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wielderofmysteries · 1 year

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(We Need to Talk About Narset)

[Left: Narset, Enlightened Master - Livia Prima. Right, clockwise from top left: Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory, Dr. Shaun Murphy from The Good Doctor, Sam Gardner from Atypical, Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.]

(This is a re-upload of the original article since there were some formatting issues with the original. You can still read it at this link, but the pictures aren't full resolution.)

This is article is intended to be a primer for my larger upcoming article on autistic representation in Magic.

I found out about Narset in 2018, when I had just started learning about Magic’s lore for the first time. I was overjoyed to see that Magic’s first official autistic character seemed to be the complete opposite of the stereotypical depictions of autism I’d seen in other media. Instead of a nerdy brown-haired white boy, Narset was a 50 year old Asian woman and a badass martial artist. As an Asian autistic kid, I often felt invisible and underrepresented in the media I consumed, so Narset really meant a lot to me.

However, when I actually read Narset’s lore, I was disappointed to find that she wasn’t nearly as revolutionary as I’d thought.

When the Dragons of Tarkir stories were being published in 2015, Doug Beyer, a writer and designer for Magic, confirmed in a Tumblr post that Narset was intentionally created to be an autistic character.

=========

maudlingoblin asked:

hi doug!! reading the new uncharted realms, i felt an enormous amount of sympathy for narset, specifically with reference to the beginning sequence with her as a kid. the restlessness, the sensory overload, the self-distraction with counting and observation - these, to me, heavily code narset as being autistic. i am autistic myself and it would mean the absolute world to me to know that a character in a game i care deeply about is like me, and many other folks. is this something you can confirm?

dougbeyermtg answered:

That was the intent, yes. The most important part of Narset’s character is her amazing mind, which is central to her potential as a powerful Planeswalker and as a pursuer of knowledge — but it happens that she processes information and input differently than a lot of other people. Tarkir denizens might not have a term for the autism spectrum or being neurodivergent or neuro-atypical, but those terms would correctly describe her. In this timeline she is not khan of the Jeskai, but no matter the circumstances, she hasn’t let go of her commitment to seeking her own path to wisdom and truth. Kudos to Creative Team member Kimberly Kreines for exploring this aspect of Narset in her story “The Great Teacher’s Student.”

[https://dougbeyermtg.tumblr.com/post/112727174244/hi-doug-reading-the-new-uncharted-realms-i-felt]

=========

(Art: Dragonlord Ojutai - Chase Stone)

The Great Teacher’s Student tells the story of Narset’s childhood under the rule of Dragonlord Ojutai. At eight years old, Narset was a pretty realistic autistic child, having many traits that I shared. She fidgeted restlessly, had sensory overloads, and her mother found it difficult to take her out to public spaces. Narset’s brain was extremely pattern-oriented, one of the most defining traits of autism. She saw numbers everywhere, and counted to soothe herself.

=========

The cries of the merchants, the bold colors of the wares, and the too-sweet aromas of the produce were like walls that made the marketplace feel too tight, too close, too much. The muscles of Narset’s legs twitched and her lungs felt cramped. She tugged at her robe; it was strangling her. Her mother must have cinched it too tightly.

“Stand still,” her mother scolded from above. “You’ll knock something over.” She was poring over the apples at the top of a tall mound too high for Narset to see.

Narset tried to stand still, but she couldn’t. The restlessness inside her wanted her to move. Sometimes when she felt that way she distracted herself. She would count things, or search for patterns, or study people’s expressions. But she knew the marketplace too well; she knew its numbers and she knew its patrons. She had already taken inventory. The man with the cane was limping less that day, putting more weight on his bad leg; Narset supposed the balm he had purchased from the herbalist the week before had worked to ease the pain. There were, as usual, three dozen meat slabs hanging at the butcher’s stand with an average of eighteen striations per slab; the average number of striations hardly ever changed, although sometimes there was greater variance. The merchant at the squash stand had uneven stains on his sleeves and three stray threads hanging from his robe; he must have gotten it caught in his cart and had to pull himself free. And there were sixty-eight apples in the mound in front of Narset; that was accounting for the volume inside the mound, which she couldn’t see but could predict well enough. There would be sixty-seven apples if her mother would ever just choose one.

Her mother hemmed and hawed, her fingers alighting first on one apple and then another, fluttering over the choices, but never settling.

She’s never going to pick one, Narset thought. We’re never going to leave. Panic set in. Her vision blurred, her ears rang, and her forehead began to sweat. She frantically searched for something else to distract her, but there was nothing else she could see. At eight, Narset wasn’t tall enough to see over any of the stands or any of the bodies. It was like she was in a never-ending maze of tall sweaty, smelly people-trees.

She was trapped.

[The Great Teacher’s Student - Kimberly J. Kreines]

=========

Narset was a believably written autistic character in this story, but that doesn’t automatically mean it was good, or that it was what autistic people wanted to see. To be clear, this story was neither unrealistic nor offensive to me. Writing Narset as an autistic character was something the creative team genuinely cared about and tried to do well. But I was still disappointed because Narset in this story is just another example of the “autistic savant” trope that the media can’t seem to let go of.

Fictional or real, almost every autistic person you will see in the media will be a savant; some kind of socially-inept genius whose intelligence or skill far surpasses their peers. This person may be a mathematician, a surgeon, a child prodigy who attends college but can’t tie their shoes– the list goes on and on. You’ve probably seen many stories like this before.

As a child, Narset had an extraordinary memory and a gift for mental math. She was able to calculate the volume of a pile of apples, find the exact trajectory of a falling apple to catch it in mid-air, and memorize things like the pattern of a river’s flow; all at a glance.

In The Great Teacher’s Student, Narset accidentally knocks over a pile of apples at the market, upsetting the merchant and prompting her mother to send her outside. Dragonlord Ojutai noticed Narset’s talent and desire for knowledge as she explored the field outside, and wanted to encourage her. He tutored her from a distance for several years before officially deciding to train her as a student when she was 11 years old.

After this moment, the story shifts its focus almost entirely to Narset’s academic journey. We get to see that in the years that passed since Narset became a student of Ojutai, she was still really, really smart. She finally felt challenged and supported in the way she needed, and she was good at so many things.

In fact, she was better than everyone else at everything.

She learned more, and faster than everyone else. She won every fight. She spoke Draconic intuitively, and Ojutai constantly praised her. At age 15, Narset became the youngest person to ever hold the rank of Master.

=========

As she looked back now, she recognized her time at the sanctuary as the best years of her life. She was happier than she had ever been; she was challenged, recognized, fulfilled. Her restlessness had ceased haunting her; she had felt a sense of peace. And while she wasn’t physically moving, she knew she was on a path, going where she was meant to go, becoming who she was meant to be. Ojutai was leading her. And not a day went by that she didn’t thank her dragon for the gift.

Narset advanced more quickly than any other student, climbing the ranks of Dragon’s Eye Sanctuary, moving upward from the lowest balconies to the highest terraces, until one day Ojutai called for her to come stand on his own private perch.

[…]

“My student, Narset, it is time. Your hunger for knowledge is your greatest strength. You have become strong, and powerful, and wise because you have never stopped seeking enlightenment.” The dragon beamed down at her. She knew what was about to come, and for one glorious moment everything felt perfect. “I now bestow upon you the title of Master, which you have assuredly earned, and with it all the honor and responsibility it brings.” Ojutai bowed his head and rested his giant paw on her shoulder.

Narset bowed her head in return and clasped her small hand over the dragon’s paw, making no attempt to wipe the hot tear that streaked down her cheek. At fifteen, she was the youngest master Ojutai had ever named. She had reached the top.

[The Great Teacher’s Student - Kimberly J. Kreines]

=========

I didn’t like how Narset’s story focused so much on autistic exceptionalism– on how Ojutai gave her special treatment because she was better than everyone else at everything.

Autistic achievement should be celebrated, and Narset’s desire for endless learning is so deeply, truly autistic. But I feel like Narset’s story and those of other autistic savants are just so extraordinary that it’s too hard to relate to them. These kinds of fictional portrayals and real-world news features attempt to endear autistic people to allistic (non-autistic) audiences by saying, “Look! Autistic people aren’t bad, they’re actually better than us!” But focusing on exceptional individuals doesn’t help to humanize autism.

It sets an unrealistic expectation for autistic people, and can be extremely alienating. Autistic people shouldn’t have to be superhuman to be respected, and the truth is that the overwhelming majority of autistic people are completely ordinary.

When I was diagnosed with autism at age 11, I obsessively searched the internet for information about autism, to learn what other autistic people experienced, and what “normal” people thought of us. I learned that geniuses were loved, and everyone else was hated. I hoped for years that I would magically develop some kind of incredible talent so I could be like the autistic geniuses in the news. I hoped someone would notice me and enroll me in college early or make me famous so I would be respected for something. It didn’t happen. It wasn’t fair to myself, but when I saw stories about savants, I didn’t feel proud to be autistic. Instead, I saw myself as a failure.

Autistic savants don’t need more representation. Most autistic people, even most of the geniuses and prodigies, will never have the kinds of opportunities that Narset and other famous savants have had. But when neurotypical people have only ever seen autistic savants, they expect you to be a genius. And when people expect you to be a genius, being ordinary just makes you a disappointment.

The Magic narrative team clearly recognized the fact that most allistic peoples’ first exposure to autism is through popular media and that it’s a major influence on the audience’s image of what autism is like. So they tried to make a good first impression by making Narset a positive portrayal, but it backfired in one key way: Narset’s writing in this story was so focused on making her as extraordinary and obviously autistic as possible that it neglected to make her a human being. She’s believable, but not compelling. Narset’s story is about an autistic character, but it’s not really about what it’s like to be autistic.

(And I hate to say it, but… there’s nothing revolutionary about making your Asian autistic character a math genius.)

What frustrates me about the way Narset was written is that I actually believe her autism was extremely under-utilized in her writing.

Autism is lifelong, but I don’t really feel like the story treats it that way. Beyond the first scene of Narset as a younger child, the story doesn’t show how Narset’s autism affected her life other than making her really smart.

Upon realizing that Ojutai had nothing left to teach her, Narset became restless and anxious again. She was desperate to learn anything new. When she was 16 years old, Narset discovered the lost history of Tarkir, and it was the possibility of new knowledge that ignited her Planeswalker spark.

Narset’s greatest challenge was that she was literally so good that she couldn’t get any better.

As a child, Narset was shown to have trouble communicating and interacting with others. After Narset became Ojutai’s student, she’s barely shown interacting with anyone other than Ojutai ever again. How did Narset’s differences affect the way she interacted with her fellow students? Did she want to try to make friends? What happened to her mother? How would she have felt about Narset’s progress? The story doesn’t explore any of this. What about her overwhelming sensory overloads? Did she still have them? If so, did her triggers change? She used to soothe herself by counting and finding patterns. When her anxiety returned later in the story, did her coping mechanisms change or stay the same? This isn’t shown, either.

At the end of The Great Teacher’s Student, Narset was still a teenager, but she’s supposed to be about 50 years old now. We know that the present Narset is an independent autistic adult, who has friends and goals and decades of life experience, and that’s beautiful– but we never get to see how she got there. How did she learn to make friends? How did she decide what she wanted to do with her life? That journey is what I want to see being written for autistic characters.

(Art: Quiet Contemplation - Magali Villeneuve)

To contrast, Narset’s story in the Khans of Tarkir timeline does address these things. In Enlightened, Narset is the narrator, and she speaks personally of her challenges as a young autistic person: her academic struggles as a daydreaming student, her feelings of alienation, being bullied, and how she threw herself into her training to cope. These experiences and feelings carried on into adulthood, and influenced the way she approached her responsibilities as the Jeskai Khan.

=========

As a young girl, I had the same “problem,” as my teachers called it. I always lived in my head, but not in the way the instructors wished. I dreamt of fantastical worlds and used the scrolls given for lessons to draw them, incurring the wrath of my elders. I found solace in my own mind and often had difficulty knowing how to talk to others. It was as though my mind was always five steps ahead of my mouth. It was so taxing interacting with others. I never knew what to say, often causing me to blunder, and I was embarrassed in front of my teachers and classmates. I then went over those failed interactions in my mind, and I found the imaginary worlds more forgiving.

Studying was a way to escape my anxiety and I eagerly embraced history and philosophy, memorizing all I could about Jeskai teachings. I impressed my teachers, but I still felt like an outsider. I did enjoy sparring with those who had taunted me, easily humiliating them in combat as they had humiliated me with their words.

[…]

Even though I am now their khan, I still felt like an outsider—like the young girl always fumbling her words—only now I don’t show it. I think this has been what gives me the strength to do what is needed, looking at the Jeskai like I am not really a part of them.

[Enlightened - Matt Knicl]

=========

Overall, I feel like Enlightened was a much more thoughtful story despite being much shorter. Sadly, Tarkir’s time travel plot means that version of Narset no longer exists. We haven’t gotten any stories featuring Narset since 2015, so the version of Narset we saw in The Great Teacher’s Student is the Narset we are stuck with.

I don’t necessarily believe that Narset is “bad” autistic representation. I still love Narset, and she means a lot to me. But Narset’s stories are focused on setting her apart, separating her from other people, and showing that she is too different to be a part of the world around her. In my opinion, Narset deserves better than that, and that is why I believe Narset is not the best autistic representation Magic has to offer.

My next article will be about the autistic representation I wanted to see in Magic. Something a little more down-to-earth. Something I could more easily relate to. And I found that in an unexpected character: Nissa.

#mtg #narset #analysis #reupload

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tswwwit · 2 years

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28.7% of you voted for this filth

NSFW! Here's some smut.

This won the poll, and here's what I ended up giving you in return. My condolences for this entire thing. 😔

Highlight below for kink/content warnings

Dom/sub, mild bondage, dirty talk, prostate massage, creampie/cum kink, mirror sex

Now here's the actual fic!

Dipper forces himself to turn away from his phone.

He takes a deep breath. Tapping his pen on the paper, where he has notes to make. Really important ones. In theory.

Right now, he could be making progress on any of the dozen mysteries on his plate, or unraveling another half-dozen demonic plots.

Hell, there’s even peace and quiet.

Being in Bill’s bedroom - their bedroom - means he has something like. Well. A secret lab, though a weird one. Definitely a private sanctum. Their room in the Fearamid is a profoundly private space to work in - as long as Bill's not around - because nobody else would ever dare intrude.

Time, and space, and power. Knowledge, even. Everything Dipper could ever ask for. For finding focus. For doing good.

Dipper catches himself looking at his phone again. This time, he gives it the glare it truly deserves.

It really is gaudy as hell, isn’t it. An eyesore if there ever was one. What a shame that magical function doesn’t always fit an aesthetic; golden’s what he’s stuck with, as long as he wants this thing to work.

The flipside is that nobody can deny that his phone’s very functional.

No other device has interdimensional reception. Making calls even between other realms of existence, texting between worlds. Best phone connection in this segment of the multiverse, courtesy of one accidental life bond.

Dipper can’t exactly sell the patent, though. Since it’s partially created from semi-illegal bits scavenged from Ford’s lab, partly from a concoction of spells of his own creation -

And partly from Bill’s own exoskeleton. Hence the gaudiness.

Plus the internet gets finicky, which is kind of a hiccup. And while a life-bond makes it work, the average magic-user doesn’t have a good conversationalist at the other end. Sometimes the connection gets garbled, or the thing itself corrupts other magic around it. Apparently it radiates an aura, too. One that Dipper can’t feel, but is ‘vaguely creepy’.

But even Bill admitted the design was impressive, and that’s an accomplishment in any entity’s book. Sincere compliments from Bill freakin’ Cipher are very, very hard-won. He’s seen basically everything, knows so much, and what Dipper came up with was, quote, ‘pretty cool!’.

Inevitably, Dipper finds himself staring at his stupid phone again.

It’s the way it catches the light, he swears. He’d spraypaint it if he could without compromising the spellwork. Like the major part of its physical makeup, it’s ridiculous, showy, and overly complicated.

And oddly tempting.

Dipper keeps tapping his pen, point down, on the paper. He doesn’t have anything to write down at the moment, though he feels like he should. Even though he has the time to work out a thousand other things, a million investigations, his thoughts keep drifting towards. Other stuff.

Which is so dumb. Dipper could be doing any number of things, with all the power and knowledge he has on hand. Unfortunately, his stupid brain and dick are full of ideas too, and they’re ganging up on him. It’s very distracting.

If only things were more difficult, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Because if Dipper really wants a distraction, it's a phone call away. Basically no effort at all. He could have it within minutes - theoretically - because Bill tends to like this sort of thing. He’d be game for it, any time.

Dipper plants his elbows on his desk, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

But there’s so many reasons not to do it.

Bill’s not here, for one. Dipper would be interrupting his entire ‘business’ day, and throwing a wrench into his ‘work’. He doesn’t know precisely what Bill’s up to this time, but there’s thousands of plans Bill could be enacting. Millions of beings to torment, or terrify. Bugging him for something this petty, pointless, and kind of perverted, is -

…Another reason Bill would like it.

And, technically preventing evil from happening. Distraction goes both ways; Bill can’t do two things at once.

Dipper glares down at the paper in front of him. No words there, just an exercise in abstract pointillism.

Great. Now he’s talking himself into this.

It wouldn’t even be difficult. No fire, no fighting, no clever mind games. Hell, Dipper could just literally just call, or even like, text, or something, and it’s not like he’d get a no.

Or rather, he might get a no. But it’d be with some very distracting responses that’d derail his own day, with a promise to make up for Bill’s absence. A sincere one, for once.

Nobody else could get that. Not from Bill. Sincerity. Earnestness. Even if it’s about his desire, it’s something so rare that it’s almost -

Dipper sets the pen down with a decisive click.

Screw it.

He’s young, he has…. Feelings about stuff. Ones that he can actually do something about, unlike his awkward teenage years. With someone who thinks he’s hot.

Really, he’d be betraying himself by not taking advantage. There were times he would have done way more embarrassing things, for far less attention.

Dipper nods to himself, and picks up the phone.

Worst case scenario, Bill’s too caught up in stuff to duck out, and he has to wait a few hours. Best case Bill’s going to be distracted himself, Dipper gets something he wants - and less evil happens. A win three times over.

…And maybe he shouldn’t have put his phone on silent, because he has over forty missed messages.

Dipper turns that off, and starts scrolling. Up, then down again.

There sure is. A lot.

Bill’s sent ninety percent of the texts in the last half hour, every one of them in his typical all-caps. Without any bragging, hardly any bullshit, and basically zero smug asides. Not even a bunch of cryptic comments about what a clever demon Bill is.

Dipper starts smiling.

Guess things aren’t quite what Bill was expecting when he took up this latest ‘business’ trip.

In fact, if Dipper’s any expert - and he is - Bill’s been having a shitty day.

So. It’s not selfish, really, to want him to get up to something else. It’s actually a fantastic idea.

Dipper taps the phone against his chin. End goal in mind, plan… not created yet. That requires some thought.

Does he just... Ask? It seems simple enough, but how is he supposed to phrase it. One way seems too forward. Another one might sound like some weirdo stole his phone. Can’t get too subtle, either, Bill’s missed it when he veiled it too much before….

Dipper manages to come up with two or three lines that aren’t totally cringy, before the buzz against his face interrupts his train of thought.

Bill, again. More messages in his ranting missive.

“SUMMONS, FOR CHAO’S SAKE. DOES THIS GUY EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS OR DID HE JUST PICK UP THE RIGHT INTERDIMENSIONAL PHONE BOOK”

“I’M CONSIDERING DELETING MOST OF THIS GALAXY NEXT CHANCE I GET. JUST TO GET RID OF THE CONTACT INFORMATION”

“A SUMMON IS NOT A *SERVANT* FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, THERE”S A DEAL AND EVERYTHING”

“DO THE WORDS ‘CONTRACTOR AGREEMENT’ MEAN ANYTHING OR DOES IT GO IN ONE EAR AND OUT THE OTHER TWO”

“WHY DO YOU CONTACT AN EXPERT AND NOT TAKE THE ADVICE??? IT WAS ALMOST FREE!”

Dipper rolls his eyes.

Yet another reason he should go ahead with his idea. If he doesn’t nip the complaining in the bud soon, Bill’s going to ramble on forever.

Serves him right, anyway. Bill may not be able to be summoned to Earth, but he’s sure as hell still taking calls from other realms. Dipper can’t even tell Bill he’s sorry one’s gone wrong; it’d be too obvious a lie. He’ll settle for not commenting.

Dipper taps the back of the phone for a second, thinking. Then responds.

“I take it you’re not having much fun”

“OH NO, I'M HAVING A HELL OF A TIME”

“COULDN’T FIND A BETTER PARTY AT THE INTERGALACTIC DMV”

Not a great sign. Bill knows that Dipper doesn’t want to know the details of his work - but the metaphor’s a clue. That it’s complicated, and annoying.

Dipper frowns. There’ll likely be a wait.

“So… pretty busy.”

“YEAH THIS COULD DRAG ON”

“SERIOUSLY SCREW THIS GUY THOUGH. CAN’T TAKE A HINT, CAN’T MAKE HIS OWN PLOTS? I’M UP TO HERE WITH THIS LOSER.”

“THE SECOND I CAN PULL A DECENT DOUBLE-CROSS I’M GOING FOR IT”

Huh. Usually Bill’s better at finding chances. Dipper doubts the summoning was that ironclad; loopholes are too common. More likely than not, Bill simply hasn’t found something entertaining enough yet.

“I’m surprised you haven’t found one already.”

“HEY! DOUBLECROSSING IS AN ART, KID.”

“GOTTA COME UP WITH JUST THE RIGHT THING TO REALLY RUB SOME SULFURIC ACID IN THE WOUND”

“Yeah, fine”

Yep. Just like he thought. Dipper sticks his tongue out at the screen.

Typical Bill. Can’t get his ass off the metaphorical couch unless it’s interesting. Without the promise of a prize at the end, Bill’s more likely to laze around with a martini than put effort into complicated plans. Or chores. Even if he could literally wave his hand and take care of things, if it’s not entertaining-

Actually.

There’s an idea.

Dipper hops up from his seat and heads over to his dresser. Tugging the middle drawer open, and rifling through it until he finds the prize. The slick black wood is easy to find, he hasn’t moved it in a while.

He drops down on the bed this time, and sets the box on his chest. Heart beating a bit faster, a little tense with nerves. A little excited. He sends the next message in a rush.

“Maybe I could help out?”

“WOW!! THAT'S A FIRST! PINE TREE, I’M BOTH INSULTED YOU THINK I NEED IT AND FLATTERED YOU OFFERED!”

“ALRIGHT WHAT’S GOING ON”

Dipper unlatches the box, and picks up the collar.

The black leather is soft between his fingers. He lets it dangle for a moment, tag jingling slightly as he holds it above his face. It’s not heavy with anything but implied meaning.

This particular item doesn’t see a ton of use. It’s not always the right time, because Dipper’s not always in the right mood. Once it is, though. When Dipper puts it on….

That’s. Offering power to an infinite being of pure energy, who shouldn’t even need the token to take it. And once he has it, he’ll be very, very thorough about using it. Something that sounds pretty intimidating, because it is pretty intimidating.

Right now, if Dipper’s being honest with himself - it kinda sounds great. It’s always worked out really well for him.

And there’s no way Bill won’t find this interesting.

“Thought I could uh. Give you some motivation?”

“???”

Welp. Here goes.

Without hesitating (much), Dipper wraps the collar around his neck and clasps it shut.. Feeling a light chill from the golden triangle tag on his neck, just above his collarbone. The leather not-quite tight against his throat.

He shuffles into the blankets, getting comfortable. Time to go for it.

Clearing his throat, and breathing in, then out, Dipper holds his phone up with both hands. He takes the picture.

…it doesn’t look as cool as he thought it would.

The first three don’t look great. Another he’s not - well, a glare can be sexy, in Bill’s mind, but this one just shows how annoyed he is with trying to take a stupid picture.

Dipper spends longer than he wanted just futzing with the camera and the view he’s about to provide. Bill’s a stickler for angles especially, Dipper wants to get it right.

Another buzz from his phone. Damn it, he should just send something, he’s leaving Bill hanging. For once, Dipper has like, some kind of ‘seduction’ momentum going, he can’t lose it now.

He holds his phone up again, and makes himself relax. Just a pic, doesn’t need to be fancy.

Dipper smiles, tilting his head back, neck arched with its strip of black leather fully on display. He snaps the photo and hits send before he can hesitate. Take that, second-guessing, Dipper got ahead of it this time.

Maybe it’s not the best photo, but it doesn’t have to be great. Just as long as it shows the important parts. Dipper’s not trying to do a model shoot for crying out loud. He’s just. Sending an invite.

One he hopes Bill will accept.

He lasts about three seconds before he nervously adds a text. Just in case Bill got the wrong idea. Not that Dipper’s sure what that would be, but still.

“Bedroom in half an hour?”

He’s left on read for a full, anxious two seconds.

“!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“YOU KIDDING? BE THERE IN THE”

"*TREE"

“THRE MAYBE FIVE"

"OKAY TEN MINUTES TOPS”

“DON’T GO ANYWHERE”

Dipper drops back on the bed, letting out a soft laugh.

Wow. That was easy.

Somewhere, through their bond, Dipper can feel Bill bustling around at a far distance. The trip back’s going to be a bit, he guesses.

Dipper sets his phone on the bedside table - then pauses. Heart beating a little faster, a tent in his pants - then tugs the drawer below it open. They’re going to need the lube soon anyway. Might as well snag it.

Still, the bed’s comfy and Dipper wasn’t doing anything anyway. He settles down to mess with the internet on his phone - spotty, again, it never works right in Bill’s place.

About nine minutes later, he realizes he’s obsessively checking the door now.

Totally normal, though. Bill’s usually later than he says he’ll be. Dipper knew he was in for a wait, though for once he’s oddly impatient. As soon as Bill gets here, he’s going to -

…Not be able to do much, since Dipper basically has nothing set up but the lube. Might as well get on that now before it makes another delay.

Dipper sighs, shrugging his shirt off, and kicking off his shoes. Shuffling out of his pants, and casting them aside. The underwear has to go, too. Last time Dipper tried a ‘seduction’ with his boxers still on, Bill teased him about it.

Lube, check. Collar, on. Being naked in their bedroom isn’t uncomfortable even on top of the blankets, with that eternal fireplace burning. Dipper kicks the last leg of his boxers off just as the thumping of footsteps sounds from outside the door.

Eleven minutes of waiting. Something to tease Bill about in a minute.

Then a thud. The locked knob jiggles for a moment. A muffled swear - then the brief zap of the magical locks unclicking.

Bill’s not only eager, it’s like he’s worried that he’ll miss out on the chance. Like Dipper would pull this and take off, leaving Bill to arrive back at an empty bedroom.

Which, okay. Dipper could. But he’s not going to. Bill may be a multiversal asshole, but he’s done nothing to Dipper to deserve it.

Years ago, he wouldn’t have had any reason to send racy messages to someone. Knowing any picture he did send would get an ‘ew’ or a ‘why’.

Clearly, he hadn’t met the right person yet.

It’s really hard not to smile, so Dipper doesn’t even bother trying.

The door to their bedroom slams open, and Bill Cipher emerges. Still holding the door handle, arms spread wide with a wild, brilliant grin on his face.

Dipper sits up, gives him a little wave, and a slow onceover -

Then raises an eyebrow.

Bill’s grinning. Bill’s delighted. He’s full of all his impeccable confidence, radiating ‘infuriatingly smug’ in a way that Dipper could spot through a blindfold -

But his hair is rather messy, and his suit is in ruins.

Bill stalks forward, and the door slams shut behind him as he starts undoing his tie. “Well, well, well, well, well!” His tongue runs briefly over his teeth, eye roving. “What have we here!”

Dipper shrugs. Normally he’d have a response, but. Eying Bill again doesn’t change the disaster of his clothing.

There’s certainly a lot of something on Bill’s jacket. Greenish stains, brown on his cuffs. Odd purple flecks gobbed on him like clumps of glue. Typically when Bill’s had a summon, he ends up in less dire sartorial straits. There isn’t much blood - Dipper doesn’t think any of it is Bill’s, it’s too drippy - but the stains are unmistakable.

The shirt’s also very. Holey. It’s surprising Bill hasn’t made a pun before stripping it off.

“What happened to you?” Dipper folds his legs under himself. Bill’s still his focus, but now the interest is less specific. “Bad spell? Weird summoner?” Another lookover; it makes him grimace. “A toxic waste dump?”

“There was a lotta stuff around for the summoning. No biggie.” Bill shrugs, nonchalant. He flicks an unidentifiable blob goo off his sleeve, offering Dipper an impeccable smile. “And when things go south in a deal, sometimes you gotta get a little hands on!”

Dipper folds his arms, and says nothing.

“Now look at you!” Bill practically purrs, striding in to flick the tag on the collar. His eye roves over Dipper, gleaming bright. “What a style! Coming from a fashion-comatose guy like you, of all places.” He tucks two fingers under the collar, and leans in with a leer. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t count on it.” Dipper dodges the finger to his chin. In his peripheral vision, he catches Bill looking disappointed. “You’re not getting anything at the moment.”

Dipper knew what he was implying with his. Invitation. The terms were set a while ago, and the sign of their ‘deal’ is wrapped around his neck. He knows that Bill’s supposed to be in charge -

But, like. There are some limitations.

“Aha! So that’s the game today, huh?” Bill rubs his hands together, eye lighting up. “I can-”

“Nope.” Dipper smacks a palm on Bill’s chest. Bill blinks, but stops gloating enough to look surprised. “Hold on a minute.”

“What?”

“You’re a wreck, Bill.” Like it wasn’t obvious. Bill glances down at himself. A flicker of a grimace crosses his face, and Dipper gives him a couple quick pats on the chest. “Go clean up first.”

“Oh, is that the problem?” Bill’s grin returns, leaning in anyway. Dipper dodges the kiss, only to have it land next to his ear. Squirming doesn’t help, because Bill plants a few more, nipping briefly at his earlobe - and chuckles. “I thought you liked things messy.”

Dipper feels heat rise into his face. Now he gives his idiot husband a shove. “Not like this.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Bill puckers up to an absurd degree, hands clasped near his chest. “Give your husband a smooch. It’s the least you could do!”

“Nope.” Dipper isn’t going to smile. It’d only encourage him. His next push doesn’t move this obnoxious dick, so he gets up to add more force behind the shoving. “Go on, get moving.”

Bill starts cackling. Dipper ends up having to dig his feet in the carpet, bearing down as Bill keeps trying to kiss his face, nudging him in the vague direction of the bathroom. Adding an elbow, for emphasis. At this point, he’d settle for getting Bill to the dresser to change.

“What, not into the acid-splattered gooey look?” Bill backs up slowly as Dipper presses him along, with a teasing grab or two at his butt - though eventually, he raises his hands. “Alright, alright. Hang tight here. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Bill clicks his tongue as he finally backs into the bathroom with double finger guns and a wink. Dipper flips him off, just because. Sticking his tongue out in Bill’s direction for good measure - then at the mark on his left palm.

Off in the bathroom, he hears a distant chuckle.

Not the most elegant start to the evening. But then, he doesn’t think they’ve ever had one.

Dipper sits back down on the mattress. Bouncing in place a few times. At least the bed is comfy. Waiting here is more than tolerable. It’s not even chilly, with the eternal fire burning in that fireplace.

A little more waiting won’t matter, anyway. Bill will be out within moments, as quick as he can; Dipper can hear the rush of water, and his husband humming a cheery tune to himself.

Once Bill’s done changing. Once he’s wiped off the residue and changed his clothes. He’ll be ready, and wanting things from one young human, who’s - not technically helpless, but for the moment pretending to be. He could make all kinds of demands.

Dipper runs a finger under the collar.

Bill’s enthusiasm, in fact, carries over into all the things he does. Especially when he wants to entertain, or if he’s on a mission to conquer.

Technically this situation qualifies for both.

Dipper rubs his slightly damp palms on his thighs, and breathes out slowly.

He can already imagine Bill bursting into the room, with a show of power. Throwing the door open, alight with fire, full of all the energy and violence that a nightmare demon can display. His strong arms braced against the doorframe, and a wicked grin on his face. Ready to shamelessly ogle the present he’s arrived to collect.

The lube’s close by. Dipper fumbles for the bottle and clicks it open.

It’s cool against his palm and cooler against his dick as he takes himself in hand.

He already knows what Bill looks like when he’s naked, and it’s easy to picture the lean lines of him, all the bare skin and the shape of his muscles. Bill’s unfortunately attractive. Oddly compelling. Dipper has to hand it to himself; he did an amazing job on the human shape, even unintentionally.

The form enhances what should be absurd. Someone. Demanding. Conniving and evil and selfish, taking what he wants, and he wants Dipper, badly. Undeniably so; Dipper's felt it before, in his palm or in his mouth or inside him.

Letting a slow sigh, Dipper rests back on the bed. He slows in his strokes, running his thumb over the head of his dick.

Soon, Bill will loom over Dipper and take him by the collar, tugging him up with undeniable force and an evil grin. Maybe with his pants unzipped, his thick cock hard and -

“Already getting started, are ya?”

With instincts long-honed from many lonely nights, Dipper yanks the blanket over himself.

“Aw, someone’s shy!” Bill walks closer, wearing both a smug look and a fresh set of clothes. He throws in a wink in response to Dipper’s glare, and starts rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “Ease up already. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Right. Just Bill. Dipper feels his shoulders drop; he still flips Bill off again, out of sheer contrariness. Bill may have seen everything before, but he also didn’t have to make a startling entrance. Probably part of the fun for him. Because he’s a jerk.

Dipper sighs, and tosses the blanket away. “You could have told me you were ready.”

“Oh, I’m more than ready.” Bill responds easily. He waves off Dipper’s comment as he walks to the side of the bed. As he draws his arms apart, a thin line of black connects them. Pulled straight into existence, with all the power he has. And winks. “I’m prepared.”

Dipper swallows, touching the collar again. His eyes follow the long, long line of the leash, held in Bill’s solid grip.

He knew what he was in for. What he signed up for, technically. Having it be so certain makes him want to tremble - and also makes his traitorous dick very, very hard.

Bill stalks in, nudging Dipper’s chin upward with a grin - and clicks the lead onto the collar.

He nods to himself, once. Wraps the very end of the leash around his palm. Then simply stands there, hands on his hips. “Go on.”

That’s. Kind of a vague prompt. Dipper hesitates, he’s not sure what to do-

“I mean, don’t stop the show, sapling.” Bill settles back, tucking his thumbs into his pockets with a wicked smile. “Touch yourself.”

“Oh.” Dipper feels his heart start to race.

Bill’s watching intently, with a pleased smirk on his face, expecting his ‘show’ - And, while he’s ogled Dipper going at this before, it wasn’t in this context.

Typically, Dipper doesn’t let Bill push him around. Definitely never listens to his weirder requests. But this time, Dipper asked for it. He knew what he was getting into. When he called Bill over. When he made himself available, when he invited Bill to take advantage of it - and that means following Bill’s lead.

Dipper lies back on the mattress. Shutting his eyes, and taking his dick in hand again.

If he doesn’t look, he can pretend that Bill’s not watching. Not that it helps much. Jerking off feels different, it’s hard to keep it slow. Bill’s keeping quiet, but Dipper can feel his gaze on his skin like heat.

“That’s it.” Bill’s voice drops a little, lower and more intent. “Very nice.”

Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Now he presses his lips together to cover a moan. Knowing Bill’s watching him always makes him self-conscious no matter what he’s doing. Especially with this. Keeping note of how he holds himself, to how much Bill can see - whether he should arch up or angle himself differently, it’s embarrassing and exciting, like the picture he sent but with Bill right there watching. Dipper burns with awareness, and heat rises into his face.

There’s a soft shuffle of steps. Like Bill’s getting closer - no, he is, Dipper can tell by the pleased sound he makes. “Spread your legs.”

Demanding as always; why does he have to, isn’t this enough? Dipper’s already so exposed and - There isn’t much space, sitting like this - but he lies back and props his feet on the bed. Knees lifted and legs open.

There’s a soft click, and a softer groan. Dipper blinks an eye open.

Bill’s undone his belt; his fly open and his pants pushed slightly down. He’s hard and standing out against his shirt, at least as turned on as Dipper is - and taking himself in hand with slow strokes that Dipper watches with a sharp spark of arousal.

Maybe it’s more like outright staring. Who cares; Bill’s doing it right back to him, fair’s fair.

Dipper tightens his grip. Dick throbbing at the knowledge that Bill likes what he sees. Knowing he’s admiring him, that for some reason Bill loves watching this, he’s said as much before.

None of which helps Dipper keep the pace slow, he’s wanted to come for a while and now he could, if it wouldn’t ruin the upcoming events.

“Now that’s what I like to see.” Bill sets a palm below one of Dipper’s raised knees, sliding it downward. “Every bit of my eager little mortal, ready for me.” His eye trails over Dipper’s own frantic grip on his dick, stroking himself at a far more measured pace. Watching Dipper like he’s fascinating, like this embarrassing display is a delight. “All mine.”

“Shut up. It’s not -” Dipper wants to clamp his legs together, but Bill shoves them back apart. Thumbs tracing the skin of Dipper’s thighs, leaning in to plant a kiss on the skin. Dipper takes another breath. “I just wanted…” He stumbles over what he was going to say, as Bill settles in between his legs, leaning over him - and Dipper lets his head drop back with a groan. “Fuck.”

“Oh sure, in a minute. Though honestly, I could watch this all day!” Bill keeps petting his legs, and yeah, definitely looming - while looking terrifically smug about it. “But I think you called me in ‘cause you wanted a hand.”

“Yeah.” Of course Dipper wants a hand, or. More than that. He could jerk off anytime, that’s simple, he didn’t need to get Bill involved for that. It's just that what Bill does to him is so much better. ”Please.”

Bill hums for a moment, considering his prize. Tapping Dipper’s sides briefly, before leaning in to lick at his nipple, sucking it into his mouth before nipping, teeth light on the flesh.

Dipper holds back a gasp. That sent a spark of heat right down to his dick. Bill’s tongue lathes over it again, warm and wet, while he takes the other between two fingers, rolls it around, and pinches, both sharp and good.

“God.” Dipper keeps a deathgrip on his dick, slowing down. The other grips Bill’s hair. He’s not sure if he wants to push him in or pull him away - and Bill’s hum against his chest sounds like he’s covering a laugh. “You bastard.”

Bill mutters something that might be ‘you like it’, shoulders shaking with amusement. Moving on, and kissing further down Dipper’s stomach. Much less intense. Warm, and pleasant. Dipper lets out a held breath.

Only to pull another in, quick, because now Bill’s switched. Taking the already teased one in hand to roll and pinch when it’s already oversensitive from his tongue. It’s a bright shock of pleasure, of pain, and Dipper arches up with a gasp, before clasping his free hand over his mouth.

“Hey!” Bill stops his descent suddenly, pausing just above Dipper’s navel. He’s frowning, mouth inches away from Dipper’s dick. “What did I say about noises?”

Wait, why is Bill - Dipper sits up, blinking down at him.

He heard what Bill just said, but retorts are. Difficult right now. Made worse because he’s watching Bill’s lips, and the way his tongue moves, so close to where he wants them.

But wait, right, he remembers this. It was…. Dipper stares at him, unable to think. “Uh.”

“It was ‘make lots of ‘em’, if you need the reminder. Say whatever comes to mind!” Bill slides his hands down Dipper’s chest, rudely squeezing his thighs again. His smile widens, bright with enthusiasm. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Dipper swallows. What Bill’s asking for is-

No, he can’t. He has so many thoughts, all the time, and during sex they’re all dumb and horny. Downright ridiculous.

Right now, his mind’s drawing a blank. Even for the stupid stuff.

For Bill, it’s easy. He always says what he’s thinking, especially in bed. Hell, he can go on a full on monologue; has, at times, and it’s always something filthy and insane and arousing. Half of the things Bill says sound absurd in the light of day - but in the moment they’re actually pretty great.

And Bill’s seen thousands of minds and dreams, he’s encountered every situation, seen infinite fantasies. Dipper doesn’t think he has enough imagination to get weird enough to match.

Dipper turns his head away instead, keeping his mouth shut. Hearing - and feeling - Bill’s impatient sigh.

There’s also no way Bill’s going to move forward without being told something. But. Dipper can’t think of anything good.

After a moment, Bill smacks him lightly on the side. “Speak up already.” He plants another wet kiss on Dipper’s stomach, so close to his dick. Offering up a wide, teasing smile. “What do you want?”

A lot of things. Some other stuff. A myriad of ideas, none of which Bill knows about, because -

Dipper sits up. The idea snaps back into place.

Because Bill can’t get into Dipper’s head.

He’s been million brains, encountered a million fantasies - but none of them are what Dipper thinks about when he jerks off.

Dipper takes a slow calming breath. Bill’s been waiting, mouthing against his hip, hot breath ghosting over his groin. Distracting, but not enough to truly help.

In theory, this is simple. Just like his invitation, it doesn’t have to be perfect, so long as the intent is there.

Really, Bill might love whatever comes out of his mouth, because in this one, specific circumstance he’s not a mind-reader. It must drive him insane, that he can’t reach in and drag out every fantasy Dipper’s ever had, and use all of them against him.

And Dipper’s supposed to do what Bill wants.

Bill’s drags his teeth against the soft skin of his thigh, leaving red lines; his thumbs digging into the juncture of his hip fingers on his stomach - it’s a lot and not enough at the same time, it -

Dipper shuts his eyes. Takes a shuddering breath, and says, “Feels good.”

“Is that so?” Bill’s voice drops to a purr. Dipper hears the bottle of lube click again. “How good?”

Just. Good? Dipper doesn’t know what to tell him, so he ends up saying, “A lot.” Then, “Can you use your mouth?” But that’s not quite it, and now that the words have started tumbling from him Dipper finds he can’t stop - “And I really want you in me again.”

So awkward, without any of Bill’s eloquence. Dipper can’t match him, he just stumbles trying to get it out.

But the way Bill’s eye literally lights up makes Dipper feel a bit better. And the way he groans against Dipper’s skin, and sucks his cock into the hot wet of his mouth, dragging his tongue on the underside, makes it feel fantastically, absolutely better.

Dipper bucks his hips up, tangling fingers in Bill’s hair. Urging him on. Bill moves with it easily, and Dipper feels a low vibration of a held back laugh that makes him groan.

Okay. Not exactly the hottest thing in the world, but, fuck, it didn’t have to be. If it works, it works; Dipper will take the embarrasment, and say way, way dumber stuff, all the time, if it gets Bill to do this.

Bill pulls away, all too suddenly, leaving Dipper bereft and annoyed. Glaring up at Bill’s smug grin, and handsome face.

There isn’t any reason to startle when Bill’s finger pushes in, but. Well, the lube’s cold, and it was sudden. And also...

“Just one?” Dipper frowns up at Bill as his finger works slowly inside him, dipping in and out. Thin and firm, not nearly enough - and Bill’s smirking, too, the jerk. “You can do more than that.”

“I dunno. Should I?” Bill purses his lips, like he’s contemplating it. “I haven’t heard how it feels yet.”

This asshole. Dipper wants to swear, but. That’s useless, so he squeezes his legs around Bill instead.

This jerk just wants to drag things out, doesn’t he. Won’t let up until he’s satisfied. Bill might have control, sure. But he thinks Dipper’s hot, and that means there’s some leverage.

Since Dipper's not getting what he wants. Then he’ll just have to tempt him.

Bill wants to hear him? Fine, no more repressing. Even the soft panting has clearly raised his interest, and Dipper can totally do less to hold himself back.

“It feels great, okay?” Dipper glares up at him. Bill licks his lips, finger curling - and the involuntary moan Dipper lets out makes Bill’s cock visibly twitch. Dipper arches up and strokes himself again, while Bill’s occupied. “I can take more. I want it.”

Bill opens his mouth. Like he’s about to interrupt, or tease - Before he can say anything, Dipper reaches down and hauls Bill’s hand closer, urging it in.

He knows Bill can do worse. That he wants to be inside, so he’ll help him imagine what else he could be doing -

“Ah ah ah! Fantastic performance, sapling.” Bill catches his wrists, forcing them up and away. “Until you got too cocky.” And winks at his own awful pun.

Damn it, Dipper wants to swat him. He was almost - he tries to yank away, but Bill’s too strong and his grip too tight. Leaning over him, and drawing his arms over his head. over him now, kneeling between his legs.

Bill slides the collar to the side, wraps Dipper’s hands together with the long leather of the leash. Not tightly, but firm. He leans over Dipper, chest above his face - and damn it, Dipper’s halfway tempted to just bite some of the buttons of Bill’s shirt open.

Then he sinks back, and grins. Dipper moves to swat him, and can’t. He yanks at the leash again, strains against it, but there’s barely any give -

And when he glances up at the headboard, Bill’s looped the end onto a hook. The leather drawn tight, keeping Dipper's arms raised.

Glaring at Bill gets a temporary reprieve as Dipper glares at his restraint instead. Then back at Bill, who’s unbearably smug about his stunt. Dipper sinks back on the mattress with a huff.

“Can’t have you coming too soon, y’know.” Bill releases his arms, tracing down Dipper’s neck, fingers trailing around the collar. And throwing in a wink for good measure. “Not when we got all night to play around.”

Oh god. That doesn’t bode well. Or rather, it does, but. In a very specific way.

Dipper tugs at his restraints, arching up and finding no escape. Okay. Better brace himself. Bill’s always loved to torment; he’ll take his time with things. Touch and tease and taunt without truly being satisfying; he’ll make Dipper wait until it almost hurts; it’s going to be terrible and great, just like the demon himself.

“Now!” Bill claps his hands together, rubbing them with anticipation. “Where were we?” Not waiting for a response before slipping a finger - no, two - back inside, rougher than before..

If Dipper does whimper, he’ll deny it later. It makes Bill raise an eyebrow, smile growing a fraction; Dipper pushes into his fingers only to find Bill retreating with a grin. He’s not going to let Dipper urge him on. Definitely won’t let him come by himself, or get there before he’s allowed. Everything’s under Bill’s control, something both incredibly frustrating and. Interesting.

And Bill’s too experienced. Bill’s too clever. The way he presses inside is unfortunately great. They’ve been together long enough that Bill knows exactly where he needs to touch, and does it with aplomb -

And just enough to tease.

Dipper clicks his teeth shut against another sound. Breathing slowly, and shutting his eyes.

The stretch is good. The pressure, so much better; warm and invasive. Arousing. Bill rolls inside him, presses and strokes, his hand pushing against Dipper hard - then retreating - only to fuck into him again like Bill could make Dipper a mess just with his hand.

Which he is, the asshole. Because it is good. Really good. A firm pressure and a repeating touch, sending a throb of pleasure each time, and making precome drip from Dipper’s dick. Withdrawing, then returning with a hard push, in and out, a burst of pleasure only to deny it again. Slow, then fast. A quick slide and a long press that makes Dipper see stars in his vision, only to pull back out. It’s Bill, curling his fingers in the way that makes Dipper arch up and moan - then suddenly leaving him empty and nearly gasping.

Dipper can’t - His teeth are gritted, he doesn't want to sound so needy - but he whines, and doesn’t choke it back.

“Look at you. So responsive! You must have really missed me, huh?” Bill sounds delighted. Adding a third finger - and this time Dipper couldn’t cover the whimper he makes even if he wanted to. “It’s adorable.”

God, everything he’s doing is teasing. Deliberately not-quite-enough, on purpose. Keeping up that low, intense pressure without letting Dipper come, just driving him close to the edge and backing off like a bastard.

“It’d be easy to make you come like this.” Bill kisses down Dipper’s dick, then. Licking up the length with a wet sound that makes it jump under his tongue. He kisses the head with a smirk - “Could be fun to make you lose it.”

He could, he really could. His tongue on Dipper’s dick and his fingers inside - Dipper strains against the leash, swearing under his breath. It would be good, sure - but he wants to reach down. Make Bill do more. To stop the teasing and taunting, treat him rougher, and he ends up blurting, “Don’t.”

“Oh?” Bill curls his fingers; a firm shock of pressure, and the heel of his hand nudging his balls. Spreading wide inside him for an aching stretch.“Then why’d you call me here?”

“Because I wanted it.” Dipper says, out loud. Speaking is the only way to get Bill to move on, and it’s easier to ignore the embarrassment, when the burn of needing to come is so much more. Bill licks his lips, anticipatory - and Dipper admits, “I wanted you to fuck me.”

All he gets is Bill’s fingers withdrawing and that sucks. Dipper whines, teeth bared. Now he feels empty and urgent and Bill’s not touching him, the jerk.

“Well, why didn’t you say so!” Bill shuffles his pants down, stroking another palmful of lube over himself, a little faster than usual. “Not a problem. In fact,” He pushes Dipper’s legs further up, and winks. “It’d be my pleasure.”

Dipper slumps. He goes with Bill’s positioning, rude and insistent, letting himself be pliable this time. Though he feels empty, he knows that won’t last, and he’ll have what he wants.

Finally.

Bill rubs the head of his cock against Dipper, smugly enough to make Dipper swear - then laughing. Holding himself steady, and pushing in, just enough for Dipper to feel the slight jolt as the head enters - then withdraws again, tapping against him. A motion that doesn’t have any intent of really going for it -

Frustrated, Dipper tries hauling Bill in with his legs - for a moment, thinks he’s succeeded - but Bill’s cock slips away to rest against him, brushing against Dipper’s own. It leaves Bill cackling with amusement; Dipper wants to swat him, or maybe kiss him. Since he can’t do either, he tugs at the leash again. “Bill.”

“Gotta take my time, kid!” No remorse; the torturous bastard leans over him, and guides himself in, with a low, lingering stretch, one Dipper knows so well, heavy and hard inside.. Bill surges forward, fully seated and Dipper has to gasp, back arching - “You’re always.” He shuts his eye, a brief flicker as his hips rock in. “So tight for me.”

“Hn.” With nothing to protest, Dipper nods instead, rapid and eager. Bill’s cock hits just the right places, Dipper can’t help but move into it. Arching up, pushing his. his hips into that filling weight, feeling Bill fucking into him, deeper and so much that Dipper has to yank at his restraints - “You’re just. Too big.”

“So that’s what you were thinking about,” Bill hisses. There’s a throb inside, a surge forward that makes Dipper gasp, open his eyes. Seeing Bill’s own eye alight, glowing gold. The weight of his presence and his quickening pace makes Dipper want to grab at him, anything to get him closer. “That’s what gets you off.”

“Yeah.” Mostly what Dipper was imagining, but not quite - and shit, he should just say it. He could come like this, it’s good, it’s great, but Bill’s not quite putting his back into it the way Dipper would really like. If he’d do a little more, he could almost - “Like. I wanted it and. I didn’t have to say it, you just.” He shuts his eyes, thinking about half-remembered sessions alone - “Come over and have me, because you want me.” He takes a shaking breath, Bill’s hands are suddenly tight on his hips - “‘Cause I feel too good.”

Bill swears, loud and urgent - and the next snap of his hips makes Dipper strain against his bonds. That’s it. Strong and demanding, and rough, he missed it.

“You got that part right.” Bill breathy, his tongue flickering over his lips. He adds another startling pinch to a nipple that thrums down Dipper’s body, electric pleasure. “I’ll take everything I want from you.” A violent thrust, Bill’s breath hitching as Dipper moans - loud enough to make him want to cringe - but must Bill like it, because his voice lowers into a growl. “Have my way with you. Make you come on my cock.”

If he keeps this up. If Bill puts his back into it, Dipper would, definitely, it’s already a lot and nearly enough -

“Yes. Please.” Now that he’s started he can’t seem to shut his mouth. Thinking about Bill, shoving him down, or up against a wall, giving Dipper what he wants and then - “And you’ll come in me. So much.” Dipper blurts, and hears Bill suck in a sudden breath. “You always - I really like it.”

Bill slows; he nearly stills in place. Dipper can see his chest heaving, his eye bright - Then he captures Dipper’s face with both hands, pulling him in for a kiss.

Dipper opens up for it, groaning into it. Wanting to draw his arms down around the back of Bill’s neck. Since that’s impossible, he kisses back. Trying to tell Bill how much he needs this, with just his mouth.

Until this bastard, this asshole. This absolute monster, pulls away and out.

Dipper nearly kicks him. He definitely swears. He needs to come and Bill’s being twice the bastard than usual; he tries to get a hold of his dick, but he’s trapped, left to writhe, helpless, with Bill staring down at him.

Bill shuffles out of his pants, unbuttoning his shirt. Looming over Dipper again, with his bare chest almost distracting from that horrible wide smile. So close, but so far away, unable to be touched -

“Glad to hear it, kid,” Bill purrs, low and pleased. Jerking himself off again, quicker than before, his grip tight. “‘Cause I’ve been thinking about that all day.”

Dipper’s eyes widen - oh, he’s really going to -

And Bill slides inside again, the pressure heavy inside. Dipper groans at the return. Only one thrust, though. A brief second, Bill’s hips tight against his own - then, fuck, Bill’s coming. Unmistakable, making Dipper whine between his teeth, muscles tensing. Watching the flutter of Bill’s eyelashes, feeling his thick cock pulsing and the heat inside. And Dipper wants to match that pleasure, touch himself as well, get off, but Bill won’t let him. This is unfair.

“How’s that feel, kid?” Bill asks, squeezing Dipper’s thighs for a moment, before he grasps Dipper’s dick and jerks it, with quick, effective motions. “Having demon come inside you.”

Making words is a struggle, so Dipper simply nods again. Face burning, arms pressed together. He can feel it hot and deep inside and fuck, he does like it, he can’t hold Bill in place forever with his legs but he wants to keep as much as he can. Knowing how it means Bill wants him. How much he can make Bill feel good, and having the proof, right there.

Bill pulls out again, after a few slow thrusts, gazing down with a smug, satisfied look that Dipper wishes he was wearing. He wants Bill to come back. For him to fuck him, he’s left Dipper bereft and empty, with an aching throb between his legs. With urgency fading, and the pleasure dropping from the peak, it’s going to be a while before he gets to feel the same way. Building things back up is going to take so long.

Then Dipper’s arms are freed, and he’s hauled up to sit by the tight grip on the leash. The relief of that tension, at least, is something. Dipper rubs his wrists, blinking back at Bill. What -?

The next tug forces Dipper up to his knees, and Bill draws him in for a kiss, free hand buried in Dipper’s hair. Dipper responds as best he can. Would love to grab Bill back, in the same way - but his arms are shaking. He settles for touching Bill’s chest instead, in slow petting motions.

Bill makes a pleased sound, drawing back with a smile. “You like it better when I fuck you?” He prompts, shifting behind Dipper to grab his chin, tilting his head back. A firm thumb runs over Dipper’s bottom lip. “Or when I take your pretty little mouth?”

Which is - Dipper doesn’t know. He wishes he could think straight, but most of his thoughts are drawn to the unfulfilled throb in his groin. He likes taking Bill in his mouth, likes what Bill does to him in bed, all of it, he couldn’t choose - “I… don’t know.”

“Eh, that’s fair! I couldn’t pick a favorite either.” Bill pats Dipper’s hip, drawing him in until his back is pressed against his chest. “It’s all fun.”

Then Dipper’s wheeled around, quick enough to be startling. Behind him, Bill settles down comfortably, drawing Dipper fully into his lap.

It’s a comfortable enough position. Dipper even hears a soft ‘thump’ as Bill drops back against something soft. Likely he’s conjured another pillow pile, or something other surface to relax against. All cozy enough that Dipper would normally lean back with him, tuck Bill’s arms around him, and wriggle in an interesting way that might get him to help.

Instead, he stares ahead for a long few seconds - then scrambles at the sheets in surprise.

So much for the headboard. Bill’s taken a new tactic, thrown in a new addition. In this case, a very reflective one.

Dipper guesses the ‘show’ isn’t over.

He blinks - his reflection blinks back at him - and Dipper’s suddenly nervous. He can’t back up, it only puts him further into Bill’s grasp. “What-”

“What a sight.” Bill sighs, sounding very, very pleased with himself. He grabs Dipper’s thighs, parting and squeezing them. “One of my favorites, honestly.”

The ‘sight’ is. Something.

Dipper stares at himself in the mirror. God, he looks like a total mess. Face red, marks from Bill’s mouth, hair disheveled - ‘fucked’ would be a good description, in multiple senses - And there’s Bill, sitting behind him with a smug, pleased grin. Dipper meets his gaze in the reflection momentarily - then jerks his head away. He can’t look at this, it’s not -

“And why wouldn’t it be?” Bill continues. His breath is hot against Dipper’s neck, hands slipping around and under Dipper’s thighs - “When I get to see this.”

When Bill pulls his legs up, Dipper squirms - hard not to, he’s flexible but still, rude - and tenses at the sight. Bill’s a pervert, of course he likes staring at this, but Dipper can’t just. Look at what Bill’s done to him. Not without feeling a burn of shame and arousal curling in his stomach. Bill’s come has slightly spilled, wet on his thigh, dick still standing up, so obvious that he’s been taken and fucked, that he’s let himself be used, and behind him Bill’s practically gloating at how thoroughly he’s left his mark.

“I see you’re a fan as well!” Bill sounds all too chipper. He shifts slightly, nuzzling against Dipper’s shoulder. “You got good taste, kid.”

This jerk. Dipper’s brief attempt at glaring at him means he catches sight of himself in the mirror. With his traitorous dick leaking a bead of precome, and his face so red, he looks like he’s sunburnt.

“Y’know, I’d say how much I love fucking you, but eh. You won’t take my word for it. You’re a guy who loves having proof.” Bill’s voice lowers, as he leans further back - “Good thing I left you plenty.”

Dipper glances at their reflection again, grimacing - then does a double-take. Because Bill’s cock has risen with interest again, nearly covering Dipper’s own embarrassing sight. And well. He’s only human. He might look a little bit longer at that.

“You want another round?” Bill asks, almost nonchalantly, all-too innocent. Fuck, yes, of course Dipper does, he doesn’t know why Bill asked - “You wanna come on my cock?” Dipper nods again; he swallows. Yes, he really does, he’s aching and empty and been left hanging - And Bill laughs. “Then go ahead, sapling.” Voice lowered, deeply amused. “Put it in.”

Bill’s really going to make him - Dipper slumps a little, realizing that of course he is. Bill’s not in position to do it himself, and it’d be stupid to let him just poke around and hope it found its mark. If Dipper wants - then he’ll have to -

Dipper hesitates, then reaches down to get Bill into position. Hard and throbbing in his grip. Strokes it once, just to feel it, and hear Bill moan. Teamwork is rare, but as Bill lowers him slowly, Dipper adjusts his hips and holds him steady.

The blunt head of Bill’s cock pops in easily; Dipper draws his hands back up. Glancing, inevitably, at his reflection.. He already knew Bill was impressive, he’s handled it hundreds of times. Watching is different.

The very sight of Bill’s cock entering looks so much more impossible than it is. Like it shouldn’t feel as good as it does. Dipper’s own cock twitches and he takes a quick breath, watching as Bill slides him down his length, inch by inch.

“That’s it. So ready for me.” Bill moves his hips in slow motions, small, teasing thrusts. A slow push-pull that makes Dipper want to slap his hands away and sit down, take the rest in already. With Bill holding him, all he can do is watch. As Bill guides it in, then draws back, nearly popping out before making him take more, and Dipper can see the length of his cock streaked with white from his previous release. “Good boy.”

Dipper nearly shoves a hand into his mouth - no, he’s not supposed to cover the sound - then grips tight at the sheets instead. Shit, those words shouldn’t affect him this much, but they sound really good. Or maybe it’s the way Bill finally sets Dipper in his lap, fully seated, and lets go of his legs. One of the two leaves Dipper shaking, and pushing against that heavy length inside.

“Feel that?” Bill pushes his hips up, and Dipper whimpers. Being so full, so completely taken, he can feel it inside and it’s so much, enough to almost make him lose it- “You got all of it in, kid.”

Bill adds a particularly vicious thrust behind the words. No hesitation, no gentleness, and Dipper braces himself, getting his legs under him. Because he can take it, he wants to - and joke is on Bill; he has no idea what he makes Dipper feel. Why he asked for him. Why he thinks of him when he jerks off, and why he wants this, exactly this; Bill inside him, treating him roughly, it’s going to make him -

Dipper’s aware he’s talking, this time. Making sounds, and words, both too loud and too embarrassing- but Bill got him started on it and now he can’t stop. A meaningless ramble, total nonsense about how it’s good, how he likes it, urging Bill to fuck him, no harder, all in a stream of thought that he can’t stop, even though his face burns.

Which Bill really likes.. Even his rhythm occasionally stutters. Like he can’t help but move when Dipper says something he truly likes, and that seems like every other word, with his touch constantly roving. Straying from Dipper’s hips, just to grope at his chest or his stomach or legs.

“You want it so bad. Like you were made for me.” Bill growls, finally setting his grip on Dipper’s waist, leaning back more to jerk up into him - “Have you any time I want. My own personal slut.” Bill’s not only fucking up into him, he’s now holding Dipper tight, strong arms lifting and shoving him down, ; it takes everything to try and match his pace - “A perfect little toy.”

And Dipper would let Bill have him, like it if Bill took him, whenever. He could be trying to make notes at his desk and Bill would walk up and shove him down, taking him just because he wanted to, or was bored; make him kneel and suck his cock, heavy in his mouth - or sit in his lap, feeling Bill staying hard inside, impossible and inhuman, waiting for Dipper to be ready to get fucked again, fill him up with every load of come Bill has, over and over - Bill’s touching his dick, but he barely needs to stroke twice before Dipper’s coming in and over his hand.

Behind him, Bill swears again, long and loud. Then he’s coming again, his chest heaving and his cock pulsing inside. Dipper pushes into it with a few nudges of his hips.

They sit there for a moment. Both catching their breath Dipper lets his head loll back. god he needed that.

Getting up should probably. Be one at some point. But Bill’s still petting his sides, and his legs feel like jelly.

Lesson learned: Calling Bill over for this. For, essentially, a booty call, was a fantastic idea. No need to doubt it, it’s quick and effective and great. Absolutely the right choice.

Cuddling like this is nice, but with the pleasure faded it’s. Vaguely sticky. Dipper shifts a bit, trying to get up the urge to move - but Bill takes the initiative, and Dipper lets out a little ‘mh’ as he’s lifted up and plopped on his side onto the mattress. The gesture’s oddly disappointing -

“Ugh,” Bill groans, and follows a moment later. He tucks an arm under Dipper’s head, another pats his hip. “Y’know, I used to hear all the time about how getting hitched really killed the bedroom stuff.” His fingers idly trace nonsense patterns on Dipper’s side, over his stomach. “No idea what they were on about.”

Dipper huffs out a little laugh. Figures that Bill would pick up on that cliche, over all the time he’s been around. One even Dipper’s heard of, for that matter.

All he can do is shrug. “They must be doing it wrong.” Dipper suggests. Behind him, Bill hums in agreement.

Not that Dipper really knows much about how other people go about their relationships; he’s only had the one himself. Plus, well, demon involvement, that always complicates things. Especially a marriage so strange and unnerving. Complicated, and weird, unexpected in some ways, a billion things. Something neither of the people actually in the damn thing have completely figured out.

Though Dipper can’t deny that it’s very functional.

He wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

When Bill nuzzles into his hair, Dipper takes his hand in his own. Holding it up against his chest, where Bill can feel the beating of his own heart. And because Bill is a jerk, he takes that chance to sneakily pinch a nipple again. Which leads to the predictable bickering, though it’s a little calmer than usual.

Eventually, it kind of just. Trails off. Dipper guesses they’re both too pleased to put real effort in, even for appearances. With a sigh, he rolls onto his back and stretches. Feeling a lingering ache, but mostly relaxed - and Bill’s warmth, so close, is adding to the latter. Plus, everything that Bill’s done to him. Even now, he feels a bit tingly from all the touch.

After a moment, he reaches up to the collar, lazily searching for the clasp.

“Hmmm.” Bill props himself up on one elbow, narrows his eye, and catches Dipper’s hand with his own. He draws it away from the collar, interlacing their fingers with a grin. “Not just yet.”

Oh. Surprising, but not unpleasantly so. Dipper glances down, then back up again. He gives Bill’s hand a squeeze, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Ahem.” Bill rises up, smacking a palm on his chest with pride. “You summoned me, sapling. Trust the contractor you contacted! I’m a real expert in this stuff, ya dig?” He leans over Dipper, planting a kiss on his chest, then his shoulder. “And I don’t think you’re gonna be satisfied with just one.”

Dipper swallows. Right now he’s doing just fine. Relaxed, a little achy, and satisfied. But.

Okay, Bill does have a point; he was in a particular mood earlier. One that’s not completely gone. Even the suggestion has sort of exacerbated the problem.

Though he’d be an idiot not to make it a little tough for him. Just for kicks.

“I summoned you for one thing,” Dipper retorts. He swats his husband on the top of the head, then squirms a little, like he’s about to wriggle out of his grasp. Predictably, Bill reacts by grabbing onto tighter. “You can’t change the deal now.”

“Ha! Didn’t prepare for a double-cross, didja?” Bill draws him back down, looming once more. Pressing Dipper’s shoulders into the bed and grinning, white and wild. He clicks his tongue. “Classic rookie error.”

“You monster.” Dipper presses the back of one hand to his forehead, turning his head to the side - and watches Bill’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter. “I’ll need a minute, though.” Some people have a refractory period, for crying out loud.

“Sure, no problem! The night is young, so are you, and best of all,” Bill says, cheerful enough. He smacks another kiss on Dipper’s forehead, stroking his sides in a not-at-all subtly possessive gesture. He throws in a wink. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Arrogant ass. Taking charge of things is par for the course, but now Bill’s acting like this was his idea.

Fine, let him have it. It’s nothing but a pretense, anyway. Dipper rolls his eyes.

They both know who really had the clever idea this time.

Though he does surge up, arms around Bill’s neck, to drag him in for a kiss. “Right back at you.”

#Not Safe For Working #Oh look it's pornblography #Sorry about all this #I don't have any fun tag things I think?#Other than man I am glad to have this done with #Some of these things were finicky as hell

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pb-dot · 8 months

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Film Friday: Bullet Train

I've been missing a few Film Fridays lately, partially because mental health has just kinda been like that and partially because I've been struggling with a slightly more meaty analysis that my brain just won't let me figure out properly. As such, I'm going to get into the swing of things again with a movie that is pretty stupid, and I say that with all possible love and admiration.

Ladybug isn't really comfortable with the title of hitman anymore, he's trying out a more harmonic life, but even so he does find it in himself to undertake what should by all accounts be a simple last-minute job. Board the eponymous train, grab a suitcase, and get off at the next station. Oh, were it only so easy. Turns out said bullet train is flush with kooky assassins and hitmen who are either out for the suitcase, the lives of one or more of each other, or have larger and more ominous designs.

There's Ladybug, of course, the quirky pair of British wetworks men Lemon and Tangerine out to escort a drugged-out VIP and a suitcase full of money, notorious and sneaky The Hornet who's skulking about somewhere, the megalomaniacal but brilliant Prince playing a larger game with the life of desperate father Kimura's child as ante, as well as the hot-headed Wolf who is out for vengeance and a paycheck, but mostly the vengeance thing. It's quite the web of coincidences, interferences, and merry chaos as these murderers navigate the crowded train.

It's chaotic, but one throughline that honestly makes the constant shifting priorities and allegiances of Ladybug and the other hitmen work is that it's all a job to them, a very messy job that may or may not be arranged by a Russian usurper of the Yakuza crime syndicate known as White Death, but still a job. Whenever it's expedient for our heroes and antiheroes to not kill each other, they'll show professional courtesy to each other, bantering in that "a little bit too cool" stylized way that's second nature to Hollywood assassins.

What sets the banter apart, though, is a distinct sense of humor. Lemon, much to Tangerine's annoyance, has a theory of human personalities and moral character based on Thomas The Tank Engine. Ladybug has luck that fluctuates wildly between being impossibly good and impossibly bad, and he has a problem with remembering faces which makes some of the networking with his fellow killers challenging. Wolf's role in the movie is short in a way that feels darkly comedic yet apt, and I was surprised to learn this was, in fact, a cameo from musician Bad Bunny (listen, I'm old, ok?)

It's all breezy fun. The movie takes itself about as seriously as any movie that features a Japanese-language cover of "Holding Out For A Hero" in a moment of high drama, but that's fine, the movie expects you to chuckle along, knowing full well it has your heart in a vise by the third cover of "I'm forever blowing bubbles." Not a joke by the way, the few moments that Bullet Train allows itself to express emotion more complex than "holy shit" and/or laughter, it's acted well enough and with enough genuine skill that it actually gets to me a fair bit.

It'd be an act of overstatement to call Bullet Train all that deep, but it adds up to more than the sum of its parts. It ends up saying some fun things about fate. I wouldn't exactly cite it in a philosophy paper or anything of the sort, it is fun to sit at the end of the "Michael Shannon plays Russian roulette in an oni mask to look badass" movie and go "You're right movie, maybe human misery DOES come from the hubris of believing ourselves to be masters over fate." I don't know, it's just nice for a crowd-pleasing action movie to go out on a note of what seems like a genuinely held belief and not "welp that happened" glibness. It reminds me a bit of Mr. and Mrs. Smith like that, a movie I'll probably end up talking about here one of these days.

#film friday #bullet train 2022 #I also didn't really have time to get into it #but there are some parallels between Ladybug and Nagito Komeda of Dangen Ronpa #in that “very intense luck that could be argued to be very good or very bad but whatever it is it is a lot” sense #No idea if it reflects a Japanese cultural idea about luck or not #would love to dig into that a little deeper one day if the opportunity should present itself #anyway Bullet Train is fun go watch it

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alangdorf · 1 year

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Aaaaand next off the checklist is Manager Magolor, it seems! I feel the need to clarify this is a while post-RtDL and most likely post-Star Allies too (and probably post-much-needed-therapy) given the temporally anomalous nature of Merry Magoland.

I also feel the need to clarify something weird I said in the initial theory post, even though it most likely goes without saying given some of the design decisions I made here and the sheer power of saying “you know what I mean”, but I think I finally have my thoughts coherently together about The Discourse. Going under the cut given that it is about The Discourse, and also about my personal experience with gender, transition, and internalized misogyny.

First off, if you don’t know what I mean by The Discourse, or why the heck I’m drawing Magolor as a Doomer and not a catboy, in the latter case see my previous posts, and in the former case, there was a line added in Return to Dream Land Deluxe for 100%ing the game where Magolor says he was lying about being from Halcandra. Now I’m not particularly entrenched in the Kirby fandom and generally avoid discourse, but even I’ve seen a lot of people say they think this lore addition was bad and stupid. I totally understand wanting to ignore it, given that the fanbase at large is full of Magolor likers that have elaborate headcanons about Magolor as a Halcandran, and various worldbuilding about Halcandra and the Ancients as informed by the concept. Personally, I had no previous stake in this given that the lore addition was actually the catalyst that got me to really care about Magolor in the first place, and obviously I think it’s interesting to extrapolate from.

Now, the ostensible gut reaction to finding out that Magolor has just been dressing up as an Ancient this whole time is to get really nervous about cultural appropriation. I personally think it’s likely to be more nuanced than a cut-and-dry case of an oppressor stealing from the culture of the oppressed, but given how little we actually know about the Ancients’ place in the Kirby universe both at their height and in the present day, and the fact that I myself am a white American, I’ll just cite Metal General’s RtDLdx pause screen lore, whatever the heck Grand Doomer has going on, and the short story Passing by Nella Larsen (Ok hi! Anxiety-ridden Kit from a week and a half later coming in to clarify that I’m not trying to equate funny little video game aliens to the severity of real life race struggles. As with everything please give me the benefit of the doubt in believing that I have good intentions and understand that there’s nuance but am just not the greatest at talking or thinking and I’m fighting for my life in here[my brain] ok thx bye) that I read in high school as sources for my personal thoughts, and leave the discussion on that subject there. (Oh, I also do like to think about the fact that he said he’s been studying the remnants of the Ancient civilization in Halcandra, for years, alone. Not much of anything with a concrete point to say about that though)

When I last talked about this in my theory post I said I saw it “more like uhhhh trans coding, kinda” and of course drawing this design forced me to confront the question of: now what the heck did I mean I mean by that, exactly?? Well, I thought about it more, and I realized that the much simpler thing to compare it to would be any teen coming-of-age movie where the protagonist dresses up as someone they aren’t because they don’t like who they are until they learn to accept and express themself for who they really are, though this message’s impact is often obfuscated somewhat in practice by Hollywood’s double gut-punch of beauty standards and misogyny. But as for what I was more closely reminded of when I called it trans coding, it was, as it often is, my own complicated journey with gender.

Speaking of, I realize I haven’t been very talkative on tumblr in several years, preferring to talk with close friends on discord rather than with the wider internet and you all know me as afab nb, so I suppose this is the time to come out as… cis, actually. Or rather, uh, transgender/cisgender/genderqueer/nonbinary/female. (Perhaps you can tell why I generally talk about this with people who already know me.) You know how it starts. I never really felt like I fit in with girls growing up, I held disdain for people who were “too girly”, I generally only made friends with nerdy guys, avoided wearing makeup, didn’t care overly much about how I dressed.

Then, five years ago, I discovered that being referred to as “they” made me really happy. I never experienced body dysphoria, but I liked to be able to have a flat chest sometimes. These are things that are still true about me. But feeling decoupled from the concept of womanhood, and, of course, simply growing as a person over time, allowed me to reassess my feelings and internal biases on it. I discovered I have very particular aesthetic preferences, some of which are traditionally very feminine. I started getting into fashion and sewing and started to be happy rather than ambivalent about the way I present myself. (I still don’t wear makeup barely at all.) I realized that what gender you are doesn’t have to mean anything about your particular gender presentation, and that your particular gender presentation doesn’t have to mean anything about what gender you are. I’m still addressing my own internalized misogyny every day, though I like to think I’ve gotten better about it. I’ve learned more about being queer and I’ve learned more about myself.

Over the years I’ve been slowly swinging back around to being comfortable identifying as a woman, and I’m not 100% there yet (I still have a bit of a dysphoric gut reaction to other people referring to me as female, I’ll likely always prefer they/them on the internet at least, and man oh man don’t even get me started on the religion thing. It’s even more complicated somehow and I have trouble talking about it even with close friends and family. I often feel caught between sides on a lot of things just because there’s just very few people who understand wholly where I’m coming from. For one thing, do you know how many weird reactions I’ve gotten to telling people I’m aroace and also getting married in two months? From all kinds of folks), but yeah. That’s how it is. Definitely genderqueer regardless what happens.

So uh, what the heck does any of this have to do with Maggie? I just have a relatively similar thought process regarding him. Uh, metaphorically, I mean; not necessarily with regards to gender. His gijinka designs have definitely turned out really genderqueer but as I’ve said before, this is just what happens whenever I get my little baby hands on new favorite male characters, especially given my penchant for selectively feminine aesthetics and the fact that I’ve never really learned how to draw cis men all that well. He’s also just really hard to put in pants & I wanna show the legs off, I paid money for those

Now for the million dollar question. Do I think any of my interpretation is how HAL actually intended it? Perhaps, but they seem to often leave deep lore things like this deliberately open-ended. So do I think they’re gonna actually do anything with it and make Magolor stop dressing up like an Ancient? Probably not, especially given that the lore bit is a reward for 100%ing the game, practically an easter egg at that point. Magolor is probably the one character who they’re most willing to give new outfits to, but I don’t see that extending to his mainline canon appearance. I think Kirby is a bit too much of a mascot-based franchise to comfortably depart from iconic aspects of their characters for that. They still haven’t given poor Taranza his own theme that isn’t a remix of Dedede’s, for crying out loud.

End of thoughts. Usual disclaimer that I am just one person with limited knowledge and judgement. I wanted to write out this clarification because I was worried my previous comments might look weird in isolation and because I know my Magolor headcanons are very intrinsically tied to The Discourse. It honestly kinda sucks a bit cause while it has been nice to be drawing again, I’ve also been relentlessly serotonin-seeking and I’m way too hungry for interaction & engagement on this, especially given how niche its particular appeal is. Ask box is always open but be warned I have no qualms about setting boundaries and won’t answer anything I don’t want to. Thanks for reading! - Love, Catboy “🪺” Discourse

#art #digital #kirby #magolor #kirby gijinka #gijinka #not sure which tag to use #anyway here’s this #loosely based the bob on that one concept art design I totally forgot about until a few days ago #though also it just looks like my own hair lol #really really like the edits I made to the legs here #especially the sticker!! Kirby made it for him and he shows it off to people… oough #Don’t ask me how exactly his wings are out through the jacket. I didn’t think about it. It’s magic~#Dress is somewhat based on a cheongsam and I have a bit of reasoning for it but I don’t wanna get into it #he could rock qi lolita though #may shade this sometime but idk #friend made a post in the discord while I was in the middle of writing this post that I find very serendipitous #love you too <3

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astralartefact · 1 year

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Hello, wanted to ask your opinion on the theory I've seen pop around that Noelle and her sisters are the basis for the Attack type androids that Yorha makes

My long standing theory was that she's one of the dragon weapons that are mentioned in some of the timeline nitty-gritty. I actually already wrote a little bit about my thoughts about this before (here) since there is some stuff in YoRHa Dark Apocalypse that hints at some bigger connection - but that was when her chapter first came out so it's a little bit out of date

But inspired by your ask I took a look around her new story stuff on nierrein.guide a little bit - and I found out that Recollection of Dusk actually has stories like the ex stories and Noelle's has just released like a week ago.

My findings:

In short: Kind of. A little bit. In a little bit longer: What the fuck

(spoilers below the cut for like everything, i go into a little bit too much detail here)

Read the Recollections of Dusk story, it's wild (and as always the art is beautiful... the colors they use for the final one? amazing. best art design in all of gaming)

So Noelle is actually a surviving human (probably a clone) that androids found frozen in cryostatis and then modified to turn her into a weapon who is also now able to turn into a red eyed dragon beast person whenever her sister who remains in her mind (probably the original human noelle was cloned from) makes her lose control in order to enact eternal vengeance against the world that did this to her(*put a pin in this).

She is also continually hunted by defense androids that are programmed to kill her ever since she left the research facility - and since they do eventually catch and kill her, it's unlikely that she is a 'prototype YoRHa model' in the sense we would probably think of. Doesn't mean that the androids working on her didn't use their research to develop the defense androids into the YoRHa models (the focus on (passing on) memories that is part of the story has big YoRHa black box vibes to me), but especially since she wasn't even an android to begin with I would call her more of a cousin or aunt to YoRHa rather than a straightforward "this is the next step".

It also basically confirms that she is indeed one of the dragon weapons. It would fit right into that spot in the timeline since humans are dead but androids exist (also Ex & RoD Noelle wear very similar coats to Ex Yuzuki and Hina's Hamelin coats and if I remember correctly Hamelin were involved in creating the dragon weapons) and in one of the RoD story chapters she drives through a canyon - which kind of implies North America to me - which is where the Kingdom of Night is - which is where the dragon weapons are. The only thing missing is the mention of Machine Lifeforms or the Aliens to really solidify it.

There is also something going on with the YoRHa Dark Apocalypse stuff I pointed out in my old post and the Seed of Resurrection Copy from there. I haven't really formulated a full theory yet, but it's likely that Noelle's dragon stuff and cloning comes from a (Pseudo-)Seed.

Now, to return to the point about Noelle's sister in her brain - this actually is also touching on another theory I have, but this time not a lore theory but more of an interpretation theory:

Does Drakenier have an overarching bad guy? The answer is of course yes, the motherbeast awaits freedom not really in a straightforward way, but if we do look at a common theme then maybe we could point out that there are a lot of evil red eyes of mind control in Drakenier.

But Yoko Taro games are always about something. Did you know DoD 1 came out on 9/11 and then Replicant, which is about 9/11, references DoD 1 in place of 9/11? They always have a point - so surely if there is an overarching thing coming back all the time it has to be a symbol for something, right?

The Red Eyes Disease in DoD 1, the Logic Virus, the Legion's Red Eye (which we saw with Yuzuki's Ex story) and now Red Eyed Noelle all are characterized as a manipulation of a human through hatred of the world/society as it currently presents itself. Basically every time a character gets to a point where they just really feel slighted and turn against the world their eyes turn red.

I think - and this is just a longwinded explanation to get to a "duh." level conclusion - that Red Eyes are Fascism.

I had to think about it again since Noelle's influence of her sister that makes her lose control was also mainly rooted in nostalgia (something the story specifically points out) and I remembered that i read somewhere that fascism is also very rooted in that (a 'return to a better time' sort of thing) - it just all fits together =v=

Anyways. Sorry for the ramble and for bringing in topics you did not ask about. But thanks for accidentally making me go on this journey! And thanks for being interested in my thoughts on this kind of stuff :3

#nier reincarnation #noelle nier reincarnation #nier #nier automata #yoko taro #asks

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ameliaandreas3 · 3 months

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My nickname on Ao3 is Penelope_of_Ithaca and I deeply adore your work - seriously, this is one of my constant hyperfixations. I am madly waiting for the release of new chapters and constantly reread the old ones.

And "Will the son of Apollo and one of the Olympians" is too deeply embedded in the crust of my brain and I decided to share it with you.

•Wildflower "Will" Aelia [it should have been a girl, Will being a boy is a mistake that was too late to fix. The perpetrators were severely punished later] designer baby, although this is a great understatement, Will was not born, he was created. The perfect combination of two genetic materials, flawless in everything from hair structure to teeth. It was created from the best that Apollo and Jupiter had.

•Apollo is adored by the capitol, desired. It makes good money. But it is crystal clear that this will not last forever, he already has a son who may become his father's heir. But Michael does not meet the criteria - he does not have those cute features, a sunny atmosphere and the warm charm of Apollo. It's good in its own way, but not sunny enough. And this calls into question whether he will be as desirable as his father.

•Jupiter finds a way out - a new child, but he relies on chance and does not wish luck. Genetic engineering is an ideal option, he has been looking for a second donor for some time, but no one is suitable and then he decides to offer his genetic material. Specialists in this field conducted testing and analysis - the genetic correspondence is good and the risk of developing any pathologies in their joint fetus is extremely low. Of course, no one is interested in Apollo's opinion.

•In a short period of time - five months - geneticists and breeding specialists create the perfect child, [Not a girl as Jupiter originally ordered, a mistake occurred - the wrong set of chromosomes and a boy was born but still perfect]. Excellent health, low predisposition to diseases, absolutely charming appearance with the blond hair of Jupiter's mother, blue eyes of Apollo and their beautiful features so perfectly combined that no one can even determine that he looks like Jupiter. Wildflower Aelia is a perfect and wonderful creation, having only the best of everything.

•The boy, of course, is handed over to Apollo's upbringing - he feels completely bad and terrible when his son is born in this way and from such a person. He is full of such conflicting feelings and his existing depression is getting worse. Naomi Solace his gorgeous girlfriend accepts the little boy as her own, she gives him a nickname that will become his name and gives him her surname - Solace. After due time, he is introduced as the son of Apollo and Naomi. And Apollo, not without bitterness, fell in to love his son. He often thinks that it would be better if Will really was just his and Naomi's son.

•Jupiter really has his moments of affection for Will - holding him in his arms after birth, receiving reports with photos of him and he was his sponsor during his games. He really wanted to meet him after his victory. Juno wanted to become Will's godmother, but Jupiter refused her.

First of all. Your theory sounds so good I might actually add parts of it to what I was planning to do. (When I finish the CF segment the intermission would chronicle the creation of the Seven Family.)

However- reee not so spoiler-y because mythology- Jupiter is Apollo's father, and Pluto's brother. Which would make Nico and Will related and with no "godly dna not counting" rule it WOULD be low key gross.

BUT. The idea itself is amazing and I wish I'd thought of it earlier. I would use your diabolical theory in some way or another though (w credit ofc) promise, stay tuned- I have an idea 😉😉

#hunger games au #pjo au #hunger games fic

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robotsafari · 6 months

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something that never leaves my brain about the kh cartoon pilot is why does soul eater look like that?

i have 3 theories:

1: ease of drawing.

soul eater is admittedly kinda hard to draw. the specific way the bat wing is structured and the strange curve into the seeker’s eye could be quite annoying to have to constantly draw over and over. as if drawing anime characters wasnt hard enough. turning soul eater into a simple black bat wing blade with a traditional golden cross-guard instead of the eye nonsense seemed like a much better option. if this is the case then i dont blame them. this is, of course, if soul eater would’ve remained in this design during full production. probably also the reason why donald was given the dream rod. might be the most likely reason.

2: inaccuracy/wasnt given reference material.

sometimes. there are just inaccuracies in american cartoons that adapt video games. (THROWS OUT A MASSIVE COUGH. CAPTAIN N.) there is a slight design inaccuracy on goofy’s shield, donald is wielding an endgame staff etc etc. while in some places it feels like reference material was given (world icon art, etc.) in others it doesnt. full character references could’ve been easily done by booting up a copy of kh1 and looking at the character models. getting reference images for the soul eater would’ve been hard. soul eater isnt just a weapon you can easily get a good look at in-game, whether if its in a fight or a cutscene. for a pilot animatic that would’ve been tedious and time consuming. so why not. that’s what soul eater looks like, it’s just a dark bat wing sword right? oops you forgot the eye.

3: too scary(?)

honestly this might be the least likely reason or the most likely reason. disney, and just television programming in general can be weird. the studio may or may not have deemed the seeker’s eye “too scary” for kids. especially since it appears on a weapon that a character the kids are supposed to root for wields. i know kh2 wasnt out yet, but that same eye continues to appear on the weapon he wields lol.

whatever the reason was.. soul eater with a cross-guard is funny.

#robo ramble #before you question why i called it the seekers eye and not the gazing eye. idgaf.#thats your answer.

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nihilnovisubsole · 2 years

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Thank you! That actually helps a lot. I'm the anon who sent you that question you about what your writing journey has been like. I just recently graduated from an M.A program in English and so I'm sorta in a slump and feeling dejected as I look for jobs, so I think it is more so professionally as I'm in an in-between moment in my life. I've been writing for a long while, my own snippets of original works as well as fanfics in my free time while I was earning my degree, though right now I do feel in a similar spot that you describe being in during your late teens. I'm scared of failure, the thought I might be wasting time, and that I'm not good enough. Writing is something I love and hunger for in a professional scope, but my worries are also getting in my way and make me feel as if I am at a standstill or making no progress. Though I know I just have to start and go and that writing something is better than not doing anything at all. So I just need to get out of that funk I'm in now.

And if it's no trouble, I would love to hear about your job-hunting. I think it would be very useful to hear.

well, it sounds like you're already most of the way there. you're right. we do just have to start. the only way out is through. i find transitional phases in life are, in general, hard, and it's difficult to set off when you don't know where you're going. i think it's why i've thrown myself at so many over-scoped, half-cocked, abandoned story ideas in the past three years. pandemic time is altered, and you have to put that energy somewhere, even if you later find out the project isn't going to work.

so, job-hunting. full disclosure, i can only speak to game writing, because that's what i've been working in since 2017. game writing - or narrative design - is odd. full-time, salaried NDs are a small group, and big studio openings are very rare. i also take rejection hard, which made things interesting, because applying to jobs is like baseball: 90% failure. you have to have a thick skin to make it in a creative industry. i do not! i've just developed coping mechanisms for it. there's nothing like vacuuming the whole house when you're upset. you know that scandinavian guy who said, "i chop wood until i'm too tired to care?" he gets it.

[although, it's funny, since you brought it up: the "academia to gamedev" pipeline is more common than you might think. i work with a former professor, and i have another pal with a Ph.D. my theory is that all the research trained their brains to crunch systems.]

sometime in 2019, i became unsatisfied with the mobile romance job. it happens. time to go somewhere else. i learned fast that i couldn't go on indeed and search "narrative design." most openings came through word of mouth, and some weren't public at all. in short, if i were to hear about a writing job posting, i'd hear about it through the grapevine, and that meant networking. being active on twitter became non-negotiable. i had to meet other game writers and see what they were up to. there's an inherent tension there, because you're looking for a job, but you have to genuinely want to share your work and learn about theirs. i mean, we should always be genuine, but people can tell when you're only out to get something from them. [not that you would! it still bears bringing up.]

if this sounds excruciating, remember, despite the permanence of the internet, people don't get hung up on awkward encounters like we think they do. i was so annoying that first year, faking it 'til i made it, like a 21-year-old who insists she's mature enough for her parents' martini lunch. in time, i met people who were closer to my pay grade. i did a couple of game jams. i settled in. it felt good.

but i still wanted a job! so i timidly applied to a few studios. it took me three months to land an interview. i bombed it. it was humiliating. the thing about being early-career is that every app feels life-or-death, like every interview will be your last chance to prove yourself. "if you screw this one up, nothing will ever come around again!" and it often didn't, for months at a time. but i was stubborn. i kept at it.

still, after a year of that, i grew so burned-out and desperate that i had to swallow my ego and ask people for help. a friend of mine hooked me up with another indie contract. i got job coaching, which prescribed some hard-to-swallow pills. mainly, i needed more experience. mobile games could be a tough sell to AAA studios, and dangerous crowns would never substitute for game work. i can't lie, that frustrated me. i had to go through a grieving process. when i emerged, i gained a level of emotional detachment about it. when you realize you have homework, it doesn't matter how you feel. your assignment is to do a good job and meet your intended goal. i made contrition. i joined a portfolio-building workshop. i began planning dressed to kill. if that was what it took, that's what i had to do.

that's when, mysteriously, things shifted. i got more interviews. in summer of '21, i applied to obsidian for the first time. i said, "what the hell, college-me would kill me if she heard i didn't apply to The New Vegas People." i got rejected, but learned i'd made it to the final round. that was different. that was intoxicating. they liked me. i'd almost made it. they encouraged me to apply again, something i once found unthinkable. but, hey, i'd gotten close, right? so i took the company of heroes contract, which ended up being great. and in winter, when obsidian posted another job, i applied again.

there were other things. participating in the VOW writers' strike put my friends and i in game news. that was a pleasant, intimidating surprise. if nothing else, i learned that, like love trouncing your fear of failure, your desire to push through has to be stronger than your shame. trust me, i know. i'm ashamed of everything. but when it really counts, i think your instinct will tell you that it's worth sticking with it.

#asks #anon #writing #workjob #long post

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rabidpomeranians · 2 years

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I posted 4,387 times in 2022

16 posts created (0%)

4,371 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@domicileensnared

@mouthface

@regalvoid

@dumbass-extraordinaire

@kammyclues

I tagged 60 of my posts in 2022

#homestuck - 13 posts

#sprite edit - 6 posts

#heinoustuck - 5 posts

#body horror - 4 posts

#dirk strider - 2 posts

#''you can sleep wvith this fish anytime grand highbabe'' - 2 posts

#op probably wanted bad jokes instead of this uhhh - 2 posts

#when he cant even manage that then its time for the half off special - 2 posts

#like ghb already knows this guy is only playing nice to get something - 2 posts

#jane crocker - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#and the sign comment at least partially comes from it being a hardly stylized pair of handcuffs used in... hold on what would that be called

My Top Posts in 2022:

Another sprite edit done! This one finished way faster than I expected. I guess my editing techniques are getting sharper now that I’m 5 in. The cheek spots and marionette strings are an extra touch that I thought would be nice additions.

beta kids [X] | roxy [X]

24 notes - Posted June 20, 2022

AI Jane replacement theory

[Image text: ARQUIUSPRITE: Miss Crocker is now a vessel for a cunning, malicious artificial intelligence whose neural netronix and ontology buffers and stuff like that have somehow managed to far surpass even my own -end text]

Arquius says this as an advanced AI that's been fused with a fully cognizant person through the medium of an (at least) semi-intelligent kernelsprite.

You can argue Hal wasn’t that advanced to begin with since there are obvious exploitable flaws in the programming, which in turn (ironically) drags down Arquius’ overall standing as a complex AI. But. Hal was produced by a 13 year old from a single snapshot of his brain. It’s no small feat, until you see how it stands up to a lifetime of Crocker Corp research and surveillance.

See the full post

24 notes - Posted May 31, 2022

Outside of her ram horns, Aradia’s lusus/animal theming is so blink and you’ll miss it that I only just realized something.

one of the conditions for the trolls timeline to be successful is that Aradia has to be dead before the start of the game.

She’s set up to be a sacrificial lamb.

25 notes - Posted May 27, 2022

Another sprite edit finished just in time for 4/13! I’m excited to do more of these but I’m running out of og heinoustuck designs to pull from. I guess jane or vriska would be next.

69 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I love the idea that tavros had pyrokinesis but never used it outside of a personal gag. Like he either considered it too dangerous to mess around with, and/or he realized the nightmare and a half it would be if vriska caught wind.

The images flash in his mind of her adding a mind controlled dash of arson to her latest scheme. Absolute best case scenario: nobody burns to death.

He promptly commits to being significantly more useless and takes his secret to the grave

155 notes - Posted February 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #did not expect that to be my top post but it makes sence

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carolinemillerbooks · 2 years

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/how-to-avoid-extinction/

How To Avoid Extinction

Life is full of danger. I blew up my microwave making oatmeal this week. On a grander scale, our species faces deadly problems: climate change, threats to democracy at home and abroad, and the omnipresent threat of nuclear war. Nine countries collectively possess about 1300 nuclear weapons “20 times more powerful than the bombs dropped on Japan during World War 11.” (Catalyst, Vol. 22, pg 7) No wonder health experts are calling for routine anxiety screenings for people over age 64. (AARP Bulletin, Nov. 2022, pg. 4) But why stop there? Populations everywhere show signs of stress, regardless of age. Globally, among those who are 15-29, suicide is the fourth leading cause of death. In 2019, one world health organization reported that in the global north 35-56% of the population suffered from mental stress. In the south, the statistic rose to 70-85%. Mental illness is becoming the norm. Psychopathy and narcissism are so common, they no longer are defined as mental illnesses. We’ve found other ways to confuse ourselves. For example, we have between 68-100 self-identified genders on record, with the number likely to grow. Anxiety seems to increase our need for group identity. Unfortunately, that need has created a period of unprecedented polarization, a precursor to violence. Older systems for preserving order are in disarray. As one expert noted, we can no longer “…surveil or ban or arrest our way out of this.” (“Far-Right Extremism and Gun Violence,” by Hannah Gais, Southern Poverty Law Center, Fall, 2022, pg. 12.) Scientists have developed a theory to explain why we have yet to discover intelligent life on other planets. Intelligent life they speculate exterminates itself. Dinosaurs populated the earth for nearly 135 million years and might still be dominant but for a comet. Their brains were too small to develop significant inner lives. Without a sense of self, vanity, intrigue, racism, and power games lack the scaffolding on which to grow– traits that work against the longevity of intelligent life. What we need, experts say, is a “Great Filter.” With it, we could eliminate aspects of human nature that work against our survival. But where do we find such a filter? I’ve never seen one at the grocery store. Frankly, I doubt Intelligence is the attribute that dooms us. The flaw we seek, if it is a flaw, lies in our primitive brains. Our impulses. Nature designed us to focus on what’s immediate rather than the future. A caveman who steps on a saber-tooth tiger’s tail doesn’t need to contemplate his course of action. He needs to run like hell. So far, later developments in the prefrontal cortex, like reason and logic, stand feeble against the primitive brain. The marshmallow experiment proves that. Even so, the mind isn’t powerless against itself. An attribute exists that is as ancient as impulse. Kindness, we’ve learned, satisfies as successfully as a marshmallow. Our bodies and our minds thrive on it. “Do unto others,” isn’t purely a religious notion. It’s a prescription for long life. Working to promote kindness in the world may seem too woke for some. Yet what is woke but another word for compassion? Does anyone of sound mind object to it? Practiced every day, we might come to see the world differently. Suspicion, aggression, rage, what are these but expressions of suffering? Some afflictions are too abhorrent to tolerate, I admit. Who would embrace a rabid dog? Yet when kindness is present, we decrease our need for hate. Relieved of its burden, we may come to feel as well as understand that we need each other. Should enough of us arrive at this awareness in time, we may yet save our species.

#anxiety #being woke #destructive impulses #dinosaurs #group identity #Hannah Gais #intelligent life perils #kindness #marshmallow experiment #mental illness #mental stress globally #nuclear weapons #preserving social order #species extermination #suicide rates among the young #the Great Filter #the primitive human brain

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blookmallow · 3 years

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today's walten files theorizing: on showbear and pete the hippo

i was close-watching through bunnyfarm again and i have A Theory forming

i think pete the hippo represents felix, and showbear may also be connected to felix somehow

- firstly, I was trying to work out who is speaking in "lucky you"

the voice encourages Sophie to take her pills, and calls this all “a story of broken people, beautiful people” - so my first thought was that it's felix speaking, but then it says, “he is so sorry about what he did to them, but there’s nothing he can do”

(the “I MADE THEM BEAUTIFUL” text appears over the image of Bon’s broken body, so i think the text is bon but the voiceover is not)

so it seems to be someone speaking about felix, possibly on his behalf, justifying his actions or at least attempting to make him seem sympathetic in some way

showbear is seen in this video too

so it appears to be showbear speaking (the voice also sounds pretty close, i think its just more distorted in bunnyfarm?) - but then, if showbear is on felix's side (justifying what he's done, encouraging sophie to take the pills, etc), or maybe even IS felix... why does he later help sophie to regain her memories (specifically her memories of the accident, which would be probably the LAST thing felix would want her to remember?)

there's also some visual similarities in showbear's bunnyfarm appearance with that one fucked up felix figure

i cant tell if this is significant enough to Mean Something, but the posing is almost the same, they both have three buttons, the colors are almost inverted, there's the same long arms and same torso/head shape. if you really look at it, it looks like showbear could have been drawn from a distortion of that image of felix (or that they were both drawn from the same base image?)

then pete the hippo appears in bunnyfarm as the nice, friendly, helpful guy who has just what you need to save the party out in his barn

who else do we know of who has a storage building full of something bon's burgers needs, and has the giant heart and giant brain to come up with a plan to save the day?

then i was analyzing the banny level, which ill get into a little more in another post later, but basically, if we think of banny as representing susan (since susan was shoved into the banny animatronic)

- banny lets the pigs out, and they get into the hippo house // susan unwittingly exposed felix's crime, and forced him to confront his actions

- when the player enters the hippo house, there are two children: a boy and a girl. pete is asleep on the couch. // felix went to the drinking area during the school party and left the walten children alone.

- to get the key, you need to distract pete what looks like a bucket of chicken i think? // felix became distracted with alcohol

when you return to the room, pete is gone and the children are no longer moving, and have no eyes. // felix abandoned the dead children.

and the most telling piece of evidence?

the portrait of pete on the wall turned into a picture of felix.

this also leaves the pretty horse girl as the Only character who doesn't seem to be associated with anyone else, and I'd assume she's just an npc for the in-game story, but if she's the ONLY character with no connection to anyone else, that stands out, so I don't know what to do with that, either. her hair does look like jenny's, but i dont know what that would mean

i dont think felix is dead or speaking through pete exactly, it's possible maybe pete is his own character design (since pete was never mentioned any time jack walten was working with felix) or just narratively represents him

#the walten files #twf #media analysis

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hes-writer · 4 years

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To You (4)

Summary: harry dates y/n to get closer to her best friend

Warnings: mild angst (what else lol), not a lot of dialogue for this one, and a bit of fluff

Word Count: 2775 words

A/N: I've had the worst writer's block for this series but then inspiration struck me at 2 am and I had the chance to write a lil sumthin sumthin for the next part :D

Read the full series in my masterlist (bio)

As I mentioned before, this story kind of goes backwards.

____

As self-deprecating as it is, Y/N couldn’t help but feel her guard lower with each fleeting glance at her phone. She didn’t mean to, really. It wasn’t as if she was bored out of her mind because she was the opposite of that.

Going on her phone and tapping on Instagram was more of a distraction from studying if anything. She was hounded by piles of homework and pages of readings to do by the end of next week. It seemed that her brain was working in constant overdrive to try to remember the endless concepts and theories that were catapulted at her with no signs of stopping. Her eyes were straining from the constant stimulation from her laptop screen, and from trying to read the small letters plastered on the computer.

Y/N was studying on her designated studying days, as usual. She was quite proud of sticking to the schedule, except for the few weeks that she opted to coddle herself in the confines of her warm blanket because that was around the time that she found out her boyfriend, Harry, was only using her to get close to her best friend, Louise.

——

In retrospect, Y/N should have seen all the signs blaring right in front of her face all along. She gave herself facepalms more than she could count by the way she was—quite literally—blinded by love to realize that Harry’s feelings were nothing but a façade. That Y/N was nothing but a pawn in his game; a character to manipulate, disposable in order for him to get the woman he actually wanted. And Y/N had no doubts that her ex-boyfriend was treating Louise like a queen.

Y/N wore red-tinted glasses while she was with Harry and she didn’t see the red flags rising every time he shaped their evening around Louise’s schedule. She thought that Harry was making such a good effort in getting to know the people close to Y/N’s life that he insisted on having Louise around whenever they hung out with her friends.

Harry asked endless questions about Louise; from where she worked to what she was interested in—to which Y/N had foolishly answered, believing that she had found the perfect man to share her life with. But she should have known when he didn’t do the same for her other friends. Hell, he didn’t even do the same to her!

___

When Harry and Y/N were just friends, he didn’t bother getting to know her as thoroughly and comprehensively as he did with Louise. In fact, it could be argued that Harry hated Y/N when they were first introduced by—and this was ironic—Louise!

Louise spoked highly and excitedly of ‘my friend, Y/N’ and with Harry being the loved-up simp that he was—wanted to please Louise by appearing interested in her friend. He guessed that he was probably too good of an actor (not to toot his own horn) because that meet up turned into a set-up.

Louise had planned a date for her friends, Y/N was indifferent to it; she was even a little excited because she thought that Harry was sort of nice. Despite the fact that he was indirectly rude to her in their first meeting, Y/N didn’t hold grudges on people for their first impressions. She believed that anybody could have a bad day and that might just be the time when Harry was dragged by the arm to be introduced to her.

Y/N understood if that was the case. She was not too keen on acting nice and friendly after a stressful day at work, or a hard study session at the library. So even if Harry was practically snarling at every word she said from his seat around the rounded booth table of the bar—she agreed to go on a first date with him.

——

Harry was in shambles.

He got himself into quite an intricate mess trying to attain the woman of his dreams. He was such a pleaser that he was now contemplating inside his car, outside of Y/N’s address. Was this all worth it? Of course, it was. As much as Harry would like to say that this was part of his plan to make Louise his girlfriend, it really wasn’t.

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t use it to his advantage.

It was a good thing that he was early—about twenty minutes or so. That was only because he was huffing the whole time Harry was buttoning the clutches of his dress shirt, shaking his head at the bathroom mirror and reprimanding himself for letting his lovesickness to get him deeper than he would like. But hey, the sooner Harry got to Y/N’s place, the sooner this ‘date’ would be over.

So here he was, hidden in the shadows of the night sky and shielded by the heavy tint of his Range Rover. Palms were pressed on the lush leather steering wheel as Harry formulated how he could turn this around in his favour. He was already in Louise’s good books for even agreeing to this in the first place—why not make Y/N his own personal wingman?

Granted, that she didn’t actually know Harry well enough but maybe this date could reach Louise’s ears about how much of a romantic, perfect, and chivalrous gentleman Harry could be. That would surely make Louise like him, right?

Wrong. Absolutely wrong.

It was safe to say that Harry was feeling guilty the moment he decided to use Y/N in order to get to her best friend, but that ship sailed long ago when anger and frustration took over. Why in the hell was he so perfect to Y/N’s eyes that she had gushed about him to her best friend minutes after he had dropped her off?

Why did Harry have to knock on her door with a single-stemmed rose clutched in his fingers, doing a little bow to add humour when she opened the door? And what in God’s name possessed him to say that she looked beautiful that night in her pretty, deep green dress that he thought was absolutely gorgeous on her—but his heart was with another woman—fully knowing that it would look better on Louise?

“Why. . . just why,” Harry asked himself as he sat at a table with Y/N, Louise and her boyfriend, Dylan.

That was what being romantic got him. That was where declaring Y/N as his unofficial wingman ended him upon. A double date with the woman he wanted with Y/N looking at him as if they’ve been together for years, when in fact, they had only known each other for a few weeks.

Harry’s pride was too big to admit that this time; he couldn’t get the girl. And so, his bruised ego declared that this date was just another unplanned situation that would benefit him—somehow, someway—in the future.

Wrong again.

Because a month later, Y/N was running off to her lecture with a bag strapped over her shoulder, leaving Harry a passionate kiss on the lips. He was quite ashamed to say that he enjoyed the affection, but not enough to ignore the throbbing of his heart

Harry wasn’t all in with his relationship with Y/N and he knew exactly why. For months, he had been pining for Louise and well, he ended up with her best friend, Y/N. Now that was just super unlucky for him. And he wasn’t usually a mean person, but Harry was very annoyed with fate (or destiny) for leaving with an ultimatum.

First, leaving Y/N risking her tattling to Louise about him breaking her heart was a no-no. Second, staying with Y/N until she realizes that both of them were no good together. The latter was a much more pleasant choice, except the fact that it could take months for Y/N to acknowledge that she and Harry were both too different for each other.

——

It was another four months later when Harry drew upon an epiphany very similar yet completely different from the ultimatum he had presided.

Y/N was sure of her feelings more than ever, even dropping the ‘L’ word during a drunken stupor of wine and bubbly champagne. Harry was sure that she hadn’t remembered her confession the next morning because she never brought it up. However, those words that escaped her lips were enough for Harry to overthink each night one or the other slept over.

Sometimes Y/N’s snores would serve as background noise to his serene imagination, wondering why the images of Louise and him doing couple-y stuff were now replaced with Y/N’s figure instead.

He also pondered if his memory was so impeccable that he could hear Y/N’s laugh fluttering in his ears while she was sound asleep beside him or was it just because she released a chuckle every time he made a horrible joke?

(It was true. Y/N never left Harry hanging in the air with a questionable punchline of a head-scratching joke. Both of them knew that her giggles were pity laughs. Harry was thankful for it and Y/N just couldn’t resist painting a genuine smile on Harry’s face, looking so proud that he had made her laugh.)

Harry was certain that his feelings for Y/N wouldn’t quite reach the threshold that he held her for now. But it seemed that he was getting a lot of his sworn predictions wrong lately. Sure, their first encounter (and the second, and the third. . .) were purely for satisfaction’s sake. A mere plot for Harry to build his boyfriend resumé for Louise.

Harry wasn’t sure when his feelings shifted from civil and friendly to an ever-evoking, lovesick puppy.

Maybe it was the way Y/N walked, straight into his heart and stole it, keeping it safe in her tender hands when she pressed a lingering kiss on his lip while she ran off to catch the bus. The way Harry would pout when Y/N forgot the routine she had set, resulting in him whining her name and sometimes chasing after her to get his much-needed kiss. He even started calling it his ‘good-luck charm’ because it seemed like without it; Harry came home more drained and tired than usual because nothing went right that day.

Or maybe it was the way she giggled while reading something on her phone, laptop, or a book—even if it was for school purposes. How absolutely pleased he was to hear her melody of giggles, straining his ear to listen more closely and wanting to do nothing more than to hear it again because it was music to Harry. It usually ends with Y/N’s heaving breaths, begging him to stop tickling her.

Was it because she was the most adorable little thing while she was asleep? No, it couldn’t be, Harry thought, even though the admiration in his eyes cannot be described as anything other than glazed over with love and affection with the way he stared at Y/N’s sleeping face.

But why can’t he stop thinking about her when she wasn’t around? Harry felt like he was missing a part of himself as soon as he shut the door to his house because Y/N had to go to her own place.

Why did a smile splinter his lips visualizing Y/N studying at her kitchen table with a topknot wobbling on her head and a pair of her thick-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose? Harry still remembers the first time she asked him to redo the bun on her head, complaining that it was loosening and that she couldn’t focus when strands were haywire.

Harry made sure to be extra careful as to not accidentally pull on her scalp, stretching the hairband around his fingers.

Now, he only had a minute experience in hair styling, reminiscing to his long-haired days were he slipped his hair into a neat ball in a few seconds or less. But this was Y/N, his girlfriend, who had an adorable pout on her face. The finch between her brows deepening when she tried to understand the concepts written on the screen yet she would giggle when Harry would ask her, ‘Am I hurting you?’ and shake her head ‘no’.

——-

So it was a bit questionable when Harry jumped at the chance to kiss Louise when the time came.

She had just broken up with her boyfriend and called Y/N for comfort. However, Y/N was about to leave for an exam worth half of her grade and she couldn’t just not attend it. She may love her best friend with all of her heart, but not enough to waste thousands of dollars to redo a course because she missed the final exam.

Hence, why Harry was sent in place of Y/N instead. And that was also how his plump lips managed to lock itself with Louise’s’ glossy ones. He should’ve felt guilt stab him right away when he tasted wet, salty tears on his tongue when he battled for dominance with Louise.

Harry should have pulled away when his phone buzzed in his pocket; a message from girlfriend that she had just finished her exam and was ready to be picked up now so that she could give love and comfort to her best friend.

Harry’s subconscious must have reminded him that this was the woman whom he had spent months pining on; desperately trying to make her his yet failing. And now that he had the chance to, he couldn’t stop.

Instead of doing everything his conscience had practically yelled at him to do, Harry’s brain had buffered—his body numbed every nerve except the ones controlling his mouth because their persisting kiss was captured by a photographer hidden amongst barricades that Harry had failed to take notice of.

Harry was sure that his presence was hidden to the best of his abilities, but he guessed that Louise’s hands had pulled his hoodie off in the midst of their make-out session, revealing his side profile and the unruly curls on his head.

And that was how Y/N identified the image on her phone the time she felt her heart being ripped out and crushed into pieces. That, and the fact that Harry wore the same clothes she had seen him in before she left.

____

And now, as Y/N paused her thumb from scrolling away from the image on her screen, the same pain and heartbreak still throbbed in her chest.

She couldn’t seem to forget, as a lot of people say, what Harry did to her. Despite the fact that he was spotted outside her door, leaving boxed gifts of chocolate and flower bouquets a few minutes ago—Y/N simply didn’t have the capacity to sweep everything under the rug.

The wound was still fresh—feeling air was enough to have her hissing, aiming to cover the cut in fear that it would become too painful to even ignore. For weeks, Y/N had to wallow in agonizing self-pity to remind herself that Harry didn’t deserve her or her love for him and now she was somehow ready to run back into his arms?

She absolutely despised the way her hands twitched to send him a text. To leave him a voicemail or to simply tap his contact just to hear him speak to her again. Y/N was ashamed to admit that he thought about knocking on his front door just for another chance at seeing him again. An opportunity to ask him if he was happier with her (ex) best-friend—if Harry loved Louise more than he did with her. Or—and most of all—if Harry ever did love Y/N during their short relationship. Was everything just a game to him?

She was doing good so far; she was strong enough to withhold from the urges of communicating with an ex. However, Y/N knew it was only a matter of time before Harry took extreme measures to speak to her, unlocking her door with the spare key she had given him. One day she would be met with his figure in the hallway with a sad smile on his face and three long-stemmed sunflowers in his hand and Y/N wouldn’t be able to resist him.

Y/N hated herself for being so weak whenever Harry was involved. He was her Kryptonite; getting too close to him was what ripped her to shreds.

___

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____

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