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generalfandomsofthefreak · 2 years ago

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Spoilers for Owl House Season 3 episode 3: Watching and Dreaming (the episode is up on full HD on wcostream.net for anyone unable to watch it legally btw)

aight i'm gonna just, do a fucking "my thougths" as a watch through the episode a second time because i can this is gonna be a mix of serious points, and also me gushing because i'm in love with this show and also drinking like, just a toooouch

- I feel like lowkey, the things Amity, Gus, Willow and Hunter say during Luz' nightmare, are so effective and hurtful because they could definitely be what they actually think. And on some twisted deep down super petty level, they probably are, brought to the surface by the Collector's magic.

- Luz absolutely only realized just how much a child the Collector actually was when she realized they didn't understand what Death is. The way she now only asks "do you not know what Death means to mortals?" but how she fully goes out of battle stance. She doesn't just lower Stringbean down in shock, she instantly loosens her stance and puts them by her side, she's no longer prepping for a fight, because she just realized how much her opponent is a kid

- Raine with Tousled hair is so,,,, they're so,,,, I wanna marry them so bad you have no idea

- so on first watch i thought it was like, pretty explicit that the Collector killed the Baby Titans, but on second watch it might, not be? we really don't know enough about the Collector and their family to know for sure, maybe they did take away some of the kids, maybe they didn't. Maybe it was a bit of both? Would've loved to see more, but also i think it's nice for it to be kinda open so fans can play with the idea of there being more titans out there.

- When Luz gets overtaken by the growth stuff from Belos, absolutely the Collector does realize something happened. Like yes they try to "fix her" but the question of "where'd she go?" tells that they know, right away, something's up. This isn't like when their toys break, something feels off, different, wrong. The way they cling onto that little light, the hint of genuine concern in their voice as they ask. It's not just a, just a fucking feeling of "hey wait, where'd they go?" like when your friends are hiding.

The collector can tell it's different, it's wrong, but hey! they're the Colelctor, they're all powerful! they can fix her, bring her back! but they can't And the collector realizes what they've been doing

- I love how, from the very first proper sentence the Titan speaks to Luz in Person (not the wake up one) you can tell what kid of person he is/was. Like you can tell, both from what he said and how he's dressed, how warm, kind and loving he was. Like just, I'm so sad, he didn't get to meet King in person, and when i watched it through the first time i was so sure Luz was gonna pull him back along with her to the living, but it didn't happen.

ALSO, the fucking little hooty sticking out of his eye had me going in so many ways, because like, does it mean that Hooty's species are just particularly connected to the titan? or are worms just fucking Hooty's in the Boiling Isles??? Maybe, it's even a hint of where Hooty came from, because well there IS an eye on the Boiling Isles too! like oh my god so much in so little

- "and you seems like a good witch" i saw someone mention how Luz called herself 'the good witch luz' later on, and i'll see myself in a bit no doubt as i'm watching, BUT This is definitely a moment that sticks out to her. The titan himself is calling her a good witch, after everything she's done, that he's watched her do, he thinks she's a good witch

- ALSO, a thought i had, is how much i love that they show the Titan is just, just this guy He's got a dad bod with a billy, his beard's unkept, he's wearing a Bad Girl coven t-shirt and jogging pants with a glyph pattern, AND I BET HE WOULD BE WEARING LOAFERS. Like the Titans have been propped up so much through the series, because well the Titan is a big deal.

But also, the Titans are a people who loved their kids, wanted them safe, and lounged around in old shirts and loose pants

- THE COLLECTOR FUCKING, "I don't want anyone else to go away, I don't want anyone else to go missing" and him desperately trying to stop King and Eda and brushing off the, the growth from Belos, like oh my god he really is just a child learning about loss for the first time proper, like ever

also a headcanon i am having like right now, is that the Archivists definitely did take some of titan children away, either on purpose to paint the Collector in a bad light, or simply because they wanted, either option ending in the Collector being painted in a bad light and like they just didn't care about who they hurt. Because i bet he wasn't sat down and talked to about it, it actually does make sense if he never killed any of them and they just were taken and he was the scape goat, and i just realized that thee titan mentioned he blamed the wrong person, and at that point Belos would've been SOOO far into the future it couldn't have been him he meant.

Definitely, King's siblings are archived somewhere, and the Collector was blamed for it and no one talked to him about it

- the collector rushing to help keep the Archives balanced, their body being overtaken by Growth, but he still does it because he knows it's the right thing to do and just, FUCK ME DUDE, I love him, them, little funky fella who was neglected and never taught how to play, his siblings just pushing him away because they didn't care, or maybe even used them to get the titan babies, finally realizes what it means to be kind, and good, and what to do to make friends, and does something that does not benefit him in any way instead of trying to save himself

like fuck dude I love them so much

- RAINE, WHISTLING, THE REQUIEM/RHAPSODY, MY FUCKING HEART DUDE

- The way the "NOW EAT THIS SUCKAAA" line is animated, gives me hella anime vibes, like modern day anime, Studio Trigger type stuff, fuck me it's so good

- Eda, king and Raine getting to stomp out Belos like the piece of gum he is, is so cathartic. After everything he's done, he just gets stomped out like he's nothing

- The fact that Amity so happily goes to her dad, and Odalia is just, there, and she gets nothing??? Iconic, amazing, what she deserves. I also love that Gus' dad gets to kiss his cheek, like i feel you don't get to see that enough in shows. And of course, Willow's dad's kissing on screen, ON THE LIPS IN FULL VIEW And Hunter being greeted so warmly by Darius and Eberwolfe, my heart, i care them

and there's just too much i adore about the timeskip like,,, all of it, amazing

#the owl house #toh spoilers

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ghostfest · 2 years ago

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Hiiii, I have a question because I’m not too sure if I was close to the void? Regardless, this was all very weird for both of the “dreams” I had

I’m not sure which one was first but to start it off with the one I remember very clearly, was about my cats. I had two cats, a long hair black girl called Dakota and a sweet white and orange boy called Simba (These were actually my cats before), I wanted to manifest them back through the void as last year I had to give them up due to Dakota getting seriously ill and we couldn’t afford her vet bills and Simba was so sad because they were a bonded pair and so we gave him up too so they could be together (they got separated even though you can’t split a bonded pair smh).

Anyway, I plan to revise giving up my cats and that Dakota was never ill but in this “dream” I had, I revised it and they were with me and happy and didn’t destroy my things like before and I’m in this LOA groupchat on Facebook and I was telling them all about it and I was cuddling with my cats whilst sleeping then I woke up. I didn’t know I was dreaming until I woke up and I actually questioned if I was dreaming because it felt like that was my reality, that I got my cats back through revision from the void.

So basically, as I was trying to fall asleep again, I have a frog teddy that I hug when sleeping and I was facing left (the frog part is important) and I ended up falling asleep somewhat affirming but I had the weirdest experience ever.

I was dreaming but I didn’t know I was dreaming and I can assure you it was not a lucid dream either as I went to the toilet and I haven’t wet my bed either lol and I think if I was lucid dreaming I would know that I was dreaming? This was for both of the dreams too btw.

Anyway, it was basically just a normal day for me and my family but instead it was me and my mum talking about water guns late at night and I got annoyed because she was half asleep in bed and said my dad would leave my water gun on the stairs when he came up as he was downstairs, then I went toilet then went to sleep afterwards. I then woke up and my frog teddy was behind me like I hadn’t even moved it to sleep with it and I was like wtf🫣

I dunno if I’m taking it a bit too far with these dreams and connecting it to the void but I’ve only started getting incredibly realistic dreams to the point idk if I actually shifted or not when I started to persist in getting into the void state. Ive had dreams like this before but the ones with my desires that I’m going to get always feel 100x more realistic than the other dream that don’t have my desires if that makes sense.

I don’t know if any of this made sense 😭 but it just feels so weird because it felt like I genuinely experienced what I did, especially with my cats because I could actually feel them in the “dream” and I was stroking them and everything. I also have a fan in the background to help me sleep and I could not hear that at all either in the “dreams” just to mention. Idk if this is a sign or something but it’s really cool and I wanted to hear your opinions on it 😻🥹

I take it as a sign, especially with how personal it is to you, so I don't think you're crazy for taking it as one. Lucid dreams can be very realistic and when they get realistic I suggest trying to look into them further as a shifting/manifesting method, but also this sounds more like a reality shift based off my experiences. However honestly to me this sounds like a shift because if you've never had dreams like this before that are this realistic and detailed and you don't think it was a lucid dream, then maybe you've shifted, but I don't know your personal stance on shifting.

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mattmurdocksscars · 2 years ago

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Desire Snippet

Here's a little snippet from the Demon!Reader x Matt fic. This is the first part so enjoy while I work on finishing it!

Tagging some people who may be interested. I'd appreciate any feedback you have! This is a female reader BTW!

@veracruz-miller @itwasthereaminuteago @cafeacademia @polyglot-noodle @kittyofalltrades

Daredevil was having a rough night. He was already bleeding a decent amount and it was just coming upon midnight. A run in with some thugs had gone sideways and he was starting to regret his nighttime occupation. Not that he'd ever give it up. He heard too much to be able to stop.

His hearing was actually what got him into his current predicament. He'd heard the rhythmic sounds of people chanting and had thought that that was never a good sign when paired with the time. Then he'd heard the sobs of a woman begging to be let go and well, he just had to intervene.

Which was how he found himself standing in the center of a summoning circle and demanding that whoever was in the warehouse let go of the scared woman.

"No! Get out of the circle, you fool!" A raspy male voice snapped. Matt ignored it and swung his head, searching for the sound of the woman sobbing. Once he found her, he threw one of his billy clubs at the man holding her and then launched himself at them. The man holding her cried out and let her go and, as soon as Matt got close enough, Matt pulled her behind him.

"When I say run, you run." He told her. He could hear her sniffling and whimpering behind him but felt the air currents shift when she nodded. He stood protectively in front of her and when he felt the energy in the room suddenly shift, he told her to run. She took off and Matt threw himself forward towards the nearest man, blocking his attempt at swiping for the women.

"You're ruining everything! Get rid of him!" The head male yelled. In seconds, Matt found himself surrounded and he had to fight his way through the men around him. As he did, he felt the energy of the space shift again followed by the sound of wind picking up, a truly strange noise to hear in a warehouse. Matt shook the thought off and focused on the task at hand. Only when he and the leader were the last ones standing did Matt stop and take in what was going on.

The air was whipping through the circle and then suddenly, there was another presence in the room. Matt considered it a presence and not a person because it felt unlike anything he'd felt before. He stiffened, falling into a fighting stance as he let his senses roll over the thing in front of him. And what Matt sensed confused him more than anything.

Standing in the center of the circle, was a being with horns and a tail. The tail swished back and forth as though in irritation and when it spoke, Matt was surprised at the very feminine voice that echoed the room. He was even more surprised when he realized the thing was addressing him and not the leader.

"Why is it you have summoned me, mortal? How may I be of service?"

"He didn't summon you! I did! You answer to me!" The being's tail twitched in annoyance and she fixed her slitted pupil stare onto the fool across from them.

"Silence. It is not your blood within my summoning circle. It is his." Turning away from the leader, the being faced Matt. "You are my master from now until your death. What is it you desire?"

'Well, fuck.' Matt thought to himself.

#desire series #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x demon!reader #matt murdock x fem!reader

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absideoncollective · 16 days ago

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Continuation

The ISSTD is not incorrect about the role of trauma in DID. Even if they were, they would not need to revise their treatment guidelines because being wrong about the trauma model doesn't make it so that future patients will be magically unaffected by the treatments that have worked for past patients. Again, there's no one treatment plan for DID that works for everyone anyways, but those that are available do work for some people based on what they want to achieve (I think the triphasic approach is really nice exactly because you can stop at a point where the patient feels comfortable, or go till the end and integrate all the parts).

Ultimately, though, the ISSTD is for the research of Trauma and Dissociation. Their research would still be targeted towards those who for the trauma model. I don't get what the big issue is.

What I do get is that the ISSTD should be held responsible for the McLean Hospital incident. It used flawed research on "Imitated DID" (which I still now don't understand why it's seemingly the only disorder that people think other people can fake unconsciously??) to publicly defame public figures of the online DID community. I have no comments on that.

But now we get to the infamous part

False Memories��

I've already explained how there's kind of no reason to think that traumatic memories can be created, and I fail to understand why that would need to happen iatrogenically (so by a mental health professional). But besides that, I kind of think that the iatrogenic model hurts their stance?

If a psychologist can sit you down and create a dissociative system in you just by doing therapy, why couldn't someone else? I won't comment on organized abuse as I have no experience with it and save from some knowledge on monarch programming and how it has allegedly been done, but even if you don't believe that those organizations exist, what about private individuals?

I'd categorize the abuse suffered by Jeni Haynes, author of The Girl in the Green Dress (lovely book go buy it rn) at the hands of her father as organized and ritualistic. Afaik he was helped by the very organization that perpetuated the myth of "False Memory Syndrome" and still went to jail because he actually did the abuse, which was documented very well btw.

Who's to say she's the only case? Because her being the only person to suffer this type of abuse is highly unlikely.

Explicitly satanic religious cults may or may not exist. It genuinely does not matter. If Grey Faction's stance on DID is that it can be iatrogenically induced, then it can be induced by harmful individuals that they claim can't exist.

Is the PTM bad for DID patients? No.

Is the PTM bad for incorrectly diagnosed DID patients? Probably not, cause the treatment is focused on trauma recovery and that's a good thing???

Is the PTM bad for the falsely accused? No idea, because I don't know who the accused are. Do they mean abusers? Because then yeah, they get to have their victim speak out on what they did to them. I don't see that as a problem though.

Is the PTM bad for the public? I don't see why. Is the large-scale recognition of the effects that traumatization can have on children bad? Because I'd say no, but you do you.

The members of the organization really do not matter to me. As long as they produce results with their research (which they have in my opinion), I do not care. If a psychologist in the ISSTD does misconduct, they should be punished, have their license revoked, incur fines etc., but their research is not automatically bad. I don't go around burning The Haunted Self books, for one. Look at Preston Bailey, for example - afaik he's the one who made the dissociative spectrum and I'm not even sure he actually went to Harvard. He is also very very religious and seems to think that everything can be cured with the help of insert-religious-figure-here.

I don't like Preston Bailey. What I do like, however, is the dissociative spectrum he made. Same goes for the contributions that specialists in trauma and dissociation have made.

Do people deserve better than the ISSTD? Totally. Is Grey Faction it? Nuh uh. Not in my opinion, anyways.

They then keep calling DID treatment strategies pseudoscience as if they don't work, but I won't comment on that further.

Everything is good and lovely, but then it all crashes down.

In recent history I have not heard of any DID patient that has undergone recovered memory therapy. You know what they were treated with instead?

Modified IFS therapy and modified EMDR (and a few traditional EMDR, which seemed to work so yay). Recovered memory therapy is certainly not being used where I'm looking.

But I don't care if it is. What I do care about is if the patients that this therapy is allegedly being administered to report any relief of their symptoms. If they have psychogenic amnesia as a result of their switches, is the amnesia better? Are their persecutory intrusions being taken care of effectively? Do they have post-traumatic symptoms that interfere on their life? If recovered memory therapy helps in those regards, I could not care less about anything else. Unfortunately, I don't know what this technique is and how it's done, so I won't comment on it. I'll just add that I don't understand how it's being used in conversion therapy, but that's on my lack of knowledge.

They then list some recovered memory techniques. Hypnotherapists do exist now, sure, and I have direct experience with dream interpretation, but I wouldn't say those are reliable ways to recover memories. If they do recover memories of abuse, they must surely at least try to dig deeper?

How do those memories affect them? Are they having post-traumatic symptoms? If they aren't, why treat the trauma that isn't there?

If the issue is that the patients might press charges on the abuser or something, it still has to be proven. Sexual abuse has an effect on the body, for example, and that's provable. Physical abuse can often leave scars, marks, bruises etc. which depending on the timeline could be used as proof. Psychological abuse, especially childhood psychological abuse, can make the brain develop in a way that prioritizes protection of future traumas instead of normal development. Brain scans and MRIs can be unreliable, especially if read by someone who doesn't know what they're doing, but the activation and lack thereof of parts of the brain can be seen. It's provable.

If the consequences of a trauma are there it's indisputable, I'd say. Even if you only had a PTSD diagnosis - have multiple mental health professionals testify that the cause of your distress is the abuser. That should help.

The only way I can see someone not wanting people to take their abuser to court is if they themselves are abusers.

At least the other parts had sources. Yeah, the satanic panic was as they describe (to my knowledge, anyways), but how do you know those kids weren't really abused? There's bound to be kids who did experience horrific abuse, and the only word there was at the time to describe it was "Satanic". The United Stated of America have historically been a very Christian nation it seems, so it makes sense to me that they'd call abuse "satanic". We also do need to acknowledge that abuse was and is still being perpetrated by the Christian church, and calling it satanic does in my mind separate it from it. But that's just speculation on my part.

And also - they were children. If they were isolated accounts, I wouldn't put it past them to misremember or exaggerate. That doesn't mean they didn't go through horrifying things. Of course the culture of the time did not help the situation whatsoever, and considering that abuse does tend to create fractured memories, it's entirely plausible that because of suggestion they added details that weren't there. I wouldn't call that a false memory, however.

As for the adults, I could speculate all day on if they saw what they said they saw. If they had effects if their abuse physically or psychologically, they were affected. If the memories really were all fabricated, as long as signs of abuse were present I would not care. But also I'd have no way of knowing if they were fabricated or not, but my point still stands.

But as I stated before, while not Satanic in nature, organized and ritualized abuse is a thing that happens. It happens, and it leaves lasting effects that can be seen. If something really did happen, there will be proof, and often there is.

Ok? I again do not care what these people believe. It is only an issue when they force that on the patient, and I've seen no evidence of that despite what this document says. I already said that if these mental health professional did any misconduct I believe there should be harsh consequences. If they're still practicing psychology, it's apparent that either their governing body (Register? Bar? I don't know the english word) did not find any misconduct or did not care. I'm personally assuming the former, but you do you.

... so there are people who do abuse in the name of Satan. You do need to understand that Satanist is a term for anyone who believes and worships Satan regardless of intentions (unfortunately). LaVeyan satanists are still satanists, for example, and the same is for the members of the Cathedral of the Black Goat and other religious theistic satanist groups. I said this a lot, I know, but who's to say there aren't groups of satanists of any type who partake in organized abuse?

Most people are of the idea that satanists don't run the world. Some do believe that, but what can they do about it, really? People believe in the illuminati, flat or hollow earth (lovely rabbit hole to fall in btw!), aliens that visit the earth and build pyramids for some reason, the faking of the moon landing, that Obama was responsible for the twin towers attack (an art teacher of mine told me this, which also prompted the discovery of an interesting facebook religious cult focusing on locusts that she was a part of), that jewish people run the world and other things. Are some of those beliefs harmful? Absolutely. Insinuating that the ancient egyptians couldn't have possibly built the pyramids so the aliens did does sound kind of racist. Pinning a major US tragedy on the first black president of the country also sounds racist. Implying that jewish people control the world is also racist. Wow a lot of things are racist. And some of those things do have actual effects on people (the discrimination of jewish and black people, first of all), but not believing that satanists run the world.

People who believe that have a very specific idea of what a satanist is. I assure you, you are not who they think is in control of the world.

They then talk about how recovered memories are not reliable without evidence, and sure. I can get behind that. But that's true for all memories.

I could very confidently say that when I was 8 I disassembled a microwave with my best friend at the time and that caused the whole neighborhood to lose power because we left it plugged in, but aside from the improbability of us being alive after that, you could ask the friend. You could ask the energy company if they keep records. You could ask his mother. You have so many ways to check if my memory is true, but they're focusing on the fact that it simply must be a false memory because I remembered it after someone asked me if I had any experience fixing microwaves.

And I know that these people haven't been abused. I know this because abuse sticks even long after you've healed from it. The memory today of what happened to me and countless other people will forever be this emotionally charged. While I may not cry anymore when a stimulus makes me remember what happened, the memory's still there. Ask any other traumatized person. I will touch on this later, too.

Evidence!!!! People generally do not go around believing that their families are abusive without evidence, no matter how outlandish they make it sound. No one but them will ever know if murders and cannibalism actually happened, but I ask again:

Is there evidence?🥰

And if people are getting locked up for things they didn't do, that's the justice system's fault for not seeing that there was no evidence. Richard Haynes isn't innocent no matter what the False Memory Syndrome Foundation said, and they claimed the exact same things this document claims.

Family members are often the perpetrators of sexual abuse. Why is that so "obviously untrue"?

This whole section just talks about how easy and destructive the false memory phenomenon is. I've already given you my thoughts on the matter. I am tired. Send me an ask if you want more amateur opinions.

Malpractice is a therapist blowing off a client when they tell them they remember organized abuse. Malpractice is a psychologist abandoning a client with DID because it's "fantasy" or "imitated". Malpractice is not helping clients heal from memories, and guidelines for treating post-traumatic stress do not immediately jump to "recovering" memories or whatever as they would like you to think.

They then try to appeal to abuse survivors. It's good that they don't outright say that they cater more to people accused of abuse rather than the people who were abused, at least. It's no good being overt in your intentions!

Lovely letter. I would throw that in the trash, but for the non-questionable parts it did have sources so I'm happy.

Thank you for reaching out

No thank you <3

Yours truly,

Echo of Absideon

So why is it not repression?

Repression comes from psychoanalysis (yay Freud ig), and it's understood as a defence mechanism where the conscious mind doesn't allow memories that may cause harm from resurfacing. Freud first(?) incorporated it into his seduction theory (which states that the cause of hysteria and probably some types of neuroses was the repression of childhood sexual abuse that manifested later in life), and then expanded the idea of repression as a general defense mechanism. Imo I think overtime he kind of strayed away from the idea of it being the actual repression of memories and more the repression of desires (he did psychosexual development, libido and all that stuff, remember).

DID is also understood to mostly be a defense mechanism. It is a way for a person with trauma to unconsciously take that experience in general and detach themselves from it, which causes the emergence of another part ("alter") that is equipped to handle the experience. That, however doesn't sound like repression.

Because it's not. It's dissociation. It's a completely different mechanism. I'd argue it's way more similar to Heinz Kohut's theory of splitting.

Kohut mostly wrote about narcissistic personality disorder, and he described the concept of horizontal and vertical splitting as two ways that someone copes with the failed integration of a dichotomy.

When talking about narcissistic personality disorder, he took concepts from Freud's psychoanalytic theory but emphasized that narcissism is a product of a fragile sense of self. He thought of horizontal splitting as the classical form of repression where things in the conscious and unconscious are separated, so that things like shame and unmet needs do not affect the conscious experience, and of vertical splitting as a way for multiple parts of one's self to coexist in the conscious mind without integrating (due to compartmentalization), also preventing feelings of shame to coexist with the grandiose sense of self. This is all because in the mind of an NPD patient, narcissism and self-critique cannot coexist together, so they use strategies to keep them separate.

Now, what sounds almost exactly like that vertical splitting? If you said dissociation of identity, you are correct!! ✨🌟🎇🥳🥳🎉🎊

There's a few minor differences of course:

Vertical splitting deals with separating contradicting parts of the personality so that the person is able to always display the "grandiose" personality and not the unwanted one, whereas DID deals with separating experiences from each other so that they're more easily dealt with.

Vertical splitting doesn't involve psychogenic amnesia, but rather only behaviour and identity, whereas DID always involves that memory loss (although whether that's memory loss between alters when switching or a general failed recall of autobiographical information is kind of irrelevant diagnostically speaking) and behaviour and identity.

People with narcissistic vertical splitting are generally aware of the inconsistencies with behavior and personality while being unable to integrate those inconsistencies, whereas people with DID are often not aware of other parts, and if they are they don't often know everything because of the covert and secretive nature of the disorder.

But you can't deny that these are striking similarities. Kohut specifically created this horizontal and vertical difference to explain different ways of keeping things™ separate in the brain of people with NPD, with repression being a wholly different process than what I'd describe as basically dissociation.

Therefore, I do not believe that the argument that the Grey Faction makes for DID is valid. Their arguments for repression are still not really valid in my eyes for the reasons I've given before (memory storage differences between traumatic and normal memories and the lack of evidence that repression isn't a thing, mainly) which in my mind also discredits them when talking about non dissociative traumatic experiences. I've given my justification, but I'd love to hear what others have to say about this.

Just a few things though.

I am not a medical professional of any kind!!! Do not take anything I say as absolute fact. It is entirely possible that I am wring about everything I said here and I urge people who know more about this to reblog this with their opinion and thoughts. I'm lucky enough that my entire family is made up of psychologists so I have access to resources and opinions from people who are studying and/or have studied clinical and abnormal psychology (which I mention specifically because I see those as the branches of psychology that deal the most with psychopathology) but as much ad I'd love for it to be the case no one in my family specializes in trauma and dissociation. Closest I can get is my mother who is specializing in personality disorders

I try to not be biased, but by virtue of being human I inevitably am. The labels that fit me the most would be "endogenic non-disordered system", which to some might seem as a conflict of interest. Having trauma and a dissociative disorder because of it does not automatically give me authority to talk on DID issues, but this was made mostly to yap about my interest and at the same time talk about an issue that seems to be the current topic of discourse on the internet. If you have any issues with this, you are encouraged to block me as you should do regardless.

I had to use translators a bunch of times while making this because my C2 in english is apparently not enough to know how to use modal verbs. If anything's unclear, I should have my asks open.

If you want a TLDR; here it is:

I think the Grey Faction's focus on the impossibility of repressed memories' existence (and/or the unreliability of recovered repressed memories) is based on the false assumption that dissociative conditions, which they talk about in a "letter" specifically, deal with repression rather than dissociation, which along with the failed consideration of differences between traumatic and normal memories and the lack of any indication that "false memories" are anything other than a way for abusers to protect themselves in my mind discredits them completely.

Wow! Words! I am tired but couldn't wait for tomorrow for the continuation so here it is, have a lovely rest of your day :)) with such a long post I'm not going to proofread it so I sure hope I didn't make several grammatical or spelling mistakes! Again, if you want clarifications my asks should be open.

Teehee

I have thoughts on Grey Faction!!

And this will be tagged with the syscourse tag but I don't actually know if it's discourse. I'm just stating my opinion because this is my blog and O get to do that. Teehee

I will be talking about Grey Faction, recovered and repressed memories, Satanic Ritual Abuse (I think the acronym is RAMCOA) and other things that may make you uncomfortable. Please be aware of that before reading :)

What They Claim™

And, more specifically, what they think DID is like.

On the Satanic Temple website, Grey Faction is described as "An Educational And Advocacy Organization Whose Mission Is To Protect Mental Health Patients And Their Families From Dangerous Pseudoscience And Discredited Therapies, Particularly In The Area Of So-Called “Repressed Memories.”"

That just begs the question: What are repressed memories?

Not to worry! I, a very much not trained psychologist, psychotherapist or mental health professional of any kind will absolutely explain it to you. You should totally listen to me without question. Me not being done with the three year degree in psychological sciences and techniques is not going to stop me. Indubitably! (That is my attempt of a joke)

A repressed memory is an autobiographical memory (general facts about the world, oneself, and one's experiences) that for some reason cannot be recalled by the person. It is usually related to a traumatic or stressful event, and is based in Freudian thought and psychology. (Freud is the guy that did psychosexual development as a basis for his ideas on libido btw).

Are repressed memories actually a thing though?

The answer to that (as I understand it!!!!!!) is that it'd be hard to come to a consensus.

Why?

Because memory is weird! But one thing many can attest is the fact that trauma makes memories weird.

There are a number of problems that come with trying to prove that repressed memories are a thing, and I'm going to also sprinkle in my thoughts on those:

First of all, studying repression relies on retrospective reports, and unless you were liveblogging your traumatic experience, it's hard to know definitively if things happened. This of course ignores the role that brain regions such as the amygdala and hippocampus and their over and under-stimulation respectively affect memory storage in traumatic situations and even after as long-term effects (which is something that I'd say is pretty well known and not controversial?? But genuinely correct me if I'm wrong as this is not my area of interest), but we're going to ignore that ig.

Studies also do show that memory is unreliable. The fact that our bodies are controlled by a surprisingly stable slushy that somehow has the capability of independent (although subjective) experience I think makes that claim pretty believable. We're also going to ignore here the fact that many of those studies, to my knowledge, have only focused on non-traumatic memory creation by suggestion and peer pressure (Elizabeth Loftus I'm looking at you), and those that do focus on traumatic memories just show that there's degradation of memories. Nothing to my limited knowledge suggests that trauma survivors are more likely to develop false memories.

I think it's also important to note that because of the way traumatic memories are stored, a lot of those memories are going to lack coherence. I just realized I didn't explain what the amygdala and hippocampus have to do with memory, but basically the former is responsible for emotions and encoding them in memory (especially implicit/emotional memory), with its activation being connected to stronger and more vivid recall, and the latter is in charge of actually creating those memories by taking all sensory input from your senses and your emotions, hormones etc. and storing it, with stress hormones like probably cortisol contributing to a more fragmented and disjointed memory. Because of all of that, I think it's safe to say that it's not a stretch to say that the combination of emotional responses and hormonal responses while in a traumatic situation would lead to differences between normal everyday memories and trauma. As much as self-reports show that repressed memories are a thing, it is not empirical evidence afaik, especially because of their lack of coherence.

So what's the verdict?

I personally believe that Grey Faction has it all wrong. I don't think that with DID it's repression of memories at all.

But let me explain (I love yapping)

This is what they have to say to the DID community. (Hyperlink)

And I want to dissect this bit by bit.

The first thing that strikes me as odd if the phrasing they use in the last paragraph. "the dangers surrounding the diagnosis"? What dangers? Social backlash stemming from the common misconceptions of "split personality" and the "evil alter" stereotype? That's not from the diagnosis.

Diagnosis is a lovely thing. If you are experiencing symptoms of something, being validated medically is wonderful, and can lead to finally finding a community (and feeling like you fit in it). However, on paper it's merely a way for the government to be able to say if you get benefits or not (disability aid, financial aid, free or at least discounted healthcare in some countries etc.). It's pretty well known that disabled people do experience massive amounts of discrimination from lots of institutions, but the benefits are there. This may not be an objective way to continue this part of the post, but my family gets some money and other benefits from the government exactly because of those benefits, and there haven't been any issues bureaucratically speaking. We don't pay university taxes, we don't pay for food or we get discounts, we have priority on certain procedures etc., and that is most definitely not the experience of every disabled person (especially people with more visible disabilities), but I still wouldn't call a diagnosis a "danger" since if you had those issues and no diagnosis you'd just have less legal protections.

The dangers of common therapies I feel like could only come from an incorrect usage of therapeutic techniques? If I were to do traditional EMDR on a chronically traumatized patient though I wouldn't complain if the patient just dissociated. As it's understood (by me and I'm hoping other people - I have to emphasize that I'm not a specialist of anything), complex trauma and C-PTSD deals with prolonged chronic traumatization instead of more "singular" traumas, and usually develops in childhood. Usually people with C-PTSD have issues with emotional management, dissociation, negative thoughts and relationships, and administering EMDR without taking those into consideration can lead to emotional flooding, dissociation and re-traumatization. That's a risk. Solution: go to a trauma-informed therapist that specializes in that therapy technique.

The controversies part is just weird to me. I really do not care if the researchers at the forefront of DID research are weird. I don't care that Onno van der Hart lost his license because I don't care about him as a person. I don't care that Dr. Colin A. Ross had something to do with shooting lasers out of his eyes? Idk where I heard that, but again, I'm here for their theories and research and not their life stories. I may mildly dislike some of them but that just means I won't book a session with them.

Anyways,

First paragraph is correct, but I do want fo emphasize that unless people are experiencing delusions of breaks in reality in general that for some reason lead them to believe that they are a system (which I'm assuming would manifest as a kind of thought insertion delusion, with features of somatic delusions given that systems usually switch), only a professional should be safely telling them why those symptoms are happening. If they start saying outlandish things about being a system as if it's a common experience you should absolutely correct them and explain that it's not common for most systems or whatever, but saying they don't know what they're experiencing is a weird statement. Human experience is subjective, so your argument falls flat immediately.

Anyways, they then say that the trauma model is undisputed (it is not? At least it doesn't seem like it with a lot of professionals believing that it's just fantasy and roleplay) even though there are shortcomings (which are pretty well known. Just read The Haunted Self and you'll see among other things why the strict categorization of psychological experiences does not work). I just feel like with the research we have and the overwhelming majority of DID patients having self-reported trauma, it's kind of a no-brainer to come to the conclusion that trauma is a cause for DID.

Think about it: if DID is a disorder which features dissociation as its main feature, and dissociation is usually seen as a reaction to trauma, why couldn't trauma be a cause for it?

I also don't find value in declaring a treatment technique to be "empirically-supported". They're simply tools used to treat and manage disorders. They might not work for everyone, but does it really matter that much to have a single treatment for all DID patients? Some might respond well to some treatments and some to others. Who cares.

You see, I have a problem with both the trauma model (PTM) and sociocognitive model (SCM) of DID. It might not be explicit, but they both come off as staying that DID is caused only and exclusively by X, which is a major issue. If someone who presented with DID symptoms (amnesia, distress and all) came to your office (in thai scenario, you magically became a therapist) and they told you that their DID was not caused by trauma, while still having distressing experiences because of the DID, your first thought should never be to tell them that it's impossible and that they must have hidden trauma somewhere in their cranium. You know what you should do? Treat the paying customer 🥰 and generally making it so that in x amount of time they won't have to enter your office complaining of a part getting them fired and spending their severance check on rubber duckies. Could they be faking? Absolutely, but it's their loss mostly. They they really had something goin on and it's not DID you should be doing interviews, inventories, tests etc. and then tell them your verdict. Simple as that.

The SCM of DID is also to my knowledge less accurate when it comes go prevalence (Kate MA, Hopwood T, Jamieson G. The prevalence of Dissociative Disorders and dissociative experiences in college populations: a meta-analysis of 98 studies. J Trauma Dissociation. 2020 Jan-Feb;21(1):16-61. doi: 10.1080/15299732.2019.1647915). I think that should be noted.

Anyways, their transtheoretical framework seems to not be discrediting any of those models, but instead integrating them to explain all experiences of disordered dissociation. I think that's good. It obviously takes from the PTM as it's undeniable that dissociative disorders can be post-traumatic, and from the SCM as features like introjection and fantasy do absolutely take a part in how lots of systems function. From what I read, it's not a bad thing. With my own experiences being that of non-trauma based polypsychism I can 100% believe that for example treating an internal voice as not your own can lead to experiences of multiple selves. I would know, I'm that voice (plot twist!!)

Whether DID can develop in the complete absence of trauma is debatable, however. Not impossible mind you, simply because there is currently no way to test it.

You cannot prove that DID is always caused by trauma. You also cannot prove that DID is not caused by trauma. Both of those statements are generalizations that cannot be valid because dissociation itself is not proven to come from anything. It's a mechanism. An experience. Of course, trauma is very very much linked to higher degreed of dissociation, but saying something is always or never cause by something is a very bold claim.

You can't even prove that DID is mostly caused by Trauma. What if there was a massive rural population somewhere in the world that all had symptoms of DID that were demonstrably not caused by trauma? Of what if every single person with symptoms of DID does in fact have trauma? We can't know.

I'm tired, I'll continue this tomorrow if I remember. Toodles! Syscourse is fine on this post btw, but I can't stop you either way so‼️

#actually plural #pluralgang #endogenic #endo friendly #ramcoa #syscourse

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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

Text

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: [email protected]

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: [email protected]

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving.

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu scenarios #miya osamu imagines

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golbrocklovely · 2 years ago

Note

I was checking an oldish tag on here and saw some of your old asks about Stas where people told you everything she was doing, full transparency and you defended her like no other. Everything they spoke about came to light and we are now or have been seeing since Europe everything and more that people mentioned . So im curious (maybe you’ve said before but i didnt see it) what made you change your stance and open your eyes to her odd behavior especially towards Colby? The asks were pretty blunt and straight forward and you still found a way to curve every answer.

I checked the tag btw because i noticed today that not only did she promote Katrina on twitter, but made a tiktok to her song, told people shes her biggest fan, and has been liking a bunch of C4 edits and pics. I remembered seeing asks talking about her never supporting Kat only Colby so after seeing that i came back here to try and find what else those asks said and saw everything everyone has been saying is pretty legit.

i did say a while back why my feelings changed for stas, but i'll just state them again i guess lol

also holy shit this is long sorry about that lmao

so, originally, when ppl would come to me saying why they didn't like stas, to me it didn't feel like it was a legitimate reason. and i felt that way bc they would come on here, talk about her, but give no proof to their claims. just say that "oh i heard this" or "i think she did this" or "did you see she did this" and to me, none of it was enough proof to throw her off the island, so to speak. i mean, some anons talked about her liking edits as proof enough that she was shady or up to no good. ppl would use her likes on twitter as main example of "see! look how bad she is" and the tweet in question was either not there (bc she probs unliked it) when i would go looking for it or if it was about colby and her… it was harmless and not something like "colby and her should be together. they have something going on".

also, no offense to anyone that sent me asks in during that time period, but i don't exactly have the most faith in the fandom towards ppl outwardly hating on a girl bc she's close to colby. it's happen countless times. the amount of times i've been told that the reason a girl that colby's friends with or hooking up with or JUST STANDING NEAR is bad bc "she just gives me bad vibes"… let's just say, if i had a nickle, i'd be a rich woman. so when it started happening with her, i didn't think much of it. thought of it as jealousy or just over-protective fans.

but things started to change a bit, i would say, by summer. i think after one too many trips to vegas, my liking for her was dwindling. idk if she did something or what (bc at this point i don't remember), but the vibe changed around her and what she was doing. at least to me. not to mention, no matter what she did, it was drama. and that itself was exhausting.

then colby made that tiktok with her. and when he started deleting comments shipping the two of them together, that's when i knew oh, he really doesn't want to be shipped with her and i thought this was him actually laying down the law and finally putting his foot down to all the shipping that goes on between him and stas.

then europe happened. and i fucking KNEW this trip wasn't gonna end well. i felt it in my bones. or maybe i'm just really good at picking up patterns lol

what first started to gross me out, was finding out about her mom posting things. and look, i'm all for a supportive mother. and tbh idk if her mom ever responded to fans. but what concerned me was how much info she was sharing publicly. and then how many fans were searching for her mom, finding her page, and basically narrowing down where they were in brussels and all that. snc have been stalked before, have had their house broken into before, what they DO NOT NEED is someone with them basically giving their every location just bc those fans are subscribers.... or random ppl on her mom's facebook.

that's when i also noticed that her roommate was at least cognizant of fandom drama that had happened not too long ago bc she liked a tweet about it while it was happening. that turned me off quite a bit as well. and i know a lot of ppl bring up stas posting the video from colby's bedroom and honestly…. ngl that flew under my radar. it just didn't feel like anything to me at the time.

and then finally: tomorrowland. the amount of fans that upticked their talks of colby and stas when they were basically forced to hang out with one another the whole time bc kat and sam wanted their own time away (which is fine, don't get me wrong. but it just really didn't help the already existing issue of colby and stas being shipped) was super fucking annoying. i basically was getting upwards of 10 asks a day, and that's a light guesstimate, about the situation. and while i don't mind talking about something…. i don't want to talk about it that much.

then, the malishka thing happened. i literally ignored it on here bc i just couldn't talk about it. at first, i was angry at colby. like why would he post this this is so stupid. but as time has gone on, i've basically come to the lovely realization that stas is the one that posted it (also, according to some whispers i've heard she basically told her subs that she did. idk tho that's alleged). realistically, colby doesn't understand russian. he probably filmed her, showed her the video, and she typed that and posted it. she also had earlier post the pic on his story of her face zoomed in. at least, that's what i personally believe. and when asked what malishka meant, she probably lied or just didn't tell him bc he probably didn't rewatch his story.

bc something to note is that they had terrible wifi in tomorrowland. so he might not have even known about this whole thing until a day later or so.

and what made all of it worst was the fans' reaction on twitter. and the fact that a lot of the fans that came out and congratulated colby and stas for "finally being together" after "all this time of us knowing" were both ppl i followed and ppl my age……….. i basically was about done with the situation. and then of course she had to like a tweet about the malishka thing. and that solidified it for me.

and if THAT WASN'T ENOUGH, they came home from the trip and colby hung out with her one more time right before moving to vegas. he literally told us on xplrclub that he was gonna be THIRDWHEELING in vegas (aka laying it on AS THICK AS HE COULD that he was single), and that fucking night stas told her subs that she was going on a date. and wouldn't you believe it, but it was her and colby hanging out ! along with others, but no one saw them on her story. just her and colby.

after that, colby mentioned multiple times about being single, being young, and wanting to have fun while in vegas. and i think that's when the tides personally turned for stas. she had fun playing house with colby in europe, she had her fun of living the fantasy of what it would be like to be colby's gf, to be Y/N. but reality set in when they came home. i think the last night they hung out, i think she confessed how she felt, and he rejected her. and look, she has every right to be upset about being rejected. i get being rejected, especially by someone you feel you have a connection to, SUCKS ASS. i'm not denying that. however, you caused your own delusions. colby was literally hooking up with six flags girl multiple times this past year, LITERALLY BROUGHT HER TO A HANG OUT SESSION WITH THE CORE FOUR, …..and you think he was into you???? the same man that deleted comments about the two of you together????????? the same man that FOR YEARS has begged the fandom to stop shipping him with every girl he's friends with??????? that man… was into you?

i mean, he went on a (assumed) date with a girl in vegas and stas tweeted like four things that night about being hurt or whatever (idk at this point i don't remember all the details) and then on top of that deleted said tweets. maybe something happened between them. i doubt it wholeheartedly tho. i think she loved the fantasy of them being an item, but he wanted no parts of it.

bc that's the thing: colby loves to tease us sometimes. like with amber. he loves making the fans freak out. but when he does shit like that, he chose to be part of the game. this is the only time he asked not to be included…. and she did it anyway. i don't think he knew the extent of breadcrumbs she was leaving for fans to speculate. i think when he saw what happened with the malishka shit (bc again he probs didn't see it until a day or two later bc of wifi and just wanting to enjoy his vacation) i think stas left a soured taste in his mouth. and then she made it worst by telling fans that her and him were going on a date…. and that was enough for him to be done with her. that's why at kat's bday party he sat as far from her as possible and seemed to not want any parts of the party. and that's why she's talking about being rejected now. bc i personally think they are done being friends as of rn.

i mean… it would make sense too. bc the moment he was hurt by what stas did, who did he run back to after all this time? shea, the original stas lmao

and as for stas all of a sudden being up kat's ass, to be as bluntly honest as i can be, i do not fucking care. i've gotten a bunch of asks about it. i can't be more frank than literally telling yall i don't care. i'm tired of talking about stas. bc even tho i don't like her, and i do think she is a bit of a snake, not everything she does is newsworthy or needs to be talked about. she liked something that implied feelings for colby? who cares. she wrote a poem about him? who cares. she wants to leave comments about how much she loves kat? omg who cares. we all know at this point she wants attention.

STOP GIVING IT TO HER.

#ask #personal #i'm not angry i'm just disappointed lol

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glossywife · 4 years ago

Text

After He Lost Everything [E] | Kaede Manyuda

Word Count: 3300+

Rating: Explicit (vaginal sex, photo taking)

A/N: Originally posted on AO3 last July 2020. Like or reblog if you liked it! Requests open!

Summary: After Kaede lost everything, he thought he'd lose you too. However, you prove him wrong and he repays you in a different way.

01 ; 02 (soon)

You sat on your fiancé's lap, your arms around his neck while his hand rested on your exposed thigh because of the shortness of your uniform.

Kaede's hair had turned white after he gambled with Yumeko Jabami, a girl whose name has been mentioned here and there since she came. You've never met her though, mainly because you've also just gotten back from a vacation from Paris—a trip you asked Kaede to come with you but obliged because of his student council responsibilities. Sometimes, the council irked you because it took too much of Kaede's time, but you thought it was hot anyway that he led the students.

The stares of Kaede's classmates were nothing to you by now as some watched both of you lose appropriate space for each other in the classroom during lunch break. You were immune to it. Besides, the stares were only from new students who didn't know who you were and found your actions with Kaede rather inappropriate. You'll never admit it, but sometimes, you like it when they stare. It makes you push yourself more to Kaede, testing how much they can watch. The older students knew to mind their own business. Otherwise, you'd challenge them to a gamble. All of which resulted in their loss and ended up being a house pet, your house pet.

"What are you thinking?" you whispered into his ear seductively while you led his hand up your skirt. It was for this reason you didn't bother wearing like some of the other girls.

Kaede shook his head, obviously out of himself, "Aren't you ashamed?"

You stopped with your advances and paused for a short moment, "Of what?"

"Of me. I lost a gamble, and I even became a house pet. Thanks to you I was able to pay off the debt."

There was an obvious defeat in Kaede's face that you weren't used to seeing. You had always seen Kaede in his usual confident stance. His moves were always calculated that he wasn't afraid of anything. And you loved that about him. But today was different. No. It was since you returned and was surprised to see how his hair changed while he welcomed you back from the airport. He looked shaken, lost, and forlorn that not even a quickie in the airport bathroom did so much to uplift his spirits.

A mischievous smile escaped your lips, "Don't worry," you traced his clothed chest, "You can pay me back with something else. Come to my house later?"

You meant to tease him, but when his eyes met yours, you found that it actually made him a little more nervous. He sighed, "Does your father know? What if he breaks off our engagement?"

The smile washed off from your lips. This time, you felt his sadness. Kaede really lost himself.

"Babe," you said firmly while you caressed his cheek. "No one's going to break off our engagement, okay? Don't worry."

At first, you never meant to go along with your father's wish to be engaged with someone you didn't know. You only planned to come along and pretend you were going to obey. But once you saw who it was, and how you were turned on from how he brought himself up—confident, calculating, smart, and mesmerizing. Your plans changed and you agreed to become his bride. Besides, the sex was good.

You never asked, but you had a feeling that Kaede had planned the same too until both of you had feelings for each other.

Kaede, finally, smiled though it was a weak one. He looked relieved by your answer. For once, he was thankful that you didn't leave his side after he had lost everything.

Suddenly, the bell rang, signaling the start of classes.

You groaned in his lap, pouting. Kaede chuckled at you. From his peripheral, Kaede caught a glimpse of Ryuunosuke, who was looking at the both of you silently.

Kaede noted that Ryuunosuke had been trying to get your attention. He guessed that Ryuunosuke was probably going to try to hit on you after he fell rock bottom. Unfortunately for Ryuunosuke, you didn't leave him. And so, Ryuunosuke had nothing else to do but to watch you as you sat on Kaede's lap shamelessly in the classroom with all the other students. How he wished it was him.

There was an inexplicable emotion building inside Kaede. It annoyed him how someone looked at his girl far too long. To think that the guy even liked her. To Kaede, only he is allowed to look at her like that, like stripping her off of her clothes. And he thought of an idea.

You were about to stand up from Kaede's lap to go back to your respective classroom, but it shocked you when he held you down, stopping you. And it shocked you more when he kissed you, shamelessly and aggressively, forcing his tongue inside your mouth.

Though you were used to being inappropriate with Kaede, Kaede never once initiated anything other than a quick kiss on the lips in public. At the back of your mind, you questioned whether you should be doing this, but it turned you on more than it should.

You closed your eyes and reciprocated his wet kisses.

Kaede took a guilty peek. He was greeted by your closed eyes, then he looked over at Ryuunosuke, who quickly averted his gaze when it met Kaede's, with red ears.

During the ride to your house, you almost couldn't take your hands off of Kaede. You just wanted to suck his dick. Be sorry after what had happened to him. Be his cum dump and turn all his frustrations to you.

"What's gotten into you?" you asked and you couldn't push back your smile as he laced his fingers on yours.

Kaede's eyes were straight on the road. He placed a peck on your hand that held his while the other was on the steering wheel.

"Nothing," there was a ghost smile on his lips.

You didn't like how he had been acting sad lately. But it reminded you how Kaede seemed to be more laid back after he lost. What you didn't know was it's because of you, how you didn't leave, or judge him. And thankfully, how you had paid off his debts before anyone even touched him as a house pet.

You watched him silently with a grin and your heart melted. It was all you could ever ask for.

Then your phone beeped, signaling a message. You turned to your pocket to get it, not removing your hand on Kaede's.

With one hand, you typed in your passcode, revealing your wallpaper of your trip with Kaede to Times Square. The memory brought a smile to your face.

In the picture, Kaede had his arms wrapped around you with a grin that reached his eyes under his glasses, making it look chinky. He wore a green parka over a black turtleneck and denim pants. On the other hand, you held Kaede's hands around you with the same smile, wearing a spaghetti-strapped blue plaid dress. The two of you looked so radiant among the busy, dull crowd from behind.

You noted how Kaede hated the crowd. He even made remarks here and there. But when you spontaneously asked a native to snap a photo of you with your boyfriend, it didn't seem to translate into the picture because he looked so happy. Besides, it was one of the rare moments you were able to force Kaede on a trip with you because of his role in the council. Kaede was the prime example of always working, always doing something. Sometimes, you hated it really.

Nearly everyone would define Kaede as someone who only smiled when something goes his way, but with you, it was different. It was genuine. That made you smile.

Unknown Number :

Hi, (Y/N). I got your number from Runa. I was wondering if you could meet me tomorrow after school? This is Ryuunosuke btw.

The message made your eyebrows furrow, ' Who's Ryuunosuke?'

"Who is it?" Kaede gave you a short glance before he quickly turned his attention on the road again.

You shrugged, "I don't know."

Without replying, you put your phone back in your pocket, then placed a quick peck on Kaede's hand on yours.

Only the sound of your make out session with Kaede filled your big room, while you both lay on your soft, white sheets.

Kaede's blazer had been discarded and his tie was loose, while you were only in your shirt skirt and your blouse's first buttons were opened, showing your cleavage.

You looked so sexy on top Kaede as you led the kiss. His hands continuously traveled to your exposed thighs and then rested on your ass. Slowly, his fingers reached for your panties, feeling the wetness of the material, making you moan against his mouth. Kaede grinned at that.

You broke the kiss, sitting on top of Kaede's dick, feeling his hardness while you slowly rubbed yourself on him. You bit your lip to tease him as you threw your head back and closed your eyes.

Though sex wasn't new to the both of you, Kaede couldn't help but be mesmerized by your beauty and your gorgeous body. He reached for his phone on the bed, snapping a photo of you. The sound made you open your eyes.

"Should I pose for you, babe?"

Kaede's erection grew harder. He was thrilled to have another set of photos in his unending collection of your lewd photos both you sent and he took. Kaede's had a lot of photos of you but never in your uniform. Thinking of having your photo in the uniform excited him.

You positioned yourself in the bed on all fours, your ass facing the end, and turning your upper body a little to the side so that your head would still be seen. You arched your ass up and your back was a reversed 'C.'

Kaede snapped a photo, then he went near you to lift your skirt, showing your white lace panties and quickly rubbing your pussy before he backed away to snap another photo. Kaede smiled when he checked it to see you sticking your tongue out in a lewd manner.

"Is that good enough for you?" you asked while you slowly crawled his way.

"Hmm," Kaede reached for the buttons of your blows before tearing it apart, showing your breasts covered with matching lace brassiere.

Once you were on the bed, kneeling before him, he caressed your face and stuck his thumb in your mouth. You gladly sucked on it, never breaking your stare into his eyes even as he took another photo of you in the position.

Kaede made you pose more, each one being so embarrassing but it made you feel wetter. You were happy you were of good service to him while you were on all fours and had your face on the bed and your ass high up. While he took photos, you wondered when he's going to fuck you.

Finally, he let you sit on his lap, feeling his bulge against your thin cloth. He caressed your breast with one hand while the other caressed your thigh.

"You know why I like our uniform on you?" he breathed into your neck. "Because the shortness of the skirt makes me peek at your thighs," he pressed your thigh hard it left red marks.

"But sometimes it annoys me that some boys can see it too," he continued. "But whenever you go push yourself to me at school, it fades away because they know who's fucking you at the end of the day."

His dirty talks turned you on.

"You know I'm yours," you whispered.

"I know," he only put your panties to the side and inserted one finger, slowly and gently. "I'm the only one who gets to do this to this pussy."

"It's so wet. You're welcoming all of me," he inserted another finger.

The sensation made you bite your lip and your hand reached for Kaede's nape from behind you while you had your back on him.

You moaned in pleasure, "When are you going to fuck me?"

Kaede hissed, his hand found your tits and squeezed it harshly, making you yelp.

"You're fucking nasty," he whispered against your ear while he took out your breasts and played with your erect nipples.

Kaede tore your blouse, the buttons flying off, then yanking it completely away. You were only left with your brassiere that no longer covered your tits and skirt.

He pushed you to the center of the bed. You watched him as he removed his belt, the sight turned you on. He was finally going to fuck you.

You remember the first time Kaede first took your innocence. You lost to him in a gamble and he wished you to sit on his lap, which you did and ended up in a steamy make out session and losing your virginity. From then on, when Kaede gambles, you would tag along with him when you're bored and sit on his lap, feeling his erection while he gambled with a sinister expression on his face as he crushed his opponent. Afterward, you'd suck him off in the restroom. Though he looked so respectable and composed, he couldn't take his hands off you.

Once Kaede removed his pants, leaving him with only his unbuttoned shirt, and putting on a condom from your bedside, he joined you in the bed, positioning his erection on your wet pussy.

He only pulled your panties to the side and thrust. It was slow and gentle. Though you wanted to be fucked hard because of how much you missed him, you couldn't deny that you also loved how you felt the sensation more while he did it slowly.

Your tits softly bounced in his thrusts. Kaede's one hand rested on the bed for support while the other fondled your breast.

"Fuck, you're tight..." he grunted. ”No matter how much I fuck you. Ah..."

Kaede's hand from your breast found its way to your mouth, pulling your tongue. You stuck your tongue out like what he wanted. He watched you, legs wide open, tongue and tits out, while he fucked you. You looked like a slut to him, and you loved that.

Soon enough, Kaede groaned. He closed his eyes and quickly removed his dick from your pussy right after you came. He removed the condom and positioned his dick between your tits, asking for a boob job.

"I'm close, fuck..."

You gave him a boob job, every thrust meeting your mouth until he stuck his dick in your mouth and cum erupting in your mouth.

He watched as you opened your mouth to reveal the thickness of his cum. Then, you swallowed it all. Kaede looked pleased.

Kaede lied beside you and pulled the comforter to both your bodies, then pulled you closer.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," you smiled.

When you awoke, you noticed that Kaede was no longer beside you. Instead, you found him sitting on his side of the bed with your phone in his hand. He now wore a grey shirt and black boxers, which he got from his small side of your walk-in closet. Kaede would often sleepover and both of you agreed that he would keep some clothes in your house and vice versa. He was silent as he scrolled through your phone.

"Babe?" you called.

Kaede shot you a glance and showed you the messages on your phone like what you received earlier, "Since when are you receiving messages like this?"

You sat down on the bed while you hold the comforter to your body, "I'm not sure."

"It's when I fell from my position."

There was that same sadness in his voice again, the one you wanted to wipe off. You moved to his side and gave him a hug. "Don't think about it."

His eyebrows furrowed, "How can I not think about it? What if they take you from me, (Y/N)?"

"No one's taking me away. I'm all yours no matter what. Besides, we still have our investments, right? I checked."

When you and Kaede took your relationship seriously, both of you made joint investments. It was only a backup plan and one of the future sources of funds when the two of you decided to settle down.

"Hn," he touched your hands around his waist. "I won't touch it. It's ours. Not mine alone."

You smiled at his answer and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "I love you."

Your fingers brushed his white hair, "I think I'm liking the hair. Can you keep it?"

Kaede looked at you, a little embarrassed and relieved at the same time, "Should I? It's kind of embarrassing."

"It's not embarrassing! I like it actually," you kissed his forehead.

Kaede smiled, his palm found your bareback, stroking it. "Your skin is so soft."

"I keep it that way for my boyfriend," you smirked smugly.

"Fiancé, you mean," he corrected to which you laughed.

"Fiancé."

Soon enough, he started kissing you again, slowly lying you back down on the bed.

"Do you think you can fuck me like the usual? I miss you going rough on me," you asked when he broke away.

Kaede's expression changed to a menacing one, his eyes darkened and he suddenly choked you, "You want this?"

You stuck your tongue out in pleasure, "Yes!" you loved how he took advantage of you.

"Open your legs wide."

You obediently opened your legs wide, shamelessly flaunting your pink pussy lips to your fiancé. Kaede fingered you, inserting three fingers, making you moan. You feel the wetness of your pussy drip to your thigh until you felt his tongue on your vagina, licking and sucking. You pulled on his hair as you moaned. While he ate you, you massaged your tits.

The second time you came, Kaede slapped your ass to signal you to go on all fours. Once you did, he spanked your ass, you felt the skin jiggle at the contact. You shook your ass more, making sure to have your vagina in his sight too.

He positioned himself from behind you, his erection poking your opening. Once he inserted himself inside you, you gasped and quickly turned to look at him. You watched as he paid nonchalantly to your shocked expression while he had his mouth half-open as he thrust.

"You didn't put on a condom!"

Kaede opened his eyes and held your naked waist, feeling the warmth of his bare hands, "Shh."

"I'm not on the pill!" you hissed.

For so long, you've been asking Kaede to drop the condom and turn to pills, but he didn't want to because it doesn't exactly assure safety.

"That's a problem for tomorrow," he kissed your lips to shut you up.

"Besides, we still have our investments, right? Ahh.." he pulled on your (H/C) locks. "We can build a family anytime."

You grunted both in pain and in pleasure as he thrust inside you while he pulled on your hair. He put his weight on your back as he moved his hands on your breasts, massaging it. You felt him placing wet kisses on your bare shoulder.

Soon enough, his thrusts started to be more fast and rough. Both of you grunted in the sensation.

"I'm cumming!" he declared. "I'm cumming inside!"

You didn't have the energy to argue anymore. You remained on the bed, tired, and biting on your lip while he pleasured himself with your body.

Then you felt his thick and hot juices filling your womb, making you moan. You felt his cum dripping down on your thighs.

"Is that enough to get you pregnant?"

NEXT & FINAL CHAPTER: Kaede challenges Ryuunosuke to a gamble without your knowing until Kaede instructs you to watch them. Surprisingly, Kaede introduces a deal that if Kaede loses, he will breakup with you. On the other hand, Kaede conditions Ryuunosuke to watch Kaede take you - fulfilling your longtime dream of having someone else watch - if he wins.

#kakegurui #kaede manyuda #kakegurui smut #kaede manyuda smut #fanfiction #anime #anime fanficiton #anime smut #smut #jabami yumeko #kaede manyuda x reader #x reader #x reader smut #kakegurui lemons

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scripted-downfall · 2 years ago

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Connections and the Lack Thereof

At this point, my lack of any appreciation (exaggerating… a bit) for Max is probably coming through loud and clear, but I also wanted to touch upon her actions/words/beliefs in “Proof of Purchase.” I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know she cared a lot about getting rid of that retrovirus… but also, if she’d just stopped and thought for a bit, I’d hope that she would realize how unfair she was being. (Then again, this is Max, so she wouldn’t.)

I mean, to rephrase her background and stance prior to that episode. She escaped Manticore years in the past. When she did, she was absolutely confused until she figured out how everything worked, at which point she turned self-reliant, isolationist, and very guarded. Then, she met Logan — a very rich, especially relative to the times, very well-connected man whom she started working with/falling for — and was able to take advantage of his money and connections to further her own goals. I mean, even what she was doing in “Proof of Purchase” was thanks to Logan; it was his money from selling his painting with a doctor that he found (with help from Lydecker).

Meanwhile, Alec just got out of Manticore. He’s still figuring out how things work without orders to either follow or to contravene, acting pretty similar to how Max did when she got out. He has no connections, no money — except whatever he was earning from the boxing that got him in trouble in the first place — and nobody he can turn to for assistance. And then he receives a bomb right next to his spinal cord and both 1) orders and 2) a threat in order for him to survive, the first of which he’s been conditioned to follow and the second of which is innately something he’d respond to.

And yet Max has the gall to act… well, to act like herself. For one thing, she wasn’t there during the scenes with White. It wasn’t a situation of “he thought he could run his game on a bad guy” because he was kidnapped??? It’s not like he thought, ooh, lemme just step over here and offer my services to White and his transgenic-killers and then screw them over. It was a bit more along the lines of oh, shit, I’ve been kidnapped… let’s pretend to help to talk my way out of it followed by a subsequent bomb-injection and well, damn, now I’m gonna have to actually follow through or I’m dead. Him agreeing to help White was a matter of self-preservation, not of choice, and — whether he made the right decisions throughout the process or not — he wasn’t acting cocky; he was acting like he was trying to save his own life. Which he was.

And then, as if Max’s bitchiness about that weren’t enough, there’s also the implication that he should’ve told her, or should’ve come to her… and I find this just absolutely laughable??? She acts (throughout the series, not just here) as if she’s the most welcoming person in existence, regularly being all why the hell didn’t you come to me? to Alec. I mean, maybe he didn’t come to you because, whenever you saw him in eps 1 and 2, you told him in no uncertain terms how unwelcome he was? (And, btw, kinda seemed like you’d be perfectly fine with him dying???) Or maybe because he was raised in Manticore, where you dealt with your own problems or were a liability to the mission and were either re-brainwashed or killed?

Anyway, I just find it hilarious — in a bad way — that Max is sitting on this relative pedestal surrounded by money and connections, and she’s looking down on the guy who just got out of Manticore, is generally hated by both Max and Logan for the whole virus thing, and has nothing to his name for relying on himself to try and save his own life.

#dark angel #alec mcdowell #anti max #anti max guevara #shocker i know #me? anti max? who'd ever have guessed #he deserves better #as always

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aeonghaseyo · 3 years ago

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Under the Streetlight - Alexandra Trese x Reader

Song fic based on the song “Mixtape: OH” by Stray Kids

A/N: It’s actually my first time writing a song fic, and one using the English translation of a K-pop song I love so much. Please stream Mixtape: OH in Youtube! Btw, I tried my best for the reader to be of any gender haha

T/W: imagery of blood

-----

You were just a college student in Manila, trying to get by this one year in your program that seemed as if it was out to kill you. Why not though, with all the shit ton of schoolwork you had to do as well as org work you willingly volunteered to do?

As you waited by a jeepney stop by a streetlight that might as well have been like a spotlight hovering upon you, you pondered upon a lot of things in your head and stopped to make a note to yourself.

‘Note to self: I should really work on saying no once in a while. If I say yes to so much work during this sem I might be dead faster than I think.’

Even making this note to yourself made you feel stressed all the more, with your body automatically fidgeting, and you, conscious enough of your own habits when faced with stress and anxiety, tried your best to fend it off either by forcing yourself to stay still or by letting your thoughts wander to more exciting scenarios.

One scenario in mind played: you on your knees under that same streetlight, with a woman clad in a black coat wielding a curved blade that seemed to gleam its own light even in the darkness. This undaunted, short-haired lady in a defensive stance, aiming to keep you from being kidnapped by the aswang in your area that would risk even the secrecy of their existence in the estero’s out of hunger they never bothered to control. Your entrails would have been their main course, and your soul their dessert, until the infamous Alexandra Trese came to your rescue within a split-second, not even giving you time to scream out loud for help.

As there were only two of the aswang who were going to salvage you to satisfy their hunger pangs, it only took mere moments for Alexandra to take them both down without a drop of blood on you. Even while she was splashed with blood, you looked upon her in awe and admiration.

The mere thought of her figure post-rampage painted your cheeks red, as you also recalled the memory of her holding out a hand to you to help you up. The fear brought about by that near-death-by-aswang experience really made you literally weak on your knees, so at first you struggled to stand up right after you shakily gripped her hand.

When I get my hands on you

When I set my eyes on you

I get breathless and I’ve never felt this way before

I can’t explain this

It feels so different

So I want it more

No doubt, something coursed through you back then that made you gain just a little bit of strength to momentarily stand on your own two feet. You had that strength, alright, but you didn’t look it with the paleness of your face giving your state of weakness away to the woman in front of you.

“You’re safe now, you don’t have to be scared,” you heard Alexandra reassure you, and once again your knees were jelly.

So you stumbled.

Blessed by her swift reflexes, your savior caught you effortlessly, and you couldn’t help but hold on to her arms and look into her unwavering black orbs. Another moment passed as she helped you back on your own two feet, her hands still on your shoulders as if to give you a sense of security amidst a relatively dangerous area.

You muttered an “I-i’m so sorry, ma’am,” to which the babaylan-mandirigma corrected you, “Call me Alex. You don’t look well enough to commute, and the streets are especially dangerous at this time of night. Let me take you home.”

I just want to whine

I’ll stop being calculative

I want you to notice how I am feeling

As if you would notice that I was lying

I don’t want to just be around you like the scent

She saved your ass from being a part of the aswang’s menu, and you thought that was just the bare minimum you deserved at that moment. You clearly didn’t expect her to help you up while you were definitely still weak on your knees, and you didn’t expect her to suddenly take you home.

So your mind momentarily went blank.

Just like a PC that has been restarted, you began processing Alexandra’s offer to take you back home, and your feel yourself getting conflicted between letting her take you home for you to finally let another person help you from the ordeal you had sustained, or refusing her help just so you could prove you can still handle your own.

But you were left with no choice as Alexandra said, “I insist. You’re much safer with me.”

With one speechless nod from you, she led you to the car where her two bodyguards were waiting and helped you settle at the back of the car, where she usually took her place.

I thought I knew

I was so confident that I knew everything

But I didn’t know, with you

As I get close to you, it gets more complicated

Even when I have something to say, my head goes blank

At the end of the day, I’m saying just meaningless words

“Another rampage, bossing?” one of the bodyguards, who was driving the black Sedan you were in, asked. “Those aswang sure are relentless.”

“At least you didn’t need to call us for help though,” remarked the other bodyguard, who looked like he was the twin of the man who spoke earlier.

Right beside you, Alexandra let out a sigh for self-relief and responded, “Those aswang were easy prey. They were reckless enough to just corner a helpless passerby out in the night without any calculated plan of attack.”

The long-haired man at the wheel then replied, “Too hungry to even think, eh? ‘Yan tuloy.”

You paid no mind to the rest of the conversation between Alexandra and her bodyguards, instead finding yourself thinking about how secure you felt as the babaylan-mandirigma helped you up on your feet earlier under that streetlight. To you, her expression was nonchalantly serious, with a slight hint of concern that never escaped your perception.

That concern never appeared for your eyes to see, but you felt it. It was there. Just for you, at that very moment after she saved you.

The train of thought halted to a stop in your head as Alexandra finally turned to you and said, “I never got your name. Do you want to tell me what it is?”

Turning to her with an expression akin to that of a child talking to their first crush, you stuttered, “I-it’s (Y/N). T-thanks again, for s-saving me back there, I t-thought I was gonna be a goner!”

Her eyes never leaving your form, she then replied, “It was a relief that I got to you before those monsters did.”

“Serves me right for waiting for a jeepney at an area without people, huh?” you remarked with a nervous chuckle, as a sign that you’ve finally found your keenness in freely attempting a conversation with Alexandra Trese, of all people.

You thought she would reply to what you would refer to as a careless remark, but it seemed that you were wrong as one of the twin bodyguards replied to you instead.

“You were easy bait for those aswang, but no worries. Bossing got to you just in time.”

When I hold your hand

I feel like being a baby again

And I go whining and saying, “Don’t look at me like that”

I look you in the eye and take one step closer to you

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a baby

Finally arriving at your place, Alexandra ordered her bodyguards to wait for her by the Sedan and turned to walk you to the front entrance. Out of gratitude, you finally mustered to thank your savior once again, which she answered with a nod and her replying, “Take care of yourself next time,” before she finally turned to where her vehicle was parked.

You felt your heart sink then as she walked to the car by herself. What has gotten into you? She just saved you from an aswang attack, as is her duty as the mediator between humanity and the creatures of the underworld, and she probably doesn’t have the luxury of time to be the subject of anyone’s interest or courtship. So what was the matter? Why were you feeling as if you wanted, scratch that, needed to see her again?

Countless times before, you swore to yourself that you were the type of person not to fall for just anyone, regardless of how extraordinary they seem, regardless of whether they stood out in your eyes or not, out of fear of this weakness being exploited anyway and you being set up for disappointment in the long run. No, you would never let fragility get the best of you just because someone outright snagged you from a close call of an aswang attack.

Regardless of your distaste for showing weakness, that beating heart of yours nagged at you to call out her name and spend a few more seconds with her anyway.

Driven by your own resounding heartbeat, you called out to her while race-walking towards her, “Alex!”

Ey (I’m a)

Can I call you baby?

Ey (I’m a)

In front of love, I’m just a baby

Just like that, you got her phone number, along with a reminder from her to call her when you need help with anything out of the ordinary, which is pretty much another way of referring to supernatural occurrences or anything involving the supernatural realm.

Under that same spotlight by the jeepney stop at night, still alone, you exited to your phone’s main menu and find your thumb almost grazing the contacts icon at the bottom of your screen. You pressed on that Contacts icon and found Alexandra Trese’s name right under the “A” list in your contacts, underneath a bunch of registered numbers without any proper names to them. With longing, you stared at that name along with her number.

‘I have your number, Alex. Can I call you anytime then, even when I’m not in trouble?’

I know I shouldn’t whine about it

I know it well that you’re everything in my mind

My heart wants you

I want your love

This feeling is so toxic

You’re the only antidote

“Fancy seeing you here again, (Y/N).”

The heart that was already fluttering in your chest skipped a beat upon hearing that familiar voice. Quickly, you turned to the owner of that special voice right beside you, belonging to none other than the person who has been plaguing your thoughts since that fateful night. As if by instinct, you smiled lightly and greeted her, “It’s good to see you again here, Alex. What brings you here tonight?”

I’m sure about my feelings but I can’t control them

The way I talk to you, treat you, and behave towards you

Is so immature

Mature person, Mature love

Mature man, I thought it would be easy

Everything is difficult in front of you

Alexandra filled you in on her agenda for tonight, “I was wondering if there was going to be something unusual happening tonight that concerned the aswang clans that have gone out of control. Strangely, nothing has been happening in this particular street, unlike the last time I saw you here.”

Your (e/c) orbs gone soft, you looked upon her as you replied with a chuckle, “And then you found me instead.”

Her own eyes slightly widened, the woman before you cleared her throat and answered, “Yes I did. And I’m relieved to know you’re safe tonight.”

Time passed, and the silence between you and Alexandra remained as she stayed vigilant and prepared for a possible aswang attack that could happen right where the two of you were standing right now. Worried, you checked the digital clock on your phone once again, which read, “11:43 PM.” Upon being aware that it was actually past your bedtime, your features manifested a look of both worry and frustration, and Alexandra seemed to have noticed it herself.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

“I am, it’s just,” you let out a tiny whimper as you continued, “it’s past my bedtime already, I had to stay behind in school to help out with an org activity the day after, and I haven’t even studied for my exam tomorrow. I hate it when I can’t ride a jeepney right away going home.”

Hold your horses. Did you just rant to Alexandra Trese about your current predicament?

What should I do?

Am I under the illusion?

Will this end easily?

(Oh na na na na what should I do)

Closer (Oh na na na na what should I do)

I want to come to you and get to you

Out of embarrassment from the complaint you just uttered to the person who once saved you from the aswang, the person who brought you home out of kindness, the person you have admired for a long time but never had the chance to tell out of fear of rejection and quite possibly your own consideration for her duties to both the human and otherworldly realms, warm blood rushed to your cheeks and you covered your face as you apologized, “Sorry Alex, I didn’t mean to bother you about my own personal troubles. I can handle it by myself, I promise.”

A hand on your shoulder finally prompted you to look right at her, your head finally unobscured by the hands which formerly shrouded the remains of your embarrassed demeanor.

“Want me to take you home again, (Y/N)?”

This was your one chance to be with this one hell of a woman yet again, like the last time you both were under that same streetlight by the jeepney stop.

What made the current circumstance different from before was that you were not afraid to accept her offer this time. You were hell-bent on getting Alexandra to remember you as much as you continued to remember her and savor that special memory with her.

(Baby)

(I want to come to you and get to you)

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a

With an unexplained expression driven by a growing fondness for the babaylan-mandirigma before you, you finally replied to her, “Of course Alex. Thanks again, I appreciate it so much.”

Alexandra then took you by the hand and led her to where that same black Sedan was parked. Cherishing the warmth of her hand, you slightly tightened your hold as if to say, ‘I love holding your hand, and I don’t plan on letting it go anytime.’

I look you in the eye and take one step closer to you

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a baby

Ey (I’m a)

Can I call you baby?

Ey (I’m a)

In front of love

I’m just a baby

#trese #alexandra trese #alexandra x reader #alexandra trese x reader #trese komiks #trese netflix #trese x reader #trese fanfic #trese fanfiction #fanfiction

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darthkruge · 4 years ago

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Hello! I'm kinda new to the whole tumblr thing so sorry if this request is bad but I was wondering if maybe you could do an imagine for spencer reid where the reader is Garcia's younger sister and Garcia brings her in to meet the team because it's her first day there. Maybe Reid recognizes her from somewhere and he will not leet it go until he finds out how he knows her? Btw it's totally fine if you don't get to this! :)

Spencer Reid x Reader ~ Piano

Summary: When a new agent joins the BAU, Spencer knows he’s seen them before but literally cannot figure out where. His memory having never failed him before, he doesn’t rest until he figures it out.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral! Reader; Penelope Garcia x Sibling! Reader

Words: 1973

Warnings: A little bit of language, I think that’s all?

A/N: Hey anon!! First off, don’t worry, love! I’m honestly new to this whole tumblr thing too, but I loved this request! I’m sorry I didn’t get to it sooner, life’s been a bit hectic. I made it so the reader is Garcia’s younger sibling instead of sister, I hope you don’t mind. I’m going to try to make writing as gender neutral as possible moving forward. Nothing against you, of course, I know I haven’t specified in past requests and I couldn’t have expected you to know, so don’t worry! That being said, sorry for rambling and I hope you like it :)

(gif isn’t mine)

“Hello, everyone! I want you to meet the youngest of the wonderful Garcia children!” Penelope led you into the BAU where you waved a bit stiffly. You weren’t a huge fan of being the center of attention, but you knew your sister loved these introductions.

Looking around, you pieced together the people you knew from Penelope’s stories. You recognized Derek immediately. You assumed from his professional stance that the taller and older dark haired man was Hotch. Logically, that meant Rossi was next to him. And Emily and JJ were the two women, smiling and waving at you encouragingly. You smiled a bit broader, immediately sensing you would be fast friends with them. Finally, your eyes landed on what had to be Spencer. You thought he was quite attractive and, from Penelope’s descriptions, he was also amazing, talented, kind, smart, basically everything you liked. You waved at him but noticed he was almost studying you? You weren’t sure, but felt a bit awkward, confused as to why he seemed friendly to everyone else but wouldn’t even smile at you.

“Umm, hi!” You said, laughing nervously and kind of hoping to disappear. Hotch sensed your discomfort and offered you a kind smile before putting you out of your misery.

“Welcome to the team, L/N. Garcia’s told us wonderful things about you. That being said, we’re just closing up tonight, so you could finish up your paperwork finalizing your transfer into the BAU if you haven’t already and then come in for your first day tomorrow?”

“Okay, thank you, Sir.”

“Goodnight, team”

Everyone echoed the “Goodnight” before filing out of the room. You got into the car with your sister and pulled out of the BAU, reflecting on your past and thinking about the next chapter of your life.

After almost everyone else had left, Spencer was still at his desk, thinking. The certified genius, was, for once, completely at a loss. He couldn’t figure it out. Where had he seen you before? He was currently in the process of mapping out every place he’d gone to over the last few months. Every restaurant, every film festival, every face he saw in passing at crosswalks, through car windows, at coffee stands, and, still, nothing.

“Woah, Pretty Boy, slow down! What’s got you so riled up?” Derek says, walking over to where Spencer was hunched over his notebook, furiously writing.

“I can’t figure it out, I know we’ve met before or I’ve seen them before or something. I just,” Spencer put his head in his hands, eyes starting to burn a bit from the strain of writing and concentrating for so long, “I just know it”

“Seen who before?”

“Y/N, the new agent. They’re so familiar, but for some reason I just can’t figure it out”

“Ohh! Garcia’s their sister, right?”

Spencer nodded and Derek came behind him, seeing the messy timeline and pages of notes scattered around the agent.

“Are you sure you’ve seen them? I mean, we see lots of people on the job. You could have just seen someone who looked like them, you know? And come on, Reid, your memory is, like, insane . If you’d met, you’d have remembered”

“I know, that’s what’s got me so messed up.” Spencer sighed.

“Take a rest, kid. It’s late, get back to it tomorrow. Maybe they’ll visit you in your dreams…” Derek said, wiggling his eyebrows and laughing as he walked away.

Spencer laughed, hoping Derek was right. He’d do anything to get more time with you, even if it was in his subconscious. Honestly, he felt a bit bad. He’d been so caught up in figuring how he knew you that he’d kind of forgotten to actually talk to you. Normally, he’d have caught a new recruit before they left, but he didn’t get the chance with you. After packing up, Spencer went home and continued his search with you on the forefront of his mind.

Meanwhile, you had just gotten back to your sister’s apartment. You had your own place but you were new to the team and felt a bit lonely. Mentally, you didn’t want to be alone at home, too.

“Hey, Pen, what’s up with Reid?” You asked. You were confused, you knew he was quiet but he seemed to be actively ignoring you. Even stranger, you caught him intensely staring at you, as if he was trying to figure something out.

“He’s just shy, Y/N. But he’ll warm up to you, don’t worry! Honestly, I think the both of you would be a pretty good match. If you want, I can do some of my famous matchmaking!”

“Please, noooooo,” You groaned, dragging out the word.

“Come on! I’m great at it!”

“No! Remember last time? I ended up on a blind date with a guy who, within the first three minutes, told me he liked me because he saw similarities between me and his parents!! Then, he proceeded to detail their divorce for the next 45 minutes!”

Penelope was laughing hysterically, “I mean, you did say you liked emotionally available people!”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at her head, dying in your own fit of laughter.

“Alright, that’s it, I’m going to bed. I can’t be conscious in the same house as you anymore” You say, smiling and jokingly flipping your sister off as you walk away and into the guest room.

Naturally, she returned the gesture.

When Spencer arrived at work the next morning, his eyes were bloodshot, hair was sticking up in a million different directions, and clothes were exceptionally disheveled. Anyone else and you would have thought they had a really bad (or great) one-night stand. Although you weren’t close with him, you just didn’t see him being that type of guy. You laughed a bit as he grimaced, taking a sip of what looked like extremely bitter coffee.

Deciding to try and break the ice, you went over to him. “Long night?”

Spencer’s head shot up. “Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that” He said, laughing a bit.

You smiled. Even though he was awkward, you felt at ease in his company. “I get that, I’ve had a few long nights myself. I love the job, don’t get me wrong, but the way the BAU runs is different from anything else I’ve ever dealt with.”

“Yeah. It can be a bit of an adjustment, but you’ll be fine. You’re doing great. I mean, you arrived early, so I can already assume you’re organized. And your desk is a little messy, leading me to believe you’re a creative person. Your handwriting is quite slanted, too. I recognized it from your entry forms. Did you know that’s a sign of high intelligence? Because your thoughts are moving so quickly, your hand can’t keep up in the “perfect” way, so the letters normally slant and become more sloppy.”

You were mesmerized by him. You could watch him talk for hours, truly. Sure, he wasn’t always graceful, but he was so passionate about everything he talked about. You loved listening to people talk about what they love. The way their eyes light up, it makes the energy surrounding them contagious.

Realizing he had just psychoanalyzed you without permission, Spencer looked at your sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to profile you. It’s sometimes hard to shut off, especially around new people.”

“I get that. It’s okay, I don’t mind.” You said, nodding knowingly.

As you said that, Spencer figured it out. He remembered one time visiting his mother in Vegas and hearing you say those exact words. You were playing the piano, talking to a patient who had just accidentally spilled some water on your sheet music as they took their medicine. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I was in need of new music, anyway” You had responded, laughing. He was surprised he didn’t immediately recognize you, the beautiful and talented person he’d seen that day. But, it did make sense, in a way. Spencer’s memory is always at its highest and weakest when he’s with his mother. He can remember each of their conversations, verbatim, but everything else fades.

“Spencer? You alright?” He had been kind of spacing out for a few moments and you were afraid you did something wrong.

His attention came back to you and he smiled again, brighter this time. “You play piano.” He stated.

Your breath caught and you let out a small laugh, extremely confused. “Uhh, yeah, I do. I’m sure you’re great, but that seems extreme even for you, Mr. Profiler”

Spencer laughed. “No! I didn’t profile you, I just, I remember you. Las Vegas, March 12th, Psychiatric Hospital, you were playing piano. A patient spilled water on you. I remember you.”

“Oh, right! Ms. Owens! She’s lovely. You were there that day? Well, either that or you just gave yourself up as a damn good stalker”

“No, no, not that,” He said, a shy smile playing on his lips, “My mother’s a patient there, Diana Reid? I’m not sure if you know her.”

“Yeah! She’s quite a character. I always enjoyed playing on days Diana was there.” You reminisced for a second, lost in the memory.

“Were you visiting someone there, too?” He said, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Not exactly. My grandfather was a patient before he passed. He taught me how to play and I kind of just asked the staff if I could volunteer and continue to after he left. They were kind enough to let me. I mean, he always encouraged me to perform and I thought it was a nice way to honor his memory. A few months later I heard from Penelope that there was an opening at the BAU. I moved out, and, well, here I am.” You gestured to yourself, slightly embarrassed after you realized you might have overshared.

Spencer caught onto this, however, and quickly reassured you. “That’s amazing, Y/N. You were amazing when I heard you. I wish I could have heard you play again.”

“Thank you, that’s really sweet, Spencer.” You said, resting your hand atop his, a blush forming in his cheeks at the touch.

“Um, if you don’t have plans. I mean, not to assume you don’t have plans, just if you, you know, happen to not be busy, would you want to maybe get dinner sometime? You don’t have to, of course! I wouldn’t be offended! I just kind of want to get to know you more. If that’s alright with you.” He trailed off, not making eye contact and playing with the buttons on his shirt a bit as he awaited your answer.

Deciding to be bold, you gently turned his face to meet yours and smiled. “I would love to. Tomorrow, pick me up at 8:00?”

“Yeah! Here’s my number, text me your address?”

You smiled and nodded, taking his phone. He took the moment to just look at you. You were truly one of the most breathtaking people he’d ever met. He couldn’t believe he’d just gotten you to agree to go out with him. Even so, he wouldn’t question it. If something in the universe gave this to him, he wouldn’t risk it for a second.

You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek as you slipped the phone back into his hand. As you pulled away, Spencer cupped your cheek and pulled you back in for a kiss. His lips tasted sweet and soft and a sense of serenity washed over you as you stood in the middle of the BAU, kissing him. Everything faded away and quickly came into focus again as he pulled away, far too soon for your liking.

“More of that tomorrow” He whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, “That’s fine by me.”

~requests are open~

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