#causing more dismissal and resentment

[themarginalthinker]

OK HI IM BACK

This is mostly going to be train of thought, so bear with me here. If it's incoherent, I'm so sorry :c

First, I'll say that Imalia's situation is fucking horrifying, and not because she's a Nos. She might not have been a peach in life, but no one deserves to come home one night, have a strange man in your space, be assaulted by that man, taken with him away from your work, friends, family, your LIFE, and expected to suddenly live under him for possibly eternity while everyone around you makes snide remarks about you being a 'fallen beauty queen' and disregards the pain you're in every day for the rest of your unlife.

I don't hate Imalia, I feel fucking sickened by her situation. She's not a pleasant person, and I don't blame her a single word.

Should she be going after Tawney? No, but it's not really about Tawney. She's a placeholder for Imalia's real trauma, that, because it's a Kindred older than her and also her sire, she'll never be able to touch - and in some ways, she'll never even THINK to touch. Gary's little narrative has worked its wonders in redirecting Imalia's wrath from the root of that pain and horror. Nice going, Gar.

-

I've said this before in a post, I think, about how the Nos's symbol is a mask - in itself a symbol of hidden/false identity, projection, and to a further extreme story telling and conveyance of information (ie, the greek chorus to an audience). So, let's talk about vtm Nosferatu and identity.

I think out of all the clans, the Nosferatu exemplify the issue of identity and even a strata of queerness within the world of the Kindred. Even among those pushed to the edges of the inner circles, such as Gangrel, who often go there by choice, Malkavians, who are not there by choice usually but are too diverse of a group to neatly fit into one space, and Tzimisce who, if they so chose, could fit into whatever box they like. Nosferatu cannot do that.

They cannot change what they are, what they look like, and in some way it frustrates the greater Kindred world. It's not that they particularly care what the Nos look like - it's because they cannot CONTROL what the Nos look like, and how the rest of the world will see them. In many respects it's like chronic illness, or, well, a disfigurement in the real world. People hate what they cannot control, even subconsciously, and someone who 'won't get better' or a person who has Changed in a certain way that cannot be made 'normal' again makes them feel out of control, and thus threatened.

They do not want to look at the Nosferatu, not because their disfigurements are particularly bad - most canon concept art for them is fairly fucking tame, I've seen far, far worse done to these poor ocs in the fandom sphere, and if you want Actually Horrific, look at the FUCKING TZIMISCE WHO DO THAT SHIT WILLINGLY - but because the Nosferatu remind them with just existing that whatever Kindred society is doing is nothing but a giant game of dress up.

Of clinging to an identity that might not actually fit at all anymore, but because the face you see in the mirror every night is unchanged, the old identity MUST fit. It HAS to. Otherwise, you cannot function.

When you become Nosferatu, you HAVE to not only change, but accept that change, or you will either lost whatever mind you had, or lay down and not get back up again. They do not get to choose what happens to them, how long it takes, when it happens. It just. Happens. Total loss of all control.

That's frightening. It's uncomfortable to think about, so let's put it where we don't have to see it, think about it, acknowledge that it's there. It's very easy to take the discomforted feelings towards something and twist them into another to hide the reasl narrative. Uncomfortable thoughts when seen? Well. They look hideous, so of COURSE it's not nice having them around! Get shoved out of the 'nice' places in the world, forced to take residence in the worse areas? Well, they seem to LIKE being there, so it serves them right if we don't like them! They don't seem to WANT people to like them!

The circle of thought goes round and round.

Nosferatu are, in my mind, also 'not gay as in happy, but queer as in fuck you'.

There are a lot of boxes one can put them in to try and keep them out of the way, but they'll still scoot that damn box back into your line of sight and then only put one foot in it just to spite you. 'You can't say I'm NOT in your little box! :D'

Are they the disgusting beings haunting trashpiles and sewers and all the unwanted places of the world? Loving turning beauty into horror, seeing the good die and decorating with its rotting corpse? If they can't have something pretty, no one can?

Are they misunderstood monsters, beasts with hearts of gold? Do they project an air of ugly so to keep those who would not go through the turmoil of digging through the garbage to find that diamond away?

Are they just ugly, and that's that? Do you have a right to call them that, even when they call themselves that? Is there more? Less?? Do you even want to know???

The Nosferatu exist outside of mainstream Kindred society, and whether it's by choice or being unwelcome anywhere else, they have found each other and other individuals who were also given the boot. There is honestly no community like that found when someone can understand your pain. There is no understanding like seeing a mirror of yourself, reaching out, and the mirror holds your hand and says 'I'm here, and soon, you will be too.'

The Nosferatu isn't about beauty, because we can ask 'what IS beauty' and run ourselves to death trying to answer that question. We won't. The Nosferatu are about knowing every aspect of yourself, even the parts you don't want to see, because seeing those parts for what they are helps make you whole.

ok, rant over, I'm sorry again this is a whole lot of nothing-ramble

I am by no means an expert on VtM lore, but a lot of the Nosferatu's behavior towards vanity in both Kine and Toreador is... iffy. In theory, it's an insightful perspective on how we put too much stock in physical beauty and our libidos can be a factor in our overall shortcomings. In practice, it comes off as incel/generally misogynistic. Especially with that whole 'Cleopatra' jargon.

I think Bloodlines demonstrates this the best. In the Warrens, you meet two Nosferatu that Gary Golden sired. Mitnick and Imalia. Mitnick was 'embraced' by Gary because Mitnick was a hacker who actually was skilled enough to get into a Nosferatu database. Meanwhile Gary had Imalia turned into a Nosferatu because... she was pretty? And kinda full of herself?

You see what I mean?

Now granted, Bloodlines is almost twenty years old now, but I've yet to see anything from the IP that suggests it's gotten better.

[otsukare-katsukare]

i know i beat this dead horse every few weeks or so but i really think sami and neville's nxt feud was so special. sami and kevin obviously blows all other competition out the water as far as wrestling soulmateships for the two of them, but sami and neville did so much in the short time they had on nxt together, and they did it the best possible way which was having both incredible match chemistry AND emotional storytelling.... they had 4 televised singles matches in total and one fatal four way and they were all certified bangers. all developed their relationship in some way and told great self contained stories at the same time. despite the fact that, at no point in any of them, did either sami or neville actually hate each other/have a real heel turn. usually that would portend the 'great athleticism but not a lot of story outside of Which One Is Better' match formula but not these guys, instead it's like the wrestling equivalent of a 100k slow burn. WITH incredible flips and dropkicks.

[uzurakis]

jjk men w gf who’s overly sensitive and they said something that hurt her feelings? ^___^

FALLING INTO ARGUMENTS?!

featuring: megumi fushiguro. gojo satoru. itadori yuuji. geto suguru.

n. nonnie, allow me to spice your req a bit by make them getting into arguments which hurts your feelings in the process. sorry it took a longer time to write this cause i really don’t want to mess their characterization on this one t—t you also didn’t say i need to end it with comfort so…

GOJO SATORU.

the atmosphere was heavy with tension, as if every breath you took stirred up a storm of unresolved emotions. the soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the lines of frustration etched into gojo satoru’s face. his piercing gaze fixed into yours, a silent challenge hanging between both like a veil of uncertainty.

as you stood before him, the weight of his dismissive words bore down on you like a crushing weight. it was as if every syllable was a dagger aimed straight at your heart, each one leaving a deep, painful wound that threatened.

you cried out, "i can help, satoru," your voice quivering with a mix of hurt and desperation. "please, just let me help you."

however, his reply felt akin to a blow to the face. "i don’t need your help, alright?" he yelled, his voice snapping like a whip. "i've got this covered myself.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, filling the space between you guys with a palpable sense of defeat.

you begged, your voice almost audible, "but satoru, we're supposed to be in this together. i thought you trusted me. isn't that what relationships are built out of?”. nevertheless, his expression remained impassive, a mask of indifference that hid the pain lurking beneath the surface. “trust has nothing to do with it," he replied, voice colder than you had ever heard it before. "i do better alone."

with those comments, the abyss between you and gojo deepened, threatening to swallow both whole. then as you turned to leave his room, the weight of his rejection settled like a stone in your gut, leaving only a hollow ache and the bitter taste of regret.

the silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. every fiber of his being screamed for him to go after you, to swallow his pride and beg for your forgiveness, but something held him back, he didn’t want to pull you into his mess any further.

with a heavy sigh, gojo sank into his chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he let out a long, ragged breath. the weight of his actions settled on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with its suffocating embrace.

tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he blinked them back, refusing to let himself break down in the face of his own weakness. he had always prided himself on his strength, on his ability to handle any situation with ease and confidence, but now, in the aftermath of this argument, he felt more vulnerable than ever before.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

"are you okay, megumi?" you asked softly as you reached out to touch his shoulder.

his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a tense energy that crackled in the air, setting your nerves on edge as he flinched away from your touch, his expression hardening as he turned to face you.

he snapped, "i'm fine," in a tone that was unlike anything you had ever heard. "stop asking me that."

the words were like a slap to the face, leaving you feeling with hurt and confusion. all you had wanted was to help him, to ease the burden he carried on his shoulders, but instead, you found myself faced with a wall of anger and resentment.

you tried to protest whilst trembling with suppressed emotions. "you know you can always talk to me, right? you don't have to go through this alone." yet he shook his head, his eyes dark with pain as he pushed you away. "i said i'm fine!” insisted, tone slightly went higher. "just leave me alone."

the tears threatened to spill over, but you just held it down and bit your lips. with a heavy heart, you turned and left his room.

as the door closed behind you, megumi let out a frustrated growl, the sound muffled by the empty room. he cursed himself silently, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as the weight of his harsh words settled heavily on his shoulders.

"damn it," he muttered under his breath, very much thick with regret. "fuck you, fushiguro.”

the memory of your hurt expression haunted him, a reminder of the pain he had caused with his thoughtless words. he had never meant to hurt you, never intended to push you away, but in his fear and uncertainty, he had lashed out without thinking, building walls around himself to keep you out.

now, as he stood alone in the quiet solitude of his room, he realized the magnitude of his mistake. he had pushed away the one person who had always been there for him, the one person who had never given up on him, and now he was left to face the consequences of his actions.

with a heavy sigh, the man sank onto his bed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of the mess he had created. he knew that he needed to apologize, to make things right, but the thought of facing you again filled him with a sense of dread.

ITADORI YUUJI

under the soft glow of streetlights, yuuji and you found yourselves standing at the edge of a heated argument that threatened to consume the bond between you. the cool night air was heavy with tension, each word you and he exchanged hanging in the air like a cloud of unresolved emotions.

"i just wish you would trust me, yuuji." you said, sounding frustrated as you looked for any indication that he might understand.

however, he shook his head, his expression stubborn and closed off. "i do trust you, but this is different. i need to handle this on my own, babe.”

his remarks pierce deeply. it seemed that he was shutting you down even though all you wanted to do was to help him. you looked at yuuji and said, "i can't just watch you struggle."

"just, give me some time alone, okay?”

the hurt in his voice mirrored your own. as you watched him walk away, the sting of his words lingered like a bitter taste in your mouth. just as you turned to leave, you heard him call out your name, his voice filled with panic and regret. "wait! baby, i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

you turned back to face him, the ache in your chest easing slightly at the sight of his vulnerability. in that moment, you understood that beneath his tough exterior, he was just as scared and uncertain as you were.

"it's okay, yuuji," you calmed him down, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "we'll figure this out together."

GETO SUGURU

you couldn't stand idly by as suguru pushed himself into further depression from time and time again, and tonight, you had finally reached your breaking point.

"suguru, you need to take better care of yourself," you begged, tinged with frustration and concern. "you can't keep treating yourself like this."

“is there really nothing i can do to help you?”

only he scoffed at your worries, waving off your concerns with a dismissive gesture, expression stubborn and unyielding. "i'm fine, babe.” with a deep sigh, geto suguru pointed out, "and what would you know about my problems, huh?" he reacted with resentment.

those words cut deep, leaving you mourning with hurt and disbelief.

"suguru..” you claimed, “do you really think i would just stand there as you destroy yourself? when you mean so much to me?”

his eyes softened at your words, a flicker of regret passing over his features before he shook his head, expression hardening as he turned away from you. "i don't need your help," he spat.

“i can take care of myself."

the finality of his words hung in the air like a heavy weight, crushing the last vestiges of hope that lingered in.

"fuck, i'm sorry," he murmured right before you decided to walk away. "i didn't mean to worry you."

“i, i just don’t know what to do with myself. shit, i’m so sorry.”

you turned back to face him, tears welling in your eyes as he crossed the room to pull you into a tight embrace. his familiar arms curled around you, providing comfort and warmth despite the tension. you could feel his heartbeat against yours, a rhythm that expressed both guilt and tenderness. at last, words were unnecessary as you allowed the quiet to envelope both, saying more than any apology could.

@uzurakis — requests are open! <3

[spencerscoven]

the alternate … art donaldson

Art has a proclivity for giving attention to his enemy. He hates her— but particularly hates how she has Patrick wrapped around her finger even more.

warnings ; smut .. slutty drunk freshman art x Patrick's gf, infidelity .. unedited for now! oops!

It didn’t take much time for Art to settle into Cornell— it wasn’t just the tennis or the girls, of which he quickly learned were rather women, or even the academics. His hesitation on his attendance was especially foolish, especially in moments like these as he rolled over, crushing the red solo up beneath him. The buzzing in his jean pocket persisted, just like it had for the last five minutes before, causing him to utter another affirmation to ignore it into her mouth.

Maybe the women had one or two things to do with it.

"Maybe just get it?"

"Why?"

"So you... can tell them you're busy."

He hummed into her mouth as the girl above him detached herself, moving to grab the stitch of her top to remove it as he tilted his hips to reach for his phone.

Patrick.

His calloused hands came up to push her thighs over his hips, sitting up to read the rapid series of text Patrick had sent. And Art soon saw— was still sending. All of them ranged from different ways of him asking Art to check up on you, letting your attendance be known. Patrick's texts detailed the simple request of him checking to see if you were taking your alcohol well. Another saying he hoped you wouldn't get roofed. And one that blatantly asked that he didn't let any of "those Ivy League assholes" fuck his girlfriend.

Art rolled his eyes, resentment laced in his actions as he muttered condolences and pledged to "be right back", his large hands taking the knob of the door and peering out into the dark hallway to find you. When a look wasn't enough, he left the room door slightly ajar, stepping completely into the hallway filled with red cups, colored lights, almost sidetracked by his team that pulled him by the neck and fought to put a drink in his hand. With a light smile still gracing his face and beer in a can, his eyes wondered up to your face, watching as your lips wrapped around a bottle of Corona, some leaking out the side of which you swiped away with the back of your hand. He felt the same kind of resentment he usually felt when he saw you when Patrick visited fill him from his chest out. He watched as you leaned against the wall talking to someone. He took in your skimpy skirt and top with less resentment, though.

He especially didn't like it when the next time he looked for your face, you were staring at him, eyes hooded and smile nasty and condescending.

"He told me to look for you."

"I know." You raised your eyebrow dismissively, almost wanting to laugh at Patrick's good intentions. He knew what you'd say about Art. Just like you assumed what Art said about you, yet he asked him anyway.

"And by that, he means look after you." Art leans in, lips close to your ear as the music sounded. You roll your eyes as he lingers there a moment too long and you expect him to say something more, but he never does.

"We both know I look fine."

It takes a beat before he responds. "We both do."

"And we both know you don't want to babysit."

"But I'm a good friend."

"I've known corrupt politicians that are better friends than you, Art."

He sways away from you, facing the rest of the party as he rolls his eyes with the kind of insularity he only reserved for you, tipping his head back to finish the rest of his beer and tossing it towards the trashcan, only to miss.

He turns to you, irritation flaring as he stabilizes himself on the sticky wall behind him by holding your hips. It's something you're willing to let go of, your breath clicking as he whispers: "You smell like pot."

"It's a free country."

"Okay," he challenges, pursing his lips as he leans closer. "What's in your cup?"

"What? Yours and Chelsea's not good enough for you?"

His upper lip raises, in a look of both disgust and toleration as he grasps your wrist, forcing you to bring your own bottle to his mouth. The contents of it are mostly able to be swallowed but the rest flow from the corners of his lips, down his chin, to his throat where his Adams apple bobs as he swallows. You wipe it instinctively, causing you to both freeze for only a moment. He shutters before he opens his mouth again to slur,

"Chelsea?"

You look at him quizzically, your mouth opening once, twice, three times, only to say nothing but erupt in laughter that rocks your head backwards and your body closer to his. Art looks around frantically, his mouth tilting downwards as he looks around, grasping your hips forward and gritting his teeth as he repeats himself.

"Chelsea? What's the fucking joke I'm not getting?"

"The girl that you just— my fucking god, Art. I know you look the way you do, but you couldn't even remember her name?" You tilt your head towards the doorway, insinuating the room you're sure his cologne still lingered in. He groans, his head falling forward in a laugh as his right hand on your hip runs up the side of your torso, his head spinning.

"I'm not a very good date, am I?" You can nearly taste the alcohol on his tongue and you're out of laughs, humor gone as a consequence of being so close to him. And maybe he's too drunk to realize it's happening, but you're too cross to care when his thumbs rub circles on your hipbone, of which he had to invade underneath your waistband to do.

"I almost finished my night like this." It's so quiet that you're unsure if it was for you to hear. But it doesn't matter, as your hand runs up his arm and shoulders, eyes following over the ripples.

"This is not the same."

Your other hand trickles down to his waistband, guiltily skating over his bulge as you feel his pocket for his phone.

"Arthur, Patrick told you to check on me. So, tell him I'm okay."

"I told him that I'd check on you. I also told him you were a bad idea, like I always do," He saws it lowly, as if it's not supposed to slip out and has only found it's way because of his level of intoxication. You scoff, pushing him backwards as you're suddenly slightly more sober. You rock back and forth, eyes rolling back, but the distance is not created before you can hear him finish: "but I never said he didn't have good taste."

You don't like that it's still said in the way only drunk and resentful Art could deliver it. "You're not a very good fucking friend."

"To who, you?" He makes it his personal duty to invade your space, his face in somewhat of a snarl. You know that some would see this as uncharacterized for Art, but it's most familiar to you. It feels somewhat like home. Albeit, a house fire, but home.

Your first encounter with him was glancing behind yourself at move in, and seeing his blonde locks brushed back by calloused hands as he looked at you, then to your racket.

Your second encounter was only minutes later, when he stood next to his raven haired friend who asked for your number as he rolled his eyes with a knot in his jaw, as if he didn't find you worthy. He tugged on the shirt of his friend, telling him there were better things to do. Better, he had said.

And that never made much sense to you. Because in your relationship with Patrick, there had always been the inconsequential three.

"You're not my friend," You begin, mind calculating how many rooms and doors of Cornell's largest final club you'd have to go before finding somewhere, anywhere, that would fit just you. "Never was."

Art's only silent for a moment, nose flaring and eyes squinting. his shoulders are tense, and if you were to look down you'd see his hand balled in a fist.

"What? What now, Art?"

"You never gave me your number."

He watches as your eyes furrow in confusion, the heat in your eyes rising rather than deflating. And he speaks again:

“You gave it to Patrick. But you never gave me your number.”

Without your bottle, your hands search for something to do, blinking frantically. They resort to touching yourself in the same places he just had, your fingers running down your torso quickly, your hip bone. When you touch your shoulder is when the two of your gazes meet once again. Art watches through blue as you nod your head slowly in both horror and understanding.

You're quick on your feet. He's watched countless of your matches, even when he had no business doing so. But he is too. So when a short string of curses land out of your mouth and you march down the hallway, he's on your heels.

And all you can think is that you know his gaze better than any other. It wasn't something you intended but through these sporadic games, your body and soul had bargained to be familiar with Art more than any other. If he leaned against the net or lunch table, it became the kind of resourcefulness of movement that was so particularly him. It was rare you called on him, yet necessary when it was a matter of Patrick. He was always there, steadfast and urgent. It'd be days before you learned of the lecture he missed because of it. And while your boyfriend was off being a pro, Art never was slow to tell you how good his female counterparts around him were, while you were "only barely whopping college ass".

But somehow he was always there. You found his gels and handle tape in your tennis bag. You had more than half your dining points still because you were just "a casualty of being present” when he was buying his own lunch. And it all made you feel as if he was just very...

"You're a fucking con artist," You shoved him against the door of which he only narrowly made it "A fucking wolf in sheep's clothing."

It made you even angrier that he was stronger than you but willing to let his body fall back, lips pierced in a thin obedient line as his back hit the door repeatedly under your assault until he grasped both your forearms, holding them closely together. A wince escaped your mouth, his strength relenting and becoming lighter but still he held you. He leaned down, attempting to meet your face that now focused on the hardwood below.

"I know I'm the bad guy. Still, what's it gonna be?"

You didn't look up at that. But you did at the vibration that sounded in his pocket just seconds later. There were always three.

Art doesn't waste a moment to release your arms, wrapping his own in an enclosure around your head to reach your lips, tugging you impossibly close to him. You can't help but not move-- letting him twist your head and invade your lips. It's only until you release a small moan you latch back.

After Art's kiss, your night was haunted. It was distorted beyond your eyes' power of correction. So when a pair of lips landed on yours again, you came back home. You gave in.

His hands ran down your body, invading each and every corner of you. Your hips, your waist, the small of your back, the back of your thighs which he used to hoist your body upwards and against the doorframe, caging you. As the wet kisses sound on your neck, you look past his head to the room you two now occupied, no bed. Just various pieces of miscellaneous covered in cream sheets. When you look towards the window, releasing another whimper as you feel his middle and index finger prod at your cotton panties, you can see dust aligning with the moonlight.

Like everything else he does, he's good at the way he touches you. No, nearly instinctual. Art's fingers curve and level themselves out inside of you, yet he leaves his palms frigid, rubbing your clit back and forth with the surface of it. It makes you all so weak, Art murmuring your name as the two of you lower to the floor, you're suddenly reminded of the urgency of the matter.

"Art, I need--"

"I know,"

I know,

I know,

I know.

He repeats the sentiment into your skin and it almost makes your eyes brim with tears as you feel his bulge covered by denim slot against your soaked underwear. The feeling is delicious, so you excuse your decorum when you buck your hips against his. You watch as he detaches himself from you, the depth of his blonde hair twinkling in the moonlight. His lips and chin are swollen and wet from your messy kisses that appeared to be more tongue than anything. He lifts your hips to remove your skirt on his own once he catches the way your eyes watch him, still. He looks at you, sick with the same fever, but now you're not quite sure what this illness even is.

His hands move to tug your shirt up, yet you push his hands away, making them double up on his belt as both of you scramble to slide his jeans below his ass. You also help him when he leans to grab your right leg, sliding it up and against his hip as he sways above you. You watch as he thinks, only for a moment, places a feather right kiss on your knee, whispers something you can't hear, and promptly shoves his dick inside of you.

The force of it slams your head against the door, the hinges rattling but the surprise of his size makes it so you hardly notice. You close your eyes immediately until you're struck with the realization that you hope this never happens again. You hope you're never drunk enough, or lucky enough to have your boyfriend's best friend's dick rocking you back and forth ever again. You near your eyes open, willing to at least let yourself savor what little you have now, gazing in the middle of you two where you can see him disappear inside of you repeatedly.

Art huffs above you as your name escape his lips repeatedly as if it hadn't been the first time. You find yourself unable to cope, grabbing the hardwood until you realize there's not much give. So you resort to firmly biting his shoulder between your gasps and yelps. which only surges him on to drive into you faster, his hips snapping and the sounds of both your flesh filling the room.

You feel his clammy hand reach for the hair at the nape of your neck and you allow yourself to submissively follow regardless of your confusion. Art's breath mingles with yours as he asks:

"Is it good?"

You don't answer.

"Does it feel good?"

Your brows furrow together as you nod your head up and down as if you’ve been doped, chest heaving uncontrollably. He meets your lips and it feels as if he's kissing you solely for himself as he drags his hand on your cheeks and forehead, ridding your face of your sweat and hair. His other hand circulates your clit with a firm hold and you feel the familiar sensation approaching. Your skin felt both as cold and hot as it ever had, your teeth penetrating your bottom lip, biting Art in the process.

"I don't think we should do this.." You spit out quietly in intervals, because it feels like the right thing to say right before you come all over his cock and he leans down to look at the mess you've made in bliss. The results that it gives are fruitful, as you feel his fingers' relentlessness on your clit still. But you can tell he's struggling to stay where he is, trying to milk every moment he can inside of you.

You use your feet to push his hips back, arms reaching above your head as you untangle your limbs. Your legs remain sprawled out on his thighs, of which lay on his calves. The silence between you two is like molasses, and he stares at your core as you brush your socked toes against his abdomen, then cock.

You see a frown form on his face, but you're also met with the needy repeated rise of his hips that meet your foot and help you grind against him. You watch in awe as his eyes don't leave yours, confusion filling the air. You bring your feet faster, rubbing against his tip and watch as Art's whimper fills the air and his cum shoots to his lower stomach and your sock, his eyes closing, throat repeatedly bobbing as he rides his high. You watch as the thrusts into you become increasingly slower until they stop completely and the two of you are left still once again. You marvel in the way it seems almost as if he always gets what he wants. And Art isn't quite sure of what to make of you at all anymore, with his ears ringing and chest warm.

On his knees, he cascades towards your body that slumps against the door frame. He moves towards you slowly at first, hesitating if you wanted any of this at all. But you don't decline the warmth of his chest as he pulls you in, wordlessly. You let him bury his nose to your scalp as he takes you in.

And you both agree that if this may be a story of tonight alone, you both might as well melt indistinguishably into it once again.

[restinslices]

Believe Me

Gwayne Hightower X Female!Reader

Word Count: 2792

Summary: Gwayne bumps into an old flame and smut ensues (from his pov)

Content Warning: Smut (so minors dni), fingering, handjob, cheating, light hair pulling, light degrading and praising, vaginal sex, public sex (I hate this but we move on😭)

Gwayne Hightower was only human, and as a show of this, he had made plenty of mistakes in his lifetime. “It is not worth the stress to beat yourself over what could have been” he'd always remind himself. “What could've been if you chose the right card, woke up earlier, listened more, aimed a little to the left, ate breakfast…”. 

The list went on and on because humans make mistakes all the time. He had vowed to himself that he would never stress over these mistakes. What good would it do? The mistake was already made. 

That's the thought process he tried to keep as he made his way inside the Sept. He was not afraid of the gods deciding to punish him for the sins he was sure he had committed, or of the building crumbling down and burying him underneath. The current war going on wasn't even on his mind. 

What was on his mind was a singular person. And as he got closer and closer to the room he knew they'd be in, the thick fog covering their face in his memories started to move to the side. 

Further. 

Further. 

His steps began to falter when he finally saw them. When he finally saw you. 

You were sitting on the bench, back to him, candles aplenty in front of you. Just as he thought about turning around and leaving, you took off your cloak and set it next to you, revealing the open back to your dress. 

You were inviting him. Discarding your defenses and showing that you were open to being around him again. Or mayhaps he was delusional. Either way, he found himself sitting on the other side of you soon enough. 

“Is that really a dress appropriate for the Sept?” he tried to joke with you as he lit a candle. If it was a different time, you would've lightly shoved him and said something like “oh fuck off” while laughing. Unfortunately, that time had been long forgotten. 

You looked over at him at once, and he wondered if for a moment you thought all this was a dream. You looked him up and down, and must've realized this was all real. “Gwayne…” how could you say his name in such a delightful way? 

The surprise from your eyes soon fell, and instead it filled with resentment. “Gwayne” you said more lifeless. “Anyone is welcome here. A common whore could come, wearing hardly any clothes and she'd be welcomed”. 

“I'm sure common whores do lots of cumming”. 

You simply rolled your eyes at him and looked in front of you. “A jest, dear friend-”

“We are not friends”. 

He had known it, but fuck did it hurt to hear. It was said so coldly and cruel, like you wanted it to sting. It definitely had, though he wouldn't show it. 

“We have not talked in some time” he said with his eyes still trained on you. How could you sit there and be so beautiful? Even with a scowl and pinched eyebrows, you looked marvelous. “When I heard my sister had summoned you here as well, I admit I was a bit surprised”. 

“Why? Alicent is in need of a friend. And I am her friend”. 

Well you really knew how to rub something in, didn't you? “I tried writing to you-”

“Years too late” 

You snapped, eyes glancing over at him. Okay, mayhaps you were right. Mayhaps he should've wrote to you sooner, but he eventually did! That had to be worth something! “Why are you here?”. 

“I thought anyone was allowed here”

“It is the gods you should be speaking to. Not I”

“It is not the gods I crave” he spoke honestly. You simply scoffed in return and looked away again, causing him to sigh. “I should have wrote to you sooner, but I did eventually. And I am here now-”

“To do your knightly duties” you said dismissively. “Not to speak with me”. 

“I can do both!” his hand found your arm and he pulled you close to him, making your legs press against each other. He could hear how your breath hitched. He could see the way your chest rose and fell as a reaction to his touch. 

His fingers inched closer to your chest. “What are you-” you began to say, but the words got caught in your throat when he wrapped his fingers around the long necklace that fell in the long V neck of your dress, right in between your breasts. 

“You've kept this?”. 

Years ago, Gwayne gifted you a necklace with a large green pendant, and while the chain was completely different, the pendant was still the same. “Did the chain break?”. 

You shook your head. “No. My husband gave me a new chain. Said gold fit better”. 

He frowned. 

Your husband. Some boring guy with brown hair, brown eyes, patches in his beard and a voice that was far too high for a man. He had no real talents or skill, besides money and luck. That's how he landed you after all. 

“It is best for both of us that you do your praying and then leave. I imagine I will not be ready to leave anytime soon”. 

The moment his hand fell from your arm, he felt cold. He forced himself to look away from you and focus on the candle in front of him. So what was he to do now? Just let you go? Go off to war and accept that he'd likely never see you again? Accept you'd hate him forever?

“No” he answered himself out loud. “No. I am to just accept that your husband messed with a gift I gave you?”. 

“I beg your pardon?” You asked in disbelief. “That is what you are focusing on? That your gift was ruined?” You scoffed again and rubbed your temples. “Selfish as always. Nevermind to ask how I feel or how I have been. No. It is just stupid jokes and being offended. Did my gift put a dent in your pocket? Here then!”. You unclipped the necklace, grabbed his hand and shoved the necklace on his palm. “Take it!”. 

His chuckle afterwards was filled with bitterness. Here he was, trying to patch things up, and you kept making it difficult. “This resentment you hold towards me is ridiculous. I took too long to write to you after your marriage, but I'm here now. And this-” he set the necklace on the table. “This is a gift I gave to you”. 

“My husband gives me plenty of gifts. I do not need anything from you”. 

As if his gifts were anything special. Probably cheap and terrible material. You deserved more than that. You deserved more than some husband that probably couldn't even make you laugh the way Gwayne had. 

“Husband this. Husband that. Does shoving him in my face excite you?”. Maybe he had no right to be angry, but he was anyway. 

“I wouldn't be able to if you vied for my hand when you had the chance!” You snapped. For once, Gwayne had no response. No witty comeback or complaint. He just watched you as you realized what you said. You huffed, grabbed your cloak and got to your feet. “Good day Gwayne”. 

You managed to make it a few feet away before he finally spoke. “I should have”. Regret had gnawed at him for years now. He let you slip away. Why? Because he wasn't sure he could be committed. Did he love you? Yes. Was he a young man that wasn't fond of becoming a husband and a father? Also yes. 

“You have to understand,” he began as he rose to his feet. “Marriage was not something I wanted at the time”. 

“And you think I did?” You asked in disbelief. “Marriage was not something I wanted either. It was forced upon me. Marriage terrified me, but I knew that if I was married to you, marriage wouldn't be that bad. You were my best friend and lover. And what did you do, Gwayne?”. He couldn't make the answer leave his lips. The words felt like they were stuck in his throat and refused to go anywhere. “You left me” you answered for him. “And once I was married, you avoided me. Then years later you decided you wanted to speak again. What were you too busy doing? Drinking and fucking whores?”. 

That made him laugh. Drinking? Maybe a little. Fucking whores? It's not like he truly wanted to. It made time pass and got an orgasm out the way, but he didn't want painted whores. He wanted you to be under him. He wanted to feel your soft skin on his fingers. He wanted to hear his name pass your sweet lips over and over again until that was all he heard. 

“I made mistakes-”

“Mistakes?!”

“I made terrible choices” he corrected. “Awful ones. But you and I both know that I have always wanted and will always want you”. Those words seem to catch you off guard, which he assumed because you didn't push him away when his hands found their way to your hips. 

His face inched closer and closer to yours until your lips just barely brushed against each other. Unbeknownst to the both of you, your hearts beat as one in that moment. Both hearts erratic but somehow managing to be erratic together. 

“I want you desperately. And I know you want me…”. 

The remaining bit of space was broken and your lips finally met. Your lips responded to each other immediately and your arms wrapped around his neck. Finally… after so long you both were able to taste each other again. 

Reality came crashing down faster than he wanted it to. 

You shoved him away, making him stumble. You breathed heavily and wiped at your lips. “Won't change what happened” he said to your displeasure. 

“You are selfish” you spoke through gritted teeth. “You are an asshole” you shoved him again. “And a liar” another shove. 

Each insult you gave was followed by shove, and instead of feeling insulted, he felt something else. 

Desire. 

That desire is what led to him grabbing you, switching your positions and pushing you onto the table where no candles were. 

Your expression was full of shock, but not disgust or fear. Good. He never wanted to frighten you. What frightened him a little bit though, was his growing erection. Something that made no sense since all you had done recently was insult him. Gods, he was way more desperate than he realized. 

“Get all your insults out” he said as his thumb traced your lower lip, “tell me how much you hate me”. 

A request you had no problem fulfilling. 

“You are a vile man. Seducing a married woman in a Sept. Is there a line you're not willing to cross?”. 

There it was. Just like that. 

He began leaving open mouth kisses down your neck, eagerly awaiting what you'd say next. 

“You are a defiler full of sin”

“I am, aren't I?”. He held you in place as he bit and sucked at a particular spot on your neck, and a small smirk formed on his face when he heard you moan in response. “It seems you enjoy my sins” he taunted. 

“I hate you. No. I despise you. Even that word can't describe how I feel for you”. 

Gwayne untied your dress strap and unbuttoned the buttons in the front, allowing him to free your breasts. 

“I loathe you”. 

“I'm sure” his words dripped in sarcasm. Loathe him yet you allow him to undress you. Loathe him, yet you allowed him to fondle your breasts, then lick and suck at one of your nipples. That's how your little game continued. You'd throw insults at him in between your gasps, and he'd lick and suck harder at each breast, showing them both proper attention. His erection pressed against his trousers, it becoming almost painful. 

You lifted your leg up in response to him twisting your nipple, and your knee brushed right against his erection. He moaned around your breast before he even realized what had happened. His own eagerness being exposed only dawned on him when he felt your palm fully press against him. 

Your other hand pulled his head back by his hair, causing a sharp but welcomed pain to burn at his roots. “I always knew you were pathetic Gwayne, but this?”, a soft breath slipped past his lips when you pressed harder against him. “You like when I insult you?”. He nodded. No point in lying. Still though, he didn't just wanna hand you all the power in your game. 

He hiked the bottom of your dress up and kept eye contact with you as his fingers pushed your undergarments to the side and made contact with your soaked cunt for the first time tonight. He watched you try to keep a stone face, but you couldn't hide the sharp inhale you did. “Seems like you've enjoyed our little game too. What does that say about you?”. 

“What does it say about you that you like being called pathetic?”. 

Gwayne chuckled. He looked you over, watching as you tried not to react to his fingers sliding in between your folds. “You're marvelous…” he said almost as if in a dream. 

You yanked on his hair again and pushed his trousers down, freeing his erection. “Is this when I say you're disgusting?” You taunted. Your hand wrapped around him and shamefully he almost came from that minor touch alone. 

“If it pleases you”. 

His middle and ring finger slowly but surely made their way inside you, all while he whispered praises in your ear. 

“You're so pretty like this”

“You're taking my fingers so well”

“Open up for me. Just like that. Good girl”. 

Your head fell on his shoulder and his fell on yours. The Sept filled with both of your noises as you both continued to pleasure each other with your hands. It was clear that that wouldn't be enough. The question was just who would bend first. 

“I've got you” he whispered before placing a gentle kiss under your ear. You lifted your head off his shoulder to meet his eyes, and while there was still lust behind them, there was clearly something more. 

Longing. 

“Do you really?” You asked. 

He answered at once, “yes. I swear to you on all the gods in every religion that I'm never leaving you again”. 

You swiped at his hands and pulled him closer to you until his tip was lined up with your entrance. “And what about my husband?”. 

Damn your husband. He'd cause an “accident” to happen if he had to. He wouldn't let a man like him keep him away from the one person who truly wanted in this whole world. “I will deal with your husband and I swear you will never be able to get rid of me. Do you believe me?”. 

He asked his question as he began to push inside you. Your answer got stuck in your throat, so instead you nodded in response. Your nod wasn't enough for him, but he'd address that later. For now, he kept whispering encouraging words to you to soothe the stretching he knew you'd feel. He kept telling you that he had you, that you were okay, that you were safe with him and always would be. 

When you finally seemed adjusted, he spoke again. “Do you believe me?”. You nodded. “Out loud”. 

“I believe you”. 

That was all he needed hear. Once he got confirmation, his lips found yours and he moved inside you. Was this an all around terrible idea? Absolutely. Was there a chance of getting caught? Yes. But neither of you could care less about that. How could that possibly be at the forefront of your minds when you were finally feeling each other in the way you both craved?

You both enjoyed each other, ultimately hitting your peaks while you were still connected, mouths swallowing each sound the other made, and foreheads pressed against each other so you could catch your breath. 

His hands cupped your face and he pressed a softer kiss to your lips. Of course there was still that sexual desire there, but he wanted more than to just fuck and be rid of you. He wanted to hold you forever. He wanted to tell you about his tales of knighthood over dinner, and hold your hand as you went on walks in the garden. 

“I swear-”

“I believe you”. 

You believed him. That was all he needed. 

For you to believe him and for you to give him another chance.

Bitch I hate this shit but I haven’t posted in awhile soooooo here we are😭😭. Also the way I forgot about that necklace-

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🎲🖤Chiron in the signs🖤🎲

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings)Open!

🎲If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🎲

🗝Masterlist🗝

🗝Chiron reveals where we possibly have wounds, what hurts the most in each of us. With that, this influence guides us through a journey of suffering and liberation throughout life.🗝

🎲Chiron in Aries: is a more individualistic, impetuous and impulsive energy and such influence can "hurt." is affected by a possible feeling of worthlessness. These are people who may not value themselves (or may not know the exact measure of their value). Therefore, he should not fear his initiatives nor his own strength. At some point in life, the native must embark on a journey of self-discovery to overcome any feelings of helplessness that arise during life.

🎲Chiron in Taurus: can give rise to some problems related to insecurity or self-esteem. They may resent not considering themselves attractive or for some physical attribute that they dislike. Insecurity can also be due to the scarcity of some material good that he considers essential. It can be money, property, in short, anything he needs to feel safe and stable. Once he achieves such achievements and goals, insecurity will tend to decrease. People with this positioning have to learn to value themselves more in order to heal.

🎲Chiron in Gemini: May indicate a need to find your own voice. They can be very imaginative and creative but can have some problems expressing themselves. They relate more to their outgoing and spiritual side, some seek time for seclusion, introspection, and reflection. Individuals have difficulty learning rigorously, mechanically, but they still acquire knowledge by paying attention, capturing the deeper messages.

🎲Chiron in Cancer: Those with this positioning are more likely to feel out of place, sometimes thinking that they are not loved or that they do not receive enough love and attention. These are people who are more inclined to care for others, but they also need to be cared for. Learning to take care of their own needs is the key to balance, so they can feel complete. Opening your heart and accepting the love of others is also essential to healing any inner pain that may arise.

🎲Chiron in Leo: It can influence some feelings of dismissal, which eventually causes these people to feel unrecognized or not feel creative enough. These natives may think that their talents are or have been neglected, they may feel that they never had the opportunity to shine. The difficulty they demonstrate in expressing their own talents may be due to a repressed childhood or other various situations. To help overcome it, the individual needs to find a way to get closer to her inner child and awaken her creativity.

🎲Chiron in Virgo: may indicate possible changes in health or the feeling that personal problems are never definitively resolved. This influence can give the person a different way of dealing with the body, healing and health, in addition to work and routine. It can make the individual overly critical. It is recommended to learn to face imperfection, something that can be very difficult for them. . The fact is, since they tend to naturally be a perfectionist, they could use this trait where it is most welcome: in the spheres of healing and work.

🎲Chiron in Libra: May suggest possible problems in relationships with people. Relationships with some individuals may be more difficult and you may constantly have to deal with someone who is rude or rude. Or someone selfish or unfair. It may also indicate that this person is more likely to feel hurt or rejected in a relationship. You need to contain your impulses to achieve everything that the Libran scale means. The solution may involve better communication, more harmonious relationships, and the use of logic and common sense.

🎲Chiron in Scorpio: may suggest resentments or losses, material or symbolic throughout life. may, in some ways, suffer losses at an early age. Or feeling like a part of yourself has died due to irreparable losses. He may be afraid of his power to "dive" into the hearts of others, just as he may feel helpless. You are advised to enjoy life more lightly, because even when we lose something or someone, our life goes on and we can still become richer and more experienced with what we have or achieve.

🎲Chiron in Sagittarius: may suggest a certain lack of incentive in life or possible ruptures in your beliefs and values. In the sign of Sagittarius it may suggest wounds in the person's structure of faith or natural enthusiasm, which may have been discredited or missing. had no incentive. This positioning may suggest a break with spiritual traditions or teachings that may cause pain. People with this positioning may feel confined to a mundane existence. When you realize that there is wisdom in your own heart, your healing process begins.

🎲Chiron in Capricorn: May suggest some difficulty achieving goals in life and dealing with authority. It can suggest the difficulties that an individual may have in satisfying his or her greatest desires. From an early age, his ambition may have been restricted or he may have encountered many obstacles that were difficult to overcome. Perhaps you have lacked incentive from family or friends, or you have encountered inflexible bosses, etc. To overcome this, these natives must believe in themselves again, because then they will have more energy to pursue their ambitions.

🎲Chiron in Aquarius: can suggest wounds in collective concepts, freedom or personal originality. It may suggest feelings of inadequacy and social rejection. Aquarius brings a desire for freedom, originality, and the collective good, and such positioning can undermine such things, making the individual eventually feel uncomfortable dealing with people, groups, and tribes, and more likely to feel disconnected or isolated. To find the path to healing, they must learn to be themselves and appreciate their differences. This can be a difficult lesson, as some are not as comfortable in their own skin.

🎲Chiron in Pisces: may suggest wounds in beliefs, intuition, and the willingness to help those in need. People with this positioning in their birth chart may have been wounded by being wrong about others, suffering disappointments or betrayals. It suggests possible existential crises. This individual may eventually suffer a religious or spiritual crisis or lose faith in the world and others. They must balance their feelings and understand that there are disappointments along the way, but they can be overcome. That way, they will be able to find a cure for their problems.

[horrorsboyfrie]

Loser!Zandik being crushed on by Popular!Reader

(masc terms on reader+ it's the typical corny social butterfly × weirdo shit, queer edition, honestly + Zandik displays traits of autism + a little murderous♡)

Zandik, as per usual, was spending the night's time in the library. It was quiet, for the most part. While a lot of his fellow peers were focused on finding answers for their own satisfaction, even those who viewed their values and research to be above everyone else's had someone to keep them company; for that reason, they often chose to borrow the necessary books and study in their respective dorms, or the dorms of their friends. Some did indeed prefer the setup of the library's sections and desks, but even so, the peaceful atmosphere was not interrupted by them.

Zandik sat on a table at the very ends of the room. He had a pile of books to his right; some half opened, and others neatly stack on top of each other. He had his notebook and pens nearby, taking notes of anything he deemed crucial knowledge for his personal projects.

Not long had he been entangled in his theories when a specific group of students decided to make an appearance. They could be heard from miles away— and it just so happened that they chose to sit on a table to his right. Malicious intent, no doubt. These people tended to act as if Zandik was some foreign species to be studied; as if he was a sort of a subject that needed constant supervision.

Of any day to endure the constant speculations and disgusted or concerned expressions towards him, today was not the right one. Nothing too horrific had happened to him, not something that would matter to an average person, at least. It's just that he slept wrong, causing him to wake up with slight neck pain, which played a role in worsening his already short temper, which in turn made his sensory issues towards his clothes, especially his socks, far more insufferable than they had to be. He was one unexpected move away from having a meltdown.

Yet again, he managed to ignore the obnoxiously loud 《whispers》 that sprouted out of those filthy rat-filled mouths of theirs, as Zandik's already-overwhelmed mind decided to call them.

Unfortunately for him, the multiple different voices started chanting even more nonsense as you walked towards the table— he could see that you were dreading it. Was everyone so damn bothered by his existence? You were known to be such a sweetheart— contrast to majority of boys there— by those who've interacted with you, but to be fair, none had a reputation quite like Zandik's, so it's no wonder you resented him, as everyone else did.

"Why'd we have to sit here?" he heard you emphasize. He looked your way; he could see the grins on the faces of your friends, the way they seemed to be picking on someone, hushed whispers, mentioning his name time after time, as if he wasn't barely three chairs away. Gods, his patience was running thin.

"Can we just switch seats?" He listened as you practically begged your friend, who was sitting on the complete opposite end of the table. As much as he may have claimed (to himself, seeing as he had none to actually confide in) not be a man driven by emotion, his worse sensory days were tempt to be a catastrophe in every way possible. He left soon after he heard those mumbles; he was too sensitive for his own good, even if he dismissed that fragile soul of his with walls of anger and apathy.

Your friends seemed to notice before you, the fact that he was no longer in the room. All you got was endless teasing about how you've missed your chance or about the fact that you probably 《intimidated》 him. Bullshit, no? You sighed as the group split up again, each going ahead to do their own thing. The only true reason they decided to meet up here was to force you into talking to him. That did not quite work out, it seems.

You hurried to leave as well, when you noticed a small pen on the ground. That must be his; you always see him writing with that specific shade of blue. It's not like nobody else in the whole Akademiya owned the same one, but he was sitting on the table you found it under. You decided to hold on to it. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to finally have a conversation with the guy!

On your way back to the dorms, you noticed him nearing his own room. Maybe now's the time to return him his belongings— especially considering how he seemed to be searching his pockets. His face was indifferent when he realized he didn't have the pen on him, but his hands were trermbling; a hint of anxiety perhaps? One could only speculate. You decided to leave him on his own. He probably wasn't up for company or conversation anyway.

The following few days weren't quite like you expected. Usually, you'd manage to get at least a glance your way by him; laughing at stupid jokes, bumping into people or objects that you could have easily avoided, accidentally saying things a bit too loud. Nothing worked this time. It's as if he purposefully was avoiding you; a fact that got confirmed after you tried walking towards him. He saw you—he made sure you saw his look, he held it for a couple of seconds— and then he walked away. Fuck, there's no way this guy wants anything to do with you.

Weeks later, you had grown to forget ever owning that pen of his; actually, you started using it for yourself. If you can't give it back, then why not use it for yourself?

Zandik, despite trying his hardest to keep his stares away from you and your friends (and pretty much everyone else in that damned building), couldn't help but notice that his long-gone favorite pen is under your possession.

After the very last class of the day, he decided to give you a visit; your fate had been decided by him already. He's done what he's done in the Eleazar hospital and got away with it. It wouldn't be hard to add another body into the endless pile of disappearances; he knew how to keep suspicion off his shoulders.

Perhaps it was a bit too far. He was letting his rage get the better of him; but gods, he really hadn't felt at ease writing with anything else. "His death would make no logical sense to my goals," he sighed as he reminded himself. "What sort of researcher puts his emotions above his values?" He groaned— frustrated both at himself for considering such a solution to his problems, and at the situation itself.

Times like these, he'd go to his special place to sit and think; it was a big tree, near a lake. Children would often talk about their encounters with the Aranara there. At first, he only ever visited that place so he could find one creature and take it for himself, but he grew quite comfortable being there.

He grabbed the opportunity by its hand once he spotted you all alone; sitting with your back against that very same tree that he favored. As if you had a seventh sense, you turned around to see him. He wasn't quite prepared to be greeted with a smile. It caught him off guard; why were you, of all people, showing any form of sympathy for him?

"I was hoping you'd be here" you said, handing him the pen that he has been desperately trying to get a hold of again.

[ldrfanatic]

r9 for mattheo riddle pls🙏

shakin', pacin', I just need you

mattheo riddle x fem!hufflepuff!reader

r9 - "for you I would fall from grace, just to touch your face"

gonna be at the dentist office w my bf for the next three to four hours so I'm gonna try and clear out my requests <3

lowkey I was praying someone would request this for mattheo

part two anyone?

y'all I could not find where I wrote down my mattheo taglist so if you wanna be added please please PLEASE comment on this post so I can start a new one thanksss

slytherin boys works

"y/n are you even listening to me?"

the voice of hannah abbot, a fellow hufflepuff, tore your eyes from your only slytherin friend albeit reluctantly. when you finally looked towards your friend, her mouth was turned up into a disapproving frown.

"no. I know you think he's your friend, but he's not."

she wasn't entirely wrong. afterall, you couldn't honestly say that you'd exchanged more than a few words with the boy, though it wasn't for lack of opportunity. he'd approached you on more than one occasion but neither of you ever seemed to actually speak.

really, it was because mattheo felt stumped by you. he'd spent a lot of time with different girls while he'd been at hogwarts. but when he tried to approach you, he fumbled. every. single. time. that was how he first knew you were special.

the kind of girl that made him want to face his father's wrath even though he knew that liking you would be more than enough for a crucio.

between your friends, his family, and his inability to articulate his thoughts around you, mattheo never really got the chance to talk to you.

that is, until now.

somehow, by the grace of the universe, snape had paired you with him for the d.a.d.a. project studying boggarts. you touched on them briefly in your third year but due to lupin's condition, didn't get the chance to finish them. for once, mattheo actually wanted to do schoolwork and do well on this project so you didn't resent him for a bad grade.

as class was dismissed, a hand softly grabbed your wrist.

"wait."

it was mattheo. he was actually speaking words to you rather than just sitting there and staring. it was almost unsettling if anything.

"d'you maybe wanna meet in the library after classes and..."

you smiled sweetly and nodded.

"are you sure you can handle it riddle? don't you have to be talking to someone to study with them?"

there was a teasing tone in your voice which caused mattheo's face to bloom and pink to tinge over the tips of his ears. suddenly, like a switch had flipped, a cocky smile took over his face.

"i can't help it if you take my breath away. maybe you just bring out the best in me like that."

caught off by his banter and yet undeterred, you continued.

"well we all know that you're at your best when you shut up."

you spoke the words with a teasing smile. his jaw fell promptly open at your words, completely surprised that a hufflepuff would say something like that. while mattheo attempted to collect himself, you shoved your dark arts textbook into your satchel and swung it up onto your shoulder.

"the library. tonight. 5pm sharp. don't be late riddle."

five o'clock could not come fast enough. potions with professor scalby was simply exhausting. she was a kind enough women which was a nice change from professor snape after she'd taken over the class following his promotion to d.a.d.a., but the woman had a love for potions that you could safely say no one else in the class really shared. unless you counted hermione granger, a sweet enough gryffindor also in your year.

by the time that scalby finished gushing about the amortentia your class would attempt to brew next week, you were sure you'd aged an entire year in this class alone.

finally, after what seemed like an eternity, class was dismissed. you quickly packed your books away and scurried off to the library, arriving a decent few minutes before mattheo sauntered in with an otherworldly confused look on his face.

"sorry i'm a little late. i got lost."

he spoke to you in a deep yet gentle rumble that had your heart beating a little faster in your chest. it was hard not to notice the way that he gawked at the old century library which was probably your favorite collection of books in the whole world.

"have you never been here before?"

mattheo's dark curls bounced atop his head as he shook it slowly. he looked down at his large hands with what appeared to be shame.

"i've never really taken an interest in school before."

wanting to make him feel better you gently bumped your shoulder into his as the two of you walked back towards the study tables.

"you're taking an interest now."

"in you."

his words made the both of you settle into a thick silence. though it was hard not to notice his lingered stares across the great hall or after a slytherin-hufflepuff match, it was the first time that he'd spoken words aloud that alluded to his feelings for you, and it seemed to catch the both of you off guard.

after a moment's pause, mattheo spoke again.

"i-uh, i don't know why i said that i'm sorry."

you reached your hand out from across the table where the two of you had settled down and grasped his hand in yours. you flashed him a reassuring smile.

"don't be."

abruptly, mattheo let out a strangled noise of frustration and tugged at his hair with his fingers.

"i can't do this anymore."

your heart thumped so quickly against your ribcage, you feared it might stop beating altogether.

"can't do what anymore?"

"this, y/n. i can't keep posing that i want to be your friend and do friendly things together like study at the library."

now your heart was breaking. hannah was right. mattheo riddle was not your friend and-- oh. mattheo riddle was not done speaking.

"i can't keep pretending when i want to be so much more than friends with you. when i want to do very not friendly things with you. to you. when i feel like throwing these books on the floor and yanking you across this table and pressing every part of your body against every part of mine."

instead of doing that, he stood from his seat and knelt in front of you. it felt weird to have the son of the dark lord on his knees in front of you all but begging you to be his girlfriend.

"i know i'm not the chosen one or anything and i'm never gonna be the good guy. but damnit if i have to stay away from you any longer i don't think i could stand it."

his confession stunned you into silence. how the hell could yoou possibly respond to that?

"say something, please."

a hopeful look had taken over his features. his brown eyes sparkled under the dim library lights.

"i don't care that you're not the protagonist mattheo. i would fall from grace for you."

---

<taglist>

@blobsblobician @helendeath

07.07.2024

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 ꒱ 김동현

summary : you had just woken up from a bad dream, but your boyfriend was there to comfort you in your time of need

genre : angst, hurt-comfort, fluff, leehan x gn!reader tws : angst, mentions of neglect, alluded ptsd, mentions of emotional abuse, emetophobia, suicidal ideations/death, depression, alluded panic/anxiety disoders, language author notes : this has nothing to do with personal experiences, i swear (i need a leehan in my life) word count : 1.1k

“hey,” you felt a gentle stir, delicate hands rolling you over to be pressed against his warmth—when all you felt was cold and empty.

you blinked away the sleep, your eyes stinging slightly. “are you okay?” he asked, thumbs coming up to brush under your upper cheeks. “you were crying.”

you were foggy—not knowing the difference between reality and the inside of your brain—still half asleep. you’d never felt more neglected within your own head. the dreams you had, had caused actual tears to flow from your eyes. and the worst part, it wasn’t even a scene you could scratch off as being untrue… because it’s happened to you. it was your history that replayed throughout the night.

memories of your parents being hurtful. memories of them not caring about your feelings. memories of them being emotionally abusive, and dismissing to your tears. memories that caused you to resent them. memories that kept you from feeling normal. memories you’d rather forget.

you thought you’d gotten over it…

and, maybe at one time, you had. but regression was a natural thing you couldn’t escape. you can’t always have good days (or dreams, for that matter).

sometimes they caused you to get into your own headspace, and when triggered, panic. you weren’t a stranger to falling victim to thoughts you were molded to have, but they never hurt any less. and, you guess, time isn’t always a healer, like people say it is.

you sniffled, finding solace in what you knew was true; what was right in front of you. leehan. the boyfriend who vowed to take care of you in your time of need. the kind soul who didn’t get scared and run away when he saw you hyperventilating on the bathroom floor. the man who stepped into your life and shut the door behind him. the rock who kept you grounded when you felt light headed. the arms that kept you comforted when you felt unwanted. the love that never left you, even when you’d argue. the stars that he took from the sky, and put into your eyes, to remind you of how bright you are to him. the words that reminded you that you deserved someone as perfect as him, when you remembered being told that you were never good enough.

he was everything you needed, and everything you (at one point) wished you could be.

“i’m okay," you repeated comforting words he’d told you before. "it was just a dream.” yet, your heart hurt, and your stomach turned, and you couldn’t help thinking about them still, though you tried not to.

you tried to will your faucet to turn off, you tried everything to get the tears to stop falling. but, what was comforting, was knowing that his smooth fingers were always there to wipe them away… for however long it took.

“yeah?” he asked, lips coming down over your face, kissing various parts; under each eye, your nose and forehead, until lastly your lips. “it might’ve been just a dream, but i can see that it hurts.” he whispered. “what was it about?”

“i-i,” he stayed silent, ready to listen while letting you take your time. he pulled your head into the crook between his shoulder and neck, putting you to rest. his arms caged you against his body, chest to chest; pressure to stop you from panicking. he could feel your beating heart as you tried to speak—as he tried to comfort you the way you started to gradually let him. “it was them.”

you alluded the reason, but he needed no further context. he knew. he always knows.

he once stayed up all night researching and reading people’s stories on depression and panic disorders; he could tell you all about the chemical imbalances and what synapsis misfire in the brain now. he once stayed up all night watching you sleep, jumping at any sudden (or-not-so) movements; he could recount every time your breath hitched, and eyebrows came together that night. he once stayed up all night to understand something he’s never experienced—to better understand you.

your tears started to run faster, and at one point he had almost gotten emotional too. he hated to see you hurt, because he knew how special you really were. he hated to see you try and undo the coding your parents had programmed you with as you grew up. but, despite that, he knew he’d always be the one to hold you tight, and remind you that you didn’t have to contort yourself to fit into his world—you were his world.

the good, bad, and exceptionally ugly.

he loved you as the snot coated your bottom lip. he loved you as you drooled in your sleep. he loved you when you swayed with the music in your headphones, doing miscellaneous tasks. he loved you when you’d smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt. he loved you when you’d wretch over the toilet, your hair in his hands. he loved you when you were curled up on the shower floor, crying your eyes out. he loved you when you’d talk about nothing, and everything, all at once. and, he wished he could take away every bad memory, replace them, and make you feel like you deserved to be on this planet.

nonetheless, he’d spend his whole life reminding you—of that, he was more than sure.

his heart beat for you; you were his twin flame that burned blindingly bright. you were his red string and olive theory. you were his other half. you were his soulmate that he was lucky the stars aligned for.

he was lucky to have you, and he’ll be damned if you ever thought anything else.

he’d never let you be alone again. he’d never let you stand at the edge of the cliff by yourself. he’d never let you jump. he’d never let anything take you away from him—and if it ever came down to it, he’d proudly hold your hand and topple over the edge with you.

it was you and him until the end of time, and then whatever came after that.

“don’t ever forget,” he mumbled, pulling you closer to him. he’d let you cry into his shoulder the entire night, until your eyes were red and puffy, until you finally had enough. no matter how many of his shirts you soaked through with tears and snot. no matter how much it broke his heart, because he knows deep-down it heals yours just a little bit more. “i love you.”

and, he’d never stop saying it. even after you two were buried in a stone garden together, cold and rotten. a pile of nothingness. he’d still love you like it was the first time; blood, teeth, bones and all.

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

— perm tag list .ᐟ @lilriswife4life | send an ask to be added c:

— network tag list .ᐟ @onedoornet

— back to masterlist .ᐟ

[yayll]

Could you maybe write smth up. About literally spoiling Dazai. Because i want to sit him down on the couch and kiss his pretty fucking face and buy him everything he even glances at.!! Hold his hand on walks, take him to like roooftops to stargaze and stuff and just stare at his PRETTY AHH FACE instead. Kiss his forehead goodnight!!! Cook him stuff and cuddle him and kiss him (again)!!!!....

Im lonely and past the point of no return sorry shdkhdkfjf

HIIII there, angel! i'm so sorry this took me a bit, but umm... i kind of went insane with this concept i read your ask and i immediately just blacked out because oh do i feel the same way about this god forsaken man.. and HEAVY on the spoiling. ahh, i hope it's to your liking, and i hope it makes u feel less lonely :') it was such a pleasure to write my first request xx

~ a little something about cherishing Dazai on days he needs it the most ~

Spoiling Dazai. Now there's something you can proudly admit to being happily guilty of. You couldn't count the times you've held him for hours after a terrible day at work, or made sure he had more than just canned crab and a few bottles of Sake. You'd do anything for him to be comfortable in his own skin, and you want to make sure he knows how much you adore him... that he knows he's allowed to take up space in the world too. You're also aware that he would rather die than to ever elaborate on the vague and dismissive little comments he makes about the debilitating weight of all of his past mistakes, the ones that make him resentful and tired when it really gets to him, but that never deters you.

You've put the pieces together long enough to understand that it's not easy being Osamu Dazai, no matter what silly mask he puts on for the world. He hasn't always been a good person, an exemplary man, and you're more than well aware of that. Still, he doesn't have to be the jester who's always entertaining the masses at his own expense.

You remind him that he isn't cursed forever, that he IS worthy of flesh and blood, and when you kiss him it's like you're absolving him of all sins... you make him new again. He is utterly bewitched by you and you feel it in the way he comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder, squeezing your waist just enough to let you know your warmth is the reason his own blood circulates. Or when he whispers the most silliest and unhinged things in your ear late at night so you'll curl up those precious lips into a smile... Just for him. He gets off on the happiness he gives you, simple as that. He already feels he doesn't deserve to hold on to such a good life, but he's nothing if not defiant, and he'll squeeze out every little bit of love within that void of a heart for as long as you'll have him.

But... Today is your turn to love him so much it actually hurts, It's what he gets for being a menace 24/7! That is why you chose to make sure he has an extra special day today, by bringing him out of his comfort zone with a... mystery date!

"Oh? And to what do I owe the pleasure of being courted by such a beautiful creature such as yourself on this fine day?"

Dazai sips on his tea, eyes narrowing as they peer at you from the teacup curiously. You flash him a cheeky grin, already plotting your mission to make him so flustered he can't even look at you later.

"I thought we could go out somewhere and spend some time outside... Since we've both been so busy lately. Wouldn't that be nice?"

He raises a brow, and gives you a knowing smile back. Dazai's freakishly omnipotent in that way, and it's one of the many reasons you can never truly know if your surprises land or not.

"Mmm, it could be. Where to, my love?"

"... It's a secret."

He then pretends something has hit his chest, and he grips it, dramatically throwing himself back onto the chair causing his tea to flop about in the teacup.

"Oh my, is today the day you finally take me out and end it all?! I don't know if I can take the deceit, the absolute betrayal... What an occasion-"

You cut him off with your index finger as you place it right on his lips, zipped tight and his eyes burn into you, waiting for your next words. He eats this shit up.

"Shush! Let's go."

And with that, you grab your coats and zoom out and into the day. It's one of those days where It's cloudy, but the sun still peaks out just enough to send down warm rays of light. As you walk hand in hand, you see the way those very rays hit Dazai's side profile in the most devastating way.

You want to take a photo but you don't want to ruin the moment, so you quickly tip toe and peck him on the cheek, causing him to abruptly stop in his tracks. He blinks for a few seconds, still facing forward, and you swear you can see the highs of his cheeks turn red. You end up tugging him to follow you to the park, smiling to yourself in triumph as he recovers.

You walk to a quiet part, and plop yourselves down next to each other on the soft grass. Still holding hands, you rub your thumb in circles over his bandaged fingers, silently looking up at the cloudy sky. Finally, Dazai is the one to break the silence.

"Love used to always be an empty four letter word to me, but you..."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard as he tries to feign composure.

"... You are, by far, my greatest love, and my most beloved weakness altogether."

You were supposed to be the one to sweep him off his feet today, now your vision is blurry and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You slowly sit up, and look down at him, noticing that his eyes are closed. He looks like a sleeping beauty. Your chest aches, and you wonder if this is the same type of ache he lives with on the daily. You murmur, studying the way his messy bangs frame his face, and his expression unreadable.

"That's not fair, Osamu..."

"You sound so pretty when you say it like that... Osamu."

You swallow hard, and curse him in your mind for being the man that he is. For being all you've ever yearned for. You look down at your watch, and check the time, heart beating wildly.

Thump, Thump, Thump.

"... It's fifteen till 5."

"Mm, why does that matter?" Dazai purrs as he squeezes your hand, eyes still closed.

"It always matters. Any time with you matters. You matter, Osamu."

You spend the rest of the evening nuzzled into one another, whispering secrets and trying to name constellations and giggling when you can't figure them out. He lets you kiss him silly, his eyes closed the entire time while you also toy with his hair and the nape of his neck; where you smooth over the soft fabric of his bandages and his skin, giving him goosebumps. Your touch is a sensory heaven. He's dreaming of you while awake. You'll always wake him up from the nightmares, from what cannot be undone.

When it gets too cold to stay out, you head back home and cook him whatever he asks for as he rests his chin on his palm, gazing at you with those unreadable dark eyes... always thinking too much. Always somewhere else. This time, however, you could tell he was present. He would eat sewage if you poured it for him with that loving manner of yours. You finally crawl into bed together, and Dazai cradles your face in between his hands, facing you. He mumbles, so soft.. so tender. It's a tone only you get to hear.

"It really is selfish of me to think I can have this and more."

"Desire isn't bad, Osamu."

"Mm, no, I suppose not. But it's not always wise to have desire, not for someone like me. I can't afford that."

You hear the genuine ache in his voice, and you lean in to kiss his forehead, a gentle kiss that stays planted for a few seconds before you pull back.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing, love?~" He whispers, his voice a little strained as he looks at you with those eyes, those beautiful and endless orbs of cosmic proportions that are going to consume you one day. Hopefully.

"I think so. I'm being selfish."

You smile faintly, and you proceed to make sure that you end the night the way he deserves, the way you wanted to spoil him.

[stay-pos-cos]

I think that the Supernatural fandom doesn't give Dean Winchester enough credit or hold John Winchester accountable nearly enough. I would argue that John's abuse (mental, emotional and physical) and its constant effect in both boys lives is constantly downplayed by a majority of the fanbase.

The parentification of an elder sibling has been proven to cause lasting issues and we see this throughout the show; when Dean is overly protective of Sam, treats Sam's life as more valuable than his own, can't picture a life where he's not needed, and his dismissal of Sam as a valuable contributor in an equal partnership. Dean is often criticized both in canon and by fans for being overbearing and codependent on Sam. This is a direct result of John Winchester's inability to parent.

Dean's emotional repression is shown to be caused by his father's militant behaviors and approach to parenting. Dean doesn't see his feelings as valid or important and thus turns to repression or unhealthy coping mechanisms as illustrated throughout the show. His alcoholism, violent outbursts, and unhealthy relationship with sex are all coping mechanisms he uses not to feel.

Through flashbacks (and some dialog) the viewer is show that Sam is more resentful towards John than Dean, and that he even holds resentment towards Dean for being the "perfect little soldier".

That's part of the reason Castiel is such a great foil for Dean, both are loyal to absent fathers' but while Dean was born with free will he follows his father's orders unwaveringly until sometime after his death, Cass a being created without free will breaks free of the command of his father and from his father's mission, becoming for all intents and purposes a Prodigal son like Sam.

Dean's adherence to his father's word is, much like Sam's rebellion a response to continued and repeated abuse, neither brother is perfect. And their father was the furthest thing from it.

[weebsinstash]

I hate when I start having an idea for one character and it turns into having that idea for multiple characters, but, basically, i started thinking of Bruce Wayne and then Lex Luthor creeped into my mind

One of my favorite yandere tropes is "helping you for your own good, even if it's against your will and you hate me for it", and, I was actually thinking about the whole red strings of fate soulmate trope again, and I started thinking of Reader almost immediately rejecting Bruce or Lex for, multiple reasons, but they won't take no for an answer, and then I ALSO started thinking, what if I throw ABO into the mix?

You're an adult Unpresented and basically a second class citizen in society and you've gone your entire life not knowing who to love or trust, growing up in an unstable if not outright abusive home, poor, not being able to be close and affectionate with people the way everyone around you is with their scenting and purring, and you eventually grow resentful of everyone else. You're constantly mistreated and called slurs and working shitty jobs, doing a catering gig at a high class party when your red string of fate appears and you think, "oh great, it must be another member of the waitstaff, if I cause a scene I'll lose this job and be even more in debt, maybe i should sneak off"

Cue you turning around and your soulmate is one of the richest men in the entire world and he even has a supermodel on his arm. Like you're either turning around and seeing unfathomably rich infamous man whore, 'is kind of a brat in his public persona' Bruce Wayne OR the guy who is equally as rich and is constantly beefing with Superman and does things like secretly cures cancer but waters it down to make more money as a treatment rather than a one-time cure

You're just instantly expecting rejection, not wanting any sort of confrontation, and also feeling more than a little humiliated. You finally meet your fated mate and you're working a service gig holding a tray of finger sandwiches while he's a billionaire in black tie attire eating caviar and sipping champagne. Not only is there this ENORMOUS class divide between you, absolutely daunting differences in how you live your life and the expenditures of wealth and flagrant flaunting of it, but he's also an Alpha, and you're... nothing. And you're not sure if you even want a mate anyways. You don't really believe in it. You don't want to give someone that opportunity to hurt you

You're just instantly wanting to run away, meanwhile Lex/Bruce is peeling the model off their arm and bee-lining for you IMMEDIATELY to introduce himself, not giving you any opportunity to slip away. Bruce would take the tray out of your hands himself whereas Lex would snap his fingers and have someone else do it, both of them expecting you to, essentially, immediately drop everything you're doing to get to know them, talk to them--

and your voice cracks as you reject them. Sorry, this clearly isn't going to work out. You need to get back to work, and the differences between the two of you and the worlds you live in are far too different--

But he won't take no for an answer. The arrogant Alpha is vaguely dismissive as he laughs off your concerns. The two of you just need to get to know each other! You're soulmates, how could you two not be meant to be?

But you refuse. You don't really want to talk to him at all. In fact, maybe you even dislike him. Bruce Wayne is publicly a playboy and Lex Luthor is infamously callous and outspoken about his hatred and distrust of Superman; you have genuine reasons to immediately dislike either man

But they know you're their mate now and you're in their sights. You could run away from the party and be back at your home, thinking you've bought yourself some time, and they're in their penthouse/basement respectively, using their supercomputers and superhuman knowledge to research every single scrap of information about you. No stone is left unturned. They'll hire a PI and private security to secretly follow you around while still researching the best way to approach you, concocting the perfect scheme to lure you in. All it takes is some hacking and some bribes and they'll know your rental history, your employment, your hospital records, old report cards from grade school, files from your last psychiatrist, EVERYTHING. They basically know your entire life story within 24 hours of meeting you, but they still want to speak to you, hear your own words, your own thoughts

Bruce is convening with the entire Batfamily, telling them about his new Unpresented mate, how you've had a harsh life and he wants them to have nothing but patience and love for you, with them fully intending to forcibly assimilate you into their pack while telling themselves you're just a little wild because you don't know your place in society, who you are as a person, and have never had your own proper pack to "socialize you", NOT that you're reasonably upset for being forced. Meanwhile Lex is over here making arrangements for a new luxury penthouse apartment in Metropolis for you to stay far away from the riffraff in the slums who harass you and threaten to burn your old beaten down house in the 'burbs down (and maybe even bribes someone to actually do it just to chase you into his arms), and begins legitimately actually genuinely researching how to "cure you"

and of course you guys know my cookies and creme is "whoops, now that you're obsessed with me and think I'm dumb and helpless and just a little uwu bean who needs to be rescued, turns out I'm an Omega! Sure hope you don't have any infantilizing if not outright misogynistic thoughts on how I need to be taken care of by other people and protected because I'm just SO delicate :)", so then you have Lex wanting to keep his oh so rare and elegant and pampered mate away from the rabble he thinks you're way too good for, and at the Wayne home you have like half the home thinking of you like their sibling if not ANOTHER PARENT and the other half convinced there's way too many psycho criminals out there for you to be allowed to be by yourself ever again

And I guess my final note is the juiciness of like, for Bruce specifically. Batman has to rescue you from being mugged or murdered or harmed in some way and you just start pouring all your stressed out feelings to him, about the mate you don't think you deserve, how scared you are, how you don't know how to love and he's so put together and successful, and suddenly here's the red string outting Batman as Bruce Wayne as you just sit there "Oh SHIT" realizing 1. You just told him like literally everything in your head including how you think he's an untrustworthy capitalist whore and 2. Oh God he's fucking Batman

Like... just imagine the excuse it gives him... criminals or let alone the Joker himself sees that red string between you and the Caped Crusader and soon every criminal in the city knows the face of Batman's mate and its never safe to show your face ever again. sure, he COULD potentially hide you away under a fake name on some island somewhere, but why do that when he can forcibly mark you and keep you as his house spouse? What, are you gonna break poor little Damian's heart that you AREN'T gonna be his new parent? But the pack is already so attached to you...

[literaryvein-reblogs]

I'm going to write a yandere x oc fanfic. So it's a bit of a slowburn where they start off as friends. What i'm focusing on rn is the fact that while they're friends, my oc never 'felt' like she cared for him, or at least formed an emotional connection. She lacks empathy and feels guilty for it, but she does her best to fulfill her role as a proper friend out of obligation. She only starts truly caring for him 2 years into the relationship after he communicated that he did care for her.

Sooo I think that she has an avoidant attachment style? So that's basically what I'm asking about, please. Or any idea what other labels you think might apply to her? (They're gonna be co-defendant asf)

Writing Notes: Avoidant Attachment Style

Some signs of an avoidant attachment style can include:

Avoidance of emotional/physical intimacy

Strong sense of independence

Uncomfortable when expressing feelings

Dismissive of others

Sending mixed signals

Hard time trusting

Commitment issues

Often spends more time alone than with others

An unrealistically positive picture of their attachment figures

A failure to build long-term relationships due to the inability to engage physically and emotionally on a deeper level

In a romantic relationship, avoidant individuals may:

Appear distant or emotionally detached

Often avoid deep emotional connections and intimacy

Emphasize boundaries

Use distancing strategies (emotional or physical)

Prioritize independence and self-reliance above emotional intimacy

Need to get away or "explodes" during a disagreement

Not make his/her intentions clear

Devalue their partner

Struggle to express their feelings or offer support to their significant other during times of distress

Suppress emotions and maintain distance in their relationship to avoid vulnerability and potential harm

This can lead to feelings of neglect or emotional abandonment on either side of the relationship.

While they might do well in maintaining boundaries and independence, their hesitance to engage emotionally can undermine the development of deeper relationships.

If your character finds themselves struggling to express their feelings or show physical affection, they may identify with an avoidant attachment style.

On Deciphering Attachment Style:

Determine whether s/he seeks intimacy and closeness.

Assess how preoccupied s/he is with the relationship and how sensitive s/he is to rejection.

Don’t rely on one “symptom,” look for various signs.

Assess his/her reaction to effective communication.

Listen and look for what he or she is not saying or doing.

Common Avoidant Thoughts, Emotions, and Reactions

THOUGHTS

All-or-nothing thinking: I knew s/he wasn’t right for me, this proves it!

Overgeneralizing: I knew I wasn’t made to be in a close relationship.

Malicious intent: S/he’s really out to annoy me, it’s so obvious…

Fantasizing about having sex with other people.

"S/he’s taking over my life, I can’t take it!"

"Now I have to do everything his/her way; the price is too high."

"I need to get out of here, I feel suffocated."

"If s/he was “the one” this kind of thing wouldn’t happen."

"When I was with (phantom X) this wouldn’t have happened."

"S/he just wants to tie me down, this isn’t true love."

"I’ll be better off on my own."

"Ugh, s/he’s so needy! It’s pathetic."

EMOTIONS

Withdrawn ⚜ Frustrated ⚜ Angry ⚜ Pressured ⚜ Distrustful

Unappreciated ⚜ Misunderstood ⚜ Resentful ⚜ Hostile

Aloof ⚜ Empty ⚜ Deceived ⚜ Tense ⚜ Hate-filled ⚜ Restless

Self-righteous ⚜ Contemptuous ⚜ Despairing ⚜ Scornful

ACTIONS

Act out ⚜ Get up and leave ⚜ Belittle their partner

Act hostile, look disdainful ⚜ Make critical remarks

Withdraw mentally or physically ⚜ Minimize physical contact

Keep emotional sharing to a minimum

Stop listening to partner. Ignoring him/her.

POSSIBLE CAUSES

Primary caregivers were emotionally distant or dismissive of the person's needs in childhood. An avoidant individual often then learns to cope by suppressing their emotions and developing self-sufficiency.

Initially it was assumed that adult attachment styles were primarily a product of our upbringing. Thus, it was hypothesized that our current attachment style is determined by the way in which we were cared for as a baby (e.g., if parents/caregivers were distant, rigid, and unresponsive, the child should develop an avoidant attachment style).

Today, however, we know that attachment styles in adulthood are influenced by a variety of factors, one of which is the way our parents cared for us, but other factors also come into play, including our genes and life experiences.

Here are a few tips you can incorporate in your character's storyline to potentially change this style of attachment:

They start with communication (open communication is the foundation of a strong relationship)

Establish boundaries with their partner

Write down their own emotions and feelings throughout the day

Approach their relationship as a team and work together

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: On Attachment ⚜ Writing References

From what you described, avoidant attachment sounds about right. But as the writer, you know more about the character, like their backstory. Do you think they fit this attachment style? A good reminder when we use these psychological models: Attachment theorists assume that the relationship between early experiences and subsequent outcomes is probabilistic, NOT deterministic. Use these notes as one reference/guide as you develop your characters. Hope this helps with your writing!

[veronicaphoenix]

Title: Into the Abyss of Bad Habits — Bonus Scene I (can be read as part 4)

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Oliver Sykes x Reader | Words: 6.2k

Tags: polyamorous relationship, men in denial, a lot of swearing, angst, sexual content including p in v (protected), oral (m. receiving), masturbation.

Sheffield, United Kingdom

Summer 2024

I had barely wrapped the towel around my body when the sound of their escalating voices pierced through the tranquility of the house. 

         They were having an argument, and it wasn’t going good. 

         I rushed out of the bathroom and down to the living room, the urgency in my movements nearly causing me to lose my footing as I rounded the landing of Oliver’s home, my heart racing with a mix of confusion and concern. 

         Arriving in the living room, with my hair tied in a messy bun and my body clad only in the towel, I was met with a disconcerting sight. Oliver and Noah were standing in the middle of the living room, glaring, and shouting at each other. Both ignored me. Luna was conspicuously absent. 

         As I gazed between them, I noted their rigid positions and how charged their voices were. I had never seen them so heated. The smell of the heavy lunch we’d had that morning still lingered, but the atmosphere felt oppressive. The tv was murmuring in the background. Noah’s hoodie thrown casually on the armrest and Oliver’s MacBook still open on the other side of the sofa. 

         “Why all the shouting?” I questioned; my voice laced with concern as I surveyed the look on their faces, their expressions, and assessed how bad it could get from here. 

         Despite my presence, which usually incited their attention, they remained locked in the tense standoff, their focus solely fixated on each other. The air crackled with palpable agitation as accusations flew back and forth like arrows in a heated battle. 

         “Oliver here seems pretty convinced that I’m monopolizing your time, and that eventually I’ll keep you away from him, as if I’d ever sabotage this relationship,” Noah retorted bitterly, gesturing vehemently towards the man standing merely six feet from him. “Do you honestly believe I’d do such thing? What do you think I’m going to do to her, dude? Hide her passport so that she can’t travel anywhere? Burn yours so that you can’t leave this country?” 

         “I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Oliver said, his voice dripping with frustration and resentment. 

         His bitter-edged response only continued to mount the tension, fueled by their sudden mutual distrust and resentment. Where was this all coming from? 

         “Oh, really? That’s what you think of me?” 

         Their voices grew louder, and I couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of unease, a primal instinct warning of impending danger. 

         “Guys, please. Can you just…” They dismissed my attempt at diffusing the escalating conflict. I spotted Luna peering at us from behind the sofa. That’s where she had been; hiding. I couldn’t blame her. I had never seen Oliver and Noah acting like this towards each other, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me a little, too. “You’re scaring Luna,” I admonished, gathering some courage and adding a hint of anger to my tone. However, it seemed to have little effect on them.

         “You’re being ridiculous, Oliver. You’re being jealous over fucking nothing! We’re all in this together. You love her. I love her. We’re all invested in this relationship. We’re fucking her together. I love watching you fuck her. I understand that I spend more time with her because of our residence in the States, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about you every morning and every night.”

         As Noah’s words reverberated through the room and filled each corner, realization dawned on me. Of course, I had thought about this before, but I’d been too focused on my own happiness and pleasure that I hadn’t taken the time to address the issue. Now, as the fire grew in front of me, the problem was clear. 

         “Boys,” I said, taking a tentative step forward to position myself nearly in between their bodies. “Calm down. Please.” My hands were raised at level with their chests. I waited a few seconds, checking if my words had some effect. When I confirmed it and earned their looks, I spoke, “I think the problem is not about who’s spending more time with me,” I told them. “The problem is that you’re both fucking me but you’re not fucking each other.” It was blunt, but given their current state, I don’t think anything else would have made them redirect their focus to the real issue. 

         My blunt assessment seemed to freeze them in place, the weight of my words settling like a thick fog in the room. This was the crux of the matter, and I was determined to confront it head-on, even if the hardest part had to be sorted between them. 

         They went still, then. My words seemed to fill the room with prickling tension. This was the issue, and they were not going to change my mind. Ever since we started this relationship, I had expected for it to be more than just me getting fucked. 

         “You’re wrong,” Oliver protested after a tense pause, his voice tinged with defiance. “The problem is not sex. It’s just Noah being…”

         “Again!” Noah shouted. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I love her! And I love what the three of us have! Where is the fucking problem, man? Why are you being such a teenager?”

         “A teena—?”

         “Guys, stop! Please, stop!” This time, I pressed my hands to their chests, feeling the tension radiating through their bodies. They pressed against me. I feared that if I hadn’t been there, things might have escalated into a physical confrontation. “Oli,” I called out. He ignored me. “Oliver! Look at me. Listen to me.”

         It took a while, but eventually Oliver met my gaze. I eased the pressure of my hand on his chest, conveying through my touch that there was no need for defensiveness. Not with me.  

         “Do you feel like Noah is not spending enough time with you?” 

         Something crossed his eyes. 

         “Love, I swear it’s not that…” Oliver began, his voice softer now. I raised my hand, gesturing to silence him. 

         “I think the root of the problem lies with me,” I continued, turning my head to look at Noah. His chest was rising heavily, his nostrils flaring. If I hadn’t got out of the shower at the time I did, I might have made it downstairs to find him turned into a dragon. This was not the anger that he exuded on stage. This was real. This was raw. And it wasn’t nice. “I’ve been demanding too much from you without allowing you both the space to explore your own emotions and feelings toward each other.”

         Noah chuckled, and I glared at him. 

         “I think we made it clear plenty of times that we’re okay with this, being the three of us together,” Noah added. 

         “Yeah, but… There’s a line that you haven’t crossed. Every time it’s there, you both recoil, as if scared to cross it.”

         “We’re not scared,” Oliver was quick to say, his tone laced with bravado.  

         Noah had the same expression on his face, which told me that they were going to make this harder than required for me and for themselves.

         “Then, why are you shouting at each other? Why are you making such a fuss about something that could be solved in five minutes if you sit down and talk like the adults you are?” 

         “Because it’s not about that,” Oliver retorted.

         I raised an eyebrow.

         “You’re jealous,” I said. “Not jealous of Noah spending more time with me. Not jealous of Noah getting to eat me out. You’re jealous because he’s not sucking your cock.” 

         Oliver started saying my name, his cheeks flushed, but stopped midway, frozen. When I looked at Noah, he had an identical expression etched his face, and when his eyes crossed Oliver’s, they both looked away. 

         This would have been funny —cute, even— if it weren’t for how angry they were. I knew better than to make fun of their behavior when they were fuming and one step away from becoming rottweilers. 

         “And you’re just angry because you don’t know how to channel those emotions,” I continued telling Oliver, “and instead of telling that to Noah straight away or getting on your knees, you decide to shout at him and accuse him of monopolizing my time.” 

         “Because he is! Are you taking his side?”

         “That’s not what I’m doing,” I replied, turning to Noah. “You—.”

         “What have I done?! Is it my fault that we were born in America and live in the same city?” He exclaimed, raising his arms in the air. 

         I ignored his comment. 

         “You know exactly where his feelings come from because you feel the same! And instead of being honest with him, and with me, you shout back at him as if he was your enemy.”

         “You didn’t hear the things he said to me ten minutes ago,” Noah chided. 

         I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to know if Oliver had been serious.  

         “Did you mean them?” I asked Oliver. “Did you really mean them?”

         “No,” he admitted, resignation evident as he dropped his shoulders. 

         I sighed, hopeful that this meant we were getting somewhere; that I’d be able to bring back the peace. I had to admit, though, that the ambience had been tense since before Noah and I arrived. The last videocall between Noah and Oliver hadn’t been very nice, and the strain between them had lingered since then. I could have noticed, but instead I ignored it, selfishly focusing on the thought that I would get to have them both together again in a matter of days, as soon as our flight landed in London. 

         “Can we sit down so that we can discuss this calmly?” I urged, exasperation creeping into my voice.

         “No,” they both replied in unison, their synchronized loud response startling me.

         My eyes widened. I sighed, hard, feeling a mix of irritation and desperation. 

         “Fine, do it your way, but I will sit down.” I relented. I tightened the towel around my body and settled on the sofa. Their brief, shared glance at my bare legs didn’t escape my notice, but it was quickly overshadowed by the tension in the room.  

         “Is anyone else happy in this relationship besides me?” I asked with my arms folded defensively against the chill creeping into my body.  

         “Yes. I am,” Noah replied. “I’m happy, too, but this moron here fails to see it. He fails to see everything I did for this to work. I could’ve had you all to myself if—.”

         “There it is!” Oliver exploded, cutting off Noah’s words with the sharp edge of his tongue.  

         “Noah!” I admonished him, my tone and look conveying my disapproval at his choice of words. He shouldn’t have said that, regardless of whether it held any truth. He should not have said that.  

         “Oh, come on,” he retorted. “Don’t twist it now. I wouldn’t be here in this house if I wasn’t okay with what we have. I told you I’m okay with you fucking her,” he said to Oliver. “She loves you fucking her. And getting her to do what she loves matters to me more than anything else.”

         “It shouldn’t be like that,” I murmured softly. 

         Noah simply gazed at me. I could tell he was tired. He didn’t want to argue, but the complexities of his and Oliver’s dynamic had ensnared them in a tangled mess.

         “It’s clear that you two love fucking me, and I definitely love it, too, so no need to go through this again. Boys,” I changed my position, kneeling on the sofa cushions to meet their eyes with a pleading look, “do you doubt what I feel for you? I have no room for a single doubt regarding your feelings for me, but I’m willing to talk if any of you feel that I don’t love you enough, or that I favor one over the other.” 

         “Kitten…” Noah began, but it was Oliver’s fingers the ones that reached my chin. 

         “You’re everything we could’ve ever asked for. You haven’t done anything wrong, doll.” 

         “What about each other? Do you doubt each other?” I pressed, feeling a pang of cold as Oliver’s touch left my skin. “You have to talk to each other,” I insisted. “We’re not moving forward until you do.”

         For a moment, I thought I did it. I thought that I managed to break through the barriers between them, that they would finally sit down and have an open, honest conversation.  

         But I was wrong.

         They exchanged glances, communicating silently as they waited for the other to make a move.

         I felt a growl building in my throat, frustration bubbling up inside me.   

         “Why are you being so macho? What’s the need for this?” I demanded. “I have no problem with you being all dominant and rough with me. But you can also be every other side of yourselves, and it won’t change the way I see you.”

         I could see my words chipping away at their defenses, but it still wasn’t enough. My frustration grew with each passing moment, a sense of helplessness settling over me as they remained locked in that stupid standoff. 

         As my words hung in the air, challenging their stubborn resolve, I expected some sign of surrender, a flicker of realization in their eyes. But instead, their stances remained rigid, their expressions hardened by the weight of their unspoken turmoil. Oliver’s jaw tightened even further, his brows furrowing in defiance, while Noah’s eyes darted away, a silent admission of discomfort.

         It was as though my words had ricocheted off their armored walls, leaving me standing alone in the battlefield. Despite my efforts to bridge the chasm between them, their refusal to let down their guard only fueled my frustration further, a searing flame of helplessness burning within me.

         With a heavy sigh, I realized that I had reached the limits of my influence. 

         “This is it? You prefer to keep ignoring the elephant in the room? Both of you? For God’s sake… All right,” I stood up, crossing between their bodies and heading towards the stairs. Luna suddenly trailing behind me in a hurried way. Turning away, my footsteps heavy with disappointment, I left them to solve the problem on their own. “You can sleep in the sofa tonight. Or, I’ll take the sofa and you can take… the bed or the floor. I don’t care, but I’m not going to be a part of this anymore until the three of us are finally on the same boat. You’re being dicks to each other, and the three of us are going to pay for the consequences, eventually.”

         Standing there was like watching a slow-motion collision, where each avoided the inevitable crash, preferring the tension to confrontation. My outburst was a last-ditch effort, a desperate plea to break through the thick walls of pride and insecurity that kept them at odds. But as I stormed out, leaving them to their stubborn silence, I couldn't shake the sinking feeling that this impasse would persist until they found the courage to confront the truth they both feared.

I woke up to the chill of two empty sides on the bed, and a pang of loneliness pierced my chest. When I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, I could see the sadness etched into every line of my face. 

         I washed away the traces of sleep and decided to make the bed, a subconscious effort to delay facing the reality awaiting me downstairs. 

         They hadn’t come upstairs to sleep. Oliver entered the bedroom around 8pm to grab some clothes and retrieve his and Noah’s toothbrush from the bathroom, and I couldn’t help but be speechless at how dramatic they were being.  

         Thirty minutes later, having attempted and failed to find some peace and strength in a short meditation on the balcony, I went downstairs with hushed footsteps. 

         I started preparing breakfast, not aiming to disturb their sleep, but the soft hum of the coffee machine and the clinking of plates and cups echoing in the open kitchen stirred Noah from his slumber. On the other side of the sofa, Oliver lay sprawled on his back, his hair tousled. As the deep sleeper he was, he only stirred slightly before settling back into his restful state. 

         I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. It seemed that at least one of us managed to get some decent rest, even if it was on the couch.  

         As Noah propped himself up on his forearms, his gaze drifted over to Oliver’s form, then down to the middle of the sofa where their legs lay entangled, hidden beneath the shared blanket.  The sight of their bodies occupying the entire sofa would have brought a smile to my lips were it not for the reason why they had spent the night there. I could only imagine them moving around and kicking each other during the night, adding another silly unnecessary thing to the pile of stuff they had been arguing about the evening before. 

         With a heavy sigh, Noah finally sat up and ran a hand through his face and hair.  

         “Morning,” he grumbled.

         “Morning,” I replied. 

         Noah took a quick bathroom break. When he came back, he walked with deliberate steps to where I was standing in the kitchen. He leaned in for a morning kiss that I was more than quick to give. He lingered by the kitchen isle to watch me make breakfast, accepting the coffee mug I offered and taking a sip while keeping his eyes on me. 

         “I expected you guys to come to bed at some point,” I said in a low voice, trying to conceal the twinge of hurt I felt at the fact that they had opted for sleeping on the couch instead of addressing their issues and joining me in bed. 

         “I wanted to,” Noah said, his voice tinged with regret, “but you made it clear that we needed to sort things out first, that you didn’t want us in bed with you if we didn’t, so…”

         I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. I placed my hands on the edge of the counter, exasperation crawling back to my bones. 

         “You know it wasn’t meant like that,” I sighed. “I was just trying to nudge you both into dealing with the real problem.”

         His silent response and the heaviness of his brown gaze on me confirmed my dreaded suspicion—he still wasn’t ready to. He still didn’t want to talk about it. Great.

         “Did you miss us?” He suddenly asked, breaking the silence. 

         Typical Noah. Whenever he knew he’d messed up, he’d try to sidestep the issue with softness instead of facing it head-on. I couldn’t help but be surprised that even after the heated argument we’d had the day before, he was still reluctant to confront the elephant in the room. 

         But when he looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes, I suddenly became weak. 

         “Every minute,” I admitted, a bittersweet smile forming on my lips. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m used to being sandwiched between you two now. I kept checking my phone, hoping for a text, and waiting for both of you to show up at the bedroom door,” I shook my head. “God, I’m turning into such a sap.”

         My words elicited a laugh from him, one of my favorite sounds in the morning.  

         “You’ve always been a sap,” he teased, leaving the coffee mug aside and pulling me close until his hands found my waist. With no effort at all, he lifted me onto the counter. 

         Grinning, I wrapped my arms around his neck, running my fingers through the silky hair at his nape. He stepped between my legs, and I relished in the familiar warmth of his body against mine in the chilled morning.  

         “Did you talk?” I inquired softly, obviously referring to him and Oliver. 

         “Not much, to be honest,” he admitted. His forehead found mine as he leaned in. “I don’t know what to do.”

         Allowing a moment for him to relax in my arms, I gently brushed a loose strand of hair from his forehead after pulling back to meet his eyes. 

         “I know you two are aware that this is not a relationship based solely on you two dating me,” I began, my voice tender. “We’re all in this together. We’re all dating each other. But you and Oli are struggling to come to terms with it,” I made a pause, my eyes boring into his, “or with what it means.”

         A flash of insecurity crossed Noah’s face, his usual self-confidence momentarily faltering. My heart ached for him.  

         “I’ve never been with a man before, baby,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.  

         I nodded, understanding without him needing to explain. Of course I knew. 

         “I had never been with two men,” I started to say, reaching out to touch his cheek gently, “but here I am, utterly in love and happy with both of them,” I tried to summon a reassuring smile, but Noah’s insecurity lingered, prompting me to continue speaking. “It was scary at first. I spent weeks worrying about what would happen, especially when we flew back home after Europe. But everything is so wonderful now, and I wish to keep it that way, but for that, we need the whole package, Noah. And that includes you and Oliver giving each other what you’re missing out,” I playfully bopped his nose, but he flinched, giving me an annoyed look. All right. “Also, I don’t think Oli’s ever been with another man, either” I added, glancing toward his sleeping form on the sofa. “So, it would be a first time for both of you.” 

         “Would you… like that? Oli and me?” Noah’s voice wavered with uncertainty. 

         I reached for a biscuit from a plate beside me, taking a bite and chewing slowly. After licking some crumbs from the corner of my lips, I casually rubbed the heel of my socked foot against the back of Noah’s thigh.

         “I’ve been thinking about sitting in the armchair in the bedroom and watch you and Oliver do nasty things to each other,” I said with a mischievous grin. 

         Noah narrowed his eyes at me.

         “You’re a naughty girl, you know that?”

         His teasing remark brought back a sense of normalcy, making me feel a bit relieved for the first time that morning after a restless night. 

         “So I’ve been told,” I replied nonchalantly, taking another bite of the biscuit. 

         Noah took the remaining biscuit from my hand and returned it to the plate before kissing me slowly, his hand cupping my cheek and his fingers tucking my hair behind my ear as our lips melded together. 

         “It’d make me really happy to see you together,” I said, placing my hands on his face and pulling back slightly to meet his gaze directly, “but I know it would make you and Oli even happier. You’re hungry for each other. I’ve seen it in the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. The sex is amazing, and we’re all satisfied, but you’re just dying to taste him and you’re too shy to make a move. Same with him, which is unusual,” I continued, drawing out my words as I shrugged my shoulders, “given how carefree he is with everything he says and does, including those impromptu cat walks when he’s wearing that silly maid outfit.” 

         We shared a laugh, the tension dissipating further before indulging in another lingering kiss. This was Noah’s way of seeking reassurance, and I was more than happy to oblige and give it to him. I would give him as many kisses as he needed. 

         “This is where all this tension is coming from”, I concluded, my voice softening once again. 

         Noah’s chest rose with a heavy sigh that said he finally admitted it. He released the breath he had been holding just as Luna appeared at our side, her eyes pleading for her morning walk.

         “Can you wait a bit, darling? We’ll take you out in a few minutes,” I said to her. 

         “I’ll take her out now,” came Oliver’s unexpected voice. 

         Noah and I startled at the interruption, Noah moving away from me as if caught in something criminal. Despite reaching out to him, my eyes focused on Oliver. 

         Oliver excused himself to go to the bathroom before I could open my mouth. He was still upset about what happened the night before, and I guess he didn’t like seeing me in Noah’s arms first thing in the morning, especially since that’s what started the arguments the day prior. 

         I reminded myself to stay calm. I’d have to go through the same talk with him to get him to the same place where Noah was.   

         “Oliver,” I said, my voice gentle yet firm. 

         “What?” came his response, edged with tension. He avoided looking at Noah. 

         Seeing them like this broke my heart and infuriated me simultaneously.  

         “You and Noah need to talk. Right now,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. 

         The whole situation was dripping with irony. I wanted to shout back at Oliver all the things he had preached about before we started this relationship—all that talk about communication being paramount to make this work. Where was all that now? 

         “We can talk later,” he replied, attempting to evade the conversation by calling out for Luna, who happily trotted towards her dad, tongue out and tail wagging. 

         “No,” I asserted, holding my ground. “You two are going to talk right now,” I insisted, positioning myself at a fair distance between both so it wouldn’t seem like I was taking sides.  “I swear, if either of you keeps dragging this out without reason, I will get on the first flight back to Los Angeles. So, decide right now. Do you want me to leave?” I directed the question to both of them. “Or do you want more? What’s it going to be?” 

         Oliver dropped his shoulders in resignation, a small victory amidst the tension. Noah was standing behind me. I could tell that he was ready to get it together and be honest with Oliver and with himself, but he would keep holding back until it was clear that Oliver was in the same boat. 

         Setting Luna’s leash down in the kitchen isle, Oliver caused Luna to drop her tail and tilt her head in confusion. Wasn’t he going to take her out? I made a mental note to go out with her later for a long walk, but right now, Oliver and Noah needed to have the conversation they’d been avoiding for months. 

          Oliver let himself fall onto the sofa, pushing the blanket that he and Noah had used during the night to the side without bothering to fold it. His green eyes met mine. Then, his gaze finally shifted to Noah. 

         “Come here,” Oliver said to Noah, patting the spot next to him. 

         Noah sat next to him, a huff coming out from him, his arms resting unpreoccupied between his legs. It took him a moment to turn his head toward Oliver, but when he did…

         They held each other’s gazes for a while. I don’t know what they felt in that moment, but I was certainly feeling the anticipation, my heartbeat increasing with each passing second. 

         Oliver raised his arm and then his fingers were touching Noah’s chin and lower lip. There was a question in his eyes, something that only they knew what it meant. 

         Then, they leaned into each other, and they kissed. 

         My breath caught in my throat, but as their mouths moved against each other, I found myself flooded by a sense of relief and… excitement. Was this supposed to be wrong? It definitely didn’t feel like it. I was enjoying it very much, feeling pride for my boys and pride at myself for having achieved this. 

         Though they appeared entirely oblivious to my presence in the room, their movements seemed to align with the path I hoped they would follow. 

         As I contemplated where to position myself to observe the unfolding scene in that summer morning, Noah sank to his knees between Oliver’s legs, deftly undoing the laces of his sweatpants until he slid them down, taking his underwear along with them to his ankles. 

         A muttered curse escaped Oliver’s lips, betraying all the tension that had been following us since days prior. 

         Noah raised his eyes at him before daring to put his hands on his length. 

         “Is this what you want?” Noah asked him. 

         If he really wanted an answer, he didn’t wait for it. 

         His mouth swallowed his length, and within seconds, Oliver was leaning back on the sofa, clutching at the pillows with clenched fists, his lips parted in a mixture of pain and pleasure. 

         Had I imagined this scenario before today? Yes, I had, but never had I voiced it aloud, nor di I anticipate witnessing it, in all honesty, especially not amidst the chaos of the day’s events. 

         I was about to climb onto the counter to get a better view of Noah pleasuring Oliver when Oliver’s green eyes caught mine. 

         “Doll,” his voice was ragged, breathless, “why don’t you come over here and join us?” 

         Uncertain of his intentions, I approached them cautiously, licking my lips. Oliver gestured toward the corner of the room, his chest rising and falling as Noah continued his ministrations between his legs.  

         “Jesus Christ,” Oliver muttered before mustering the strength to focus back on me. “Doll, sit down and touch yourself. Don’t stand there watching us. This isn’t some damn show.”

          Noah hadn’t even lifted his head from Oliver’s lap, his attention entirely consumed by the task at hand, when he said, “Do it. Now.”

         Taking a deep breath, I settled onto the corner of the sofa, positioning myself to their view. Oliver’s gaze roamed over me, his struggle evident as Noah continued, relentless. 

         “Feet on the sofa. Panties off. Let me see you,” Oliver instructed, his voice restrained, indicating he was not far from the edge. 

         I complied, feeling a slight shyness creeping in. This was a scenario none of us were accustomed to. Slowly, I parted my legs, and Oliver raised an expectant eyebrow, silently urging me on. Without hesitation, I grasped the hem of my oversized shirt and lifted it, revealing the black thong I wore underneath. 

         “I said—” His voice was cut off abruptly as Noah took him deeper, to the back of his throat, “off,” Oliver growled, his demand leaving no room for negotiation. 

         With a quick movement, I lifted my hips and removed my thong, spreading my legs open to their gaze. As my fingers found their way to my clit, tracing soft circles around it, I sensed that we were in for a wild morning.  

         Barely two minutes into the act, Oliver let out a primal growl, his head thrown back, hands gripping Noah’s hair tightly as he pressed him against his crotch. With a soft ‘pop’, Noah released him, drawing in a deep breath and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. 

         “Don’t tell me that was your first,” Oliver said, “because there’s no way I’m going to believe you.”

         Noah chuckled, his laughter momentarily dissipating the heat in the room. The sound would have relieved whatever remnants of tension and fear remained inside of me were it not for the fact that I was about to come myself. 

         “Definitely a first time,” Noah replied with a tilt of his head. Then, as if sensing my arousal, he turned his head towards me, and his smile fell. 

         He stood up, his hungry faze traveling from my face down to my exposed pussy. He had been so focused on Oliver that he hadn’t noticed the spectacle unfolding on the other side of the sofa. 

         Without uttering a word, Noah walked towards me. He didn’t need to bend down or extend an arm; he simply removed my hand and then, he just… touched me. 

         “You’re a mess,” he acknowledged, his fingers dragging slowly through my folds. 

         He brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted me, causing the burning sensation inside of me to only intensify, threatening to consume me if I didn’t get their hands on me in the next few seconds. 

         “Oli,” Noah called out, glancing over his shoulder. “You good? She needs to be rewarded, don’t you think?”  

         “Sure she does,” he agreed, pulling up his sweatpants and running a hand through his hair. “Sit back,” he told Noah. “I’m going to enjoy this. Doll, do you want to ride Noah?” 

         “I don’t think you have to ask,” Noah added, a grin spreading across his face as he extended his arm towards me. 

         Grasping his hand, I moved myself onto his lap. Noah’s hands found my hips beneath the hem of my t-shirt, while Oliver took hold of my right hand, bringing it to his lips. 

         “You need to be rewarded for doing so good to us.”

         “Right?!” I exclaimed, raising my eyebrows at him with a smile. It wasn’t lost on me that he had been denying his desire for Noah to pleasure him for months. These men and their stubbornness… 

         “And you’re such a good, good girl to us.”

         “She is,” Noah agreed, his voice a whisper as his hands guided me onto one of his thighs, pressing me down against him, my dampness spreading onto the fabric of his sweatpants. 

         “Oh.”

         “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Come on, baby. Use me,” he urged, his hands steadying me with a firm grip on my hips. 

         “But…” I began, my face flushing crimson. 

         “I’ll fuck you in a moment, but I want you to use me first,” he insisted, his voice filled with desire.  

          Feeling self-conscious under the intense scrutiny of both men’s gazes, I opted to press my mouth to Noah’s as I began to grind against his thigh. He tasted like Oliver and the experience made me dizzy. Noah swallowed my moans eagerly, while Oliver urged me to go faster, his hand caressing my ass enticingly as I moved myself on top of Noah. 

         Lost in a haze of pleasure, at some point Oliver grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me towards him so that he could kiss me passionately, allowing Noah a breather.

         Eventually, I became a whimpering mess, my hands sliding down to find Noah’s bulge. I stroked it a few times with my open palm before deciding I couldn’t wait any longer. With deft fingers, I unlaced him and freed his cock. 

         Noah’s hand in my waist steadied me. 

         “You sure about this?” The question was directed to Oliver. There was concern in his voice. 

         Oliver dismissed it with a shake of his head. “That pussy is not going anywhere. It’s ours. So go on. Take her.”

         Noah nodded. I whined in his arms, hoping that he would just let me get him inside of him. 

         “Condom?” He asked, still directing his questions to Oli.

         Oliver disappeared briefly, returning with a condom package that he handed to Noah. However, I took it from his fingers. 

         “I’ll do it,” I offered, taking the package and swiftly sliding the condom onto Noah’s cock. 

         Lifting my hips slightly, I positioned myself above him and sank down, moaning softly, a melody that echoed in Noah’s ears and Oliver’s too. 

         “God, you’re so beautiful,” Oliver murmured in awe, watching each of my expressions like a hawk.  

         Resting my head on Noah’s shoulder, I began to move my hips in a rhythmic motion, gliding up and down, front to back, performing a dance on top of him that ignited a bigger fire inside of me. The intensity heightened when Oliver sneaked a hand between our bodies, his fingers finding my clit with precision. 

         “Come for us, babygirl,” Oliver said, his voice a seductive whisper. 

         Unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure, I surrendered to the sensations, especially as I felt Noah pulsating inside of me. His grip tightened on my hip, his other hand tangling in my hair as he pressed his face against my neck, emitting a primal roar against my skin as he released himself into the condom. 

         I dug my nails on his shoulders through his t-shirt as my own orgasm crashed over me, the waves of pleasure overwhelming me as Noah’s pulses still filled me up and Oliver’s fingers continued their relentless assault on my clit. 

         It took me a moment to find my voice amidst the euphoria. I asked Noah if he was okay, and he responded with a sloppy kiss on my jaw, a bright smile spreading across his face afterward. 

         I glanced at Oliver, who was watching us with admiration despite our dishevelled state. Not that he looked much better himself. 

         After nuzzling against Noah’s chest for a moment, I shifted myself towards Oliver. Wrapping my arms around his neck, half of my body still remained in Noah’s lap. Noah lifted my shirt to uncover my ass, giving it a playful slap before caressing it and dropping his head back with a contented sigh. 

         “Good talk,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice and eliciting laughter from all of us. 

         “Yeah,” Oliver agreed with a chuckle. “We should have more breakfasts like this.”

         Our moment of levity was abruptly interrupted by Luna’s barking. 

         She stood in the doorway, looking frustrated that we had completely forgotten about her. 

         “Oh, shit,” I said.

         Yeah, our bad habits were just about to get worse. 

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[lurkingshan]

I thought we saw clear growth in Ryan this episode, despite the mishaps. He’s still slow but he’s starting to get the job and the pace of it. His biggest hurdle is his struggle to assert himself and communicate, and his conversation with Jane at the end was a big step forward on that front. He’s getting more comfortable asking questions and thinking about who he wants to be at work, and Jane is giving him a great model.

And I really love that we saw that even someone as competent as Pie has a lot to learn. Her biggest hurdles are her arrogance and impatience; she has an overblown estimation of her own skills and readiness for the job. She caused a problem in this episode because she didn’t want to accept the job she was given. She had a real assignment and she did it well, but she was disrespectful of her colleagues and dismissive of the work when she said it wasn’t meaningful. She resented not getting the assignment she wanted and felt she should be allowed to do more, and so she inserted herself where she didn’t belong and made a mistake. I really hope she takes full accountability next week and learns from this.

And as all of this was happening, Jane continued to be an excellent boss. He handled every problem that came up, gave good directive guidance to Ryan, stepped in to defend him from the rude extra even though Ryan was making serious mistakes, listened when Ryan offered solutions, and took the blame with the client when Pie messed up the schedule. He understands that as the person in charge, he is ultimately the one accountable even if his juniors make the mistakes. He’s very good at his job.

[dr-spectre]

The Corruption In Splatoon.

Hypno Callie - Sanitized Agent 3 - Marina Agitando Analyzed.

(Note: this post may get edited over time if i need to fix grammar errors, get new information or anyone corrects me in a fair way. I'm not gonna listen to those who say "erm you're wrong actually." There will also be sources at the bottom.)

One of the biggest issues I've seen in the Splatoon community are the misconceptions and misinformation that spread around so quickly and i see it a lot when it comes to the corruption arcs found in Callie, Agent 3 and Marina. People throw around the words "hypnotized, mind controlled, brainwashed" interchangeably between the three, and it kind of damages the stories the developers wanted to tell. I see people say that Marina was hypnotized, which isn't the case at all, and same with Agent 3.

So in this long post I'm gonna go into a deep dive and analyze these characters, go into their personalities while under their corruption, distinguish between their "afflictions" and how they got to that point. There is a lot of depth to this and most people (not all ofc) overlook it which is a shame and i wanna change that.

We will first start off with a character i feel very strongly towards, the one i feel gets the most amount of misinformation in the community and is overlooked the most. A character, suffering from mental distress and isolation, the loser of the final Splatfest in Splatoon 1. An antagonist born out of her own volition and free will despite what many say about her.

Hypno/Octo Callie

Hypno/Octo Callie is where most people tend to slip up and only look at the surface level info the game presents, and that information barely scratches the surface into what happened to Callie and what Callie is like under the influence of the shades.

First off, how did Callie end up like this? She was isolated, got kidnapped by Octavio and then brainwashed right? WRONG! Although this is what Splatoon 2 suggests, it's entirely wrong and paints a pretty gross picture if you think about it for more than five seconds. Implying that Octavio is some freak and monster who waited for the perfect moment to snatch up Callie and then brainwash her against her consent, forcing her into things she didn't want to do, like wear that revealing outfit, brand her with that tattoo, and join the Octarians as a mind controlled slave for their goals. Yeahhhhh... you can see why i have an issue with this implication and the interpretations this created in the fandom...

It's really disgusting and I'm honestly quite shocked that people wanna paint that picture of Octavio and leave Callie as a victim with trauma from those events. Callie in her dialogue never EVER mentions being kidnapped, and only Marie says that because from her perspective, she's gonna think that's what happened cause she worries about Callie all the damn time. They only say "kidnapped" in outside media to make Octavio more of a cartoony evil villain and to simplify things which makes me kind of frustrated. If Callie truly suffered from trauma and had resentment for the Octarians, it would display in her dialogue. She would say shit like, "If i see another Octarian... oh, I'm gonna SPLAT them to pieces!" or "I'm gonna get those Octarians for what they put me through..." It also explains why she even thought about putting the shades back on because if she truly suffered from trauma, she wouldn't DARE put those shades back on. The "plenty!" Line she says in Splatoon 3 when Shiver asks what's wrong with them is a joke line and most likely references her putting the shades on again and again, but the canon on the rematches is unclear but I'm gonna treat them as canon.

However I've seen people bring up this concept art to dismiss these arguments where Callie is seen putting on the Hypnoshades without her knowledge and then is "turned evil ooooo!!"

This is just a SINGLE piece of concept art that the developers MIGHT have used to explain the rematch of the final boss. This art is disproven from Callie's dialogue in the rematch across various different languages as if Marie asked her why she put the shades back on, she would likely have a different response if the shades were put on her in that way.

There is also other concept art showing Callie being alone and comforted by Octarians which also disproves that single piece of concept art that suggests the weird gross narrative online that people push about Octavio.

Now that we've cleared up the misconceptions, how did Callie end up wearing those shades? Well, as shown with the Sunken Scrolls, Callie falls apart when she's alone, she overthinks and gets stressed out.

Callie is a person who seeks companionship and always looks on the bright side, even if it's a detriment on her mental health and causes her to bottle up her emotions to an unhealthy degree. Waking up extremely early and working all day, being surrounded by paparazzi, damaged her mental health, and Marie wasn't there for her as she had a different schedule. Their relationship slowly broke apart and the Splatfest probably didn't help with that either. There might have been some resentment that Callie hid.

At some point Callie must have met up with Octavio after she stormed off in the Squid Sister Stories on chapter 7, and Octavio, being the master manipulator that he his, probably convinced Callie to join the Octarians and appealed to her sense of isolation and pressure from being a star. He didn't force her into anything as shown with Callie's dialogue not showing any hints towards this, Octavio just pulled the right strings and Callie willingly joined to escape her life as said by her line in the official relationship chart "OK, fine, I'll hear you out."

If Octavio tried to grab her or put the shades on her by force, he would get absolutely eviscerated. Remember, Callie is not some weak little girl, she's a trained agent who's a roller main, a weapon that requires a ton of physical strength to wield. Inklings and Octolings do not have bones and are carried purely by their muscles, and because Octavio is way older than Callie and can't even walk properly due to him being stuck in his octopus form, Callie would be able to physically overpower him and turn him into a cooked octopus with rice on the side by the time she is done with him.

Callie finds the Octarians cute and Octavio knows that if he could get her on his side, he could help his troops and save his race from destruction. Octavio uses music to motivate his troops to battle and Callie's help in this would help him a lot. And that's where the shades come in....

The Hypnoshades are very vague and we're not fully sure on the effects, however judging from their name we can guarantee that they involve hypnosis in some form. Either it's because of the animated parts at the front which Callie can see or some other sci fi bullshit that is not explained. They are not "brainwashing shades" that turn a person evil. If that's the case then they wouldn't be called HYPNO shades.

Now let's dive into hypnosis and explain what it is. Hypnosis is being described as being put into a deeply relaxing state where your mind is more prone to suggestions. It's not like in popular media where some dude swings a watch around and goes, "You are getting very sleepy oooo," and then they become a puppet and are mind controlled. No, that's not what happens. Yes, you are more prone to listening to suggestions and taking them to heart, HOWEVER! ONLY IF ITS ACCEPTABLE TO THE HYPNOTIZED PERSON! THE SUGGESTION CANNOT GO AGAINST A PERSON'S MORALS AND IF IT DOES THEY WON'T LISTEN!

If the person who is getting hypnotized doesn't wanna follow through with the suggestion by the person behind the hypnosis, they won't listen to the suggestion. If Callie didn't wanna wear that outfit, she wouldn't. If Callie didn't wanna decorate Octo Canyon, then she wouldn't, but she does because she loves art. You can't make a hypnotized person wanna murder their friends and families unless they secretly want to.... you cannot get a guy on stage to get nude in front of an audience as shown with those stage hypnosis acts, it is most likely faked or the person was in a really good mood and wanted to have fun.

Callie, while under the shades acts more like her normal self than not. She is still energetic and even decorated Octo Canyon as she is a fan of art. Her chaotic nature is still intact however she is more violent and harsh which was teased in her Splatfest dialogue in Splatoon 1. If she was brainwashed then she would be more like a mindless robot that follows Octavio no matter what, like a specialized sleeper agent. However, she snaps back at him multiple times when Agent 4 attacks the Octobot King II and doesn't even wanna kill Marie but instead get her away from her because of their broken relationship. But she tries to kill Agent 4 because she doesn't know who that is and has no personal attachment to them.

The shades do NOT control Callie and do NOT force Octarian ideals into her head. The shades are there to further manipulate Callie, and Callie heard out the suggestions by her own free will. If Callie's mental health and life were better she would probably not listen to Octavio and turn him into a paste on the road with her roller.

Hypnosis is also incredibly relaxing and helps with disorders like anxiety. Maybe it's why she kept putting on the shades again and escaping with Octavio. She might be addicted to it, as shown by her rematch dialogue. However, they don't go into any depth with it unfortunately.

I know people tend to bring up Octavio's line, "i remixed Callie's brain!" to disprove my points, however,

1. Its probably bad translation as the English localization team makes mistakes often as shown with Octo Expansion with Commander Tartar's and Marina's dialogue, and Side Order as well. The line is also different in other languages and some of those languages mention hypnosis, we also don't have a retranslation of the Japanese script for Splatoon 2 so I'm give the English script a HUGE grain of salt on the dialogue.

2. Octavio is a DJ. He says musical terms to describe things. the "remixing" of Callie's brain is to show that Octavio has got Callie on his side via manipulation and not direct brain "washing" if you get what I'm trying to say here. He didn't literally warp her brain with some bullshit evil shades. He just pulled the right strings and pointed her in his direction without directly or forcefully doing it.

There is also Marie's line, "Why would you put those stupid brainwashing sunglasses back on?" In the rematch. However, this is only in the English translation of the original Japanese script, and in other languages, Marie just calls them the Hypnoshades or glasses. The localization team of Splatoon is known to make mistakes, like I've stated previously.

I also wanna go over the design for a little bit, it's honestly really well done and aside from the weird icky implications people just love to make about it, it does a good job at being an "Evil Callie" look. The colors are really appealing to the eyes, the way the design flows together is nice to look at, the octopus tattoo is striking and has become iconic in the fandom, with some believing Callie kept the tattoo as a popular headcanon. The glittery leggings and spikes on the waist and neck are a nice addition. Flipping the grilled squid pattern and placing it on her chest. And the shades are just the cherry on top with their hypnotic patterns, giving you the feeling that a person you knew is different... and off... They took the child like and joyful design of Callie and made her into a more mature and intimidating presence.

Now i wanna quickly go over when the shades get shot off of her as some people say that Callie lost her memories when the shades were put on her and removing them brought back her memories.

When it comes to being put into a hypnotic state, it's very dream like and incredibly relaxing, its essentially similar to a flow state when you're deeply concentrated on a task. So imagine a god damn ink bullet flying at your face at incredible speed, flinging you out of that state quickly and seeping ink into your eye. Yeah, it would hurt like hell and leave you completely dazed, right?

Some people who go under hypnosis can experience headaches, dizziness, nausea, and if you look at Callie when the shades are removed, guess what, she's holding her head in pain and is completely dazed, unable to properly speak and is left to only sing and dance as it comes natural to her cause she's an Idol.

What i think is happening here is that Callie, after being removed from the hypnotic state, starts thinking more rationally for a moment and realizes that Marie does care for her and has come to get her. She remembers all the good memories they had together from hearing the Calamari Inkantation, the song doesn't free people from brainwashing or mind control as some people tend to believe, it's just an insanely catchy song that motivates those who hear it. It probably gave her mind a positive boost and she remembers all the wonderful memories she had with Marie, getting rid of the negativity and darkness in Callie's head that flooded her rational thinking and made her more emotional and impulsive. People who experience mental illness have foggy minds and you can ask someone who has or had anxiety or depression on what it's like. Trust me, it's not fun.

After Callie returns to the outpost, she shows regret and tells Agent 4 that she's sorry for trying to kill them and promises that she's on the "up and up! Promise!" If Callie was truly kidnapped and then brainwashed against her consent she would be putting all the blame on Octavio and would show some amount of anger towards him, but she doesn't. I wonder why huh? Hmm. Maybe that popular narrative online is far from what actually happened huh?

With that information laid out, it makes the Bomb Rush Blush remix, Tidal Rush and Spicy Calamari Inkantation work way more as emotional tracks. The Bomb Rush Blush remix still having it's cheery sounding elements but mixed with more sinister and dark undertones, even including the Onward! jingle to show how far Callie has descended into villainy. Tidal Rush being an emotional and powerful song where Marie reaches out to her cousin in a very sad sounding way as her voice sounds broken and desperate. Callie trying her hardest not to listen to Marie and shutting her down as she wants nothing to do with her anymore after their relationship has been damaged.

Spicy Calamari Inkantation sounds more triumphant and joyful if you take all the context into account, Callie finally breaking free from the darkness clouding her mind and singing alongside her cousin in a much more expanded version of Calamari Inkantation that sounds more full and complete, including new sections by Callie and Marie and the melody of City of Color spliced in there for good measure.

With that LONG explanation of Hypno/Octo Callie, it's now time to move on the next character, and this where things somehow get more weird than a pair of hypnotic shades...

Sanitized Agent 3

Now this is where things get really tricky because the whole concept of sanitization is quite unclear until Side Order and it's basically boiled down to "zombie mind control goop" created by Commander Tartar in order to remove "life's energies" and effectively have lifeless zombies under it's control. However Agent 3 was only partially sanitized so it's unclear on what is exactly going on here. But before we can get to that, we need to discuss how they got to that state.

Before Agent 8 and Cap'n Cuttlefish turned into a nice strawberry smoothie, Agent 3 came to save them after receiving a distress signal from Marina. Agent 3 slammed themselves into the blender, rendering them unconscious which becomes important later on.

After some time Agent 3 gets taken away off screen and then gets partially sanitized and ties up Cap'n Cuttlefish.

So what is happening here? Is Agent 3 brainwashed here? Well not exactly, what i think is going on is that Commander Tartar put that sanitized ink on Agent 3's head to have a direct connection to them to take control over their body and use them as a vessel, to protect it and stop Agent 8 from destroying it's plans. Agent 3 while partially sanitized acts more cold and aggressive, even disabling their special limiter as told by Marina.

An important line of dialogue from Cap'n Cuttlefish states that Agent 3's mind was "hijacked" meaning that Commander Tartar has taken over their body and is using them like a puppet to stop Agent 8. While i don't like to base all of my evidence on the English dialogue, from my knowledge there is no retranslated dialogue of the fight online, if there is let me know so i can have a look at it.

Agent 3 was most likely completely unaware of this as they were knocked out and only woke up at the end of Octo Expansion after the NILS Statue was destroyed. They had no idea on what happened and were probably told about it after it was all over.

Agent 3 was also NOT hypnotized as sanitization has no hypnosis element to it. People who say they were are flat out wrong. They were not necessarily brainwashed either as they were completely unconscious and could not have had their ideals and morals warped by Commander Tartar. You can't really pressure an unconscious body to follow your ideals you know?

We don't get a lot of screentime with Sanitized Agent 3 but from the small moment we did get, it definitely left a strong impression and the amazing Splattack remix helped as well. Taking the once iconic song and mixing it and blending into a distorted chaotic track with elements from the DnB genre such as fast drum beats and loud wailing sirens, showing the danger of Agent 3. It really shows that Agent 3, our player character from Splatoon 1 has been morphed and twisted into a sanitized monster that's trying to murder you. It's like a virus has invaded the song and is taking control, much like what happened to Agent 3, unconscious and put to sleep as their body is being used by Commander Tartar to carry out it's goals.

Now it's time to move to the final character, the loser of the Final Fest, The Administrator of Order...

Marina Agitando

Now much like Agent 3, its sort of vague in terms of how exactly Marina ended up this way as we don't see it play out on screen. What we know is that during the development of the Memverse, Marina created an ai that would be the overseer of the Spire of Order. However due to unknown circumstances it went rogue and got into Marina's mind according to her, either she meant it literally and Overlorder possessed her, or it brainwashed her and took advantage of Marina's deep desire to yearn for a world of order and stability and warped her mind to accomplish that goal.

But, from the hints we do have as well as an interview from the developers after Side Order released, Marina was not brainwashed or hypnotized, but instead was knocked unconscious and then possessed by Overlorder. You can hear it's voice during Marina Agitando's dialogue under Marina's, heck the dialogue she says is more robotic and static, much like Overlorder's. She speaks like a robot in this form which is vastly different from how Callie speaks when under the shades where she's chaotic and loud like her original self times but on another level.

Marina being unconscious and not remembering what happened is also supported in the Side Order Famitsu interview released a while after the DLC came out which states that Marina doesn't remember making her solo song "Unconscience." When she is rescued and freed from the Controller VM, she appears like she's woken up from a bad nap.

Marina as Marina Agitando acts very robotic and cold, her movements are jittery and mechanical as Overlorder uses her body like a giant meat puppet. Her attacks are in time with the music and she shakes all about when firing attacks. It's pretty gross to see the once cheerful and adorable Marina in a state where she's this giant woman entangled in a giant pulsating tentacle that beats and restricts her. It's both sad and pretty damn scary.

She doesn't even recognize Pearl and Agent 8 unlike Callie who still recognizes Marie while under the shades. Marina just calls them "intruders" and is immediately hostile towards them.

Aside from that, there really isn't that much to talk about when it comes to Marina Agitando because she has arguably the shortest amount of screentime out of the three. But i will say that the design is excellent, using the Order outfit as a base and adding body horror elements to it, with her being trapped in a giant tentacles and weird metal pipes coming from the sides that pump out this weird red energy, like veins. Her constant smiling during the battle, the little DJ poses she does but they've become so lifeless and robotic, much like the ai possessing her. The sweet and funky girl is gone, replaced with a machine hell bent on order and will kill anything that gets in it's way.

The song too "Unconscience" is an absolute bop and is a stark contrast from Marina's usual music. It's an ear worm of a song that will get stuck in your head, and if they designed it like that way on purpose than bravo on the music team for Splatoon.

Conclusion.

Why did i make this? Why spend the time and effort to make something like this? Well, as a fan of these characters, i wanna see them well represented and their stories shared properly in the community. Seeing people use the incorrect terms when describing Hypno Callie and Marina Agitando despite the two literally being so vastly different in personality and "affliction." Making Callie's situation way worse by saying she was snatched up randomly, then brainwashed while struggling and losing her memories, treating her as some victim of abuse when the story the writers wanted to tell was a story about the broken relationship between Callie and Marie, and them finally coming together for each other and maturing, it's literally shown in the songs Tidal Rush and Fresh Start for god sake. I find it incredibly frustrating when i see people put in the effort to make these giant timeline videos, translate interviews and then they drop the fucking ball for Callie in Splatoon 2 for some god damn reason. Every. Single. Time.

While i don't feel as strongly for Agent 3 and Marina Agitando, Hypno Callie was the catalyst for me to look deeper into these corruption arcs and find all the interesting details and tidbits about these forms. Marina Agitando was such a hype moment for me when i first played Side Order and it took something we all expected to happen but gave us a little twist on it by making her the very first boss of the dlc.

Seeing Agent 3 again and the Splatoon devs wanting to look back on the past in an interesting way was so exciting to see. It paved the way for the series to reflect on itself and celebrate earlier entries.

Because of the misconceptions online about what truly happened to Callie, i felt this pain in my chest, i was unable to enjoy the concept of an evil Callie, i was unable to listen to the Splatoon 2 hero mode level music without feeling some sort of uncomfortable pain. It literally impacted my day to day living because my brain became SO attached to this squid woman. I couldn't accept the false narrative online, the abusive and disgusting view on my comfort character. A character i find joy and love in. Twisted and turned into something that brings me genuine discomfort.

Splatoon 2's story was handled poorly and caused literally EVERYONE to think that Callie is some abused victim that got kidnapped and turned evil by force by a creepy old ass octopus, when its SOOO far from the case.

There's probably people out there who feel the same way towards Marina Agitando and Sanitized Agent 3. No one likes to see their comfort character misrepresented and i hope you feel heard and that your views matter too. It's okay to look deeper into these characters, it's okay to not wanna accept the common narrative and find and present your own findings to everyone. If it makes you feel better and that chest in your pain subsides afterwards, then go for it. Please.

Thank you so much for reading this, I'm sure there's gonna be some people who disagree and share their own evidence and that is okay. As long as you don't try to push your views onto me or others then you have a right to have your own perspectives about these 3.

Seriously, thank you for spending the time to read this and hearing me out. I hope you have an awesome day : )

Sources: