I’m Rye but everyone here calls me Saint. Feel free to use either idc.
I’m 30, a mom, a lesbian, and use she/they pronouns.
I do a little writing for Garsanshimi here and there with my beloved moots @black-plant-leg @blueeyesshyskies and @santospilled and enjoy watching our little club grow. Eventually I’ll grab all of my writings and link them here, but know we’re constantly riffing off of each other so probably just go follow them too. They’re all infinitely better at writing than me, you’ll have a great time.
Uhhhh I’m a December Sagittarius and a certified failgirl.
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some fluffy snippets of the lives of trinity santos, yolanda garcia, baran al-hashimi, and their two kids.
there are a few more little snippets i have of them but i am impatient and lazy 🙂↕️. plus i’ve seen a bunch of funny tiktoks that i think these five would embody and i don’t wanna gatekeep the thoughts any longer
the polycule 🥰 @blueeyesshyskies @black-plant-leg @saintfingers
egging on
"do you see this egg?" jahan asks, holding out his hand. in it is a hollowed out eggshell, still completely intact.
alma nods, eyes wide and full of wonder. she reaches out to grab it but jahan yanks his hand away. "wait, look." jahan crushes the eggshell with ease, displaying the remnants to his little sister.
"how did you do that?" she questions, grabbing his hand and peering into it.
jahan adjusts the angle of his phone camera and pulls his hand away. "it’s a fake egg," he says, setting down the eggshells on the table and grabbing another. "here, take this."
he hands the egg over to alma. "okay!" she agrees, taking it into both of her little hands. "what do i do?"
"we are gonna prank maman." he smiles, nodding towards the kitchen where baran is making dinner. "you’re going to go into the kitchen, tell her it’s a real egg, then throw it on the ground."
"okay!"
he stifles a laugh as he follows alma to the kitchen. she’s so gullible, no matter how many times he tricks her she keeps falling for it and believing him. it’s cute but also the perfect fuel for an older brother.
she looks back briefly, smiling widely as jahan gives her an encouraging thumbs up. he hides around the corner, phone and head being the only thing sticking out.
"maman, look!" alma says, holding the egg out in front of her like a prize.
baran turns from where she is chopping something, setting down the knife and kneeling. "and what is that, golam?"
"an egg." she looks as smug as any six year old can, eyes gleaming mischievously. "watch what i can do!"
"and what wo—" baran is cut off by the sound of an egg hitting the ground. not a hollowed out eggshell, a full, real egg. it splatters everywhere, some yolk getting on baran’s slippers, eggshells mixed in.
baran blinks in shock, staring at the mess on the floor. laughter erupts out of jahan, stepping into the doorway and doubling over. he makes sure to keep his phone trained on alma, capturing the look of betrayal on her face.
she looks between jahan and baran, tears welling in her eyes. they quickly spill over and alma is wailing, pointing at jahan to accuse him. "jahan- jahan lied," she cries, whole body shaking. "he said it’s fake." she’s blubbering, snot pouring out of her nose already.
baran looks at jahan, furrowing her brows and pressing her lips into a thin line. he is so fucked, but the video is definitely worth it. he ends the recording and runs out of the room, passing yolanda on the way.
"it’s okay, golam, it’s okay," baran soothes, scooping alma into her arms. "it’s just an egg, right? we can clean it up." she strokes her hair, listening to alma sob about jahan.
yolanda quirks an eyebrow at the sight before her, leaning on the doorframe. baran just shakes her head at her while pressing a kiss into alma’s temple.
—
please be quiet, please
"mama farted!" alma yells, pointing at yolanda.
yolanda halts, grocery cart wheels squeaking with the sudden stop. her eyes fly open and she stares at alma, mouth agape. she had not.
"you farted, mama," alma continues, laughing her head off. "fart, fart, fart, you farted!"
yolanda leans down, holding onto her outstretched hand. "shhh, please be quiet honey," she whispers, trying to ignore the people around them staring. "we’re in a store so you need to use your inside voice."
laughing, alma shakes her head. "faaaaaaaart," she sings, wrestling out of yolanda’s grip. alma runs around the cart and her mama, continuing on about her farting.
yolanda hangs her head in shame, hiding her face in her hands. she can hear adult laughter around her and wants to disappear. alma’s tiny hands grab her arm and shakes it.
"mama, mama, you did a fart. you did a fart!" she says, a new wave of giggles taking over her.
yolanda groans and picks her up, putting her into the seat of the cart. "okay honey, let’s keep shopping."
alma keeps giggling, repeating the word fart over and over until they get into the car with yolanda sporting a beet-red face.
—
AHHHHH
trinity knows she fucked up at 8:21 at night when trying to give alma her bath.
trying being the keyword because every time trinity tries to bring alma into the bathroom, she screams and cries.
maybe, just maybe, showing a five year old jaws was a bad idea.
trinity thought it was a classic, the very basics of horror to the point it barely even counts. it was just a shark attacking people at the beach, and they rarely go to the beach. it should have been fine, it should be fine.
she may have forgotten the water aspect applies to a lot more things. like the bath that she takes every night.
the shark toy in the bath definitely did not help.
"alma, bunso, it’s okay. it’s just a toy, it’s just sharky," she tries, holding up the toy and moving it around playfully.
alma cries harder and buries her face in baran’s leg. baran shakes her head and looks down at trinity’s pleading eyes. she picks her up and alma quickly wraps herself around her maman who bounces her gently, whisper words of comfort into her ear.
"how about this? how about i get in the bath with you?" trinity offers. "no shark will get you if i’m there, right?"
alma calms a little and nods. "okay," she squeaks out.
trinity takes a bath with alma every night for thirteen weeks, only slightly regretting her decision.
—
he’s…. straight?
jahan takes a deep breath, rocking back and forth on his feet. his nerves were obvious, emanating off of him in waves.
the nerves spread through his mothers, all equally worried about what he wants to tell them. baran already has a sneaking suspicion, having caught him smiling like a child at his phone. trinity and yolanda on the other hand, assume the worst. crashed the car, failed a class, got in a fight, something wildly out of character for him.
"um, i was wondering…" he trails off, eyes darting between the three. "can i bring a girl home?"
a warm smile spreads across baran’s face then yolanda’s quickly after, a mix of pride and happiness washing over them. trinity however, tilts her head.
"yeah? why would you not be able to?" trinity asks, raising an eyebrow. the confusion is clear in her voice. he’s had girls over before, half of his friends are girls.
yolanda snickers before baran elbows her in the side. "stop it," she whispers harshly. baran is glaring at her wife who is now holding her hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter.
jahan shakes his head, looking down to the floor. "no, she is— imani is my girlfriend. we want to watch a movie and we have a nice tv."
furrowing her brows, trinity leans forward. "that’s fine, you’ve had girl friends over before. i’m confused."
"nanay," he whines, staring at her with pleading eyes. trinity is usually so sharp, picking up on the subtlest of hints to piece things together. now though, she was missing ever clue even though they barely counted as such. it was spelled out plainly before her and she was reading it with both eyes shut.
"what?" trinity asks, drawing out the word. "it’s true! i’ve never met imani before but i’m sure she’s wonderful."
jahan looks desperately between yolanda and baran, begging them for help. yolanda shakes her head, still stifling laughter, and baran sighs. she scoots closer to trinity and leans into her ear.
"my love," she begins, grasping one of trinity’s hands gently. "what jahan is trying to say is, he wants to bring a girl over for a date." when trinity says nothing, eyes just widening as she blinks slowly, baran continues. "imani is his not his friend who happens to be a girl, she is his girlfriend. they’re a couple."
yolanda has given up on holding back her laughter, letting the sound fill the room as she gives jahan a thumbs up.
trinity doesn’t move, staring straight ahead. jahan has a girlfriend. jahan likes girls. maybe he’s bi, or pan, or omni, or fluid, or, oh god she doesn’t even want to think it. he could be straight.
"jahan," trinity says slowly. she still hasn’t moved, but her grip on baran’s hand has tightened.
"yes, nanay?" his voice shakes, clearly surprised by whatever sort of reaction this was from trinity.
"i need you to know i will love you no matter what, okay?" jahan nods and trinity continues, "are you straight?"
jahan swallows, nodding as he meekly says, "yes."
trinity inhales deeply, ignoring yolanda’s continued laughter and the beginnings of baran’s, holds for four, and exhales. "okay," she squeaks out. "that’s fine. i just—"
she stops, letting go of baran’s hand and standing. "three polyamorous queer moms. three," she whispers, beginning to pace. "where did we go wrong? was it the star wars? yola, was this because of you?" she asks, running her hands through her hair.
yolanda quells her giggles to stand and cup her wife’s face. "baby, cariño, calm down." her amusement at this scenario clear. "as long as he’s safe and happy, that’s all that matters. right?"
nodding, trinity sighs. "i know, i know. but, straight? really?" she asks, sending yolanda back into her fit of laughter and giving baran the final push into hers.
want to be talking to someone with the intention to date them and love them and fuck them kiss them and support them and and and… perhaps marry them !!!
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hello gay people i have an idea. @merpinglilac and maybe @santos-dreaming does this count as comfort
trinity’s friend, the one who passed away, maybe not from suicide, but in her arms? maybe it was an overdose missed or.. some freakish heart attack outlier -> which leads her terrified of death (not in the clinical setting…just to those she finds herself accidentally caring for maybe)
so her hands find baran’s wrist sometimes, or she finds her eyes drifting to yolanda’s neck, body slowly nearing the other women’s, hoping to catch a glimpse or a touch of their hearts beating, enough to ensure they were living, breathing, alive
most importantly not dead (。・ω・。)ノ
i think it would be cute if they found out naturally and just let her eerily take their pulses at night.waking up to press her hand to their chest or placing her face so close to theirs to feel the exhale of breath
fascinating how in season one robby outright said “i wasn’t thinking about those girls, i only saw a sad boy and wanted to protect him” admitting his misogynistic biases and that he cared more about a mentally ill guy than several girls that could be murdered. and yet people are still soooo convinced he isn’t misogynistic in the slightest. just because noah wyle thinks robby isn’t biased doesn’t mean you have to think that way too. form your own thoughts with what you see on screen.
and it’s even funnier when we see fandom also care more about a mentally ill guy than several women being treated badly. one can only laugh. art imitates life and vice versa ❤️
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kicking off pride month RIGHT. sneak peak of an upcoming barantos fic! mdni! strap on, squirting, w/c: 1k
Baran is moaning so fucking deliciously, her face red, eyes closed, head thrown back into the pillow as Trinity fucks her into the bed. She’s fisting the sheets, tensing, when Trinity hears the front door open and keys being tossed down.
“Trinity? You home? Have you seen my book on calving?”
“Fuck,” she hisses, stilling.
Baran whines, so drunk on Trinity’s strap she has no idea why she stopped. As much as Trinity would love to drive Baran over the edge right now, she’s maddeningly incapable of being quiet when she cums — she knows this from experience trying to shut her up in inappropriate places — and that is not something Trinity wants to think about the next time she has to meet Huckleberry’s eyes.
So, she pulls out, probably too quickly, and Baran moans sharply. Panicked, Trinity clamps a hand over Baran’s mouth, which at least gets her to focus. But her eyes go sort of dark and hungry, and Trinity swallows.
“Fuckleberry’s home. Stay here,” she breathes, leaning forward on her hands to kiss Baran, who chases her and whines faintly when she pulls away and hops off the bed.
Baran’s trying to catch her breath, draping an arm over her eyes, knees fallen apart, thighs sticky, as Trinity throws on some boxers and the closest t-shirt. It’s Baran’s Stanford 2010 debate team shirt that practically lives at Trinity’s apartment. She opens the door and closes it quickly behind her, almost running right into Whittaker.
“Fuck. Jesus, hi,” she gasps, shoulders brushing back against the door.
“Hi…” he drawls, eyeing her weirdly.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, out of breath.
“I live here?” Trinity levels him with a glare.
“You’re supposed to be out playing house right now.”
“Yeah, and Amy called on the way asking for my calving book. She’s got like two cows that could give birth any day.”
“Ew, oh my god,” Trinity groans.
“I think we used it to level your dresser,” he starts, and Trinity’s eyes go wide, desperately hoping that isn’t the case.
“Nope, don’t think we did. I thought you were using it as a plant stand or something,” she offers, and he thinks for a second.
“Right, yeah.” He glides past her with a suspicious look, noticing how sweaty and disheveled she is. When he passes the second time with the book, she’s just standing in front of her closed door. His expression drops. “Oh my god, do you have Garcia in there?”
“No. No, I’m not, we’re not…anymore,” she says quickly, awkwardly, following Whittaker into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, but Trinity can feel what he’s thinking. He’s oddly protective over her, and it never fails to make Trinity squirm.
“Why do you have a Stanford shirt?”
“Oh it’s, uh, not mine,” Trinity says thoughtlessly.
“So, you do have someone in there,” he grins, and she forces down a blush by grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around in the direction of the door. “Have fun. Be safe. I’ll text next time I need to enter my own apartment,” he says as she’s shoving him out the door.
“Good riddance, Huckleberry,” she calls after him, locking the door and securing the chain just to be safe.
Trinity takes a deep breath outside her room — trying to flush Whittaker from her mind — before entering. On the bed, Baran has her hand between her legs, slowly, quietly circling her clit. Her eyes are closed, one hand rolling a nipple between her fingers, soft gasps pushing past her lips.
“Fuck, Baran,” Trinity sighs, tearing off the shirt and boxers and sliding the strap back on. “Have you been touching yourself the whole time I was talking to Huckleberry?” Baran whines and nods, her eyes barely fluttering open. Oh, she’s fucking gone.
Trinity settles eagerly between her legs and just watches her. She’s so wet she’s dripping onto the bed, swollen and clenching around nothing. Trinity moans, her hands falling to Baran’s soft thighs.
“I need you inside me,” Baran mumbles, and Trinity can’t help but smile. She loves when Baran gets like this, so aching and desperate she’d do just about anything to cum.
“I can tell, baby.”
“Please. I was so close when you left,” she whines, her fingers clicking against her clit, and Trinity can see the stringy slickness on them.
“You’re still close,” Trinity teases but not for long, her own clit throbbing at the sight.
She shifts closer, aligning the strap and holding Baran’s hips. When she drives in hard and bottoms out, the most obscene sound Trinity’s ever heard punches past Baran’s lips. Her back arches, and her hand flies up to press low into Trinity’s belly.
“Fuck. fuck. Actually, I think you need to pull out. Oh, god.” Trinity can feel her clenching down, twitching and trying so hard to keep still. “I’m gonna cum.”
“Now you’re embarrassed?” Trinity laughs at the blush that rises to Baran’s cheeks. She pushes against Trinity, but Trinity doesn’t budge. “You worked yourself up while I was gone, and these are the consequences.”
Baran’s hips twitch.
“Oh, Trinity, fuck,” she moans, her head rolling back, fingers falling from Trinity’s belly to fist the sheets as she cums without Trinity having to do a goddam thing.
And then she fucks Baran through it, hard and deep, swiping at her clit until she cums again with a series of cries and moans that almost make Trinity fall apart. She can feel the spattering of liquid on her thighs as they slam together, hear it on the strap as it squelches in her. And when Baran can’t take it anymore, tears stinging at her eyes, Trinity slows and stops.
Baran keeps a vice grip on the strap as she comes down, so Trinity just runs her hands up and down her damp skin, soothing. They’re both gasping as Trinity finally pulls out. Baran’s eyes flutter open, hazy and tired, and she reaches her hand down to feel the soaking wet sheets between her legs.
“Your sheets,” she groans. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally do that. I would’ve laid a towel down.”
“I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” is all Trinity can manage knowing she’s dripping wet and throbbing. Baran’s eyes go dark, and she licks her lips.
“Come here,” she breathes, and Trinity’s scrambling up to kiss her, the strap pressing into Baran’s trembling thigh.
So Trinity canonically has experience with recreational drug use. Maybe just her friend/s, maybe also herself. That part doesn’t really matter for this post.
Most of us HC that her best friend died when they were teenagers.
But… I was thinking.
Med student Trinity watching her best friend sink further and further. Med student Trinity not being able to save her best friend from the outcome of their shared trauma.
Med student Trinity having a patient with a similar case to what she experienced with her best friend and then being screamed at by a man with authority over her for saving that patient. A man with authority over her who is struggling with addiction. Then she has a child who is being abused by her patient. And she watches everyone report the parent trying to protect her instead of the parent abusing her.
Then the MCI and the new trauma of that.
Med student Trinity questioning once again if she’s good enough to save people. Finally finishing her intern year.
Then on the fourth day of her second year of being a doctor, that same man comes back. Has authority over her again. Is acting like he did nothing wrong — and the rest of the department is following suit, including the woman she’s started to develop feelings for. The new attending threatens her with repeating her year on her FOURTH DAY.
Trinity Santos is genuinely going through hell and that’s not even really considering what’s happening with Yolanda.
the fact that langdon gets to be an asshole to everyone except for his favorite white girl and his abrasiveness is accepted as a character quirk but when trinity lashes out it's treated as a personal moral failing instead of a response to her environment
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funny little headcanon is that i believe if victoria ever came out to her mom that shamsi would be like 'okay, that's fine. but i still don't understand why you do not want to go into surgery. all the other gay women are in surgery; do you not want to be a gay surgeon like yolanda and emery? what about your lesbian friend trinity, doesn't she want to do surgery as well? you can do better victoria'
what if baran’s wearing the tightest lululemon jacket known to man because she’s nervous about her first day and needs pressure on her arms to feel safe and grounded
then the day goes on and she has a seizure and then another and robby is being unreasonable and everyone hates her even though she brought bagels and wants nothing more than to help
and she starts scratching her arm again, a habit she’s usually better about catching. light but enough to ground her racing thoughts after the slash trach. enough, in the same spot over and over, to leave a red mark at the end of the day
and it builds until she’s overwhelmed and sweaty and kind of panicky in a way that only got bad again after kabul. so she takes the jacket off and lets her hair down because the claw clip keeps scratching her scalp and…
baran “sensory issues” al-hashimi is so special to me
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