the cast and crew celebrated the midway point with a big party. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people dance in such different ways. That was a lot of fun,” Edvin says. Omar wracks his brain, “Was I there?” (Edvin: “You were definitely there.”) “Was I?” (Edvin: “Yeah.”) They volley for a moment until Omar admits, “Oh my gosh, I’m— It’s blocked out.” Edvin has the last laugh: “Like I said, we had a lot of fun.”

The final words on everyone’s lips will likely be “Wilmon Endgame” — will things work out between the characters or will the show take a more real world scenario approach, eschewing the happy ending? “One doesn’t exclude the other,” Edvin says. “There's got to be a middle way, there always is, like it's all about compromise. And I think that's what the end of season two is describing, because for the first time for Wilhelm's part, he sees things from a different perspective. He takes in both Simon's perspective, his own perspective and the whole world because he's the first royal to ever come out as queer, but also his family's perspective … that opens up for a middle way. It doesn't mean that it's certain that it will work. But you know…”

Omar weighs in: “Simon gets Wilhelm's side of everything, like right at the end, he says, ‘I love you,’ because he knows what's going to happen if he doesn’t compromise and accept Wilhelm's side of the whole thing. Because if he does what only he wants, then his family is going to get in trouble. Wilhelm's family is going to get in trouble. August is going to get some really spicy things to say about everything, you know what I mean? So he understood the whole situation, and then they kind of matched at the end.” Edvin deliberates: “I guess we’re both hopeful and realistic. Boring answer?” He laughs.

The future is bright and the vibes are good for the two leads of Young Royals. Edvin just wrapped a feature film, is looking forward to some future projects in the coming months, and has one tease: “In the meantime, I’ll see if I can develop some of my own ideas that I have. So we’ll see what happens.” For Omar, more music is on the way, as well as “the first movie ever,” he pauses before completing his sentence, “that I’ve been a part of.” Edvin chimes in: “Just the first movie ever,” he laughs. “We're looking for that self-growth vibe, you know, explore different things.”

In the end, Wilhelm makes good on his duty as Crown Prince, and gives his speech at the Jubilee, with some amendments, admitting that he was in fact the person in the sex video with Simon. “It’s such a powerful moment where Wilhelm for the first time this season is completely honest, in contrast to Simon who is better at being honest,” Edvin says. Omar thinks that Simon’s heart dropped to the floor when Wilhelm made his speech. “He didn’t see that coming, and he realizes that ‘damn, he loves me,’ you know what I mean?” Omar says.

Wilhelm doesn’t say too much. It’s understated; he stares down the lens, the faintest curl of a smile forming. “We were so scared of making that seem like too much and too obvious, because it's truly about him,” Edvin says. “It symbolizes him following protocols saying what he's supposed to be saying and then him just going into a different direction and being completely honest.” Edvin then turns the tables on me. “What did you think, that final look, what do you think it means?” Wilhelm thrives at the point of no return. Throw the consequences at him, he’s ready.

These two characters are so tuned in, alert to everything, and achingly so. What Karin Boye’s “Of Course It Hurts” poem says about the closing moments is just how much of a turning point this is. “Of course it hurts when buds burst, pain for that which grows, and for that which envelops,” Boye writes. With the world watching, the monarchy on the brink, there’s an assuredness between them. Something must be broken for it to be rebuilt stronger. The bud breaks and then it blooms. This is a season where they exist in that pain. It hurts to let in the “new.” It hurts to be open to change, to other perspectives. It’s taken them time. But it’s in a flower’s nature to bloom.

Wilhelm’s confession will have repercussions. But Boye closes out her poem at “the point of agony,” where all seems hopeless. Beauty emanates from the buds, now open, “forgetting that they were afraid of the new, forgetting that they were fearful of the journey.” As The Irrepressibles's "The Most Beautiful Boy" scores the final scene, the pair exchange a smile, “feeling for a second their greatest security, resting in the trust that creates the world.” Or, for Wilhelm and Simon, the trust in each other. Edvin summarizes the intent behind the closing shot: “Bring it on.”

Maybe someone has already posted this but here's an article with Omar and Edvin.

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arofluxstuff · 3 years ago

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The problem with the nuclear family model

An unnecessary division of community. It's a direct product "American dream" propaganda, and the individualistic "pick yourself up by your bootstraps" ideals.

And it is Hurting people.

This concept of families consisting of 3-5 individuals two of which are an adult cis man and woman, the rest being their biological children is completely unrealistic even for some of the people most committed to this ideal. To begin with conceiving children is difficult, and bearing children can be dangerous for the the person carrying them. This dream is one medical condition away from being unattainable whether because one of the would-be parents is unable to have kids or because of a pregancy-related complication that harms the parent or child.

The pressure to birth your own children leads to many women developing lower self-worth or poor mental health because they feel that so much of their worth as humans relies on their ability to bear children. Adoption could be a wonderful option for those who want children, not just as a backup plan but as their primary method of seeking to raise kids. However this is against societal expectations.

Even queer folks, who by nature of who they are don't fit within the mold of the nuclear family, are pressured to strive to be as close as possible to that ideal because any other way would simply prove how different they are from the clearly superior straights cis folks./s

This concept insists upon conformity and isolation. People are shamed for living parents into adulthood, and are treated as immature outcasts without further inquiry as to why they're living with family. When people do comply they are divided into groups with only one other adult who is expected to be their only emotional support and vice versa. Women can, in some cases, depend on other friends for some support but it's dependent upon whether they have time to cultivate close friendships along with the stress of parenting, maintaining a romantic connection with their spouse, and whatever job they might have. Men on the other hand are expected to not offer each other support at all lest they be viewed as weak.

This is not a recipe for an emotionally healthy environment for children to grow up in especially since many people have children out of obligation and are completely baffled as to what to Do about this tiny human in their care.

The concept of community into adulthood has all but died as friendships are steadily shuffled to the wayside as the least important of relationships in people's lives.

People on the asexual or aromantic spectrum are obviously harmed by this, as a desire for sex and romance are integral to this ideal and people who are either asexual OR aromantic will often, in an attempt to be respected, point out the ways in which they DO adhere to the standards, thereby throwing the other community squarely under scrutiny in their place (ex. "Well c'mon, I'm not a robot, I still like sex!" or "We still love just like everybody else!").

In the same vein, this affects everyone who wants non-traditional relationships such as queerplatonic relationships or polyamory. These are typically seen as childish or immoral respectively. Because the view point of the general public is that if you aren't doing relationships the way they think you should be you are at best stupid and immature and at worst gross and harmful.

And the worst part is that the only reason for this standard to exist is to make sure people are doing good for business. Each household buying one of each appliance or piece of technology leads to higher profits. People will be too tired from trying to shoulder all their responsibilities as a duo to realize that they aren't being paid enough, aren't being treated well. And I don't think I need to explain how destroying community is good for making sure no large groups are forming which might disrupt the status quo.

Families were not (and still aren't) structured like this in much of the world. There are plenty of cultures where multigenerational households are the norm. Allowing for the young to care for the old and allowing for more dependence upon one another in families with more people to share the load.

And yet even people who claim to understand that families don't all look the same and sing the praises of found families in media can't conceptualize of such a family in real life if the relationships between members aren't falling into the expected patterns of parent-child, siblings, or romantic partners.

The nuclear family is bullshit and serves as only a way to control and divide us, stop letting it trap you

#nuclear family #aromantic #asexual #polyamory #lgbtq #queer

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queenlucythevaliant · 3 years ago

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PLEASE get started on Hadestown!

Alright, you asked for it 😊

So, I’m not sure how much you know about the show’s history, but Hadestown was in development for ages. I find it fascinating to contrast the different theses (as it were) of the original concept album (kinda), NY Theatre Workshop version, and the final Broadway version. I think it’s the best way to understand any one of them.

The original concept album was something of a commentary on greed, poverty, and economic desperation through the lens of myth. It’s a lot looser than the conceptualizations of the show that were actually meant for theatre.

The NY Theatre Workshop version’s thesis is something to the effect of We need to try (to keep our promises, to make the world better), even though it’s likely futile.

The Broadway version’s is something like We tell sad stories, even though their endings are fixed, because in the telling of them there’s hope along the way

I find both theatre versions very compelling in somewhat different ways because of the fact that they have these different theses. I think the contrast is most explicit in “Road to Hell II”/”Road to Hell (Reprise),” both of which try to interpret the meaning of the show that’s just been performed for the audience.

In the NY Theatre Workshop version, we get:

Everybody looked and everybody saw/ That spring had come again/ With a love song/ With a tale of a love that never dies/ With a love song/ For anyone who tries

Whereas in the Broadway version we get:

[…] It's a love song/ It's a tale of a love from long ago/ It's a sad song/ We keep singing even so/ It's an old song/ It's an old tale from way back when/ And we're gonna sing it again and again/ We're gonna sing it again

(Emphases mine)

It’s worth noting a few things here: 1) The Theatre Workshop’s Hermes (Matthew Saldivar) performs the role with a lot more warmth and compassion for the characters than Andre de Shields does in the Broadway version. Broadway’s Hermes is much more of an observer/narrator, more detached from the events themselves. This is particularly clear in the closing number. 2) The Broadway version of the show has the events/dialogue of “Any Way the Wind Blows” repeating under the lines about how “[Orpheus] could make you see how the world could be in spite of the way that it is.” The Theatre Workshop version doesn’t do that; it emphasizes these lines.

Both versions of the show end with a feeling of optimistic futility, but the Theatre Workshop version’s perspective on this idea has to do with trying, just trying, and then maybe there’s a kind of victory in the attempt. The Broadway version isn’t concerned with victory at all. The hope is found in the fact that the story repeats, and that the hopeful parts at the beginning and the middle are worth repeating, in spite of the fact that tragedy is inevitable.

I find both of these themes incredibly, incredibly compelling. Both have a lot to do with why I love a good tragedy in the first place.

The Theatre workshop version also places a great deal more emphasis on broken promises. In “Chant II,” Persephone is given a verse where she basically tells Euridice, “Don’t trust men. They break their promises.” In Hades’s second verse, he makes a similar complaint about Persephone: “One day she's hot, the next she's cold/ Women are so seasonal/ Women leave again and again.”

Then, in “Epic III,” Orpheus confronts this issue directly. Hades has broken his promises of love to Persephone. He doesn't treat her with the love that he promised her as a young man. This is the problem that he needs to fix.

The dialogue between Hades and Persephone in “Wait for Me II” gets a lot more emphasis in the Theatre Workshop version. It’s in the Broadway version, but there’s a lot of other stuff going on around it. In the Theatre Workshop version, they get to have their conversation uninterrupted. Hades let Orpheus and Euridice try. He and Persephone are going to try again next spring. Who knows if they’ll succeed, but they’ve made a promise.

Backing up a bit, the Orpheus and Euridice characters also have an emphasis on broken promises and trying again in the Theatre Workshop production. It’s crystal clear in the first half of “Promises,” which gets cut in the Broadway version of the song:

[Euridice: ]Promises you made to me/ You said the rivers and the trees/ Would fill our pockets and our plates/ Promises you made/ You said the birds would blanket us/ You said the world was generous/ And wouldn't turn its back on us

The river froze, the trees were bare/ And all the birds, they disappeared/ So me too, I flew away/ From promises you made

[Orpheus:] Promises you made to me/ You said that you would stay with me/ Whatever weather came our way/ Promises you made/ That we would walk, side by side/ Through all the seasons of our lives/ 'Neath any sky, down any road/ Any way the wind blows

Both of them tried. They failed. Now, they reaffirm their love and make new promises as they prepare to try again.

They fail. Does it really matter? the show asks. See how hard they tried! See how noble that effort is! This is a story for anyone who tries, even if they fail; especially if they fail. Try to keep your promises. Try to make the world better, in spite of the way that it is.

The Broadway version, as I said, puts its attention elsewhere. It's about the hope that can be found in telling sad stories over and over.

Accordingly, there's a lot more emphasis placed on the plight of the workers in Hadestown. "Chant (Reprise)" is as much about the workers as it is about Hades and Orpheus.

Why do we turn away instead of standing with him?/ Oh, keep your head-/ Why are we digging our own graves for a living?/ Oh, keep your head-/ If we're free/ Tell me why/ We can't even stand upright?/ If we're free/ Tell me when/ We can stand with our fellow man

And then, of course, there's a frantic hope in the worker's chorus during "Wait for Me (Reprise)," which is entirely new to the Broadway version. It's not just about Orpheus and Euridice trying to escape; it's about "if they can do it, so can we." It's the workers' "show the way" refrain that overshadows the Hades/Persephone dialogue. The hope of the workers is a tangible force in the Broadway show, where it was all but absent in the Theatre Workshop version.

The Broadway version also draws really clear parallels between Hades's relationship with Persephone and Orpheus's with Euridice. In the Workshop version, you get an older couple trying to advise a younger couple. In the Broadway version, there are specific bits of imagery associated with both couples, showing how history repeats. Orpheus draws this parallel explicitly in "Epic III." "I know how it was because he was like me," he sings.

Both Hades and Orpheus both "wanted to take her home"; both "saw her alone against the sky and it was like she was someone [they'd] always known."

It's also a lot clearer that the la la la la... melody is Hades's song to Persephone and that Orpheus is rediscovering it throughout the show, motivated in large part by his own love for Euridice.

These explicit parallels add to the cyclical feeling of the Broadway show. Hades and Persephone, Orpheus and Euridice, again and again. It takes on a universal feeling, applicable to all lovers.

They were in love long ago and they lost each other. Another couple was in love long ago and they lost each other. Every time we tell the story, we remember their love, their hope, the hopes of those around them, and it makes the tragic ending worth it. So we keep singing, for all the tragic lovers in the world, and for all those who had hope and then lost it. To keep the hope alive, in a sense.

You leave both versions of the Hadestown production feeling very differently. The Theatre Workshop version makes you want to keep your promises, to try in the face of futility. The Broadway version makes you want to remember and to keep hope alive. They're very different kinds of bittersweet.

Yet they are both the same story; both the kind of tragedy that I love most. In order for a tragedy to be worth telling, it cannot be utterly bleak. There must be a striving, for something good, true, or beautiful. There must be hope, even if only momentary. The ending can be as devastating as you like-- everyone dead, dreams shattered, nothing accomplished. Yet tragedy sprinkled with striving and with hope is probably my favorite literary genre in the world.

I think both versions of Hadestown have some of both; I don't want to present a false dichotomy here. But the Theatre Workshop Hadestown leans into the striving while the Broadway production leans into the hope. I find both of them heartrendingly beautiful.

#no idea if this was the kind of analysis you were expecting :)#i could talk about this show forever I swear #i recognized some of the philosophers that you referenced last night but don't know them well enough to know if we're on the same page #thanks for indulging me Kaylie #this was fun to write #(and trust me I could go on...)#ask me hard questions #answering Tumblr asks during my lunch break--this is an excellent use of my time #(i say that without a trace of irony--genuinely this is a great way to live my life)

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theggning · 4 years ago

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I Hate the Alternate Ending of Blind Betrayal, and Here's Why!

DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: Massive spoilers for Fallout 4 abound. This post discusses Blind Betrayal, a quest with suicide as a heavy theme. Content warning applies.

DISCLAIMER THE SECOND: This post discusses cut OFFICIAL content from Fallout 4 that has since been repurposed into multiple mods. I am not criticizing any modders or their implementations of this content. Mods are fun and people can enjoy whatever the hell kind of game experience they want with whatever mods they want.

I am ONLY interested in discussing the original cut content as Bethesda had written it, and how it would have impacted the story and lore of Fallout 4.

So, yeah, it seems there was originally going to be another way to conclude Blind Betrayal (BB).

As described in this Kotaku article (citing this post by Tumblr user tentacle-explosion,) there are unused audio files of Danse’s dialogue that show an alternate ending to his pivotal quest. These lines are the only evidence we have of this ending (suggesting that it was cut fairly early on, as no other actors/characters seem to have recorded for it.)

From what we can tell, in this alternate ending of BB, Danse comes up with a possible way out of the sticky situation re: his identity as a synth. According to the Brotherhood Litany, he is able to challenge Maxson’s authority as Elder via combat. If you agree to this idea, you go with Danse to challenge Maxson. The Paladin and the Elder duel one another, Danse wins, and Maxson dies. Then Danse names the Sole Survivor the new Elder-- or with a hard charisma check, you’re able to convince Danse to take the job himself. It is unknown how the main plot would have progressed beyond this point, as there is no other evidence of what being (or influencing) the Elder would have been like or what choices it would have given you.

There is understandable disappointment in learning that this ending was cut. Choices in games are great, and it could have been fun to have multiple different options for how to resolve the quest. In many gaming circles, people complain that this theoretical ending is superior to the one we got and shouldn’t have been axed. The Kotaku article calls it a “way better” ending, and you’ll see many players lamenting that it wasn’t implemented, saying Bethesda was bad at writing for cutting it, etc.

So why did Bethesda get rid of the Elder ending of BB?

In December 2020, after the Fallout 4 Cast Reunion, Danse’s voice actor Peter Jessop answered questions in a private signing session on his Instagram. Peter Jessop is an extremely kind and gracious man, an avid gamer, and a huge fan of Fallout. During the stream, he reflected on the alternate ending and remembered recording the lines, but stated the content was ultimately cut because Bethesda decided it was lore-breaking.

Peter Jessop is right. Bethesda was right. The Elder ending of BB is a bunch of dumb nonsense. It sucks, I hate it, and I’m glad they got rid of it. And now I’m going to tell you why!

SIDENOTE: King Shit of Fuck Mountain

There is no wrong way to play a single-player video game. If you are having fun, then you are accomplishing the task for which the game was made. Good for you! Play it on easy. Play it on hard. Mod it. Speedrun it. Make up an intricate roleplaying scenario. Perform “challenge” runs. Kill everybody you see. Ignore the story and run around collecting wheels of cheese. Games are meant to be fun and there is nothing wrong with enjoying a game however you damn well please. This is especially true for RPGs like Fallout, which are designed with player freedom in mind.

There is an RPG playstyle I like to call King Shit of Fuck Mountain: a naked power fantasy in which your protagonist is the most powerful person ever, even beyond normal RPG plot significance. Through brute strength, incredible charisma, or having completed tons of quests for world-breaking artifacts and weapons, your character wields godlike influence, able to control people, factions, and the fabric of the world itself. A game enables KSoFM gameplay when it allows the player limitless freedom to gain as much power as they like with zero consequences to plot or storytelling.

A great example of this is the Dragonborn in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. If the player chooses to pursue every questline in the game, one single person can become Harbinger of the Companions, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Nightingale and Guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, hero of the Imperial/Stormcloak army, the chosen one of like, 11 different Daedric princes, a bard, a Blade, and otherwise just, absurdly goddamn powerful in completely unrealistic ways. And that’s not counting DLCs. A fully-kitted-out Dragonborn is King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with playing KSoFM if you like to. But I’m not a big fan of this style, personally. Sure, my first Skyrim character became KSoFM while I was figuring out the game, but after my first playthrough I preferred my characters become coherent figures in the story of the world. I pick one or two character traits and things that my Dragonborn is good at, focus on them, and make them part of some overall story. My honorable Imperial paladin werewolf is in the Companions, and hunts vampires on principle. My Argonian sneaky archer is a gleeful thief, but would never jive with the College or the Dark Brotherhood. I like creating protagonists who fit into these settings immersively. I don’t care about power fantasies or being in charge. I don’t WANT my character to be all-powerful, because that ruins my immersion and my little story.

Additionally, in a plot-driven story-focused game like Fallout, KSoFM tears the narrative apart. Skyrim is fairly light on story, so the Dragonborn can be the leader of the Companions and the Dark Brotherhood and whatever other factions without any of them noticing or caring. But FO4’s themes, faction drama, and the main thrust of the plot don’t work at all if the Sole Survivor is able to become too powerful or too influential. The Sole Survivor cannot become the leader of every faction, solve every problem, or eliminate every inconvenient bend of the conflict because it makes the lore of the entire setting implode. Thus, the game forces you to choose between factions. You cannot be with the Minutemen and the Nuka-World Raiders. You cannot be with the Railroad and the Institute. And you cannot become Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel.

So if you’re the kind of person who loves playing KSoFM, if you like plots that your character can “solve” with relative ease, or if you just think it would be super cool for your Sole to become Elder regardless of surrounding storytelling, then you might think the Elder ending sounds super cool. You are absolutely allowed to disagree with me here. Install all the mods and write all the fic and have all the headcanons you like. I respect that. There is no wrong way to enjoy a single-player video game. Have fun!

But if you’re a big nitpicky pedantic lore nerd like me, a fan of cohesive storytelling, or if you just want to hear how the Elder ending of BB absolutely fucking ruins Maxson, Danse, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the entire plot of FO4 from a narrative perspective, read on!

1. The Synth Thing

The Elder ending requires the stupid plot contrivance of the BoS forgetting about Danse’s synthhood.

One of the biggest problems with the BoS as an institution is their strict and dogmatic beliefs, which include a widespread dislike of non-human species. Perhaps more than any other non-humans, the BoS hates synths. Synths are, in their eyes, machines given free will, a violation of the sanctity of human life and the ultimate example of technology run amok. To them, synths are not sympathetic, they are not slaves, and they are not victims of circumstance. They are weapons that left unchecked will destroy all of humanity for a second time. Synths are anathema to everything the BoS stands for, and finding out that one of their most beloved and trusted Paladins is one is an earth-shattering blow to their integrity and sense of security.

It is completely absurd that the BoS would allow a synth within their ranks, particularly as they are waging war against the Institute, who created synths in the first place. It is even MORE absurd that they’d allow one to influence their Elder, or even worse, to become Elder. It completely undermines their mission in the Commonwealth, and the core tenets of their extremely rigid beliefs. No matter the Elder, no matter the Litany or obscure BoS law, no matter how valuable the Sole Survivor is as a soldier or how much influence they wield. Danse is a synth. He’s the enemy. He is physically the embodiment of everything they hate.

Not only wouldn’t they trust a synth in general, but the BoS specifically believes that Danse is an infiltrator for the Institute. Even Danse believes that he is a danger, that the Institute may be able to take control of him and use him as a weapon. Sure, we know none of this is actually true, or possible, but the BoS don’t know that. And given how quick they are to order Danse dead without even the possibility of surrender, I don’t think there’s any charisma in the world that’s going to convince them otherwise.

According to Peter Jessop, this, ultimately, is the reason why the Elder ending was cut. He talks about it around the 11:30 timestamp in his Instagram stream, linked above:

“We recorded an ending where you keep Danse alive and you take over the Brotherhood. But there was a question of content… there’s no way the Brotherhood, once they knew he was a synth, would let him be even the right hand of the person in charge.”

Bethesda correctly recognized the incredible narrative contrivance for the BoS to shrug off the reason they’re trying to execute Danse in the first place. Whatever other beefs I have with this ending conceptually, they all come in second to just what a big dumb leap it is to get beyond this first and most important problem.

2. The Complete Death of Conflict

The Elder ending of BB destroys the conflict of the quest, and potentially the conflict of the entire game.

Greed is a poison. There is no such thing as a perfect ideal or a perfect organization. Power corrupts. Humanity has the choice to build back better. War never changes. The Fallout games are full of themes, depicted by the characters and quests and factions we play out.

Blind Betrayal is rightfully praised as one of the most powerful quests in FO4. Not only is it well-acted, but it puts the player in a very difficult position. The BoS has given you clout and glory and free power armor and lots of firepower, but now you see the price: unquestioning obedience. You are ordered to execute your friend and mentor Danse for the mere fact he is a synth. Are you going to follow that unjust order? Are you willing to give up your principles on command? Or is this where you can no longer stay quiet and stay in line?

To be honest, I’ve always thought the fact you can talk Maxson out of killing Danse but still remain with the BoS in good standing was a cop-out. BB goes 90% of the way to forcing you to choose between a companion and a faction, and then chickens out at the last second to let you have both, if your charisma is high enough.

(I believe this has the fingerprints of Skyrim’s development on it-- Bethesda’s writers got nervous about doing another Paarthurnax choice involving the fan favorite Brotherhood of Steel. That’s right. Danse is the Paarthurnax of Fallout. Frankly, I understand why they chose not to go there, but damn, wouldn’t it have been wild? You want to run with the BoS? Then kill your friend and feel the burn. THIS is what it means to follow orders without question.

As for me, I’d pick Danse every time and sleep soundly without the company of shitty bootlicking dieselpunk LARPers- but I digress.)

Anyway, you know what would have REALLY been a copout? If the game asked you to make a difficult thematic storyline choice, and you solved the problem by just not choosing at all.

You are supposed to feel uncomfortable when Maxson orders you to kill Danse, because the game is telling a story about how it is maybe a bad thing to thoughtlessly follow orders without question. It is asking you to think about what the BoS is, what they are doing, and how they are going to run things, if you choose to let them “win” the Commonwealth. It is pointing out that there is no room for gray in the BoS’ black and white. That a good, loyal man may die because of the way he was made, through no action of his own. That soon, you’ll be killing other people on command. The Railroad. Fleeing Institute synths and scientists. Others, down the line. It all depends on who’s giving the orders. Are you going to follow those orders?

Eesh, that sounds thought-provoking and unpleasant and difficult! Let’s just skip it by killing Maxson and making ourselves the boss. Now we get to tell everybody else what to do!

It’s unknown what powers the Elder ending would have granted the player, or how it would have interacted with the other factions. There is speculation that you’d have been able to ease back on the BoS’ dogmatism, or change some of the later events of the game. For instance, perhaps you could talk the BoS down from attacking the Railroad, sparing popular characters like Glory and Deacon who must die in the normal BoS storyline. Perhaps you could have made the BoS a kinder, gentler faction and directed them to run the way you want them to.

If this was indeed the case, then the Elder ending would not only suck the gravitas out of BB, but torpedo the entire main plot.

If you can get rid of any and all downsides to siding with the BoS, why in the hell would players side with anybody else? With the player given total power, the BoS becomes a perfect faction with no drawbacks, no weaknesses, no tough decisions to be made. Screw slumming it with the Railroad or the Minutemen, let’s take over the BoS. Free power armor and a giant robot! Forget the whole intolerance thing, I hereby proclaim the BoS No Longer Problematic! Now to force all the factions to get along, completely removing all conflict and nuance from the plot!

That’s some real anticlimactic “tell Legate Lanius to go home and then he does it” bullshit right there. King Shit of Fuck Mountain!

Look, it might be nice if there was a perfect path like that to take through the game. It would be cool if our characters could be that powerful and the game was that tailored to our individual choices. On the other hand, “I change all the factions to suit my exact liking” might be a fun idea for a fanfic, but it’s an incredibly boring plot for a video game. “I get to make everything in the world exactly how I want it” is Minecraft, not a story-driven RPG with a complex and intricate plot.

It would be great if complex conflicts could really be solved that easily and effortlessly, but hey, you know what? War never changes.

3. The Assassination of Arthur Maxson (Literal)

Arthur Maxson’s death is too significant and fundamentally disastrous for the Elder ending to make any sense at all.

Hero, villain, leader, monster, tortured soul, brutal dictator, immature twerp, bearded sex hunk. However you personally interpret Arthur Maxson, there is no denying that he is a venerated, popular, beloved figure in the BoS. He is the blood heir of the organization’s founder, a powerful warrior, a brilliant tactician, and a charismatic negotiator. He is responsible for reuniting the East Coast BoS with the Outcasts, leading the new, stronger BoS with a sense of shared purpose. There is a damn good reason his name is Arthur and he named his ship The Prydwen, echoes of King Arthur and the legends of his glorious kingdom of Camelot. Arthur Maxson is so beloved that many view him as a demigod, a messiah sent to lead the BoS into a mighty and prosperous future.

So I’m sure nobody’s going to be upset when some wasteland jackass recruited a month ago stumbles in with a synth, kills him, and takes over his job. Right?

It doesn’t matter that it’s “honorable.” It doesn’t matter that it’s done “by the book” via obscure BoS rules. There is no codex or litany or rule so binding that it’s going to overcome the cult of personality around Maxson. There is no way that the BoS is going to accept the death of Arthur Maxson, a man whose reverence borders on worship, especially not when he is immediately replaced by a wastelander, or a synth.

The death of Arthur Maxson removes the unifying glue that’s been holding the BoS together since mending the rift with the Outcasts. Maxson’s death eliminates the one person that both sides of that conflict agreed could steer the organization in the right direction. Some level heads may try to keep the focus on the mission and the Brotherhood tenets, but Maxson loyalists will never forgive the new Elder for his death, and that amount of passionate righteous anger will not be quelled by appeals to the rules. The new Elder’s war on the Institute is basically over before it begins, when the forces splinter and start infighting over the change in leadership.

And this is if the new Elder lives long enough to actually give any orders. I give them around 24 hours after the duel before some angry Maxson loyalist “accidentally” pulls the trigger and “tragically” empties a clip into their back.

24 seconds, if it’s Elder Danse, the dirty synth abomination.

4. The Assassination of Arthur Maxson (Figurative)

The Elder ending of BB falsely pretends that Arthur Maxson is the biggest and only problem with the BoS.

In the Elder ending, as written, the conflict of BB is considered completely and totally solved by the death of Arthur Maxson. The core problem, that Danse is a synth and considered an enemy by the BoS, has not gone away. But by getting rid of Maxson, this apparently no longer matters. Nobody else is going to take offense to Danse’s nature or protest his presence. Nobody else is going to attack him or try to follow through with Maxson’s prior orders. Nope, that meanybutt guy who gave the order is gone, and everybody else is going to welcome Danse back into the fold like nothing ever happened.

I touched on this a little bit on an ask about Maxson a few weeks back, but a lot of people seem to believe that the FO4 Brotherhood of Steel is the way they are purely because of him. That he is the one making them treat non-humans as second class citizens at best, and enemies to be slaughtered at worst. That it’s his fault the BoS is so vehemently against synths and the Institute. That he is the one influencing their imperialistic tendencies, and treating the Commonwealth like territory to be conquered and people to be ruled over by their betters.

He’s not. That’s the Brotherhood of Steel, guys.

The charitable, altruistic, virtuous BoS that many of us met for the first time in FO3 were outliers. Lyons’ group was literally disowned by the rest of the faction because their kindness to wastelanders had gone so far astray from the “core” tenets. The BoS as a whole has always been exclusive, isolated, and seen themselves as “superior” to the average wastelander. They have long disliked or outright hated non-humans (and even Lyons’ BoS in FO3 use ghouls, feral or not, for “target practice” if they get too close!) The rigid dogmatism of the BoS is not something that Arthur Maxson started, but has always been part of their fabric.

Now, it’s true that Maxson is absolutely going hard on the BoS tenets, and extremely dedicated to upholding them. His BoS are the way they are and act the way they act because he believes that this is the way it should be. Is it possible that a different leader may be a little more flexible? Absolutely. Could a skilled Elder eventually show them the benefits of a softer approach and a more generous worldview? Totally. Is getting rid of Maxson and replacing him going to make that happen overnight, or going to make the rest of the BoS who supported him shrug and follow suit?

Nope.

Blaming Arthur Maxson for everything unsavory about the Brotherhood is unfair to him and also foolishly ignoring the deep, massive problems that are far older than he is-- problems that plenty of its members wholeheartedly believe are not problems at all. Getting rid of Maxson does not make the BoS kinder or gentler. Even pretending Maxson isn’t as personally beloved as he is, any new Elder who steps in and starts trying to fundamentally alter the way the BoS operates and what they believe in is going to face some major, immediate pushback.

Like, a full clip of bullets in the back type of pushback.

In the face if it’s Elder Danse, the godless freak of nature.

5. The Un-Redemption of Paladin Danse

Last, and my personal least favorite!

At first glance, Paladin Danse is a steely jackboot, a die-hard Brotherhood loyalist who fully and firmly believes in their cause. Many immediately dismiss him as a humorless brute, or completely ignore him because they think that’s all there is. But if you spend any time with Danse at all, you’ll notice a sort of weariness in him. He is tired, overworked, and his years of service are starting to weigh on him. He has watched friends, comrades, and mentors die in horrible and gruesome ways, and he suffers from PTSD. Though he has always been told that his own sacrifices, the sacrifices of his brothers and sisters have been” worth it,” he’s starting to question if that’s true.

After telling of the incident where he personally executed his best friend Cutler, who’d been turned into a super mutant, the Sole Survivor is able to console him:

Player Default: You did the right thing. Danse: {Somber} It's what I was taught. I don't know if it was right.

This line is an excellent summary of Danse’s entire character arc. He learns to question whether to believe what the Brotherhood has taught him, or to believe in himself. His gut feelings. His sense of justice and his own ideas of what’s right and wrong.

(In the interest of not turning this into an essay about Danse’s character, I won’t even get into how this also applies to his beliefs about his worth as a person. But keep in mind, that dimension is there, Danse just covers it up by making everything about the Brotherhood.)

During Blind Betrayal, after getting the orders to execute him and hearing Haylen’s plea for mercy, we may expect Danse to be ready to fight back or flee. But when you confront him in the bunker at Listening Post Bravo, he’s compliant and suicidal. Danse is so deeply poisoned by the BoS’ rhetoric that his own feelings or will to live don’t factor into the conversation. He demands that you follow your orders and execute him, because he believes, as the BoS does, that all synths are dangerous and must be destroyed.

Danse: {Stern} Synths can't be trusted. Machines were never meant to make their own decisions, they need to be controlled. Technology that's run amok is what brought the entire world to its knees and humanity to the brink of extinction.

{Confident} I need to be the example, not the exception.

Through various dialogue options, if your charisma is high enough, you are able to talk Danse off the ledge. He is able to consider, at least, that the BoS’ merciless judgment of him is wrong and that what he was taught isn’t right. He is a thinking, feeling, self-aware synth, and that makes him as much a person as any human. Danse is no danger to humanity-- and maybe, most synths aren’t either.

Danse is an example, not an exception.

Later on, if you manage to get him out of BB alive, Danse shows further acceptance of his nature. His approvals about synths begin to soften slightly (or many of them do, at least… it’s not perfect.) He is still struggling with his identity and reconciling it with his former hatred, but his dialogue suggests that he’s on the road to being more open-minded and understanding. Along with this, Danse learns that he has value as a person beyond the Brotherhood. He no longer needs to define himself with BoS beliefs or judge himself by how useful he is to them. He learns that he is worth caring about, worth being friends with or being loved because of who he is-- not what he is, in any regard.

[SIDENOTE: Many players, myself included, are frustrated that Danse’s arc leaves off sort of midstream there. Due to the open-ended nature of the game, we don’t get a real conclusion to his arc-- even though much of his idle dialogue doesn’t change and he still espouses pro-BoS sentiments ( an unfortunate by-product of writing for a video game) there is every indication that he’s started down the right path, but understandably has a ways to go.

Also, Peter Jessop agrees with us.]

Meanwhile, in the Elder ending, Danse doesn’t get a redemption. His entire character arc, actually, hits the skids and does a total 180.

He never leaves the BoS. So scratch the need for Danse to ever think about himself as separate from them. He never needs to question what they’ve taught him or whether they’re right or wrong. He never needs to find any worth in himself beyond his use to the BoS. Why would he? He might be the Elder. The BoS is all he needs to care about anymore. The BoS is all he ever needs to be, ever again.

And I think, most horrifying of all, this Danse never needs to change his mind about synths. On the contrary, one of the surviving dialogue files includes Danse’s speech to reassure the rest of the BoS of his stance:

Danse: I want to make one thing clear to everyone. This body might be synth, but my heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood. The Institute is still a tremendous threat to the Commonwealth. They possess technologies that need to be confiscated or destroyed. And even if that means I have to pull the trigger on my own kind, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.

Elder ending Danse doesn’t grow more understanding on the nature of synths. He doesn’t accept that synths are people, or anything more than technology run amok. He won’t even accept that for himself. Elder Maxson wasn’t wrong about synths-- they’re the enemy and they need to be destroyed.

But, see, he was wrong about Danse. It’s okay for Danse to exist in spite of his nature. It’s okay for him to never fully accept his own personhood, and to outright deny it to his kind. Because his body is a machine, but he’s different from the rest because his heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood.

He’s the exception, not the example.

CONCLUSION:

The Elder ending of Blind Betrayal is dumb, contrived, stakeless, character-derailing powergaming crap at its finest and I’ll happily dance on its grave.

People give Bethesda a lot a shit for their writing-- whether it be stuff they left out, stuff they left in, or stuff that they never, ever could have made work due to the limitations of writing for a video game. Plenty of it is well-deserved, or at least worth a discussion. But from the minute I found out about its existence, I have always wanted to extend a congratulations to Bethesda for cutting the alternate Elder ending of Blind Betrayal. It was a good choice. A very good choice to cut a very dumb plot that would have fundamentally altered the story they were telling, and characters that I’ve grown to love. I think the writers deserve some credit and a hearty handshake for the wisdom of this decision.

Now as for why Nick Valentine isn’t romanceable--

#fallout 4 #fallout meta #paladin danse #arthur maxson #blind betrayal #this one was a long time coming #any thematic resemblance to any fics of mine is a coincidence #the blind betrayal manifesto #king shit of fuck mountain #the initial intrigue of the idea wears off if you think about it more than not at all

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muu-kun · 9 months ago

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From the first phrase uttered out as an answer to his complex inquiry alone, the man quickly realized that he was already lost on the meaning of all due to be additionally stated. The rapid rate in which he could send out language, or even when it was slowed down to a stammer, exceeded by far the lengthy bouts of time required for him to process in the communication efforts of those around him. Sometimes it were days, whereas in other instances it was weeks into months. Some things even took years.

Aiming to assist himself in some manner, he nearly tore his phone out of his pocket in order to access a specific feature available to it. Through the ease of an application reachable just past the input of the passcode to his device, Muu successfully found himself able to record nearly the entirety of the perspective being graciously offered to him by someone he didn't even consider himself an acquaintance of if asked.

When subjects being stated did spark him with sense, the shorter took to raising his hand as if waiting to be called on to express his remarks, only to inevitably place it back at his side in an effort to save all comments until the end. Certainly, it was in his best interest to hold out any questions and concerns until after the one he'd already made was presented an answer to completion. With as thorough as he found Curtis to be as a whole, he at least never found himself drawn to one specific question to interject with anyways. Instead, however, he did admittedly feel as though all of it left him in a questioning state.

One of which that led him to leaning into other male's space more, as if doing so would have aided him absorbing the material better. While it very well could have been too advanced for him to conceptualize there in that moment, he still yearned for the knowledge so much so that he sought to manifest in his mind an opportunity in which he could have listened to the scholary sounding male and his thoughts on life all day.

When he noted that the words made by the other had advanced from trailing off into complete silence, he turned off the voice recording app being utilized through his cellphone as it was no longer necessary to keep it running, and offered right out of the gate a simple admittance that he didn't quite understand most of what he'd heard. That, if were to be completely honest, he almost needed it repeated in that of a manner one would use in educating members of a younger demographic. That while he certainly wouldn't have considered himself to be dumb, nor would peers close to him, but that, instead, he just sometimes found himself being presented to other people as a problem as his disabilities required accommodations not needed for anyone else. Or a least not as far as he knew anyways.

"That's lots of different kinds of people that the Curtis listed as examples.. And I know which one fits me in. I'm.. Oh, I'm definitely who is the neglected twat", he admitted.

"There's lots of categories within categories of people.. That is how come everybody has their own 'mounts of safe and warm that they need and can get? But, but, but!! But tiktok says that.. that there is not a little bowl of love and 'ffection to spread around the people, but a big one."

"Hm, well.. I think safe and warm is innate and a right to earned. Like how come respect is, you know? People who is of Muu's, who need to have some from the big pot more than some other ones, you know, should probably not be being buttholes.. I at least not a butthole everyday.."

"Oh, I don't know.. My brain is having hard time getting in the middle and not just what is the ends. I don't.. understand what is meaning by fighting instead of flighting as I always do it wrong, and I don't think I get what opinions is as I can't do those right either.. Those.. Those ain't of important to me anyways."

"I'd be j- just fine with consistent amounts of safe and warm, an- and to be in good standing enough to be going back to being considered a friend to Sully. I don't mind if.. if that is all the universe set aside for me to have in terms of the list of nice things people can do for each other. I don't even need my sorry with specifics. It's.. it's a dumb example of safe and warm to ask for in the first place. There's also layers of big things like hypocrisy, and trauma responses that do making other people's traumas responses be happening, but those is.. is not of important right now."

"I.. I would rather just focus on the steps on for me to do in order to get the bare minimum of safe and warm from the person I feel is.. important to have it from. Then maybe, just maybe, I later on can get the amount saved for when you are loved in a dream come true kind of way. Like what the you guys get to have, you know? If.. if to be rotten is to have none safe and warm, then I want to be the word that gets you the little bit of it you are allowed to have and not an amount that would make people mad at you for asking to have something you are undeserving of being allowed to get. How do I be that word?"

"When it's detrimental to a persons' growth." He didn't need long to think on it. "You can't coddle and bubble wrap a person in warmth and safety forever. It warps their perception of life as a whole. How to deal with emotions outside their routines and all that. Choking them of mental growth, shortening their independence of problem-solving."

"The other side of that is not enough warmth, which has the opposite effect but in the same breath works the same. They don't know how to handle emotions, cues of abuse or neglect. The person won't know that they are stepping on toes, or believe that sometimes just breathing is stepping on said toes but even when told they don't fix the issue because they run away from the problem in flight instead of fight."

"Nothing has a clear and clean outcome, ever, really - but everything has a balance, and it's different for everyone. In my opinion anyway. You can have the best upbringing and still be a twat, or you can have the worst upbringing and be a delight. It's down to how you develop, learn and overcome what's been dealt with ya... but it's not anyone else's job to show you how or tell you how in a sense. Cause it takes away what you need to read and learn on your own to fathom out how it should be working for you from that point on."

"Again, my opinion... "

#nvrcmplt #muu for one at least really likes teacher curtis

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whentherewerebicycles · 3 years ago

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wow okay i am skipping the lingerie party lol and am instead going to just briefly jot down some thoughts before i go to sleep and wake up at 5 for my flight tomorrow morning. jesus christ i have ONE MILLION thoughts and feelings about this weekend. i want to preface this by saying that on the whole, it was a fine social experience! it was nowhere near as awkward or painful as i was expecting. or like, parts of it were painful, but it was 100% to do with my own complicated feelings about literally every part of this tradition and the wedding industry in general lol, and not anything to do with the people themselves. the other women were friendly and very welcoming, i made an event best friend who was wonderful company, and it was really fun to get to spend time with both my sister-in-law and her older sister, who was so charming and wonderful. i’m glad i came even though thinking about the $$ i spent on this trip makes me physically gag.

but okay i want to just record some THOUGHTS that maybe i will continue unpacking with some distance. i feel likeeeee okay here are my thoughts.

the social norms around femininity are just a fucking minefield and i feel like i really just gotta keep walking back the impulse to judge other women for the choices they make as they navigate around the manifold traps and snares and half-buried landmines that constitute the landscape of being a woman. like jesus christ. it’s so fucked up, it’s so fucked up, the received and socially enforced norms of femininity are just so fucked up. I think ALL THE FUCKING TIME of this margaret atwood poem i love so much, which was REALLY on my mind this weekend:

How can I teach her some way of being human that won’t destroy her?

I would like to tell her, Love is enough, I would like to say, Find shelter in another skin.

I would like to say, Dance and be happy. Instead I will say in my crone’s voice, Be ruthless when you have to, tell the truth when you can, when you can see it.

I feel like the first bit was very much on my mind throughout the weekend, but those last three lines have come to the forefront over the course of this last day, as i have tried to do some Thinking about what i observed/experienced/felt this weekend. whether or not this is what it means in the context of the poem, tell the truth when you can, when you can see it, expresses something of my complex feelings: I don’t know that I can tell the truth about femininity because I don’t know that I can see it. i am both too close to it/still emotionally entangled in it and too far from it to know which parts of it are ‘real’ and which parts are just performance.

i feel like one thing that struck me this weekend, in ways that i don’t know if i’ve noticed as much before, was that so much of the things women say to each other or do in these social contexts is performative, and they know on some level it’s a performance, but we are all going through the motions of doing and saying the expected things anyway. that has not always been clear to me. i have spent so much of my own life as a woman thinking that other women perfectly, seamlessly, naturally embodied the norms of femininity, and i was the only one (or part of a group of only ones) who couldn’t remember my lines, or kept fumbling my cues, or felt so painfully, self-consciously aware that i was playing a role that i could never deliver a convincing performance. but this weekend, after the initial social panic had passed, i started trying to get out of my own head a little bit and look for things that disproved the very strong theory i had brought into the weekend. and of course then i started seeing more and more of the little moments where women say one thing and do another, or profess one belief/conviction but then the whole corpus of their lived experiences and choices contradicts that stated belief, or whatever. and also just like, moments of pathos, where someone i had judged harshly at the beginning of the weekend offhandedly revealed something about her past that really changed my perception of her, or at least made me think like, ah god, i have to have empathy for and with this person, because i think she might be a complex person just like me, with an intricate inner life that her performance partially reveals and partially occludes from view, and agh, it sucks to have to think of people as complicated instead of as safely two-dimensional & easy to dismiss, and the reason it sucks is because then it forces you to realize that you share more with this person than you’d like to admit, and that some of your wounds are the same, even if you dealt with those wounds (the wounds of girlhood, or rather the emotional wounds that our culture inflicts upon girls, which then become tangled up in complex and painful ways with the lived experience of girlhood itself) in really different ways.

but also ugh. we are all performing gender norms but there is just something that does not feel playful at all about embodying conventional femininity. i can’t think of a better way to phrase that right now but it’s like.. the performance isn’t fun. it doesn’t seem to be fun. i don’t know that anyone here was having fun doing it, even if they were having fun being with each other. but it was like doing the intensely gendered social rituals was like, the price of admission? like it was the toll we had to pay to be together spending time in the company of other women? i don’t know man but it fucking exhausts me. like i can push myself to stretch my genuine empathy and sense of solidarity with other women much further than my knee-jerk judgmental reaction, but i can’t ever get to a place where i find any of those social rituals anything other than fucking exhausting. they feel so fucking joyless. they feel like things that many women have internalized as ‘things we must do in order to have relationships with other women.’ (please do not even get me started on how exhausting heteronormativity is i think i could write an entire other essay on how women use these bachelorette party-type rituals to spend time with their closest female friends, but the whole event is still implicitly organized around men, and these women’s male partners are still positioned as the priority in their lives, and the whole event is framed as like, a last burst of intense closeness between women before the bride is delivered over to her husband. like i KNOW that this is not how women think of it but all the RHETORIC of the bachelorette party, the little events and rituals and games, the little comments everyone makes all fucking weekend, good fucking lord, my jaw is so TENSE.)

anyway god i just AGHHHH. idk sorry this is definitely not coherent at ALL because i’m tired and still need a bit more distance/time to process some of this. i guess here is one last thing i want to register before i sleep. i am in my 30s now and i am living a life that is so, so far removed from the social world i grew up in. marriage is not a norm among my friend group, almost all of my female friends are queer women, many women i know are not partnered and have no interest in being partnered, and the friends who are in heterosexual relationships tend to be in very gender-balanced relationships or slightly nontraditional relationships where it feels like both partners have engaged in conscious reflection about what they want their relationship to look/feel like. also i now date women, am out as a lesbian, and spend most of my time teaching/working with queer- and trans/nonbinary-identified kids.

so like, the world i live in now is just so different from the world i grew up in. and sometimes it is easy for me to kind of downplay the intensity of my own gender distress as a teen and young adult, or to sort of - act like it was a phase in my life that had much more to do with me than with the social environment i lived in. i don’t mean ‘phase’ in a dismissive ‘those feelings weren’t real’ kind way, but more like, ‘oh that was just part of the normal growing pains of figuring out who you are and what kind of person you want to be as an adult - everybody pretty much goes through some version of that.’ it’s true that everyone DOES go through some version of that, as just like, part of the process of individuation in that age range. but also like. idk man. being back in this environment - straight white women from the midwest and south, all engaging in the rituals of heterosexual white femininity - was just so intense and so MUCH, and it brought back a flood of feelings and visceral memories that i feel like i will need to spend some time sorting through over the next few weeks. like, what i experienced back then really WAS gender distress, and it was so, so distressing. i spent the years from age 11ish to 24ish existing with this constant lowgrade baseline feeling of wanting to claw my own fucking skin off because my own gendered body felt like such a prison, and i sometimes felt like i literally wanted to destroy my own body because i could not yet conceive of an alternative to inhabiting that body or playing the role that had been handed down to me. until i started reading queer memoirs and inhaling lesbian media and (especially) reading about queer femme identities, i literally did not have an image or any kind of felt sense of what another way of inhabiting my own body might look/feel like. i literally could not imagine it!!!

and that is why the distress feels so distressing, and becomes internalized in such violent ways, i think. because it’s the blind, mindless panic of a trapped and wounded animal. except that you lack any real understanding of the larger social forces at work, or any language with which to describe or conceptualize what social norms are or how they’re enforced. so in your mind, the only thing you can see wounding you is your own gendered body, or the way that gendered body is socially 'read’ by others. and that is why you want to claw your own fucking skin off, just literally dig your nails into your own flesh and claw it the fuck off. because you can’t see a norm, but you can see your gendered body, and you can see the ways that it causes other people to react to you, or treat you, or hold you to a certain set of expectations, and so in your mind you are like: this must be destroyed. in your mind you are like, the only way out is to get out of this fucking body, but that’s impossible, surely, you can’t get out of your own body, so you have to settle for starving it and self-harming it and ruthlessly punishing it in a thousand terrible ways, because you might not be able to leave your girl’s body behind, but you can make it suffer and pay for what it’s done to you.

i am old enough now, and have spent enough time thinking and writing about those feelings, to identify them when they arise again, and to get the necessary distance from them so that i can say, what i want to destroy are the norms themselves, and the distress they cause, and not the body that has done nothing to me but be me. so i am not quite as sucked under as i used to be. but i think that there is something about the violence and intensity of those feelings that i forget sometimes, or misremember with age and distance. it’s easy to be a little bit patronizing to my younger self (or by extension to my younger students sometimes), because i now live in a social world that is largely arranged in ways that minimize rather than intensify or amplify gender distress. but when you have no choice in how to arrange your life, and no language with which to understand what is happening to you or what you are experiencing, and no frame of reference to help you understand that this is a period in your life and not forever, and no models you can look to in order to discover alternative ways of inhabiting your body or arranging your life... my god, that’s quite different from being an adult with a wide range of experiences and with much greater autonomy over your own body and life. anyway idk i need to keep thinking but now i must go to bed and try to sleep five hours before the plane.

#how can i teach her some way of being human #that won't destroy her!!!#gender #mw #to think further #girls I have been

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zenosanalytic · 4 years ago

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Harrow the Ninth: Blood and Guts; With Feeling!!!

While I’m sure the physical trauma, gore, intentional autophagia, unintentional cannibalism, and necrophilia in the book will be what turns mainstream heads, what really grabbed me about Harrow the Ninth was its unabashed and sincere humanity.

Every character in Harrow the Ninth gets to be a full human being. The best example to my mind is Crux: a gruesome cadaver 2 parts loyalty, 3 parts shouting, and 5 parts sheer bloody-minded cussedness; who blew up a long-grieving, broken family(and their completely innocent pilot) for the “crime” of leaving the place that murdered their husband and father and broke them; who insulted, beat, and tortured Gideon her WHOLE DAMN LIFE. And, also, the major, if not only, source of kindness and sympathy in Harrow’s own.

CRUX!!! Kind uncle Crux sneaking her sweets once a year and whenever she gets sick? Reliable retainer Crux always honest with her about her hallucinations and never judging or dismissing her for them; doing EVERY BIT of what little he can to help and protect her? Soft-voiced and kind Crux being the only member of the household who DOESNT abandon her in the Nova AU? THIS IS HOW HARROW SEES CRUX! The guy who casually kicked and spit on Gideon, who treated her as less than trash and never showed her even the shadow of an ounce of kindness is, in Harrow’s mind, the kindest person in her life. That is Fucking Wild.

Everyone is allowed to be 3D in this book, even when Harrow and Gideon disdain them. Ortus -a too-big blubbering joke in Gideon the Ninth, and Gideon and Harrow’s minds both- doesn’t JUST get to be brave, to be selfless, to confront and face up to and SURMOUNT his mistakes and flaws and then ride off glorious and stupid into Valhalla, he gets something so much more important; to speak for himself. To be Known. Understood. Through Harrow’s petty sniping we get to see the love and care he has for his shitty poetry; through her defensively projected self-loathing his regret, his sympathy, the breadth of his Heart, the loyalty to Harrow which lets him be insulted and also the stubborn pride which insists those insults not go unanswered. I’m tearing up just writing this! We get to see, in his meeting Protesilaus, him struggle with the very image of EVERYTHING he wants to be but isn’t, AND we get to see him resolve that displaced self-hatred to BOTH men -who he is, and who he isn’t- and befriend them both, and realize that the physical distance between them is superficial before the siblinghood of souls, and even more: that the conceptual distance between his ideal and his reality doesn’t have to prevent him from being good. He’s still a side character but he gets an arc, development, a story, and resolution, and HE gets to give its summation. And he’s allowed to be Heroic in his own way! HIS words summon his Hero from The River to speak HIS meter while fighting to save them all powered by THEIR shared belief in HIS Art, and then a heaven of his own defining. What other book does that for a JOKE character?!

And again: this is everybody. Yes of course the souls Harrow unknowingly called up, all those too-soon dead from Gideon the Ninth; We get to see Abigail and Magnus’s love for one another -and the dreadful teens, and their universal big-heartedness- up close, and the refutation of(or perhaps counterpoint to) Ianthe’s selfish conception of love gets to come from Magnus’s lips(oh: and Abigail SAVES THE FLIPPIN DAY! Harrow gets to know her and, through this, we get to know the true tragic waste of her death at the same time that we get to watch her MAKE her own meaning from beyond the grave); we get to see Protesilaus’s bravery and grace and kindness; Dulcinea’s indefatigability and cleverness and morbidity; Marta’s selflessness and unshakeable faith in Judith; we get to see ALL OF THEM run literally soul-risking cosmic dangers to shepherd one grieving, suffering, traumatized young woman -their jailer!- not only THROUGH that grief, but also through spiritual invasion by the product of their society’s sins: Of COURSE that was Noble as Fuck and I was Sobbing.

but EVERYBODY! John, for all his exTREMELY fucked up morality and inability to understand her, GENUINELY cares for Harrow, GENUINELY tries to see the best in everyone(even if, I suspect, that’s for mostly selfish reasons), and we get to see the sincerity of that; his care, and the self-recrimination his missteps bring despite that unyielding, bullheaded, self-warping insistence to continue on one Faustian course after another. The Lyctors in all their twisted, ancient cruelty: we get to see their surviving virtues beside their ENORMOUS, demented, murderous flaws -Augustine’s cleverness, wit and charm; Mercymorn’s outrage at endangering the young; Gideon’s faithful dutifulness; the endless love and sorrow all of them have for their Cavaliers- in the context of the fear and strain and loneliness the Emperor has forced them to endure for ten thousand years. We get to see the true grief and betrayal, fresh and bloody even now, they feel at John’s lies and manipulations, the relief they feel at thinking it all finally over, and even some small glimpses of the love they’ve managed to carve out for themselves in all of that: Gideon’s necrophilic makeout with Cytherea’s corpse takes on a whole different meaning when you learn that the first soul he’s truly loved since Pyrra is driving it around. And this too is significant; for all the discomfort it brings Harrow, and the general gross-out factor, and despite their villainy, the Kindly Prince and his Lyctors, the “Adults in the Room”, are allowed to have desires; allowed to be full and sexual people.

And the same sentiment extends to how Ianthe is written. As much as she is Harrow’s tormentor(and she is); as much as she is a ghastly, gaslighting manipulator(and she absolutely is); we also clearly see that she is Harrow’s fellow prisoner and victim on that station. Her terror is real; her suffering is allowed to be real. As much as they would Harrow, the Lyctors would as soon kill Ianthe as help her, and the Emperor not only allows that mindset but orders it thinking it helpful; just so long as his deniability remains plausible throughout. She gets to be Harrow’s safest harbor in a sea of troubles while ALSO being the person fucking with her perceptions to build in her feelings of helplessness and dependency for the SOLE PURPOSE of getting in her pants. Yet Gideon herself names her joy at seeing Harrow alive Genuine; her love for Harrow, Genuine; as twisted and awful-made by the cruel ideals instilled by her life of entitlement and emotional abuse they are, those feelings are still allowed to be real and heart-felt. Her attraction to Harrow, expressed cruelly and selfishly as it is, isn’t dismissed; Muir treats it always seriously, as she does Harrow’s own desires, and repressed confusion over them, for Ianthe. Everybody in this book gets to be REAL.

Fuck even Alecto. Over and over again we get to hear the Lyctors call her a Freak, a Monster, Subhuman(and given her eyes, those white-on-black oddities, it’s very likely she ISNT human; either a Planet-Soul herself or something even stranger); we get to hear from John’s own lips -the person SHE guarded; HER Necromancer in a pairing we have seen presented as the epitome of intimacy through two books- how he betrayed and “killed” her to calm their fears of her; and yet all the while there she is with Harrow, comforting, advising, never shaming or judging, being the only real friend Harrow’s allowed herself to be aware of.

Harrow the Ninth may very well be “Genre” Fiction, but its emotional universal is not only meticulously naturalistic, it is radiantly understanding and humane.

#Tamsyn Muir #Harrow the Ninth #Harrow the Ninth Spoilers #The Locked Tomb Series #HtN Analysis #zA Reads #analytic posts

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aurora-daily · 3 years ago

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You Don’t Need A Cure For Yourself! – Norwegian Pop-Star Aurora On Songwriting, Self-Doubt, And Community

Interview by Laura Gruebler for TITLE Magazine (August 14th, 2021).

If you haven’t heard about Aurora yet, you will surely recognise her song “Runaway”. Although this single was released back in 2015, it was only this year it gained massive popularity. “Runaway” has gone viral on Tik Tok and Instagram and is accordingly to Spotify amongst the top 50 TikTok songs of 2021.

However, this young singer/songwriter from Norway is more than just a one hit wonder. Aurora is a promising talent for songwriting and composing. In addition to that, her open mind, and sympathetic character enabled her to establish a loyal and ever growing fan base. In our interview we got to know this musician from a very personal side and she ceratinly gained some new supporters.

How are you today? What does a typical day in your life look like right now?

I’m fine, thanks for asking. It’s a bit of both, I’m a lot in the studio, but I just finished my album that is coming out soon, so I’m having a tiny holiday, which has been great. But yeah, it’s busy but fun. I’m very excited about what’s coming.

(The pandemic has been challenging for everybody differently. How did you experience lockdown? Did it have any impact on your creativity?)

Personally, I have quite enjoyed being forced by the virus to be more inside and to be less social. I do enjoy that kind of lifestyle, I like being home and alone. But of course it is a different experience when you know you don’t have any other choice. But I’ve enjoyed the space and the time. It’s been great for my creativity, I’ve been creating quite a lot. But of course, I’ve been sad on behalf of the world and the people. It’s been sad and equally healing. I’ve been very lucky, although I couldn’t work as much or go on tour.

What inspires you? How do you decide what to write about?

It can come very suddenly, very out of the blue and I’ll know when it’s the perfect line. I also always have long album titles, which just happen to me and from there I get very inspired and know what I’m going to do. For example, for the album that I just finished now, I knew the title last year in January, and then I started writing for it.

I always write a song with a mission to fit into a new story. It’s like every song is a new chapter of a book. And the meaning is very important, instinctive, and driven by my heart.

What makes a good song? What is more important: melody and instruments or lyrics and meaning?

Meaning always comes first, and often the melody. Or the title, I often begin with the title actually. I know my record name and the vision before I start writing for it. I like to write conceptually.

Your only Norwegian song “Stjernestøv” which means stardust has been quite successful in your home county. Why did you decide to write and perform mainly in English?

I love to read, it’s my favorite thing in the world. But it breaks my heart that I’ll never get to read many of them in their original language. And I guess I’d suggest always writing in your mother tongue but it’s so sad that someone else then has to translate. And I feel like it’s the same with my songs. I want as many people as possible to be able to understand my music in the way I write it. English is a more direct and universal language.

What makes a good music video? Your recent song release “Cure For Me” comes with a really fun video. Do you have any impact on the outcome – what is important to you to communicate with your visuals?

I am very inspired by the visual world. And I guess people are more used to understanding visual things and pictures in comparison to sound. We need to work harder to understand just sound. I love to take on the opportunity and create a video for each of my singles and take care of how people perceive my songs. It’s one of my favorite things to do. It’s so fun. I love hiding details and clues in my videos. And my fans are so clever – they always figure out what things mean or guess what my next song will be.

You have uploaded a tutorial for the dance moves in “Cure For Me”. Is dancing something you like to express yourself with?

I love dancing. My favorite thing is going to rave parties and dancing until the next morning. It’s the best thing ever. I think we’re meant to dance and shake our bodies way more than we do. I can’t understand people who can resist dancing. It doesn’t even have to look good, it should just feel liberating.

At TITLE Magazine we focus on being true to yourself and your True Identity. Have you found your True Identity yet? How would you describe it?

Yes, I think I have found my True Identity. I feel very grounded in myself and I feel very grounded on this Earth. I feel very connected to the ground and my place in this world. So my True Identity is a very grounded and calm one. Luckily, it’s been like that for a little while now.

“Cure For Me” basically has the message to not doubt yourself, and love yourself regardless. No one needs a cure for themselves, no matter what other people say. Have you experienced any negativity towards yourself before? How did you deal with it?

I haven’t experienced it much in comparison to others. I was teased in school because I dressed quite strangely and I guess I act differently. I didn’t feel very connected to other people. I struggled with finding a sense of belonging in a group at school or within the system. But now, I’ve really found my place. And my fans helped a lot to show that I can be connected to so many people out there in the world, however, not in my neighborhood in the countryside.

I spent a lot of time in nature, which made me gain energy, but I often disappeared again when I entered a room with other people in it. I didn’t like people so much when I was younger. And this feeling you are not the same as the people around you goes into this feeling that something is wrong with you instead of accepting the differences.

What advice would give others that are being told they are not good enough or doubt themselves?

The little box that has been put out in front of us is so small and the world is telling us that we have to fit in this box – this pattern of behavior, this way of looking, being, loving, or you’re not going to be accepted. It’s a very narrow whole we are supposed to fit into and it simply doesn’t make sense. It’s very soul strangling. And if you worry about fitting in, think of how little your perspective is and how little you actually see, and how little you have left to actually experience life and yourself in this world. So, it really doesn’t matter what the world or our parents or even ourselves think of us. We can be our harshest critics. It can be so difficult to love ourselves but it really shouldn’t matter to fit in this useless box.

Since the kickstart of your career and the successful release of your EP “Running With The Wolves” in 2015, you have been doing some great performances and achieved some amazing things. What is your personal highlight of your career so far?

I am very proud of my community. But I am also scared by it. I don’t like the idea of worshiping one single person so much. It’s not natural. But I feel like I have a different relationship with my fans. It’s based on mutual respect and admiration. They opened my eyes to how beautiful the world is and made me believe in mankind again. It’s the best gift I could ever get in life.

The highlight of my career is realizing how much we can do, or use our voices to speak up against the wrong, and loudly about love. It’s so beautiful and powerful. And change can only be done with many people standing together.

How do you percieve community online? How do you feel about virality and hype on Tik Tok and Instagram?

I guess it’s the same online as well. I think of every person as a single human being sitting at home. The people I want to reach the most are the people that are most isolated and lonely. I am a big fan of the online community and I find it magical that we’re all connected. I don’t care too much about the numbers of streams etc. It doesn’t seem to make anyone, including me, happy. Maybe for like a moment in which I’m joyfully surprised but then it’s over. It’s so short living.

#aurora #aurora aksnes #new album #cure for me #interviews

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valdomarx · 3 years ago

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Number Theory

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

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

Also on AO3.

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

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

Then he steps through a wormhole and into another galaxy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just him and his numbers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One of them has to do this.

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

“Sheppard! Sheppard!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s more fun than he would have expected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rod picks a bad time to come visit the lab.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he just feels empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Painting with Major Lorne - no.

Choir with the medical staff - sounds awful.

Extra combat training - absolutely not.

Mensa club - now there’s a possibility.

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

That he can do. He joins the club.

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

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

And then Rod leaves, and everything goes to shit.

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

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

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

“But how could we-”

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

“Right. Let me run some calculations.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That turns out to be a mistake.

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

That bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey Sheppard! Wanna grab some dinner?”

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

“Okay. How about tomorrow?”

“Busy then too.”

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

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

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

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

“John, what -”

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

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

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

“That’s not-”

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

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

Fuck that guy anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sit,” she orders.

It’s easier to do as she says.

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

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

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

Eventually she reaches some kind of conclusion.

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

“That’s. Uhh. Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She releases his wrist and gives him a generous smile.

“That is all any of us can do.”

He starts small.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, seriously?”

“Sure. It sounds fun.”

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

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

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

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

“You really want to do this again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Interesting. The data is looking positive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean with a man?"

He squirms. "With anyone."

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

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

Rod's face softens with sympathy.

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

"God." Rod reaches for him and takes his face in his hands. "You really have no idea, do you?" Rod carefully removes his glasses, sets them aside, and says, "You're gorgeous," like he really means it.

Taking off his glasses makes John feel more vulnerable than taking off his clothes. Suddenly his shield is gone and there's the world, and Rod, and it's all very close and immediate and a little disorienting.

"Hey." Rod pets his face, soft and gentle, "It's okay. We can go slow."

He makes an effort to pull himself together. "I won't be very good at this."

"You don't have to be good." Rod traces his lips with a finger. "You just have to be you."

And that’s mystifying, frankly. But he’ll give it a go for Rod.

They kiss some more, and he relaxes into it, lets Rod take the lead, lets him explore his mouth until he’s boneless and breathless. He breaks for air and is lightheaded, the room almost spinning, but he wants more.

Then Rod is kissing along his jawline, and down his neck, and oh, when Rod’s lips brush against a spot near his throat his entire body tenses and twitches, and Rod makes a curious, happy noise and does it again. It’s a hair away from overwhelming but he likes it, he likes it a lot, and then Rod gently runs his teeth over that spot and John’s hips twitch off the bed entirely of their own volition.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, but Rod doesn’t look put off. In fact, he just grins, says, “Don’t be, I like it,” then pushes John back onto the bed and mouths at that spot some more.

His skin is hot all over and he’s shaking, and god, this is all going to be over embarrassingly fast and they haven’t even gotten all of their clothes off yet.

“Rod,” he says, and it comes out as a whine. “Will you -” He gestures vaguely at the bulge in the front of his jeans and hides his face in the pillow, too bashful to let Rod see him.

Rod pauses from his engrossment in John’s neck to breathe hot words into his ear instead. “Is that what you want?” he asks, and John is fit to burst already. How is Rod so good at this?

“Please,” he says, mumbling into the pillow. Everything is too much and not enough, and he wants, he wants, he wants. “Please, Rod, please -”

“Okay, of course I will, it’s okay.” Rod strokes his flank, petting him like a skittish horse, and that should be mortifying but it’s exactly what he needs. “I’d like to see you though,” he says, and reaches over to touch John’s chin.

John lets himself be turned, lets Rod roll him over so they’re facing each other and their eyes meet. That’s almost overwhelming too, but Rod looks so pleased he thinks he might be able to manage it, and then Rod is kissing him and unzipping his pants and oh, oh, oh.

Rod wraps a hand around his cock and John just melts, like every brain cell he possesses has decided to pack up for the night. He can't even bring himself to blush because Rod is touching him right there and it’s so good, it’s so good, and all he wants is more.

Rod handles him confidently, exploring what he likes: a bit faster, a bit slower, a bit more pressure, a bit less. If John could speak he’d tell him that it doesn’t matter, right now he likes everything, anything, whatever Rod wants to do to him he’d take it happily.

But Rod is a scientist, and he loves his data just as much as John does, so he does some experimentation and finds the ideal speed John likes, and the angle, and then he squeezes gently around the head and John’s orgasm explodes behind his eyes like bright, white light.

He floats for a while, like a spring that’s been twisted and twisted and finally bursts free, and he’s vaguely aware of Rod stroking his face. It’s nice, every muscle in his body slack and comfortable for once instead of clenched down tight.

“You good?” Rod asks, and John can’t help but smile.

“Very,” he mumbles, mouth lax and lazy.

Rod drops a kiss on his temple, and there’s something so casual and caring about that it makes John’s heart squeeze.

“You mind if I get myself off?” Rod asks and heat races up the back of John’s neck. He does not mind that one bit.

“Should I. Um.” He ought to offer, right? That was the polite thing. But, “I don’t really know what to do,” he admits.

Rod smiles softly at him and says, “How about you kiss me?”

And yes, John is definitely on board with that, he can do that. He puts an arm around Rod’s shoulders and pulls him closer, then kisses him: carefully at first, peppering soft pecks to his lips, and then deeper, lips sliding over each other as they grow more heated, and then finally wild and messy, slipping his tongue into Rod’s mouth while Rod pushes his pants down and works himself over.

He feels Rod’s fist bumping up against his thigh, faster and faster as he speeds up his hand, and John can’t help but glance down. He watches in fascination at the way the head of Rod’s cock peeks through his hand on each stroke, red and hard and leaking from the tip. Reflexively, he licks his lips.

Rod is making these soft groaning noises which have John entranced, like he wants to spend every spare minute he has learning how to coax them out of him. And then Rod is biting his lip, and twitching, and staring at him open-mouthed and breathing hard.

“Can I come on you?” he asks, and something in John’s brain short-circuits.

“Yes,” his mouth says for him. “Rod, god, yes.”

He can’t stop staring at the movement of Rod’s hand and, emboldened by a force he didn’t know he had in him, he reaches down to wrap his hand around Rod’s. He lets Rod guide their movements, adding a soft pressure from his fingers so they can bring him off together.

“John,” Rod sighs, full of warmth and contentment, and then he’s relaxing and coming. Fluid splatters across John’s thighs and he did that, he made Rod feel good, and that feels like the best gift of all.

Rod is soft around the edges now, smudgy like a charcoal painting, and when John asks, “Was that okay?” he pulls him closer and nuzzles into his neck, covering both of their bodies and their clothes hopelessly in come, and says, “That was perfect.”

John wakes up sticky, rather too hot, and filled with a roiling, anxious feeling. The bed is too small and Rod is too close, and his heart rate picks up as he looks fuzzily around the room.

He should go. He should just go, right now, before Rod wakes up and they have to talk about this and he says something wrong and ruins everything.

He’s squinting and patting at the bedside table, looking for his glasses, when he feels movement behind him.

“Morning.” Rod drops a soft kiss on his shoulder. Then he rolls over, John’s glasses in his hand, and opens them up and pops them onto his face. He slides them up John’s nose, smiles, and says, “There you are.”

And oh. All that panic seems further away once he has the armor of his glasses back, and now he can see the pillow crinkles imprinted into Rod’s cheek. He seems less like an agent of impending judgement and more like Rod, just Rod, Rod who knows him and has seen him at his worst and still, for whatever baffling reason, seems to like him.

“Hi,” he manages, and Rod beams like that was exactly the right thing to say.

“Coffee?” Rod offers. “Or shower first?”

As rare as it is for John to turn down coffee, he really is unpleasantly sticky. Deal with that problem first, he decides. “Shower,” he says, grateful that he’s not required to string together more than single words.

“Sure.” Rod gives his ass a cheeky pat as he rises, then throws him a towel.

He showers quickly and efficiently, but as he steps out and wraps a towel around himself he spots a purpling bruise on the side of his neck in the mirror. He stops to trace it with his fingers, remembering the feeling of Rod’s mouth there, hot and demanding.

“Ahh.” Rod stands in the doorway to the bathroom. “Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away.” There’s a flush on his cheeks, and he looks nervous.

John tilts his head, looks at the mark from another angle. There it is: incontrovertible evidence that he's wanted. What a fascinating concept. “Don’t be. I like it.”

“Oh.” Rod’s eyes go very round and the blush deepens. “That’s good. That’s. Ahh. Very good. I’ll just -”

Rod drops the towel from around his waist and makes for the shower, and John gets an eyeful of his half-hard cock, and then, as he walks past, an ass he has the sudden urge to sink his fingers into. A heat that’s beginning to feel familiar creeps up his neck, and he wants -

What the hell, he thinks, and he tosses his own towel aside to follow Rod back into the shower, delighting in his yelp of surprise when he slides up behind him.

“Shep! Think fast!”

John manages to get his hands up just in time to prevent the power bar from hitting him in the face.

“Thought you might want a snack before the mission,” Ronon says with a wink. “Just in case we have to run anywhere.”

“Hey, I’m getting better at that! I’ll catch up with you one day.”

“Sure you will.” Ronon checks the straps on John's tac vest like he always does, then says, "Looking good, buddy," and ruffles his hair.

John used to hate that, but he's given up trying to tame his hair and now he lets it stick up in whatever direction it wants. It's weird but it works.

Teyla bumps her shoulder against his as they walk toward the gate room. "What do you have for us today, John?"

“Remember that strange energy signal Major Lorne’s team picked up last week? I was able to map its topography through space and pinpoint its likely origin, and Rod took a look at the electromagnetic readings and he thinks it might be a power source -”

“So we are going to investigate the signal on P2X-884?”

“Bingo.”

Rod is standing in front of the gate like he belongs there. He claps his hands. "Ready for another thrilling adventure in the Pegasus galaxy?"

"Maybe we'll get to hunt some Wraith," Ronon says, entirely too cheerfully.

"Or discover some hideous alien parasite," Teyla joins in with a gruesome smirk.

"Or accidentally blow something up," John supplies, because that's usually how their luck goes.

"Sounds delightful." Rod grins and yells up to the gate techs, "Dial her up."

As the gate engages with a whoosh and a glow of blue light, Rod reaches out to graze his fingers against John's: a reminder, and a promise. Out of the corner of his eye, John catches his smile.

He stands a little taller, knowing his team has his back, and steps through the wormhole.

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #my writing #i will NOT shut up about mensa!john i LOVE him

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