#alien geometrics
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#flesh blood & concrete#indie game#architecture in horror#architecture horror#alien geometrics#Liminal Space#liminal horror#eldritch location#quote
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Geometric art and some Alien code!
Enjoy!
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am seepy but i did just write like 1000 words of the tenmartha eldritch horror porn so im satisfied 👍 anon u have good ideas. good night i will show u it. tomorrow. when i am awake enough to remove typos.
#im not sure hwo sexy it is but by god is the doctor turning into some odd sort of Creachur#or. perhaps some sort of geometric statue of blood and bone and glowy bits#that martha is. going to make come. somehow. good for her. martha deserves to touch weird alien parts more
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It is ten degrees hotter in the Jeffries tubes than usual, he notes idly to himself as he crawls, his knees scraping against metal. There are schematics open behind his eyes: the winding labyrinth of the tubes that Mr. Scott insisted he learn—laddie, you’re gonna need to know this ship inside and out if you wanna work on her—and, like a good student, he memorised them quickly.
Now he’s glad he did.
He slides open the exit hatch and pulls himself out with relative ease. His normally pristine uniform is wrinkled, command gold stained with dust and grease. Before he can breathe a sigh of relief, he’s aware of someone’s presence down the hall. His heart skips a beat or two⸺did I make a mistake?
He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding when he spots the familiar face of @nursc staring back at him. His eyes light up with recognition. “Nurse Chapel! I am glad to see you. You aren’t hurt, are you?”
x.
#okay but for chaos on (pavel's) main - why not something happening to the enterprise#aliens trying to take over the ship?#adventures escaping geometric confinement?#wild systems malfunctions?#idk the stars are the limit haha literally#nursc#v | постоянная миссия#i hope this works!
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"A Symbol of my Religion" ©2022, MC
Pencil drawing by my human hands, to christen a new notebook.
#art#pencil art#graphite on paper#hexagon#geometric construction#sacred geometry#shamanism#animism#eldritch#weird#alien#biomechanical#dark
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Xyla
Weight: 34,226.3 tonnes
Hull volume: 1,248.46 km³
Interior volume: 5,707.68 km³
Total volume: 6,956.14 km³
Maximum velocity: 968,000 km/h
#art#digital art#artists on tumblr#geometric#scifi#sci fi#aliens#science fiction#this is NOT a 3D model btw#space#spaceship#spacecraft#It's not a 3D model I swear
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#blackwork#dotwork#tattoo#mark noel#tattoos#geometric#melbournnetattoo#lines#ufo#flying saucer#alien abduction
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Don’t know if this is still in Mandurah🤷♂️ but it was 😉 #art #photo #pyramid #skyscape #artprint #arty #surrealphotography #sky #uniqueart #digitalprint #geometric #abstractphotos #clouds #mystery #blackandgrey #alien #creative #eclecticart #originalphotoart #decor #homedecor #interiors #contemporaryart #movement #mandurahartist #ethereal #sophisticatedstyle https://www.instagram.com/p/Ck5pSGlvKcw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#art#photo#pyramid#skyscape#artprint#arty#surrealphotography#sky#uniqueart#digitalprint#geometric#abstractphotos#clouds#mystery#blackandgrey#alien#creative#eclecticart#originalphotoart#decor#homedecor#interiors#contemporaryart#movement#mandurahartist#ethereal#sophisticatedstyle
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[ The next room was not quite there but I was in it. ]
EVER, Blake Butler
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Out of the scale of 1 to 10 which version/interpretations of angels look horrifying or majestic?
1. Bayonetta Angels
2. Evangelion Angels
3. Diablo Angels
4. Legion Angels
5. Classic Bible Accurate Angels
6. Angelerium Angels
8. DOOM angels
7. Ultrakill Angels
8. The Woodsprite and Death from Guillermo Del Toro's Pinnochio
9. Dark Souls Angels
10. Shin Megamei Tensei Angels
anon i'm afraid i'm unfamiliar with like, 70% of these. so i can't "rate" them other than based on their looks. instead of a scale of 1 to 10 you're getting my thoughts on their designs as i am notoriously bad at Ranking Things. and some babbling overall. enjoy
starting off with Bayonetta angels. Holy shit. the range.... monster-looking ones? humanoids? ships??? cars????? the flesh inside those gold and marble shells??? love them, quite horrifying and majestic at once.
Evangelion! cool stuff. always love some strange organic shapes for angels, and the very geometric ones are pretty interesting as well
Diablo. i like the tendril-like wings. the lack of a visible face is pretty cool as well..
i... i'm assuming you're talking about the 2010 movie "Legion". no comment on this one.
i'm not really sure what "Classic Bible Accurate Angels" would entail. if you're pedantic enough, you can argue that the cherubim and ophanim in Ezekiel's vision aren't exactly "angels" in the literal sense of the word. malakim/messengers/angels could appear as pretty much human. either way, the celestial being category is quite fascinating
my jaw dropped when i saw the Angelarium website. the designs?? the drawings themselves???? the writing as well. obsessed with this???? hello....... Definitely quite majestic
DOOM. huh. that's a pretty interesting looking alien behind that armor. i'm assuming the angel comparison works in the game's context
ULTRAKILL! yay! Gabriel and the Council's armor are pretty cool, and i like the virtues too (their concept art is so good!!!). hope we get to see more angels in the future.
ahhhhg they're both so cool. love how Death is a sphynx. i can't tell if they're exactly supposed to be angels (saw the Woodsprite called a "fairy" somewhere?), but the motifs are so good regardless
Dark Souls. ojh wow. i think these are the most disturbing on this list, i love them. taking organic shapes to another level.... they remind me of mycelia.... huge win for horrifying angel nation
i wasn't really sure what to focus on with Shin Megami Tensei. the angel enemy itself (poor thing went through a lot, design wise)? the divine demon class as a whole (a... lot of characters to look at)? so i went with the archangels. their SMT IV versions are great, the ornate and quite organic-looking shapes put them on the majestic end of the spectrum for me
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Hello, I've been trying to reach you about your cars extended warranty:)
(Requesting Reverse Isekai AU thingy please^^)
I don't even have a car 😭 (thank you for requesting muah 😘)
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader
Word count: 1.1k
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck reader, reverse isekai AU, fluff.
ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ
One minute you're mindlessly scrolling through your phone with your headphones blaring loud music, a minute later you're screaming bloody murder when a geometric glowing portal pops up in your room. It made everything in the room glow orange and yellow as confusion and surprise took over your form.
Are you getting abducted by aliens? Are you in an episode of Rick and Morty? If so, then multiverses are real, it's either that or the mold from your numerous stock water bottles has finally gotten to your brain.
A half second into your contemplation, out comes a man that you're oh so familiar with and oh so smitten with. His boots thump loudly on your floors, spikes glimmering under the red LED lights. The whites of his mask widen when he spots you cowering in the corner, darkness overtakes you when his oh so familiar voice echoes above the whir of the portal.
“This ain't 1346.” You fall off the bed like a damsel in distress.
—
You wake up to water gently splashing your face, flicking more like. And your head aching, eyes adjusting to the sudden light.
“Fuckin' finally, I thought you were dead.” A garbled voice utters as your ears try to waken up from your deep nap. “You alright there?” His voice clears and you still think you're dreaming when Hobie Brown's mask pops up in your vision, droopy eyeliner, spikes and all that jazz that you've practically memorized in your mind.
You thought your poster has once again fallen off the walls and onto your bed. But no, when you touched his bicep abruptly, eyes as wide as saucers, lips stuttering out his name. Your favourite character is real and right in your bedroom, flicking water from one of your numerous discarded water bottles on your bedside.
Even your wildest imagination couldn't make this up.
“You're Hobie Brown.” You say in disbelief, voice just above a whisper.
“Yeah, I figured you know me based on all of these…” he roams his eyes on your walls and table. “...posters and stickers. What am I over here? A rockstar or somethin’? Since you know my name.”
“You're Hobie motherfucking Brown!” You screech, suddenly jumping off the bed, looking like someone just told you Santa isn't real.
“That I am.” Said man has the audacity to smirk at you. And you swear you would have fainted again. “You a big fan?”
“I love you.” Your voice merely a murmur but he for sure heard it as the eyes of his mask widened for a brief second.
“I think it's time for us to chat, yeah, love?”
“L-love? Fucking…” voice wavering, you drop once again, but this time he catches you perfectly without the motion sickness from traveling to one dimension after another.
Hobie chuckles, eyes staring at your sleeping face, mouth still agape from the surprise and skin hot under his gloves. “Never thought someone could faint twice in one day.”
—
There's a glass of cold water in your hands, legs nervously bouncing under the blanket. He sits at the foot of your bed, giving you enough space so as to not make you uncomfortable in your own home, and to also not make you pass out (again) from the close proximity. His iconic boots are discarded, vest folded next to him, and mask in his pocket. You almost fainted again when he took it off.
“So, this Miles from earth–1610 is gonna get chased by Miguel and the entire society because he doesn't want his canon event to happen?” You nod as he recalls your story. Not a story anymore as this Hobie hasn't experienced it yet. Of course you didn't tell him the entire plot, just in case it rips a hole in the space time continuum. “And a few people are gonna need a watch?”
You sniffle, skin so warm that you think you're boiling the water in your hands.
“Hmm, that checks out. Good thing I started making these watches then eh, love?” His mischievous smile makes your stomach do flips, you're sure he's doing it intentionally.
Pinching yourself under the covers, chugging down the cool water, you muster up enough courage to actually speak coherent words.
“H-how’d you get here?”
“Fucked up my coordinates, I think. I'm pretty sure I'm not in Kansas anymore.” Hobie chuckles at his own joke before switching his attention to your wide eyed self. “Wizard of oz, you do have that here, right?”
“Y-yes,” you say meekly, drowning in his blue? Grey? Or brown eyes? You have no idea as his borders and colors change every minute or so. Nevertheless, you're absolutely done for. You guess this is what it feels like to meet your favourite celebrity, or in this case, favourite character. “Reverse isekai.” You whisper, nerding out at the possibilities.
“A what?” He says in his accent and you tamp down the feeling of wanting to say it back jokingly.
You clear your throat, “nothing.”
Nodding, he inhales, eyes darting around your fangirl room full of fandom merch and of course spiderverse merch. He zeroes in on the body pillow peeking under the blanket. You immediately lift the covers up to hide it, accidentally spilling water all over yourself and the bed. *Great, very smooth, you thought.
His eyes are soft and full of endearment whilst he watches you frantically and desperately dry yourself off.
You hope that he doesn't tease, but you know him, know his character, so you anticipate what happens next.
“What was that then?” He pats your foot, head tilting to look at you. You feel your head swirl again, and you swear the water spilled all over you evaporates from the sheer heat from your skin.
“N-nothing, Hobie.” You sink into the mattress.
“Right,” He unfolds his vest, putting it back on. “It's been great, but I gotta go.”
“Oh,” you blink, “do you want me to take out the posters? I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable.”
He shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, not uncomfortable, I've been in worse dimensions. This ain't that bad really.”
“They're bootlegs if that makes it more okay.”
Hobie laughs and you practically melt from the sound.
“Bootleg, huh? That's a great name, project bootleg it is.” His smile blinds you for a second. You feel like you've ascended to heaven. “I have a tight schedule, being Spider-Man and all, but maybe I can visit again to get some insider knowledge of the future. Eh, Oracle?”
“S-sure,” you choke on the singular word. “It's a date— wait– no, I meant—”
Hobie chuckles, hands on his hips, bouncing on the balls of his boot clad feet, and border turning bright pink. For some reason, in all your clumsy and goofy self, you just made *the Spider-Man sheepish. Not just any Spider-Man, Hobie Brown, your absolute favourite out of all the thousands of Spider-people in the entire multiverse.
“It's a date then, no fainting next time yeah? I'll still catch you anyway, but it wouldn't be that fun if you're sleeping through it.”
“Okay.” You manage to say, heart loudly beating in your chest when his art style changes into love poems etched into his design.
He jumps inside the portal to hide the poems, winking at you before his body disappears into the void.
As the portal closes, you pass out once again, with a lopsided smile this time.
#request done#hobie brown x reader#spider punk x reader#the kr8tor's creations#hobie brown#atsv fanfiction#spider punk#atsv fanfic#atsv x reader#atsv hobie#fanfic#hobie brown x fem!reader#spider punk x fem!reader#hobie brown x you#spider punk x you#hobie x reader#hobie fluff#reverse isekai au
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Things in Rise that Echo 2003 TMNT
Hi Ame here back on my bullshit-- getting right into it. I can't remember where or who said it, but one of the creators of Rise mentioned that 03 was their favorite iteration, and it really shows sometimes. Spoilers for 03 and Rise below ;)
The first thing that comes to mind is Shredder. "But Ame, 03 Shredder was a little alien guy-" NO I'M TALKIN ABOUT THE ORIGINAL SHREDDER. In 03, Ch'rell took on the mask of a well-known boogeyman at the time; the Shredder, who was a demon that had lived 1,000 years ago. Oroku Saki was a man who defeated the demon alongside the rest of the Ninja Tribunal, and after he defeated it, became possessed by it after falling prey to its promise of power.
The most obvious I think are their markings. In 2003 they use 'chi' to give them mystic abilities. It's the act of becoming one with the world around you, but it also seems to work when you are connected to the people around you. Even the medallions over their chest mimic the Hamato symbol that glows on Rise's chest when activating their ninpo.
Their markings even mimic each other (except for Raph, whose Rise version doesn't have any markings, which is a travesty). Leo has slash-like marks, Donnie has geometric marks, and Mikey's got a lot of circles!
NOW OKAY THIS ONE'S A BIT OF A STRETCH, BUT-- Leo has made portals with his sword before! Specifically, he held one open with it.
It's the little things <3
Like the ghost of dead Hamatos coming back to assist their rat sons in the final moments :)
Some more small things! Raph and Donny's brains being rifled through! (Which also happens to 2012 Mikey)
Raph's and Leo's shoulder! (Hard to get a good shot of Leo's, thanks 4kids) Ironically both happening at a moment where Leo has "failed" to protect his family.
Rise Mikey being the "greatest mystic warrior" reminds me a lot of what is alluded to many times with 2003 Mikey; he's very good at what he does! He's a Battle Nexus Champion! He's the one who can channel chi the best! He could surpass Leo even in skill if he actually applied himself, but he doesn't. Because he just doesn't find it fun. But it's shown a little in the episode Same as it Never Was, where he's able to dispatch a whole group of guys with guns all on his own, including three armored cars and a HELICOPTER.
Also making comparisons between 03 SAINW!Mike and Rise F!Leo losing their arms is kinda a stretch but I'll point it out anyway.
And speaking of the movie. My absolute FAVORITE thing to compare is the Krang of Rise to Sh'Okanabo of 2003's Fast Forward season. It's like they took all the concepts of Sh'Okanabo and made it BETTER. Everything was executed SO MUCH BETTER.
Gooey tentacle villain? Check
Weirdly organic flesh ship? Check
Alien invaders turning people into drone versions of their species? Check
(Also side note about that one, I think it's hilarious that in 03 Raph's the only one who DOESN'T get Kanaboe'd but in Rise Raph is the only one who DOES get Krang'ed.)
Taking over structures with their goop? Check
And finally. Small boy son that is a descendant of Casey Jones. Check :)
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Chapter 24 of human Bill Cipher being the Mystery Shack's extremely inconvenient prisoner, featuring: the Pines figuring out a way to chase off Bill's ex-girlfriend... who happens to be a giant eyeball with bat wings.
It kinda goes like this.
(A head's up before we get going: this chapter is a bit more mature than prior ones, so I feel like a warning's in order. There's no sex, and nothing here is erotic or sexy (unless you, too, happen to be attracted to eye-bats), BUT there IS some academic speculation on the logistics of alien sex, and some very filthy-sounding dialogue describing acts that, to humans, aren't sexual at all. Plus some dirty humor and toilet humor. And nothing here is what I'd call billford quite yet, considering Ford still very much hates Bill's guts—but like, he's definitely a little too obsessed with the anatomy of triangles for it to be normal. If any of this is too spicy for you, skip this chapter and come back next one. We'll be starting a new "episode" then.)
####
It was past midnight. In his search for the eye-bat repellant recipe, Ford had flipped through every notebook he'd used during his initial interviews of the residents of Gravity Falls, flipped through them a second time, torn apart half his bookshelves looking for any reporter's notebooks he might have accidentally sorted in with his larger binders, and now he was exhausted, frustrated—and, worst of all, bored out of his mind.
Which made it hard to avoid thinking about more interesting topics.
And for the last hour he'd been unwillingly plagued with the question of how an eyeball and a triangle had a "casual physical thing."
If that didn't mean sex—and you never knew with aliens—then it was still something close enough to fill the same social/recreational niche. It certainly meant sex on the eye-bat's side, Ford had fully documented the reproductive cycle of eye-bats, that was sorted out—but triangles?
It had to be something that would work in the second dimension. Ford had visited a two-dimensional universe populated by geometric shapes, he knew roughly how their bodies functioned: a shape's perimeter was its external surface—its "skin"—and its internal organs were inside that perimeter. So if Bill was still configured the way he had been in his home dimension, any external reproductive anatomy would have to be somewhere on his perimeter, right? Maybe at one of his corners? Or camouflaged where the seams of his brick pattern reached his edges?
But then if Bill were a normal two-dimensional person, he'd have his eye on the edge of his body, not right in the center of his "internal organs." So he'd been rearranged to some extent. Who knew how the rest of his body worked now? His top hat contained flesh and a skeletal structure; maybe it was a removable reproductive organ that could be passed to a partner, like some cephalopods' detachable tentacles—
Ford flinched as he realized Bill was staring at him.
To aid in his anatomical speculation, Ford had drawn a diagram of Bill in his journal and labeled various points on the triangle that might be concealing reproductive anatomy. He quickly scratched out the drawing's staring eye and slammed his journal shut.
He'd happily gone thirty years assuming that Bill had no sex life—Bill was an energy being who presented himself as a floating featureless triangle, his hobbies involved cheating at chess and discussing multidimensional transportation, he probably wasn't designed for "physical things," and if he was designed for it then surely he wasn't interested. Ford was not pleased to have his assumptions disputed.
Because the thing was—Ford knew more than any living human about the mating rituals of unicorns, werewolf/mermaid couples, stomach-faced ducks, and tentacled warrior piglets. (Did he ever know about tentacled warrior piglets.) He had the only photos of a gnome mating ball, which he didn't need, because that horrible sight would be forever seared into his long-term memory. He knew the names of twenty obscene acts in siren sign language, and knew how to use his extra fingers to make them extra obscene. This wasn't unfamiliar territory to him. He was curious about how strange, supernatural creatures functioned; and those functions included how the reproductive drive influenced their behaviors; and a living triangle that had escaped from the second dimension was certainly a strange supernatural creature.
But, unfortunately, it was also Bill Cipher. And Ford did not want to think about what Bill did in bed. ... Assuming he used a bed. Really, at this point the only thing Ford knew was that Bill's only admitted partner was capable of flight. Maybe he just hovered while he—
Ford slammed his journal shut again to stop himself from scribbling down more theories, then stuffed the journal in a desk drawer for good measure. Did normal people think like this? He had no idea. He didn't even know who he could ask.
Enough of this. Back to searching for that eye-bat repellant recipe, and this time he wasn't stopping until he found it.
####
Like a vast eye in an upside-down triangle, the circular center of the portal lit up so bright blue it was almost white. The four energy vents glowed in sympathy. A rainbow constellation lit up in twirling patterns around the central light.
Bill watched with bated breath, a second-dimensional shadow waiting for his door to the third dimension to open. The cavern walls shook; the ground quaked and rumbled ominously; Bill didn't care. The portal was stable, the lab was somebody else's problem, and Bill had a party to get to.
The steel beams supporting the cavern rolled like a wave, and Bill's stomach roiled with them. They weren't supposed to be able to move like that. But he knew what he was doing, the portal was stable, he was not here to destroy this world, he'd come here to save it, whether it wanted to be saved or not—
The whole world undulated. Bedrock and steel were not built to undulate. Bill bobbed on the energy wave like a toy boat on a choppy sea; but the steel shattered, rock crumbled, shrapnel and rubble sprayed out. There was a peal of deafening thunder as the world below him cracked apart.
####
Bill woke with a gasp.
Oh. Right. Dreams.
Dream diary. With a groan, he sat up, checked to make sure no humans were coming by in the next few minutes, and pulled his stolen journal out of its hiding place.
The guide on lucid dreaming had recommended writing down his dreams in full, vivid, rich detail—any people or scenes or events, anything he could detect with his five (?) senses, as much as he could recall.
He drew a portal—gray inverted triangle with a center circle, four circles around the triangle, all five circles filled in yellow green—and then a yellow green line trailing out of the portal's side that grew progressively wigglier like a seismogram. He labeled his doodle, "this." He'd remember the rest.
After a moment of thought, he wrote, "Don't remember if I was a human or a shape. My organs were doing things a shape's shouldn't." (He wrote "human" as 人; there was no translation for the word in the language Bill wrote in. The two angled strokes stood out in Bill's rows of Morse-like dots and dashes.) "Being around so many humans who are CONVINCED I'm trying to destroy their world must be getting to me. Sixer pitched another hissy-fit about the portal yesterday. Enduring all that negative talk can't be healthy for me. I know I'm just helping their boring little planet, but maybe their accusations are getting lodged in this stupid brain's subconscious."
Maybe he should meditate a bit—go think positive thoughts, drown out the mortal voices that insisted they knew his plans better than he did. He'd had enough dreaming for one night, anyway.
Beneath the note to himself, Bill added in English: "Everything would have been fine if you'd just let me finish, Fordsy." If the humans ever did find this journal, Bill was determined to get the last word in.
Then he stowed away the stolen journal and shuffled downstairs.
He wondered how much was left of Ford's portal.
####
Old man bladder. Stan dragged himself out of bed. The other guest room bed was empty. Stan hoped Ford was sleeping in his study—he'd mentioned once he kept a cot down there. Better than pulling another all nighter studying alien sorcery or whatever.
He skipped his glasses, groped his way to the downstairs bathroom, and, yawning, lined up with the toilet.
The toilet said, "Pretty forward of you, Stanley."
Stan screamed.
He stumbled backwards out of the bathroom and hit the wall. Bill flipped on the light and leaned out to grin at him. "Careful! You're due for a broken hip any day now."
"BILL! What are DOING!"
"Trying not to get urinated on."
"Jsh—shut up!" It had dawned on Stan that if he could hear Bill without his hearing aids, then half the house probably could too. He hoped no one had overheard that. "Why are you sitting on the toilet in the dark!"
"It's a free country, Stanley Pines."
Stan raised a fist. "GET OUT!"
Bill bolted from the bathroom like a scared rabbit, then caught himself, rolled his eyes, and raised his hands over his head in mock surrender. "You could have asked nicely!"
Pointing at Bill as he retreated, Stan added, "And stop being so darn creepy! Lurking in the dark and sneaking around silently all the time, like a... some kind of—burglar ninja assassin!"
Bill turned to shout back, "What, do you expect me to make a peace cry every time I walk around? Make sure I can't sneak up and stab you in the back?"
Stan had caught about half of that. "YEAH, smart guy! It might help!"
Bill flung his hands out in defeat as he rounded the corner.
Stan finished his business, went back to bed, and glared angrily at the ceiling another ten minutes.
####
It had taken half the night, but at last Ford had disassembled the filing cabinet and found a few notebooks that had gotten stuck behind the bottom drawer, including the one with Old Lady Sprott's eye-bat repellant recipe. Ford copied it down, left a list of ingredients on the gift shop cash register for Soos, and finally dragged himself into the house to sleep.
And paused in the entryway.
Bill was sitting in the kitchen, staring out the window; Ford had seen him like this before. Usually, he could make himself walk by.
But he couldn't tonight. Maybe it was yesterday's conversation still weighing on his mind, the loose ends they hadn't tied up tangling around his throat. "What are you doing up?"
Bill's voice was inappropriately calm: "Dying."
Ford's guard went up. "Do you... Literally or metaphorically?"
"Literally," Bill said. "Hey—how many decades do you think this body's got? Probably not even a century, right?"
Ford's guard went down. Just moping. But it was an interesting question, one he'd put some thought into himself—what age had Bill's body been made at? How had his body been made that age? How long would the body last? Ford had wondered whether studying Bill's freshly-made-but-already-adult body might reveal anything medically useful about how aging affected the human body; but the odds of convincing Bill to participate in any medical studies—much less finding someone to conduct the study who believed their story—were nonexistent.
Ford said, "At a loose guess, I'd put you around... fifty, maybe? A very spry fifty." Bill's hair was a shockingly vivid gold, not a hint of gray, and when he was in a good mood Bill bounced about with an enviable lack of joint pain; but Ford had seen faint, delicate creases around his mouth and eyes that spoke to age. And the look in his eyes... Ford hated the phrase "old soul"—he'd been called that by some of his school teachers, and it only made him feel the distance between himself and his age peers all the more strongly—but with Bill, it was uncannily fitting. His eyes aged his whole face.
"You think this thing looks fifty? Wow." Bill took a deep drink from a cider can. "Shooting Star's best guess was half that. Thanks for shoving me twenty-five years closer to the grave."
Half that? When Ford had been a child, he'd had a harder time guessing adults' ages, and he supposed Mabel might be the same; but it was difficult to mistake a 50-year-old for a 25-year-old. Maybe there was something else going on. He'd have to ask her later. "With exercise, a healthy diet, and a little luck, you could still live another fifty." Ford nodded at the two empty cider cans already sitting on the table. "With your current drinking habits, I'll give you five."
Bill cackled—loudly enough to make Ford tense up, afraid someone would catch them talking. "Cheers!" Bill finished off the can and slammed it down with the others. "Ugh. Finite lifespans. Awful."
"Welcome to being human," Ford said dryly.
"'Welcome to death row,'" Bill said. "Ha! What'm I doing, worrying about decades. Let's be real, I don't even need to worry about the next five years. If I haven't found a way out of this body before then..."
Bill left the thought unfinished. An uneasy weight formed low in Ford's stomach.
"Ah, whatever. Like you'd let me live that long. Right, Sixer?" Bill pushed himself up unsteadily, keeping his balance first with a hand on the back of the chair, and then on Ford's (suddenly very tense) shoulder as he passed him. "I'm going back to sleep before that last can kicks in."
The way Bill was walking, Ford wasn't sure he'd make it up the stairs. "Why don't you sleep on the folding bed in the living room?"
"No window," Bill said. "I've g—" (He stumbled on the stairs.) "I've gotta see the stars."
Of course he did. When Bill said it that way, it was so obvious Ford didn't know why he hadn't realized that himself. Where else could Bill sleep but as close to the sky as possible?
Ford listened as Bill stumbled his way upstairs, creaked across the floorboards, and collapsed onto his makeshift bed.
Ford had thirty years left. Exactly thirty years. Don't have a heart attack, you're not ninety-two yet! Ninety-two was a good, old age. Older than his father had been. But thirty years felt too soon. And yet it felt fitting, somehow, for his life to be divided so neatly in thirds.
If Bill lived another fifty years in this body, and Ford lived thirty, who would stand guard over him? Would he and Stan have to pass that burden on to their gniece and gnephew? Or to Soos and Melody?
Why was he wondering—what made him think they wouldn't find a way to kill Bill before then? What made him think he wouldn't kill Bill before the end of this very summer?
What made him so sure Bill hadn't been lying about when Ford would die? Thirty years felt too soon; but ninety-two felt flatteringly optimistic.
Ford sighed, and picked up the cider cans to recycle.
He wondered whether Bill—hiding from his ex, fretting about death, sleeping on his enemies' floor—regretted how he'd spent his life.
####
Bill's second entry in his dream diary started, "Wet dream about Iris."
He filled most of a page with an extremely graphic summary before he sighed in frustration, stowed the journal away, and stared at the ceiling as dawn crept in. Well. Terrific. He was pretty intimately familiar with how humans coupled, but he didn't have much practice with the solo act. Plus the humans would give him heck if they caught him at it. He'd just have to suffer.
So here he was, all riled up and nowhere to go.
Who else could he make miserable?
####
Stan was startled awake by a heavy pounding on his door.
"Heeey Fisherman!" Somehow, Bill's voice was even more grating at dawn. He rattled the door several more times. "Just passing by! Wanted to let you know! Here I am! Right here!"
Did that demon ever sleep? And, follow up question, could Stan knock him out for a few hours?
Ford—who must have come up after Stan went back to bed—groaned and muttered something.
Ford wasn't nearly as loud as Bill. Stan reluctantly sat up and put a hearing aid in. "What?"
"What the devil is he up to now."
"No idea," Stan lied. "Go yell at him about it, he listens to you."
Ford sighed, but got up and left the room.
A minute later, Stan heard Bill exclaim, "I can't win with you people!"
He smirked.
####
The kitchen reeked that morning. When Stan came in for breakfast, the window was open, a fan in the entryway futilely directed fresh air into the kitchen and a fan on the kitchen table directed the noxious fumes outside, there were bags of groceries on the counter—he noticed hot sauce, peppers, cheap perfume, and an entire bag of raw onions—and Ford was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of vile-smelling brown liquid. The moment he saw Stan, Ford put him to work stirring the pot so Ford could start dicing onions.
While they worked, Ford explained the situation with the eye-bat harassing the tourists and the solution he'd hit on to drive it away. Soos had collected the necessary ingredients this morning, but couldn't help cook because he was busy finding a way to block the bottomless pit—
####
Outside, Soos scooted a trampoline up to the pit, carefully lined it up with the edge—the trampoline and the pit had nearly the same diameter—and shoved it in. It plummeted into the dark. After a short wait, Soos chucked a baseball down the pit. It disappeared, then bounced back up.
Soos pumped his fist triumphantly. "Aced it."
####
—so, Ford was working on the repellant, and in the interest of public safety and the greater good he was drafting Stan into helping too.
Which Stan supposed he couldn't argue with, but considering the smell he would've preferred dicing the onions. "Is all this really necessary for one eye-bat? I usually just swat 'em off with a tennis racket."
"This eye-bat happens to be large enough to carry off a first-grader," Ford said. "And Bill claims it's his ex-girlfriend, so I don't want to risk them meeting."
"Huh." Weird thing to date, but then Stan didn't know what he did expect a triangle demon to date. "Somehow I figured he was tangled up in this."
Ford laughed ruefully.
After a moment of chopping and stirring, Ford said, "Speaking of Bill—he claims that you ordered him to announce his presence? And that you tried to pee on him."
"I did not and he's a dirty liar! He made the whole thing up!" Stan didn't expect Ford to believe him. Stan also didn't expect Ford to believe Bill. Ford knew they were both liars. What Stan expected was for Ford to side with the person he liked best.
"Uh huh." Ford didn't question Stan further. Ha. Pines solidarity.
Even though he'd already won, Stan went on: "All I did was mention how quiet he is! I can never tell where he's lurking. Sometimes I almost forget he's here." In Stan's mind, Bill had been rapidly demoted from "active existential threat" to "annoying houseguest who blends in with the shadows." Watching him help Mabel cut pretty pictures from fashion magazines with plastic safety scissors drained away most of his intimidation factor.
Ford gave Stan a funny look. "Really? I can't forget he's here for a second. Sometimes I swear I can tell where he's been in the house—like a cold spot left by a ghost."
Stan tried to figure out how to ask whether that was a reaction to decades on the run feeling like hunted prey—which Stan knew how to cope with—or a lingering magical side effect of Ford and Bill's alien possession deal—which Stan did not. Then Ford added, "It's probably because I hear him bumping into the furniture all the time."
"Oh. Yeah. That's probably it. You've got better hearing than me." Case closed. Stan turned back to the stove—
A deafening buzz made them both start. Stan splashed boiling brown stink across the stovetop. "What—!"
Standing in the doorway with a kazoo, Bill said, "How's that, Stanley? Do you like that better?!"
"YOU!" Stan flung the stirring spoon to the floor.
Bill bolted from the room with Stan in hot pursuit. "Whoa! Mercy! Truce! You can have the kazoo! It's not even mine, I'm just holding it for a fr— Ow ow OW ow—"
Stan hauled Bill in by the back of the neck and didn't let go until he was in the middle of the kitchen. He pointed at the spoon, then pointed at the pot. "Pick it up. Get stirring." He grabbed another knife and joined Ford chopping onions. Whew, what a relief.
Bill gave Stan a perplexed look, but picked up the spoon, gave the pot an experimental sniff, and got stirring. He didn't even wince at the smell. "Is this the gnome wizz? What is this, punishment for not letting you use me as a urinal?"
"Whatsamatter, I thought you were the one who thinks pee belongs in the kitchen."
"You're both too old for toilet humor," Ford snapped. "Bill, this problem is your fault, the least you can do is help prepare the spray, and you're not getting a knife, so you're on pot stirring duty. Deal with it."
Bill rolled his eyes dramatically. (At the moment, they were both uncovered; but one was already half squinted shut against the morning light.) "Fine, but only because I like hanging out with you."
Ford scoffed.
"And I don't see how this is my fault just because we happened to date. It's not like I invited her over," Bill went on. "If anything, you should be grateful she's my ex, or else I wouldn't be helping you chase her away—"
"Hey, that's what I wanna know about this," Stan said. He gestured toward the window; the ex in question was currently circling above the gift shop entrance, like a vulture waiting for something to die. "Exactly how do you 'date' an eye-bat? Just—how does that work?"
"Well, it depends on the eye-bat, doesn't it," Bill said, a touch patronizing. "They don't all have the same tastes, you know. But she happens to like art films and water parks. Easy date."
"I'm not talking about that! You're telling us you slept with an eyeball with bat wings—right? That's what we're talking about, right?" From the corner of his eye, Stan saw Ford giving him a sharp look, but he didn't tell Stan to stop. Yeah, the nerd was curious, too.
"Yes, Stanley." Bill's condescension was almost more overpowering than the kitchen's stench. "That's what we're talking about. I 'slept' with an eyeball with bat wings." He exaggerated the finger quotes around the euphemism. "Any more prying you want to do into my personal life, or...?"
"You look at that freak out there and think it's appealing?"
Bill stopped stirring and squinted out the window. Flatly, he said, "Yep. She's still drop dead gorgeous. Thanks for asking."
"How do you even know that's a she! How can you tell a girl eye from a boy eye?"
Ford said, "Technically, Stanley, all eye-bats are female." He held up an onion and used his knife tip to gesture at it like it was a model eyeball, "They're parthenogenetic parasites that reproduce by attacking other species' faces and depositing egg-bearing spores on their eyeballs, which swim to the tear ducts to begin incubating. Over the next few weeks, the infected eyeball grows wings and develops its own nervous system while the host slowly goes blind in one eye, until the new eye-bat is mature enough to emerge from the host's socket and seek out her mother's colony—"
Bill let out a strangled scream. "Enough!"
Stan and Ford stared at him.
"Would you stop talking about eye-bat sex?! I'm already riled up! I don't need help making it worse!"
He slammed the stirring spoon down and started pacing. "I'm losing my mind. Do you know what it's like to be randy for something you don't have the right body for?!" He gave them a pleading, slightly crazed look. "I need to feel her pupil contracting against mine. I'd lick her hot, salty tears off her sclera. I'd bite deep enough to taste her retina. I want to look like I've got pinkeye from all the bat spores coating my face. I'd give my right eye just to have one of her wings fingering my eyelid again—but if I cave and go that far I know I'd lose my head and give her the left one too, and then I've screwed up, because STUPID HUMANS BODIES can't regrow their STUPID EYEBALLS—"
He kicked the wall so hard he lost his balance and stumbled back into the stove. "Ow. I'm going insane. I can't take it. I need to kill somebody. I need to set something on fire."
Stan and Ford were petrified. Stan's jaw had dropped.
Bill was panting from the exertion of his outburst, arms trembling, face flushed. His shoulders slumped. The picture of a broken man, he said, "I'd do anything to rim her optic nerve again."
Ford let out a strangled noise.
Bill took several deep breaths. He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry! Wow. That was... I think the fumes are getting to me." He shook his head. "The fumes and the hormones. Human hormones. You know, your species has very insistent..." He gestured vaguely toward the doorway. "I'm—think I should lay down."
Stan and Ford nodded. Bill trudged from the room. A few seconds later, Stan heard springs creak as Bill flopped his full weight on the living room sofa.
Stan and Ford exchanged a look. Stan said, "I shouldn't have asked about..."
"You shouldn't have asked."
"You should have skipped the science lesson."
"I should have."
They lapsed into silence. After a moment, Ford stood up to take over stirring the pot.
Stan resumed chopping onions. "Say, d'you think he staged all that to get out of stirring?"
Ford didn't reply.
"Sixer?" Stan glanced up.
Ford had turned away from the stove, and was staring at nothing with a faraway, troubled look. It was the look he got when he'd just latched on to some mystery that would haunt him until he solved it.
"Ford—?"
Ford slapped down the spoon and stomped into the living room. "But you hate losing your eyeball! So how did you two— I mean—! The spores—?"
"Incompatible biology." Bill's voice sounded muffled. "It's why we never got serious. She wants kids and my tear ducts can't incubate wings."
"Ah! Of course. That makes perfect sense." Ford returned to the stove with a look of triumph.
Stan didn't know how Ford had recovered from that fast enough to ask follow-up questions. Weird nerd. Stan shook his head but said nothing.
####
In Ford's journal, he scratched out most of his speculation about the anatomy of Bill's species, scribbled over the diagram, and added, "I severely underestimated how much his eye is involved."
####
At one point, during Weirdmageddon, when Bill had been torturing Ford for information, Ford had spat in his eye. Bill had licked it off. He'd seemed eerily undisturbed.
Ford would probably wonder how Bill had interpreted that act for the rest of his life.
####
Outside, dressed in a homemade hazmat suit consisting of painter's coveralls and a scuba mask, Soos faced off against the eye-bat, a spray bottle strapped to each hip like a cowboy's revolvers. Dipper and Mabel stood behind him, armed with a rake and a golf club, wearing a bicycle helmet and a football helmet with tree branches taped on. The eye-bat stared them down warily.
Leaning on his elbows over the kitchen table so he could stare out the window, Bill said, "Bet you a hundred bucks she steals Questiony's hat."
Stan snorted. "I'm not taking that bet. You don't have any money."
Bill grunted and turned back to the window, just in time to see the eye-bat dive for Soos's face. Soos whipped out one of the spray bottles, dropped it, ducked down to retrieve it just as she swooped past where his head used to be, and lifted it in time to spray the eye-bat when she circled back to attack him again. She reeled off screeching, eye watering, pupil contracting. Bill winced in sympathy. Poor gal. And she didn't even have an eyelid for protection. But, hey—better for her to suffer than for Bill to risk getting caught in this body. He'd take someone else's pain over his own embarrassment any day.
"It seems to be working the same as it does on any other eye-bat," Ford said. "Good. Once she's gone, Soos and the kids can spray the rest on the roof. That should drive her off while keeping the worst of the scent away from the tourists."
Streaming tears, the eye-bat dove at the kids. They yelled in alarm. Dipper threw his rake at her and missed. Bill flipped up his eyepatch to squint at the battle with both eyes.
"What, do you see something?" Stan asked.
"Just appreciating her sphericality." Bill sighed wistfully. "That spray's gotta be excruciatingly painful—but, I've never seen her that wet before. Sure, we've fooled around with a little hot sauce a few times, but even then—"
"I'm sorry I asked."
Outside, Soos shouted, "Hey! My hat! Give that back!"
Bill wordlessly held a hand out toward Stan.
Stan smacked it away. "Nyeh."
As the eye-bat retreated toward the forest, Ford sighed in relief. "She's gone. It worked."
"You sound surprised," Bill said.
"Frankly, I can't believe that you gave us accurate information on how to get rid of her."
"What! You wound me! Why would I lie about that?"
"To trick us into doing something that strengthens her? To arrange an opportunity to meet her?" Ford suggested. "After all, as one of your Henchmaniacs, she could have helped you escape."
Bill's blood ran cold.
She could have helped him escape. SHE COULD HAVE HELPED HIM ESCAPE! He'd been so worried about not looking stupid or losing his eyes, when all this time—! He could have signaled Iris from the window, and—and the bottomless pit was right there, she could have carried a message to the gang—at the very least, she could probably open doors for him—and instead he just—when he could have—
He watched in despair as Iris's pretty little optic nerve vanished behind the trees.
No, Bill decided—no, getting her help was a terrible plan. If it was a good plan, he would have done it; so it was terrible. He had a better plan. What was his better plan?
"Come on, you think I need her? I've got all the pals I need right here—whether you're ready to admit it or not." He elbowed Ford. Bill had decided he'd wheedle Ford back over to his side, and he would. His survival depended on it. Now more than ever. "I've got a way out, don't worry about that—it's only a matter of time—and she's not part of the plan."
Ford scoffed. "Really. Last night you were moaning about being on death row."
"Wh—Hey! That was..." Not fair. He scrambled to revise his story.
"You're lying about something," Ford said. "If it wasn't how to get rid of her, then it was why you wanted to get rid of her. For all we know, maybe she wants you dead as much as we do."
"Yeah," Stan said, "the 'girlfriend' story sounds crazy enough to be true, but you seem like the kind of guy who has a string of exes who'd love to kill you." (He did, as it happened, but it wasn't his fault he kept falling for petty jealous psychos who hated seeing him thrive.)
Ford said, "If she hadn't been a danger to the tourists, perhaps I should have invited her in to talk."
Unbelievable. Even when Bill did exactly what he was supposed to, he was still the bad guy. "Fine, she was a notorious black widow and you saved my life, happy? Do you like that story better? I made it up just for you." He jabbed a finger in Ford's shoulder. "You know what your problem is? You're too paranoid. You can't trust anything anybody says. You'll only hurt yourself like that—"
Ford shoved Bill's hand away and stepped out of poking range. "I spent years unlearning the paranoia you gave me. And when I finished, do you know what I figured out, Bill? All along, there was only one person I shouldn't have trusted: you."
It stung, but only in a distant, impersonal way; like a hard slap on a numb cheek. Bill turned to give Ford a sour look. "At the lengths you take it to, I could tell you the sky is blue and you'd have to check."
Ford's gaze automatically flickered toward the window.
"Ha!" Bill angrily shoved the table against the wall as he stood up. "Thanks for taking care of my pest problem, boys." He stormed upstairs, flipping his hood up as he went. Ingrates.
####
The view out the attic window was more interesting than usual, mainly because there were three humans traipsing around on the roof spraying eye-bat repellant. From time to time Mabel came by to make funny faces at Bill through the glass; he did his best to one-up them. Once, Soos nearly fell off the roof and died; Bill hadn't laughed that hard since he was murdered.
Their return indoors was heralded by Mabel shouting, "Dibs on the shower!" and Dipper replying, "I take shorter showers, let me go first!" They pounded up the stairs. Mabel tried to take them two at a time, tripped near the top, and by the time she recovered Dipper was already in the bathroom. She groaned. "Augh! Not fair! I don't want to smell like onions and gnome pee!"
"Neither do I! I need it more, I haven't showered in two weeks!"
Bill wondered why Dipper got to go so long between showers without getting dumped in a cold tub in his sleep. (He knew why.)
Bill whistled to catch Mabel's attention. "Consolation prize." He waved a cheap perfume bottle toward Mabel. "We had leftovers after mixing the repellant. It smells like strawberry candy."
"You're my hero." Mabel took the bottle and sprayed it all over herself, in her hair, and under her sweater. "You need a shower too, you know."
"Sure, but until Dolores fumigates the kitchen I'll just blend into the background stink. I can put it off til tomorrow without anyone complaining."
"You're grossss." Mabel emphasized the hiss by poking Bill's arm. "Once I'm clean, I'm not talking to you until you've showered too."
"I'll be devastated."
"Those are my terms!" She kicked aside Bill's cushion-bed so she could sit under the window without stinking the cushions up, and settled back to wait for the bathroom. After a (very short) companionable silence, Mabel said, "It's too bad we had to chase off your ex. I can see why you like her."
Bill gave her a surprised look. "Can you?"
"Iris was so graceful!" Mabel said. "And murderous, but mostly graceful. Like an evil swan."
Bill laughed. "Yeah! Yeah, she is. Floats like a dream. If you think she's graceful in the air, you oughta see her in the pool. She's the only person I know who can make a cannonball look elegant."
Mabel gave him a sly grin.
"What?"
"Look at you. Yooou still like heeer." Mabel propped her elbows on the edge of the window seat and balanced her chin in her hands. "How did you meet Iris?"
For the last couple of days, almost everyone in the house had talked about Bill's ex like she was some kind of malevolent creature, rather than a person. He was used to outsiders talking about his friends that way—heck, most of his friends were malevolent creatures—but it grated all the same. (He missed home.) Just hearing Mabel call Iris by her name was a breath of fresh air. No one else had even asked if she had a name.
"I met her at a party," Bill said. "I'd just gotten a piano and was showing off, and she came by to ask about Earth music. She wasn't in my crew then—but the party was open invite, and everyone in that corner of the Nightmare Realm knew that if you wanted info on Earth, you came to Bill Cipher. So, we talked about waltzes and tarantellas, I played a little Beethoven, we hit things off..."
They talked until the bathroom was free and Mabel went to shower. Sweet kid. Hopeless romantic, though.
When Bill got out of this place, he was gonna find the first boy who would break her heart and kill him before they could meet. It was the least he could do for her.
####
The third entry in Bill's dream diary: "Shooting Star's cartoon is getting to me. I dreamed about the wolf and the cat arguing over who had to host someone's birthday party. The wolf refused to let guests into his enormous mansion, but the cat's house was burning down. They asked me how to resolve this. I told them the cat should execute the wolf as punishment for his inhospitality, take over his mansion, and wear his skin as the party host. The animals were so in awe of my wisdom that I was deified as god of the jungle."
That was not what he'd dreamed. The animals were so horrified at his suggestion that they'd tied him to a stake and forced him to watch as they threw the cat into the flames of her own house. He couldn't remember whether he'd dreamed that he was a triangle or a human.
He preferred his version. Once he'd regained control over his dreams, he could replay this one and make it end properly.
He'd get the hang of this in no time.
####
(You're legally required to tell me if you had a reaction to this one. Even if it's horror. Especially if it's horror.)
#bill cipher#human bill cipher#grunkle ford#ford pines#grunkle stan#stan pines#gravity falls#gravity falls fanart#gravity falls fic#fanart#my art#my writing#bill goldilocks cipher
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I was mindlessly watching the news one day, then the coverage of an art exhibition started being shown. I always felt a bit alienated about things like that, since opportunities to get up-close-and-personal to art only ever seem to happen very far from where I live. But this time, the sculptor's surname felt a bit familiar, so I tuned in a bit more.
In a huge, airy space with tall ornate columns, several large shapes are carefully displayed. They each are made of simple forms, solid plates in straight lines, allowing for the occasional curve, all with a very "geometrical" flavor to it, and everything very colorful. I imagine it would be very impressive to witness all of in person, instead of lounging in my sofa a meter or so from a small TV.
Then, as if reading my mind, the reporter describes how the artist wished to do away with the idea that art is a distant, untouchable thing, and wished to be where the people are. And I remembered why his name felt so familiar.
There was this park in my hometown, just this small grassy field. In the middle of it rested a large angular monument, a cuboid easily twice my height. Thick steel plates painted red, soldered to one another in right angles, resting impressively well on only three spots.
When we were kids, me and my friends would spend a lot of time on it, trying to climb to the very top, sliding of its gentle slopes, or simply resting on it as if was just a very weird bench. And on one of its plates, I remember noticing a name inscribed, distinctive enough to make an impression, but that I never looked into any further.
It was Weissmann. Franz Weissmann, the name of the sculptor shown on TV, being featured on a whole art exhibition in large city so far away.
The report goes on to say he wanted people to see his work from up close, to touch and feel them, instead of just looking from a distance. He is quoted as saying that "the ideal place for a sculpture is in people's memory". And I can say he achieved that, at least.
#i wonder how many stories with my hometown i can share before someone can pinpoint where i was born within a few hundred meters#text
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you know, the one about a bunch of kids playing a game together that ends up having apocalyptic consequences? they all have crazy, kinda geometric hair? aliens show up out of nowhere and end up being instrumental to helping the kids save the world?
#my art#shitpost tag#ygo gx#yugioh gx#gxstuck#jaden yuki#syrus truesdale#alexis rhodes#bastion misawa#chazz princeton#every au i have is so deeply self indulgent
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Ever think about how amazing it is that we got a character like the Bit in TRON 1982?
I mean, yeah, having some cute little robot or animal side characters was, and still is, very typical of movies in that genre.
But, look at the Bit.
It's based on a computer science concept, of course: the simplest unit of data in a computer, a single 1 or 0 indicating yes or no. And it's anthropomorphized just enough to get actual computer nerds confused about what exactly it is supposed to be. Clearly you'd need lots more than one bit, to create a programmed entity that behaved the way a Bit does!
Is it the mystical energy of Programmer Spirits that animates it beyond what should be possible-- as it does for the Programs themselves, who also aren't nearly complex enough to be alive on their own? Or is a Bit something else, like an external subroutine of a program, which is called a Bit simply because of the way it communicates?
Who knows? Who cares? It's a Bit! It's adorable!
And yet… this same level of anthropomorphizing is very unusual for Disney, and for the whole genre, in a whole different way.
Though it's much more animate than one could reasonably imagine for an actual bit… the Bit is much less anthropomorphic than any creature playing any comparable role in any comparable movie I can think of.
It has no eyes, no mouth, no words except a synthesized Yes and No. It expresses itself only by shifting appearance between three faceless geometric shapes.
And yes, we love it! Yes, we adore the heck out of that sassy little thing! Yes, we will absolutely look at this object that resembles no person or animal in existence, and we will find enough cuteness to scream over!
We are the weird nerdy audience that you sucked in with the promise of a movie about computer programs being alive, and YES we are invested enough to take this ALL the way!
But I haven't seen any other movie do this, ever since.
And even the original Tron movie wasn't GOING to do it, at first.
Now, every other time I've looked at the early development of ideas in a movie, I've seen a pattern of "Less Relatable being reworked into More Relatable." Any creature design that looks "too weird," "too unfamiliar," "too alien," will evolve over the course of edits, until it satisfies the developers' expectations for being something audiences can relate to.
In other words… looking at the early concept art and the final product, I am certain any other movie I can think of would've adapted the Bit in the exact opposite direction.
Same with the MCP.
Whether it's a villain or an adorable little sidekick, the fans who became captivated by the classic Tron movie are an audience eager and ready to see life and personality in something utterly alien, something that resembles no actual life in the world we know.
And yet, I'm sure this wasn't even the goal of any of the character designers.
When you look at the early design of the Programs, you see them follow a more typical pattern, starting out more robotic, less humanoid, less "Relatable," and progressing toward recognizable humanity.
That movie, I'm pretty sure, was an exception to the rule not because of any philosophy about what would resonate with audiences... but simply because of the constraints of the medium.
The Bit and the MCP became more simple, more geometric, because that was easier to computer-animate.
Programs became more humanoid because that was easier for human actors to play.
A big, huge chunk of what made this movie relatable in a gloriously weird way, to gloriously weird audiences who may have had serious trouble relating to lots of other media, is just a serendipitous side-effect of the wild experiment that it was.
...I wish movies would take risks like that more often.
Really.
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