#okay. see. the common denominator there is You

[gghostwriter]

You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face. 

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.” 

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.” 

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?” 

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?” 

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice. 

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?” 

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.” 

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.” 

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?” 

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater. 

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?” 

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk. 

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation. 

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?” 

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed. 

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth. 

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” 

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory. 

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up. 

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who. 

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.” 

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?” 

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them. 

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language. 

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst 

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?” 

“What? No! No, of course not!” 

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow. 

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend. 

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue. 

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course. 

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down. 

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking? 

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time. 

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk. 

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement. 

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered. 

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement. 

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with. 

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.  

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance. 

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest. 

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.” 

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

[kthologue]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[darlinluxx]

𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐑 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff

warnings : none

summary : Cheol starts seeing you as a mother figure

a/n : inspired by @karli6 comment on one of my posts bc it’s so cute i couldn’t not write about it

𝐓he scent of lavender fills your small apartment, a comforting aroma that’s become synonymous with Saebyeok. it’s a stark contrast to the grit of her life, the harsh edges that you know so well, and a gentle reminder of the soft woman beneath. you’re perched on the edge of the couch, a half-finished crossword puzzle abandoned in your lap. Saebyeok is at the small table, her brow furrowed in concentration as she counts the meager money spread out before her.

you watch her, a fondness blossoming in your chest. you love that even in her moments of vulnerability, there’s a strength that radiates from her. it’s the same strength that protects her younger brother, Cheol.

speaking of Cheol, a small, hesitant cough echoes from the doorway. you look up and see him, his backpack slung low on his shoulders, his eyes large and uncertain. he’s holding out a crumpled sheet of paper.

“i… i need some help.” he mumbles, his gaze darting between you and Saebyeok.

Saebyeok glances up, her expression softening as she notices Cheol. “homework again?” she sighs, a hint of exasperation in her voice. she picks up a pen, ready to tackle the task at hand. but Cheol shakes his head, his focus locked on you.

“not for you.” she shuffled closer, his gaze imploring. “can you help me, please?”

your heart melts. it’s not that Saebyeok isn’t good at academics, but her way of teaching sometimes involves a lot of direct answers, whereas you prefer a more patient, guiding approach. you know that Cheol can be easily intimated, and perhaps you offer a calmer space for him to learn.

you set aside your crossword and smile, beckoning him closer. “of course, Cheol. let me see.”

he practically barrels himself into the space next to you on the couch, his small body warm against your side. as you smooth out the paper, you see it’s a math problem involving fractions, a subject dreaded by many young students.

“okay,” you say, pointing to the equation with a pen. “this looks a little tricky, but we can break it down. what do you think about first finding the common denominator?”

you spend the next half hour patiently explaining the concepts, drawing diagrams on scrap paper, and gently nudging him towards the solution. you praise him for every small victory, and his eyes light up each time he grasps a new idea. you realize these moments are precious. you enjoy being able to support and teach him.

Saebyeok watches from the table, a subtle smile playing on her lips. when you finally help Cheol arrive at the correct answer, he bursts into a grin, his satisfaction radiating through the room.

“thanks! you’re the best!” he declares, his eyes shining with newfound confidence. he scrambles off the couch, heading to his room, leaving a trail of discarded papers in his wake.

you turn to Saebyeok, a warm feeling settling in your chest. “he’s a smart kid, just needs a little encouragement.”

she nods, her eyes holding a complex mix of affection and almost… relief? “yeah.” she says quietly, returning to the money.

over the next few weeks, you notice a pattern forming. Cheol starts seeking you out for help with his homework more often. it’s never forced, always a gentle request. and you never refuse. you find yourself looking forward to the quiet evenings spent poring over textbooks and diagrams with Cheol. it’s a nice change of pace from the anxiety and fear that usually permeates both his and Saebyeok’s lives.

sometimes. he even asks for help with things beyond schoolwork. it’s in these seemingly mundane moments, as you help him, that you feel a strange connection to Cheol, like you’re something more than just his sister’s girlfriend.

one evening, as you’re helping him with a particularly challenging history assignment, Cheol pauses, his small fingers tracing the outline of an illustration in his textbook. he looks up at you, his eyes wide and earnest.

“you’re like mom,” he says, the words spilling out before he can think them through. “she used to help me with my homework too.”

a wave of emotion washes over you. it’s not even a conscious decision, but you pull him into a gentle hug, holding him close. it’s a bittersweet revelation. his mother is a gaping hole in both their lives, a void you can’t ever hope to truly fill. but if you can offer him a semblance of stability, of care, it’s something you desperately want to do.

you feel Saebyeok’s eyes on you from across the room. you look up and lock her eyes. she’s watching you with a soft smile on her face, a silent understanding passing between you. she knows the weight you carry with Cheol’s words, and she knows the strength you hold within as well.

you squeeze Cheol gently, kissing the top of his head. “well, i’ll try my best, okay?” you say, before returning to the history book, a different kind of warmth filling the space within your small, lavender-scented apartment. it’s more than just homework, it’s the beginning of something that feels like family. and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[professional-rat-eater]

Kinda insane that in the show that is rooted firmly in its use of the unreliable narrator trope, it seems all too common that:

1. People believe Armand had to have turned Daniel out of spite just because Louis said so.

2. Armand was lying about Lestat being attracted to him, a character who is known for being alluring and attractive.

I wonder what the common denominator between those two things are? So anything anyone says about Armand is true, but everything Armand says is automatically a lie? Okay, sure.

I guess it bothers me because Assad is so beautiful and he nails how charming and seductive Armand is meant to be. Why are people so determined to deny that characters in-universe might find him attractive? No one had an issue believing it in the books. He also captured the fragility and very real vulnerability Armand exhibits in fleeting moments. He’s such a gorgeous character and it sucks to see people overlook Assad’s work.

If you came away from season 2 thinking Armand is a “moustache-twirling villain” as I believe Assad(?) put it, whose every action is rooted in callousness and pure evil, you are watching the wrong show. There are much worse characters than him and even they are layered and complex.

Yes, Armand is evil. Yes, he did terrible things. Yes, he lies often. But he is not the Big Bad a lot of people pretend he is and not every word out of his mouth is a lie. There is so much more to him and why he acts the way he does. The actors have said so, the show-runner said so, the writers said so, the books said so, the show itself said so. Read between the lines please. Or just read the actual lines. It’s not even subtext.

He’s morally grey like everyone else and he’s going to have a lot more screen time so if you insist on hating him, I’d prepare yourself for that. He and Lestat have a very real history. It’s just a little weird how people purposely mischaracterise him (and all the other characters in the process). He’d be so boring if he was the one-note villain many seem to believe he is.

[miyukisu]

On Camera .ᐟ

❤︎ | You just love teasing your best friend—even better now that he's frustrated and can only see you through a screen (2.1k wc) ╰ feat. narumi gen (kn8) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 1 | kinktober masterlist

tags - best friend! narumi, virgin! narumi, reader also works in the force, cybersex, mutual masturbation, so much dirty talk, flashing, nipple play (kinda), swearing

minors do not interact

You and Narumi Gen go way back to your trainee days. Much to everyone's surprise, you two became quick friends—really good friends at that. I mean, who would've thought?

There's you—a fiery little thing, loves to poke fun and tease her friends. Then, there's Narumi Gen—bit of an oddball. Truth be told, you two had almost nothing in common, except for the fact that you were both strong.

You, Narumi, and Mina led your trainee batch; everyone looked up to you. Mina respected the two of you. Narumi, of course, couldn't accept that there was someone tailgating him at his position at the top. And you—who admired Narumi quite a lot. Although, that admiration came in the form of endless teasing. It wasn't just Narumi who was annoyed, but the rest of your fellow trainees as well. They were forced to be a witness of your 'disgusting and coy display of affection.'

Narumi said he hated it. He hated how strong you were and how you were always up in his business. Yet, you two were attached at the hip. It was a paradox, but neither of you addressed it. That was until you both graduated and got assigned at different bases which were hours apart.

Your feelings for each other were thrown into disarray. But that didn't mean you lost all correspondence.

────────────

"You look like shit."

Narumi groans from the other end of your video call. You were teasing him, but it was partially true—his eyes were sunken and a deep frown persisted on his face.

He glares intensely at you. "You wouldn't understand the burdens of the strongest kaiju killer, would you?"

His arrogance was only met by a laugh. That same laugh was one he despised, but sought after because... it just felt right. There were many things in his head that made no sense and the common denominator was you. "Why do you have to mess up my mind?" he'd often think, especially on his sleepless nights.

Narumi leans back in his chair, a pensive sigh escaping his dried lips. "But y'know... I've really been frustrated lately..." he admits.

It was a rare show of vulnerability. Most of the time, he's too prideful to admit his true feelings, but after knowing you for so long, he has learned to let his walls down sometimes. At the very least—you were nice enough to pause the teasing when it gets serious.

"Overworked huh?" you ask.

He turns his chair to face you again, tilting his head and letting out another fatigued breath. "That and life is just so BORING," he exclaims. You raise an eyebrow, anticipating a hissy fit which wasn't uncommon for this guy.

"I feel like all I do is work and work... and work. God, even the younger members of this base have more fun than I do."

A smirk crosses your lips, amused that you predicted his impending meltdown. "What? Like they don't deserve it?"

"Duh! I'm out here busting my ass off—killing kaiju left and right—and these kids are the ones having a social life?"

"When did you care about being social, Mr. Shut-in?"

He clicks his tongue. "Okay, first of all, fuck you. Second, I don't care about social relations. I am WAY above that, okay? I don't care about what they do. They can fuck like rabbits in the dorms for all I care but—"

Narumi was cut off by the sound of your boisterous laughter. As much as you tried to keep the serious facade, it was impossible... especially after figuring out his true cause of distress.

"Oh my God... don't tell me you're mad because the younger soldiers are getting more action than you?"

His face felt warm all over. Narumi didn't mean to blurt that out, but envy had been consuming him for the past few days after he had heard some younger members of the base... getting dirty in one of the dorms.

Narumi was the strongest soldier—admired and idolized by many. Yet, here he was—a raging virgin with a seemingly unreciprocated crush on you. Yes, you, but he'd rather die than admit it to your face.

He turned to look away, stunned into silence by his own actions. He was unsure of how to salvage his reputation at the moment. "That's not what I meant..."

All the arrogance had faded from his voice—replaced by a uncharacteristic softness as a result of embarrassing himself.

"Oh c'mon. There's nothing embarrassing about that. We're only human; we can feel those things, y'know?"

"Even you?" he counters.

An uneasy smile spreads across your face. "Yeah... even me."

But the look on his face says that he isn't convinced. In his head he's thinking about how impossible that is considering how attractive you are. You had to be lying about being in the same boat as him.

Though you weren't sure why you wanted him to believe you.

"I'm serious. Look, I'm in a base far away from all the people I know and the guy here aren't exactly my... cup of tea," you added.

With that, your best friend's face seemed to lighten up a bit. Part of him was glad that even someone as hot as you was in the same predicament as him, but mostly because the person he likes isn't being taken by anyone else.

As high and mighty he sees himself, he always thought himself unworthy of you. The simple fact that you were unclaimed gave him a sliver of hope.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The poor guy was confused and it was clear as day. You felt mostly responsible for it. As you prepared to say something, you crossed your arms—pushing your boobs up in the process. Wearing a tank top suddenly made you conscious of your body.

An intrusive thought invaded your brain. It was perhaps the result of you wanting to tease him, his frustration, and you being secretly pent up as well. It was a futile attempt to shake off that thought as it kept bombarding you.

You were able to hold it in, until you couldn't.

"Hey... Gen?"

"What?" he says, sounding a bit dejected by his circumstances.

You stifled a smile, knowing that he'd be thrown off by it. "Can you turn around? I wanna show you a surprise."

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical of whatever you have up your sleeve. Throughout your years together, he has learned to take your so-called sincerity with a grain of salt. But his affection towards you makes him abandon all rational thought.

"Okay?" he says, turning around in his swivel chair.

You let out a breath—giving yourself a quick mental pep talk. You quickly lifted your top, thrilled and anxious of the risk at the same time.

It was now or never. "Okay, you can look now."

Narumi quickly turns in his seat, eyes widening upon seeing a pair of tits—your tits—on his screen. He frantically looked away, covering his eyes with his hands—though he wasn't doing a good job at it.

"H-hey! What the fuck? Put those away!"

His words betrayed his actions; you could see him peeking through his fingers. You figured you were at a point of no return, so you did the only appropriate thing: squishing your boobs together for him.

Seeing your boldness, he let his hand fall—finally admiring what you displayed for him. "Seriously... what are you doing?"

"We're both frustrated, aren't we?" you ask as if your situation was ordinary.

"So what? I stare at your tits?"

"Dumbass. Is that all you do when you're frustrated? Stare at shit?"

He rolls his eyes, trying to act blasé, but there was a growing tent in his pants. "No... well, I guess I... jack off... sometimes..."

As if saying 'sometimes' softens the blow of his words.

You let go of your tits and lean back into your chair. It was entertaining—how his eyes never seem to leave your chest. Almost as if he were entranced by it.

His body moved on its own, palming the growing erection under his sweats. It ached; it was painful and it wanted relief.

With the angle of the camera, you couldn't really see him pull his cock out from under the desk, but you just knew. The momentary o-face he made presumably when the cold air of his room hit the warm and sensitive skin of his cock was a dead giveaway.

All shame was thrown out the window as he started to slowly fist his cock at the sight he could only dream of. It almost felt unreal to him that all of this was happening—you willingly showing off your tits while he jacked off and you watched.

It was exhilarating in all the best ways.

But he wasn't the only one excited. This all started because you were frustrated too. Your eyes were fixed on his face. Unlike him—who had visuals—all you could go off on was the fact that you were doing something so dirty.

A hand slipped under your shorts and beneath your panties. It was damp, of course it was. You slowly rubbed the pad of your finger against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Narumi must've noticed your own movements as well because he let out a low groan. "Fuck... that's hot."

You huff your chest out with a smirk. "Bet you're so hard right now huh?"

"Like you're not a fucking waterfall down there," he retorts.

The back and forth goes on while the two of you played with yourselves.

Eventually, the stimulation wasn't enough for you. Quickly, you pulled your hand out and popped your fingers into your mouth. He watched intently, mesmerized by you.

After sufficiently lubricating your digits, you snuck them back in and plunged two fingers into you. The pleasant intrusion had you throwing your head back against your chair and letting out a soft moan.

He rubbed himself faster than before. Narumi was desperately reaching his high, wanting to quell the ache in his cock.

"Play with your tits," he demanded.

You had heard him well enough before you got lost in the sensation. Your other hand made its way up to cup one of your breasts, slowly massaging it in a teasing manner. His jaw went slack at how easily you obeyed his orders.

The ego boost that he got while ordering around his subordinates isn't even on par with this at all.

Every time you flicked or tugged your nipple—he swore that his dick twitched. "Yeah... keep going. Are you rubbing your clit huh?"

"No..."

"Oh," he breathes, "Fucking yourself on your fingers then?"

"Y-yeah, but I can't reach deep enough," you whine.

He sucks in through his teeth. Narumi had never seen you so desperate before and awakened something primal in him.

"If that were me... you would've came minutes ago, wouldn't you?"

You nod, now wishing that it was his fingers making a mess out of you. But this was all you could get for now.

"Yeah... you're the strongest after all. You can do anything, right?"

"You fucking know it," he says almost breathlessly. Seeing that fucked out look on your face while praising him almost made him cum. But he wanted to last longer—to savor this moment which he wasn't sure if it would happen again.

"You gonna cum with me?" he asked.

He was close. Oh so painfully close. But he was a bit of a romantic in that he wanted the both of you to cum together.

You peel your back off your chair, shifting angles to coax out an orgasm and after a few moments, you do. The sensation flooded your senses, spreading warmth all throughout your body. You weren't sure if you came this hard because of having 0 action for so long or if it was because of how lewd you were with your best friend.

And as you moaned sweetly through your microphone, he let out hot ropes of cum and a breathless moan to match. He felt his abdomen cramping after unconsciously being stiff and on edge for so long.

Both of you let out labored breaths, trying to calm your racing heartbeats. It was only then your eyes met again. Though it seems like post nut clarity hit him too soon as he looked away with a bashful expression.

"Still frustrated, captain?" you teased.

He was glad you didn't call him that earlier, otherwise he would've came right on the spot. "Shut the fuck up... I am though."

"Greedy. That wasn't enough for you?"

"You mean seeing you play with yourself through a fucking monitor? Go figure."

You laugh once more and it was now mostly music to his ears. "Say—how about I visit you some time? Let me show you the real thing?"

"...Sure."

"For someone who was speaking so dirty earlier—you sure do get shy huh?"

"Don't you ever shut the fuck up?" he quips to which you laugh again.

The prospect of getting to hold you and feel you around his member was tantalizing. But for now, he'll have to deal with his cock hardening again.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note a short one... with no p in v... to start of the month

[katzenmas]

Simon who has never fallen in love before, so when he starts catching feelings for you he thinks he's sick. He was perfectly fine a few months ago, there was nothing amiss, even now he can't exactly pinpoint when his heart started palpatating or his palms started sweating. he was never uncomfortable in his own skin, but this felt just like that! he was fidgety, his throat went dry, his face was flaring up as if he had a fever. it always happened randomly, the only common denominator? you. It was crazy! you and Simon have been on the same task force for about four years now, he was doing just fine before. slowly befriending you and keeping a civil relationship with you. He thinks it could be an allergic reaction? but why wouldn't it flare up in the previous years. It just made no sense. Simon almost drove himself crazy trying to figure it out. Even know, he was sitting in the lounge area with his elbows on his knees, face concentrated in deep thought. It was Johnny who found him trying to burn a hole through the wall with his intense gaze. ' LT? you doin' okay there?' The sudden question ripped Simon away from his thoughts. He stared at Johnny for a few minutes, the latter slowly becoming increasingly more nervous as the silence stretched between them. 'alrighty then i'll leave ya to it' ' Johnny wait' even Simon was confused with his behaviour, but maybe an outside perspective is what he needed. 'i have an...affliction' Johnny took a seat and listened to his lieutenant start explaining the situation. slowly, the gears in his mind clicked. Simon kept on rambling about how his mind goes blank, his core temperature keeps rising, the clammy palms, the shaky voice and the sudden shyness not making sense to him. Johnny just laughs, hard. ' holy hell Ghost ya in love?' the question felt like a slap in the face. Simon looked at his sargeant in disbelief, almost offended by the question. Johnny just kept smiling and asked Simon a simple question. ' when do these uh, symptoms make themselves known LT?' So Simon tells him about how he thinks he might be allergic to you, or at least some perfume or body wash you use. Johnny listens and keeps nodding, a smile never leaving his face. ' You know Ghost? This might actually be an allergy. You should talk to her and ask her about it, maybe she has more answers?' Oh Johnny was going to enjoy seeing how this would turn out.

[wolfiesmoon]

Bakery

Leona x gn!reader

ok but can we feel the love tonight tho

i learned something new recently and i want to put this knowledge to good use (smirks evilly at leona)

also i am sick asf right now so i apologise if this is sloppily proofread

It seems like being Leona's pillow has become a part of your daily at this point. It's become an unspoken routine for you.

Usually, he'd sleep anywhere but he had to adapt his sleeping habits a little because of you. Turns out most people don't find the floor of the greenhouse a comfortable napping spot.

Usually, the perfect spot is your room in Ramshackle dorm. It's quiet and empty, save for the pesky ghosts that interrupt the two of you sometimes. It makes for the perfect hiding place when Ruggie is bothering him with some stupid papers he needs to solve for potionology, too.

All in all, worth the walk to the dorm. Especially since he gets to see you and feel your warmth without fail.

You were already waiting for him on your bed, busying yourself with scrolling through your Magicam feed. Usually, you keep a few textbooks for studying with you, but exams have mostly concluded for now. You know once Leona attaches onto you, you're not going to be able to leave for atleast 2 hours, so it's always great to prepare in advance.

Sure enough, you heard familiar footsteps getting closer and the door opened to reveal your sleepy lover. His tail swished when he caught sight of you. What a lovely sight, indeed.

"Hey Leona, had a good day?" you ask casually and he sighs in response, mumbling something about being tired. Well, that's just the usual, isn't it?

He climbs up on the bed and you smile at his sleepy expression. He's so cute when he's sleepy, but you probably shouldn't tell him that unless you want to get glared at.

Instead of crashing on top of you like you're used to, though, he places his hands on your belly, still sitting at your side. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't even meet your eyes.

Suddenly, his hands start moving in a kneading motion. A surprise massage? Not that you mind it, but that's highly unusual coming from Leona of all people. If anything, it should be the other way around.

"Leona..?" you question, trying to get a good look at his face. You can't really see it well because of the hair that fell to the side of his face. But from what little you can see, he seems to be in sort of a trance right now. His eyes are barely opened and he's wearing a little satisfied smile on his face. He doesn't respond to you at all.

"Leona?" you try again, a little firmer this time. He suddenly stops, probably finally coming back to his senses. You can see the way his eyes widen for a moment before he falls down on top of you without a word, wrapping his arms around you. Now you can't see his face at all, unable to read his expression.

"Leona, what was that?" you hugged him back, still a bit dumbfounded. You weren't going to lie though, that felt really nice.

"Don't ever bring this up again." Leona did not seem in the mood to discuss what just happened any further. He could have sworn he left that behaviour behind as a toddler. How embarrasing.

He's kind of worried now. That's how much you affect him.

"Oh... uh, okay." you pet the back of his head lovingly. Hmmm... now that you think of it, Grim does the same thing sometimes. The common denominator with Grim and Leona is that they're both cats, atleast somewhat.

If you apply this knowledge to what you know about cats in general... Oh, Leona, that silly goose. Seems he's a bit embarrased about kneading on you. You wonder if it was pure instinct.

yep, turns out the big kitties knead too, ain't that just a testament to the tried and true saying "cat is cat"

[taegimood]

later than promised but i’ve returned for that last big dick soobin thought…

firstly: (this is ALL based on opinions because every pussy is different and everyone has different preferences/tolerances) so in a lot of fics it’s a common thing to talk abt their tip repeatedly hitting your cervix and usually it’s in the context of rougher sex but in reality, for most women/afab people, i’ve found it’s more common than not for that to actually hurt really bad when it’s rough or just too deep. some really love it and some really hate it, but either way the common denominator that i’ve heard most of us agree on is that if it’s with a gentle touch, tapping it or rubbing against it, then it feels heavenly and often brings a better/stronger orgasm..

SO ANYWAY WITH SOOBIN,,,,, i stand by the hc that he has one of the biggest dicks in the industry 😐☝🏼 he’s certainly the biggest you’ve ever had — i can imagine how worried he’d be about hurting you, and since the cervix changes positions depending on your monthly cycle, i think when you and soobin first start having sex there’s probably some trial and error.. what he did a couple of weeks ago didn’t hurt but suddenly he’s doing the same thing and you’re gasping out in pain, because your cervix is in a different position than before and his tip hit it too hard. he feels so guilty and needs a lot of convincing from you to keep trying because he never wants to see you in pain because of him again :(( but eventually, you guys discover by accident the thing that has your head reeling, and this time in a good way..

you were just cuddling at first, which then turned into kisses along your neck and heavy petting until you got to the position that you’re in now: soobin half hovering over you and two fingers deep in your pussy, sliding them in and out of you languidly with his lips pressed to yours and your tongues tangling lazily together. you moan softly into his mouth, spurring him on even further, stroking you deeper while his pace remains leisurely, making you shiver as you feel every ridge of his slender fingers. with a curve of his wrist he’s changing angles, pumping them even deeper until his fingers are in all the way up to his knuckles —

he quickly halts and pulls his lips away from yours as you gasp loudly, his eyes wide and worried as they rapidly travel across your expression with furrowed brows and a flurry of “are you okay?” and “did i hurt you again?” (☹️). but you’re shaking your head quickly, gripping his wrist to stop him as he goes to pull out — you’re out of breath from the sensation as you plead, “n-no, don’t stop.. felt.. felt so good. need it again, please, keep going, soob..”

his long fingers had gently nudged against your cervix from the deeper angle, and the orgasm that followed as he began repeating his actions was practically pornographic, and shocking to you both. so, with the realization that it actually did feel good when he touched you that deep, just at a gentler pace, you felt an all new vigor for taking his cock.

even after the orgasm he gave you, he’s unsure at first — “isn’t avoiding that part of you the whole point to begin with?” — but you insist that it’ll be okay, to just try, practically pleading as your eyes shamelessly zone in on his hard, leaking cock that he’s hesitantly pumping in his hand.

when i tell you that this would become like an all new kind of foreplay for you two……

he’s simultaneously edging and overstimulating the both of you as he drags his cock so slowly against your walls, never pulling out much but giving tiny, focused thrusts to bring his head tapping gently against your cervix, so deep inside of you that you feel utterly stuffed to the brim; he’s panting and you’re moaning at the absolute teasing that this whole sensation is. his thick cock stretching you out so good, the burn turned to pleasure; every vein rubbing against your warm, tight, gummy walls; and every time either of you feel a climax nearing, he’ll stop just in time as the two of you catch your breaths.

soobin slowly leaning down to your level, getting comfortable in a new position as you wrap your arms around him, moaning into each other’s mouths as he brings his lips to yours and begins moving his hips again.. “feels good?” he’d mumble against your lips, you nodding and whimpering back, “so good.. you’re s-so big..” and you can feel the way his cock twitches at your words. “not hurting you..?” his voice more hesitant this time, but you’re reassuring him, pulling him closer - “no, baby, making me feel SO so good, please don’t stop~” — and so he doesn’t.

gradually picking up the pace until his tip is bumping into your cervix rhythmically, the pressure taking your breath away as you wrap your trembling legs around his waist, whimpers and staccato moans coming from you both as you beg him to cum inside you, and that’s what sends him over the edge as he presses deep into your cunt with a groan — the warmth of his release makes you shiver, and you reach a shuddering climax as you feel his tip throbbing against your cervix when he finishes. you end up cumming so hard that you see white, and the rest is history.

despite all the trial and error with soobin’s monster cock, you become obsessed with the sensation of it filling you up to your pussy’s limit.. cockwarming him as he plays video games and you’re rolling your hips over his, his tip rubbing into you so deep that you end up shaking around him and soaking his lap in your cum — (he’d definitely get you to squirt at some point btw) — or whether it’s getting used to the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you while you build up familiarity with the feeling of his huge cock reaching all the deepest places of your cunt.. whatever the case, eventually you learn to fucking love feeling him so deep and you can just never get enough of your boyfriend’s big long cock and his powerful hips that he knows how to use oh so well 🤧

and when there’s no time for sex, he never says no to you bucking your hips on his long, pretty fingers as he massages them in and out of you with a thumb on your clit and a whisper in your ear of it’ll be my cock soon, baby, don’t worry — gonna fill you up so, so good.

that’s all. just you learning to take soobin’s huge size in your lil pussy <3

this thought feels almost too obscure for anyone to like it but 🤷🏻‍♀️ just had to get the soobie’s big dick kissing your cervix concept out there… also now i’m thinking about him making you squirt lol 🫠

[capseycartwright]

you're my sun, my moon, my guiding star

“Fine, let’s have it your way then,” Eddie slammed his phone down on the kitchen table. “You set me up a dating profile then – Hinge, Grindr, whatever you fucking want, Buck. Set me up a dating profile, and you pick which random man I need to sleep with to make it so you feel okay about wanting me.” 

in which evan buckley gets dumped, gets drunk with his best friend, realises he's in love with said best friend, and lets his abandonment issues get the best of him. because your first is never your last, right? so buck can't be eddie's first: he needs to be his last.

ao3 link

Buck was driving himself to Eddie’s before he could really even think about it, the autopilot of his brain engaging and getting him behind the wheel, and on the road to his best friend’s house without needing much thought at all. Eddie was who he needed, in that moment – not Maddie, and her sage advice, not Hen, who’d be clever, and logical about it all. No, he needed Eddie. Eddie, who inexplicably opened the front door in his underwear and a pink shirt. Eddie, who let them sit in silence, a playlist churning out eighties rock for a full twenty-three minutes (Buck checked) before Eddie said anything at all. 

“So,” Eddie set his empty drink down, gesturing to Buck for a second. Buck twisted the cap off before he handed it over, adding to the pile on the coffee table. “What happened? You said that you and Tommy were going to the movies tonight.” 

Buck groaned, the sound loud in the quiet of Eddie’s house. “I was supposed to be,” he slumped back onto the couch. “But then he dumped me.” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “He dumped you?”

“He dumped me,” Buck confirmed. “Because I am a deeply unlovable individual who is going to die alone.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I think you might be being dramatic there.”

“I’m not!” Buck protested. “Eddie, everyone I date dumps me – or leaves me. That apparently doesn’t even change when I’m dating a man. It’s not – I thought it would be different, with Tommy.” 

“Because he’s a man?” Eddie’s confusion wasn’t judgemental – no, Eddie never judged him, Buck was sure of that much. It was sincere confusion, his best friend wanting to understand where Buck was coming from.

“Yeah? No? I mean – maybe,” Buck huffed. He wasn’t entirely sure how to articulate himself. “I guess – I guess I just thought that now I know who I am, that I’m like – consciously aware I’m bisexual – it might be different. That maybe it didn’t work out before because there was this part of me that I didn’t know, or understand, and that had affected my relationships because I wasn’t bringing my like, whole self to the table. But if it didn’t work with Tommy, then that’s not why. Right? Then the problem is me.” 

Eddie’s expression softened. “I don’t think the problem is you, Buck.”

“It has to me! I’m the only common denominator here.”

Buck wanted to cry. He wanted to lie down on Eddie’s couch and cry until he had nothing left – and it wasn’t about Tommy, really, because Buck had liked Tommy, but the end of their relationship wasn’t what was making him feel so devastated. It was the idea of Tommy, more than anything else – what Tommy represented. A happily ever after that Buck was falling short of all over again. 

“What did Tommy say, exactly? Maybe – maybe you’re spiralling, and he gave you a good reason that you’re not seeing.” 

“He – I asked him to move in with me.” 

“Buck.”

Eddie sounded long-suffering. Buck had earned that. He knew that much. “I know,” he knew it had been the wrong move. The words were barely out of his mouth, and Buck knew it had been the wrong move – but that was sort of his thing, to cling desperately to relationships that didn’t work because he was so terrified of being alone. “I just – I felt comfortable with him, and the whole Abby thing was weird.”

“Really weird,” Eddie agreed, wincing. 

“But not the kind of weird I couldn’t get past. Right? He came over tonight, and I told him – why be apart when we could be together. Then, he said he couldn’t move in with me, because if he did, I would only break his heart,” Buck sighed. He wouldn’t intend to. That’s what Tommy had said – but who ever planned to break someone’s heart? No one was that cruel. Maybe they were – but Buck wasn’t. He’d never wanted to break anyone’s heart, even if that had been the end result sometimes. 

Eddie was quiet for a second. “Did he say why he thought you’d break his heart?”

Buck’s beer burned his throat as he took another gulp, the sour taste lingering. “He said that he was my first, but he wasn’t my last.” 

read the rest on ao3

[dedalvs]

Valyrian is impressively complicated and difficult to learn, is it so complicated on purpose or did it surprise you with how complicated it turned out?

When it comes to complexity and language, any complexity you add to the morphology is complexity you take away from the syntax, and vice-versa. For example, when you learn all the noun cases of Finnish, it buys you having to remember fewer constructions with adpositions—or fewer verb augmentations, if the language went that way.

Syntactically, Valyrian is usually (MODIFIER) NOMINATIVE-NOUN (MODIFIER) OTHER-CASE-NOUN* (ADVERB) VERB. It's quite simple. There's not a lot you have to remember, and things can move around a little bit, if it feels right. You don't have to remember a ton of auxiliaries with different applications and slightly different usages. For the most part the heavy hitters (the nouns and verbs themselves) take care of things rather nicely. This is what complexity within the words themselves buys you: simplicity elsewhere.

The reason you get this is because all languages are doing the same thing: describing human experience. And humans are the same language to language. The other small tidbit is that when creating a naturalistic language—and it doesn't matter what method you use—you are, unconsciously or not, aiming for the lowest common denominator in terms of grammatical complexity. You don't have to do that, but generally if you're trying to create a language for humans with no other goals, you do. With a language like Ithkuil, John was intentionally pushing away from what is standard in human languages, and so there are needless levels of complexity that push beyond the boundaries of ordinary human language.

Now, when I say "needless", this is what I mean.

In Turkish, if you want to say "The girl is reading a book", you say:

Kız kitap okuyor.

Turkish is a language with noun cases, but you only see the nominative here. Why? Because the girl is reading A book. When the object is indefinite in Turksih you don't need to use the accusative case—in fact, you shouldn't. If you wanted to say "The girl is reading the book", that's when the accusative case pops up:

Kız kitabı okuyor.

Okay, with this in mind, you've introduced—just in the nouns—four possibilities:

Nominative + indefinite

Nominative + definite

Accusative + indefinite

Accusative + definite

In a maximally complex language, all of this would be marked. In Turkish, only one of these is marked. (Well, maybe two, if you were to say Bir kız for nominative + indefinite. Turkish has an indefinite article that pops up sometimes.) Certainly there are languages where all of these have some sort of marking, but then those very same languages will have other situations where maximal marking is possible but not present.

Human languages all have this in common. There are areas in the language where more categories could be marked but are not. It doesn't matter what the language is. This is because humans have limits for how much junk they'll tolerate in the language they're using. It isn't long before something that could be inferred from context is inferred from context. It collapses every so often (i.e. too little is marked and so marking pops up), but the unconscious goal is for the language to have a balance between morphological and syntactic complexity and also explicitness and implicitness.

A language doesn't have to do this, though, and so conlangs can be more or less explicit/implicit. Can they work? Certainly, but they may be more than humans will comfortably tolerate, and so humans may not want to use them.

Take Láadan, for example. Had Láadan been created later it might have had a better shot at being used, but this was 1982 before conlangers had started getting together. Láadan primary flaw is that it's trying to be a deep philosophical experiment while also trying to be a language a lot of people speak. That was never going to work. Suzette Haden Elgin lamented that maybe women didn't want a language of their own to use, and so the experiment was doomed from the start. A simpler explanation is she saw an ocean and built a train to cross it.

In Láadan, every sentence begins with one of six speech act particles (copied from Wikipedia):

Bíi: Indicates a declarative sentence (usually optional)

Báa: ndicates a question

Bó: Indicates a command; very rare, except to small children

Bóo: Indicates a request; this is the usual imperative/"command" form

Bé: Indicates a promise

Bée: Indicates a warning

And then in addition to that, every sentence ends with one of the following (also copied from Wikipedia):

wa: Known to speaker because perceived by speaker, externally or internally

wi: Known to speaker because self-evident

we: Perceived by speaker in a dream

wáa: Assumed true by speaker because speaker trusts source

waá: Assumed false by speaker because speaker distrusts source; if evil intent by the source is also assumed, the form is waálh

wo: Imagined or invented by speaker, hypothetical

wóo: Used to indicate that the speaker states a total lack of knowledge as to the validity of the matter

This is too much! Evidential systems in language exist, but they are so much smaller than this, and usually the markers pull double duty—and there's often a null marker.

Again, though, it's about the goals! This is fine for a philosophical language. And if it was simply a philosophical language, then how many people "speak" it is irrelevant. For example, John Quijada doesn't lament that after twenty years there isn't a community of Ithkuil speakers—indeed, he's baffled whenever he hears of someone who wants to try to "speak" Ithkuil. It's not designed for that, and so the metric isn't a fair one. Based on the structure of Láadan, I'd argue the same: the number of speakers/users isn't a fair metric, and shouldn't have been a design goal. Because while a language like High Valyrian looks more complex, with its declension classes and conjugations, Láadan is more complex in that it exceeds the expectations of explicitness a human user expects from a language.

Long answer to the question, but no, High Valyrian ended up as complex as I intended, and I don't think it's more complex than one would expect from either a natural or naturalistic language.

[ms-demeanor]

Knowledge Fight anon again - thank you for the list and recs! I look forwatd to checking them out. I was excited to see there's a West Wing podcast because I enjoyed that show, but yourself and the hosts hate it so maybe not for me lmao. Though I will still give the first episode a listen - very curious to understand why our feeligns about the show differ so vastly. And if you -want- to rant about why you hate TWW - feel free! I'm genuinely curious - I'm European, have never lived in the US, so for me it was one of the biggest tools of learning how US politics work, which made it absolutely fascinating to watch.

Anyways! I'll be looking at the other podcasts as well, they all seem very interesting, and the common-denominator format you describe them having does jive with me. Thanks again!

My very republican father and sister very much wish that all democrats would act like the democrats in the west wing. It's touted as a point of honor and a great example of compromise when Democrat Jed Bartlett appoints a republican justice to the Supreme court, any time there's an environmentalist or a union supporter on the show they're painted as extreme and uncompromising, in the later seasons the Jimmy Smitts character is running as a democrat on a pro-school-vouchers, anti-tenure/union (so anti-public school, basically) platform, the show as a whole is against entitlements (free college especially is something the ostensible dems in the show aren't even interested in enough to lament).

Idk at a certain point it gets frustrating to see anti-abortion, anti-gay marriage, anti-healthcare republicans being praised as the mature compromisers in the room with complicated motivations and good points when every time a leftist protest shows up it's a warehouse full of people without enough message discipline to talk to to cameras without erupting into a shouting match and getting brushed off as whiny babies by toby zigler.

"Oh, we need CJ to look a little loopy, let's have her agree with these cartographers who are pointing out that the mercator projection privileges the global north." "Oh we need to present something that's a ridiculous waste of money, how about a wildlife crossing that would prevent keystone species injuries in an area of urban incursion, that's bullshit that we shouldn't spend money on." "Oh, we want to explain why big pharma can't provide free HIV meds to african nations in 2003, let's suggest that it wouldn't matter even if they did because *Africans don't have clocks and can't take meds 12 hours apart.*" "this hollywood producer is pushing too hard for gay marriage in 2007, let's lecture him about how you need to slow down and respect the process instead of being an activist about it"

There's this interview with Aaron Sorkin where he's saying "America used to be the world's heroes, when my dad was a soldier people would say 'thank god, the Americans are here' and they don't say that anymore and it's because of Donald Trump" - Sorkin totally ignores US imperialism and the way that people in Vietnam and Iraq and Afghanistan wouldn't say 'thank god, the americans are here' to an extent that is genuinely startling, and that shows up in the show. At one point in the show president bartlett okays the assassination of a foreign leader and says 'today we enter the league of ordinary nations' as though the US hasn't backed coups or assassination around the world, as though the CIA isn't a thing, as though Henry Kissinger isn't a thing, and it's *bizarre* from a show that is supposed to be politically aware.

I'm actually super hesitant to recommend the west wing thing to general audiences because i don't always agree with the hosts or their guests but as an analysis of the surprisingly right-leaning politics of the show it's a worthwhile listen.

It's honestly something i could rant about for way too long because I had early warning signs about it. My sister *loves* this show and its politics. She's got a "my president is Jed Bartlett" sticker that she keeps next to her signed copy of one of Ann Coulter's books. If my sister thinks your liberal character is reasonable and level headed and has good policy positions, your liberal character isn't all that liberal.

The show is steeped in American exceptionalism and imperialist apologia but it's got a tearjerker soundtrack and maybe the best and most charming cast ever assembled so you ignore it when CJ wants to brush off constitutional protections against illegal search and seizure or cruel and unusual punishment (she's a huge fan of cops and intelligence agencies and not a fan of oversight) or when she shits on affirmative action (she believes her father lost his dream job to a less qualified candidate who was selected due to minority status, and that that job loss led to his mental decline - CJ Craig thinks that DEI hiring practices killed her father) because Allison Janney is an incredibly talented and charismatic actress who is elevating the hell out of her character.

But, you know, it would be kind of fucked up if a Democrat president's chief of staff was cheerfully on-record about the fact that she thinks intelligence agencies are more effective when nobody knows what they're doing so we should leave them to their own devices.

Thank you for the opportunity to rant i cannot fucking stand this show and i kind of want to do an episode-by-episode breakdown of various flavors of bullshit but there are much better things to do with my time so i don't but it's nice to have a chance to yell about the stuff that makes me crazy off the top of my head.

That said: if you want a podcast that is less vitriolic but does actually get into how parts of the US political system work, check out 5 to 4, which is a podcast by 3 lefty lawyers talking about Supreme Court decisions. It's great!

[onlyforosblaine]

How to kill your show

I've been reading the various posts by Osblaine fans all day today. Kindred spirits all of you. You have my heart.❤️

The common denominator i found today is that everyone was okay with Nick not having a fairytale ending as long as they could keep the essence of him alive. If they could have just done justice to who he was we would have lived with it. Some of us just wanted him to have a pasta date in peace or just hold his daughter again. It really wasn't too much to ask really. The writers want us to believe that a dystopian political drama talking about feminism can't possibly give us that. Utter bullshit. It's just bad writing by a bunch of people who were never invested in their own show.

I remember being invested in another show, also six seasons long a couple of years ago. It's of course a completely different genre but i speak of it now because i remember how much respect the creators had for the fans of the main couple of this show. The show is called Lucifer and the ship was Chloe and Lucifer - shipname Deckerstar.

In their last season they were faced with the moral dilemma of having the main leads end up together. I won't spoil it for people who want to see it but essentially being together would mean one of the main lead dies leaving behind a kid. Going into the finale everyone thought they would ruin it. Guys I can't even tell you how well they handled it. With so much grace and without ever disrespecting the characters or what made them imperfectly perfect. I remember the writers saying that they want this season to showcase the growth of the main lead since season 1. Imagine that. One of them did die in the future arc and the main leads were separated for a long time. It was bittersweet but i don't think a single fan finished that show feeling disserviced.

Point being if you care about your story and the characters, you build your script and story to keep their essence alive and to accomodate the fans who supported you.

What you don't do is botch it up with a script that feels like it was written in ten minutes, kill the fan favourite while disowning his entire story and then pat yourself on the back and ask for audience reactions. I doubt anyone of us is exalting in the triumph of the handmaids which lasted the length of one taylor swift song. So what even was the point of this knee jerk decision?

[problemchildtm]

Die With A Smile

Summary: Derek has a nightmare about you dying in the field and feelings are realized

CW: death, guns, violence, typical cm stuff, lmk if there's anything I missed

A/N: I was listening to Die With A Smile by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga and wanted to write something short and sweet. Honestly I'm just happy I had motivation to write again I forgot that I actually like it lol.

It’s quiet, eerily so. The chirping of crickets is the only thing reminding him of the task at hand. Get in, get the unsub to surrender, and get out. Clearing the grounds is as routine as possible until the sounds of screams tear through the night. Not just any scream though, it was your scream. His legs took off before his brain could process the action. After what seems like ages he makes it to the shed that holds the entire scene.

Hotch is trying to talk down the unsub while Rossi supports him. Prentiss, JJ, and Reid have their guns at the ready, and Morgan freezes. Not because it’s a high-stakes situation— he’s seen plenty of those without batting an eye. He bursts into the room and sees you, kneeling while the unsub has a gun to your head. His ears are ringing and the voices of his team are muffled. The room is spinning and everything is moving entirely too fast but simultaneously in slow motion. 

Tensions escalate and the screaming brings him back to reality. Before he can react the unsub pulls the trigger. With two loud bangs and a flash of light, you were gone. 

He jolted awake, drenched in sweat. A nightmare that’s all. Not an uncommon experience but the strange part was you. Lately, his dreams have had one common denominator: their leading lady. Every time he closed his eyes to recharge you appeared. Never in nightmares though, this had been the first. Unable to do anything he got up and went through the motions of his morning. Still, he couldn’t shake the lingering emotions of his nightmare. What did it mean? Why you? His concerns came to a head when he finally walked into the bullpen and saw the person consuming his thoughts. 

Derek has prided himself on being comfortable around women. For the large part of his adult life, he’s been a confident, handsome, self-assured man. So why has he been standing at your desk, with a mouth full of cotton, without the ability to form anything that resembles a sentence for the last… minute and a half?

“Morgan? Is everything alright” you ask confusedly. 

No. Nothing is right. The fear is back. He’s always cared for you but this is different. Bringing coffee in the morning, catching your eyes in silent moments, and consistently watching your back in the field can be entirely chalked up to a budding friendship. But this guttural fear of being apart is new. It’s swallowing him whole and the only way he can escape is to forcibly unclench the jaw of longing created by his own thoughts. 

“Hello? Earth to Derek.” Your voice snapped him out of his momentary internal panic. “Are you okay? You look like a deer in headlights.” And he felt like one. He had two options: he spills his guts about his feelings and hopes you don’t reject him, or he makes up some bullcrap excuse about distractions and silently pines for the foreseeable future. Option 2 for sure.

“Sorry, I got distracted thinking about my family. I haven’t talked to my sisters in a while and they’re giving me crap about it”

Not his strongest lie but believable enough in his opinion. You don’t seem entirely convinced but you move on without question. The rest of the day drags on with every spare second of his time consumed by you. He doesn’t know much but one thing’s for sure: nobody’s promised tomorrow. So while he can he’s gonna love you like it’s the last time, even if it’s in secret for now. 

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam! I wanted to ask if you feel lately like you've been getting anything positive out of your therapy, because a lot of your initial thoughts about it kind of mirror mine. I'm very logical (except when I'm upset at myself) and very skeptical, so I feel like a therapist either isn't going to tell me anything new, or that I'm going to just disregard it because I can't trick myself into believing things that I just plain don't believe.

But I'm also starting to come to a realization, two years after my ADHD diagnosis and letting go (without therapy!) of most of the executive dysfunction-fueled self worth issues I was having, that I'm kind of Not Okay in other ways. I'm safe —going to work every day and doing my job so I won't lose my livelihood and have never had a self harm urge in my life— But I'm not really okay. I'm having major self esteem issues related to my personality separate from the executive dysfunction that are putting me in a bad place. I don't want to take antidepressants for reasons I won't go into but that means my other option is therapy and... I don't know if I'm a person that therapy will actually work on. I found a lot of validation in some of your perspectives, about affirmations being bullshit and "mindfulness" exercises feeling impossible and useless, about not having an inner monologue and how that might be causing issues with traditional methods. So I was just wondering, do you feel like therapy is working now that you've been in it longer?

I've wasted a lot of money on "elective" (and ultimately useless, back to square one) medical nonsense this year and I'm not eager to waste more, but I've also met my insurance deductible so it's the best time to try it if I'm going to.

I mean, it depends on the modality a little but I don't think trying basic talk therapy can hurt, as long as you find a decent therapist. And it's better to try it now when you're feeling Mostly Okay than waiting until you are Really Not Okay. But this entire paragraph comes with a lot of context so....

A lot of what I talked about in terms of struggling with mindfulness, etc. was less related to the therapy I am still in than it was to the DBT class I took at Therapist's suggestion. We were both aware that she was basically throwing stuff at the wall to see what stuck, and while it was an interesting class I don't think for me it was helpful. As you mention, I struggled with affirmations and visualization since neurologically I'm not really set up for those; I don't think they're objectively bullshit but I do think there's an assumption within the mental health industry that they will have function for everyone and that's simply untrue, and the expectation that it will is very damaging. I also struggled with the physical-intervention aspects (called TIPP usually) which didn't work at all for me and felt frankly like doctor-approved self harm. DBT can get very culty, which set off a ton of red flags for me -- possibly false flags, but they still waved real big.

And that's because I also have a lot of trust issues surrounding therapy. To the point where, the minute one of the people running the DBT class made actually quite gentle fun of me for asking a question he couldn't answer, I checked out on anything he said. We were learning about a DBT concept called Wise Mind and I asked, "If wise mind is an identifiable mental state, how do we know if we're in it?" and when he couldn't quite answer beyond "It's different for everyone" I said, "But if we know it's real there must be some kind of common denominator, a measurable data point," and he said "Well, Sam, you're not going to levitate" and the rest of the class laughed. Sorry bud, this is almost certainly an over-reaction, but I'm me and you lost me when you came at me instead of just admitting you didn't know. (Also it turns out I just live in Wise Mind like 80% of the time which is one reason I couldn't tell.)

But basic talk therapy outside of DBT is just...you talk at someone about your problems and come up with ways to try and solve them, which is a lot more straightforward and way less frustrating. You have to be an active participant, you have to both have a goal and be willing to discuss reaching it, but that goal can be as simple as just "figure out what my mental health goals should be" at first. You don't have to learn like, vocabulary for it.

The thing is, while I have seen some improvement in regulation issues, I also struggle with basic talk therapy. Most people, and this blew my mind, see measurable improvement in nine to eighteen therapy sessions. A lot of people don't go long-term, they just are having a moment and get help getting through the moment and then can disengage, with their therapist's approval.

I was in therapy consistently from the age of nine to eighteen and only stopped because I reached legal majority and physically refused to go.

Not one minute of those nine years did I want to be there. And, because none of the three therapists I saw across those years actually explained to me why I was there or how therapy worked, for me it felt like "Your punishment for having feelings is to speedrun every feeling you had this week in an hour, to a stranger." There was also what my current therapist believes to be some extremely unethical behavior going on, which didn't help.

So it has taken actually a lot of time to get to a place where I would even allow her to understand what help I need. I've been in therapy for about a year (generally weekly but there have been some gaps) and it has only recently gotten deeper than very basic interpersonal problem-solving.

Like, two weeks ago I told her, "I had a thought this week that I couldn't tell you about something I was doing because then you'd have material on me" (meaning blackmail material) "and that's a fucked-up thing to think." And once I'd actually identified it as fucked up I had zero issue telling her about it, wasn't even nervous as I did so. Who's she going to tell? She's literally legally constrained from telling.

I think well over half of what she does is either validate that whatever emotion I'm having is normal, affirm my reactions so I don't keep believing I behaved weirdly, or praise something I've done that was a positive act. Does this work? Not always, because I'm unfortunately very aware that it's part of her job to do those things. But yeah, sometimes. Even if you don't fully believe it, "Hey that was a really smart move" is nice to hear. Sometimes she helps me come up with a plan for stressful future events or (rarely) behavior modification, and sometimes she either provides me with research or points me towards research I can do on my own. We don't do meditation or affirmations or stuff like that.

Like, last week I brought up the fact that I hadn't really ever thought about how if I have a disability that causes emotional dysregulation and I got it from my parents, they also likely had undiagnosed emotional dysregulation when raising me. So she said I should look into research on children with emotionally dysregulated parents. I was pretty annoyed by what I found (the ONE TIME adults are the focus instead of the kids is the ONE TIME I needed to learn about the kids, really?) but it led to something that was both informative and upsetting, so we discussed that. And when I was stumped about how to move forward with the information, she suggested that my general coping mechanism of writing about it was probably a good plan.

(At which point I just silently advanced my powerpoint presentation to the next slide, where I had a series of quotes from the Shivadh novels where Michaelis, acting as a parent, repeatedly does the exact opposite of the upsetting thing, because I realized even before the meeting that it's an ongoing theme in my work whenever I deal with people being parents. It's a good thing she has a sense of humor and also that I do.)

So yeah. Going into therapy you have to be ready to reject a therapist if you don't like them or if they get weird and pushy, you have to be ready to be a self-advocate, but you are the client; it shouldn't be super difficult to find someone who can at least walk you through what you want from it and agree not to do the stuff you don't want, and if you want to stop going you just...stop going.

Good luck, in any case! I hope you get what you need, whether or not that ends up being therapy.

[misscammiedawn]

The Only Murder Alter I Respect

CW: abuse, neglect, sexual assault, incest, harm to an infant

"Oh, I am one yet many."

In my last article on The Murder Alter we spoke a little about the history of the Murder Alter trope in fiction.

To quickly recap, fiction has a fascination with depicting those with dissociative identity disorder as being inherently evil. The roots of the trope come from misunderstandings of the text of Jekyll & Hyde, assuming Hyde to be a personification of evil rather than the disguise of a man who wished to indulge in socially unacceptable actions.

To cut the long story of the previous essay short; Jekyll loses control of a physical transformation, the potion only draws out "evil" within him in the way that he is able to act without fear of consequence. All the evil of Hyde belonged to Jekyll. Alas, the play version of the story hit London about the time of the Whitechapel murders committed by Jack The Ripper and the public began to compare these real life murders to the plot of the play, going as far as accusing the lead actor of being Spring-Heeled Jack.

To see more, read the first chapter of this essay.

-

In my view a vulnerable minority of any kind being a villain is offensive if they are handled with no respect. If their stereotype overwhelms their role as a character.

For the case of a murderer or serial killer character we have to ask their motives. Many pieces of fiction will assume that the existence of trauma alone is a motive. In recent years there has been a trend of giving irredeemable characters trauma in their 'sympathetic backstories' to justify their wanton killing without any regard that they are actually communicating that abused people will become abusers or worse killers themselves.

It's not the kindest sentiment to put out into the world.

In Split, a horrible movie that I absolutely despise, the evil "Beast" personality spews out this horrible line of dialogue:

"You are different from the rest. Your heart is pure! Rejoice! The broken are the more evolved. Rejoice."

To be clear, as mentioned before, traumatized victims are far more likely to be the victims of violence, not the perpetrators of it. Trauma does not make someone strong, enlightened or more capable. It makes us traumatized.

Then there is the absolution of guilt which becomes the argument that people with DID have no responsibility for their actions. The first chapter of this essay mentioned the real life cases of Gein and Milligan being unfit for trial by reason of insanity and being held in mental care facility.

In fiction, however, this trope was taken to extremes with the case of Primal Fear (and again, more recently, with the Joker sequel) with the idea that a successful DID based defense would allow "not guilty by reason of insanity" lead to a release upon a miraculous cure of the condition which the fictional characters were faking to escape their crimes.

Not the kind those with the real life condition need the public believing, especially when we currently have the McLean Hospital that specializes in treatment of dissociative disorders assuming that people seeking treatment are faking for attention.

Even if they had a character whose murderous alters motives were not stigmatizing and they took responsibility for their actions, there's still the matter of them being sympathetic. Typically the split personality trope is rolled out to reveal a twist villain in the third act. If there is an evil alter responsible for the crimes they are typically hidden from the audience until the very end to keep the audience in the dark.

For a hyperbolic example of how bad this trope is, the movie Adaptation presents the trope to the audience as lowest common denominator slop wheeled out for a reaction and born from the worst instincts of a dedicated writer.

Donald Kaufman: Okay, well here's the twist. We find out that, that the killer really suffers from multiple personality disorder, right? See, he's actually really the cop and the girl. All of them are him. Isn't that fucked up?

Unrelated to this essay but Adaptation marks the only time an alter has been nominated for an Oscar along with their host. Technically.

The point is, we cannot sympathize with the person depicted as having DID if their condition is kept hidden for the sake of a surprise reveal at the end of the story.

There are other considerations but in tallying some of the reasons this trope is harmful and horrible, I now want to turn the topic to more positive things because I find that a blanket statements are not helpful. The stigma of depicting a person with DID as a killer is harmful, this is undeniable. It paints all with the condition in a negative light.

But surely it is possible to depict a character with justified motive, agency for their actions, a chance for audience sympathy and an accurate depiction of the illness.

Now, for the sake of spoilers, I am going to be talking about a murder alter and thus revealing their identity is going to give heavy spoilers to the media that they are from and for engagement sakes I am tagging this article with that media's name.

So. Below the cut will be a discussion of a character who can easily be read as having DID who fits the parameters of a murder alter and yet I feel is compassionate representation of this mental illness and an incredibly written system.

Be aware that these spoilers will completely break the intended experience of reading this media. But knowing the media is a spoiler alone.

Essentially I've written myself into a corner of engagement because the only people who can safely click through already know half the stuff I'm going to say which means I am encouraging the click from those who have never heard of or enjoyed this media while knowing that I am breaking the entire experience by talking about it.

So we're going to do a readmore and trust y'all to know that there are massive spoilers below.

Tumblr audience, allow me to introduce…

Beatrice, The Golden Witch.

Ahaha.wav ~ Ahaha.wav ~ Ahaha.wav ~ Ahaha.wav ~ Ahaha.wav

Though Beatrice is the murder alter in question, let's talk about who she was prior to becoming the lord of the Golden Land.

Let's talk about...

Sayo Yasuda.

Yasu was a meek and timid young thing, only having known a life at an orphanage which trained young people to become maids and servants for high society families.

Raised in a childhood where they were forced to work, despite being timid, forgetful and clumsy; Yasu did not know the love and affection of a family. Moreover after being brought on to work for the Ushiromiya family, the younger staff of the house, all in their late teens, resented and bullied the young child for being a burden to their duties and because they were inexplicably given favor by the head servant, Genji and the head maid Kumasawa.

Yasu was only 9 years old as this happened. Going to school and working long hours as a servant. Berated for being slow, weak, impolite and forgetful.

Their only ally within the orphanage was an elder maid, Shannon, who was capable and would always advise (but never take over) and encourage Yasu. Young Yasu wanted to be just like Shannon when they grew up.

They shared a room and would talk long into the night, Shannon always quietly encouraging the young kid.

Shannon was Yasu's first alter.

The isolation and bullying and exhaustion of working and studying constantly made it so they were desperate for any company, encouragement and acceptance. The only kindness they had ever known had been given by coworkers. So of course they would imagine a perfect, kind and loving maid to be a friend and keep them company in the endless isolation of their lonely room.

Dissociation, the absence of awareness of what one is doing or what is going on around one, is a normal process that occurs from time to time. Fantasy stories and characters created by the preschool child often take on a separate reality. Imaginary playmates may be an enjoyable fantasy, an expansion of experience, a way to fill loneliness or boredom, or a process for working out fears and ambivalent feelings […] If, however, a child’s experience continues to be either frightening or non-supported (no soothing or opportunity to process the upsetting situations that have happened), dissociative experiences are likely to continue. As dissociation continues, more and more of the child’s perceptions, feelings, physical sensations, or knowledge of the world become stored outside active awareness and the child’s internal sense of self becomes disrupted. The perceptions, feelings, and knowledge are still there—they have, after all, been sensed and processed in some form by both the brain and the body—but they are shut out of active awareness. Because this “shutout” or dissociation protects the child from negative situations, the child is less likely to develop coping mechanisms that do not damage the sense of self. Consistent learning and the building of consistent friendships are difficult for the child. If there is no intervention from supportive, consistent care-giving or therapy, this fragmentation is highly likely to continue and, in many situations, increase as the child grows up. - Sandra Wieland (Dissociation in Traumatized Children and Adolescents)

When a child is bored and left unsupported and under-stimulated they will begin to engage in their imagination. This is a natural and normal part of childhood but without consistent connections, support or care they will continue to dissociate their experiences without building a stable sense of self. These components of dissociation, compartmentalization and a lack of stable identity are what cause a child to develop DID.

Yasuda, without friends or family, was unable to establish a stable identity. In fact they were unable to establish a stable name or relationship to their own body.

Sayo Yasuda was born Lion Ushiromiya. For reasons I have decided to avoid discussing in depth, Lion, assigned male at birth, was placed into the orphanage by the head servant of the Ushiromiya family after a tragic "accident" nearly killed them as a baby and severely injured their body.

The name Yasuda was given to protect the child from their own family, the servants thought it would be kinder to have them raised as a servant than to be raised as an Ushiromiya. Due to the injuries of the child they could raise it as a woman and lowered the age of the child by 3 years to avoid the family seeing a young servant the same age or gender as a baby that died.

Within the orphanage the children are given 'blessed names' that they are called while working. They keep their true names hidden spare for those they love and trust. As Yasuda has no one who will say their name, they instead are called Shannon or 'Yasu' when she is being punished. She came to despise the name.

Shannon, the alter, is the maid that Yasu is being trained to become. The young child hearing this other name imagined it as a completely separate person.

Moreover, Yasuda was weak and exhausted from her constant school and work schedule and would often find herself drifting in and out of consciousness, letting her mind fog while she was working on tasks and forgetting things. A common enough experience within dissociation that I need not elaborate in this essay.

The eldest maid of the island, Kumasawa, would tell local folklore and tall tales, spinning tales like a grandmother would to their grandchild. The tales of a shrine that sealed an evil demon, a ghost of Beatrice the family head's deceased mistress whose spirit is said to reside in the sealed off VIP room.

In time Yasu began believing in this lore and began blaming her forgetfulness and losing track of keys and cleaning items on the ghost. On Beatrice.

In the face of abuse and neglect, especially at the hands of those they love, children need enough psychological distance from what is happening to avoid being overwhelmed and survive psychologically intact. Preserving some modicum of self-esteem, attachment to family, and hope for the future requires victims to disconnect from what has happened, doubt or disremember their experience, and disown the “bad [victim] child” to whom it happened as “not me.” By holding out some sense of themselves as “good” disconnected from how they have been exploited, abused children capitalize on the human brain’s innate capacity to split or compartmentalize. That “good child” might be precociously mature, sweet and helpful, perfectionistic, self-critical, or quiet and shy, but, most importantly, he or she has a way to be acceptable and safer in an unsafe world. Splitting or fragmenting in this way is an ingenious and adaptive survival strategy—but one with a steep price. To ensure that the rejected “not me” child is kept out of the way (i.e., out of consciousness) requires that, long after the traumatic events are over, individuals must continue to rely on dissociation, denial, and/or self-hatred for enforcing the disconnection. In the end, they have survived the failure of safety, the abuse, and betrayal at the cost of disowning their most vulnerable and most wounded selves. Aware that their self-presentation and ability to function is only one piece of who they really are, they now feel fraudulent. Struggling to stay away from the “bad” side and identify with the good side, they have a felt sense of “faking it,” “pretending,” or of being what others want them to be. For some, this conviction of fraudulence engenders resentment; for some, shame and self-doubt. For both groups, the legacy of the trauma remains alive rather than resolved. - Janina Fischer (Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors)

Yasu disowns her experiences so well that when she is punished for not doing her job completely or misplacing items that she zoned out on and lost track of. Over time the existence of this ghost. Of this witch became a firm fact and thus the witch, the ghost of the family head's mistress looking for a body, came to possess Sayo. At first it was misplacement, but as the teasing and bullying persisted she began to believe this witch was real and picking on her. So the witch became real and it began happening.

"This isn't the first time this has happened. Whenever I look away, ...keys, handkerchiefs, pencils, erasers...all of them vanish almost right away. Even though I was planning to use them later, or just wanted to put them in their proper place, they disappear as soon as I turn around. It isn't someone hiding them as a prank. It's happened many times when I'm the only person around. ...Everyone always says I'm too careless and forgetful, they laugh at me... get mad at me. I do try to be alert, but like some kind of bad joke, I lose things easily when I forget about them for even a short while.So, sometimes, I think 'this eraser is gonna disappear sooner or later', and I stare at it. But at those times alone, it doesn't disappear. Nothing disappears when I'm alert.But as soon as I think I'm safe, and the tension relaxes just a bit, then something else will disappear...! Why is it always me?"

The second of Yasu's many alters was born of her shame and frustration. She was only 9 years old and expected to work as an adult while enduring schooling with no friends or familial love.

Having trained herself to imagine the shape of entities not of the natural world, she gives shape to the witch.

"Without turning around, ...I slowly let my range of vision fill the entire chapel. It was as though the viewpoint of my soul was floating out from the shell of my head. ...See? ...Inch by inch, ...my range of vision is floating out of my head..... and drifting upwards. As I looked down at myself, standing there with head hanging and eyes tightly shut... The eyes of my heart....very slowly.... rose to the ceiling of the chapel. And when I looked down from there... I saw myself, standing in the center of the chapel, ...and the witch standing behind me."

This is the experience of dissociation. Particularly in children. To disconnect from the events of the moment and what is going on in our own body and "examine" the area surrounding us. Many have described it as viewing the world through a floating camera.

Our own imagination is painted in this way. Our old therapist, while diagnosing us, noted that the way we described locations in memories was a big hint to them that it was what we were experiencing.

In making friends with the witch, Yasu had a new friend. To one side the ideal maid, Shannon, and the other the witch Beatrice who pranked people by stealing items or leaving windows open. In reality Yasu would switch to Beatrice and play pranks on the other servants. Many would not even believe that it could be the meek and timid girl, especially as she grew older and became more capable as a maid at the house. A mixture of confidence and an interest in mystery novels allowed these pranks to become all the more believable. The servants were mean to Yasu or claimed witches do not exist and then Beatrice would punish them with pranks.

A small start but for the first time in her life a part of the system had a way at lashing out at a world that was so cruel to them and the myth of the witch began to spread through the serving staff and as the superstition grew, the myth continued to grow. Beatrice, both demon of the island and ghost of the master's dead mistress as a single entity, became a known superstition, acknowledged on the island.

"Everything went completely white, and my mind stopped. Once again, that tingling sensation slid up my body. I could feel it all gather in the fingers of both my hands... and come out the tips of my fingers. It was unfathomable, indescribable, ...unknown sensation. My head went blank, and I couldn't think at all. I could do nothing but abandon my soul to the sensation."

From a first person perspective we get to see Yasu switch into Beatrice and punish her fellow servant by stealing her keyring and hiding it.

It's here I address the original thesis of the article a moment. Why is it that this game's use of the murder alter trope is so acceptable and praiseworthy to me when I despise it being used in any other media.

Firstly, I want to address the name Sayo Yasuda. In most of the media mentioned prior to the readmore the identity of the killer personality and the existence of DID is hidden until the final act. Here, we are learning of the existence of DID at the end of the story but we had been introduced to all the alters in the system.

Spare for Yasuda herself. This chapter she is being introduced to us along with her condition and it is not in the way of revealing that the entity known as Beatrice is a dissociated personality. We are taken through a history that justifies the existence of a dissociative disorder and shown how one experiences the symptoms. We are introduced to forgetfulness and zoning out long before we are introduced to other identities as voices that Yasu communicates with and this, deep into chapter 7 of 8, is the first time we have a switch described from a first person perspective.

Though the groundwork of dissociative disorders have been long established. In the essay about Ange Ushiromiya's trauma memories. we spoke about how Ange had learned to maintain alters in her own mind and Maria's personality shifts had been seeded as early as the first chapter.

The existence of DID was not treated as a reveal either in narrative or psychologically. It was carefully presented with respect to the symptoms of people who live with the disorder and treated with care.

DID is not an excuse for the killing. So the minority being a culprit is not stigmatizing, the author has understanding of the disorder and depicts it with kindness.

But that only handles one of our issues with the trope. So it is not wheeled out as a last minute twist and it depicts the disorder with stunning accuracy.

But still, the idea of a murder alter is an ugly and repulsive thing and even here in stealing keys Yasu is abdicating responsibility to this witch. One of the other things that I hated about the trope was the motive being excused because of trauma and responsibility falling to an 'evil personality' that the innocent host cannot control and so far the game appears to be committing both of those sins.

...well, let's continue...

Upon experiencing the power of 'magic' when Beatrice possessed her, Yasu tells Shannon that she no longer wants to live as a servant but wants to become a witch like Beatrice. She decides to become the witch Beatrice.

The witch above is renamed to Gaap and the alter who had the name she hated, Yasu, takes the name of Beatrice the Golden Witch for herself, imagining her new form and changing her behaviors to match, taking on the voice of a lady of high station and decides on weaknesses such as seeing her reflection.

In DID there are no 'original selves' or 'real one'. We spoke about this a bit during our essay on Mr. Robot.

A "host" simply refers to the part that is most active within the system. In her book, Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors, Janina Fisher describes the "host" personality as the most predominant "going about normal life" part. There is no original because the child failed to integrate a stable personality and the "going about normal life" part Fisher describes by definition is a dissociated part unaware of the impact the trauma holds on the nervous system.

It is so important in treatment to understand that all alters in a system are real and equally as important to the functioning of the whole. I bring this up the character we are following had their birth name, gender and age changed by caregivers and now has voluntarily erased their own name; opting to adopt the name of Beatrice.

After co-fronting with the witch she realized how wonderful it felt to let go and not exist, to let herself exist as a magical being of imagination rather than a pitiable servant.

In real terms the traumatized part that had suffered so much retreats from reality to escape her pain, taking all of the negative experiences away from the other alters and sinking into their unconscious mind. There, inside the safety of their imagination, Beatrice begins working on creating her 'golden paradise', an internal world of dream and magic where she can safely reign as the ruler.

We know from other chapters that this coping mechanism is eventually taught from Beatrice to Maria and then from Maria to Ange. If generational trauma is the theme of Umineko then generational healing is too and Ryukishi is well aware that the imagination is a powerful shield for those most hurt by the world.

In changing her 'form', Shannon was left as the new host of the system and as Shannon had never met Beatrice, the dissociative barriers between the parts solidified and Shannon is left alone.

The scene where Shannon fronts for the first time, alone and confused is truly emotional. She is confused by the inconsistencies in her understanding of the world and slowly starts rationalizing. Had she always been alone? In a single bed? She begins adopting traits that Yasu had embodied when she was the host, such as a love of mystery novels. Speaking to herself until she falls asleep.

Shannon was the name of the servant and earlier in the story we learned her real name was Sayo. She adopts the 'legal identity' and the one who had been fronting the entire time until this point opts to exist within the night, pranking the house and keeping the myth of Beatrice alive.

If the responsibility and agency of DID depictions in media was an issue to overcome then here we see that though there are barriers of dissociation between the parts, Beatrice and her pranks are not evil in nature and we see that in all her parts there is communication and genuine care within the system.

Which brings us to motive.

In bad media the culprit is unsympathetic and driven to wanton crime for little reason other than "hurt people kill people" which is inaccurate and a dangerous thing to imply.

Shannon continues working on, unaware of her history as Yasu and the bullying that she had endured when she was younger. She has a hobby of reading mystery novels and speaks about them with the head maid. She sometimes gets praise from the head servant. She's happy.

Right?

But the loneliness had not been dealt with. The Ushiromiya family were still cruel to her. Though Shannon is an ideal maid by design and convinced herself to be happy with her lot in life the unchanged circumstances still trigger the pain that her heart ached and called for salvation.

And so Beatrice's presence makes itself known again within their shared mind and Shannon began imagining a rose garden where the golden witch would share tea with her. She wanted to allow Shannon to join her in the "world of witches", "the golden land" an innerworld she built within their mind.

Shannon rejects the offer, as if such a thing could be and leads Beatrice to become curious as to what could possibly be worth living for in the real world.

There Shannon, with Beatrice in the back of their shared mind, witnesses the Ushiromiya Family Conference where all members of the family gather, including the grandchildren of the family head and there Beatrice witnesses Shannon forming a relationship bonding over mystery novels with the series protagonist Battler, 6 years before the massacre.

The pair discuss their love of novels and in that conversation the mutual understanding of both the fictional characters and the author is that a murder should have a passionate motive.

Shannon takes on Battler's perspective and begins reading all of the books that Battler enjoys, completely infatuated with him. The pair got to have a short fling. Every time Battler visited the island they would talk about their shared passion and enjoy the time stolen. It couldn't work in long distance. Battler says that when Shannon quits service of the family she can come to him out in the world.

Battler promises he will ride in on a white horse and save her from a lifetime of servitude.

Beatrice understands instantly.

"It takes two to create a universe" magic must be shared and love is the most important element. Something that even the endless witch Beatrice cannot create with her magic. It is the first time in their shared life that the system formerly known as Sayo Yasudo has been offered love from another human.

She's enraptured by it.

...and then in the time between visits, Battler's mother passes away suddenly and his father instantly marries his mistress who he secretly fathered a daughter with while married. Battler is disgusted by his father and leaves the family, abandoning Shannon.

Beatrice, wounded for the part of her in deep pain, pulls Shannon into the innerworld and comforts her; telling her that she needs to succeed at a trial to have faith and wait for Battler to return. That if she doubts him then he will not come. She even argues that Battler leaving the Ushiromiya family was an attempt to make it so that he could marry her without the family name being an obstacle.

Magical Thinking is a symptom of dissociative disorders where the mind generates beliefs between unrelated events despite the absence of any plausible causal link between them. Much of the effects of DID, particularly during the denial phase, are born from the ability to rationalize inconsistencies and inconvenient truths in the shared life.

In this case the idea of losing the love that was offered to them for the first time in their life was more than they could handle and thus they chose to believe that it was still there and that if they held faith and waited it would come to them.

When one dissociates from their emotions they are able to rationalize and intellectualize their situations and continue their trained habit of enduring. When Shannon's ability to rationalize the years of silence fails she blames herself, as she is able to rationalize and intellectualize her own actions and has no way of knowing Battler's. Thus if she blames it on her lack of faith she can hold to hope and endure the years.

But the trials continue.

Letters are delivered from Battler to everyone at the family conference. Shannon is neither mentioned nor receives a letter at all (there is a possibility that George destroyed it, but that is a theory). Her faith shakes but the bud of love in her heart simply cannot die.

...and now the love that had once given Shannon so much hope and life had become yet another source of pain and trauma and so once again Beatrice reached into Shannon's heart and claimed the bud of love. She would take it into herself, another trauma for her to hold. Leaving Shannon confused, disorientated but happy again.

In order to keep Shannon's heart saved from pain she created a new alter, a brother named Kanon.

Kanon would be a quiet and guarded boy who was deeply protective of Shannon and who shielded his own heart. Born wary of other people and their motives. He will make for a calloused heart.

Shannon once again allows her mind to dissociate from the pain in her heart and once again became an ideal maid, free from the hurt of her past or the love.

In 1984 Kinzo, knowing he is to die soon, commissions a painting of his former love, the original Beatrice, with an epitaph that once solved would lead someone to the family fortune and chose who would be the inheritor of the family after he dies.

At least this is what the family were lead to believe. It is theorized in universe that Kinzo had come to recognize that his child/grandchild was alive and in the house and wanted to apologize to her and thus make up for the sins he had committed against his mistress and their daughter.

Another part of the tragedy was sealed the moment Kinzo began this process.

With the help of Genji, who knew their birth identity, Beatrice solves the riddle and becomes the inheritor of the family fortune... and she is also given the truth to their birth, their original name and the identity of their father and grandfather.

During the entire sequence the child of many names is disconnected, overwhelmed, confused and not able to summon the confidence of her witch self. She cannot bring herself to take the seat at the head of the family and asks that the servants of the island pretend nothing had happened, opting instead to continue waiting for Battler.

It was said that if Battler did not show up to the island in 1986 or showed up a year earlier or later then the tragedy would have been avoided.

But as it stands. Tragedy was inevitable.

Beatrice largely goes into dormancy after inheriting the family fortune, choosing to let Shannon and Kanon continue their life on the island. Searching and waiting for the magic that is beyond her, Love.

And so we get the events at the start of Chapter 2 and 3.

Shannon and Kanon are living as servants of the family as the tensions between siblings becomes more and more tense. But as time goes on Kanon and Jessica, who lives on the island, become closer... and George proposes to Shannon.

The first 2 hours of chapter 2 depict Shannon, a being who has made to think of herself as nothing more than furniture for the family to use, feeling love bloom in her heart and despair over the fact that the Ushiromiya family would never allow her to marry, filling her ears with poison and abuse; as the family speak of a political marriage with George and Shannon's heart is threatened with heartbreak again she calls out to the witch Beatrice and the alter in her heart awakens again to comfort and guide her.

If Battler showed up a year earlier then Beatrice would have reconnected with him and she would have been able to use the family fortune to ride off with him. If he showed up a year later then she would have married George.

But in showing up while Shannon was trying to handle being proposed to. While Kanon was growing close to Jessica. While all futures existed within the catbox at once. Each member of the system has adapted their personality to suit their partner. Shannon is the type of woman George would enjoy. Beatrice becomes the exact type of brash woman Battler enjoys and Kanon was the aloof and distant type Jessica would love.

Only one of these futures could possibly exist.

Every member of the system is marked by their inability to change their fate, even when handed the opportunity. Since birth they have only been able to act as a servant, as furniture and dive into escapism and magic to cope. The pain was not simply the pain of the heart. It was of being alone. It was of being bullied. Of being disregarded. Ignored. Forgotten.

When presented with the gold and the headship of the family the system, we shall revert to calling them Yasu, were unable to risk confrontation with the family. Much akin to Marta in Knives Out, she was a servant being offered a vast fortune with a hostile and abusive family who would never accept her position and so she backed down and didn't risk further pain.

I said earlier that victims of abuse and neglect are more likely to be victims than the perpetrators of violence. Here Beatrice, formed from stories of ghosts, demons and murder mysteries, retreats into fantasy but she actually has the unlimited resources; the "golden magic" to make her schemes a reality and so she attempts to do so as a form of escapism, as a way of letting the "roulette wheel" select her fate as the system are unable to decide for themselves.

We never know for certain what happens in the catbox, though Eva's journal does give us some clarity. We can say for sure, based on the survivor's testimony, that Yasu didn't go through with it. We never find out if they ever could have outside of dreaming. For all their posturing and posing, they were just an abused child desperate for family and love and freefalling into complete despair.

At the end of the day Beatrice is sympathetic, she experiences accurate symptoms of a dissociative disorder, we get to know her alters and understand their motivations and outlooks and her choice to kill the Ushiromiya family is not informed by her condition.

The fact she never successfully kills anyone in the (most likely) true version of the Rokkenjima massacre, she simply cannot bring herself to follow through when presented with the reality of her schemes, does not change the fact that she planned out the massacre and her actions did trigger the tragedy.

Beatrice The Golden Witch is the only murder alter I respect. But she is also an (attempted) murderer who just happens to be an alter. Those two statements have nothing to do with one another.

Though her motive is based upon the pain of her life, she is not a killer for the fun of it and is far from a homicidal maniac. She has a heart. A large heart.

And I respect the fuck out of her.

-

Lowkey this one wasn't my best work, especially after the ISaT entry raised the bar so high for us. Umineko is a fairly dense work and I have been struggling for months to find the words after promising to write about it in the first Murder Alter essay and teasing it in the Ange one. In the end I just decided to get it out.

Thank you for reading.

For more media essays on Dissociative Disorders please check out Media, Myself and I tag or check out the following articles:

Accepting Trauma Memories in Mr. Robot Time Loops and Dissociation (In Stars and Time) A History of Murder Alters Discworld and Plurality Incidental, intentional and accidental representation Gender, Dissociation and Clinical Stigma in The Third Person Recontextualized Memories in Umineko Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal Gear Solid The Dangers of Hypnotic Personality Play in Penlight System Origins in The Incredible Hulk Relationships with Systems in The Incredible Hulk The Healing Journey in Mr. Robot

[xmads-omensx]

Word Count: 1,639

Pairing: Best friend! Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: swearing, arguments, Noah is bad at feelings and so is Y/N

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @chey-h @tosoundlessdarkistare @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp

Thanks @alwaysfightforwhoyouare for the idea, and sorry it took me so long to actually write since we were talking about this before New Years lmao.

Extra inspo:

NOAH POV

She was beautiful.

I found myself stealing glances at her whenever I could. It was impossible not to. Even when I didn’t intend to, my eyes always found her.

No matter what room I walked into, I always sought her out.

Her laugher. Her smile. Her eyes. Her.

Y/N had been my best friend, besides Nicholas of course, for as long as I could remember. Granted, we only met when we had moved to California, but we clicked instantly.

Two peas in a pod. Partners in crime. Ride or die.

That was us.

But I was desperate for more.

I wanted to hold her hand. Hold her. Kiss her. Tell I loved her. Take her to bed. Be with her.

But it could never happen. She had a boyfriend and I was just her best friend. She would never see me as anything more than that.

I buried those feelings as deep as I possibly could. I dated and saw other people as often as I could to try and move on, but nothing worked. No matter who I went out with, my mind was always stuck on Y/N.

Every time I saw her with Chris, my heart broke a little bit more. I knew this was unfair, since she had no idea how I felt about her and it wasn’t her fault she was happy with someone else, but part of me resented her for being happy with someone else.

What could he give her that I couldn’t?

I knew every single detail about her. I could even tell you how many freckles decorated her face if you asked me to.

But it wasn’t enough.

She had him, and I had Bad Omens.

“Y/N and Chris are fighting again.” Matt sighed, taking his seat in the studio.

They had been fighting a lot recently. He had been going out more often with his friends, leaving Y/N at home. She hated being alone.

“Same thing again?” Jolly asked.

“Yep.” Matt sighed again.

Silence encased the studio. None of us particularly liked Chris, some for more selfish reasons than others, but none of us wanted to stop Y/N from being happy.

“I’ve got some lyrics that I’ve been working on.” I spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Can we have a look?” Jolly asked, so I handed him my highly precious notebook that I used for songwriting.

His eyes darted over the pages. if he knew what the song was about, he didn’t let on anything.

“This is good shit, Noah.” He said, smiling genuinely.

I had been working on the song for a while now, but I never had the courage to show anyone else the song yet.

It was by far my favourite song that I had ever written.

“Do you think it would be okay for the new record?” I asked, chewing the skin on my thumb anxiously.

“I think it’s perfect for the new record dude.” Jolly said, grinning widely.

“Great.” I said with a sigh of relief.

We spent most of the day recording the new song, working in silence for the most part as we seemed to be working in unison, as one.

The lyrics flew out of me so easily, it was like breathing.

Verse after verse, the melody came naturally.

It didn’t matter if anyone knew what the song was about, as long as she got to hear it.

Y/N POV

Chris and I never had a great relationship.

It wasn’t toxic or anything, we just didn’t love eachother, but were determined to make it work.

The honeymoon phase was relatively short, only lasting the first two months of our relationship.

Out fights consisted of the same common denominators every single time. His partying and my friendship with Noah.

Chris hated Noah with a burning passion. In fact, Chris was convinced that Noah was in love with me, which would be impossible because how could someone like Noah be in love with someone like me?

Noah was a genuine, kind soul, and I was often labelled a vindictive bitch.

He would have to be desperate for human connection if he fell in love with me.

“Seriously, I don’t understand why you’re friends with him, Y/N, he clearly just wants to get in your pants.” Chris sighed, exasperated at my apparent obliviousness to Noah’s alleged feelings for me.

“Because he’s my best friend, and no, he doesn’t want to get in my pants. I think I’d know if he did.” I replied, sick of this argument going round in circles.

“Y/N, please listen to me. He isn’t your friend. He just wants to use you to get off. He likes the power he has over you.” Chris argued back, raising his voice.

“Stop lying about it, I’m not going to believe you.” I yelled. “This is so fucking dumb, Chris, all we ever do is go around in circles until we either get bored of the argument and go cool off somewhere or we just end up fucking!”

“Who’s fault is it that we keep running in circles like this?” Chris snarled. “You’re the one who is still hanging around that jackass.”

“Oh my god! When will you realise that Noah is not the problem here, you are!” I yelled.

“Then how about I leave and make your life easier?” Chris shouted.

“Good! Get the fuck out of my house!” I yelled in reply, gesturing towards the door.

He simply turned around and left. Just like that.

The silence that filled the house wasn’t unpleasant like I thought it would be, but instead it was peaceful and I welcomed it with open arms.

Finally, I had enough space to think. To breathe. To exist without him screaming down my ear about Noah, and without me interrogating him about him going out with his friends into the very early hours of the morning.

But after a few hours of this new silence, the house became almost too silent. Too cold. Too big.

I needed the space to be smaller again.

With my mind in autopilot, I found myself climbing into the drivers side of my car and driving over to Noah’s house, desperate for comfort and some semblance of crowdedness.

Noah’s front door opened before you had even rung the bell.

“Hey, you okay? Matt had us worried about you.” Noah gushed, pulling me into a hug.

“Yeah just wanted to hang out for a bit. It’s too quiet at my place.” I explained with a shrug.

“Is Chris out again?”  Noah asked as we walked into his house.

“Oh, we broke up like two hours ago.” I said with a laugh, but I couldn’t tell if it was a fake laugh or not.

“Shit are you okay?” Noah asked, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah. I mean I think so.” I said with a shrug.

“Y/N, you’re crying.” Noah whispered, his voice significantly more gentle than it had been previously as he cupped my cheek and wiped a stray tear away from my face.

“No, really I’m okay.” I said, unsure as to why I was crying.

“Come here.” Noah whispered, pulling me into a tight hug.

I wasn’t sure what it was about hugging Noah made me feel so emotional, but I couldn’t control the damn that burst, letting all of my pent up frustrations at Chris gush out.

The more I cried, the clearer the real reason for my tears became. I was in love with Noah.

NOAH POV

I gently rubbed Y/N’s back as I held her close to my chest, hoping to ease her pain as much as I could.

“Come with me, I want to show you something.” I whispered, guiding her into the studio before sitting her down on the small sofa we had in there for moments like these.

She curled up in her usual spot with her knees pulled up to her chest.

I switched on the computer monitor and selected the audio file that I wanted.

Besides the purple LED lights, that were Y/N’s favourite, the monitor was the only thing that illuminated the otherwise empty room.

The soft melody of the acoustic demo that we had recorded earlier that morning filled the air as I sat next to Y/N on the sofa and pulling her into my arms. She instantly snuggled closer into my chest as if she were hiding from something and was seeking comfort.

She was my safe space and I was hers.

The lyrics began to take over the melody as I rocked Y/N back and forth in my arms.

There are scars that never ever show themselves

You get when you’re left alone too long in Hell

I was sick and tired of leaving Y/N to live her life without me by her side. I was desperate to be able to call her mine. To hold her hand as we walked to our favourite coffee shop. To kiss her cheek and tell her she looked beautiful as she got ready to go out. To be able to hold her as we drifted off to sleep in our bed.

I was desperate for HER.

I began to sing the lyrics to her, causing her to look up into my eyes as I looked down into hers.

Well, if I'm there to catch you when you fall You'll have a friend down in Hell after all

“Noah.” She murmured.

“Yes, Y/N.” I whispered in reply.

“I love you.” She whispered.

I answered her by leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on her lips. Just enough to tell her exactly how I felt.

“Yours?” She asked after we pulled away.

“Mine.” I replied with a smile.

“Forever?”

“Yes, Y/N, mine forever.”

And if you're there to catch me when I fall Then maybe Hell ain't so bad after all