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mostly-imagines · 2 days

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There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka the professional boyfriend

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)

Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.

And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.

You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.

He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”

You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?”

He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.

You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”

His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”

You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”

You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”

“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.”

Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.

You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.

“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.

You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.

“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look.

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.

“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.

He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”

“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”

You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.

“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.”

“Dick.”

“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”

You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”

He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.

It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.

He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too.

“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while.

You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”

“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.

You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.”

He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”

You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips.

He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?”

You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”

“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.

You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.

“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.

“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.

Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.

He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly

You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…”

He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.

He’s trying real hard to land that promotion.

🩵 reblogging = supporting; likes don’t do the job 🩵

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ckret2 · 3 days

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Chapter 53 of human Bill Cipher not properly appreciating the fact that Mabel is his only friend on Earth:

Mabel has read a book about Bill's home dimension and is prepared to interrogate him all about where he comes from.

Bill is willing to do anything to avoid being interrogated.

(Featuring SEVEN illustrations, provided by 🌈 MABEL 💖)

####

Flatworld, from what Mabel had read, was probably literally the worst place to ever exist.

The book was a hundred pages of an old-fashioned formal-sounding super boring guy rambling on about the most egregiously evil society Mabel had ever had the horror of reading about.

Society consisted of a bunch of geometric shapes—which in concept sounded half nerdy and half adorable—but they'd made a brutally oppressive government organized by quantity of sides, with infinite-sided circles at the top and three-sided triangles at the bottom, and one-sided lines—women—oppressed into near silence. Career options, educational opportunities, who you could love, were all determined by your sides. Irregular shapes—quadrilaterals that weren't squares, triangles that weren't equilateral, anyone with a side too long or too short—were presumed from birth to be criminally insane. Each generation had sons with one more side than their father—and they had to, because having higher-ranked sons was the only way families could climb out of poverty. When babies were born with too few or irregular sides, poor families abandoned them—or worse—and rich families put them through oft-fatal bone-snapping surgeries to regularize or increase their sides. Knowledge of the third dimension was considered heretical, and anybody claiming it was real was locked in an insane asylum.

There was a lot of mathy stuff in the book about a square meeting a magical sphere and going on educational adventures to the higher and lower dimensions; but most of it passed by her in a blur. When she'd finished reading last night, Mabel had lay in bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about dead baby shapes and fighting the urge to wake Bill up just so she could hug him; until she'd finally drifted off and woken up in her own bed.

At least, thank goodness, the bit about banning colors so lower shapes couldn't contour themselves to look like higher shapes was false. But she was sure that at least part of the story was true. And it had happened to somebody she knew. It was a lot to process.

So she processed it the way she usually did the stories that weighed on her: by creating a self-insert and pulling out her art supplies.

####

"You're drawing fan art of Flatworld?" Bill asked warily.

"I wouldn't call it fan art. I'd say it's more of a... thoughtful artistic critique. I don't think I'm a 'fan' of the second dimension," Mabel said. "No offense."

"Sure."

Mabel had designed a shapesona of herself: a pink heart with a rainbow-colored outline, a big sparkly eye, and skinny black stick limbs like Bill's. If, as Bill had said, colors weren't illegal, she didn't see any reason she couldn't be rainbow. The heart shape was maybe unconventional, but Bill hadn't said she couldn't be a heart yet, so she was sticking with it for now.

She'd honestly expected Bill to come over and interrogate her about her creation long before now. Usually, when she was doing art and he was unoccupied, he was hovering right by her, examining her work and dropping hints—some more subtle than others—that she should draw him next. But she hadn't immediately noticed when he'd silently drifted into the room, and she wasn't sure how long he'd been there before speaking up. He was still leaning on the wall, arms crossed, watching askance from halfway across the living room as Mabel worked with her crayons, as if she were playing with a chemistry set and he was trying to figure out if she was building a bomb.

"Is Flatworld really about your world?" Mabel asked. "Did you tell Edward Bishop Bishop all that stuff? With the circles and all the laws about shapes and stuff?"

Bill mulled over the question, staring into space. Mabel had never seen his face look so inexpressive before—at least, not since his first night as a captive, after he'd gotten all the screaming out and had looked too exhausted to feel. "We talked," he conceded. "I'm surprised you got your hands on it. I suppose Stanford brought it up."

Something in the back of her mind pricked up defensively—what was that supposed to mean, he was surprised she got her hands on it?—but she pushed it back down. "Yeah, he told me and Dipper about it when you guys got home yesterday," Mabel said. "But you brought it up to me first!"

"No I didn't. When?"

"A few weeks ago? You mentioned Edward Bishop Bishop."

"I don't remember that," Bill muttered. "I probably didn't think you'd make sense of it."

"Hey!"

"You didn't make sense of it! Ford had to tell you about it."

"Yeah, but—mean!" She shoved aside her drawing and started on another one, grumbling, "I could've made sense of it if I'd looked it up."

What was up with Bill today? He wasn't usually this much of a jerk. To her. Lately. Plus, she thought they'd really had a moment yesterday! But Bill had had a rough couple days. Maybe he was just tired and cranky.

A wiser person might just leave well enough alone. But a wiser person wasn't exploding in their brain with curiosity about just how bad Bill's life had really been. There was something itching at the back of her head, had been itching since she'd woken up—something about Bill, something important, she was sure of it—but she couldn't quite put together what it was. She just needed to talk to Bill long enough to figure it out.

"So..." She glanced up from filling in a shape yellow, "were lines really executed if they didn't make noises all the time so everyone always knew where they were and they couldn't sneak up and stab anyone?"

Bill scoffed, rolling his eyes, as if the very idea was stupid. "It wasn't that extreme. Making a peace cry is like a human saying 'coming through' when they're trying to squeeze past somebody. Lines are just taught to do it in public because it's easier not to see a line, that's all."

"If they didn't, were they executed...?"

"No. They were just rude."

That was a relief. Mabel had been worried for her fellow ladies. She was plenty noisy, but she didn't think she could remember to make constant sound any time she was around other people. She turned back to coloring her newest drawing, but watched Bill out of the corner of her eye. "Is it true that rich people killed almost all of their babies by giving them surgery to break their sides?"

The corner of Bill's mouth curled in a sneer. "Do I look like a pediatric surgeon?"

"Um." Not a welcome question. She tried to backtrack to something softer. "So, in the second dimension, the outside of your body is just your outline and your guts are everything inside the outline, right?"

He gave her a wary look. "Yeah."

"So your bow tie is basically in your stomach."

Bill sucked in a deep breath; but quickly caved in to the need to be the most correct person in the room. "More like around my esophagus, but. Sure."

"So, where did you wear it when you were back in the second dimension? Was it on your side? Did you have to wear two so people could see them from both sides—"

"I didn't need a bow tie then."

Mabel stared at him. "What do you mean, you didn't 'need' it? What do you need it for now?"

Bill ignored the question. "You know, I didn't think Flatworld was an interesting enough book to deserve this much attention! Especially not from you. You like fun stories." It felt oddly like he was criticizing her for having read it.

"Well—yeah, but it's about your home! That makes it fun!"

Bill raised his brows.

"Right? Doesn't it?"

"Kid." Bill laughed condescendingly. "Don't give me that. You read an entire book. In the summer. About math. With a downer ending where the narrator goes insane and gets locked up. That's some people's idea of a fun time, but I know it's not yours."

Maybe "fun" was the wrong word—but it was still important. She was glad she'd read it. She'd cared about it. She'd cared enough to know Bill was describing it wrong. "That's not what happened. The square got locked up because he kept telling everybody the third dimension's real."

"Like I said! He went insane!"

"But he's not insane. Everyone says he is, but he's right about the third dimension! It's everyone else who's stupid!"

"So what," Bill said. "The things he knows mean he'll never be able to see the world the way other shapes do, and no matter what he does he'll never be happy with his home. If that's not insanity, what is?"

Last year, she'd heard Bill agree when Gideon called him insane. She'd always wondered. "Is that why you're insane?"

Bill shot Mabel a furious look. That was the wrong thing to say. "Shooting Star—"

(Oh no, she thought, he's using my full name.)

"—what's with the third degree." Bill crossed the room to lean on the other side of the table. He gave her the guarded glare of a guilty suspect facing down a cop in an interrogation room—and trying to figure out whether he could kill the cop before he was stopped. "What do you think you're trying to dig up?"

"I'm not trying to 'dig up' anything," Mabel said. "I just want to learn more about you!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you do! Who doesn't wanna know all about me! And right after I trusted you yesterday! Do you think you're the first person to start digging into my history? 'Hey, does anyone know what made Bill Cipher so crazy'?" Bill laughed bitterly. " You're not even the first Pines to try it. Not even the second."

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" said Mabel, right before it dawned on her that that was exactly what she was trying to do.

"Right. I'm sure whatever you learn will make a nice two-page spread in Journal 5. Another secret you and Fordsy can add to your Mysteries, huh? Think he'll draw the dead babies?"

She thought back to Portland—to asking Ford what had made Bill so awful. I think if anyone’s ever had a chance of finding out what made him like he is, it might be you. Mabel shook her head. No. She didn't want to be that. "I'm not Grunkle Ford's spy, I'm your friend. I just—I just want to understand you—"

"Yeah, and the 'friends' who understand you are the most dangerous kind." Bill laughed harshly. "Your uncle and brother couldn't figure me out! And Sixer's been trying for years! So what makes you think YOU can?"

He was calling her stupid. He'd been calling her stupid all day. That was why he was so surprised she'd read the book.

"You—shut up!" She wadded up her latest drawing and flung it in Bill's face. (He snatched out of midair.) "All I did was read a book I thought was important to you, you jerk! I thought you'd like that!"

She hadn't meant for that waver to enter her voice. But she was exhausted from too little sleep and worrying about dead baby shapes and worrying about Bill's fear of death and worrying about what Ford had said about not giving Bill a second chance, and now Bill was being a jerk, and maybe he was just exhausted and upset too, but he was treating her like she was stupid—and there was that pathetic little waver.

But it made Bill pause in his onslaught; for a moment, he averted his gaze. Still, he said, "Maybe if you'd thought to ask—"

"You were asleep! I was being nice! And letting you sleep! In my bed!"

"But—"

"Just go away!" She pointed at the doorway.

Bill's face hardened again. "Fine!" He flung his hands in the air and stomped from the room. "Who wants to hang out with you when you're in such a bad mood, anyway."

Mabel glared at her stupid drawings so she didn't have to watch Bill's stupid back as he left.

Why had she bothered?

When Bill was out of sight, she dropped back onto her chair, pulled her sweater over her face, crossed her arms on the table, and buried her head in them.

####

Bill didn't think to smooth out the paper Mabel had flung at him until he was out of the room.

On one side she'd drawn Bill—properly triangular—with an expression that he thought was supposed to be fear and on the other side several angry-looking shapes, pentagons and hexagons, colored gray and black, being led by a pale figure shaped like a human skull and wielding a scythe; and between them, a bright pink heart, standing in front of Bill protectively, hands on its "hips," glaring down the would-be assailants.

The corners of Bill's mouth sagged down.

####

The bell rang and the shapes began filing out of class, muttering to each other about how they thought they'd done on the test. As the triangle cheerfully left the room, the teacher caught him by the arm again to pull him over. "Just a minute," she said. "I want a word with you."

Oh, he bet she did. Breezily, he said, "Sure thing! What is it?"

"Who was the first triangular president?"

"Wh— Th—" He spluttered indignantly. "There's been like—seven of them."

"Nine. And I'm only asking about the first one."

"How should I know!"

"You knew an hour ago."

He sputtered again. "That was— That was a multiple choice test! And it was an hour closer to when I'd studied! And I can focus better in the classroom! You can't expect me to remember anything in the hallway. You're using intimidation tactics. How could anyone focus under these conditions—"

"I don't know what you're doing," the teacher said, "or how you're doing it. Maybe I never will. But..." She sighed, and the anger seemed to leak out of her, and that only made him more nervous. "But whatever you're doing—you won't be able to do it forever. What will you do when you're out in the real world and you didn't learn anything in school?"

Her pity was worse than being hated had been. At least when he was hated, he knew she only looked down on him because she had something against him. What did he do with pity? With concerned warnings about the "real world"? He'd never heard anybody use the phrase "the real world" as anything but a threat. He hoped he was never out in the real world.

"Who cares! I'll never need any of this!" He should have shut up there. He didn't: "You're just jealous that me and my family make a million times more lying to everyone than you'll ever get trying to teach them the truth!"

His teacher gasped in shock; but before she could say anything, he was halfway down the hall with no intention of slowing down.

The next day, he stayed home, and his mom visited the principal. The day after that, he had a new teacher.

####

He was stupid. He knew that. He didn't know when he'd gotten stupid—if it was because he'd started touring so much and missing classes, or if he'd always been dumb and just didn't notice it before he registered just how often he was using his all-seeing eye to pick up answers that other kids couldn't see. It had crept up on him. But there it was. He was stupid, and he was too stupid to figure out what to do about it.

There was a big difference between being able to see everything, and actually knowing anything. And he might be all-seeing, but an idiot like him would never be all-knowing.

####

A trillion years later, he still didn't remember the name of the first triangular president. And look how far he'd gotten without it.

Lunch was toast and peanut butter. The toaster was the only source of heat he could use without having to ask his captors for access; and peanut butter and bread were the most nutritious foods he could reach without asking his captors to open a cabinet or fridge. He was sick of toast and peanut butter.

He wasn't about to ask Mabel to help him get lunch.

Well. He'd succeeded. He'd known just the right thing to say to get Mabel to lay off and drop the topic. Did he feel accomplished?

He stared out the window as he ate—there were hazy gray clouds on the horizon, beyond the trees, slowly inching closer—and he tried not to look at the picture Mabel had flung at him.

####

Mabel felt dumb about being upset that Bill thought she was dumb.

Because of course he did. Sure, he liked her art and he liked dance music and games without rules; sure, he was a willing student when it came to stuff like making friendship bracelets or artistically mixing sprinkles; sure, he was a weirdo fun guy; but he was also a Smarty McSmartypants, just like Dipper or Ford. And Mabel was the Girl Dipper who brought home C's. And even a weirdo fun Smarty wouldn't want to hang out for long with someone who couldn't keep up with nerd talk. He probably just... put up with her for as long as he could stand pretending he took her seriously, but he'd finally lost his patience...

And shown his true, jerky colors again.

Maybe Ford and Dipper were right about him; maybe he couldn't really change.

Except... there was something he'd said. And right after I trusted you yesterday. When he'd cried in front of her. When he'd told her about his fear of death.

He was being a jerk because he thought she'd betrayed him. But by reading a book?! Why couldn't he ever just explain himself? Did he think whatever was bothering him was obvious, and she was stupid for not figuring it out?

Something she almost but didn't quite remember thudded like a drum inside her brain. Dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dome.

From the entryway, Bill called, "Hey, star girl. I—"

He stopped in the doorway. Mabel had taped 28 pieces of paper together, drawn on a door knob, written "DOOR" at the top, and taped it across the doorway into the living room. Irritably, Bill said, "It doesn't work like that. This is obviously paper."

"Bill," Mabel grumbled. "Go away."

"No. I'm gonna say something to you."

He didn't phrase that like he was giving her a choice in the matter; but all the same, she said, "I don't wanna hear it."

"You know that horror story about a bride with a velvet ribbon tied around her neck, and her head falls off and rolls down the stairs when her husband unties it?"

She did. She and Dipper had read a book of scary stories to each other on Halloween a few years ago while waiting for it to be late enough to go trick-or-treating. In spite of herself, he'd piqued her curiosity. She reluctantly turned to look at him. "Yeah? So?"

Bill was leaning in the doorway, head tilted against the doorframe so he could see Mabel around the paper door curtain. "That's why I wear a bow tie."

Mabel blinked. "Wait—if you didn't, your head would fall off? What part of you is your head? How did it come off? Were you decapitated? Did you get decapitated for knowing about the third dimension—?"

"It doesn't keep my head on; it keeps my skin on."

Mabel's nose wrinkled. "Gross! How?"

"Remember how you said my outline is my skin and all my organs are inside the outline," Bill said. "That didn't change when we left the second dimension! We had to get exoskeletons on our top and bottom sides so solids like you can't stick you fingers in our guts. My bow tie keeps it tied in place."

"Whoa." So that was why they hadn't seen Bill's organs before. "Do you ever take it off?"

"Mostly when I'm eating!" He knocked on the doorframe. "So can I come in now?"

Of course. He'd been using information to buy his way back into her good graces. (No—that was what somebody who didn't think Bill deserved a second chance would think. He was making up for earlier by answering one of her questions about him.)

She took a deep breath, turned to face Bill, and said, "You didn't talk to me like a friend earlier."

"I—" Bill grimaced, looked at the ceiling for help, and conceded, "I mean—It's how I talk to my friends, but all right, I know you're not used to that—"

"Nobody should be used to that!" Mabel said. "What would Love Bunny say?"

"Wh—?! I— Th— You—" His voice cracked as it jumped higher, "What do I care what a cartoon rabbit thinks about—"

"What. Would. She. Say."

Bill's face screwed up in agony. He crossed his arms. "Ugh."

"Biiill?"

Eyes squeezed shut, Bill said, "She'd say my breath smells like I've been eating mean beans."

"Aaand?"

"I'm not going to say it. I won't say it."

"And you need to eat your nice rice!"

Bill let out a long, slow sigh.

"Say it!"

"This is my penance," Bill muttered toward his feet. "This is my penance. This is fair." He took a breath. "And... I need to eat my nice rice."

Mabel nodded. He'd confessed his sins.

"I think we're out of nice rice," Bill said, "but I've had the peanut butter of kindness and the toast of remorse. Good enough?"

She considered it. "Yeah. You can come in."

Bill batted aside the paper door curtain and ducked into the room.

He sat across the table from Mabel and set down the paper she'd chucked at him amongst her others. Mabel glanced at the drawing, embarrassed of it now; but Bill didn't say anything about it.

He just propped his cheek against his hand and started looking over her other art.

Mabel sat there with her hands under her legs, watching his spotlight eyes rove over the table, feeling like she was waiting for a teacher to grade a poster she'd made for class. He saw a stop sign red octagon in sunglasses that was labeled "Bill's parole officer" and snorted. She wasn't sure if it was an amused snort or a derogatory snort. His gaze stopped on her attempt to figure out how Flatworlder anatomy worked, and didn't move farther. She'd probably gotten everything wrong, hadn't she?

She couldn't stand waiting for him to pass judgment on her art. "You think they look dumb, don't you."

Bill took a moment to reply. He didn't look up from her drawings. "I don't think you're dumb, Shooting Star."

"You think I'm dumber than Dipper and Grunkle Ford."

Bill winced. "I don't." At her dubious look, Bill amended, "Only Stanford! And that barely counts, all humans are dumber than Stanford. It doesn't mean I think you're dumb-dumb"

"Could've fooled me," Mabel muttered.

"You bet! I'm good at fooling people. All I have to do is say things I don't mean that make people feel the way I want." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. "I wanted you to feel like the conversation wasn't worth it. That's all."

She stared at him. "By letting me know you think I'm stupid?!" She chucked a crayon at his face. "You could have just told me you didn't want to talk about Flatworld!" Her voice was getting that stupid waver again. "If I'd known, I would have dropped it! I didn't want to upset you!"

"I wasn't upset, it's just a stupid thing to complain about! It's just a dumb book! It'd—it'd take a real loser to be bothered by talking about a dumb book! I'm not..." He sighed harshly. "I know you weren't trying to get on my nerves, kid. It'd mess up your sticker chart." (Mabel hadn't even realized he knew about her sticker chart.) Almost inaudibly, he added, "M'sorry."

She'd never heard him apologize before.

She let out a slow breath. "Biiill. I don't think you're a loser."

He muttered something she couldn't make out as he flipped his hood on and pulled it down over his burning face. "Forget it. Move on. It's in the past!"

"If you're so embarrassed—"

"Not embarrassed!"

She chucked another crayon at his chest. "Then why are you telling me this now?"

Bill shut his eyes; took a deep breath; and, with a look of solemn dignity, and no small amount of pain, he said, "Because. Teddy Tender says. Our friends can't help us feel better if we don't tell them why we feel bad." He almost, almost managed to say it without sounding sarcastic.

Mabel burst out laughing. Bill pulled his hood lower.

Bill didn't even like Teddy Tender—he thought he was the stick in the mud of the Color Critters—and he certainly wasn't actually trying to follow Teddy's friendship lessons. He was just... saying something he didn't mean to make Mabel feel the way he wanted. And he wanted her to feel better.

No matter what anyone else said, he could change. And he was changing.

"Apology accepted," Mabel said. "Gold star!" She peeled one off a nearby sticker sheet and held it out.

Bill eyed it, like a man so hungry he was too nauseous to eat eyeing a pizza; and then snatched it from her and stuck it in the middle of his hoodie.

Mabel said, "And... I guess I'm sorry for getting all diggy about your home world." Even if she hadn't known it was bothering him, she probably should've guessed, shouldn't she? With how crabby he'd gotten. "I just got all excited and curious and... kinda worried about you after reading that book?" She sighed. "I understand if you don't wanna talk about it. You probably hated your dimension."

"What? He lurched forward with the vehemence of his denial—"Of course I don't hate my dimension!" Mabel leaned away at the sudden rage that had flared up in his eyes; but it died just as quickly and Bill immediately reeled himself back in, sitting back, crossing his arms: "I mean, come on, kid, use your head: you read a book about a culture. We're talking about an entire dimension. Would you hold a grudge against Jupiter if an ant bit you on Earth?"

Even as casually as he played it off, Mabel was sure he hadn't meant anything as calm and measured as claiming it was technically irrational to hate an entire dimension. He meant—emphatically, with his whole heart behind it—that he didn't hate his home dimension, at all.

Then why didn't he want to talk about it? (Then why had he destroyed it? Or was not hating it just another fiction he'd made up because he'd prefer that reality? Or was the destruction itself a lie? He hadn't mentioned it once since they'd started talking about Flatworld. Or did he think she didn't know about that and didn't want her to know? Or...)

Something had been churning in her subconscious since she woke up, and now—watching Bill ball up around himself as he squirmed around the things he didn't want to say—it finally dawned on her. Two words. Another piece of the Axolotl's poem. She tried to hold the words in her head until she could write them down, repeating them over and over—Misses home. Misses home.

Quietly, she asked, "Then... don't you want to remember it?"

His face spasmed, like it was nearly cracking in two—and then smoothed out. His face was blank. He didn't answer for a moment. "The last time I told a human more than two sentences about where I'm from... he gave me the universe's most depressing geometry textbook."

Oh. Maybe Bill was following Teddy Tender's friendship advice. "That's because you were talking to a boring old-timey math teacher, duh."

He laughed wryly. "You may have a point!"

If Bill assumed anybody prying into his history was either looking for the reason something was wrong with him, or publishing a whole book about the super bad parts... No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to her. "So you didn't dislike Flatworld? You just dislike the book?"

Bill grimaced. "Did you read Eddie's biography?"

"No?"

####

As soon as he'd buckled himself into his seat for the drive to Northwest Manor, Dipper read the summary on the back cover of Flatworld, and then the paragraph-long author biography underneath it:

Edward B. Bishop, born in 1838 in England, was an accomplished mathematician, writer, theologian, and closet occultist, as well as a professor at the esteemed University of Fancyton. He published twelve books, the last of which was Flatworld in 1884. After sentencing his square protagonist to a two-dimensional asylum for preaching of the existence of the third dimension, he himself succumbed to an ironically similar fate: three months after publication, he was committed to an asylum for insisting that two-dimensional alien invaders intended to conquer the Earth and were persecuting him for revealing their existence, a delusion he maintained until his death from sleep deprivation in 1886. His most enduring legacy is inventing the margarita glass, which he claimed came to him in a dream.

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Ouch."

####

"Never mind, don't worry about it," Bill said. "But no. I didn't like the book."

"You poor thing! All this time you've been homesick for the second dimension, but the only things humans talk about is the bad stuff!"

"Don't call me that."

"Do you want to talk about the non-depressy stuff instead? Like..." Mabel wracked her brain for something nice she'd read in the book. She winced. "Uh... I'm sure there's something. You could choose the topic?"

Bill didn't look directly at her. He just looked over all her drawings again. "Tell me why you want to know so badly."

It was basically the same question he'd asked earlier—what's with the third degree—but his tone was different. Mabel swallowed hard and repeated, "Because... I'm your friend. It's crazy that we've been friends for like a month and I barely know a-ny-thing about who you are or how you grew up! By now, I'd usually know about a friend's family, favorite subject, favorite animal, opinion on glitter, and biggest life dream! Plus all the stuff humans have in common—like, 'do you breathe?'"

This time, Bill didn't argue with her answer. (He could have called her a liar. A month ago, she had just been trying to find out what was wrong with him. But this version of the truth she'd made up was better.) "You already know I'm pro-glitter in all contexts and my life's work is to throw an eternal party. What else really matters?"

"Those are the two most important questions," Mabel said seriously. Tentatively, she asked, "Did you have glitter in the second dimension?" He'd already reassured her that they'd had color, but it was hard to imagine glitter in such a bleak world.

"Sure."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

She looked around at the morning's art production, pulled over the first drawing she'd done of her shapesona, and grabbed a bottle of glue to draw a thin line around the heart.

Bill watched as Mabel carefully sprinkled several separate colors of glitter on the line of glue, like a master chef adding a precise amount of spice to a gourmet recipe, to create a glitter rainbow gradient; and then he slowly sat up and leaned toward the table again. "So, who's this freak?"

Mabel gave him an exasperated look. She decided he'd meant "freak" neutrally; but she'd clearly labeled the heart "ME IN FLATWORLD," she thought it was pretty obvious who this freak was.

But Bill cheerfully went on, "He's the most hideously disfigured shape I've ever seen."

"Hey!"

"I'm not joking, it hurts to look at this guy. At least he's symmetrical, but woof."

"She's not a guy! She's supposed to be me in Flatworld," Mabel insisted. "She's a powerful lady and I think she's beautiful." She paused. "Can a heart be a girl?" Lines looked boring, but Flatworld said that girls were all lines and all other shapes were boys. (Or were they? When they'd talked at the mall, Bill had been very clear that he considered himself a triangle instead of male or female, which scuttled the "all polygons are male" concept. Maybe Edward Bishop Bishop had made that part up?)

"She can be anything she wants," Bill said firmly. "I don't see any gender cops around here, do you?"

Good point. "And when there's no cops around, anything's legal."

Bill laughed. "Hey, I like that."

"Grunkle Stan says it!"

"Wise man." Bill leaned forward further across the table and tapped a finger on the deep cleft at the top of the heart. "Personally, I'm more worried about that agonizing-looking birth defect. I'm surprised she survived past infancy!"

Mabel glared at him, but she supposed she couldn't argue. A heart was a pretty irregular shape. And according to Flatworld, almost all irregular shapes were executed in childhood or else imprisoned in adulthood, since they thought irregular shapes would grow up to be depraved, imbecilic criminals—

"Wait," Mabel said. "Wait. Last year, when I called you an isosceles freak—"

Bill cut in, "It was 'monster,' but go on!"

"Was that, like..." Mabel's voice dropped to a whisper, "a slur on Flatworld?"

Bill fought to keep his face straight as he decided how to respond. He went for the funniest answer. "Yes."

Mabel clapped her hands over her mouth and squeaked, "Nooo!"

"It's actually pretty impressive a human managed to come up with it!"

"I'M SORRYYY, augh I didn't know!"

Over her anguished whines, Bill went on, "It's just a good thing you didn't say 'scalene'! I would've had to wash your mouth out with drain cleaner!"

Mabel had pulled the collar of her sweater over her face. From within Sweater Town, she asked, "Was that the first thing I ever said to you?"

Bill choked back a laugh. "Yeah, it was."

She squealed in embarrassment and slid under the table.

"Heck of a first impression, star girl!"

"i'm sorryyy."

Bill reached under the table to pat the top of her head. "Ahhh, it was funny. Get up here."

As she climbed back into her seat, Bill added, "I'm getting back at you now, I'm not done making fun of your medical miracle yet. You know what she'd look like as a human? A headless, neckless body with an eyeball shoved six inches down her esophagus." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually... that sounds kinda cute."

"Eww, Bill."

"It is, it's cute. Like a clumsy puppy with a neurological disorder! I guess that's how the hideous Miss Heart here must look to humans!"

Mabel looked over her art again, wondering if she should change her shapesona, considering Bill's reaction to it.

So, maybe she was creating a freak. She didn't see any shape cops around here. She kept drawing. "I'd be fine," she said. "You like weird freaks! You'd keep me safe."

A stricken look crossed his face. He was momentarily silent as he watched Mabel start another picture. And then, as though he were only considering it for the first time, he said, "Yeah. I guess I would."

His gaze drifted to the wrinkled picture of Mabel's shapesona standing protectively in front of Bill. "Freaks can't afford to tear each other down."

####

(THIS is the chapter that's been giving me hell the last few weeks. Months. Last few months. I'm so glad to finally have it out, and I hope y'all enjoyed!! This chapter probably brings up a lot more questions than it actually answers—and completely different questions based on whether or not you've read Flatland lol—so I can't wait to hear what y'all think.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 1 day

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medialog april 2k24

ok. sick day catch up part two

watched

monkey man - this was gnarly and fun and dev patel, quite simply the hottest man ever to live, is upsettingly hot in this film, like SO hot oh my fucking god

white room - this was a VERY weird movie that (as per the filmmaker q & a) totally flopped at a film festival and never received distribution... you can kinda see why but i more or less liked it. it's about a weird sheltered repressed dude who accidentally sees the murder of a mysterious pop star and then accidentally befriends and falls in love with the woman who was actually the reclusive songwriter and voice of the act... the filmmaker described it as a "journey through genres" and it was very artistically ambitious in a way that maybe didn't totally work but it had some really good stuff about art/consumption/fame/women (my jam) and it frequently looked gorgeous and also all of the mysterious/reclusive pop singer's songs were big late 80s/early 90s style upbeat synth-bombast numbers with lyrics taken from emily dickinson poems which is soooooo funny and a great idea

alien - this is like die hard in that if i'd seen it ten years ago i would not really have understood the hype but seeing after i had a backwards education in film by watching all of the mcu movies and developing curiosity about the question of why they were bad and ugly in such distinct ways and from there developing a nascent and unsophisticated appreciation of the filmic qualities of film i'm like, wow what an incredibly fucking well made movie!!!!!! some things in particular i liked were (1) no substantive backstory for anyone, no dark secrets except the one that really counted, no traumatic pasts, no explanation for how this world works or why anyone was here except needing a job, just giving us the bare minimum to understand the situation the characters find themselves in and trusting the story to do the rest (2) very good spaceshippy spaceship (another way it's like die hard is lots of great Texture, another thing that the MCU lacks which like many other MCU traits was actually a totally fitting design choice for tech bro billionaire tony stark in iron man but simply did not need to expand to Everything...) (3) sigourney weaver so good! ian holmes also very good (4) lots of suspense through silence which is one of the most lost of lost arts in the realm of big expensive Cool Shit Happens cinema!

roy cohn/jack smith - this was a filmed recording of two monologues performed by ron vawter, a gay actor who died of AIDS, each in the character of another gay man who had AIDS - the notorious roy cohn & the experimental cinema icon jack smith. i don't really have much to say about it but i feel very lucky to have seen it and vawter was incredible - i'm glad also that he happened to come to our attention a few months ago because he played the therapist in sex lies & videotape.

mad max: fury road - ok i kept putting this off because the way people talked about it on the internet frankly emphasized to an off-putting degree the ideas in this movie and did not adequately convey to me personally the most important thing about it which is that it Fucking Owns Lmao Wow. we happened to pause it for some reason like 50 minutes in and i swear to you i would have guessed 15, maybe 20 minutes had passed, that's how much it flies by... the coolest shit ever, i wanted to live there forever! also lottie yellowjackets is one of the wives????

mission: impossible 3 - the worst movie in the entire world. we only revisited this one as part of our ongoing marathon with some friends and we spent the whole time complaining about jj abrams' totally inept camera work... seriously watch this movie and look out for (1) every time an already fast sequence is torn up with a zillion stupid little cuts some of which actively prevent us from seeing something that could have been cool (2) every time we get to a new location and the camera starts aimlessly drifting to the side literally immediately because he's afraid we'll get bored if we sit in a location for one whole second (3) every time 3 people are having a conversation and the camera spends the whole time just purposelessly wafting back and forth side to side for, i cannot emphasize this enough, no reason at all. literally nothing in this, an installment of the Stuff Looking Cool franchise, looks even a little bit cool even one time. people hate on 2 for the male gaze of it all re: thandie newton but her character has more personality and agency than ethan's sexy lamp wife in this. the closest to a redeeming value this movie has is that it really feels like part of the goal was to remind everyone of how even though tom cruise jumped on that couch one time he's actually a very normal american heterosexual man (he passes out at one point and flashes back to his wife in her underwear sdksoeroser it's SO dumb) but because he's tom cruise (a total insane freak) he can't convincingly portray that at all and just comes across as insane and maybe a sociopath. "what about philip seymour hoffman" i'm not going to give abrams credit for knowing PSH was a good actor, that's like saying defending a doctor accused of malpractice by saying he knows that feet generally have toes. be serious. i will give a shout out to simon pegg, who is in this less than i remembered but who comes across as the MVP (across what should be a deep bench of a cast!) of making abrams' horrible comic-book-bro-patter come across as something a human might say, mostly so i can also share my friend's insight when i said that which is that it makes sense pegg is suited to the task given that he cut his teeth largely on movies that are parodies of shitty action movies.

mission: impossible - ghost protocol - a wonderful and perfect treat :) i've gone on at length about this one before and really have nothing left to say but it's so good and so specifically good at all the things 3 sucks ass at... my friend was physically squirming next to me on the couch during the burj khalifa sequence, as is right and proper :)

read

beautiful losers - this is a novel leonard cohen wrote in the 60s that is very weird and experimental and i'll be real with you and say i did not get it. it's about a guy whose wife and best friend he had a weird sexual relationship with are both dead and now he's kind of obsessed with an iroquois saint... i am not sure how to describe it but i guess i would say if you think the music of leonard cohen is too optimistic and insufficiently horny for you maybe you would like this. it is probably the most aggressively sexual book i've ever read but not in an erotic way... it's very like about the nastiness of sex and bodies... which i admire ideologically on a certain level but it's really quite unrelenting with it... occasionally there are snatches of deeply beautiful writing though.

listened

sourpatch, stagger & fade - nick put on the vinyl of this and i was like oh that sounds nice and i wound up listening to it a bit... fuzzy indie rock (i'm not educated enough to parse genres more finely than that) that makes for very pleasant background listening

ariana grande, eternal sunshine - i've never kept up with ariana because i just find her voice kind of annoying and i had never heard a song to challenge that UNTIL we reviewed "we can't be friends" at singles jukebox and ariana teaming up with max martin to do kidz bop body talk era robyn turned out to be everything i wanted from her... unfortunately the rest of the album was incredibly boring lol. love that song tho!

maggie rogers, don't forget me - i don't know that i find this one as interesting as her last album or quite as likable as her first (although that might be me somewhat overrating her first because i love "light on" sooooo much) but she's such a capital-M Musician she's always a pleasure to listen to. "drunk" was an early fave but recently i found myself returning a lot to "the kill"

girl in red, i'm doing it again baby! - girl in red comes a lot when other people are talking about the g*yl*rs as one of the actual queer artists they should support but first of all they actually love her and second of all i listened to this album twice straight through and have let some of the songs play on shuffle since and i could not hum you one single line :/

taylor swift, the tortured poets department - speak of the devil! i mean i've talked about this. i like this album a lot - at this point i'm ready to call it easily her best work except for maybe folklore, and honestly i find it hard to assess folklore out of what a special lockdown treat it felt like at the time. i don't expect a world insistent on calling 1989 pop perfection to eventually agree with me but i think people will mellow out about it in time and forget that it was so divisive on release much as has happened with reputation (an album far worthier of scorn if not without its occasional merits) and at the VERY least i think in like 5 years it will be more or less consensus that it's better than midnights.

the starting line, say it like you mean it - i listened to this album mostly to fact-check claims i was making about emo in the taylor swift piece but then i kept listening to it cuz it was kinda full of bops!

fall out boy, take this to your grave - @voidofcourse recommended this as a stepping stone from the starting line for loud guys offering bops and indeed it too was full of bops!

other

an enemy of the people - i saw this on broadway, yes, 1000% literally just because my boy my king my number one guy jeremy strong was in it. the production was interesting and good if not flawless, and although i think some of the younger cast members got a little lost in the old-fashioned theatrical language (even in a new translation) and could have used some direction towards really pulling out the meaning of individual sentences they were saying, the more seasoned actors all did a great job, including, of course, jeremy strong, who got to be shoved into a pit and have pretend ice thrown at him, i'm so happy for him. also the play was incredible? like as a play? i said as much here after seeing it but basically it's about this doctor who discovers that the town baths that are about to open have a contaminated water supply that is definitely going to result in people getting sick and some of them dying, especially since they are being advertised partly for their health-restoring properties for people who are already not doing well, and he's like, wow, good thing i caught this thanks to the help of science so we can change plans, and then everyone else in town is like, but have you considered that would be expensive? why do you hate poor people? (there's a thread specifically about the editor of the radical leftist newspaper going from being the doctor's number one champion to being totally coopted out of both politics and self-interest that was particularly brutal to watch...) like it was truly SO incredibly specifically relevant to some Extremely Contemporary Issues that i was just agog and also it was incredibly fucking upsetting to watch! really really great playwriting, such a clean example of how a work can best encompass & comment on ideas by developing them through character and dramatic action rooted in wants, needs, choices, conflict, etc., a lesson many people could stand to learn. i kept thinking it had burrowed as deeply into the core issues as it could and then it found another layer. this ibsen guy... he really knew some stuff about stuff....

#media 2k24 #isabel 2k24

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untitled-tmnt-blog · 1 day

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Which of your TMayNT pieces were your favorites to do?

Do you have any favorite TMayNT posts you've seen from others?

As far as my own stuff goes -- I always have a good time with traditional art, so Day 16 and Day 21 were a lot of fun! And I also like making simple little animations, so I enjoyed doing Day 24 as well!

As far as others' art... I'm so awful at picking favorites, so I hope you don't mind that I'm just gonna have to list a whole bunch again! I'll put that under a cut, because it's gonna be lengthy. (And I don't really know if people like being tagged when I mention their stuff, or if they find it annoying... so, um... sorry if it's the latter!)

As an appreciator of traditional art, I really liked seeing @strawberry-ren's drawings -- especially Leo and April! They're beautiful drawings, and are colored so incredibly well!

@kesoyotes has a really pretty artstyle! It's very vibrant and clean, if that makes sense. I particularly liked April and Donnie!

@artsybun's art was all so good! I really liked this Leo drawing, this one of the turtle tots, and this one of 2012 Splinter... and THIS MASTERPIECE, of course!! I love that particular drawing so so so much!

@annaliearts also had some incredible pieces! I especially loved this '03 Donnie, and this one of '03 Splinter with the baby turtles. I mean, just look at Splinter's face!! And those precious babies!

And speaking of baby turtles -- there were SO MANY good turtle tot drawings for day 4! I loved this one by @cacutus, with the baby turtles sleeping all over their Dad! And this one by @sky317, because just look at Mikey's little face! And Raph in the teapot! I loved this one by @sad-leon, because I adore the way they draw their little expressions so much! And idk how to explain it, but like... their positioning, I guess? The way Leo's leg is just plopped down over Donnie like that -- it's the cutest thing! And I really liked this one by @sariphantom -- look at the babies' faces!! Leo sticking his tongue out, and tiny Donnie being so angry! I also really liked this one by @vdragon-creations (which was for day 11, but it does also include baby turtles)! The way '03 Splinter is looking at the babies -- ohh, my heart!! He loves them so much!!

There were so many good Aprils as well! I adore the way April is holding Mayhem in this one by @temva, and the coloring in this one by @just-another-tired-gay-artist is so cool! And I love both the perspective and background in this one by @matryoshkalex.

I love @frosteaart's coloring style so much! The lighting is beautiful, and it makes each scene so... is aesthetic the right word? Like, I want to flip through a whole art book full of it! I particularly liked the drill, Karai, and this Insane in the Mama Train redraw.

I also loved a lot of @heck-theo's art! If I had to make a short list, I'd say this one of Mikey with Draxum, and this one of Mikey with Splinter, because I just love the way he's hugging/holding his dads! And then this one of April, and this Evil League of Mutants scene, because they're both exceptional art pieces!

I also love anything that makes me laugh, so this tech-bo drawing by @hoodiehorizon, and this one by @cookieturtle26 are on that list! They make me smile!

I really enjoyed seeing all of the collages by @boxfullaturtles, especially Splinter, Shelldon, and Leatherhead!

I also loved the coloring on this Leo by @kurashikimisaki, the style of these Leos by @neon-mega-turtle, and this little Beebop & Rocksteady GIF by @jadetheblueartist... and probably a whole lot more that I just can't remember right now because there is just SO MUCH good art!!

#ask #TMayNT #sorry it took a while to answer #it's been a really busy week but I wanted to make sure I got all the links put in there too!

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wellen-katze · 24 hours

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Seriously, I love all of your BG3 comics.

The comics are so emotional, telling deep stories within a few panels.

How do you do that? How are you coming up with this amazing writing?

Do you also write fanfiction? Because the telling in your comics is next level.

P.S.: Where does your username coming from?

Haha, thank you so much! That's so sweet, and I'm glad you like my BG3 comics!

It means a lot to me to know that my work can touch people even a little bit, so I really appreciate your kind words!

I don't write fanfiction because I don't think I can express myself eloquently enough in English, and it would probably be rather boring, haha!

I prefer to tell stories with pictures rather than with words. And the game itself gives me enough inspiration to create such. I just let emotions and ideas for the characters guide me, and it comes naturally. It's like a game, and I think a lot of people feel the same way; the artist community for this fandom is incredible.

I also like to analyze texts and background ideas for stories. You quickly come up with "what if" ideas.

So again, thank you really much, I appreciate it!

P.S.: My Tumblr username means "Waves-cat" in English. It can have different connotations, but that's the basic translation.

#ask

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tipsyscone · 2 days

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for the dbd ask game: 2, 14, 21 ♡

2 - fave episode

Oh boy, probably episode 7! It has so many interesting character beats to me, and I get too distracted watching it when I have Dead Boys going in the background. To start with, I love Crystal's storyline starting with her being so adamant to also go to hell to save Edwin. We all know that their relationship has gotten off to a rocky start and I feel this really solidifies her care for Edwin and shows they have their own friendship outside of Charles. She is so worried about not knowing who she is that I feel she has failed to noticed she has already made her own found family.

The scenes with Niko and the Night Nurse really showcases Niko missing her dad and is another of great addition to the episode. For me it's the only explanation of why the group didn't wonder why Niko wasnt a ghost- she obviously passed on to be with her father, right? (Truly heartbreaking to me that they don't even know to look for her at this point.)

George Rexstrew's performance this whole episode is superb imo. The scene with Simon is so heartbreaking (shout out to Gabriel Drake!) and really hit me in the queer feels. I feel like many queer people have had that feeling when we are younger of being wrong, and to have these two boys help each other to move on healed something in me. Follow this up with THE STAIRCASE- the way Edwin's breath catches as he confesses and the fragile look on his face; the collar bone touch from Charles gets me every time. And I'm so thankful for Charles response. Payneland until I die, but it is perhaps the only pair I ship that if it stayed a QPR I would still be okay with it.

14 - plotline you would put into S2/any future season

I really want to see more Edwin and Crystal friendship and for them to pair up on a case together next season! I think it was an unappreciated duo and I would love to get to see them be mean girls together. I think they would be iconic verbally ripping apart a rude client.

I also need Monty to return asap. That poor little crow boy deserves another chance and I'm heartbroken that they just left him in that house. I hope he somehow becomes besties with Jenny- a crow and a goth together at last. I would also love if somehow Monty and the Cat King both came to London as a duo if we are to get cameos. It could work so well for them to have bonded in the absence of the other characters and now they need the dbda to take a case for them.

It would make my little heart so happy for Monty to get any happy ending but I hope he gets a boyfriend please and thank you.

21 - something in the show that made you happy

I really appreciate that the show made women fully fleshed out characters. It would have been easy for them to have Niko be the positive attitude character, but I think we can all relate to her a lot more knowing she struggles with fitting in and is dealing with the loss of a loved one. Jenny could have been all about the pithy oneliners, but instead we found out about her having to learn a business that was left to her by her father and her struggles to find people to connect to. Even the Night Nurse goes on a journey to learn empathy for humans. Truly a shout out to all the woman writers, actors and crew on this show for having such nuanced characters when other supernatural shows in the past haven't bothered.

Also I really love Kingham and Litty and I hope they stick around for awhile next season so I can enjoy more of their savagery. And maybe they can learn to not be dicks ❤️

Thanks for thinking of me @plutosheaven! I'm usually just the one screaming in the reblogs of everyone else's posts, but I want all of the artist and writers in the fandom to know I appreciate you and you're amazing!

#dead boy detectives #dbda #Dbda ask game #crystal palace surname von hoverkraft #niko sasaki #edwin payne #monty the crow #we love stronger female characters in this house #and also all the queer rep

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natsumebookss · 2 days

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Tragic Yuri or Tragic Yuri: On Female Autonomy, Reclaiming the Narrative, and 2011's Moodiest Magical Girls

(contains spoilers for Madoka Magica and Heartcatch Precure, very slight spoilers for Winx Club, topics of loss and depression, and the author screaming into the void about anime bullshit that happened over a decade ago)

If you've spent any amount of time in the Precure or PMMM fandoms, you've probably come across this quote. It's natural in many ways for Urobuchi to feel the way he does--imposter syndrome is intensely common for artists and I'd imagine attempting to write a subversion of a common genre while a piece of media from that genre is wrapping up a super successful run is challenging. While I won't pretend Heartcatch reached the levels of popularity that PMMM ended up at, it was the highest-selling season for years in terms of toy sales and many still remember it very fondly. (I'm a bit more critical of it, personally, but more on that later.) And so much was made of Urobuchi confessing he hadn't seen Heartcatch at the time of writing his own show, with PMMM antis saying that meant he had no real appreciation for the genre.

But what if I were to tell you that not would PMMM have been significantly worse if he'd made it more like Heartcatch, but Heartcatch would've been better off if it had been more like Madoka?

A disclaimer before we go any further: I am not suggesting that Heartcatch should've retooled into a darker series, or that it even had the ability to since the shows were made pretty much in tandem. The damage done to Heartcatch, in my opinion, was already done before Madoka's finale even aired. This is purely an exercise in comparing two magical girls from roughly the same anime season (one ending about when the other was starting) and seeing what they could learn from each other. Also note that my title on my main blog is literally "Heartcatch Precure finale anti," so there will be some bias involved. With that out of the way, let us proceed.

Context

Pictured: a completely normal Facebook discussion about a kid's anime character from almost 15 years ago.

For those unfamiliar, Cure Moonlight has essentially built up a reputation for being the Leafpool of Precure. For those unfamiliar with Warrior Cats, this is one of the worst things you can be called in fandom--someone with legions of fans who got screwed over so badly that those fans will never shut up about it. Being a Leafpool is not merely being a tragic character, but being actively fucked over by the narrative at every possible turn.

Let's explore Cure Moonlight in a bit more detail before comparing her to Homura and how, I argue, Homura did a similar story path to hers better. Like Homura, Cure Moonlight is first seen fighting a massive threat to humanity inside our pink magical girl Tsubomi's dream. The dream cuts off before we learn her fate, but all we can see on her face is pure sorrow before it does. The minute she is introduced, she already knows loss.

Throughout the show's run, we get to know her as Yuri Tsukikage, a veteran magical girl forced into retirement after her transformation item has been shattered. She has half of the broken Heart Seed that remains, and her foil Dark Precure, who broke the seed, has the other. Yuri is intensely depressed for this exact reason: she has lost her powers, her duties to the world, her fairy companion (who died in the battle with Dark Precure), and her father has also mysteriously vanished. The audience first sees her as a friend of one of the lead's older sisters, a senpai who excels at both sports and academics, before revealing her to be a broken person inside. The goal of Yuri's narrative, seemingly, is to restore her Precure powers, allow her to confide in new friends, and find her missing father.

The first two are accomplished in a pretty straightforward but heartwarming manner--Yuri begins to find a new purpose in training her Precure kohais and eventually regains her powers through hard work and determination. Typical kid's show stuff, even if seeing Cure Moonlight reappear for the first time is indisputably badass. It's the third one, however, that I have the most problems with.

Frequent followers of my main blog @curemoonliite may be familiar with a term I have called "moonbitching." This is what I call it when I rant at length about the Heartcatch finale and what it did to Cure Moonlight's character, or even just allude to it in the tags. Since this post will already be long enough without it, I'll go light on the moonbitching, but do just enough of it to give you the facts.

In the last few episodes of the series, Yuri learns that her father was brainwashed by the main villain of the series, Dune, and that Dark Precure was cloned from her genetic material while he was brainwashed. This is legitimately a fascinating plot point that, by itself, I have no problems with. However, soon after learning about this, both Dark Precure and her father are killed off in the final battle and all Yuri can do is watch.

Her father sacrificed himself for her in a moment of clarity, she didn't even get time to really process that she's been fighting her sister all along, and she's lost everyone all over again. She started the show with just her and her mother, and the second she sees hope at having a family again, it's taken away from her.

Her kohai Tsubomi, upon seeing this, begs Yuri not to take revenge on the Big Bad that's stolen everything from her. This isn't the Yuri I know, she shouts. But somewhere along the line, we've lost the Yuri we know. All her development, all her growth, has been torn away the minute she's forced to lose everything again. Her path as a character is now uncertain, the narrative deciding it won't allow her to pursue even the slightest act of revenge.

And all Yuri can do is watch alongside us.

Homura and Yuri

The minute I saw this finale for the first time, I was reminded of how a classic piece of children's/family media handled a similar plot point. Allow me to be cliched for a moment, but if we look at someone like Inigo Montoya, we can see that his decision to pursue revenge is never really questioned by the narrative. This is something that's always bothered me about female characters in media, especially magical girl stories--a magical girl can never just say "give me my father back, you son of a bitch." They may want to, but due to sexist notions about women and violence, they're always expected to take the high road.

Oftentimes, this is done by using the magical girl leader as a mouthpiece to directly dismiss their teammate's desires--Bloom and Aisha go through something very similar in S4 of Winx Club when Aisha's fiancee is killed. Neither Bloom nor Tsubomi are naturally dismissive people, and the narrative tends to characterize them as kind, but they are briefly mischaracterized in moments like this to give the typical "revenge is bad" message that kid's shows tend to have. A message that is often distinctly missing from boy's cartoons, but I digress.

Aisha is at least allowed the dignity of separating from the main team for a few episodes to join some extremists, but Yuri doesn't even get that.

And Homura gets so much more.

I'll admit, I still have mixed feelings about Rebellion to this day, but what I do appreciate about it is that it isn't hampered by these restraints that magical girl media made for children seem to have. That villain arc the Facebook commenter from before said Yuri should've had? It was too late for her by the time the finale ended, but it wasn't too late for Homura.

Homura is, in many ways, an anti-Yuri, and a lot of that comes from her having autonomy within the narrative. Female autonomy is something we see discussed in the social justice sphere a lot, but not quite as much in the storytelling sense. Probably the main difference between the two is that Homura, as a time traveler, can stop the ones she loves from ever being killed. In fact, that's also her greatest weakness, as she wears herself down with the timelines so much that she can barely bring herself to care for anything else sometimes.

Homura's depression comes from the idea that she Can Stop The Thing, but can't figure out precisely how to. Yuri's depression comes from the fact that she Can't Stop The Thing, thinks she knows how to, and gets herself into more trouble along the way. One of these makes for an intensely more active character that doesn't feel unfairly dunked on by the narrative, and oddly enough, it's not the kid's show character.

Yuri, as a children's character, is kept from doing certain things by what that entails. Homura, however, has no such restrictions. She can travel through time and repeat everything over literally until she breaks herself. And that she very, very much does.

Homura doesn't have to be convinced in the finale to let Madoka go, she just peacefully comes to terms with it herself. That alone gives her more autonomy than Yuri had, even if we recall that Rebellion's ending was not the original one that Urobuchi had planned. However, Rebellion's ending serves as an ultimate rebuttal to the narrative that a magical girl must simply allow hardship and loss to happen to her. If the world isn't fair to her, if not even time travel works out, why not just remake it?

This action comes at the cost of stripping Madoka of a lot of her autonomy, sure. But it is, in a way, the natural conclusion of how magical girl leaders are often made to strip their "angsty" team members of theirs. Homura's fall from grace is a flipping of this script in every way possible, and even if it's far from the best decision for her to make, we can see that it's 100% fully her own.

The revenge is complete. No one is there to stop her. Even the writers don't really know what to do with her now. Homura has now transcended the fate of the purple magical girl, and that's the best thing that could've ever happened to her.

A girl who seeks revenge is a devil. A girl who cannot become a princess is doomed to become a witch. But ask yourself, is the fear of becoming these things worth becoming a spectator in your own story?

And, if that's the case, is it truly better to reign in hell than serve in heaven?

#magia record #homura akemi #my post #cure moonlight #heartcatch precure #had to put that paradise lost ref at the end sorry not sorry #a lot of my own thoughts about fighting the system vs being a spectator in your own story came out here too #it's a helluva lot to unlearn that's for sure

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