#rusty's analyses

[rustyvanburace]

I cannot help but see some parallels between the kidnapping of Akira's sister in IV and Asahi's death in IVA.

Both girls are taken into an ovoidal vessel that would ferry them along with countless others to another world as part of a god's grander scheme. Akira's sister is kidnapped as one of God's Chosen and holed up in a giant cocoon, which in the main timeline did succeed in flying her off to what would eventually become the Kingdom of Mikado. Asahi was killed and her soul became one of the many others trapped in the Cosmic Egg, which would have led to the birth of a new universe that all the souls would be reborn into. Different circumstances and outcomes, but still the same idea.

There's unfortunately nothing that states or even directly implies that Asahi is or was ever intended to be the reincarnation of Akira's sister. But when considering her intrinsic closeness to Nanashi as foster siblings, how Nanashi is always made to keep an eye on her, and even just the parallels between the cocoon and Cosmic Egg, I think there is a reasonable degree of implicity that Asahi is or could be the reincarnation of her. At least, even as pure fanon it wouldn't be a far-fetched one.

Akira succeeded in reaching the Firmament, but because of the Tokyo-Mikado time dilation and the years it took to even dig through the ceiling, he never got to reunite with his sister as she would have already died a long time ago by then. The DLC timeline note in IVA's database states that 300 years had passed on the surface by the time Akira breached it.

In a way then, Akira and his sister are vindicated when Nanashi enters the Cosmic Egg and rescues Asahi in the Bonds route. Time is a flat circle.

[totheidiot]

i feel about marvin the paranoid android the exact same way i feel about breekon and hope.

[applespider]

Whoever compared c!Tommy to c!Purpled saying one was drowning and the other was in a desert I hate you (<-I love you). I think it’s really fucking fascinating the way hurt characters make unfair reads on other hurt characters, characters like Tommy, Niki, Jack, Purpled, and I’d even argue, Puffy. It’s hard to say they just “don’t get it” because, well, they don’t, but the implication that they simply haven’t suffered enough is false. It’s one of those little things I like to pick apart in the shower, the way different characters are unable to provide sympathy as a defense mechanism, and the way this combines with the fact they suffered differently and that a lot of them felt their suffering invalidated!

I think Puffy’s relationship with the eggpire post-banquet is fascinating, particularly when Bad and Ant went to apologize for her. She struck me as, for lack of a better word, unfair. Unsympathetic. And I think this is a reaction a lot of characters had in order to defend themselves. Because it came off as logically unfair to me at the time, but damn if I didn’t feel that. Her care for them was abused, her attempts to help burned her again and again. A combination of flattening out the source of her pain in order to slow herself to feel it, in order to make it simple, and refusing to try again with this friendship. I was absolutely shit at keeping up with the eggpire lore so I’m not sure how their relationship developed after that, but Puffy’s streams around that time burned themselves into my brain.

Niki, and even more so Jack, do this a bit more obviously. Niki finding a singular person to blame, denying any past positive feelings for L’Manberg, isolating herself, these are all obviously psychological defenses. If she was tricked into loving something, her hurt can’t be her fault (and obviously it wasn’t but I think she was scared it was), if there’s a tangible target for her blame all this pain and fear and sadness has somewhere to go (but shoveling water out of the leaky boat doesn’t plug the hole), and being alone means safety (being alone means bone-cold nights, means no one to ask her if she’s eating, when the last time she slept was).

And everyone knows about Jack’s relationship with Tommy (it was so fucking good, someone wrote a post about Jack being a character who looked at Tommy in an antagonistic light for genuinely good reason. They were on very equal footing in their, admittedly very one-sided, feud. People saw the victim in Tommy, but Tommy hurt Jack and no one seemed to care, so he shut out Tommy’s hurt, to the point he so thoroughly prevented himself from seeing Tommy as a complete person at all. A more extreme version on Puffy’s reaction post-Banquet and Niki’s simplification. All the while failing to get Tommy to just fucking look at him. He could not show sympathy to Tommy because he could not find anyone to show sympathy to him. This is why his talk with Niki the day of the prison escape imprinted itself on me, these two attempting to set up a more proper friendship again, no strings attached this time.)

My mind if first, of course, drawn to Tommy talking to Jack post-revival. The way he completely brushes over everything Jack is trying to say, pulls attention back to himself, is unable to express sympathy as he’s still trying to process his own hurt. It’s a very obvious example, with Tommy’s awful experience being so fresh this defense mechanism really shows up. Tommy is a generally fairly empathetic person so it’s definitely interesting to see this side of him on such brazen display (another example being Jack’s exile death. Oh I think so much could be said about the way this comes out towards Jack specifically). Another smaller example I think of is his “tough skin” comment to Tubbo, he doesn’t want to talk about Tubbo’s hurt and more so he’s not really able to see it over his own, he’s laser focused on himself because everything in him is laser focused on keeping himself alive and relatively intact, the exact same reasoning for everyone else’s actions I brought up here.

I’m not exactly a Purpled expert but his character definitely appeals to me. For him to seems like this defense mechanism is much more ingrained. Not just overlooking others’ pain or flattening out objects of hurt, but intentionally narrowing his focus only to himself. His coldness and self-isolation are big parts of him, but what makes them incredibly engaging is every other aspect of him that slips through. Namely, that in succeeding in what previously mentioned characters only micro (or, frankly macro)dosed on, he was hit by another unexpected problem. Being super lonely actually does really bad shit to your sense of self-worth. He mastered the survival tactic but found himself craving something else, some proof of his worth (his existence). I think it’s nifty there a range from most subtle (Puffy) to most obvious (Purpled) examples of this one not great coping mechanism. Very cool.

[rowanthestrange]

The thing is, you could’ve made Rogue entering to “I’m The Bad Guy, Duh.” easily make sense if you’d wanted to. You’d have just written that he thinks he’s a bad guy all cool and nefarious - Rogue neither refers to himself negatively, and the Doctor says he’s cool not him (admittedly you’d still have to explain him pre-approaching the string quartet to play it, or it be magic but whatever).

You have Rogue think he’s A Bad Boy, but the Doctor be all ‘no you’re not there’s a heart of gold there’. He wouldn’t have freed himself with an I Am A Time Lord speech giving himself authority over Rogue, it would be appealing to Rogue’s good side that he doesn’t actually want to incinerate him etc. Rogue would choose to do the ‘good guy’ decisions himself, not have them imposed. He’d convince Rogue killing the birds is wrong, not just take his stuff and modify it - he’d get Rogue to reveal his better nature. The Doctor would convince him to leave his gun on the ship.

This is what would bite them later, where they’d both know, maybe with just a look, that if Rogue could have just shot the birds stuck to the glue trap, they wouldn’t have been in this mess. With Rogue then acting correctly ‘sometimes you need someone to be the bad guy’ by taking the controller when the Doctor was busy snogging him and dispatching Ruby himself.

Leading into a finale where Ruby is in a different dimension and relying on her battle-earpiece skills to fend off 5 murderous birds as long as possible, giving us an opportunity to engage with whatever her reality warping powers are but it ‘could’ just be dimensional weirdness, and if the TARDIS was still the one who programmed the teleport she knows where Ruby is, and luckily for her if unluckily for the universe, the dimensions are now all bleeding at the edges and seeping out and Doctor Who is a TV show, yada yada yada.

[d-z20]

Caught in the Crossfire (NSFW)

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You're an FBI agent and get partnered with Agent Vidal on a big case. When the mission goes wrong and Rio gets shot, you are forced to stay at a safehouse together.

-OR-

They say orgasms are good for pain relief so you fuck Rio to make the pain go away 🙃

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mention of gangs, gunfight, hurt (gunshot wound), smut, fluff

Words: 3.1k

A/N: They is me, I am they, I say orgasms are effective pain relief. Oh and this is another requested fic :)

AO3 link | Master List

Rio leans against the desk, tapping a pen against the stack of files she’s just dropped with a flourish. Her eyes pin you with a challenging stare. “Five bucks says you screw up this case before the week’s out.”

You glance up from your laptop, unimpressed. “Bold talk from someone who hasn’t cracked a case this big since Quantico. What’s the matter? Rusty?”

This was the rhythm of your partnership: sharp words, sharper looks, and a constant undercurrent of rivalry. You’d both been top recruits at the academy, though on completely different tracks—Rio had excelled at strategy and undercover work, while you were a natural at analysis and tactical planning. When you’d been paired for this joint case six months ago, it was clear you were opposites in every sense, and it made working together a special kind of hell.

The task force had been chasing a dangerous gang involved in arms trafficking. Their network spanned multiple cities, but all signs pointed to the heart of their operations being a hidden warehouse in the city. The gang was clever—covering their tracks with misdirection and red herrings—which made your job of piecing together clues exhausting. But a major break had come two weeks ago when Rio went undercover, infiltrating the gang as a low-level buyer. She’d managed to secure critical intel about their shipment routes and a few key players, but her cover had been blown when one of the gang members got too suspicious.

You’d both known the risk when she took the job, and while you’d been impressed by her quick thinking, you couldn’t ignore the danger that still lingered. Now, you were both back at square one, tracking their movements, one step closer to the warehouse and the showdown tonight.

“Tonight’s operation better go off without a hitch,” you grumble, glancing back down at the laptop. The tension between the two of you, always present when working these kinds of cases, never seems to go away.

Rio smirks and straightens up, walking closer as she flicks through some of the paperwork right next to your laptop.

“You’re standing too close,” you mutter, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster at the sudden proximity.

Rio doesn’t budge, standing tall with that usual confidence. “You’re the one who can’t stand my brilliance that close to your face, huh?”

You grit your teeth, trying to focus on the case. “You just make everything more difficult.”

She smirks, eyes flicking to your lips as she leans in slightly. “I think you like it that way.”

—

The two of you sit in the cramped surveillance van, tracking the comings and goings of gang members through grainy security footage.

“Don’t get yourself killed tonight,” Rio mutters, strapping on her bulletproof vest. Her tone is teasing, but you catch the flicker of genuine concern behind her words.

“I’m not the one who’s always charging into danger,” you shoot back, pulling on your own vest.

“Someone has to, or we’d be stuck analysing spreadsheets all day,” she says, smirking.

Despite the banter, the tension in the air is palpable. This operation is the culmination of months of work, and failure isn’t an option.

—

The warehouse is eerily quiet when you enter. Your movements are synchronised—Rio leads the way, gun raised, while you keep watch.

“They’re here,” Rio whispers, gesturing toward the far end of the warehouse.

You nod, heart hammering in your chest. The two of you move closer to the group of gang members gathered around crates of weapons. Everything is going according to plan—until it isn’t.

A lookout you hadn’t accounted for shouts a warning. Instantly, all hell breaks loose. Bullets rain down as the gang opens fire.

“Take cover!” Rio shouts, pulling you behind a stack of crates.

You return fire, pulse racing as you try to assess the situation. “We’ve got to fall back!”

“Not yet,” Rio says, jaw tight. She pops up to return fire, but then a sudden cry of pain tears through the air. A bullet strikes her shoulder, and she collapses to the ground.

“Rio!” you shout, stomach dropping. Without thinking, you drag her behind a steel beam, using it for better cover.

“Stay down!” You bark, positioning yourself in front of her to shield her from the continuing onslaught.

“Don’t—” Rio winces, gripping her shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot. I can still—”

“Shut up and focus on not passing out,” you snap, returning fire as the adrenaline courses through your veins. The gang is closing in, and panic gnaws at you. You need to get her out of here.

—

The minutes before the rest of the task force storm the warehouse feel like hours; Rio is bleeding heavily from her wound, and all colour has faded from her face. The remaining gang members are finally subdued in a chaotic flurry of shouting and gunfire.

You don’t move from your position until the scene is secure. When it’s finally clear, you turn to Rio, voice tight. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” she mutters, her face pale but her signature smirk still intact. “But hey, you were pretty heroic back there. Almost makes me like you.”

“Save your breath,” you say, though relief is slowly replacing the panic that has gripped you earlier.

The on-site medic patches her up as best as they can; she was lucky the bullet went straight through, but her wound still needs close monitoring. You learn that a high-ranking gang member had slipped away at the start of all the chaos, but not before getting a good look at you and Rio. Since you know their network is likely everywhere, you decide transporting her to a hospital is too risky. You need a safehouse—a remote location where she can recover while you regroup.

—

The cabin is small, tucked away in a far-out forest. It’s equipped with basic supplies, offering the isolation you need to keep a low profile. You enter first, checking the place out. Then, you return to Rio, who is sitting on the edge of the bed, her arm in a sling, bandages covering her shoulder.

You linger by the door, watching her with an uncharacteristic softness you rarely show.

“If you’re here to scold me for getting shot, you can save it,” Rio says, her voice light but tired.

You step inside, setting a bottle of water down on the nightstand. “Actually, I’m here to make sure you don’t bleed out from being a stubborn idiot.”

“Touché,” she says, lips curving into a faint smile.

You hesitate, then take a seat beside her, the usual distance between you feeling smaller now. “You scared me back there,” you admit quietly, glancing down at her bandaged shoulder. “Don’t do that again.”

Her gaze softens as she looks at you. “I wasn’t planning on making it a habit. But you…” Her smirk returns, though it’s gentler this time. “You were incredible.”

Your cheeks heat, but you quickly brush it off with a shrug. “Someone had to keep you alive; the paperwork would’ve been horrendous otherwise.”

You turn towards her, carefully peeling off the bloody bandages on her shoulder. Your fingers brush against her skin as you work, and though Rio winces, she doesn’t utter a word of protest. The silence between you feels heavy but not uncomfortable.

As you apply the fresh bandages, you glance up, catching her watching you with an unreadable expression. Her lips quirk into a faint smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re too quiet,” you say softly, trying to distract her. “That’s not like you.”

“Trying not to ruin the moment,” she teases, though her voice is quieter than usual.

Your hands linger for a moment after you finish, your gaze falling to the wound. “You need to be more careful,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

She tilts her head, her smirk softening into something more sincere. “And miss the chance to see you play nursemaid? No way.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but your hand remains against her shoulder, your thumb grazing the edge of the bandage. Silence stretches between you, comfortable yet charged with the unspoken things neither of you have said before. 

Finally, Rio speaks again, her voice quieter now. “You didn’t have to risk yourself like that.”

You meet her gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Of course I did. I couldn’t just leave you.”

Her eyes hold yours, steady and searching, and for the first time, you don’t feel the need to look away. Her lips part, and she leans in, testing the waters with a soft kiss. It’s gentle, hesitant, but when you don’t pull away, she deepens the kiss.

You feel the weight of everything unravelling between you. The kiss is slow at first, exploring, but then it quickly becomes urgent and heated. Hands roam, pushing past the boundaries of what had been comfortable before. You feel her press into you, her warmth seeping into your skin, making you forget everything but the two of you.

When you pull away, breathless, her eyes are dark with something more than desire. “I want something with you,” she whispers, “something real.”

You kiss her again, this time with no hesitation, pulling her closer, as if you could somehow make up for all the time you’ve spent pretending not to like her. You take your time, making sure to be gentle with Rio’s injury, always mindful of her shoulder. As you kiss, your hands are careful, exploring her without rushing. You help her undress slowly, checking in with her each time, making sure she’s comfortable.

She groans softly when your lips trace her jaw, your fingers grazing across the tender spots where her bandages are. You can feel the heat between you building, but you stop to kiss her forehead, your breath shaky as you say, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Rio’s eyes soften, her fingers threading through your hair. “You never could,” she murmurs, pulling you closer.

You take your time, letting the moment stretch, the room filling with soft breaths and the quiet rustle of fabric. Every movement is deliberate, every touch mindful of the vulnerability hanging in the air.

Your hands move to her good shoulder, slipping under the strap of her tank top. The fabric slides away easily, baring more of her to your gaze. She doesn’t flinch, her smirk fading into something softer, more open.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them.

Rio lets out a soft laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “Flattery? You should’ve tried that six months ago.”

You grin, leaning in to kiss the edge of her smirk, letting your lips linger on her skin. “Shut up, Rio,” you whisper, your voice tinged with affection.

Her hand finds your waist, tugging you closer with surprising strength for someone who’d been shot hours ago. You go willingly, straddling her carefully as your lips reconnect, the kiss growing deeper. Heat coils in your chest, spreading outward as her touch becomes bolder, her fingers sliding under your shirt.

You break the kiss only long enough to pull your top over your head, tossing it aside before leaning back in. Her lips move to your neck, trailing kisses down to your collarbone, each one sending sparks through you. You gasp softly when her teeth graze your skin, her smirk returning against your neck.

“You like that?” She teases, her voice low and rough.

“Maybe,” you reply, breathless but playful. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Her answer is wordless, her good hand slipping down your back, finding every sensitive spot with ease. You shiver under her touch, your own hands exploring her, mapping the curve of her waist and the muscles of her back.

You’re careful not to put pressure on her injured shoulder, but Rio doesn’t seem to care about her pain. She pulls you closer, her body warm against yours, her breaths coming faster now.

You press your forehead to hers, your hands cupping her face. “Tell me if it’s too much,” you whisper, your voice thick with concern.

She shakes her head, her eyes blazing with determination. “The only thing too much is how long it took us to get here.”

Her words undo you, and you close the distance again, your kisses turning hungrier. You guide her gently back onto the bed, her good arm still wrapped around you as you settle over her. You continue your path down Rio’s body, lips pressing softly against every inch of skin you uncover. Your hands trail after your mouth, fingers tracing the delicate curve of her waist and the softness of her hips. Her body reacts to your touch, each shiver and soft gasp urging you on, drawing you deeper into the moment.

When your lips reach the hollow of her stomach, you pause, your hands resting on either side of her hips. You glance up at her, catching the way her chest rises and falls in anticipation, her hand gripping the sheets beneath her. The sight of her laid bare before you, trusting and vulnerable, sends a wave of warmth coursing through you. You press a kiss to her skin, just below her ribs, before continuing lower.

Your hands move carefully, sliding down her thighs, coaxing them apart with a gentle nudge. She complies without hesitation, her breath catching as you trail soft kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. You take your time, teasing, your mouth lingering just long enough to leave her trembling, her good hand reaching down to tangle in your hair.

“Please,” she murmurs, her voice breathy and full of need, and it’s all the encouragement you need.

You shift lower, your hands resting lightly on her thighs, holding her steady as your lips finally find her. The first touch is tentative and exploratory, but the way her body responds—back arching, a soft moan slipping from her lips—spurs you on. Your tongue moves slowly at first, drawing circles, learning what makes her gasp and writhe beneath you. You use your fingers to spread her gently, your movements precise and deliberate, ensuring every sensation is heightened.

Her reactions guide you, every sigh and breathless plea telling you exactly what she needs. When you slip a finger inside her, she tenses for a moment before relaxing, her body welcoming your touch. You match the rhythm of your hand to the movements of your tongue, building a steady pace that has her gripping the sheets tightly, her head tipping back as her moans grow louder.

Her body begins to tremble, her breathing ragged as she nears the edge. You don’t falter, your movements becoming more focused, more insistent, until she finally cries out, her body arching sharply as she shatters beneath you. You hold her through it, your hands steady on her thighs, your mouth gentle as you help her ride out the waves of her climax.

When she finally comes down, her body relaxes, her limbs heavy as she lies back against the bed, chest heaving. You crawl back up to her, pressing soft kisses along her stomach, her collarbone, and finally her lips. She kisses you back with a lazy, satisfied fervour, her hand cupping your cheek as if to keep you close.

You rest beside her, your fingers resting gently on her chest. The silence between you feels easy now, filled with something unspoken but understood. Rio tilts her head to meet your eyes; her smirk softened into something sincere.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” she teases, her voice quiet but laced with affection.

You smirk back, brushing a stray hair from her face. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Guess I’ll have to stick around to find out.”

Her words linger in the air, heavy with promise, and for once, you don’t feel the need to deflect. You lean in, pressing a final kiss to her forehead as her eyes drift closed, exhaustion finally claiming her.

—

You wake to the faint light of dawn filtering through the curtains. Rio is still beside you, her face softened in sleep, her chest rising and falling steadily. You watch her for a moment, a quiet smile tugging at your lips before you carefully slip out of bed, pulling the blanket up over her.

The cabin’s kitchen is small, almost comically so, but you’re determined to make breakfast. You rummage through the limited supplies, finding eggs and a questionable loaf of bread. Cracking the eggs into a pan, you curse softly when some of the shell slips in. The stove sputters, and the toast burns on one side before you can flip it.

“Do you always declare war on breakfast?” Rio’s voice startles you, and you whip around to see her leaning against the doorframe, her arm still in its sling.

“Hey! You’re supposed to be resting,” you scold, pointing the spatula at her.

She raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk. “I’d rather take my chances with gunfire than whatever you’re cooking.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to the stove. “I’m making you breakfast, so sit down and let me work my magic.”

Rio pads over to the table, still smirking. “If this kills me, make sure they write ‘death by toast’ on my gravestone.”

“Har, har,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. As you set the slightly overcooked meal in front of her, she looks up at you with an amused glint in her eyes.

“You’re really taking this whole ‘overprotective partner’ thing seriously, huh?” She teases, though her voice softens as she adds, “Not that I’m complaining.”

You sit across from her, leaning your chin on your hand. “Someone has to look out for you. You’re not exactly great at self-preservation.”

Rio smiles, a genuine warmth in her gaze that makes your chest ache. “I don’t mind it. Feels… nice. Safe.” Her fingers brush yours on the table, a small but deliberate gesture. “Guess I’m sticking around for more than just the breakfast disasters.”

Your laugh is soft, but your voice carries a tenderness you rarely let slip. “I’ll try not to burn the toast next time.”

“Don’t change too much,” Rio says, her smirk returning as she takes a bite of the slightly charred toast. “I kind of like you the way you are.”

Her words settle between you, light and teasing but laced with a sincerity that fills the room with warmth. For the first time, the future doesn’t feel like something to fear—it feels like something you might actually look forward to.

[daisies-and-domming]

Side Effects (NSFW)

Guys I’m so sorry I know I disappeared forever ago but I am back! I updated my page, and I look forward to writing for all you lovely people again! I’m back on my same old shit (absolutely vile dom!reader smut) so I hope you’re ready >:) This one's a little softer because I think Nanami deserves a bit of a soft!dom...I hope you enjoy! Feeling a little rusty so sorry if this isn't my best work :/

Summary: Your boyfriend has been on edge recently - most likely due to a rapid increase in curses over the last few weeks - so when you get a call from Shoko, you assume the worst. Lucky for you both, he’s not dead. However, she informs you that he’s experiencing some strange side effects, so you find yourself rushing to Jujutsu Tech to deal with a rather unfortunate… problem.

Warnings: swearing, smut, dom!reader, reader has a vagina, p in said v, subby!nanami, sex pollen/sex curse, semi-breeding kink, nanami gets his shit rocked, begging, overstimulation (reader and nanami receiving), unsafe sex (wrap your wee-wee please), a bit praise, nanami calls reader wife once

Let me know if you think I missed anything!!

All characters are over 18 :)

– – – 

Bzzt, Bzzt!

You groan, eyes tearing away from the screen in front of you. Life had been in a bit of a slog recently - with your boyfriend constantly away on missions and you trapped at your boring desk job, a phone call was a welcome reprieve. What was odd was the fact that your phone was ringing at all - the only calls that can get through when your phone is silenced is your parents, Nanami, and -

Shoko.

Bright letters flash at the top of your screen as you scramble away in a hurry, phone in hand. You mumble some half-assed excuse as you fly out the doors of the office, keys already in hand, and shakily answer the call.

“Shoko? Is everything okay?” you force out, nearly slipping as you speed-walk to the car. “Is he okay?”

“It’s Nanami,” she says, panic evident in her voice. “He came back from a mission today, won’t stop asking for you. I can’t quite get a read on what he got hit with yet, and I’ve never seen him like this, is there any chance you-”

“I’m already in the car, I’m on my way,” you confirm. “He’s okay, though? No obvious signs of injury?”

“Nothing physical, no,” she says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “But something’s still clearly wrong, and having you here might help me analyse it. Clearly he’s been hit by some effect of the curse, I’ve never seen this man frantic like this in my life.”

“I’ll be there soon as I can. Call me if you have any updates.”

Shoko hums a confirmation and hangs up, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens, and you take in a shaky breath. What could possibly be wrong? Why did your boyfriend need you, right this instant? At the very least, Shoko didn’t seem to think it was life threatening, but what relief was that? Being a sorcerer was dangerous, hell, that was why you and Nanami had quit in the first place, but you always knew he couldn’t avoid the call of it for long. You prayed that whatever this was would be out of his system in no time.

You take the turn into Jujutsu Tech far faster than you should, haphazardly parking your car. You think you hear the beep! of your car locking, but all you can really hear in your head is the pounding of your heart. Weaving across the grounds, you rush to Shoko’s office, almost barreling into her when you throw the door open.

“Where is he? Is he okay? You didn’t call me again so I assume it’s fine, but-”

“Hey, breath,” she says, oddly calm considering her call earlier. “I figured out the issue.”

“You did?” you exclaim, a little frustrated she didn’t call you. It must not be serious if she didn’t call, but still! She could’ve at least sent a text…

She wiggles her eyebrows at you, a smirk growing on her face. “You guys have to bang.”

“What??” you flush, throwing your arms up. “S-shoko, this isn’t the time for jokes-”

“Not a joke,” she says with a grin, making crude gestures with her hand. “You guys have to bang it out of his system. Fuck. Two-man tango. ‘Make love’, or whatever. Not the worst curse to get hit by, huh?”

“You had me all worried for nothing!” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “I thought he was injured, or worse, dying! I could be at work right now, I didn’t even clock out! God, I’m going to be in so much shit when I get back.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. He needs your help,” she explains with a sigh. “The gas that the curse released from its body works as an aphrodisiac, a deadly one. If he doesn’t, uhm…‘mate’ any time soon it could be lethal.”

You flush deeper, blinking at her owlishly. You waited, hoping she was joking, but she was clearly dead serious. “Where is he?”

“He’s got his own room, all the way down on the left,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Don’t ruin my equipment, you hear me?”

You salute, grinning at her, “Aye aye, captain!”

She rolls her eyes, watching you go. It’s going to be a long shift, she thought, rubbing her temples once again. They don’t pay me nearly enough for this.

You make your way down the hall, fluorescent lights flickering above your head. It smelled like chemicals and death down her, a terrible combo. You wrinkle your nose. How does Shoko put up with this all day, every day?

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t even realise that you’re at the end of the hall until you hear it. Frantic, almost manic, heavy breathing from the door on your left. You gulp, rubbing your thighs together. Fuck, in all your time with your boyfriend, you’ve never heard him this desperate before. Like the world was going to end if he didn’t get his dick wet. Lord, you haven’t even seen him yet, and you’re already soaking through your underwear, you can feel it. Tugging on the hem of your sleeve, you nervously raise a hand to knock on the door.

“Kento…?” you startle at the sound he lets out at the sound of your voice. It sounded like…a whine?

“Darling, ooh, darling,” he groans, pitchier than you’ve ever heard him. “You shouldn’t be here, love, get out of here.”

“Ken, honey, I can’t just leave you like this-”

“Please, before I do something I regret, you have to go- hngh!”

There’s a wet splatter on the other side of the door, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. You freeze momentarily, not wanting to believe it.

“Ken, did you just…?”

“Fuck, darling, you don’t know what you do to me,” he groans out. You can hear it now - how he’s rutting into his hand on the other side of the door. The wet shlick of dick sliding in his hand, the way he didn’t stop, even after he came. And he’s certainly never swore this early on, before he’s had your hands on you.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” you say, fingers finding the buttons of your shirt frantically. You don’t care that you’re in the hallway, you don’t care that Shoko’s just down the hall - there’s nothing in your head but the needy sounds of your boyfriend on the other side of the door.

“Please, you have to leave-”

“Open the door, honey,” you say, voice syrupy and sweet. “Want you to fill me up so good, can you do that? For me?”

You hear a quiet “Fuck!” from behind the door and the door handle rattles as he struggles to open it in his haze. At this point, you’re dripping, and you reach a hand out to help him. Easing the door open, you can feel the heat coming off of Nanami in waves. There’s a heady scent of pure sex in the air, and you don’t get a chance to take him in before he’s closing the door and trapping you against it.

“You shouldn’t be here, love,” he murmurs against your neck, hot breath tickling your ear. “Please, go before I lose control.”

Without hesitating, you pull him back by the hair and smash your lips to his. He’s motionless against you, for a moment, before his lips slot against you frantically. His hands come to grope your sides, mean and careless with his touch. He slots his legs between yours almost absentmindedly, and his hips begin to cant against you.

You separate, panting. “So desperate you’re already humping my leg like a slut?”

He flushes, slowing his hips down. You could feel his cock twitch against you, and you grin up at his dishevelled state. He’s a wreck - his tie pulled loose from his neck, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his pants not even off, just hanging loosely around his ankles - and you’re grateful, for a moment, for the curse that hit him. 

“S-sorry, love,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. “Can’t control it, please, need you, need you so bad- mngh, fuck!”

You grin, lazily palming his angry cock. “Oh, honey, I’ll help you out. Think you can get on the bed for me?”

He nods, whining softly when he pulls away from your hand. He stumbles over to the bed, losing his pants along the way. He sits and looks at you expectantly, flushed all the way down his neck. His hands are shaking from how much he’s holding back, and he bites his lip so hard it bleeds as you walk over, stripping as you approach. Ever the gentleman, he doesn’t reach out and touch, though it’s clear that he wants to. But right now, you’re in control, and even with the heat coursing through his veins, he lets you take what you want from him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you say, voice thick with need. “Gonna let me ride your cock? Let you fill me up, breed me?”

“God, darling,” he says with a groan, a bead of precum running down his angry cock. “Want to fill your pussy up, put my kids in you, make you nice and round- mmph!”

You slam your lips to his, guiding him to lay back on the bed. You throw your legs on either side of his and grind down hard, smiling against his lips at the way his hips twitch up against yours. You reach back, fumbling to grip his cock and guide it to your waiting hole. You’re soaking, and there’s a wet shlick as sink down to the base of his cock.

“Shit, fuck, sorry, honey-” His hands find the plush of your hips, and he holds you down as he cums, hot and warm inside you. Your surprised laugh quickly morphs into a moan as you feel him fill you. It’s neverending - you’re certain he’s never come this much in one go before - and you quickly regain your senses, grinding your hips in slow circles, riding him through his orgasm. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his back is arched as he twitches, but he never softens inside you.

“Already came again?” you mock, looking down at him condescendingly as he blinks back into reality. “Some curse you got hit with, must feel so good to let go, huh, baby?”

“C-couldn’t help it, fuck!” he stammers out, hips bucking into your slow grinding. “Need it, need to cum again, need to feel you cum around me as I fuck you full, please, darling, can I?”

His eyes flick up to yours, desperation evident in his gaze. Your boyfriend, who rarely swears during sex, begging you to cum? You were certainly in no place to say no!

Without warning, you pick up the roll of your hips, holding his hips down so he can’t buck into you. He moans, flush spreading all the way down his chest. His thighs are flexing below yours, aching to buck up into you, but you won’t let him.

“If you want my help, you let me control the pace,” you bluff, trying your best to keep your head with how his tip is brushing against your sweet spot oh so sweetly. “Keep trying to buck up and I’ll leave you here to take care of your little predicament yourself.”

“No!” he pants out, frenzied. “No, please, darling, don’t go, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good for you, please-”

“Yeah?” you say, grin feral as you pick up your pace even more. You’re barely able to get words out anymore, but he’s certainly not faring any better. “G-Gonna be good for me? Gonna- hngh, fuck! - fill up my pretty pussy, give me your- ahn- give me your babies?”

He nods, hand fumbling to rub at your clit. His fingers are mean, out of control, but the rough feel of his fingers against your clit is delicious nonetheless. Your head falls forward, and your hips get frantic, pace inconsistent as heat coils in your belly. 

“Close, ‘m getting close-” you moan out. “Need you to cum with me, make me full, can you do that for me?”

“Mhmm, anything for you, love,” he says, eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself to the feeling of your gummy walls around him. “Love you, love you so much, please, can’t hold on much longer, need to cum- oogh, fuck!”

With a soft ahn, ahn, ahn, you’re cumming around him, grinding your clit down into his hands as he cums, shooting his seed deep into you. You can’t help but keep grinding down, dragging your orgasm out as long as possible. You shakily drag your hips to a stop, head falling forward to knock with his. You let out a soft breathy laugh as you swoop down to kiss him again, his cock finally starting to flag inside you. As you move to get up, he grabs your waist, wincing as he holds you on his cock.

“Sorry honey, ‘m still sensitive,” he whimpers, twitching out a few more spurts of gooey cum into you. “Can- can you sit here, for a little longer?”

“Of course, Ken,” you say, smile soft as you place a kiss against his temple. “Whatever you need. Are you feeling better?”

“A little sore, for sure,” he notes, eyes roaming up your body. “Though you’re probably hurting too, is there anything I can do for you?”

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head. Really is such a gentleman, you think as you struggle to control your face. After all that, he’s worried about me?

“I’m okay, Ken, I wasn’t the one hit with a curse, after all,” you note, hands absentmindedly running up his sides. He smiles up at you, eyes heavy with exhaustion, and pulls you down into him.

“Hey, we need to clean up-”

“Just a second, darling,” he says, yawning as he speaks. “Just need a second to hold you, that’s all.”

You melt against him, knowing that you weren’t going anywhere any time soon. As his breath steadies and he drifts under you, you trace circles on his chest, letting your heavy eyes fall closed, too. He’s right, just a second…

– – – 

You wake up with a jolt to a banging on the door, a chorus of voices on the other side.

“Nanamin, I heard you got hit by a curse, are you okay??”

“Be quiet, Itadori, he’s probably trying to rest.”

“Shut up, Fushiguro, you don’t know that-”

“Will both of you shut up?? Either way, he’s definitely awake from all the racket you’re causing-”

You groan, tuning them out as you rub the sleep from your eyes. You glance up at your boyfriend, disagreeing with Nobara - Nanami was still asleep, a little bit of drool coming out of his open mouth. You cringe as you sit up, every muscle in your body burning in protest as you disentangle yourself from Nanami. You wince as you slide off his cock, his release trickling down your leg as you make an attempt to gather dress yourself. Nanami finally stirs awake, groaning softly as his bleary eyes peel open. His eyes find yours as your fumble through the clothes on the floor, throwing his pants to him. He rubs his eyes and rolls to sit on the edge of the bed, watching you intently.

“We need to get dressed,” you say, voice scratchy with sleep. “The kids want to see you.”

“Mm, they can’t wait a little longer? I want some alone time with my wife now that I’m feeling better.”

“Your wife?” you say, grinning at him. “I know I gave you a good time, but you gotta put a ring on it first, mister.”

He laughs, pulling you against him and burying his head into your stomach. Your fingers come up to play with his hair, and he breathes you in, for a second.

Soon, he thinks. Soon I’ll put a ring on that finger.

Word Count: 2675

[miceandbooks]

I identify with both Jon and Martin from the Magnus Archives on such a profound level. It's not even funny anymore. I may have to compose an essay about it and show it to my therapist. The amount of compassion I have for them and their actions, when I have none for myself... It's truly therapeutic to see my flaws in them, analyse them from an outsider's perspective, and understand them. Finally I forgive them and, in doing so, I forgive myself.

It's amazing how a good story can make you question and change yourself. I doubt this will reach Jonny Sims and the rest of Rusty Quill, but I just wanted to tell them that their work means a lot to me. I can't thank them enough.

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

Hello! :D I'd absolutely adore hearing your thoughts on Paranoid, in the Nightmare too, but more specifically In The Cage and The Apotheosis, and also his dynamic with Broken in The Apotheosis!

I feel like I'm missing something about him, something obvious, that I'm mischaractising him in my head and fic, but I can't put my finger on it!! (Also if you've already talked about him somewhere im so sorry I've searched for it but didn't find anything about him specifically!)

Like, he's called The voice of the Paranoid but he's right!! Like?? He always catches on how their world works way quicker than the others!! Like in the Cage when he figures that if they believe that the chains are rusty, then they can cut through them! Or in The Apotheosis, he convinces Broken to fight back!! (if i remember well!)

I adore your explanations/thoughts about the game and the characters, they really help put into words what I observe but cannot really verbalise myself! :)

-FlowersandMiel

Hello!!!

First of all, thank you for enjoying my rambles!!! And speaking of him, I’m actually currently writing a response on another ask about him, but it’s not quite done yet. I still needed to check a few things for him before I decide it’s good enough to be sent!

And now, for the analysis… (sorry if it’s a bit messy)

First, before we start analysing we need to remember how we get him in chapter 2. (Long ramble below!!!!)

There are a lot of ways we can get him in chapter 2. Either you go down there with the blade and then deciding you can’t trust her, then locking her in the basement, or you go down there without the blade and the locking her in the basement. Or you can flee from her while you’re fighting you with the blade and then lock her down the basement. Paranoid is generally defined by his indecisiveness, his distrust towards the Princess (and the Narrator), and self-preservation. These traits of him are important to remember. The blade to him represents the control he has in a world where nothing feels real. Despite how he sees the world as unstable and untrustworthy, the one thing he desires most is to have something solid to believe in. A solid reality to ground himself in.

To get him in chapter two, you’d have to decide that you can’t trust the narrator, but you also can’t trust the Princess as well, making Nightmare be the only chapter 2 Princess that you can get through both soft and sharp Princess. (Technically Stranger counts as well but the difference being that you didn’t actually meet her here in chapter 1 (speaking of there’s a neat little parallel between Paranoid and Contrarian. I’ll get to that later)).

Nightmare is a big example on his worldview of the construct.

Imagine with me. You are Paranoid. After listening to what the Princess has to say, you still couldn’t decide if you want to trust her or not. So you chose the safe option where you lock the Princess within the basement and watch over her, just in case she is actually dangerous. Or, you got yourself in a fight with the Princess, and found out that you are unprepared for this. You don’t want to feel pain and be hurt. And so you rush out and lock her in, hoping that maybe she will bleed out to death.

But then she started ramming the door. It further confirms your fears. But it’s fine right? She’s locked down there, she can’t actually get out of the place, so you decide to sleep for a little bit while she’s at it. And then after who knows how long, you have awaken, and seeing that the door is wiiiiiide open. But hold on, you literally locked her in the basement and yet she still finds a way to get out of the place??? This shouldn’t be possible, and yet here we are, with her slowly stepping towards us. Wait, but we did think about the possibility of her being able to get out despite locking her in there, does that mean that’s the reason she’s able to get out??? Oh my god this world makes absolutely no sense at all!!! Doors and the lock doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to, the Narrator can’t be trusted, the Princess can’t be trusted, and oh my god she is stepping towards me and my heart starts racing and and and-

Boom, Nightmare.

In Apotheosis, he and Broken share a lot of similarities with one another regarding their desire to find something stable to confide in. Broken, where he had found a sense of control and safety in Apotheosis/Tower in a world where he had been broken down, Paranoid in turn finds control in his thoughts and the blade. Of course, him having a breakdown in Apotheosis and realising that the world is not real and solid at all is gonna break him, cause having his thoughts and worst fears about the world be confirmed just means that nothing really matters at all. But Paranoid being That Guy, use those fears and this new revelation of the world to his own advantage, and thus creating a new sense of control over what he used to believe an uncontrollable world. And with that he encourages Broken to believe in themself and regain that sense of control, to the point where they’re able to fight against the goddess herself on equal footing. Apotheosis herself actually comments on it herself, questioning whether he is fighting back because of his courage, or is it madness that drives him.

Speaking of Apotheosis, both Paranoid and Contrarian find their place in this route. Paranoid and Contrarian parallel each other in a way where they would both choose a third option instead of what they were presented with. Paranoid, with him choosing to keep the Princess in the basement instead of choosing to fully committing to freeing or slaying her. Contrarian, on the other hand, just didn’t want to do what he is told by an authority figure. The difference in getting them is in whether you tell her that she’s destined to end the world or not, and whether you bring the blade down with you(I have yet to understand the significance in not bringing the blade down with you to get Paranoid here, so forgive me if it seems a bit incomplete). In a way, their Princesses became mini-versions of the Shifting Mound because of this. Nightmare and her embodying the fear and terror of change, and Stranger with her many perspectives and all of the possibilities that comes with change.

Cage is basically Paranoid falling into despair instead of him have a self-actualisation in Apotheosis. The blade, something Paranoid saw as a symbol of control, is the thing that is keeping the both of them trapped. If you make the choice of not doing anything while Cage is walking towards you, Cage stating that everything they do is just the same shade of the same cycle would lead to Paranoid to have the perspective that nothing they ever do mattered in the first place. That they had absolutely no control in the situation, and their choices don’t matter. This is. Probably a horrible spot for Paranoid to be in.

Paranoid is overall a really intelligent character. But unlike Skeptic, whose logic runs on very grounded and unchanging reality, his runs on anxiety. Both Paranoid and Skeptic would notice little details and would attempt to piece the pieces together in a way that is coherent. Both wants to have a truth to ground themselves in.

As for the reason why he’s the first one who gets a grip on how the construct works is because… he’s paranoid. Hear me out.

The construct doesn’t work with a concrete standard logic. But instead it runs on your perception of the world, which by itself is very flimsy. The conclusion of “the world shifts by our beliefs” type of logic can only be thought by someone who literally doesn’t trust anything around them. Which is someone Paranoid is. That’s the reason why Skeptic wasn’t able to figure out how the construct works but Paranoid could. They’re like, two different flavours of logic. Skeptic’s more of a detective, while Paranoid is more of a conspiracy theorist (kinda? I dunno what other words I should use to describe him). So if you put Skeptic and Paranoid in the “real world”, Skeptic would thrive while Paranoid is just gonna flop real bad. In the construct however it’s the opposite.

The detachment to something grounded is something Cold and Paranoid share. Cold with his emotional detachment and Paranoid whose thoughts runs 5000 miles per minute makes him really detached from a grounded reality. Because of this, these two are the two voices that figured things out before any other voice did. Cold regarding Quiet’s nature(or “The Self”), and Paranoid the world around them. And ironically these two would absolutely fumble if they were placed in somewhere much more stable.

Annnnnd that’s it! These are my current thoughts of Paranoid as a character! Hopefully it’s helpful for your writing ^^

Good luck on your fic btw!

[rustyvanburace]

I think one of the unsung morals in SMT IV Apocalypse is the danger of placing all your hopes or entire worth into another person. What might be called a parasocial relationship.

The Real Flynn is by no means self-centered or hostile since he does very much care for the people of Tokyo. All the same though, while good and necessary that he revived their hopes in IV's neutral route, his celebrity status posed a problem as people began investing all their hopes and expectations in him. That when he was kidnapped by Krishna, it immediately led to defeated anguish and fearful uncertainty. It also motivated some Hunters to take action, but there was nonetheless a permeating sense of doubt and loss of direction.

Flynn inspiring hope in the hearts of Tokyo was never meant to rally people around him as their one and only savior, but to encourage them to take charge in their own lives for a better tomorrow. Nonetheless though, the former was what ultimately happened. And I think it was that loss of a savior and the desperation to have him back that made Tokyo so especially vulnerable to Shesha Flynn's manipulation.

What especially stands out to me is during Armageddon at Camp Ichigaya when "Flynn" rallies his Hunters to recklessly charge at Merkabah and Lucifer, essentially throwing their lives away out of thoughtless, blind trust. Nanashi can try to stop them, but it just angers the Hunters and gets him accused of protecting their enemies. The Hunters are not thinking for themselves whatsoever.

IVA stresses throughout the game the importance of thinking for ourselves and making our own decisions. There are many who fall victim to blindly following the angels or demons. And there are also far too many who blindly follow Flynn as their sole savior, which the Divine Powers took advantage of.

A recurring theme in IVA is possession and I would think this to be an extension of that. IVA cautions us not to deeply invest in someone at the cost of our own needs or independence. Whether that person is a celebrity, a politician, a friend, a relative, or anyone else. Even if that person isn't actually taking advantage of us, the one sided'ness and worshipping in any relationship is all the same still unhealthy and dangerous.

[mayabruhbruh]

What do you think of the possibility of Will and Chance happening? I feel like it would be really poor writing tbh but I feel like they will give Will a different love interest because they’ll try to make all of the audience „happy“ But that would just truly not align with the writing so far I feel like.

Love your analyses btw<3

THANK YOUU! That's so kind :) And great ask! This is definitely a topic that the ST fandom needs to discuss.

The default question when people have little to no hope in Byler is, well, who the hell is Will going to end up with? Because it’s become increasingly evident that they’re trying to set him up for a romance. The “im not gonna fall in love”, the “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls”, even the gif shown above. It all can be interpreted to mean that Will is going to find his person soon.

So... to be completely honest, I had no idea who Chance was until this ask popped up and I had to look him up💀. It’s been a while since I’ve been on here, so I’m a little rusty on the deep lore lmao. So, in the off chance that others might also be confused, here’s a (rare) gif of him I found.

I think that’s him with the Hawkins cap on the right. Correct me if I’m wrong.

I’m not sure where the rumors that this guy was going to become a bigger part of the show came from, but that seems highly unlikely to me. I feel like they would have either hinted at it in the fourth season (like how they’re giving Patrick here quite a sizeable role so that he’ll be memorable to us later when he gets vecnafied) or they would have announced him as a more prominent character already like how they did for s5 with Holly, that one new kid character, and also how they did Amybeth for s4. Idk, maybe it’s unreasonable to think they would have to do that, but it feels quite too out-of-the-blue. Especially for a character that would take on the role of becoming our central character’s love interest, which is a BIG DEAL. Especially if it’s queer lol.

Secondly, I firmly believe that it would be a disservice to Will’s own desires to meet someone new.

Will said this explicitly in the van scene, and as of now, we’re still under the impression that Mike is his person. Forget about Mike’s issues and feelings for a second, and think about what Will is saying here. He feels like a mistake for being different, but Mike makes him feel like he’s not a mistake at all, that he’s better for being different. Mike gives him courage to fight on. Fuck. Tbh, it makes me wonder how long he’d felt this way. As a byler, you might be inclined to think his feelings have been on for forever, but narratively, he could have easily just realized his own feelings very recently, most likely sometime between season 3 and 4. It doesn’t mean the feelings weren’t there before, but realistically neither Will nor the general audience were aware of it before now.

Moving on.

Has anyone heard of the rule of Chekhov’s gun? It’s an incredibly clever and widely-used tool in screenwriting and storytelling in general that helps to clue the watchers in for what’s to come next.

Think of Lucas’ wrist rocket in season 1. When they introduced it as a flimsy-looking, no-good weapon that he’d put too much pride in at first, it gives us a good laugh and we move on. But really, it very meticulously set us up to subconsciously anticipate to see it again later. That’s what Chekhov’s gun is all about. Set-ups, foreshadowing, hidden treasures.

Another great example would be the painting reveal of s4. Obviously, after finding out that Will was painting something, bylers immediately figured it was for Mike and BEGGED and HOPED and PLEADED that we’d be able to finally see it, but to the general audience it was just another something that they’d have to pick apart and realize was actually of importance as the season progressed. (It’s also a good way of showing that the writers are fully capable of engrossing the entire fan base and general audience in his and Mike’s story. Just knowing Will had painted something and that it was for Mike created this sense of PLEASE TELL ME WHAT IT IS AND WJATS GOING ON and whatnot that watchers are simply so susceptible to it’s insane.)

Okay, back to the van scene. Will’s confession.

Now, I’m not saying that the writers intentionally used this foreshadowing tool for us to find and understand immediately. There are plenty, plenty of instances where writers use Chekhov’s gun principle and it flies over peoples heads purposefully. What I’m trying to say is that, thematically and narratively, they would never have introduced Wills feelings for Mike if not for it to have importance to the story, or for nothing to happen with it at all. It’s a set up. And a maddeningly good one, at that. Because queer stories already do tend to fly over people’s heads, and also because there’s the added drama between Mike and Eleven that makes it seem quite impossible for any of these feelings to be addressed in the midst of such emotional chaos. But whatever. I think I’m rambling.

Basically, whether they end up together or not, whether Mike reciprocates these feelings, Will is forever established to be in love with Mike. The confession was simply too grand and emotional and earnest for him to just switch up abruptly next season when he meets someone new that he might have a better chance with. Even if there were to be a whole new arc for him where he learns to let go of Mike or something crappy like that, it would be terrible writing on their end and poor use of a well-set-up Chekhov’s gun reference. It would be like introducing the gun in the display case in scene one, then two scenes later just tucking it away into a storage closet for the remainder of the story. Like… what?

And plus, it’s HIGHLY unlikely that Will would end up with that sort of storyline next season when he’s literally WITH Mike for presumably a majority of the time (based on the set pics so far).

So that’s my debunking of the Chance rumors :) and I didn’t even get to mention how incompatible they’d be just naturally as characters. Chance, a Jason-following jock that hates Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy and nerdy things, and willingly assisted in beating up the Hellfire Club when they were trying to find Eddie. What about that at all screams Will’s type? And if you’re thinking “unconventional couple enemies to lovers”, just don’t. This isn’t a rom-com, especially for a queer plot line lol. I think it’s safe to say there’s no “chance”😉 that they will ever happen. And either way, it’d be a bummer if they did. Cus it would just be Will defeatedly settling for someone that isn’t Mike.

UGH! It makes me sad that the one thing that is firmly being teased by the writers (Will’s love playing a major role in the plot to come) is constantly being questioned and framed as different questions. “Will Mike reciprocate?” “Does this mean Mike and Eleven break up?” “Who will end up with who?” SHHH Frankly, to me this is already a win. It’s become obvious that Will having feelings for him will come up again soon, and the rest of the evidence that accounts for Mike’s end already speaks for itself, so I prefer to just sit back and watch it all unfold.

Again, thanks so much for the ask!! This was so fun to dissect and feel free to keep sending questions into my inbox. It might take me a second to post my response but I’m determined to get through all of them. Love you guys!! <3

[theboombutton]

Bad Fictional Data vs Fictional Bad Data

WARNING: This post will include discussion of a name that might be Alice Dyer's deadname. I won't be calling Alice by this name or using it in the context of that name being a pointer to Alice, but I will be using the name, uncensored, when talking about where and why the name appeared in chdb.xls .

----

You may know that as part of the ARG, the sleuths on Statement Remains uncovered a document called chdb.xls, allegedly a list that has something to do with The Magnus Institute. There's a list of names, ID numbers, first and last names, dates of birth, and information apparently related to each person's "score" in an assortment of psychological/personality tests. Three of the names in particular have stood out in a lot of analyses: Samama Khalid, Gerard Kaey [sic], and Connor Dyer.

You likely don't know that the commonly linked version of the spreadsheet, ported to Google Docs and linked in the TMAGP ARG Masterdoc, is presented out of order. (I'm guessing they didn't lock down editing until it was already all out of order from various people messing with it - totally understandable, this is not a callout post, thank you for making this easily accessible to people.)

But let me tell you about something I discovered by looking at the spreadsheet in its original order, and the almost certainly incorrect rabbit hole of theorizing it has sent me down.

Bad Fictional Data

Until episode 2 I had the same thought about the Dyer listed in the spreadsheet that I think most people did: that it was Alice's deadname, and that she had therefore been one of the Institute's young subjects. But after Alice had absolutely no reaction when Sam mentioned the Magnus Institute to her in episode 2, I now think this is significantly less likely.

Don't get me wrong: it's still reasonable to think that the Dyer listed in chdb.xls is Alice. Maybe she had some kind of supernatural experience that wiped her memory. (It probably wasn't that Alice was too young to remember, as the Dyer on the spreadsheet is listed as being at Piaget Stage 3, which occurs from 7-11 years old; but it's always possible that the Magnus Institute was using the names of legitimate psychological tests to hide their tracks when recording more esoteric data.) The point is, this isn't hard evidence that Alice has no connection to the Magnus Institute; it just made me go looking for more evidence.

I went back to the spreadsheet to look for more clues about whether or not this was Alice's deadname. What I found instead was some extremely sloppy fake data at the bottom of the spreadsheet.

For context, here are first ten names in the spreadsheet:

Note how each ID begins with the name's first and last initial.

Now check out the last ten names:

Not only do these IDs no longer always match their subjects' names, they occur in order: CD, EF, GH, IJ, KL, MN, OP, QR, ST, UV. The first names of each pair match the first letter of each ID, but many, though not all, of the surnames don't match the second letter.

My first thought was that whoever Rusty Quill had contracted to generate these names had gotten sloppy at the end of the list, created the IDs all at once using this alphabetical pattern, and picked names to fill in that roughly matched the IDs. But hey, we could use this to our advantage! Any name that was filled in as part of a series of IDs with an alphabetical pattern like this could be removed from consideration for red string analysis - we'd know they were meaningless fakes added by a lazy contractor, and not clues or characters that might show up again later.

Scrolling back up the spreadsheet, we can see the person generating the data having more care the earlier we go. We find the beginning of the AA/BC/DE/FG/HI pattern at line 136, but at first, the names mostly conform to the initials they've been given. JK09874 "Josie Jordan" at line 154 is the first break from the "first two letters of the ID are their initials" pattern; and breaks occur more often the further you go down the sheet.

Scrolling up to before line 136 (AA09911 - Aaron Atkinson), while the pattern isn't yet at AB/CD/EF/GH levels of obviousness, the first initials are still in alphabetical order. Zoe Hart follows Yara Logan follows Xavier Freeman follows Wyatt Edwards. The data creator skips a few letters - for example Niamh Fenton is followed by Phoebe Emmett, and S and T are together in the same line in Skye Travers.

We can follow this less-obvious version of the alphabetical pattern up to an abrupt break right at line 118, above which the IDs don't follow an alphabetical pattern at all. (They might follow a different pattern, but it's not one that I've found yet.) So that means we can discount all the names in line 118 and below as purely fake, generated lazily by a contractor, and not worthy of our attention for the purposes of red-stringing. Right?

What the fuck?!

(highlight is my own, it is not present in the original document)

My first thought was that the sloppy data generator had done the funniest thing imaginable, sending everyone on a wild goose chase about Alice's deadname just by having the name "Dyer" on the brain while looking for a surname that started with D. This would be Very Funny. No plot relevance, no implications, just the brain fart that launched a thousand theories.

My second thought was that maybe Connor Dyer was the last legit name on the list, and whoever started filling the rest of the sheet in with alphabetical junk data was inspired by the "CD" initials in the first place - whoever it was went on from there.

These are both valid thoughts! But I prefer my third thought:

What if it's on purpose?

Fictional Bad Data

There is a very obvious break between the set of data that doesn't look obviously* fake, and the set of data that is immediately identifiable as such. If we assume that this was intentional - and I want to reiterate that it all being unintentional is still a very real possibility here - why would someone at Rusty Quill want the data to be structured like this?

If the sharp dividing line between reasonable-seeming data and obviously fake data is intentional on RQ's part, it would suggest that we should take the data above row 118 as in-universe real data, and the data below row 118 as in-universe falsified data. It suggests that someone, either at the Institute or after its demise, was adding nonexistent children to the roster of The Magnus Institute. Why would someone want to do that?

There are all kinds of possible reasons, but here are a few off the top of my and my theorizing buddies' heads:

Financial fraud (institutional edition). If the Magnus Institute received funding on a per-child basis, they'd have an incentive to inflate their numbers.

Financial fraud (researcher edition). One or more people on staff were blowing off their child-analysis sessions and recording fake numbers for fake children. This would be ballsy as hell if they could be fired for it, but it was the Magnus Institute, so there's decent odds they couldn't be.

Scientific fraud (faking conclusions edition). The Magnus Institute in the Protocolverse claimed to be doing research on giftedness in children, which is the kind of thing that you'd normally publish in a scientific journal. It's not unheard-of for dickhead academics to falsify data to generate statistically significant results, since statistically insignificant results aren't going to get you published.

Scientific fraud (obscuring paranormal bullshit edition). If the Magnus Institute was using legitimate psychological test names to record Fear-related test results, it's possible their results showed different patterns from what you would expect from the real tests. They could have added the fake children to balance out the dataset as a whole.

Pseudonyms. The children are all real, the Institute just started using fake names for them for privacy purposes. They couldn't go back and change the names they'd already written properly for some reason. Probably something paranormal.

Those are all pretty interesting possibilities, and if we could narrow them down, it might tell us something about what things were like at the Magnus Institute before it burned down!

And the other big question is: why did RQ make the dividing line between the two sections, the first likely-fake entry, Connor Dyer?

One straightforward reason could be as a troll, a red herring to watch fans get in a lather over. And once the community inevitably noticed all the obviously falsified entries, RQ could eat popcorn and watch us lose our minds over whether or not that's even a real entry! (That sounds really fun, I would absolutely do that.)

But let's dig a little deeper, and look at what Connor Dyer being on the border between the real and fake entries would mean in-universe. Because of its position as the border between real and fake, it would be very easy for that entry to be accidentally included in the wrong group - a real research subject discarded as fake, or perhaps more interestingly, a fake research subject accidentally reclassified as real.

Remember, if a name is fake in the context of the Magnus Institute's research, that doesn't mean that the name itself is made up. If I was trying to think of a name that fit the initials CD, and those were the initials of my next door neighbor's kid, I might just write their name in as a lark. Especially if it was my first time trying to get away with falsifying information: this is a kid that verifiably exists and lives in the area.

My theory, supported primarily by my love for The Implications instead of actual evidence

Twenty years on, after all institutional memory of the fraud was long gone, trans icon Alice Dyer applies to work for the OIAR - an institution that (according to this theory) has an unofficial preference for hiring former Magnus Institute kids.

They are very confused when Alice proceeds to act nothing like a former Magnus Institute kid. It doesn't occur to anyone that her entry might have been falsified. What reason would anyone have to do that?

----

* Of course people with a background in data analysis or statistics will see immediately that even above line 118 this is a wild-ass dataset that would raise red flags for falsification, but at least it's not "the alphabet over and over" levels of obvious.

[theallianceofcelestials]

Hello again, I have another question!: Does SEA!Eclipse have a music box, and can you put a name to or describe whatever or how many physical, psychological, or other conditions/disabilities he and those in his family may or may not have? Oh, and their pronouns please, if it hasn't already been said?

Hi! I'll answer to the best of my ability, but to be honest I'm don't know how well I'll do so with your second question

So first question, Eclipse doesn't have a music box, he mainly put kids to sleep during naptime by exhausting them during playtime and reading them stories. But he does know a couple lullabies, so he can sing

To your second and thus most complicated one, I'll be honest and just say I don't know all of them. So I'll just say the intentional ones and put a bit of a disclaimer up because I'm not a professional on these things, so take what I say with a grain of salt

The entire family is made of entirely co-dependent people, which is a rather unhealhty thing.

Eclipse has depressive disorder, though he'd be fine for the most part if he didn't have all his trauma. He also has PTSD and internalised a bunch of unhealthy things during his time in the daycare

Sun has his typical cleaning OCD and anxiety, and he's fine for the most part. I guess he's the weirdest in the family because he doesn't have the heightened predatory instincts all that much, which I guess counts as a condition in this case

Moon has his anger issues and he's touch averse. He also has troubles sorting through his own emotions and doesn't always pick up on the emotions of others. He also suffers from self-hatred

Killcode is the first one to have a physical condition, and even that's only because of his sheer size. On one end, most buildings aren't made for him so he doubles over a lot, which makes his back hurt. Combine that with gravity, and he's almost constantly suffering from back pains to just minor aches. So I guess he has gigantism. He also has anger issues, though he's a bit more emotionally intelligent than his eldest brother and knows how to work on it

Bloodmoon is an interesting case that I don't know how to properly describe. They're technically conjoined twins, though their nanomachine body allows them to separate. They're also the biggest mess mentally, because they're two people in one. They have many antisocial behaviours, seeing as they eat humans, however different species prey on each other all the time so I'm not even sure that counts. They're quick to anger but they're also two people so a bit of heightened emotions can be excused I think. They're pretty self-depraciating though

Lunar has dwarfism and he's rather forgetful. He has the old Lunar colour blindness thing where he mostly only detects blue and glowing things, though that might just be because old Lunar mixed up colours. Or he has dyschromatopsia, a term which I came across when I tried translating my language's word for mixing up colours

Solar Flare I don't think has anything for the most part, though it is somewhat selectively mute, and it has some minor body dysphoria because it can't properly emote

I don't know if this is good enough, but this is the best I can think of right now. But I do think it's better to go through my stories and try analysing them from an outside perspective because I didn't plan for most of the things in SEA, so some things might be there that I just don't see or don't know

But now onto the easy part, the pronouns:

Eclipse: he/him

Killcode: he/him

Solar Flare: it/they/he, though it's fine with anything so long as it's not feminine

Bloodmoon: they/them because Bloodmoon is a collective entity, but Bloody and Rusty both use he/him

Lunar: he/him mostly, though he also goes by they/them sometimes

Sun: he/him

Moon: while Eclipse mostly uses he/him for him, Moon doesn't care at all. His pronouns are everyone else's problem, not his

[circeyoru]

Cannot Compute _ Part 2

[Alastor x Robotic Demon!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2 (here) — Part 3

The worst realization was when you were looking for Alastor after the battle against the exterminators

Alastor took up the task of fighting against Adam while you were to provide support to the others, according to Alastor, there was no point in putting the strongest individuals together. It just wasn’t smart when it came to a war with those angels. So you complied, as a former assassin, you weren’t rusty in any way, after Alastor’s barrier got broken by Adam, you opened your virtual reality that isolated the rest of the angels so that Charlie and Vaggie could go for Lute

You knew something was wrong when you felt Adam attempting to destroy your reality from the outside with his angelic powers. While no one could enter and exit your virtual reality because it was non-existent, one could attempt to destroy it from the outside if they knew where your general area was. Since your virtual reality was a data copy of the landscape you’re in, only technological to give you an advantage

With Charlie’s shout, you let down your virtual reality and released everyone. Confused as to why Adam was still living. Your system went overloaded as fear came to you that Alastor was gone. That gave some angels the gap they needed to tear your arms out and damage your legs to at least immobilize you, you were too much of a threat to them

When the battle was done, you searched for Alastor since everyone knew you couldn’t help much on the renovations. You had a metal pipe like a walking stick before limping on your way

Alastor was having a meltdown. He cared, was caring for those sinners in that inferno hotel! He! The Radio Demon! Said to strike fear and terror to the listeners of his broadcast! The Overlord that rose in ranks by night! How could he be weak? He had to cut off the root. No issue for Charlie and the others

But there was you. You are the one that he found entertaining at first with your gaming demon form and based powers, teenagers of the modern era. Despite the different time periods between you two, you guys clicked slowly and he enjoyed it

That was exactly the issue. He liked it. He liked you. The Radio Demon doesn’t like anyone. Attachments serve to bring him nothing but weakness and ruin. Just look at the relationship his dear mother had with his accursed father. He tortured his father after finding him in Hell, thankful that his mother was in Heaven. “Cut the ties. All that piece of metal is good for is that soul with so much power.”

You nearly wanted to shut down the moment you heard it from Alastor. You ‘unlocked’ angelic healing, basically a strong healing power, after you analysed the corpse of more than a dozen of those angels, not to mention Adam’s body. You wanted to heal Alastor after finding out he was alive

You tried convincing yourself he just needed time after his defeat. But your heart broke. You can’t take it, you needed to recover anyway, the healing only worked with body parts, not robotic parts. But who was going to fix you, never had you been injured to this degree?

Vaggie got you Carmilla Carmine’s help. She offered to remodel your figure and your unique fashion sense that matched your demonic form as a robot or artificial intelligence. She admitted she was going to experiment on you a bit as well to see how far she could make you a force to be reckoned with. Later using you as inspiration for her weapon designs. You agreed since it was advantageous for both of you

“Lady Carmine, tell me, what if the one you love, the one you were fighting for, broke your heart?” You asked before your upgrade, as you saw it. You were there when Vaggie was getting trained by Carmilla before the battle with the angels and heard her lecture on fighting for love. Yet you wonder if you can now that you learned Alastor’s true thoughts on you

“I have an inkling that you are implying something. Have you been in love? Or any form of love.” Carmilla would ask as she walked around, preparing the tools needed and the blueprint for the operation. “And you can call me Carmilla, little AI.”

“I can’t say that I did. I don’t know what love is like, I don’t know what it feels like. Is this what a broken heart feels like? I don’t like this.” Your voice glitched out as your system warned you to calm down or else risk a power outage. You controlled yourself as she watched with pity in her eyes

“There were a lot of ways to deal with heartbreaks, you can seek revenge, and/or find new love, but I think in your case. You might try something else.” Carmilla spoke, she gave you suggestions but put the ball in your court because you knew what was best for you. “Shall we begin?”

You closed your eyes preparing to shut down for a short timed duration, while Carmilla works on you, you can think of what to do in your situation. “I’ll be in your care, Carmilla.”

Note: Part 2~ One more to go! After that is Collector time

Circe Y. 

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: @aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @rerarlo

[disneymbti]

Haii!! I really love ur account & analyses (plural of analysis i think) and I hope it's not too much to ask but I was wondering if maybe you could do Ritchie White from Over the Edge (1979), Dallas Winston from The Outsiders (1983), and Rusty James from Rumblefish (1983)??!! THANK YOU SO MUCH IN ADVANCE !! if it's too much i 100% understand that as well <33

Hi there, sweetie! I really hope you like this a lot!

Richie White's MBTI Type, Big Three, Enneagram Type and Moral Alignment Type

MBTI Type: ESTP [The Entrepreneur]

ESTP types like being around large groups of people, whether they know them or not. They prefer being out in action to being at home by themselves.

They are very observant and detail-oriented people. They are practical and realistic, focusing on the here-and-now.

Entrepreneurs make decisions based in logic. They care more about following the truth than making other people happy.

They avoid schedules, preferring to make plans as they go. They have less aware of time and enjoy being adaptable.

Big Three: Aries Sun, Leo Moon and Aries Rising

Aries Sun: The first sign of the zodiac, Aries is ruled by action planet Mars. When placed as the sun sign, the ram can motivate themselves to face on fears and blow past hesitation.

Leo Moon: Possessing a wellspring of inner warmth, Leo Moons are beyond generous. As an act of love, they’ll shine their light onto those they care about. 

Aries Rising: Aries ascendants are known as the go-getters of the zodiac. They don’t let anything stand in their way of achieving their personal goals.

Enneagram Type: 8w7 [The Nonconformist]

Basic Fear: Eight with a seven wing fear being controlled by others. They dislike authority and prefer to work alone.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to remain in control of their own lives. They also want other people to be free, and are often advocates for those less able.

Nonconformists defend themselves by denying vulnerability. They don’t want to appear weak and therefore avoid situations that may leave them exposed or defenseless.

Moral Alignment Type: Chaotic Good [The Rebel]

These characters value freedom and kindness, often challenging laws and order to achieve just outcomes.

Dallas Winston's MBTI Type, Big Three, Enneagram Type and Moral Alignment Type

MBTI Type: ESTP [The Entrepreneur]

ESTP types like being around large groups of people, whether they know them or not. They prefer being out in action to being at home by themselves.

They are very observant and detail-oriented people. They are practical and realistic, focusing on the here-and-now.

Entrepreneurs make decisions based in logic. They care more about following the truth than making other people happy.

They avoid schedules, preferring to make plans as they go. They have less aware of time and enjoy being adaptable.

Big Three: Scorpio Sun, Leo Moon and Aries Rising

Scorpio Sun: Ruled by Mars and Pluto, the Scorpio Sun is known to be intense, mysterious, and ever-evolving. 

Leo Moon: Possessing a wellspring of inner warmth, Leo Moons are beyond generous. As an act of love, they’ll shine their light onto those they care about. 

Aries Rising: Aries ascendants are known as the go-getters of the zodiac. They don’t let anything stand in their way of achieving their personal goals.

Enneagram Type: 8w7 [The Nonconformist]

Basic Fear: Eight with a seven wing fear being controlled by others. They dislike authority and prefer to work alone.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to remain in control of their own lives. They also want other people to be free, and are often advocates for those less able.

Nonconformists defend themselves by denying vulnerability. They don’t want to appear weak and therefore avoid situations that may leave them exposed or defenseless.

Moral Alignment Type: Chaotic Neutral [The Free Spirit]

Free from societal constraints, these characters prioritize their own freedom and make choices based on their whims.

Rusty James' MBTI Type, Big Three, Enneagram Type and Moral Alignment Type

MBTI Type: ESFP [The Entertainer]

ESFPs are very outgoing and lively people. They thrive in groups and prefer not to spend too much time alone.

They are very observant, focusing closely on the details rather than the grand scheme. They think in terms of the present.

Entertainers tend to prioritize emotion when making decisions, concerning themselves more with how their decisions will affect others. They are empathetic and diplomatic.

They rely more on opportunity than rigid scheduling. They are spontaneous and playful people, with a passion for finding new adventures.

Big Three: Aries Sun, Leo Moon and Aries Rising

Aries Sun: The first sign of the zodiac, Aries is ruled by action planet Mars. When placed as the sun sign, the ram can motivate themselves to face on fears and blow past hesitation.

Leo Moon: Possessing a wellspring of inner warmth, Leo Moons are beyond generous. As an act of love, they’ll shine their light onto those they care about. 

Aries Rising: Aries ascendants are known as the go-getters of the zodiac. They don’t let anything stand in their way of achieving their personal goals.

Enneagram Type: 7w6 [The Pathfinder]

Basic Fear: Sevens with a six wing have a deeply-rooted fear of missing out. They want to be trustworthy and honor commitments, but they also want to leave room to allow for last-minute opportunities.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to feel fulfilled and happy. They express this by searching for joy in every small thing that comes their way.

Pathfinders defend themselves by rationalizing away negative feelings. They unconsciously convince themselves that they are happy, even when they are not.

Moral Alignment Type: Chaotic Neutral [The Free Spirit]

Free from societal constraints, these characters prioritize their own freedom and make choices based on their whims.

[gumnut-logic]

Diary of a Fanboy Engineer

Alexander Sweetapple series on Ao3

What's this? Is this Nuttyfic? Not a nuttyfic reblog? The first in ages?

Why yes, yes, it is.

Consequently, the writing muscles are a bit rusty so don't expect much.

However this was prompted by conspiring Thunderfam on this post.

It is a bit of a 'let's see if this idea works or not', but since most of my fic comes under that category, I'm hoping it works at least a little :D

So we have the beginnings of some possible Sweetapple Diaries :D

Many thanks to the wonderful @onereyofstarlight for proof reading and pointing out the bits that really didn't work :D ::hugs you tight:: And many thanks to the Sweetapple cheering squad - without you, there would be no Sweetapple ::hugs you all to bits::

Warnings for m/m fic and a bucket of fluff.

I hope you enjoy these little scribbles :D

-o-o-o-

14 Jul

We are going to Paris.

Mr Tracy told Virgil in no uncertain terms that he needed time off. I can’t agree more. Hell, all the brothers need time off, but Virgil has been flagging lately. He denies it, of course. Workaholic to the core. I can see where he is coming from, but really, he needs to take better care of himself - they all do.

Paris was an interesting choice. I’ve never been to Europe, but I guess that comes with the billionaire territory.

I am excited, there are so many opportunities in Paris. I’m particularly looking forward to seeing some real Da Vinci. Climbing the Eiffel Tower is also on my list.

But for our next holiday, I think we’ll choose a spot more close to home. I know some quiet seaside towns where we could rent a bach and just lay back and relax.

Maybe France has a few hidden corners we could climb into.

Anyway, it’s something to look forward to. Really, anytime, anywhere, would be fantastic.

-o-o-o-

15 Jul

Today wasn’t a good one. We had multiple failures in the latest prototype.

Erica isn’t happy. She says it isn’t my fault, but honestly, I should have seen at least one of them coming. The effect of vacuum on micro air pockets in a flexible solid is so obvious it was ridiculous. How did I miss it?

Dearest had to cancel out again. Mount Etna tried to take out some tourists.

Virgil isn’t happy. Apparently, he has been warning the Italian authorities about the destabilisation of the volcano’s eastern face, but because their equipment can’t detect what International Rescue’s equipment can, they don’t want to sacrifice the tourism euros to close the tours.

Fortunately, it was only a partial collapse and IR was able to save those caught in the landslide. I have to say though, Commander Tracy was furious in the holoclip shown on the news. I wouldn’t want to be person responsible right now. Scott can get scary.

I did get to see some cool shots of Virgil in action though. That, I could never get tired of. He and Gordon manoeuvred Two and rappelled down to pull people out of the dirt and ash.

They are such heroes.

I do miss him, of course, but those poor people needed him more than I did.

Maybe we can holochat later…oh god, it’s 3am already!

-o-o-o-

16 Jul

Erica woke me up this morning. Really, I love her, she is so good to me, but bloody hell, can’t she knock?

Okay, it was nearly eleven and I had my phone on silent and I didn’t answer the door and…

At least I had my pyjama pants on, I guess.

What if Virgil had been here?

She said that was the reason she barged in, Virgil wasn’t here - no great green ‘bird and Tracy Two wasn’t logged at the airfield, and I was late for work. I might have been dead or something.

She cares and I appreciate that.

She could have held off the laughter, though.

Besides, I wasn’t late for work. Work is on flexi-time and considering I was up until 1am last night analysing yesterday’s screw ups, my sleep-in was natural and totally allowed.

Virgil left me a message with a ‘maybe tonight’. I’m hoping, but if there is one thing I’ve learnt it is that whatever happens, happens. No hoping too hard.

So here I am writing this entry a little earlier to kill some of that hoping time.

We solved two out of the three problems we had yesterday. The third is being a pain in the ass. Erica says I should speak to John as this lies in his speciality. I said, not until we’ve exhausted all our resources because John is a busy man.

We’re all busy, she said, and he offered to help. Gordon helped with the water issues. I could even ask Alan.

Really? It’s not at the point where I have to go to the top to help solve the problem. We’ll give it a few more days. It’s urgent, but not life threatening like the Tracy brothers need to attend to. They’ve got enough on their plate.

But John has such a lovely voice, she said.

I swear she does this just to rile me up.

That or she does have a thing for John. You would think she would have a thing for Mr Tracy, he was the one who saved her from the earthquake. Hell, she and Fireman Fred still have a mutual flirting thing going on.

—!

Virgil is here!

-o-o-o-

17 Jul

The sun rose early this morning. Somewhere in our haste we forgot to close the blinds and the first rays of dawn woke me.

I’m not a morning person, I’m the first to admit that. But this morning…

You’re lying on your belly and the covers have slipped down to your waist. The sun is painting your skin in shades of gold and your hair is glowing.

You are beautiful.

…

PS: I haven’t read anything, I promise. I just needed to write the image down and this book was the closest at hand. Can I paint you some time?

…

He read the above to me when I woke.

Let’s just say I was late to work again.

-o-o-o-

17 Jul (cont.)

Virgil stayed at Māhia today. He helped with the issue we were having with the prototype, though we did end up calling John.

John was happy to help - man, he thinks fast. Don’t get me wrong, I love my math and my physics, but John seems to be able to bend both to his will. It took him a total of five minutes. Five minutes! To design a solution to our problem - in between rescue calls.

It was one of those daunting moments where I could see exactly why they work so well together.

Of course, I am working with V.T. Green. Just let me name drop that right here. And the Voice Who Answers…is my life real? How the hell did I end up here?

Frickin’ bloody amazing.

-o-o-o-

[hiskillingjar]

Woundfucking (Lawrence/OC)

something something, i am the wound that never heals, i am the turning knife, yonic metaphors, etc etc.  day 3: woundfucking second person, law x transfem oc (this one). cw for gore and some internalised transmisogyny

“Motherfucker…”

You took in a pained hiss through your teeth as you stared down at the open wound on your thigh, analysing the layers of skin, fat and muscle, all covered in a garish sheen of blood, like something out of a horror movie.

The scalpel did an expertly clean cut, better than any rusty knife you might have had in your collection, and your body was well numbed from a cup of Lawrence's tea, so you couldn't feel the (surely) agonising pain you were both putting your body through in service of a morbid curiosity and a twisted sexual proclivity. 

But even so, it looked diabolical.

"How do you feel?" Lawrence asked, their flat monotone strangely calm as they pulled the scalpel blade away from your skin and looked up towards you. 

There was a cold and almost analytical look in their grey eyes, without a hint of remorse or sympathy present, though that was to be expected from them.

You had begged for this for weeks, knowing they’d get as much enjoyment from it as you, so why would they feel anything close to sympathy for you?

There might have been a little bit of excitement, too, though that could be your imagination.

"It's...weird not to feel it," You murmured, feeling something close to a shiver between your temples as they set the scalpel down on their desk and keened up on their knees, the bloody tarp crackling beneath them, inspecting the open wound closer. "Like, it looks like it should hurt, but it doesn't...almost like it's not a part of me or something."

Lawrence nodded, their eyes flitting back down to the wound.

"Well...you'd be surprised how good our mind is at disconnecting us from our body sometimes...especially in a situation like this."

They picked up their phone, turned on the torch with a slide of a bloody finger over cracked glass, and began looking deeper into the cut, their eyes flicking over the flesh and bone of the exposed muscle.

“Like, adrenaline, right?” They continued, thoughtfully staring into the cavern of flesh and sticking their free hand inside, calloused finger tips stroking each layer. “It’s even better with anaesthetic in your system too. You’re not bleeding nearly as much as you should be, in this situation…”

"Fucking gnarly," You said with something close to awe, shivering again (or as close as you could manage)  when they reached forward and pressed a thumb against your thigh...well, your femur, if you remembered your bones properly. "Like one of those surgery videos."

Lawrence couldn't help but smile at that (eerie, empty, honest, the way they smiled around you and no one else), their gaze continuing to flit from spot to spot, studying it meticulously. 

"Yeah...like one of those surgery videos." They said, before looking up at you. "Can you move your leg at all?"

"No," You said. "It feels like I can't move any part of me.” You attempted to shrug but couldn’t manage it, resulting in just an involuntary twitch of your neck. “I mean, neck up, I guess, cus I can talk and blink, and...you know, be alive."

"Yeah...that's the drugs doing their thing." They said with a little nod, looking back down at the wound as their thumb sank deeper, against the bone. "I used a natural anaesthetic, jasmine and quinine and…stuff,” Their voice trailed off for a moment. “So, you're still completely conscious, but you won't be able to move a muscle without my say-so."

"Hot," You said with a little grin (probably a little manic, despite the lack of pain). "Like I'm your weird, little experiment, huh, Law?"

Now that got an actual laugh out of Lawrence, wheezing, high and deep all at once, sounding a little like they were being choked.

You didn’t mind. 

It was the laugh they hadn’t practised, after all, so it felt all the more authentic to you. Like they could truly be themself around you, without the practised smiles and laughs and gestures that made them appear normal.

“Y-you could say that," They said with another little chuckle.

"Hhh," You took in a breath, watching as their hand slid up the length of the wound and held your thigh tightly, big hands making the limb look small and delicate. "Is it weird that I like it?"

Lawrence paused for a moment and looked up at you, examining the expression on your face, probably trying to determine if your admission was just the drugs talking. Once they figured out that wasn’t the case, they laughed again, another eerie (gentle, dreamy, lovely) smile forming on their face.

"No...it’s not weird at all." They murmured. "Why do you like it?"

"It's like...yonic, right?" You laughed, nervously licking your lower lip as their fingers stroked over each layer of muscle, each fold, like they were stroking a cunt that you didn’t have. "Like...I don't have what we want, so you did the next best thing and carved one for me. It's, like, crazy intimate, if you think about it like that."

Lawrence nodded, their smile growing further into the shallow, rictus grin that you liked so much, and their long, bony fingers gently flexed and curled as they continued to examine the wound, caressing the cut with the most gentleness and care.

"Intimate…” They repeated in a hushed whisper. “Yeah, I guess it is, isn't it?"

"Feels like…” You added, as their fingers sank further into the wound, slicked with blood, like fluid, like semen. “M-Maybe you could fuck me like a girl like this." 

They paused then and their eyes flicked up to yours, brows knitting together, the expression on their face hard to gauge. 

"Really? You'd want that?" They asked, their empty, grey eyes boring into yours, unblinking, looking right through you.

You wondered what they could see..

"Mm," You nodded hesitantly, licking your lips again. They tasted like botanicals and rot, an aftermath of the tea that made you taste like they did. "Yeah. You should try, see if it feels good..."

"You're really too much," Lawrence mumbled, though the slightest amount of tone to their flat voice indicated a kind of fondness as they stood to their feet, plastic crackling beneath their toes. "You really want this, huh?"

"It’s your only chance of fucking a pussy with me," You said with a self-deprecating laugh, watching as they slid their jogging bottoms down their thighs and slowly worked their cock to full hardness, straddling your slack knee as their wrist jerked. “You should be jumping at the chance.”

"You don't know that," They said quietly, wrapping their free arm around your shoulders and leaning close, their cold lips pressed to your cheek. "I thought your insurance at the cafe could cover SRS...you could always ask, if you don’t know…"

"Mm, maybe…" You couldn't chase after another kiss, but you didn't mind that so much.

It felt good to play the slack doll, instead of admitting to what you wanted.

Just like it felt good to play the sarcastic trans girl who was above bottom surgery and enjoyed having a cock, instead of admitting that you wanted a pussy so badly that it made you want to scream.

"Maybe," They repeated, kissing down your face, their stubble soft on your skin. "I don’t need to jump towards anything, though…this is way more than enough.” They cleared their throat with a little sigh, gripping themselves tight. “You're…better than anyone else for doing this, you know..."

"You're sweet to me," You said with an unexpected smile, eyes flitting down to see that they had worked themself to full hardness. "It's a shame I can't feel it."

"Mm, yeah, it is…" They agreed, pressing the head of their cock against the open wound, a rush of blood coating the skin with each press. "It would...ah," They groaned as they eased it into the space against your femur, the wet slide of muscle rubbing against their cock. "It would be agony, though. You wouldn't enjoy it. It would be really distracting."

"You have a point," You said, keeping your eyes locked down. Another stream of blood ran down your skin and covered the tarp beneath the two of you, collecting pools of blood, ready to be collected and used. "Can you tell me how it feels then?"

"Mm...it feels amazing," They murmured, their head sinking down to your shoulder as they pressed closer, their heaving chest against yours. "It's not tight at all...and I can feel your body opening for me, like you're adapting for me to take..."

"Yeah?" You didn't know what the drugs were doing to your blood, but it meant your face didn't feel nearly as hot as it usually did when Lawrence treated you to this kind of dirty talk. "Wet and open, huh? Like a cunt should be?"

"I-I wouldn't know," They stammered, breathing hard against your collar bone (you could feel enough to feel the cool wheeze of their breathing). "I've never fucked anyone else but you."

"God, you're cute," You said, unable to hold back a fond chuckle. "Which hole do you prefer then?"

"Mmf," They took their lip between their crooked teeth, their bumped nose pressing against your neck as they eased even deeper, your blood smearing against their soft (very cute) belly and dying the blonde hairs at the base of their cock. "They...hah, they all have different things I like about them…I can’t pick just one."

They built up a consistent pattern of thrusting into the open wound then, rutting against your knee as they clung tighter onto you, like a babe clinging to its mother while it fucked her open wounds.

"I...like your mouth. It's soft and warm, and I," They stammered through a broken, croaking moan, pushing deeper still which caused another tear up your thigh, skin splitting and ripping up to the beginnings of your hip. "I like the way you sound when I'm fucking it."

"Mm..." You moaned, once hazy eyes widening at the torn flesh, a shaky smile coming to your face, thinking about how it was going to look afterwards. 

An open slit up your leg. Better than any other pussy any other girl could have.

"I like your ass." They then said, placing their free hand on your other thigh, tracing the holes in your fishnets, where they had been ripped to accommodate this demented foreplay. "Tight and hot and...nhhh, feels dirty, too."

"Dirty?" You asked, looking up at their hot face.

"It's not supposed to feel good," They slurred, hiding their face against your shoulder again. "Not...hah, supposed to..."

"It's where I feel good, though." You whispered, sighing as they nuzzled into you, pinning your skinny body against the chair, forcing it to rock and tilt. "It's where I was made to feel good, up there with all the shit and mess.” You breathed out, feeling an odd thrum of arousal in your unfeeling body. “Maybe it feels good, because of how dirty it is…"

"Maybe," They slurred, their face buried in your hair, masked by strands of black and green. "I like this hole too, though. I like that you let me do it."

"Yeah?"

"It’s hot and slick. It's going to scar so fucking bad."

They were starting to shake, holding onto you even tighter.

"Yeah," You smiled. "Like Rosanna Arquette in Crash. That huge fucking scar on her thigh…bodies shaped into fetish objects. That’s what you’ve made me, Law."

"They might have to cut it off, you know. If I cum inside it. Ruin the wound."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?"

They whimpered but picked up the pace of their thrusts, not at all put off by the idea.

"It's okay to like it, too. I like that you like it."

"Thank you. Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."