![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
TDM #13
Welcome! Everything is fine.
Uploading. . . Complete!
The Lobby.
- When you open your eyes, there is quite a lot of beige to take in. The unassuming walls of the room you've found yourself in are barren save for a single motivational poster directly in your line of sight. An illuminated sign above an open door on the far wall reads 'lobby exit.'
"Welcome," chimes a polite, synthesized voice. "I'm happy you're here." A moment later comes the clarity of the situation: you have died and so has the world you came from. "This is Amani, your new reality," continues The Peacekeeper. "Everything will be fine."
At least you aren't the only one here, you'll soon find out, as others who are just as confused and concerned as you are might be mingling on the main hub's first floor. Hopefully, you find a familiar face among the crowd. If not, that's all right. You'll get to know quite a few people very well soon enough.
- If you're one of the unlucky few whose death required a bit more intensive re-coding to maintain stability in the simulation, you'll instead awaken on a bed in the infirmary. Everything is strikingly white save for the occasional string of vines with lavender growing in bursts to help keep people calm. Whether or not it works seems to be on a case-by-case basis.
While there is active medical staff, the voice of The Peacekeeper is also there to explain the situation in a more delicate manner to these individuals. It's already stressful enough having to have gone through such a violent death, after all!
If characters want more questions answered, they'll need to speak to The Peacekeeper directly. But first, it will encourage socialization in the main hub and hopefully, you'll find someone you recognize to make taking things in a little easier.
WHAT
The thirteenth Amani TDM!
WHEN
September 20th, 2023 (and until the next TDM!)
KINKS OF THE MONTH
★ Tantric Sex
★ Body Worship
★ Cuddle Fucking
★ Electrostimulation
★ Quirofilia
★ Body Worship
★ Cuddle Fucking
★ Electrostimulation
★ Quirofilia
WHAT'S YOUR DTF STATUS?
If the main hub and its features don't appeal to you, that's perfectly fine. This is the perfect time to configure your Digitized Technical Friend or your DTF status. A DTF is similar to a dæmon from His Dark Materials in that it is connected to and a reflection of a character's soul. These DTFs take shape accordingly and are projections similar to the NPCs. Think of them as your own personal Clippy except less annoying. Hopefully.
Once that's set-up, there are other locations of the main hub to investigate! You can visit the training grounds, music lounge, library, and onsen. Also, feel free to leave an offering for the resident deity of sleep (Hypnos) at his shrine! You can even visit The Peacekeeper themselves on the second floor. They're always happy to have visitors! They're also conveniently where you might place a complaint about that status of the main hub and its amenities. Even if you do complain, The Peacekeeper will encourage others to set off and find their own place to live out in the simulation.
Granted, the housing market in the afterlife isn't exactly robust. It doesn't help that every place you find has a leaky roof or broken window. No, unfortunately, that will need to be fixed the peaceful way. If you'd like more lighting or even cozier clothes, simulation inhabitants are reminded that 'peaceful interactions' are very important!
It might be a good idea to stick close to someone you know, for now, since even the smallest amounts of intimacy might see subtle changes occurring where they're staying. Perhaps that broken window is now fixed, the grime and dust seem a little less, or the floor doesn't creak quite as loud.
Larger changes, however, will only come after demonstrating more powerful peaceful interactions. If you want new hardwood floors or a fresh coat of paint on the walls, you're going to have to demonstrate how well you 'get along' with others against them first.
BASKETS OF PEACE
"Hello, inhabitants," speaks The Peaceekeper, "have you had a check-up recently? While we don't have to worry about disease here in Amani, your sexual health is still important in so many other ways!" It was recently suggested that perhaps they haven't been the most mindful in terms of encouraging inhabitants to have healthier sexual habits. No time like the present to work on correcting that oversight though.
How? With a gift basket, of course!
Each inhabitant - either new or established - will receive a gift basket full of fun things to try. Each one includes (but is not limited to):
How? With a gift basket, of course!
Each inhabitant - either new or established - will receive a gift basket full of fun things to try. Each one includes (but is not limited to):
- ★ Male and female condoms (flavored and unflavored)
★ Edible lubricant
★ Erotic dice + erotic card game
★ Bottle of wine
★ Heart-shaped bath bombs (aphrodisiac-laced)
★ Bondage lace eye mask + wrist/ankle bindings
TRIPPING OVER TROPES
Due to the influence of Dirk Strider and Rose Lalonde both, The Peacekeeper has learned about an interesting phenomenon known as 'fanfiction.' It has studied the topic intensely for the last couple of days to try and learn more about its literary significance amongst the multiverse. It is an interesting insight in some of the inhabitants' cultures and what 'tropes' appear to be more common depending on the circumstances.
Unfortunately, such an influx of information sees the AI running Amani a bit more distracted than usual. The simulation - at least for a few days - is a bit more prone to glitches as a result. Only these aren't the usual ones like a hole in reality someone falls through and ends up somewhere unexpected.
No, these ones are as if the NPCs and inhabitants both residing in the simulation are having their pathways forcibly rewritten. It isn't very obvious, at first. Perhaps you're feeling a bit clumsier than usual and need to chase after a rogue piece of paper carrying on the wind that leads you running right into your current crush. Or maybe something gets unexpectedly spilled on you and the person you like is suddenly offering the shirt off their back (and leaving them shirtless, of course) even if it's out of character.
Finally, inhabitants might really start to catch on when whatever dwelling they enter there is only one bed. Have roommates? Too bad, looks like you might have to share for a bit! Oh, no, how unfortunate... However do you think this scenario will end? The Peacekeeper knows since, well, it's the one unwittingly writing inhabitants into these romance trope scenarios.
Thankfully, it will snap back to 'reality' within a few day's time having learned that, as with most good things, fanfiction should be taken in with moderation in mind.
Unfortunately, such an influx of information sees the AI running Amani a bit more distracted than usual. The simulation - at least for a few days - is a bit more prone to glitches as a result. Only these aren't the usual ones like a hole in reality someone falls through and ends up somewhere unexpected.
No, these ones are as if the NPCs and inhabitants both residing in the simulation are having their pathways forcibly rewritten. It isn't very obvious, at first. Perhaps you're feeling a bit clumsier than usual and need to chase after a rogue piece of paper carrying on the wind that leads you running right into your current crush. Or maybe something gets unexpectedly spilled on you and the person you like is suddenly offering the shirt off their back (and leaving them shirtless, of course) even if it's out of character.
Finally, inhabitants might really start to catch on when whatever dwelling they enter there is only one bed. Have roommates? Too bad, looks like you might have to share for a bit! Oh, no, how unfortunate... However do you think this scenario will end? The Peacekeeper knows since, well, it's the one unwittingly writing inhabitants into these romance trope scenarios.
Thankfully, it will snap back to 'reality' within a few day's time having learned that, as with most good things, fanfiction should be taken in with moderation in mind.
FRUITS OF FALL
Last year, there was an emphasis on apples but there are plenty of other common fruits to be found growing throughout Amani. Due to The Peacekeeper learning about tropes though, some of them will have a temporary effect in that vein on any inhabitant who eats them.
And what are those effects, exactly? Well...
And what are those effects, exactly? Well...
- ★ Pomegrante » Usually a fruit associated with femininity, eating this will actually see your concept of gender be a little more malleable. Characters will suddenly see new sliding scales in their DTF's menu that allows them to decide how feminine, masculine, or in-between they'd like their physical forms to be!*
★ Blackberries » Eating a handful of these berries will see someone's personality flip on its head. Those usually happy-go-lucky and bubbly will now be morose or upset about every little thing. Thankfully, it doesn't last long... even if the damage to your relationships from your unexpected shift in mood might. Oops.
★ Peaches » Often used in modern text language as a sensual symbol, this fruit will see someone swap kinks with another individual in the simulation. Get ready for some really confused boners, everybody!
★ Grapes » These fruits are meant to be a shared experience since just one person can't be expected to eat a whole bunch of them; however, eating a grape at the same time as someone else will see you sharing more than just a meal. Now, you're sharing experiences in one the most intimate ways of all - by swapping bodies and all that means.
SEXY STAMP CARD
If you're wondering about these 'peaceful interactions' that keep being mentioned or what the kinks of the month are for... Here's your answer! Upon arrival, all characters will receive a digital copy of their very own sexy stamp card.
Completing peaceful interactions (i.e. kinks) will reward characters with stamps that they can turn in for re-gains and many other things! While the example one here is the standard issued card by The Peacekeeper, players are more than welcome to customize it how they see fit. Have fun with it!NOTES
Completing peaceful interactions (i.e. kinks) will reward characters with stamps that they can turn in for re-gains and many other things! While the example one here is the standard issued card by The Peacekeeper, players are more than welcome to customize it how they see fit. Have fun with it!
★ *While this effect of the gender sliding scale will be opt-in entirely and only temporary, it is a feature that inhabitants can purchase in the future with stamps if they'd like!
★ We are currently at 30/40 slots taken! Anyone wishing to claim a character must have an invite from someone currently in the game and follow the proper rules in place to be accepted into the community!
NAVIGATION
no subject
He'd been relying on the arc of the Narrative to carry them through that topic with a minimum of direct words-from-his-own-mouth input. But he'd also been utilising the fact of their Narrative and existential purpose to keep a lot of things off the screen. Ripped from his place, shunted from side reality to side reality, things had gotten messy. Sloppy, even.
But her fumble--and her oblique concession to the fact that his statement is not, in fact, implausible--satisfied his demand that she be at least as imperfect as he appears to be, and that the facts were in agreement with his case, if not the sentiments.
His body not being in the same physical space as hers prevents him from turning away from her; he exerts some real willpower to resist the urge to curl his lip.
DIRK: If you're not doing anything with that, then put it away.
Whatever 'it' is right now.
DIRK: And sure it can.
DIRK: Just like Roxy and Dave don't need to have 'intended' or 'consciously acknowledged' what he's done in order for it to be true.
DIRK: In Dave's case, I'm more than willing to believe he's fallen prey to a bit of accidental rebounding onto the Bro he thinks hasn't betrayed him.
DIRK: What he perceives as my quote, "betrayal," end quote, is no more a betrayal than his upbringing was an act of harm. But it's important he nurse that hurt for a little while. He needs to remember what it means to stand on his own two feet, unsupported by his Bro.
DIRK: That's going to be required for what's coming, as you know.
DIRK: Depriving him of that opportunity is not only doing him a disservice. It's endangering the plan.
DIRK: That alone should be sufficient cause to condemn that development.
DIRK: But I didn't say anything about it, because I can make this work. Dave still has to take me out, of course, but now Roxy has his back, and Dave has someone to turn to in his hour of greatest emotional need.
DIRK: It's not ideal, and it wasn't in my original script, but either way, it works. So I kept my mouth shut and focused on the task of making it work. That's my job.
DIRK: But the fact is that this is completely in character for him.
DIRK: Roxy's coveted my gender--in more ways than one--practically since the day we first made contact.
DIRK: This is a sordid bit of history that I don't think you've ever been caught up on.
DIRK: Didn't seem important, really. Or at least, not in any way that required you specifically to know about it.
DIRK: Suffice it to say that you're not the only one who's made sacrifices in the pursuit of reality's essential propagation.
DIRK: Which I hardly thought needed stating, but here I am, stating it.
DIRK: What's with the coffee, by the way. You can't start depending on that shit.
DIRK: I'm giving you a pass since you need to build up your condition, but I'm expecting you to wean off of it before it becomes a habit.
cw: childhood neglect
She leans back against the kitchen counter and folds her arms over her slimmer-than-usual chest.
ROSE: Coffee helps me focus. If you don't like it, I have good news and bad news.
ROSE: I'll do you the favor of telling you the bad news first: this might not be the only substance I'll need to rely on if this morning's crushing headache is any indication of future trends.
ROSE: The good news is we made the front page, so to speak. Our game is already paying dividends, and eyes are upon us. We might start seeing more familiar faces soon.
One of her hands escapes the fold to gesture into the air. This gesture signifies nothing except a transition from one topic to another.
ROSE: As I've said to you before, you're conflating necessity with fortune.
ROSE: The only one of us to experience a childhood that wasn't in some way a significant harm was John. Though having experienced some facsimile of adulthood, I'm willing to concede that suburban isolation isn't the paradise a young Rose might have imagined.
ROSE: And there are many routes to a necessary outcome. Just as a conflict between you and Dave can reinforce reality without us knowing the outcome of that conflict in advance, maybe Dave could have been forged into a worthy Knight without the specific ordeal of constant, unwanted exposure to pornography.
ROSE: Saying it out loud, I'd go so far as to say it sounds likely.
Rose gestures back to herself.
ROSE: And you're not the only one with childhood experiences of a perpetually-drunken Roxy.
ROSE: Insofar as my mother could communicate any clear expectations of me through the martini-haze, they painted a picture of a perfect daughter, a paragon of femininity and grace.
ROSE: Even if you and I have never spoken about it in detail, it's not hard to imagine...
She's not going to fuck it up this time. No "accidental misgendering" CW required.
ROSE: ...him putting an unreasonable amount of pressure on you with a faux-casual insistence. Trying to turn it into a game, maybe, in an attempt to make his vision of your relationship sound more fun for you.
ROSE: Which sucks.
ROSE: Though I'll admit, given how persistent this particular bugbear of yours has been, I assumed the issue was more existential in nature.
CW again with the sexual harrassment (implied) and misgendering (confused but purposeful)
DIRK: Why is that always the assumption?
DIRK: Not everything about me is about the existential.
DIRK: I mean, it is. But only insamuch as anything I do and everything I am is inevitably returned to that.
DIRK: I was a person once.
DIRK: I still have feelings.
DIRK: Expressing them is permitted as long as it doesn't get in the way.
DIRK: And as I've just explained, my excommunication from Dave's fatherhood isn't a problem. I've thoroughly planned for allowing it.
DIRK: The only problem there is that Roxy stands poised to take my position a little too completely. If I cease to represent what I do in relation to Dave--as a brother, a father, and as a man--then his finishing blow is not only drained of meaning that's been crafted for it, it may actually cease to be Just at all.
DIRK: And I can't think of a more personally humiliating or Narratively disatrous turn.
DIRK: The fact that it's plausible means it's fucking essential that Roxy's paternal game of pretend doesn't get to become too valid.
DIRK: This goes deeper than concerns of the present, though.
DIRK: You think you understand what I went through, but you don't.
DIRK: At the end of the day, your mother loved who she thought you were.
DIRK: Just as I loved Dave.
DIRK: I refute your allegations about my porn habits, by the way. Dave was too young to understand any of it for pretty much our whole time together. And anyway, he started collecting dead shit in jars, so I figured he'd be fine. Sex at thirteen didn't scar me, how was I supposed to know it would manifest in some kind of deep-seated issues right at the cusp of adolescence?
DIRK: Frankly, I think it was just a convenient locus, the randomly selected proxy filling in to be whatever he needed to pin his trauma on.
DIRK: The fact that it was specifically a puppet completes the metaphor perfectly. So no, I don't think I did anything wrong there.
They've gotten distracted. Which isn't uncommon. Maybe he even wanted that. A completely different subject where Rose isn't so determinedly nosing her way into his personal life with claims that she has any idea what being him is like. As though the fact that she and him share a common experience now wasn't entirely his doing. He knows what it's like to be her. Of course he does. And he sympathises. Empathises, even.
It's not lost on him that she is attempting to do the same. Her effort is sincere. Maybe he ought to relent a little. It wouldn't hurt to reward that. And if it helps get her off his back about the subject, that alone will be worth the hassle. Both for the now and for the future. The cast of characters they're dealing with have more than enough gender ideas to make it a recurring 'thing.'
DIRK: Where was I? Oh yeah. Love and hypocrisy.
DIRK: Roxy loved me, but specifically the me she wanted to be. I'm using 'she' here because that's what she was at the time. I'm not retroactively applying some gender ideology to her youth when her actual gender at the time was a whole thing.
DIRK: She spent years of our collective youth attempting to bait me into changing what I can't, when she could have been the person she wanted to be and had me be the person she wanted me to be just by changing her gender.
DIRK: Years spent being pandered to by a splinter of mine, who chose to fake it and enable her just to have her attention on him instead of the me she wanted. I was aware of this, obviously, but I granted them privacy. At the time, I thought that was the ethical thing to do. What I was actually doing was loading a Chekhov's gun to point directly at my own head. Because now that I've ascended, there are no secrets. Everything he confided. What was said about me. What was said about him.
DIRK: It doesn't matter, though. It couldn't have been any other way. If she could have been a he, would we even have played the game at all?
DIRK: Would I have spent even a moment longer engaged in that intricate dance with Jake, taking him further and further out of Jane's reach, one careful step at a time?
DIRK: Would we even be here now?
DIRK: The answer, obviously, is no.
DIRK: And so my answer to Roxy's ambitions has to be. I'll entertain him, of course I will. I'm not heartless or a transphobe. But in the end, he has to fall from the throne of fatherhood.
DIRK: And the fact that we're succeeding makes my mastery over my domain more imperative than ever.
no subject
...wait. Is Rose certain she cares? She spent years not really caring very much. Being in an admittedly-expertly-crafted robotic form, it had been easy to play along with Dirk's position that they were only sort-of people and only sort-of had to think about messy things like emotions and relationships. And when they did have to think about those things, it was solely through the lens of their respective Aspects: relationships as connections and identifiers, nothing more.
She takes a few moments to consider her goals and her options. What does she want to accomplish with this conversation? Does she want to get out of it as painlessly as possible? To help Dirk? Or just to move the story forward? And what courses of action would aid those goals? Some of the answers surprise her. Dirk has changed, or possibly their narrative space is different enough that Rose can consider options she otherwise might not have.
Rose floats up to sit on the cool countertop. She crosses her legs and drapes her hands over one thigh.
ROSE: Fine.
ROSE: The damaging behavior of my mother and Dave's brother were moored in real love, but Roxy's wasn't.
ROSE: Your own youthful behavior toward Roxy was based solely on ethical concerns, not any kind of misguided attempt to reciprocate, and Hal is merely a splinter while the Earth B version of you gets to keep full "you" status.
ROSE: The sexual harassment you experienced was inappropriate, while Dave's was just a colorful childhood anecdote.
ROSE: And none of the choices that led us to this point matter, because nothing could have possibly been even slightly different. You and I absolutely had to be damaged in all the specific ways we experienced to have any chance of beating the game.
ROSE: And to top it all off, Roxy is on a concerted campaign to keep your pre-planned execution from carrying the narrative weight it should by usurping your paternal gravitas.
ROSE: There's still one problem: if we follow this logic to its natural conclusion, it sounds to me like you've already lost.
Rose turns her head slightly, lavender eyes fixed on a point. She knows Dirk can see her.
ROSE: You can't have missed that Dave is the most "woke" out of all of us, determined to embrace every hand-holding ideology and protect every safe-space imaginable. And any attempt to force him to do otherwise will result in him going limp like a toddler who doesn't want to be picked up.
ROSE: You have little to no direct influence over Roxy, and if you take him out of the story early, then he becomes a martyr, cemented for all time as Dave's ideal paterfamilias.
ROSE: If you think the Rogue of Void is a threat now, imagine what he can do when fully absent. I suspect he'd become more powerful than you and I could possibly imagine.
ROSE: And you'll forgive me, I'm sure, for not seeing your whining about gender as the pinnacle of secure masculinity.
ROSE: So what exactly do you intend to do about all this?
Rose raises her chin just a couple of inches, matching her verbal challenge with body-language.
no subject
She's not ready, and I'll remember that the next time I have the urge to open up and expose the raw, squirming guts that must first be emptied for the sausage to get made.
And yeah, I could backtrack, but there's so much to unpack here that fixing all the faux-assumptions she's making isn't worth the effort. I could, for example, sit her down like the child she's suddenly pretending to be and explain that I referred to a part of myself as an externality in order to correctly frame the dynamic at the time of my then-conflict with myself, exactly the same way that I reverted to the feminine address for Roxy in order to provide clarity and (again) establish the specific nature of the pressures applied and to whom. But what would be the point?
She doesn't want those answers. And I don't feel like re-treading old ground. Especially not when doing so only gets my words thrown back in my face. So we're in agreement about where this conversation goes next.
DIRK: We both know that I could refute any one of those allegations easily.
DIRK: And you are counting on that fact.
DIRK: So Dave will kill me, because he has to and because I will make it impossible for him not to. His feelings about my pornographic enterprises and his life with that as backdrop are as essential a piece as his antipathy towards violence.
DIRK: But that's not the point of this frankly childish display of pique.
DIRK: And that effete little pose is doing nothing to repudiate it. I'll grant that it's pretty brazen of you to call my masculinity fragile when you're the one putting it on as a costume.
I can feel the tone of the Narrative shifting as I speak; it saturates into my consciousness and seeps into my physical body. There's a suggestion that's been brewing in between the lines of our little dialogue, flavouring our sentences and intimating itself in our questions.
I'm not unaware of it. It existed before either of us began to put words to the urges and animosities simmering in and existences here today, long before either of arrived in this simulation. But unlike her, I've kept it under tight lock and key.
DIRK: But you just don't have the balls for my answer to that question.
no subject
ROSE: Oh?
Her eyes lower to her own thighs, their meeting-point just concealed by her silken bathrobe. Then those eyes rise to look back in Dirk's direction. She's not looking, not yet--Dirk likes to see without being seen, after all, and Rose is nothing if not accommodating.
ROSE: I suppose I might not.
ROSE: But there'd be no way for someone to know for sure unless they turned their eyes from the page and really looked.
But of course Rose is being coy. Her current configuration was set before she and Dirk exchanged a word, left waiting in secret for its time to rise to prominence. Was this outcome luck, planning, or destiny? Does it matter? There's only the fact, made clear as Rose deliberately uncrosses her legs, that she's replaced her usually-discreet Zero with an increasingly-bold One. The robe slides to one side, no match for her proud, brazen member.
The balls are there, too, she guesses.
Rose cocks her head to one side, unblinking. Dirk was saying something about an answer to her question, wasn't he?
no subject
She's not just exposing herself to me, she's making an overture. This is a fucked up, red carpet invitation.
It's a bit of a shock to my system, and I'm jolted into awareness of my own body. Forced to take stock of his own physical condition. Which has changed somewhat since it was last reported on. I'm definitely feeling a lot hotter under the proverbial collar. That's not much of a surprise. Our conversation was getting a little more than loaded, and as much as I may be a god, I have the cock, balls, and accompanying libido of a man in his prime.
What's a little less expected (and frankly, a little weird) is the fact that Rose's reciprocal revelation hasn't wilted it at all. It should have put me off at least a little bit--it does put me off, honestly, in a stomach discomfort kind of way--because she's not what I was fantasising about. She's no Bro of mine. She's not even a man.
Maybe it hasn't sunk in yet. I'm waiting for it, though. It's an inevitable. My sexuality is as uncompromising a force as the rest of me. Why else would Roxy and I have been so at odds over it? Would I not have given anything--anything except what it turned out I couldn't--to give her everything she wanted? To be everything she wanted? It wasn't just her wanting me to man up and be her perfect match. I wanted that for myself, too. It would have been the greatest fucking honour. Except I couldn't even pretend about it without wanting to rip my dick and the rest of the skin off my body, nevermind getting it up for her.
Letting myself and everyone else down long before we ever physically met. That's my legacy.
At least, it was my legacy as the prototypical human teenager Dirk Strider.
And I was desperate enough to make her happy that I'd tested my dick pretty thoroughly. I actually spent some time as a teenager pushing--forcing, really, or trying to--the boundary of my sexuality. But my attraction to men is an inviolate law that I couldn't get around even with the liberal application of solo pornography watch sessions. I'd even tried easing myself into it--loading up threesome videos with two men and one woman. But I couldn't do it. Just sitting through the full video was excruciating. Not even the most dedicated of self-exploratory handiwork on my part could make it bearable, let alone enjoyable. I was forced to conclude that the mere visual or audio presence of a single woman was as much a turn-off as the men could be a turn-on. Nothing about that has changed in the slightest.
What has changed is the rest of my portfolio. Which, I guess, is why I'm still hard.
It makes perfect sense when you think about it. The more of myself I became, the more I absorbed, in memories and material experience, the more my innermost me grew into its fullest of forms... the less my various self-imposed limits on my own thoughts and actions made any sense. And whatever restrictions or standards I'd held myself to weren't universal, let alone omniversal. My antipathy for the female form held, of course. Femininity, in all its various collected qualities or features, remains the opposite of titillating.
But she--he? He. He isn't flaunting a particularly feminine appendage in my direction. And that's hard to ignore.
I'm not 'tormented' by the knowledge of my desires, but there's a lot of items on my list that some might say go too far. Things that I once would have never contemplated trying, let alone being excited by. Things that turned my stomach and froze my lungs, things that sent shivers of something up my spine. Maybe one dare I'll share some of them with you.
In that context, incestuous longing is the least shocking of those taboos. That was vanilla. I used to fantasise about my Bro in ways that I could never admit to anyone. So many nights and days and hour and weeks and months and years, with only one person who I was truly connected to. I didn't need any help discovering I was fucked up in that particular department. Leaving that in the closet where it belonged, once I was surrounded by actual people, was an act of self-preservation in more ways than one. I didn't need those fucked up ideas any more. Urges to act on it? Not me.
And yet here I am. Here we are.
I've lost the ability to be horrified at myself. Or afraid of myself. I'd even say I've finally grown comfortable with myself. Who and what I am, in all my magnificence. But it's things like this that remind that I'll never be a real hero, even if I never do a single thing wrong again. And let's be honest: I will. I have to. In order to do things right, in order to be right and do right, I have to do wrong.
I'm going to do something 'wrong' right now. We're about to cross into the border into the territory of several moral offenses. All for a good cause.
DIRK: Turned on by the idea of getting fucked by your own father?
DIRK: Hoping for a little discipline?
DIRK: Hm. Maybe calling my not-so-hypothetical offspring little freaks was more prophetic than I thought.
DIRK: Then again, half of your You comes from Me.
This feels wrong. I'm supposed to say that, I know I am. This feels wrong. This is wrong. But it feels good. Feels right, being wrong about this. I like it. I want to say I hate that I like it, but I can tell that what I want to hate is that I don't hate that I like it. So, yeah. Say it with me, now. This feels wrong, and I like it.
DIRK: Alright. Open your window. I'm coming inside.
DIRK: See if I can't tip a few more percentages in my favour.
no subject
So. Incest.
It's a seed of thought that's been spreading its tendrils since Rose's childhood. Let's put aside that she spent her youth with an objectively-gorgeous woman with poor boundaries. Let's dispense with the fiction that Rose became obsessed with the topic due to too-young exposure to Freud's psychosexual theories, and acknowledge that they resonated deeply with her for a reason. The question shouldn't be why the topic speaks to Rose, but why everyone insists on pretending it shouldn't.
Every mythology on Earth--or at least, every mythology that Rose cared to investigate in-depth--had a thread of incest running through it. Where did Cain and Abel's wives come from? How many "great flood" myths ended with a desperate, sexy bid to repopulate the Earth? How many wonders were birthed by the twelve titanic children of Gaia, six male and six female? How many all-fathers wed their own mothers, daughters, sisters--or in Ra's case, all three in one impossible package? And as their own self-progenitorial pantheon, why were Rose's closest companions all so afraid of the topic?
The setup was impossible to ignore. Four friends on the cusp of sexual maturity, inextricably bound together and isolated from any adults. Rose was sequestered with her only reproductively-viable option for three years, accompanied only by aliens who would not have given the slightest fuck about this taboo--a perfect opportunity to experiment. Is Rose expected to believe that John and Jade--especially Jade, bluntly honest and overflowing with love and libido--never once considered the idea? Rose even finds herself petulantly envious of the harassment Dirk received from Roxy, because at least a desperate, drunk Roxy might have entertained a conversation on this topic instead of changing the subject immediately.
It's sloppy writing. How long can Lady Luck fondle the trigger of Chekhov's Gun? How long does Rose have to wait before someone acknowledges the elephant in the room? Everyone's thinking it. And if any of them were willing to admit it, then Rose could have just talked with them, and then they wouldn't have felt so alone.
Too late now.
Rose's bated breath still holds for a few moments as Dirk degrades her. That's fine, good even. That's really how things ought to go in this sort of scenario. But as much as she tries to keep her poker face, she lets out a breath when he accepts her proposition. Her palms are sweaty, her pose more intentionally-controlled than ever. They are crossing the threshold from what could be to what is.
Rose slides off the countertop, her robe bunching up as she does so. Usually she shaves everything, but her hair is coarser now, a pale stubble just visible on her legs and above her genitals. She walks past her chaise to the window, hyper-aware of her limbs and posture, and slides the pane upward.
A gust of autumn wind blows her robe back, exposing the rest of her. Her chest is lean now, with a downy covering of hair and two nipple-rings. Her skin pebbles in the chilly air. If someone at street-level were to look up, they might see her, but Rose doesn't care right now. She's already, always being watched.
ROSE: Come on, then.
ROSE: Let's see what you're made of.
ROSE: And what made me.
CW purposeful misgendering, "mind control," objectification... and. U kno.
Even without Narrative dictation, his attention can be felt as it moves over Rose's body--Dirk's gaze lingers palpably on his once-daughter's chest and the gleaming ornamentation that caught his eye before he even entered. He doesn't exactly pace, but he certainly walks around Rose, taking him all in, every exposed inch. Portentiously, he's already in the process of removing one of his leather gloves; he stops to focus on that, gripping a strap in his teeth and loosing buckles with the practised grace of an expert. He only removes one, though--the left one, on his dominant hand.
This theatre of judgmental detachment is as methodical as it is, secretly, somewhat neurotic. Dirk knows what he has to do now. He knows who he has to become, for this scene. Who he will be. Who he is. He knows, and yet... it's actually not that easy. Part of it is that, frankly, Dirk has never approached this fetish or its surrounding territories (minus, of course, as arbiter, master, and discplinarian) as a sincere practitioner, or even a sincere appreciator. Being subjected to Rose's stint as hands-off 'Mommy dom' was so excruciating that Dirk had thought his balls were going to shrivel up and retract into his body.
Now the parent is on the other chromosome, as it were, and it would be a lie to say anything but that he wants it. He's hungry for it. But actually saying those key words is such an intimidating obstacle that Dirk barely knows if he'll be able to say them until it actually happens. His heart is fucking racing.
But he does it. And he's surprised by the tone. How almost... natural it is, coming out of his mouth.
DIRK: Good boy.
DIRK: Now. Come to Daddy.
It's not a request.
It's an order.
A compulsion, as orange as text can be, and use of force available to him--bald-faced--that Dirk rarely stoops to.
Making his place--and Rose's--absolute took at least some of the mortification out of the unknown.
He makes a note of that.
CW: sexism, general aura of smugness
Rose's silken robe has fallen from her shoulders to rest in the crook of her arms, relegating it to a mere curtain over her backside. Her arms are spread to either side of her newly-slimmed hips, her back slightly arched, her expression insouciant--a fearless posture challenging Dirk's scrutiny. It was one thing to know he was watching, and it's something else to have him here, close, judging. Her lilac eyes follow as he circles her, and her cock twitches when he unbuckles his glove with his teeth. Dirk's body itself is fine, Rose guesses, but his body language is immaculate.
Rose actually flushes at that "good boy," her emotions a jumbled mess of excitement, shame, amusement, anger, and delight. One stray thought threatens to kill the mood, so she seals it away in a parenthetical, easy to ignore.
("Purposeful misgendering," huh? How very Dirk to look at it that way instead of as simple roleplay. Well, if it raises a tent in those poofy fucking hard-to-iron pants, Rose is happy to accommodate.
In fact, maybe Rose will try thinking of himself as aOh, wow, no. She won't be doing that after all. People really live like that, he/him pronouns and all? No offense to those who practice the art of masculinity--actually, maybe a little offense, they have some shit to answer for--but Rose is fine with her usual, thanks. There but for the grace of Virginia Woolf goes Rose Lalonde.
On her end, mere roleplaying will have to suffice.)
The tangle of emotions is pulled taut with three words. Rose's breath catches and her muscles tense as she reflexively fights the unsubtle command. But he did say now, didn't he? She can't disappoint him. She actually can't.
"Yes, sir..." she breathes out like a sullen teenager, her proud posture wilting by degrees. But her face is red, her heart is pounding, and her dick is actually uncomfortably hard. She steps closer to Dirk, looking up at him through pale eyelashes. She flexes her fingers, wondering if she should reach out, try to touch him... but she doesn't really know where to begin. Not with Dirk.
She'll just have to trust her dearest Daddy.
CW Dave and his upbringing mentioned, gender
DIRK: Well, aren't you easy.
DIRK: Already this excited and I haven't even touched you.
DIRK: You're a real Daddy's boy at heart, huh?
DIRK: I like that.
DIRK: Now, don't move--or I'll have to get firm with you.
DIRK: I want to see what I'm working with here.
Sure, there's enjoyment to be had in the contest. Counter, parry, deflect, strike. That's literally every conversation the two of them have ever had. But lurks deepest in Rose's heart is a taste for rebellion, and with that comes a lust for dominion. Specifically, a taste for being conquered. Without that, there is no rebellion, nothing to stive against. Which is perfect, because that defeated little 'yes sir' makes Dirk's cock throb.
And no, he's no unaware of that parenthetical. If Rose thought that would be antagonising to him, well... he's not wrong. But is that not exactly what they're here for? Of course there will be defiance, noncompliance. In a way, this is a rite of passage for all children of Dirk Strider. It’s easy to believe that hurt and love are mutually exclusive. That permissiveness is synonymous with one, and authoritarianism synonymous with the other. But that's fundamentally untrue. Breaking someone into a shape that betters them, pressing them to fight to become the version of themself that will ensure strength, nurturing that fragile seed of tenderness in suffering... that's all an essential part of love.
His tolerance (out of necessity or out of indulgence, who can say) of those qualities that are not in his own image, however, is rarely remarked upon. This one is less tolerable to him. Will he allow this one? He does, in fact, have a choice. He could choose not to. He could bear down harder on Rose. He could attempt to stamp, carve, or burn out that stubborn grip on his own femininity.
Not that Dirk is going to try and break Rose in that way, or in any way. That would be an objectively insane and monstrous thing to do. He's already reforged Rose once, after all. Just that there is a conflict there, and that both the conflict and the tension inherent in not resolving it are inherently erotic. Even if it disgusts him, it may still pay its way forward in this scene. Keeping Rose in character, a token of rebellion against the dogma of Dirk's desires for his reality.
If Rose wants a little physical and interpersonal friction for flavour, then let it be that.
Back to those piercings.
Dirk has engaged in a little body modification of his own since they last saw each other back in canon. Snake bites in his lower lip were a concession to the fandom, while the ECG-inspired Aspect tattooed on his sleeveless arm (opposite his SBaHJ tattoo, of course) was a more personal affair.
Maybe one day he'll tell her about that.
For now, he runs his thumb over metal, the calloused pad just brushing the sensitive edge of Rose's actual nipple. His head tilts to the side, just slightly--a rare moment of physical affect as he considers his progeny's choices, and how they fit their interests. How they fit his interests. In many ways, this moment is not unlike the moments shared between them as Dirk tuned and maintained his daughter's machinery--her body hand-crafted by him, the pinnacle of his achievements in that field, both no less and yet no more than that.
Now, gradually, a different, more reluctant kind of mechanical intimacy begins to bloom under his hands. He still handles her in the way of a mechanic, but the more he touches Rose, the more he relaxes. The heat and supple touch of skin under his hand is something Dirk has missed, he realises. But it's the comforting masculinity in his lack of curves that pools heat in his groin. His free hand finds the side of Rose's head, and ruffles up into his hair--an almost affectionate contrast to the somewhat detached stroke of his thumb on what was once his breast. "Almost," because Dirk's hand is still rough in its own way--not just the texture of the palm, but the way hit curves against the shape of his skull, fingers spreading to brace instead of cradle.
In Dirk's shades, the reflection of Rose's own face stares back at him.
DIRK: ....
And though Rose's arousal is exposed, his member brazen in its want, Dirk's is as yet concealed--though presumably easy to find.
In a twist of poetry (or perhaps irony) that Rose will surely appreciate, Dirk is wearing his trademark Heart-rich hue... specifically, he's wearing the modified "asshole pants" that he had Rose ironing by hand back on the Theseus.
Whether this adds to or detracts from the air of unassailable masculine authority he currently aims to embody is up to Rose.
CW: Emotional self-harm.
There's a sharp intake of breath, though, as Dirk helps himself to Rose's body, to the nipple-ornaments she once shared only with the love of her life. Remember Kanaya? Rose does, especially at times like this, when it hurts the most, like the exquisite touch upon her nipple. Kanaya, who always looked at Rose as if she couldn't believe how fortunate she was. Her wife, who treated Rose like she was made of precious porcelain instead of meat and bone and anger.
Dirk's fingers run through Rose's hair, and the only thing Rose can wonder is if he approves. She doesn't see her own reflection at all in Dirk's shades at all, because she's looking vainly past them. Her powers could allow her to see the brilliance behind the shaded glass, but they won't. That's simply how it is.
Rose also wonders what Dirk's waiting for, but she knows the answer immediately. He's testing her obedience, or perhaps more accurately, his control. Seeing what he's working with. But with a glance down, Rose sees what she'll be working with. A twin to her own current equipment, but poorly-concealed. She wants to reach down and make Dirk react. She wants to know what two dicks feel like together--in fact, she's always wondered that specific thing.
She looks back up at Dirk. Her lipstick'd mouth widens in the most playground-esque "made you flinch" smile imaginable.
ROSE: ...
His move.
CW building on that emotional self-harm
But he doesn't. Two things bring Dirk out of his head, and he has Rose to thank for both of them.
The first is the part where Rose starts thinking about his wife.
The second is Rose's silence... and his smirk.
Rose may have imagined that his inability to fully embrace the masculinity that Dirk was assigning him would bother Dirk, and he wasn't wrong. But he has a different kind of truth living and breathing and wanting for him under his own hands, and Dirk is nothing if not practised in the art of sculpting an imperfect partner, correcting for their flaws.
Longingly remembering the touch of a woman, on the other hand, is not permissable.
That smirk, he decides on the spot, is equally out of line.
He does, at least, remember to let go of Rose's hair, and steps back. He doesn't raise a hand. Not yet.
DIRK: Cocky brat.
DIRK: You didn't forget I know where your thoughts are going.
DIRK: You were just tip-toeing around me a second ago.
DIRK: You want your wife? You want to be worshipped?
DIRK: Too damn bad.
DIRK: You're mine now,
...
Fuck. What do I call him. A list of euphemistic pet names filters through my head. None of the usual ones will work here. Dude. Man. Bro. Those are for equals. What else even is there? Buddy. Champ. Kid. Little man? Uh. Slugger? Yikes. Pet? Ew. Christ. These are all terrible, and getting worse. 'Boy' it is. I'll try to work it in.
DIRK: I'm in control here.
DIRK: And if you want me to touch you, you have to earn it.
DIRK: Now.
DIRK: Get your head in the game.
DIRK: Or Daddy's going to have to issue some corrections.
Dirk pauses. Maybe that last part was kind of much. But maybe not. It doesn't lack appeal. The ghost of something like a smirk touches the left side of his mouth. He might be getting into this.
DIRK: Maybe that's what you're hoping for? Masochist.
Better.
DIRK: On your knees.
CW: Gaslighting, implied sexual orientation "correction."
But her expression becomes uncertain as Dirk chastises her for her thoughts. She doesn't want to digress, but she has to resolve her confusion. Once again, she sequesters the thoughts in a parenthetical.
(Is Dirk interpreting, or telling? Was her reminiscence purposeful? Does she miss her wife? Does she want to be worshiped? None of that feels quite right, but it doesn't feel quite wrong, either.
The thrill of being claimed--wanted? no, fought over--that feels just right. And she does want Dirk to touch her. Corrective touch is still touch.
Is Rose a masochist? That doesn't feel quite wrong, but it doesn't feel quite right, either. It would be easy to accept the assigned moniker, though, to follow the steps Dirk is laying down for her. To bend and bend and bend into a shape he'll approve of. She's already reshaped her body for him--no, wait, she reshaped it for herself, and used that opportunity to benefit him.
How far would she go? What kind of person would follow that orange-brick road without detour? Rose thinks she knows what kind of person, but Dirk doesn't want to rehash old flames, now does he?
So what kind of person does Rose Lalonde want to be? And what outcome does she want for Dirk? She comes to a conclusion.)
Rose gets her head in the game. She kneels.
ROSE: Yes, Daddy.
ROSE: I thought about Kanaya because I wanted you to get mad at me.
ROSE: I'm still having confusing thoughts. About women.
ROSE: Will you correct me, sir?
The infantile speech makes her stomach turn, but it's good. Her expression is placid, now. She knows what she's doing.
CW: all of the above, punitive "training," potentially Dirk being triggered tbh
What really occupies him is the dialogue, which is both expected and unexpected in equal measure. It starts out normall--or as normal as this scene was ever going to be. Which, he realises (despite already having been aware), was never going to be exactly that. Not with the way he is (he knew that), nor (and this is the part that's just occurring to him) with the way Rose is. So when his once-daughter, now-son hits him with a curve, he actually lags for an entire second while the new development really sinks in.
Then the boondollar coin drops and with it comes a weird drop in Dirk's stomach. It's a sick lurch, a beat of dread that makes his heart start to race.
Rose found an opening where he thought he'd had none, leaving him for a moment deeply uncomfortable--and yet (as he takes new stock of himself) definitely, desperately turned on. After his gut and his heart, his cock is what speaks to him next, although it's his brain that informs him of this--and of the hot, clammy feeling of adrenaline now coursing in his system. He makes an effort to measure his breathing, to keep too much of this experience from leaving the confines of his own personal Narrative window.
DIRK: Oh, Daddy's going to correct you, all right.
He reaches forward, this time with his right hand, and grabs a rough fistful of Rose's hair to hold him in place; with his left hand, he reaches for his belt.
He has the manual dexterity to undo it with one hand, but he makes sure he does it more slowly than necessary. With Rose's face at level (or near enough), Dirk gives him the loser's choice of either watching his calloused, scarred fingers slowly unwork the knot, or else trying without lifting his head to see Daddy's face. Neither one will be rewarded.
DIRK: It's high time you learned to appreciate masculinity and all it has to offer.
DIRK: Your mother was lax in raising you. Spoiling you. Letting you get up to whatever you wanted. Encouraging your feminine distractibility and allowing you to become precious and indulgent.
DIRK: Never even taught you how to properly apologise.
DIRK: I know all about your pathetic attempts to use your mouth for its appropriate purposes.
DIRK: Daddy's going to break you of that.
DIRK: First, a lesson in discpline.
DIRK: Starting now, you don't take your eyes off me.
Even once the knot is loosed, there's a lull wherein Dirk leaves the waist of his pants loose, the lewd swell of his erection in Rose's face--albeit still confined to the soft, supportive prison of his equally-pink boxer-briefs. Purposefully, he hooks a thumb into the elastic.
And only after he's sure Rose's eyes have made contact with the overt bulge before him does Dirk yank the waist down, hooking his fingers around the shaft of his cock and freeing it to jut aggressively into the air--and as he does so, he pulls Rose's head in so that the hot, slightly musky length presses against his face.
It would be so easy to do the work for Rose here, but the temptation is pretty weak compared to the promises of this route.
DIRK: Start sucking, boy.
His right hand hovers nearby, promising consequences if he falters.
no subject
His voice is like steel scraping against leather, his grip like a vice, his sentiment eminently satisfying. Rose doesn't mind having her view momentarily confined to hand, fabric, and belt. She won't soon forget the mechanics of the buckle, the pull on her scalp, the scars upon Dirk's flesh.
When Dirk derides her upbringing and lets Rose know what's in store, she lets out a little whine. Childlike pique at being scolded, or anticipation of what's to come? Maybe even Rose can't say for sure. But she follows her father's orders and keeps her eyes trained forward. She has just a moment to see his phallus unveiled--she'd always wondered what it looked like, of course, wouldn't anyone?--before she's pulled in and pressed close. Instinctively she places her hands against Dirk's thighs, a vain attempt to protect herself.
God, that length is hot against her face. Firm, too. Rose feels so desired.
(Take that, Roxy.)
It would be easy to cheat, maybe, to rely on her divine insight to intuit how to do this... but that's not really what Dirk wants, is it? He wants to teach, and frankly, Rose wants to learn. Her fledgling attempt at sword-swallowing was pathetic. Her powers don't bestow real skill, after all. She looks up at him, cock resting on her cheek, and speaks:
ROSE: Yes, sir.
And, with a bit of maneuvering, she takes the head of Dirk's dick into her mouth. The taste and smell really hit her together, and she grunts in hesitation. The phallus feels weird in her mouth, like an invader, and all she can bring herself to do is literally suck it like a popsicle. How the hell do people enjoy this?
no subject
DIRK: The hell was that?
It's a damn good question, but it's one that needs no reply. The answer hits him like a sledge--or a Zillyhoo, which is practically the same thing, just with the power of whimsy and branding. He really is going to have to teach Rose how to suck cock. Not just in an ideal way, but starting with the most basic of foundational skills.
Which means that every time Rose puts his lips (or tongue) on a dick in the future, every time he pleases another man with his mouth, he'll be practising a skill he was taught by his own (ecto)biological father.
This almost leads to a surreal beat; one where Dirk doesn't know if he's repelled, or--
Okay. No. Apparently he really is that kind of freak. Holy fuck. Any damage done by Rose's comically inept attempt at effort has been more than compensated for. His dick is so hard it fucking hurts. (He thinks that's what's making his cock throb like that. The alternative is that Rose has actually managed to inflict some kind of actual non-psychic damage, and he's not sure what his strategy would be for this scene if that were the case. It's not, though. He's just the pervert whose genetic map Rose got this from.)
DIRK: Is this Mommy's tit or Daddy's cock?
DIRK: Lips over your teeth. Use your tongue. Engage your brain.
DIRK: You're not sucking dick, you're loving it.
You want to feel desired? Get in line.
DIRK: And to love is to serve.
Earn your place.
no subject
Dirk's first question seems rhetorical, though he pauses long enough that she begins to wonder. His second question draws an amused snort from her, and her abashed followup expression just so happens to follow his "lips over teeth" advice perfectly. She nods along, taking his lesson seriously. Lips. Tongue. Brain. Love. Serve?
Well love is Dirk's domain. Rose will just have to trust him there.
She returns her gaze to Dirk's cock, now glistening with her saliva. And... is it darker than it was before? Angrier-looking. Rose smiles. She's doing something right.
So. Love. Rose did say she wanted to see what made her, and that's still true. Don't just think of it as a meat rod, Rose; think of it as the source, as part of you. Don't just think about vacant-looking porn-stars mechanically-performing fellatio; think of the fecund pillar worshiped throughout human history. Don't think about your body; imagine the moment when Dirk's body acts without his conscious control, the little ego-death he needs.
Rose leans forward and kisses the cock-head. No longer taking Dirk's orders quite so literally, she gets her hands involved. She lifts the shaft up so she can more easily lick along its length, long and slow. She strokes Dirk's sack--the true source, really--and sighs so she can hear her own masculinized voice. She works up some saliva and takes Dirk into her mouth once more, bobbing her head shallowly. She still doesn't trust her gag reflex.
She's confident this is a better start, and not-coincidentally, she's enjoying herself more.
no subject
Normally, he avoids any process connecting masculinity--his especially--with the actual organismic processes of reproduction. Virility is one thing; the messy biology of productive fertility and its result are never to be touched upon. But as Rose works his logical progression, he uncovers a hidden sin: while the masculine is granted the power of insemination, and therefore of ownership, it is then denied its due in the domain of actual life-giving. In modern dynamics, anyway. Poseidon emptied his divine load upon a rock and from this seminal fount sprang the first horses. In that light, is the staff of life not deserving of veneration? Fuck yeah it is.
He offers no praise; lack of censure is the mark of his approval.
"Adjust your head angle by about eleven degrees," is what he says out loud, but his voice has dropped lower, quieter. It gives his critique an under-the-table vibe. Like a hissed correction, or perhaps a more personal aside.
no subject
She hums a question mark in response--does Dirk have an observation he wishes to share with the class about his "son's" cock-sucking skills? Not that she really needs or expects him to. She can feel his pleasure, taste it, sense the subtle rhythmic tensing-and-relaxing of his body. So why ask? Because putting him in a position where he has to consciously choose not to praise her is basically the same thing as him praising her, obviously. Keep up.
Dirk does have some constructive feedback for her, and while Rose is tempted to criticize it for its perfect blend of "too specific" and "not specific enough," that quiet tone stills her shrewy tendencies. It feels like... intimacy, a currency Dirk has successfully driven up the value of through scarcity. Rose tries a few minute adjustments to her head-giving angle--raising her chin, lowering it, turning left, turning right--searching for whatever will get more from Dirk.