★

synopsis: in which emily tries (& fails) to cook for you.

The rain is a steady, rhythmic drumming against the windowpanes, blurring the city lights into soft, amber smudges. Inside the apartment, the world is narrowed down to the amber glow of the lamps, the hum of the refrigerator, and the rich, complex aroma of something burning.

Well, not quite burning, but definitely defying the laws of culinary nature.

You lean against the doorframe of the kitchen, a soft knit blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape against the faux-chill of a rainy evening. Emily stands at the stove, a smudge of tomato paste high on her cheekbone and her dark hair pulled up into a messy, structural hazard of a bun. She looks entirely in her element and completely out of her depth all at once.

Baran who (when out of work) can’t keep her hands off of you

Baran who will sit in your lap no matter if there are ten empty seats right next to you

Baran who refuses to stay on her side of the bed to the point where you start sleeping in the middle of the bed because you know she’s going to end up shuffling you guys closer to the edge

Baran who when going to sleep will slip her hand up your shirt, not even in a sexual way just to ground her with you

Baran who will slip behind you if your leaning forward on the couch and subconsciously start giving you a little massage and wrap herself around you like a starfish

Baran who draws little shapes and letters on your hand and arm when having a conversation with someone else or thinking

*Also touch starved but deeply anxious Baran who restrains herself from touching you until she knows you’re not going anywhere and that your hers

Baran who would just stare at you intensely wanting to reach her hand out past a quick touch on the shoulder but is terrified your going to leave and she would have shown you her vulnerability for no reason

"how dare you say we piss on the poor" in response to someone misinterpreting your post

"_ isnt gonna fuck you" for suck up behavior

"woah. should we tell everyone? should we throw a party?" for who the fuck cares

"and what if the world was made of pudding" for when would this ever matter.

"and sharks are smooth both ways" for a group of people heatedly arguing with 1 guy who is fucking with them all

“30-50 wild hogs” for someone making ABSURD excuses for violence.

“what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament” for how do you know that without being a part of it.

“anyone in this thread smoke weed” for the shit you people are saying is so off topic this might as well be a general discussion forum

“dogs are boys and cats are girls” for ooh ur mindset did not grow past 4th grade, huh

“color theory in a childrens hospital” for bending over backwards to not agree that YEA, that thing Came Off Weird

“you are a tar pit” for someone finding any reason to respond with outrage.

“is the __ in the room with us right now?” for I Don’t Think That’s Real.

“bean soup? im allergic to beans!” for ik this doesn’t work for you, but that’s not a flaw. not everything can be for you.

AHHHH YAYYY ASKS ASKS ASKS (my asks box is always open!)

this is such a good question and one i have not thought about enough...

i think the way baran finds out is a slip-up in conversation, maybe with the pittlings. ooh!!! maybe at a bar on the first ever work outing where baran and trinity are out as a couple!!!!

'proud of you, trin,' dennis says, when baran pulls away to get drinks. 'i never thought i'd see you... y'know. out and proud like this.'

she gives him what must be the world's most incredulous stare. when she speaks, her tone is completely flat. 'what are you talking about.'

'no! like–' he stammers, his eyes widening. 'like, in a relationship,' he explains, then laughs. 'i know you're fucking gay, jesus.'

trinity smirks at him, punching him on the shoulder. 'whatever,' she says. she rolls her eyes.

she clearly hasn't bullied him enough, in the time they've been friends, and has clearly given him too much confidence, because instead of just shutting up after that he opens up his big blabbermouth again, and says:

'and to think you used to call her robodoc.'

'call who robodoc?' a voice from behind them. baran al-hashimi is leaning over trinity's shoulder, holding two beers. she's smiling a little, when she asks, but she looks at the stricken, tense looks dennis and trinity are giving each other and the smile falls.

trinity goes pale. she glares at him. you're fucking dead to me. you're dead. dennis at least has the decency to go wide eyed. his mouth shuts with a snap.

'no one. nobody,' trinity lies, quickly. 'i've never said that.'

baran looks at her deeply, eyes flicking down to what must be a flush creeping up trinity's neck. tisay, her mom used to call her. pale-skinned. you can never hide your emotions, trinity, so you better be honest.

baran places the beers down onto the table. 'i apologise if i come across as robotic,' she says. 'i try not to be.'

trinity doesn't say anything, because she's an idiot, and baran leaves, taking a big breath and pushing some hair behind her ear as she goes. trinity's eyes follow her to the bar exit, mouth still frozen in place, and then she turns to whitaker.

his eyes are like saucers, his hands coming in front of him like he's approaching a stray animal. 'i am so, so–'

'i don't wanna fucking hear it,' she snaps. 'fucking– are you serious?'

he presses his lips together, his shoulders tucking inwards in self-recrimination.

she groans. 'now i'm– ugh!' she shoves him. 'i'm gonna kill you, whitaker.'

'sorry!' he yells, as she storms out of the bar.

she finds baran in the smoking area. under the red light of the neon bar sign, her skin is surreal and luminescent, and the ends of her hair catch on fire. the slope of her nose is liquid, glowing like magma, heart-stoppingly beautiful. her posture, facing away with her head tilted down, makes her look like the angel of america. fuck. trinity is so fucked.

'please don't be angry with me,' she says, begs.

baran turns.

'i'm not angry with you,' she replies. her face is neutral, her posture languid. the red light makes her eyes black as onyx.

'okay,' trinity says, walking closer. 'please don't be upset with me.'

the corner of baran's mouth lifts, drops.

'don't worry about it, trinity,' she says, her voice impossibly doleful. her hand grips the metal railing delineating the smoking area.

'i don't– it was just for like, the first week. it was just because of that stupid charting thing, it's not–'

'trinity,' baran drawls, her tone affectionate, facing her fully. 'i don't care about that.'

oh. trinity tilts her head, confused. 'so–'

'i was just getting some air,' baran says, smiling. she then pouts a little, the way she does when she's self-conscious. 'i don't mean to be dramatic.'

trinity shakes her head. 'be as dramatic as you'd like,' she breathes, with half lingering trepidation and half relief. she moves to the other side of the railing, and baran's hand moves to cradle her cheek. 'please.'

baran gazes at her, adoring. her thumb strokes over her cheekbone.

the smoking area is a little raised compared to the bar parking lot, trinity realises. baran is leaning over her. trinity thinks of romeo and juliet, thinks of a balcony. she flushes, grateful for how the red light will cover it. when the hell did she become such a sap?

she's about to speak again, when baran's mouth opens.

'do you think other people think i'm cold? robotic?'

'no,' she says, immediately, shaking her head. 'no.'

'do you think people dislike me?'

'no. no way,' trinity says, tone even. 'people love you.'

it's the truth. look into me, she thinks. i'm like glass, see through me.

'i just– i think people are put off by me,' baran says, eyes tracing trinity's hairline. 'historically, i mean, that's been the case.'

'well then they're stupid.'

baran laughs, a single, dark, hum.

'please don't take it to heart,' trinity begs, again. 'it was a stupid comment.' she pushes her face further into baran's palm. 'please.'

baran relents, eventually, nodding and letting go of her face, and lets trinity hold her hand as she steps down from the smoking area platform. as trinity leads her towards the bar, she's smiling, self-consciously, again.

'sorry for the theatrics.'

'no, no theatrics,' trinity says, shaking her head. 'you could have thrown that beer onto me, for all i care.'

baran smiles again. good sign. okay. smiling is a good sign.

'i'll make dennis get you the most expensive mocktail in there, as punishment for putting his foot in his mouth,' trinity jokes.

baran's smile widens, though trinity can tell she's trying to stamp it out. she continues speaking.

'what's expensive that could be put in a mocktail? caviar? truffles?'

'luxardo cherries.'

'see?' trinity says, shrugging, 'i don't even know what those are.'

'like maraschino cherries,' baran informs her. 'but more expensive.'

'okay, well, you're gonna get the best lux–

'luxardo.'

'luxardo cherry mocktail of all time.'

baran laughs, fully. 'i'm not gonna make him do that. i doubt the bar even has them.'

i have so many thoughts. this is going to be a long ass essay so buckle in. i pinky swear this isn't shade to anyone at all and idc how people interpret characters because it’s a free world, but when we only get a few details about a character and then those few details are fully disregarded in peoples depictions of the character with headcanons it feels a bit odd to me. i'm not the President of Emery Walsh Town and this headcanon is accepted by almost every emery stan online, so please don't kill me for this (unpopular, and perhaps a little of a hot) take.

for me, it boils down to two things: nothing in the canon material or what we know about emery's character points to her having been in the military and some people are trying to make emery into abbot 2.0 but Woman Version (not shocking for the pitt fandom lol). i work with a lot of ex-military turned healthcare professionals so i'm coming at this with that experience if it helps put this into perspective.