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illdowhatiwantthanks · 3 days

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The Mango (The Surprise, Part 13)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, innuendo, implied sex, periods, mostly just fluff, reader taking care of Emily because our girl deserves it Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Emily comes back from a hard week in the field and you treat her in all the ways you can possibly think of. Because she's baby girl and she deserves to be taken care of.

Week 23: The Mango

In both your personal and professional life, you were a wildly independent person. Self-sufficient, dedicated, proud of the work you did and how hard you’d worked to get where you were. You were nobody’s doormat, nobody’s housekeeper, nobody’s mom.

If anyone else you knew, especially men, asked you to cook for them or do their laundry or take care of them in any way, you would have been personally affronted. You would have said, “You’re a fucking grown-up, do it yourself. I’m not your mom.” And you’d mean it.

So it embarrassed you a bit that, with Emily, you acted like a full-blown ‘50s-style housewife and you loved it. Not all the time, of course. But enough of the time that you couldn’t just brush it off. Dinner on the table when she got home? Your pleasure. Packing her lunch? A joy. Doing the laundry and making sure she always had a second go-bag packed and ready in case there was a quick turnaround on cases? You lived for that shit, especially when you hid little notes in the pockets that said things like:

I love you (so does little mango)!

We miss you! <3!

So proud of you for saving lives and kicking criminal ass! P.S. It’s hot. ;)

The bottom line? You were down bad for Emily. You had been from the moment she’d asked you out and all the years since. But after you’d gotten pregnant, your roles had switched a bit. Emily had always taken care of you well, but in the last few months she'd taken over significantly more of the household tasks since you were often tired and achy. You ordered takeout more often than you cooked (Emily had tried, but after her third time setting off the fire alarm you’d said, “You know what, babe, why don’t we just order out?”).

You missed taking care of Emily. God knows, she wouldn’t let anybody else do it. So when she’d called you from the jet to let you know she was on her way home after a grueling week in the field–made even more grueling by the fact that she was on her period–you set out to treat Emily right. To treat her in all the ways you used to treat her before you got pregnant, in all the ways that Emily deserved to be treated and so rarely let herself be.

You had groceries delivered to make her favorite meal, and when the little Find My dot that was Emily showed up at Quantico and started making its way back to DC, you ran her a bath–water scalding so it’d be nice and hot when she came in, fragrant with lavender Epsom salts. You lit candles, turned the bathroom lights low, even put her favorite hoodie and sweatpants and a fluffy towel in the dryer so they’d be toasty and warm when she got out of the bath.

You started on dinner, playing Emily’s favorite Salah Ragab record on the turntable. The food processor growled as it worked overtime to blend a homemade hummus, complete with your secret ingredient: a splash of aquafaba. You chopped parsley and mint for fattoush, made a marinade for the chicken flavored with all the spices Emily loved so much from her childhood years in Oman and Egypt, sumac and cardamom and coriander and all the others that you ordered online from a specialty Middle Eastern spice seller.

Your oven shawarma wasn’t as good as shawarma from a spit in Cairo, but it was about as close as you could get at home, and Emily loved it. And you made a damn good fattoush and hummus. You sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, whipped together a quick yogurt sauce.

You’d just put the chicken and veggies in the oven and were starting on the cream cheese filling for the stuffed dates when you heard the door open and shut.

“In the kitchen!” you called, hands sticky from slicing the dates.

Emily looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, her blazer rumpled from a long day of travel. But her face lit up when she saw you.

“Do I smell… shawarma?!” she asked, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing your neck, her hands resting protectively over your baby bump.

“Mmhm.” You grinned, feeling Emily’s body melt into yours, the tension in her muscles already dissipating.

“What’s the occasion?” She turned you around, so she could lean her arms on your shoulders, running her fingers through your hair.

You shrugged. “Can’t a girl just want to treat her wife?”

“She sure can.” Emily smiled and leaned in to press her lips softly to yours. You held your hands out at your sides so you wouldn’t be tempted to press them into Emily’s clothes or skin.

Emily pulled away, watching you lovingly as you sliced and mixed and stirred.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, lowering herself into a chair and wincing slightly.

“In the kitchen!?” You scoffed. “Absolutely not. There’s a bath ready for you, so go relax for a bit.”

Her eyes brightened. “Aw, honey. That’s so sweet of you.” She grabbed your hips again, once again turning you away from the counter so she could press you against it in a hungry kiss.

You giggled and swatted at her with a dish towel. “Go before the water gets cold!”

“Care to join?” she asked suggestively, pulling lightly at the waistband of your shorts.

You smirked, gently grasping her fingers and moving them away. “I have to finish dessert.”

Emily walked toward the bathroom like a scolded puppy, looking back with big eyes. “I can think of something else I’d rather have for dessert,” she commented, eyebrows raised.

You waved her off, blushing furiously. “Get out of here, you dork! Go take your bath!”

“I thought we were treating me tonight!” Emily called from the bathroom.

“That’s an after-dinner treat, honey,” you yelled back. “I’ve got shit to do first.”

“Fine! But I’m gonna hold you to that!”

You shook your head, grinning, as you spooned cream cheese filling into the halved dates, pressing them into a mixture of crushed pistachios and rose petals. God, you loved your wife.

When the dates were plated, the bulgur in the fattoush soaked through, the pita warmed, and the chicken covered in foil and resting on the counter, you washed your hands and went to find Emily, grabbing her comfy clothes and towel from the dryer.

You heart surged when you found her still in the tub, eyes closed, face relaxed. This is what your girl deserved. You leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

“You alright, honey?” you asked, trying to squat down next to the tub, but ending up on your knees thanks to the baby.

She hummed in affirmation, keeping her eyes closed. “Thank you so much for this, baby,” she mumbled quietly.

“Anytime, love.” You watched her for a few more minutes, then set the stack of warm clothes on the bathroom counter. “There’s a warm towel and some PJs here for you,” you said, struggling to get to your feet.

“You good?” Emily chuckled, watching you out of the corner of her eye.

“Yes.” When you finally managed to make it to your feet, you had beads of sweat on your forehead. It wasn’t even that your belly was that heavy yet, it was that it threw off your center of gravity and made moving from one position to another awkward. “Get dried off when you're ready,” you told her. “I’ll get dinner on the table.”

You were proud of the spread when you stood and surveyed it. Shawarma chicken straight from the oven, spiced and heavenly-smelling. Warm pita bread and a swirl of smooth, creamy hummus with just a bit of paprika and olive oil on top. A lovely, vibrant fattoush, sliced cucumbers, juicy tomatoes. A little plate of stuffed dates, popping with green and pink from the pistachios and rose petals.

Emily walked in, hair wet around her shoulders, blotching her sweatshirt. You pulled her chair out for her but, before she sat down, she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in for a hug. She smelled like lavender and fresh laundry, and you breathed her in, holding her close.

You could tell by the way she lingered there, by the way she breathed easier with her body pressed against yours, that Emily would need a lot of touch tonight. Not just in a sexual way, though Emily’s sex drive was always through the roof on her period. You could tell that tonight, Emily would let you hold her, that she’d curl herself around you tightly, possessively, as if to cover the most that she possibly could of your surface area.

In other words, she needed comfort. And she didn't get it from anyone else, not really. It had taken her a long time to even ask for it from you, to seek it out. So when she did, you were always more than happy to oblige. More than happy to hold clingy, sweet, needy Emily for as long as she needed.

She whined a bit when you pulled away, and you kissed her cheek, playing with her fingers.

“You’ve got to eat something, love. Then I promise I will not let you go for the rest of the night.”

She sat obediently, squeezing your hand, and piled her plate with all the things you’d made, eyes rolling back in her head when she swiped a finger through the hummus and put it in her mouth.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she gushed. “I swear your hummus tastes just like my friend Zainab’s mom’s from when I lived in Oman.”

“It’s the specialty spices,” you shrugged, taking a bite of pita with shawarma and veggies.

“No, I think it’s the special person making it,” Emily cheesed, beaming at you.

You smiled and rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, you’re getting it tonight.”

“I certainly hope so.”

When your plates were cleared and the leftovers tucked safely into the fridge, you led Emily to the bedroom, pulling back the covers for her, tucking her in.

“You know these are just gonna get untucked, right?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Shh,” you scolded. “Let me take care of you.”

You crawled into bed next to Emily, drawing her body into yours, holding her gently as you pressed your lips to hers. She melted into the kiss, already breathless.

You brushed her hair out of her face, placing your hand gently on her lower stomach. “How are your cramps?” you asked. “You want any medicine or anything?”

“The only medicine I need is you,” she said, guiding your hand lower.

You chuckled. “Alright, Romeo. Calm down.” You lowered your face to her neck, planting kisses all across her shoulder and collarbone. “I told you I’d take care of you, and I will.”

Emily held your face gently in her hands, looking deep into your eyes. “Why are you so good to me?” she whispered.

You pecked her on the lips. “Because I love you. And you deserve good things.”

And with that, you started your long, slow journey across the topography of Emily’s body, ready and willing to give her every good thing you possibly could.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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lgbtqiamuslimpedia · 10 months

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Boyah

Boyah (plural: Boyat) was subcultural identity of AFAB non-binary,tomboy,demi girl & trans-masculine folks of Persian Gulf. Boyat are asigned female at birth,but express gender atypical behaviour. The origin of this queer subculture is unclear, some boyat claimed that it was started through online forums & groups. [citation needed]

Boyah subculture was more visible in Gulf states (including Kuwait,Oman,Saudi Arabia,UAE,Bahrain). Boyah identity may fall under the modern Transgender and Non-binary umbrella. However some people may considered them as people of forth gender.

Sexuality

Boyat folk's sexuality can be confusing in various cultural contexts. Most of the Boyat had intimate and romantic relationships with cis-girls in their past life, but they do not consider themselves as homosexual.

The term Boyah itself does not mean lesbian in arabic.In later life many Boyat had to pursue a heterosexual marriage & had children.Because marriage is a obligatory in local arabic customs.In addition to this, some boyah were androsexual & interested in boys only.

Culture & Lifestyle

Trans-masculine/tomboys/AFAB non-binary/AFAB genderpunk took the “Boyah” cultural identity in their early adolescence. On the otherhand, some boyat took the male role to challenge societal gender norms and stereotypes in Arabic Gulf States.

In general, a boyah is characterized by no make-up, no feminine expressions, no feminine name,feminine pronouns.In boyah subculture, Boyat community may use a massive masculine watches.Boyat people worn loose-fitting male cloth with a touch of the military, vibrantly coloured dresses,shirts and boyah jeans(which are baggy with big prints all over them). Since the age of internet Arab's boyat community started informal groups,online forums.

Most of the boyat have to lead double lives because gulf states has strict cultural gender roles especially for womxn.Many of them are forced to get married.In general Boyah phenomena is considered a disgrace to an arab family's honour.Additionally atypical gender expression is seems to be indecent and deviant in GCC states.Many boyat face stigma for not adhering with rigid patriarchal gender roles.

After leaving home, many undergo a radical transformation,changing their clothes at school/college or a friend's house.While in transition ,they run no real risk of being caught because,while in public, Emirates women are required to wear the national dress - a long black over-garment called an abaya, which makes it easier to switch roles without drawing attention.

Media

In general, Gulf media portrays queerness in negetive ways. A Boyah named Abeer appeared on the Saudi TV Show “Ya Hala” where he/ze said that he/ze was attracted to women while still at school. He/Ze had a complete love relationship with a classmate for a long time. Another person named Hamood joined a show of Radio Sawa where he/ze explained ze was rebelling against social (gender) norms and his/zee family’s restrictions through this boyah phenomena.

On a national television of UAE, a boyah named Bandar openly spoke about his queer relationship with another girl and expressed the desire to marry her and have children with her through IVF. His statement on Abu Dhabi's national television shocked the whole nation.

Decline of Boyah Culture

In the Persian Gulf region, boyah identity became very controversial since 2007. In 2007, the Kuwaiti parliament amended Article 198 of the country’s penal code so that anyone “imitating the opposite sex in any way” could face up to a year in jail and/or a fine of 1,000 dinars ($3,500). A further problem was that the law made no attempt to define “imitating the opposite sex” So it was basically left to the discretion of the police. Within a couple of weeks at least 14 people had been arrested in Kuwait City & thrown into prison. Boyat made their debut as a public concern in 2008 when Dubai police denounced cross-dressing - its chief, Dahi Khalfan Tamim, called on the Ministry of Social Affairs to find out how widespread the practice is and what causes it.

In 2009, Dubai launched a public campaign under the slogan "Excuse Me, I am a Girl", which cautioned against “masculine” behaviour among AFAB queers & tomboys and aimed to steer them towards "femininity". The impetus for this was a moral panic which swept through several Gulf states at that time, regarding the Boyah phenomena. 2 months after announcing the campaign the police persecuted 40 people (for their gender atypical expression), imprisoned them for 3 years in jail.In addition, trans-masculine/trans males,trans women,gender-queers were also shamed & abused by the UAE's police team.

Public Attitudes

Many conservative patriarchal arab people see a greater danger in the Boyah subcultural practices; they fear it can become permanent and cause great distress for the women and their families.

Psychiatrist Yousef Abou Allaban says, "It can go extreme, where they change their sex and have an operation.'' Saudi journalist Yousef Al-Qafari said in an interview on Radio Sawa that family disintegration and lack of true love have led women to act like a man. Al-Qafari said education was the best way to tackle this phenomenon.He called on the Ministry of Education to take up this role.

Social worker Nadia Naseer said, “Families play an essential role in such cases. Families should monitor their female members, especially when they start acting like men by cutting their hair short, wearing men’s clothing, or refusing to wear women’s accessories”. She also said, when a girl or woman does this,she is looking for attention & sending a message that she is a boyah.

Saudi writer Randa Alsheikh, in one of her columns, said that she attended a social gathering where she saw a group of females who appeared almost completely like men.“I would not be exaggerating if I say I could not tell the difference between them and men,” she wrote.She said that they looked, talked and walked like men & “even worse” some appeared to be in their 40s. We need to quickly address this phenomenon to contain these girls so that they are able to build good families and a healthy society,”

#Boyah #Booyah #Boyat #arabic #GCC #Persian Gulf #queer #trans masculine #genderqueer #gender variance #AFAB #Middle Eastern #queer culture #cultural gender identity

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srbachchan · 11 months

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DAY 5625

Jalsa, Mumbai July 12/13, 2023 Wed/Thu 1:56 AM

🪔 .. July 13 .. birthday wishes to Ef Manoj Kumar Ojha .. Ef Taran Ghantasala .. and Ef Kalpesh N. Gohel from Oman .. love and more from the Ef Family .. ❤️❤️❤️🚩🙏🏻 .. we are in celebration for you all .. Love ❤️

the wise have said .. and we follow .. but the follow of today is different .. there needs to be a reason for the attitude that is needed for the times of today ..

just one simple thought breaches the connect and then , a million other follow .. follow to which extent .. is unknown .. each says they are in breach and the never ending follows .. so best to be in distance ..

न रहेगा बाँस न बजेगी बांसुरी ; झगडे या मुसीबत के मुल कारण को नष्ट कर देना .. an advice from old sayings .. they were never wrong .. through generations they compiled and educated ..

no longer the wood , no longer the flute .. to do away with and destroy the main reason for the trouble and diversity .. and how true it has been .. to understand , that sharing ..

the best offering be, of the ultimate deal .. that which has been incomplete, even after the contracts have been signed .. and when the accusations be in reverse , the true colour and tense of the thoughts and words arise and be made public ..

do not threaten with deeds that you may be proficient with .. just because you have the benefit of experience .. our own individual strength, is large enough to respond in equal matter ..

sympathy and jealousy .. strains of the same Symphony .. either strung more than the other .. it breaks ..

and you look forward to it .. a lesser burden .. a lesser responsibility ..

SO DID THE WISE ADVISE .. generational deterrents made the mind sense for all ..

( was wanting to put relevant pictures up here .. brought them to the DeskTop from iPhone photos .. and they refuse to open here )

so either the Carrier .. of whom I am fed up and switching to another .. or the Laptop of Apple, that is deliberately doing this in order to make the market for the new one .. this is the Laptop M2 .. supposed to be the superior one and speeds faster than any else .. but the in operation and glitches are in abundance .. and stopping work and all else ..

so switching to the old one and never to buy the new ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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kkulbeolyeonghwa · 12 days

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Ainu Language (1) アイヌイタク（シネプ）aynu itak (sinep)

So because literally one person said that they'd read my posts about Ainu, I'll make this post.

Before reading: I am not fluent. I’ve been studying this language for about one year now. What I’ll present in this series is a bunch of translations and my interpretations of various sources (which are mostly Japanese, inaccessible to non-linguists, or both). I am mainly using the Southern Hokkaido dialects. I try not to include hyper-local dialects and use the most widespread versions of words, but as the Ainu language has multiple dialects, I might have to use dialects at times.

I will be using both katakana and Latin for this series. However, if you know katakana, you cannot just read the text as if you were reading Japanese. Get used to the Ainu katakana system before reading. If you're studying with the romanization, you can start reading right away as it is more true to the actual pronunciation compared to the katakana.

Grammar point 1.1) ク= | ku= | I

So, “ku” is used in sentences to mean “I” when it’s a subject. This = notation is important in Ainu; it shows that this word is to be attached to a verb! Here are some examples:

クミナ ku=mina (mina - smile/laugh) I smile.

Here, the = sign shows that the subject, ku, is attached to the verb, mina. = does not have a sound, it is only used for ease of reading.

クチシ ku=cis (cis - cry) I cry.

Again, ku= is attached to the verb cis.

Grammar point 1.2) エ= | e= | you

This one works the same way as ku=! Try to make sentences using this and the two verbs! Here are some new verbs to use;

エモコロ e=mokor (mokor - sleep) You sleep. エオマン e=oman (oman - go) You go.

Verbs are not conjugated in Ainu, so you can switch the pronouns and verbs up to make more sentences without worry. However, remember to keep the sentence structure the same and attach the pronouns correctly; the = should be attached to the verb.

ku=mokor, ku=oman, e=mina, e=cis.

Grammar point 2.1) Adding objects

ワッカクヌカラ Wakka ku=nukar. I see water.

Wakka means water. The object is added before the subject and the verb.

チャペエヌカラ Cape e=nukar. You see a cat.

Cape means cat. (Pronunciation tip: “c” in Ainu is pronounced like the “ch” in Japanese or English. “Y” in ainu is pronounced like “I”.)

Remember that these are only the pronouns to be used as a subject.

Grammar point 2.2) He/She/They…

In Ainu, the 3rd person pronoun is dropped from sentences.

アプカシ apkas - (he/she…) walks シニ sini - (he/she…) rests カラ kar - (he/she…) makes

Remember, the verbs don’t have conjugations, so you can just stick the pronouns from earlier to these and call it a day!

You can also add a noun as a subject;

エカシアプカシ ekaci apkas - the old man walks. チェプシニ cep sini. - the fish rests. チャペミナ cape mina- - the cat smiles.

Grammar point 2.3) Commands

These are easy. Just say the verb and add an exclamation mark! No conjugation, no subject, no nothing. Simple!

エク! Ek! - come! ヌ! Nu! - listen! ヌカラ! Nukar! - look!

Want more Ainu? Like this post! I'll make more if there is demand!

#langblr #language #learning #studyblr #languages #ainu #ainu itak #grammar #linguistics

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kaaoskaamos · 11 months

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Käärijä’s lyrics make me delighted as there’s so many simple yet clever ways how they are built.

For example Urheilujätkä where the line ”jokanen oman onnensa seppänen” is a twist of the Finnish saying ”jokainen on oman onnensa seppä” (everyone is the smith of their own fortune). But as the song is about urheilujätkä (or rather what Käärijä imagined urheilujätkä to be) and urheilujätkä is supposed to be Esko Seppänen, the host of the podcast Urheilucast, he switched seppä (smith) to be Seppänen.

I just enjoy wordplay and I am glad Käärijä’s songs often have some.

#urheilucast is the podcast käärijä sometimes features #käärijä #kaaos kaikuu

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fazalkhan2914 · 5 months

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#Belden Oman #Ethernet switch Oman #Getac laptops #Switches Oman

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jameswilly98 · 1 year

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Industrial display Oman:-

Automation solutions are tailored to your specific requirements and objectives and quickly pay for themselves because of decreased operational costs, shortened lead times, higher output, and other factors. For more info visit us: https://muscatautomation.com/advantech/industrial-automation/industrial-monitors/

#Embedded modules Oman #Ethernet switch Oman #Panel computers Oman

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emmatiedemann · 3 months

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Video Response 3: Genre Switching in Show Boat

As pointed out in “Here Comes the Show Boat: Show Boat and the Case for Regionalism” , Wale’s Show Boat fits into both the “folk” and “show” musical genres. According to Oman’s text, “the constant tension between these musical modes throughout the film mirrors the dialectical tension between rural and urban spaces…”(76). A scene I think depicts this transition is when Magnolia performs “After the Ball” on New Year’s Eve. As she begins singing, she’s placed center stage, both in the world of the film and in the frame–a format typical of “show” musicals. This style switches though after Magnolia recognizes her father and eventually leaves the stage, walking around the tables in the audience with the camera making circular motions to follow her. This mode is more typical of “folk” musicals, with the circular rather than stationary model intended to “make the audience feel like a participant in this film’s world”(78).

The transition between stationary(show, urban spaces) and circular(folk, rural spaces) in a single scene is representative of Magnolia’s walk down memory lane as she recalls her transition from the regional Show Boat business of the rural South to the mass culture and modernity of the North. Her seeing her father for the first time in years also aids in this reading of the scene. He begins directing her as he once did on the show boat and as she leaves the stage to join him, she seems to venture back in time. This scene’s symbolic genre switching is ironic considering she sings the song “After the Ball”, which “would have been considered a nostalgic throwback to a simpler and whiter day”, whilst her entire success is owed to her appropriation of Black music and insult to Black culture. The switch in genre is seemingly intended to provide a sentimental, full-circle moment for Magnolia's career, but for modern audiences, it instead reminds us of her abuse and subsequent disposal of Black culture.

#oxyfilmmusical #@theuncannyprofessoro

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hamzahusssain · 1 year

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Best Ethernet Switches in Muscat Oman

Visit Perfect Hills and find the best ethernet switches in Muscat Oman. Here, find the best quality at affordable price only. For more, information visit the website.

#Ethernet Switches in Muscat Oman

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maybeimamuppet · 2 years

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picking teams- chapter 1: janis

what's popping muppets hello and welcome to the first not oneshot story i'm doing woooo!! based on the image below ooh ahh

this will have the same upload schedule as my usual stuff (that is to say, there isn't one) so just. keep an eye out if you want to follow this and i'll update it whenever i can! the working title for this chapter was 'my suffering is eternal' so that should. tell you about what to expect. have fun with that!

also please be aware i know next to nothing about football and google was wildly unhelpful so please excuse anything that isn't. spectacularly accurate.

tw for

usage of homo/lesbophobic slurs

vague threats

enjoy!

—————

"I want to try out for the football team."

Damian briefly continues stirring around his half-melted frozen yogurt while he processes what his friend has just said. Once it sinks in, he snaps his head up.

"What?"

"I want to try out for the football team," Janis repeats. Damian blinks at her in confusion.

"But..."

"But what? But I'm a girl?" Janis huffs.

"You know it's not that, Jan," Damian replies gently. "But you're not exactly... athletic. Or fond of men. Or activities. Or running, or throwing, or... moving."

"I know, but my dad says I have to 'be more active' or something," Janis huffs, taking a bite of her salted caramel yogurt with M&M's on top. "And I may not be athletic, but we both know I am entirely motivated by spite. So I wanna do it."

"Why not cheer with me, though?" Damian asks.

"Do you really need to ask that?" Janis says, raising an eyebrow. Damian looks at her in confusion. "Who's your team captain, dipshit?"

"Reg- ohhhhh," Damian says as the realization finally hits. "Well, there's no need to be rude."

"I'd never make it on the cheer team even if I wanted to," Janis sighs. "And I don't. Especially not with her running the show."

"She's not so bad," Damian says weakly. Janis glares at him. "She's a good cheerleader."

"But a fucking terrible human," Janis huffs. Damian nods. "You don't have to lie to me like that, D. I go to your practices, I see how she talks to you. You don't deserve that."

"But it's nothing in comparison," Damian replies. Both of them know what he means by it, and Janis gives a weak nod.

"I guess not. But she still shouldn't talk to you that way."

"Babe, it's Regina, it's what she does. If I tried to get her to stop tormenting us we'd both be slaughtered," Damian chuckles sardonically. "But... I don't know if you'll have any more luck with the football team."

"What do you mean?" Janis asks, switching their cups of yogurt so they can have the last bite of each other's, like they always do. "It's not like I'm going for, like, quarterback or anything. I probably won't make it, and if I do I'll spend the season on the bench. Practices are active enough to make my dad happy."

"Jan, have you seen the boys on the team?" Damian says gently. "Aaron Samuels. Glenn Coco. Shane Oman."

"Aaron's not terrible," Janis replies. "Just has shit taste in women."

"Yeah, you have that in common," Damian hums. "So maybe it won't be so bad for you after all."

"Shut up," Janis grumbles. "Where are you going?"

"If you're serious about this, you need some major practice, little slice. Come on," Damian says, motioning for her to join him.

"Now?"

"No time like the present," Damian shrugs. Janis whines and follows him out to his mom's car.

"Fiiiiine."

—————

"So how do I football, oh wise one?" Janis asks, in some of Damian's cheer practice clothes, since she had nothing even approaching activewear.

"Janis. Darling. Look at me," Damian says. "Why the hell would I know?"

"Do you even watch the games you cheer for?"

"I don't... watch... what they're doing," Damian mumbles in embarrassment. Janis snorts.

"Gay."

"Exactly," Damian says.

"Then why are we here?" Janis asks.

"Because I Googled it," Damian grins ominously, brandishing his phone. "And from what I found, this is the end of our friendship."

"Oh, joy."

—-

Damian is nearly right. Janis doesn't even lay a hand on a football that first day, she just tap dances with Damian to practice moving her feet ridiculously quickly and carefully (and eats shit several times in the process), does his physical pre-show warm ups to start building up her muscles, and 'runs' a whole mile.

Damian drives next to her on his grandmother's Jazzy, and manages to keep pace with her. It makes sense Janis isn't exactly up to speed yet, having never run... any distance at all.

"Go Jan! You're almost there!" Damian cheers as he pulls back into his driveway.

"I... am gonna... fucking... kill you," Janis puffs in aggravation and exhaustion.

"This was your idea, boo."

"I'm next to go," Janis continues panting, snatching the offered water bottle from him and chugging it. She wrenches the lid off when it doesn't come out fast enough for her tastes and downs the rest of it in one go.

"Damn." Damian says. "That bad?"

"This is the end," Janis gasps as she pulls away from the bottle. "I'm dying. Goodbye."

Damian watches as she flops down onto the burning hot asphalt of his driveway and doesn't seem to care at all. He heads over and leans into her view.

"Actually, if you're serious about this, you have to do this every day between now and tryouts."

"I'm actually gonna end everything you love," Janis gripes, wiggling crankily on the ground. "I swear to god."

"Sure, Jan." Damian says. "Whatever makes you feel better."

"I will! You watch me," Janis says, trying to stand. "I'll do it right now!"

"You can't even stand up, Janjan."

"Yes I can!" Janis yells. She continues trying to get up, but once she's rolled onto her stomach, she admits defeat. "Help."

"Come on, you gotta get some rest," Damian sighs, hauling her up onto his back and carrying her inside.

"Thanks mom."

—————

Barely; after several threats to quit and with a couple miracles, Janis makes it to tryouts. Damian and her sister both dragged her through her exercises every day, and watched football games with her so she could learn to understand the terms and observe the motions she'd need to replicate.

She hopes it's worth it.

"You got this," Damian says, helping her into the padding they'd borrowed from the school supply. It doesn't fit right and it smells... beyond questionable, but it'll do for tryouts. "Those boys won't know what hit them."

"The smell of this padding," Janis says with a wince.

"Maybe it'll work in your favor," Damian says. "But you are showering before we leave, that's revolting."

"Mmkay," Janis grumbles.

"Confidence, remember the tap dancing," Damian says. "Now go and be golden."

"You need to work on your pep talks," Janis calls over her shoulder as she jogs to join the crowd of jock boys standing around the coach.

Coach Carr blinks in surprise when he sees her approach them. "You in the right group, little miss? Cheer tryouts are in a few weeks."

"Do I look like I want to try out for the cheer team?" Janis asks, gesturing to her getup. "I'm in the right place. And my name is Janis. I'm not your 'little miss'."

"You've got an attitude," the coach says, looking her up and down. "Good. Over there, Sarkisian."

Janis takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and stands in line on the yard line she's directed to.

"Alright you feckless maggots," the coach yells after blasting his whistle at them from point blank range. "If you're here, it best be to play football. I won't have any pansies on my team. I'm tough, you will get hurt, you will get your feelings hurt. If you can't handle that, leave. Now."

To Janis' surprise, a couple of the boys do step out of line and go get their things. They look like freshmen anyway.

"Okay! Hope the rest of you have what it takes. To start with, running. Looking for speed and consistency. Pacing. To the end zone and back, go!"

With another blast of his whistle, he sets everyone off. Janis tries to remember what she learned while she practiced with Damian. Pacing. Take it steady.

She repeats that mantra to herself as she narrows in on the end zone she's running to. She focuses on the feeling of her shoes hitting the turf, the thumping echoing up her legs and the feeling of her breaths filling her lungs. In and out, slow and steady.

Janis is so focused on herself and her pacing that she doesn't notice how far ahead of everyone she is. Until she hits the end zone and turns around to run the other way.

All of the boys are well behind her, even with her steady pacing. The closest to her is Shane Oman, and even he's a solid four feet behind her. He glares at her beneath his helmet as she runs past him the other way.

Janis grins to herself. Maybe all that running practice did pay off.

She's definitely the first to cross the finish line, and slows down a bit to cool down before she comes to a complete stop and catches her breath. The boys follow her lead and cross the line one by one.

"Coach, this is bullshit," Shane yells around gasping breaths, pointing to Janis. "She shouldn't be here! She runs like a girl!"

"She beat you, dickwad," Aaron Samuels huffs, smacking him on the back of the head. "Just shut up, for once."

Janis grins slightly under her helmet, and Aaron gives her a small nod back. Nice to know she'll have at least one decent teammate if she makes it.

"Nicely done gents!" Coach calls after yet another unnecessary whistle blast. Janis coughs a bit to remind him of her presence. "And Sarkisian. Alright, if I call your number, get lost. Twelve, thirty-four, twenty-one, seven, eighteen, forty-six."

Janis looks down at her jersey. Twenty-eight. She's still in.

"Next up is kicking! Looking for good form, accuracy, distance. Oman, you're up first."

Shane heads over to the coach by the 20 yard line. The coach holds the ball for him, and watches as he kicks it perfectly through the field goal.

Janis is nervous. All her footwork didn't prepare her for this, she never worked on her kicking. Shane's form was incredible, his distance amazing. Will she measure up?

She's one of the last ones to go, watching as some of the other boys try and fail miserably. One kicks the ball a solid ten feet to the left of the goal, actually making Damian duck in the bleachers to avoid being hit. Another only kicks the ball about four feet in front of him, and another accidentally kicks the coach in the head full force.

They're all told to leave rather quickly.

Janis goes after Aaron, who also managed to get it near perfect. She knows she can't beat him, but she can do her best. She played soccer for about half an hour when she was six years old, how different could this be?

As it turns out, very. She gets good distance, only coming about two feet short of the goal, but she can feel that her form and aim are off. She winces slightly and looks at the coach, expecting to be told off.

But, to her surprise, he just waves her back with the others. Janis sighs in a mix of terror and relief and heads back. Aaron gives her another nod, as if to say, "Nicely done." Janis nods back as they wait for the next drill.

Her training with Damian comes in very handy as they get to footwork, and she aces that area. Tap dancing seems to have worked better than she thought. When it comes to tackling, she just remembers what Damian told her.

Imagine it's Regina George's true form.

Everyone is more than a little concerned for the state of their practice dummy, after that.

More and more of the boys are picked off, and soon she's only left with about fifteen other people. The coach seems very surprised about her knowledge of all the different plays and calls, to which Janis just smirks. Sure, she spent a whole week studying and Damian quizzed her whenever he got the chance, but nobody else needs to know that.

The last drill of the day is passing. Janis is nervous again. If she fails this, there's no way she makes it on the team. But does she really want to do well?

Yes, she realizes. She recognizes a few of the boys she's left with. Shane Oman and his cronies, basically Regina George's little bodyguards. She has to show these jocks, who used to shove her in lockers and stab her with pencils and Sharpie slurs on her locker; that she is just as capable as them. To hell with her muscles.

She heads over and gets into a pair with a boy she doesn't recognize. Must be a freshman.

Janis snaps the ball towards him in the best form she can manage. He fumbles slightly, but does manage to catch it. Janis tries to remember what she learned about catching. She yelps a bit when the ball comes back her way and throws her hands up in front of her face to protect herself.

"Sarkisian, what are you doing?!" Coach calls. "Don't be afraid to get hit. Throw it back, come on."

Janis breathes, takes a step back. Motions for her partner to step even further back. Breathes again, grips the ball, prepares to throw it, feels her form strengthen, winds up, and...

Drops it at her feet.

"Fuck," she whispers under her breath. Distantly, she can hear Shane sneer at her from his spot further down the lines.

"Again. Go, now," Coach demands. Janis nods.

"Go Janis! You can do it, come on!" Damian yells from his spot on the bleachers, waving invisible pompoms. Janis rolls her eyes lovingly as she picks the ball back up and gets ready to throw it again.

Another deep breath, and she throws.

Quite well, if she does say so herself.

The ball soars past her partner's head and beyond him, landing about six feet behind him after a beautiful arc through the air.

She looks to Coach Carr to see what he thought. But she gets no reaction.

"Alright pansies, water break! I need to deliberate and then I'll announce who made the team and your positions."

Janis jogs back over to Damian to get her water bottle. "How have I been doing?"

"Pretty well, I think. You're definitely the best runner. And I saw Shane mess up passing too," Damian responds.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Damian says. "If Coach Carr can drop his sexism for ten seconds, I think you have a decent chance of making it."

"Huh," Janis hums. She looks across the field to where the coach is vehemently yelling into his phone at someone. She can vaguely make out the words, 'But she's a girl!'

"Hey, lesbo," she hears a voice say. She instinctively braces for impact. "I'm fucking talking to you."

Janis is shaking in her cleats, but trying desperately not to let it show. She turns and sees none other than Shane Oman looming over her. "Hey, Shane."

"Don't 'hey' me, dyke," he spits. Almost literally. "The hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Playing football?" Janis responds, feigning innocence.

"You better watch your back," Shane says. "But there's no way Coach would let you on the team anyway."

"You sure about that? I did beat you at a few of these drills," Janis smirks.

"You little-" Shane begins, getting pushed back by another hand.

"Man, back off," Aaron huffs. "She's not worth it."

"Yeah? What's it to you, fag? She your girlfriend?"

"You do see how that's a contradiction, there, right?" Janis replies.

"Fuck you, Sarkisian," Shane huffs, walking away with some of his lackeys trailing behind him.

"No thanks, I'm queer. And good luck, by the way!" Janis calls after him with a smile.

"Bold words, Jan," Damian says, giving her a sly fist bump. Janis smirks at him.

"I don't even care if I make it now, that was really satisfying."

She looks for Aaron to thank him for his help, but he's already off talking with someone else. Janis shrugs and turns around.

Coach Carr returns then, seeming much more dejected than he has throughout the rest of tryouts.

"Alright ladies! Over here, listen up," he half-yells. Janis raises an eyebrow at his choice of expression and heads over. "If I call your name you're on, you pick up your official jerseys on the first day of school. Stop by the office on your way out to order them, and you're in charge of the rest of your uniform."

"Yes, coach," they all say in unison. Janis doesn't quite get the memo and is a bit behind the boys, but she gets the words out.

"Abel, JV, bench. Coco, JV, bench," the coach calls. Glenn hollers a 'Yes!' and high fives a few people around him. They're getting closer and closer to the end of the alphabet. Janis' ears start ringing and she can barely hear. Until... "Samuels, varsity, wide receiver. Sarkisian... varsity, quarterback."

"What?" Janis asks in shock. Quarterback? How?

Shane yells the same question at the same time. "What?! I'm just the running back?! Why the hell does she get QB?!"

"Because Sarkisian has the skills. And I heard you over here, Oman, and she's a better leader. I'm not happy about it either, but she's the best candidate," Coach Carr says. "But Sarkisian. One fuck up and you're outta here. I got plenty of decent boys to replace you."

"Yes, coach," Janis says, already determined to stick around. Quarterback. Holy shit.

"Alright, get lost. I'll see you on the first day of school for first practice, first game is two Fridays later. Rest up and hydrate, go. Well done today."

Janis runs over to Damian with a wide smile on her face. Damian gapes at her. "Quarterback?!"

"Seems that way," Janis shrugs. She winces at the texture of her padding against her skin now that she's been sweating in it. "God, I feel like I've been swimming. I'm gonna have to shower for a week."

"Eew!" Damian screeches, wiggling his way up the bleachers away from her. Janis cackles and wags her fingers ominously, threatening to chase him with her sweaty gross-ness. "You're definitely showering before we leave, this little situation is not happening in my car. You're all icky."

"Thanks," Janis says, taking another swig of her water.

"Anytime."

—-

Janis takes a brisk shower in absolutely freezing water in the locker room. Damian waits outside the stall on a bench, scrolling through his phone. They have the whole locker room to themselves, since the cheer team isn't practicing yet and Janis is the only girl on the football team (!!!!).

"Jan? What's your email password?"

"No," Janis replies.

"But-"

"Why the hell do you need my email password?" Janis huffs as she turns off the water and starts drying herself off.

"They just sent out our schedules, I wanna see what we have together," Damian begs.

"Still, no," Janis hums. She screams as Damian's arm suddenly pops under the stall door, offering her his phone. "Christ, dude! Can you not wait, like, ten seconds?!"

"Do you really need to ask that? Hurry up, this floor is gross," Damian whines.

Janis snatches the phone, but opens the camera instead to take goofy selfies with her towel hat. She clicks it off and pretends she's signed in as she passes it back under the door and starts pulling on her clothes.

"Hey! You know I already have a very limited amount of storage!" Damian whines

"You gave me your phone, you accepted that as a possibility when you did," Janis replies as she unlocks the door and heads to grab her hairbrush.

"Come oonnnn," Damian begs. "Just to check your schedule."

"No," Janis insists, looking in the mirror to make sure she gets her hair thoroughly combed out.

"But whyyyyy?" Damian whines. "I'm not gonna hack your school email, come on."

"It's not that," Janis mumbles, yanking through a particularly stubborn knot in her hair. Damian winces at the sound, in pain by proxy.

"Then what is it?" he asks. Janis starts brushing her hair even more aggressively. "Girl, chill with the brush before you go bald and answer me."

"I don't want to see my schedule."

"Oh." Damian replies. "Wait, what? Why?"

Janis sighs, bracing on the sink and looking at herself in the mirror. "Because what if we don't have the same schedule anymore? I can't handle that."

"Yeah you can, Janjan," Damian says quietly, gently taking the brush and delicately combing through the spots on the back of her head that she'd missed on her own. "You've grown a lot since last year. And it's not like you'll never see me even if we do have different schedules. We still have lunch, and the mornings. And we're always together after school anyway."

"But what if I have something with Regina?" Janis whines.

"Then you try to do it," Damian replies. "And if you can't, you have all of the guidance office wrapped around your little finger. You'll get your schedule shifted and that'll be that."

"Can you stop being rational and calming for once in your life?" Janis grumbles, tying her still damp hair back into a ponytail. Damian daintily picks up her smelly gym bag and hands it to her as quickly as he possibly can.

"No. I've seen Janis-nadoes before, I'm not letting you spiral ever again," he laughs, following Janis out of the girls' locker room and out of the building.

"I'm not that bad," Janis says, making a very slow beeline to Damian's mom's car and yanking on the door handle. "Lemme innnnn."

"Stop doing that and I will," Damian replies, unlocking the door for her and sliding in. Janis winces at the blast of hot air from his car, but begrudgingly tosses her bag into his backseat and climbs in next to him. Damian looks confused when she holds out a hand. "What?"

"I'll check my schedule," Janis mumbles, pouting like a small child who's been asked to do their chores. Damian gently ruffles her hair and hands his phone over.

Janis taps into her school email address, and opens Damian's in another tab so she can compare them easily. "Ha! You have math first period."

Damian almost veers them into a stop sign. "Fuck! Noooo."

"Kindly don't kill us," Janis hums. "Nooo, I have it too!"

"You're coming down with me," Damian says ominously. Janis scoots away from him a little bit and continues looking.

"And we have... politics, and... English together," she continues.

"See, three out of seven isn't bad, you can handle that," Damian says gently. "And like I said, we still have lunch together. You're not getting rid of me."

"Try as I might," Janis sighs.

"It's not too late for you to walk."

"No, no, I take it back!"

"That's what I thought," Damian grins.

"You have too much power now, I don't like this," Janis humphs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"When you get a car you can torture me all you want," Damian replies. Janis snorts.

"When."

"It'll happen. You just don't manifest enough," Damian says.

"Uhhuh," Janis chuckles. "That's why I don't have it yet, I haven't manifested enough. It's definitely not just because I'm too broke for a car."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," Damian pouts. He looks at her briefly to find his friend with her eyes closed and breathing deeply. "What are you doing?"

"Manifesting ice cream," Janis responds, popping one eye open to look at him. She grins victoriously as he sighs and starts driving them that way.

—————

Janis takes a deep breath as she stands face to face with the doors of North Shore High once again. She's been back quite recently for tryouts and other football things, but it's not the same without the pressures of schoolwork and the threat of a certain ever-present blonde.

Damian meets her by her locker, which gives her a bit more confidence. She shoves all the books she doesn't need into it without a second thought and slams it shut.

There's a girl Janis doesn't recognize talking to their math teacher when they walk in. She's absolutely tiny, probably not even five feet tall and 120 pounds at most. She's swimming in a too-large flannel top and green vest covered in patches. Janis can't make out any details from this distance, but she grins at seeing someone else who decorates their clothes. The girl also has on cargo shorts that make Janis feel Some Type Of Way and... socks with sandals. Dear god.

The girl rushes out the door when the bell rings, auburn hair flowing behind her. Janis stares after her for a long moment. She only snaps back into the real world when her phone buzzes in her pocket.

She slides into the seat next to Damian and pulls it out, to see a text from him.

damdam: 👀👀👀👀

damdam: I spy with my little gay eyes

damdam: Some gay ass shit

janjan: then u need glasses

damdam: You were totally checking her out

janjan: so what if i was?? she left

damdam: Jan theres only like 300 kids in our grade you're gonna see her again at some point

janjan: doesn't mean i'll talk to her

janjan: and it doesn't mean i like her

damdam: But she's cute

janjan: i will throw ur phone in the river

Ms. Norbury starts talking then, so Janis and Damian put their phones back down and try desperately to pay attention to algebra instead of falling asleep. Damian continues shooting her The Look of Judgement throughout class. Janis eventually resorts to keeping a hand over her face so she can't see him.

—————-

They make it through the day mostly unscathed. Until lunch.

"Uh oh," Damian says. Janis looks up from her turkey and cheese sandwich to see what he means.

The girl from their math class that morning is talking to none other than Regina George. Of course. She seems a bit afraid, but she naively sits by them when they invite her to. So much for that.

"Another Plastic," Janis sighs, her appetite now gone. "Yay."

"Chin up, my good bitch. Don't let them get to you," Damian comforts.

"Easier said than done, my good bastard," Janis gripes.

"I know, but you can't let Regina know she's still hurting you."

"I'm trying," Janis mumbles, poking at her carrots.

"You have practice tonight, yeah? Get your anger out then," Damian comforts, gently patting her shoulder.

"Damn right I will," Janis huffs.

"Theeeere's the Janjan I know."

————-

thanks for reading!! hope you enjoyed and have a great day :)

lots of love,

ezzy

#cadnis #paint by numbers #space safari #cady heron x janis sarkisian #cady x janis #cady heron #janis sarkisian #damian hubbard #mean girls #mean girls musical #mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #mean girls on broadway #picking teams

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