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reareaotaku · 1 year ago

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Hello it's me Rachel. Listen um sorry for the bother you but can you make a yandere losers club headcanon movie it 2017 ?

It's no bother! Of course I can!

Yandere Losers Club Headcanons

Characters: Bill Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris, Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom [Also, I looked up the Jewish stuff for Stanley, so if I got anything wrong lmk]

Bill Denbrough

He gets really shy around you

Stutters a lot and he never really gets over it, no matter how he tries

You're way out of his league and he's surprised when you ask him out

But oh my god, you really want to date him

"Do you want to go out with me?"

He looks at you shocked, his mouth on the floor. At first, he thinks you're trying to pull a prank on him or making fun of him, but you're dead serious

"Oh- W-w-what?"

"Do you want to go out with.... me?" You gesture to yourself at the end, your confidence quickly fading in fear you were about to be rejected

"Uh-uh-uh, um...y-ye-yeah. I'd l-l-l-love to."

Now it's your turn to blush and you smile, "Great. That's great. So what now?"

"I don't know..."

It's a little awkward at first, but you both eventually get over it

His friends tease him, but Bill always brings up about how they're all single [It usually ends the teasing]

He always dresses up whenever he's going to see you

He just wants to look his best

Eddie Kaspbrak

You meet at his favorite place, the pharmacy

He knew who you were and you vaguely knew who he was

He had a huge crush on you and when he saw you, he nearly shit bricks

He quickly put the stuff he was holding back on the shelf, while accidentally knocking stuff down

"Uh, you're Eddie, right?"

He awkwardly laughs, his face turning a light red, "Uh, yeah. Y/n?"

"Yeah. What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" He's quick and nearly yells it at you, causing you to flinch back. He instantly felt bad about it

You only knew two things about Eddie; He's a germaphobe and his mom is crazy

"You're that germaphobe, right?"

His eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head, "No! I'm not scared of germs. That's crazy," He laughs it off, moving his hand back and forth. He blushes when hearing you laugh and he looks away from you

"You're really cute. Do you want to hang out?"

"Hang out? You and me?"

"Yeah, there's actually a diner close by-"

"Of course. I mean yeah, that'd be cool"

You start hanging out more after that and Eddie is secretly losing his mind

You're hanging out with him

Wow- He feels like he's dreaming

When you ask him to be your boyfriend, he's sure that he's dead and in heaven

Richie Tozier

You both fucking hate each other when you first met

You bully the hell out of each other, trying to get the last word

"Why are you late?"

"Sorry, I was fucking your mom."

"Well, I'm glad you could enjoy someone's mom since you don't have one"

He rolls his eyes, mocking you, because he has no insult to throw back without sounding like he was offended

Things change when he gets older and he realizes that he likes you

it started when he'd see things in his everyday life that reminded him of you

At first he was irritated and he wanted to destroy those things [Flowers, rocks, tree bark, a cloud, the way his food is placed, a game/game character, etc]

But then, he realized these things made him happy. You made him happy, even when he tried to fight it

He began to cherish these things and anything he could preserve and keep, he would

He has a shrine dedicated to those things. Nothing ever directly linked to you, but just things that make his mind go to you

Neither of you will ask the other out, because you two are two prideful- Actually, it'll be an accident when one of you confesses

You two will be fighting and one of you will comment about how the other is pretty/handsome as an insult and the other turns around and is like "You like me?" You'll be blushing and the person who insulted the other will deny it, but whoever was insulted will be like "I like you two."

Stanley Uris

Stan is very mature for a boy his age and that's what attracts you to him

He doesn't really notice you at first, because he doesn't have time for dating and he's more worried about keeping his things in order

You try approaching him multiple times, but you usually get shrugged off

You can go to the temple and wait until after Prayer hall, Shacharit, or the morning blessings, but he'll probably spot you and avoid you. If you're not Jewish, you'll approach his father, the Rabbi, telling him about your interest in the culture

"You can't just be Jewish. You know that right? It's a long progress-"

"I'm okay with that. I'm interested in the culture, language, and history"

He's impressed with your knowledge and interest that he's willing to take you under his wing

Stanley then becomes jealous, because you're becoming closer with his father than he ever was

You get progressively better at speaking from The Torah

"There's this girl who keeps coming to the Temple. I've been avoiding-"

"Wait, there's a girl who's actively seeking you out and you're avoiding her??? Because???"

Stanley rolls his eyes, "It-"

"Is she ugly?"

"No-"

"Are you gay?"

"What? No-"

"Then why are you avoiding her?"

"It's stupid-"

"Spit it out."

"Well, she's not even Jewish, but my dad treats her like she's been going to the Temple her whole life. So, she learns a little Hebrew so what? Anyone can do that."

"Oh, you're jealous and have daddy issues. Got it"

His father acts kind of like your dad. Tries setting you up with a good guy so you'd be set for later in life. Get you incredible connections

When you'll finally get him alone, he busts. He yells at you and he realizes all his anger about his father out on you

Though, when he sees you cry, he quickly stops and he feels so bad

He didn't mean to make you cry. God he felt so bad

He quickly apologizes and this creates a friendship between you both

You can tell him any secret. He'll never tell a soul

You can depend on him for anything. You're the only thing his father likes about him

"Why can't you have Y/n's dedication? She wasn't even born into a Jewish family."

He complains to you about his father, and you're always open to listen to him

Though, he's scared of nearly everything, so you usually are the braver one in the relationship

You have to beg him to go anywhere with you, because he doesn't like being around people

He just sticks with you the entire time

Beverly Marsh

She was very confident when approaching you, but it was fake

She's the type of person to lean on some boxes and then they fall over

She loves brushing and playing with your hair

She thinks it [your hair] is so pretty

She'll hum to you while she brushes it/plays with it

She asked you out. She was very bold about it

She goes after what she wants and she wants you

She'll make sure the moment is perfect

You're alone and the night is beautiful [Though nothing like you]. The wind is blowing just right and the light from one of the post is shinning your face like a halo

If you ever get into a fight with her, she'll avoid you for days/weeks

She doesn't want to, but it's a tactic she knows will get you crawling back

Mike Hanlon

He puts your needs before his own

He's sweet and whenever you have a problem he's always there to listen

He's a smart kid and will always help you with your homework

And by help, I mean he'll do it for you

Hope you like band music, because that's his favorite type of music

He does have a tiny little issue where he lies to make you happy. He's scared of losing you and just wants to keep you close

He doesn't do it on purpose, it kind of just happens

When you find out, you're livid and he understands, but he doesn't apologize. He think he's doing the right thing

You can be mad at him, but you'll always get over it, because you can never be mad at him for long

He doesn't gaslight you on purpose, but he does do it sometimes

"So what, you don't love me anymore?"

"Of course I love you!"

"Well, you're sure not acting like it-"

Ben Hanscom

He's really insecure about himself and his weight, thankfully you make him not feel like he's a pig

In fact, you don't mention it all; It's not something you notice

You always pick up when he's sad and always do whatever it takes to cheer him up

You try and help him cope with it healthy

Though, as he gets older, he starts to work out and you go with him. You don't want him to feel like everyone's staring at him or something

Whenever he's feeling like people are judging or staring you'll always divert attention to yourself, whether it's wearing something crazy or just making yourself look different and wild, you're willing to have people judge you as long as he doesn't feel judged [Does that make sense?]

He never judges you. In fact, he thinks you're way to good for him

Everything you do for him just makes him realize you're to good for him

If you're ever insecure, he's surprised

"What? You're like the prettiest person in the world! " He's absolutely flabbergasted

Absolutely adores you and follows you like a puppy

Practically attached to your hip

Bro's a little dependent on you ngl

#it chapter 1 #bill denbrough x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #mike hanlon x reader #richie tozier x reader #stanley uris x reader #ben hanscom x reader #beverly marsh x reader #yandere bill denbrough #yandere eddie kaspbrak #yandere stanley uris #yandere richie tozier #yandere beverly marsh #yandere mike hanlon #yandere horror #yandere slasher

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hurtspideyparker · 9 months ago

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when Tony Stark stumbles back on Earth after being stranded in space in End Game, the first few things he says to Steve are the summation of what he had been thinking about those 3 weeks where he thought he was going to die.

1. "I couldn't stop him"

The most pressing thought is guilt. He feels that truly, he is responsible for the trillions of deaths throughout the universe. A hero fell and with him half of all life. His first instinct is to admit to Steve the blood on his hands, a guilt that has been swallowing him for weeks. Steve says "I couldn't either". They are not alone in this, and even the weight of the universe can be lightened when shared.

2. "I lost the kid"

Peter Parker. Of course he was thinking about Peter. Out of everyone, he deserved that fate the least. The kid who puts himself in mortal danger to protect complete strangers, who's too smart for his own good but stupid when it comes to self-preservation. Maybe a part of him always thought that he would be the cause of Peter's end; he was the one who encouraged him, gave him the suits and the tech and promised him a future on the elite team of Avengers. But so young? He was a child. A child he brought into a war, who faced his demise with the fear and confusion of someone who'd never even considered death would be ready for them so soon. Tony felt someone so purely good (something that was long beaten out of his peers) turn to dust in his fingers. He thought about Peter Parker a lot, and maybe cursed whatever forgotten fate chose to take Peter's life over his.

3. "Is um- (Pepper alive)"

And then there's Pepper Potts. The only thing he really cared about returning to Earth for. If there was no her to come back to, he didn't really see the point in him returning at all. Tony has self-destructive tendencies, and a lot of self-loathing. He didn't dare entertain the thought that she wouldn't be there when he got back, because she was the only thing keeping him going. Once he's arrived though, he can't help but ask for what he needs most (he's met with her arms around him before he can even finish the sentence- that solace is the only thing keeping his heart beating).

#tony stark #peter parker #steve rogers #the avengers #avengers endgame #avengers #tony stark angst #spider man #tony stark and peter parker #tony stark and steve rogers #irondad and spiderson #irondad #captain america #pepper potts #tony stark and pepper potts #marvel mcu #marvel movies #mcu #iron man

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anncanta · 2 months ago

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***

It's funny to watch how the representatives of the Tolkien fandom and not only, are, well, brutally hurt by the series The Rings of Power. I'll be fair, I haven't fallen in love with the first season – I rewatch it now. But the second season took me over at once. And it is wonderful precisely in the way that Tolkienists criticize it.

I didn't immediately understand this, and I needed to watch almost the entire second season to realize what it was. What's the trick there.

Here's the thing. We've all (including the Tolkien fandom) gotten used to the narrative and visual style of Peter Jackson's films. These films are great. But they have one major flaw, which only becomes apparent when compared to other works in the so-called world of Tolkien.

I was able to catch in on it just after I watched almost all of Season 2 of The Rings of Power and started watching clips from Season 1 and The Lord of the Rings, and The Silmarillion games on YouTube. One of those from Rings of Power was the scene where Galadriel and Hallbrand arrive in Numenor. The ship slowly sails into the harbor and passes giant statues that are bigger than the ship itself.

And then it dawned on me. I immediately saw not only the size of the statues (and their discrepancy with normal human height) but also a significant portion of the camera angles in Jackson's films and games that are made from the bottom up.

You see, the entire figurative system of Jackson's films and games based on The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion is built on grandeur, enormity, scale – on those things that are commonly called ‘epic’ in the fandom.

In Jackson's world, everything is big, everything is shown at an angle, through the eyes of a very small creature, who looks at large and beautiful elves. His narrative itself begins with Galadriel, who is huge and beautiful. And then suddenly it moves to the Shire, where everything is so small, prosaic, and even a hobbit man cannot kiss a girl if a bagel is carried nearby.

How narcissistic it all is. Beautiful, no doubt, but narcissistic. It is clear that the entire saga of the ring and especially The Silmarillion is largely about elves and for elves, told by elves. But here's the thing. Their author was a Luddite and, as they would say now, a lover of um ... greatness. That greatness, imperial. Therefore, all these ancient kings and great cities, large-scale wars, and elven rulers were important to him.

And what is important to the authors of the series?

A bunch of people in reviews have been asking this question for the second year. But in fact, everything is very simple.

When I saw this huge Numenor, I remembered that in the elven kingdoms in the series, everything is not so big. Their houses and palaces are beautiful, flying, elegant. But not huge. The statue of Feanor in Eregion is of relatively normal height. It is slightly taller than the average elf. Why?

Because what we see in The Rings of Power is a story told from the point of view of the elves, only not passed through the enthusiastic perception of a rabid fan. Elves there look like people because elves do not look at their own kind as superbeings whose appearance knocks you off your feet. Normal creatures do not look at their own kind like that. And elves, with all their shortcomings, are normal.

That is why Galadriel in the series is so different – wild, strange, capricious, angry, pugnacious, vengeful, beautiful, loving. She is different because she is alive.

Peter Jackson's Galadriel is very beautiful – but she is not an elf, but an inhumanly beautiful android. There is nothing warm, real, breathing about her. She is literally a robot. This is quite consistent with the period that the films are about – by that time, both the elves themselves and their world were preserved and turned into a museum. Nevertheless, when you look at them now, you feel a little uneasy. How can this statue want good to win, you think, looking at Galadriel. How is she even capable of wanting anything?

The series very subtly, at the level of interaction between the characters, shows who the elves are, what they want, how they live in this time, and why their time has passed.

One of the most fascinating themes of the second season is the unfolding idea that trying to stop aging and dying can cause an even greater catastrophe that will destroy everything.

This is what Sauron catches them with. With the desire to stop time. With their enormous power, which lasts and lasts, so that at some point they stop understanding that what has outlived its usefulness cannot be preserved – it can only be embalmed.

I am delighted with the way the rings of power are shown in the second season. The writers almost directly tell us that they are Horcruxes. And that is what they are, literally – in the Egyptian sense. J.K. Rowling's Horcruxes go back to the Egyptian tradition of embalming when the organs of the deceased are laid out in separate vessels and placed next to the sarcophagus so that the dead person can be resurrected in the afterlife.

The Rings of Power series takes this metaphor and shows that when the elves try to artificially glue together a broken world, that world does not stop growing old and dying – its inhabitants begin to go mad.

It is literally physically painful to watch this understanding come to Galadriel, then to Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor. These powerful beings, perhaps for the first time in their lives, are confronted with perhaps the most important thought in their lives – the most important thing is not what is enclosed in glass.

The shadow of Feanor bends over them, and in this, there is more mystery and redemption than in Galadriel's rejection of the master ring, which some Tolkienists see as the end of the fall of the elves and the return of hope for forgiveness to the elves.

When the elves began to die, they became alive. And this is the real miracle.

One of the best scenes that shows this transformation is Celebrimbor working in the tower. In order to keep Celebrimbor focused on the creation of the rings, Sauron has trapped him in an illusion where everything is fine and Eregion is living its normal life, while in reality, outside the walls of the tower, there is a living hell – an army of orcs is storming the city, and the tower is shaking. Celebrimbor works, oblivious to everything around him, until he pauses and notices that reality is ‘repeating’: the same mouse runs across the floor, and the candle in front of him burns without burning out.

At this point, Celebrimbor has a choice – to look away and continue working, because that is what he wanted – for everything to be calm and nothing to change – or to try to understand what is happening and break the cycle.

Do you understand? The rings have power not because they control consciousness (although they influence it quite strongly), but because they mean repetition. There is no other way to prolong life indefinitely. Only to loop. It is not a coincidence that they are rings – a symbol of infinity – ouroboros.

Tolkien was a Christian, but in his text, he got stuck in paganism. Christianity differs from paganism not in the number of gods, but in the direction of the soul and spirit. As the finale of Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia said – ‘further up and further in’. The pagan world is a world of eternal return, a circular repetition of the annual cycle, tied, like elves, to this world. Christianity breaks the circle and shows the way forward.

Why did Tolkien get stuck? After all, at the end of The Lord of the Rings, the elves leave Middle-earth, leaving it to people, that is, a change of formation occurs. Yes, it happens, only the elves leave for Valinor. To a static paradise, which the Valar created because they could not make the earth a paradise. By the way, as far as I know, they did not ask themselves whether the earth should have been a paradise. They had to prepare the earth for the coming of the children of Eru, but what does it mean to prepare? Polish it to a shine? Or ‘loosen it up’ and create potency?

The authors of the series about the rings are reproached for not knowing what they are doing. Oh, they know it. They understand very well what they are doing. Their story is about life and about the fact that life does not fit into frames and cannot be forcibly formed. Life can only blossom.

Life does not need power. It needs light and love.

#the rings of power #lord of the rings #galadriel #celebrimbor #tolkien #amazon

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jessecrust · 9 months ago

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We must stop being surprised

The studio that made one of the best games ever is currently imploding. ZA/UM, the studio that made Disco Elysium, is laying off 25% of their staff, including the last remaining credited writer for the hit video game. It's rare for a game to move me as much as Disco Elysium did, it's even rarer for the main creative forces who made the game to thank Karl Marx at their acceptance speech at The Game Awards. It is a breathtakingly beautiful and gorgeous work of art that made me laugh, slip into depression, cry, and smile so big my entire face hurt. After struggling through so many overlong, pretentious, AAA slogs like The Last of Us and God of War sequels, I never wanted to leave doomed Revochol. And it seems that, once again, the reward for surprise success and bringing something unique and wonderful into the world is misery and ruin.

The point of this is not really to document the facts of this sordid business, the legal battles, the documentary made about the studio, the drama, etc. All of that matters, and I'm sure others will cover it, but what matters to me about this is how unsurprising it is. We must stop being surprised that this keeps happening. We can no longer be surprised when the next surprise work of genius made by passionate, idiosyncratic people is slowly and fatally smothered by the financial criminals. There's a basic incongruity between creatives and financiers that, in the best of times, seems like a mutually beneficial relationship. But please understand that these soulless piles of money are all scorpions that will inevitably dig its stinger into your frog back the first chance it gets. Netflix was always going to charge you more to watch ads. The line on the graph must only go one way, the system proposes infinity in a finite world and tasks CEOs, HR departments, and mangers to make the impossible possible.

What I find the most grating is the inevitable reply: "profit is the only reason that these things exist". I truly wish I could experience life through the brain stem of the person who believes this. It must be fascinating to be so dull. Even worse, there's a non-zero chance that the person saying this has downloaded--for free--a PC mod for one of their favorite unoptimized, unprofitable to patch, forgotten games that fixed most of the major bugs and issues. The money, hustle, profit, business obsessed mind cannot comprehend the joy and pleasure of creation for its own sake. Nor, I suspect, can it comprehend art, preservation, aesthetics, history, etc.

I wanted to end this with the Jonas Salk quote about patenting the sun, so I looked it up to make sure I wasn't misremembering it: " There is no patent. Could you patent the sun?" And, sure enough, as if the universe reached out its fist to burying it into my gut, I stumble upon a Slate article titled "Jonas Salk: Good at Virology, Bad at Economics". The human race survived thousands of years without Economics, consultants, and private equity firms. If only we could go without them again.

#video games #disco elysium #capitalism

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crystalverse-project · 1 month ago

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hello, welcome to my mcyt blog, except it's only about one youtuber and it's not about the youtuber but only the character

this post is about the graphic novel trayaurus and the enchanted crystal. or to be more specific the fact i've found and bought two foreign language versions just to compare them both because i think translations are cool and interesting and i have autism and nobody's documented this and i have autism and the next thousand reasons consist of i have autism

trayaurus y el diamante encantado (spanish)

trayaurus et le cristal enchanté (french)

so i didn't even know this book got translated at all until a few months ago. and i managed to find both of these on amazon for reasonable prices, except the french one came with a broken spine and the only remaining spanish one is now demanding several hundred pounds for the only one left last time i checked.

i don't have a way of getting scans of this for preservation, so my phone camera's going to have to do. i also don't have an english copy anymore but i do have pictures of the pages to cross reference. this is what happens when you have a special interest guys you start cross referencing three versions of the same book at the same when you only know one language. (i haven't translated it all yet so i was looking at visual differences right now)

NOTE: all uses of "english" version refer to the original uk release. i've seen us releases that are so different they could be a different blogpost

back covers

for some reason the spanish copy is a lot less thick as the french and english ones? they all have the same pages so idk why that is. i can't remember which is the original way this spine faced, but everything is the same except the publisher logos.

according to copyright info the spanish version released in 2018, french 2017. i don't want to go past the picture limit so i'll just say there was an error on the spanish version where it said original title, it was written 'trayaurus and the enchanted cristal'. in the book the crystal is specifcally a diamond in spanish

in the introduction all the character names are white outlined with black in french, this wasn't a thing in english

the sound effects were translated in spanish and left english in french

various other text translations, in spanish one part was just blank

the two most interesting changes/errors:

the sign for trayaurus' office is translated in french but in spanish it's in english but in a different squished font? i'm not sure why they'd change that, i had to go get the pictures i took of the english one just to check i wasn't going insane

and here's a silly error i noticed on one page...in the french version the speech bubbles just went randomly off course

soon i'm going to try translate all the text to see if it's accurate/different, what i can make out now is pretty much the same.

we've found two other translations of this book, but for...political reasons i don't feel comfortable talking about them. if things were different in the world i would absolutely, because one of them is possibly bootleg and the other one has a flipped reading style so the whole book is the other way around. we HAVE found a full version of one but i don't want to offend or alienate anyone, so i won't talk about them.

i could, however, make more blog posts about the book, because it's inspired me so much. just not in a completely positive way. the story and characters i of course LOVED in the book, it's dantdm, favourite series in the whole world, my comfort series. the illustrations in the book though...um

i also found it being sold on a japanese site, but it wasn't translated. but i did see some of the tube heroes figures being sold on yahoo auctions in japan. i would try get a closer look but it's blocked in the uk and i don't have a vpn... ;-;

BONUS, ON THE TOPIC OF TRANSLATIONS:

before you ask, no, this is not ai generated, or a fandub.

there was this canadian kids show called "gaming show in my parents' garage" which was just stuff about kids playing video games and getting guest appearances, dan was in a few episodes!! but also it was dubbed and broadcast in central europe on a channel called megamax, this is a clip of the romanian dub. the guy doing dan's voice i found out is called alexandru rusu, and he does a lot of romanian dubbing for other shows. for just a few examples, he did the narration on this same show, cyborg on teen titans, geoff in total drama, the bus dude in fireman sam and the narrator in thomas the tank engine in the seasons where it wasn't cgi

#dantdm #mcyt #minecraft #minecraft youtube #old mcyt #the diamond minecart #autism #dr trayaurus #grim the skeleton dog #trayaurus and the enchanted crystal #mini essay #autistic rambling #special interest

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desultory-novice · 2 years ago

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what do you think of magolor soul’s true arena desc? makes me think he isn’t truly sorry.

I wanted to save this ask to write something MUCH more comprehensive about this but, um, serious RL stuff (it's positive stuff, no worries. I'm just kinda anxious about it...) popped up during my break so since I'm going to need to duck away for a few days to cool down (and because I'm currently super mega obsessed with True Arena Magolor) I decided to hit this one quickly.

So, in brief, this game has an excellent translation. Forgotten Land quality. I'd say even a little bit above that, since Magolor's writing in the epilogue is so good. (Biased?)

But there is a slight shift of TONE in Magolor Soul's True Arena description, the 2nd phase, where he talks directly to Kirby. (Honestly, this is probably just an issue of spacing. Magolor talks a LOT and you can see this screen is packed with text. Amusingly, spacing was my guess for the loss of a few details from Magolor Soul's pause screen in the original game.)

(Photo nicked from willidleaway)

Here is a quick "alternate" translation from me:

"Kirby, frankly, I found you a pain to deal with. And the way you looked at me with that blank stare even after I betrayed you? It irks me that I keep having to rely on you but... I've had enough. Kirby of the Stars, hurry up and destroy this thing on my head. When you do, I'll come back and... heheheh...I'll tease you plenty!"

The part TumblingPotatoes is referring to is probably the part I translated as "...found you a pain to deal with." The word in question can mean "dislike" as in "We've invited Magolor to dinner tonight!" "Ugh, I really dislike that guy!" but it really just means someone that, for a variety of reasons, you may struggle to deal with.

The fact that Magolor is a consummate liar but Kirby approaches everyone with honesty and openness is a quick and easy answer for why Magolor might feel that way about Kirby. Not to mention, as he says in both versions, Kirby is SO honest they didn't even react with shock or hurt when Magolor betrayed them. It's hard to say WHY Kirby didn't have that kind of emotional reaction, maybe they just knew better? Maybe Kirby figured, "Huh. I guess it's just time to beat the evil out of you like I've done with all my friends to date!"

The reason I prefer the Japanese slightly is because the English had to combine the "...it irks me to rely on you" and "hurry and break this thing on my head" into one line which, while Magolor is meant to be speaking from a place of pride (he doesn't want to admit he needs help. But of course, he really, really, REALLY needs help) it does sort of give him a cocky attitude in English. (The addition of "Ugh" does something similar. It does a wonderful job showing he's having to fight his own nature to admit this.)

But in Japanese, his desperation ("hurry") comes off better. It makes him sound a little bit more sad too (Something about Magolor using "this thing" in Japanese, 「頭のコレ」, even though it's the same phrase in English... but the context behind refusing to identify the Crown always gives me the feeling that at this point in the soul-consuming process, he's too frightened to even say it's name.)

...And this all hits especially hard because he uses the key phrase "Kirby of the Stars." Any time anyone invokes Kirby's "full name" you know things are serious.

His last line, his "threat" to toy with you/tease you is basically just the same Magolor you see in the epilogue. He can "turn over a new leaf" and still be a villainous & mischievous little egg. Saving his life isn't going to give him a personality transplant. It isn't going to mean he doesn't like playing pranks on people - or that he thinks that hitting a bomb with a frying pan isn't one of the multiverse's greatest games and definitely needs a space in his theme park. ^^

Again, he may also be trying to preserve some of his tattered dignity there. The long and short of it is... Magolor is being "tsundere" (I hope I don't need to explain that one...?)

Yes, he cares about Kirby as a friend. (Will he say it? No.) Yes, he feels bad for what he did. (Will he say that? Also no.)

...He CAN'T. It's not the way he communicates. But remember that Magolor has lied to you throughout the whole game. And it's the Liar Magolor that always tells you how "thankful" he is, how "happy" he is you two met. How "wonderful" and "amazing" Kirby is.

The fact that Magolor is willing to say "yeah, you kind of annoyed me" is a sign that Magolor is giving Kirby something he's potentially never given ANYONE before...

The truth.

So yes, this experience HAS changed him for the good and he absolutely, undeniably cares about Kirby.

Last Minute Addition:

It's interesting, in light of the very likely sounding theory that Magolor has already been fully consumed by the crown in this fight (his eyes disappear right as he uses "the last" of his ability to fight against the crown to leave you a single apple) and CANNOT be saved that the English text "...then someday..." and "...I MAY get to toy with you..." when the Japanese doesn't have these vagueties on Magolor's behalf. (I was influenced enough by it that even I included the phrase "when I come back" when Magolor just says "I will again...tease you")

Does he know it's already too late? It kind of gives you the feeling that Magolor is either lying to sooth Kirby from what the puffball has to do (kill him) or he's trying to goad Kirby on into finishing this. Really just makes the whole thing more heartbreaking.

#Kirby #Magolor #RtDL DX #rtdl dx spoilers #kirby spoilers #long post #...I wrote something long anyway #Dess Text Post #Speaking of the True Arena...#...my next/last post is fanart...#...yeah....

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galadrieljones · 5 months ago

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i read your theories. And i believe it but there is a feeling inside me and telling me that beth will never comeback. i don’t know.

I would be lying if I didn't say that every day, I deal with a similar nagging voice in my head: If she doesn't come back, is this all for nothing? I do truly believe that lately, there has been too many strange developments to be pure coincidence. But, at the same time, I have skepticism deep in my roots. It's simply in my nature to interrogate, which is how I got here in the first place, so I feel you.

I came into the Bethyl fandom about 6 years late. I saw "Coda," during my first TWD marathon during covid in 2020, and I had been accidentally spoiled a long time back. I knew Beth was going to get shot and that she was going to die, so while I was really upset about it, I knew it was going to happen. BUT. I didn't think it would be that...weird?? I just thought a rogue bullet would tag her during a shoot-out, and she'd die in Daryl's arms. But it didn't happen like that at all. It was just so WEIRD! It was so unlike any of the other deaths. And it just didn't sit right. The way Dawn was trying to convince Beth to stay, to do something that she said would be "the most important thing she'll ever do in her life??" Rick's repetition of the "Can't go back, Bob," line? The weird POV and high angle shots during the exchange? The bizarre audio and closed captions that don't match what we hear and/or see? The canted shots, which I remembered from a film class I took in college were meant to communicate messages of disorientation and even psychosis. I thought, is something wrong with Rick? Is he misremembering what happened? I was also stunned by the coda with Morgan, because it was just so...oblique? Like what were all those weird, random bits of inventory? The magazine, the little things he leaves at the altar, and how he seems to be laughing at some cosmic truth we can't see or understand. I thought, I have to be missing something!

Then I watched WHAWGO, and I knew something was like really off. I knew that the writers were playing some sort of game. I couldn't really put my finger on it, but like, I just figured they would address it later. I figured that whatever was being hidden, it would soon surface. But it never did. Around the time I was watching season 8, so maybe a month or two later, I found Team Delusional on tumblr, and I realized that my instincts were, if not definitively correct, than at least being shared by tons of other fans. It was amazing to me that, six years later, I could be asking the same exact questions, completely unprompted, that they were asking at the time the episode aired. How could that be a coincidence?

In any case, skepticism still finds me from time to time, mainly, I assume, as a form of self-preservation. I mostly cope with my creeping, inevitable skepticism by just...continuing to badger the evidence. Anytime I simply feel like being reminded of why I care so much about this, I go back and revisit "Slabtown" and "Coda." For me, the most convincing evidence is actually the Christ imagery. Why plant a bunch of Christ imagery if you weren't planning a resurrection? It really doesn't make sense. And it's really not that unusual for the GA of a show like this to just miss the signs. Because while "the signs are all there," if you don't know how to read them, you might just think you're looking at confusing writing choices and/or you might just tell yourself, "Meh, well, it's just a TV show. It's not that serious." And, of course, it's not. It IS just a TV show, but I have met lots of people who, because of TD, at the very least, have gone back and admitted that, um, yeah. "Coda" IS kind of weird. Like, what is it with that? And the angle of the gun actually DOESN'T make sense, and yeah, why DIDN'T we see Beth's funeral? Isn't a whole big deal made in "Alone" about Beth and how important she thinks it is to give dead people funerals? These are all objectively valid questions! They don't take "true believer" or "conspiracy theory" ideologies to entertain. They just take one single second look at the evidence and an open mind. Team Delusional really isn't delusional at all. We're simply very inquisitive, detail oriented people who really love Beth and Daryl.

All of that said, I definitely understand where your skepticism is coming from, and it's been such a long time. The best way I've found to deal with it, other than continuing to interrogate the show, is to just sort of let go of control and enjoy the moment as a hobby and/or a passion. For me, this kind of research and analysis is definitely a passion. But also, to (badly) quote @twdmusicboxmystery, "Until the powers that be come right out and say, 'Beth is dead and she is never coming back,' I'll be here." I do really think she's alive! And at the very least, I believe they'll create closure for Daryl, in some way that has to involve Beth.

Keep believing!! But don't let it cause you pain or anxiety. It has to be fun. Whatever will be will be, and if you're not enjoying it, it's okay to take breaks or to just take a firm "wait and see" approach. You can always change your mind and dive back in when you feel up to it again ❤️💕💫

#team delusional #the walking dead #bethyl #<3

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unhinged-summer-fun · 2 months ago

Text

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 14

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger" Warnings: It's fite nite y'all.

A/N: Dividers by meeee. Also, to celebrate the end of Act 1, this is a two-part drop. I will work as fast as I can to ensure the post is up to snuff, but if you cannot click the link to Chapter 15 at the bottom, try refreshing the page or looking at the series masterlist!

series masterlist

chapter 14: pre-game

Osha tied off the apron around her waist and did a few ankle stretches to prepare for her short shift at the bar. She was about to call it good and clock in a few minutes early when Medora entered the break room.

“Hiii Osha!” she sang, bubbly as ever. She’d been on every shift Osha had so far and had shown her the ropes a little better than Kana had. Anything you need, I’ve got you. It’s quite the boy’s club down here and up there, so we gotta stick together and look out for one another.

“Hi, Medora,” Osha said, enraptured by her coworker’s chaotic entrance. Medora spilled the contents of her purse across the table and pored over it while she spoke.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here; thought you’d be part of the crowd.” She briefly abandoned her search to hang up her jacket. “Alright, where the crap is it…”

“No, Kana tempted me with that double time.”

“Always does—HA!” She held a tube of lipgloss aloft in victory. “Thank god, I spent all day worried.”

“What’s that?”

“My secret weapon. Pretty servers get pretty tips.”

“That seems…” Terrible. Misogynistic. Probably true. “Logical.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s awful, but I like money.” Medora juggled a few cosmetics in one hand as she held up a small mirror in the other. Osha caught her eye in the tiny reflection, and Medora gave a once-over. “You look nice. I’m assuming you aren’t dolled up for cash tips?”

Osha flustered. “Oh, uh. I’ve been trying to wear more makeup. In general. You know. Tips.” But that wasn’t the real reason. After dance night, and then after she’d left some on his coffee cup (This for me? Yeah, that’s for me.), Osha fully believed in the power of wearing lipstick around Qimir. Perhaps wishful thinking got her into this mess, but the compliment from Medora made her feel less… silly.

“Well, regardless of who you’re dressing up for, that color looks amazing on you.”

“I’m not—”

“You can dress up for yourself, you know.” She raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I do it all the time.” She winked at Osha. “In fact, I’m doing it right now.”

Osha smiled, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. She took another seat and watched Medora work while she chattered about her day.

It reminded Osha of her mama, many many years ago. Every few mornings, she would take the time to sit at her vanity and painstakingly twist each loc and braid into a new intricate hairstyle that suited her fancy.

She knew, in retrospect, that this time was a precious commodity to her mother—just a few minutes of quiet that Osha tried her best to preserve, though her sister did not seem to notice. Mae had asked a million questions—about the process, about the history of the styles, about any and everything. But her mama was always happy to be around her daughters, answering each question with patience and respect. She also made sure to smile at Osha, reminding her that she remembered she was there.

It was rare, after losing her, to be remembered at all when she was quiet.

“Would you—um.” Osha hated this. She hated vulnerability, especially around people she hardly knew.

“What’s up?” Medora drew her riot of curly hair back into a high ponytail, then let it back down when it didn’t please her.

“My sister and I didn’t really grow up around—well, we lost our—she was actually kind of popular at school so she—I have no idea what I’m doing, really.” She was grateful Medora was the only one bearing witness to her idiocy. I could always leave town if this conversation blows up in my face. Start over. Live in the woods. Take a fake name. But first, one more shot at courage: “I never learned how to do any of that. We weren’t around many women who were dressed up.”

Medora just smiled. It filled Osha’s heart with something warm, like the memory of a Sunday morning in a place that no longer existed. “I got you,” Medora said.

Within a few giggling seconds, she had put Osha’s hair in a new style she was no longer hiding behind. This will show off your neck and cheeks—you have a beautiful smile, don’t keep it from the world. She went back and freed a few locs from her bangs—now this will make you alluring. And it’ll hide any eyeliner sins in a pinch. You have such beautiful hair. Just shake your hair a little and it’s like a baby with keys to anybody looking.

It was so simple in retrospect. So much impact, just out of reach because of all she’d lost. Medora clapped happily when Osha looked utterly stunned by the change. “You’re going to get tipped, baby!”

It was an incredible feeling. She’d had the same style since she was a child—easy to maintain, comfortable, familiar. Mae had grown her hair out a few times, but in recent years had gone back to matching Osha. It made the misidentifying in the gym a much more frequent occurrence.

Changing things up made her feel like an entirely different person.

Kana poked his head into the break room, holding a disgusting-looking bucket hat at his side. “What are you two giggling about?”

“You, of course.”

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, we’re doing the draw. Would you grab them for me, please?”

Medora began plucking the time cards out of their slots and handing them to Osha. She found the common thread: these were the time cards of those on shift tonight. When she left several behind, including Kana, Osha, and herself, Osha went to reach for them and was stopped.

“I grabbed all I need.”

“But yours and—”

“Oh, I don’t go in the draw. Neither do you.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll see.”

She led the way to the kitchens, where everyone circled around Kana and his stupid hat. He collected the time cards in the hat and shook them around. “Okay, hey! Shut up! Drumroll, please. Tonight’s tuh-ripple pay bouncer is…” He plucked a card from the rest. The impromptu clatter ceased. “Dante!”

The gathered mass responded with a mix of cheers and groans, reminding Osha of watching her first fight at Unknown Planet. As ever, this place baffled her as much as it made her smile.

Kana returned the timecards to Medora with a soft thanks before leaving for front-of-house. She explained what just happened as Osha helped put the cards back in their places.

“Here’s Eltara’s, you’re closer—have you guessed what all that was about?”

“Bouncer duty?”

“Yup.”

“Triple pay?”

“Yup.”

Osha slid the card into a slot neatly labeled ELTARA LOHARNE. “Why’d you leave some behind? I thought Kana would be in it, at least.”

“Kana got the honors last month. Your name stays in the hat until you get picked, and after that, it stays out of the hat until everyone’s gone once. Then they’re all put back in again. Triple time has the capacity to wreak havoc on workplace relations.” She scribbled a little red star in the corner of Dante’s time card, then pointed out the same mark on Kana’s. “So we don’t mix ‘em up.”

“But my name didn’t go in.” Did they think Osha couldn’t do it?

“You haven’t won a fight in the cage… yet. Once you do, you’re in.”

Osha hoped that once she won a fight, she would be in every fight night after, like Qimir. But she hadn’t gone up against anybody for years now, and there was no telling if she’d even win that first match.

“That might be a while,” Osha sighed. “He seems to be overly cautious with my training.” She tapped Qimir’s slot, sitting just above hers. He’d gotten a normal label, Q LOHARNE. Kana had thought putting an OSHA COMPLIANT sticker on hers instead was hilarious.

“I mean, you don’t gotta be nominated by Q. Kana would nominate you if you asked him. Anybody who saw that spar a few days ago would nominate you—that was badass.”

“You saw that?” Osha cringed a little.

“Hell yeah, I did!” Medora laughed and finished her stack of cards. “I’d be so jazzed if I saw you on bouncer duty. I’d just sit and wait for you to toss some huge idiot down the stairs.”

“Thank you?”

“But it’s not just about capability. It’s about respect. If you have a win, especially an uncontested win, gen-pop will listen. The more wins under your belt, the more clout you collect, the less of a hard time they’ll give you. It’s math.”

Osha noticed there was no red star on Medora’s timecard.

“Why aren’t you in the pool?”

Medora’s smile was sad, a faraway quality to her eyes. “I train, but I don’t want to fight. Not every Loharne is made for the cage.”

Qimir had said there were Loharnes all over the city—orphaned children that carried the name into maturity. Nearly half of all the names on the rack were Loharnes—Q and Kana, who were already known to her, but seeing MEDORA LOHARNE near the bottom was a bit of a surprise, given that she wasn’t as reserved in her emotions as Qimir and Kana sometimes were. Osha remembered being numb to most of her feelings for the first year following her mothers’ deaths. Some days, she didn’t think she’d grow out of it.

“I understand that,” Osha said softly. “But I don’t even know why I’m disappointed. I’m sure it’ll be ages before I’m ready.”

“Only you can decide when you’re ready to face something. Having someone you trust to back you up when you do decide is encouraging, though.”

That was news. “Huh?”

“The nomination system.” Medora tucked a few things in the pockets of her apron. “Depends how you look at it, I guess. Take the heart out of it, and it’s just like… co-signing on a loan. At first, it was almost an indemnity clause, considering what it took to implement the system in the first place. That was a bit of a nightmare—the whole Lance thing.” Her face went a little stony at the mention.

“Lance?”

Medora quirked her head to the side. “The guy who attacked Idise ten years ago? I’m surprised Q hasn’t told you. It was and—well, still is big news here.”

“Oh!” Osha flustered. “I—he told me about it, I just didn’t know the guy’s name.” Even so, she didn’t know there was so much gossip she was missing out on.

“Yeah. Like I said. Nightmare. But anyway, if you’re a romantic, the nomination thing is so swoon-worthy. Back when it started, I heard people talk about how it represented this culmination of a relationship with someone at the gym—you spend so much time training with somebody that you form a special connection. Then they say you’re ready. Not only that, but they’re ready—to tie their reputation to yours when you get in the ring. Maybe I’ve just read too many bodice-rippers, but where else do you sign your name next to someone like that but a marriage certificate?”

Osha tried her best not to walk straight into a wall, and failed. Medora didn’t comment, too wrapped up in her diatribe.

“Then again, the whole thing could be a comedy—in the way that comedy is just tragedy plus time. You do all that, you subscribe to the ideology, someone vouches for you—and then you get your shit rocked in a nomination match? Now that’s embarrassing. The person who vouched for you gets remembered for your fuckup. Until a new embarrassment takes your place, that is. See? Tragedy plus time equals comedy.”

Osha still couldn’t bring herself to laugh about it. But Medora certainly wasn’t joking.

Kana released her from her shift about ten minutes after the crowd went upstairs. She bypassed the public staircase (where Dante dutifully stood his post) and headed directly to the dressing rooms to change, knowing at least one fighter would let her in.

Her path brought her face to face with another person headed in the other direction. He was handsome, in an I-got-my-nose-job-from-a-fist kind of way. Osha didn’t recognize him, but Unknown Planet was an all-hours joint. They could have differing schedules.

He didn’t recognize her either, asking, “Are you and I fighting tonight?” He gave her a slow once-over. He was about three times her size, but Medora’s enthusiastic vision of Osha tossing some huge idiot down a flight of stairs kept her from feeling intimidated or creeped out. She took no offense, knowing the brash culture of Unknown Planet was a fact of life. In some ways, she liked it.

She noticed the green balaclava in his hands. Brawler.

“Not tonight, buddy.”

“Aw, we’re buddies? I’d love to be friends, thank you.”

Osha laughed. Years of intensely repressed connection at the Temple had set her up for failure when it came to flirting (and, honestly, friendship), but Unknown Planet didn’t care for formality. In fact, they were at times brazen enough to hit on her in the brief seconds Qimir stepped away during their sessions. It was almost a game, how long can I flirt with Osha before her scary dog gets back and glares me to death. As superficial and vapid as it was, it made her feel wanted. Accepted. Welcomed.

And it drove Qimir insane when she engaged with it.

“Sure. Let’s be friends, Sour Patch.”

He looked delighted, but a new voice cut in with a razor’s edge—right on cue.

“Osha.”

Hello, my strange, scary dog.

Qimir stood on the upper landing of the stairs, looking more than ready to charge the man in front of her if she gave the signal.

“I was just headed up,” she assured him. She turned to the fighter before her. “I’ll just slip by you, thanks!”

Sour Patch let his hand brush her lower back, and she threw an exaggerated scowl over her shoulder. “See you around, buddy,” he said playfully, pocketing his mask and entering the gym level.

Qimir’s expression was overwhelmingly displeased when she arrived on the landing. “Are you alright? Did he try anything?”

He looked her over without trying to hide it, assessing her in hopes of finding the tiniest justification to pound Sour Patch into a fine paste.

“Of course I’m alright. He’s harmless.”

“He’s a brawler.”

“You’re a brawler.”

He pouted at the comparison.

“C’mon, I wanna change before the fights start.”

This time, when a hand came to rest on her lower back, she didn’t scowl. At the zing of sensation that rippled up her spine, Osha stood up straighter, preening at the attention. Qimir walked side by side with her, holding his ground even as other masquerade fighters were made to squeeze against the wall as they passed by. Like schools of fish yielding to a great white shark.

Beyond the black door, everything quieted. The usual pulse of we’re alone bled through her awareness as it always did when the world was shut away from them. Instead of getting caught in the moment, she did what she came here to do—change her clothes.

“How was your first shift?” Qimir asked.

She unbuttoned her black blouse, fighting the demons telling her to go out in the dressing room and do this. “It was fine.”

“I’m glad.” She could hear him fiddling with KT tape in the other room, the plasticky slide of release film dropping in a familiar pattern as he smoothed tape over his thumb, his—

She remembered, once, coming back from the showers at the pool to find him lined up in front of the mirror in the studio, shorts tugged way high one hip as he smoothed two lengths of gray tape from his inner thigh up to the crease of his hip. Hip flexor acting up, he’d said. Osha hadn’t been able to think straight through her whole cooldown.

She wondered if it was acting up tonight.

“N-nearly ran out of pockets for tips.”

“I’m not surprised,” he chuckled. Pretty servers get pretty tips, Medora had said. Osha tried not to read so deeply into three words as to pull a compliment out of thin air. It felt so incredibly silly of her to think, but there was still a small voice in her head asking does he think I’m pretty?

They chatted a little more, but there was an undertone in his voice that harkened back to when he picked her up earlier that evening.

Is everything alright?

When she saw him in the parking lot, she was hit by a wave of tension. Everything Indara told her that afternoon weighed her down and almost froze her feet in place. Crimes. Private investigator. Gangs. She wanted to tell him what was going on, wanted to do anything to let him know her sympathies had deepened, strengthened from a current to a riptide.

I can tell something’s the matter.

It wasn’t like Osha was in the practice of hiding her emotions from him. Sometimes, he knew her moods better than she did. But this time, she’d been very aware of her anxiety.

We don’t have time to get into it, but trust that I’ll be okay, Qimir.

He’d left it at that, but had been a little quiet during the drive to the bar.

And now he seemed to want to ask again.

“I got to witness the bouncer draw,” she said lamely.

She knew Qimir would never ambush her in here, but even in the relative privacy the bathroom provided, she felt like someone—something—was watching her.

Her voice trailed off from what she was saying when she noticed the Smiley mask draped on the little sink. Without him wearing it, the mask felt a little more sinister. A memory whispered why.

We wear masks and take fake names to prevent the guilt from killing us. Beneath the mask… There is no honor or glory in winning that mask. And the only people who know that are the ones who win it, the ones who have to wear the mask.

She didn’t know what came over her when she reached out to touch it for the first time. She ran a fingertip over the embroidered silver teeth that slashed through the black. Some were jagged and broken, some were whole. Some were over large, others miniscule and precise. It was an uncanny grin, more teeth than should be there—stretching almost ear-to-ear.

She discovered that there was more hiding in the dark fabric than she thought: parts of the material which had been frayed or ripped in the past were stitched back together in a patchwork manner she hadn’t been able to see before. She looked closer at one of the gnarled lines of black thread on the back of the hood, stretching almost ornamentally from one side to the other, in a thick snarl that resembled a familiar scar—

“Try it on.”

Osha yelped, jumping out of her skin.

“Fucking shit, Qimir!” she yelled. “What?”

He looked deeply amused by her antics, leaning on one side of the doorframe. “You should try it on,” he repeated calmly.

She frowned down at the mask clutched in her fist. “Are you trying to give me conjunctivitis or something?”

“Do I look like I have pink eye?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

The little eye-holes stared back at her from her hands, and she had to admit, she was tempted.

“Can you even see in this?” she asked.

“Not really. None of us can. It’s like a sensory deprivation experience.”

“What’s the point of that?” she scoffed. “Seems counterintuitive—the most exciting fight of the night, the eight wildest fighters, and they’re all blinded.”

“If we could see each other perfectly, the fight would be over too quickly. Like this, it’s just you…” he shuffled closer, trapping her against the sink while looking down at the mask in her hands. “And what you bring with you.”

She attempted to dodge out of the verbal corner he’d backed her into. The physical corner, however, she made no attempt to leave. “Someone told me you never let a fight get over eight minutes in the cage.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think about that when I’m in there, wearing that.”

“What do you think about, then?”

“Try it on and find out.” That was the third time he’d told her to.

“Fine.” She turned to the mirror, making sure to be careful with Medora’s efforts as she pulled the mask over her head. To her surprise, the mask wasn’t scratchy or unpleasant. It hugged every part of her face, none of the fabric sagging or bunching up uncomfortably. It took her some finagling to get the eyes in the right spot, but when she looked up at her reflection…

She’d seen her face more than most. Mirrors were one thing, but when another person wore the same face as you, it made you more aware of how you looked.

Her eyes looked different in the mask. Accepting that the person staring back at her was herself felt like swallowing a hot stone. It was intense and it was strange, but the longer she held her own gaze, the more she understood why the other fighters felt capable of violence. Behind such flimsy anonymity, consequences seemed far away.

Turning her head this way and that, she tested the peripheral vision afforded to her. There was very, very little.

“Yeah, you’re right, I can’t see sh—oh.” She made to turn around, but came in contact with an immovable wall at her back.

Qimir looked utterly enchanted by the sight of her in his mask, eyes going between her reflection and what was before him. One of his hands caged her against the small sink, and the other went up to hold her chin, moving her this way and that. The silver embroidery caught and fled from the light like fish scales in a river. One tooth would disappear as she turned her head left, only to reappear when she turned back. His thumb brushed over the edge of the smile, just below her cheekbone.

She wondered if he could feel the heat in her face as easily as she felt the heat in his hands.

“When I fight,” he said softly, hypnotized, “I use all senses available to me. My eyes aren’t the best on their own, but your eyes can deceive you. We must not trust them.” Osha felt a curl of unease twist around the curl of desire strengthening in her core. She knew that line, she’d heard it before—“To become so reliant on what you can see will betray you when what you didn’t see becomes the real danger.”

His hand came around to cover her mouth, pausing a moment as he hid the smile from view before he dragged his fingers back across every inch of that smile. “I can tell where they are just by breathing. Fear has a taste, a scent, and they all fear me.”

It tickled as he brushed a thumb over her ear, the fabric making a soft, crushing noise against it that made her shiver. “I listen for them, through the screams of the crowd. Some breathe so loud I could hit them in the dark.”

His hand moved back to cover her mouth, then drifted downward, over her chin and under her jaw to wrap lightly around her neck—then he rested his hand over her pounding heart. “Another reason to control your breathing—to hide from me.”

She almost moaned as his hand brushed the side of her breast on its way to take her hand, moving it to press against her belly. He brought his lips down beside her ear. “The sense of feeling is tied closely to intuition. You have to know your body and its impulses in order to feel where things are in relation to you. When you understand the signals your body gives you, it will tell you everything you need to know.” He paused to ensure her eyes were on his.

They looked almost obscene like this in the mirror, his body curled around hers, trapping her like prey. “Especially the pain,” he whispered, lips drifting to where the mask ended in the crook of her neck. “The pain tells you how to survive, if you listen to it. If you feel it, if you taste it.”

The white-hot slide of his tongue over Osha’s bare shoulder pulled a weak whimper from her, and just as quickly as it had come, he left, lifting his head again and drawing backwards. His parting words were, “I don’t think about anything when I wear this. I feel everything.”

He let go of her, leaving her slightly sagging against the sink. Looking over her shoulder at him, his expression told her he would not apologize for invading her space like that, for touching her so—so… possessively. Tonight, he was at his rawest self, primal in a way few men could truly become.

He wanted her, no doubt about it. And she wanted him, but… first, a touch of shyness.

She broke his gaze to peel off the mask, fixing her hair as she chattered through her nerves. She noticed him sliding the mask off the sink, pocketing it without a word. “I bet my first time in the ring, I’ll just black out and forget everything you ever taught me.”

He smiled slowly when he met her eyes again, content as a cat in a sunbeam. “I’ll make sure your first time is—”

The rabble in the gym crept to an unignorable volume beyond the dressing room. Osha looked in the direction of the noise, heart in her throat. Qimir looked like he really wanted to finish speaking, but she asked, “Do you wanna go watch? You could… talk strategy with me? Or talk shit?”

She saw him stuff down whatever the feral animal in him wanted to do, punctuated by a smile. “You have a point. After all, you’ll be in the one-on-ones before you get invited to the masquerade.”

“Oh my god I think I just got the joke.”

“What joke?” he said.

“The masquerade brawl that ends at midnight? And you need to have an invitation to dance?”

“We’re not dancing in there—”

“It’s a turn of phrase, oh my god. Let’s go.”

The balcony was surprisingly sturdy—nothing rattled or shook beneath their feet as they strutted past the other masquerade fighters watching the current match.

It was difficult to understand what was going on until Qimir explained to her: the two men fighting were tasked with repeatedly throwing one another onto the mat using the exact same form every time. Qimir had her answers ready before she even asked a question.

“Decision-determined matches are rare here. They aren’t run or scored like what you’re used to.”

“Who are the judges?” she asked, peering into the crowd for any sign of an officiant’s table. “Where are the judges?”

Qimir pointed to a dark, mirrored window set in the brick wall on the opposite side. She’d never noticed it before, but now the gaze of the black, gaping maw on high seemed inescapable. “I’m sure you have questions about the organizers, but not even I have those answers.”

“The match organizers are also the fight judges?”

He shrugged as if saying, why shouldn’t they be? “This fight is an endurance test. Keep your form perfect for every throw, and hopefully, you outlast your opponent.”

“Sounds like it would go on forever.”

“You think you could perfectly throw a 200-pound guy over your shoulder the same way with the same force, forever? After also being slammed to the mat ten seconds prior?”

Thwack! One of the fighters shook their head in a daze. The one who just threw them down helped them up.

Qimir had a point. Damn it. She hated it when he had a point. “Fine. Just seems boring.”

“It’s one of the more impressive feats of strength. This is similar to my nomination match.”

“How long ago was that?”

“It’ll be… 10 years next month, on the new moon.” That’s more than a hundred fight nights. How many has he—

Thwack! Groan. Stand up. Cheer.

As the other fighter prepared to throw again, Osha nudged his shoulder with hers. “Who nominated you?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw, and though he went still and didn’t look away from the fight, she could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. “Idise.”

Back when it started, I heard people talk about how it represented this culmination of a relationship at the gym—you spend so much time training with somebody that you form a special connection.

Acidic jealousy burned in Osha’s mouth. It was ten years ago. Chill.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other that long.”

“She’s known me since before I joined.”

Where else do you sign your name next to someone like that but a—

“Dang. Long time.”

The conversation lulled a little, and Osha tried not to feel like the fighter getting slammed into the mat. She had to get a fucking grip. “Well, the point is to win the match, so how do I win? If I was in the ring, right now, how do I win?” she babbled.

He watched another few throws before shaking off his fugue to speak. He pointed out flaws in their stances—they were actually losing energy just from standing still. From that point, he talked about kinetic momentum and adrenaline-fueled motion. “If you let yourself walk around even a few steps between throws, your heart rate will be in the perfect place to remain focused and physically ready—mustering your energy from baseline each time kills your stamina.”

It wasn’t what she expected to hear. She’d expected him to say something about finding an opponent’s weakness and drilling down into it every time. To treat every round like it was the last round. But, she realized with a jolt, that was just how the Temple trained them.

Qimir’s advice, by comparison, urged her to stay in the moment and ground herself in reality, not imagine herself at the finish line. There is no finish line. There’s just the road in front of you.

Another few fights passed before Osha recognized an event from last month: two opponents and one knife dropped between them like a hockey puck.

“Crowds love this one,” Qimir chuckled. “Shit, I love this one.” He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “What would you do?”

“I don’t even know how to hold a knife. I couldn’t give a right answer if I wanted to.”

“I wasn’t asking you so you’d tell me the right answer. I know you don’t have any weapons training—but you’re still a fighter, Osha. You’re allowed to weigh in on things you don’t know about—more than that, I want you to. It’s one of the most effective ways we learn. By guessing.”

“You mean you want me to fuck around and find out.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Osha hummed and leaned her arms on the railing to peer closer at the intense exchange. The fighter without the knife had both hands free to pull the other fighter into a complicated kneeling grapple.

“Well… from one perspective, getting to the knife’s a speed contest, so you’d have to know something about your opponent’s footwork relative to your own. Are you faster, or are you not?”

He hummed, encouraging her to go on. She paused as the armed fighter lost his grip, sending the knife skittering toward the fence.

“You could just ignore the weapon entirely,” she mused. “Draw blood another way.”

“The rules state that if there’s a weapon in the cage and victory is decided by first blood, the blood must be drawn by that weapon.”

Hm. She watched the pair scramble for the knife, as if hearing Qimir’s input from on high.

“Well. Uh. Another perspective is…” the same fighter from before took control of the knife. “Knowing someone’s strengths as well as their weaknesses.”

“You intend to spy on your opponents before their matches?” he said dryly.

“No, I mean—shut up.” She grumbled and pouted. “If it was me in there against you, you would know I would be more harm to myself if I had the knife in my hands. I could defeat myself for you.”

“Believe it or not, the organizers won’t put a weapon in your hands that you’re not familiar with. Nor would they put you up against someone that surpasses your ability enough to make you seem like a novice. The fights are balanced, so it’s a challenge to win, but not impossible.”

That complicated things. “But I’m right. You can still turn someone’s perceived strength into a weakness to get them to bleed.”

“Everybody has a weakness,” he ceded. “But seeing opponents as a stack of strengths and weaknesses holding a knife doesn’t change the fact that they can still hurt you. What did I say about fear and danger?”

“Denying your fear doesn’t erase the danger. It only makes it harder to survive.”

“Good girl. Now watch—”

How could she, when he spoke to her like that so casually?

He gave her a play-by-play from his point of view. “And that’s a victory right there.”

“What? The fight’s not over.”

“Believe in the power of the armbar.”

The unarmed fighter had pulled the other into a hold, the knife just inches from his face. The grappled fighter tried to twirl the knife in his trapped hand, blade flashing in the light. But the other moved quickly, squeezing his wrist and jerking his whole body to get him to jab himself in the forearm.

The bell rang, and though it was too far for Osha to see it, the roar of the crowd signaled that first blood had been shed. She applauded, feeling like a guest at the side of an emperor, watching gladiators bleed for his imperial amusement.

“The most important thing to remember in these match-ups is that battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. You have to choose to win before you ever step in the ring.”

“What’s that, a little bit of hard-earned violence-based wisdom?” she said teasingly.

“Walt Whitman.”

A startled, overly loud laugh escaped her, turning a few heads in their direction. Osha hid her face against his shoulder, trying to stifle her giggles but failing. She wasn’t entirely sure, but the gentle touch on her head felt like a kiss.

She certainly hoped it was.

“You don’t need to worry about what will happen before the match starts. Things can go a hundred thousand ways once the bell rings, and only some of them will go right—even fewer will go as planned.” He raised a hand to trace over her bare back, distracted by the cut of her shirt. It was similar to the one she’d worn to dance night, so his fascination felt warranted. He let his hand fall flat on the small of her back, a warm weight she could have purred at.

“You make it sound like someone with no training can enter the ring and win by a mile just by improvising.”

“Yes and no,” he shrugged. “If you recognize when the winds shift in each moment, you can make almost anything work to your advantage.” He turned to face her, his face gone a little serious. “I’m not training you to make you into a trophy machine, Osha. I’m training you to make the best decisions for any moment, but only when you choose to fight.”

It was surprisingly tender. The conviction in his posture spoke volumes to the degree he believed that. It was strange to see vulnerability in his eyes, especially after the heat in them from earlier. When she asked herself why he felt so strongly about her choice to fight, Indara’s voice rang in her head.

She only fostered him so she could take him to tournaments and competitions across the state.

Qimir was clearly about to ask what she was thinking, but a new (well, new-ish) voice interrupted him.

“There you are, buddy!”

Fuck.

Osha sighed, grimacing in a way she hoped could be misinterpreted as a smile. She turned away from the suddenly stone-faced Qimir. “Hey there, Sour Patch.”

“Watching the matches? Save some interest for the last one of the night, would ya?”

“Oh, I’ll try.”

Qimir was a block of ice behind her. His warmth, so reliable and steady, had chilled unexpectedly. The hand on her lower back curled into a fist around a handful of her shirt—there was no way he’d done that consciously. She’d seen Qimir get cold like this before when speaking to some of the other fighters in the gym, but never to this degree. It was plain to see it for what it was:

Possessiveness.

“So you’ve been to one of these before…”

Sour Patch did not, at all, take the rebuffs Osha threw back at him. The wall of silence behind her felt solid enough to—

Hm.

Just to make things interesting, she let herself lean against Qimir. The hand at her waist felt like a goddamn claw.

“No, I actually haven’t seen The Godfather. Haven’t had the inclination. Ever.”

The claw squeezed. She could imagine him whispering, attagirl.

“Oh my god, you’re absolutely missing out. Why don’t you come over and we can—”

The creature behind her scoffed. She rested a hand on the claw, tracing her fingertips over his knuckles.

“I’m pretty on the hook for literally the rest of forever, sorry,” Osha told Sour Patch with an overly kind smile.

Perhaps the smile was too much, because he said, “So Wednesday night, are you free?”

Qimir inhaled like a bull about to charge, nearly disengaging his hold on her to engage his fist into the other guy’s face. Osha moved fast. Her hand shot out, patting the oblivious man’s bicep in an objectively condescending way. “Maybe if you win tonight,” she said, hiding her fangs behind a pretty smile.

Sour Patch lit up, and the beast behind her relaxed. His hand snaked around her middle, tracing a thumb over her piercing. He was oozing satisfaction. Sour Patch has no idea what he’s getting into.

“Well, get ready for a three-part marathon, then!” To her delight, Sour Patch turned around and walked away—probably for the best.

Qimir whirled Osha around like a goddamn top. He wore the same heated look from earlier when she tried on his mask. Heat flared in her core. Her eyes went to his mouth, where he bit his lower lip in consideration—or perhaps the last vestige of self-control. What thoughts hid behind those eyes?

“Maybe if he wins tonight?” he repeated slowly, an eyebrow rising with incredulity.

“I think it’s fair,” she said, heart racing. She couldn’t remember how to slow her pulse down—couldn’t remember even with a knife to her throat. His hands on her made it hard to think, let alone breathe.

“Fair,” he chuckled. “Did I give you the impression that I was a fair person?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flashed a little. It reminded her how a predator’s eyes would glow at night. “You should rethink that.”

“I won’t.”

His jaw flexed. “Last chance.”

“No.”

“And what if I win tonight?”

“I didn’t know you wanted to watch The Godfather with me so badly.”

“You’ve no idea the things I want to do with you, Osha. Nor how badly I want them.”

They were standing so close. The shouting and cheering of the crowd below went quiet under the thundering of her heart, and even the lights went a little sparkly and out of focu—

She needed to breathe.

Her ragged inhale sounded like she’d surfaced after nearly drowning. Felt like it, too. Qimir’s face flickered in surprise but melted into a much more pleased expression. “You should go down to the cage, Osha,” he purred.

“Why?”

Because he can’t control what he’ll do next if you stay.

He didn’t have to say it for her to know it.

It wasn’t a dismissal, but his command certainly dictated she should go. Before she did, Osha surged forward to wrap her arms around him. “Good luck.”

He stiffened, and Osha held him tighter. After a few seconds, he returned the embrace and thanked her quietly.

“You know, you need to work on that,” she said once they pulled away.

He chuckled. “What?”

“Receiving hugs.”

His eyes sparkled with good humor. “Well, I might need to find a trainer if that’s the case.”

“I dunno, my schedule could be booked.”

“To the rest of forever?” he teased.

She shrugged and turned to walk away.

“If I win tonight,” he said, catching her wrist. “Maybe I can get a free trial pass?” He tilted his head to the side, ignoring the world around them.

Osha wrapped her hand around his bicep, one finger at a time, before she squeezed, digging her nails in just as he’d held her in his claws. She didn’t stop there. She leaned in so her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “Win first. Then we can discuss the spoils.”

She didn’t stick around to see the look in his eyes, but she could feel it long after she joined the crowd.

Kana found her in the crush of bodies.

“You are gonna get squished, girl,” he laughed. He escorted her closer to the cage and assumed the duties of an immovable human wall behind her.

“Thank you!” she said cheerfully.

They chatted a little between matches. “How’s training going? Q train you on any weapons yet?”

“Nah, not yet. We’ve only sparred a few times, but not at full strength or speed. I gotta say, though… those look fun.”

The fighters in the ring clashed their broadswords together in a shower of sparks that fired up the crowd. They wore full-cage helmets, half-plate armor, and steel gauntlets. This was the last fight before the finale, and the energy was palpable, the scent of blood and sweat permeating the air.

Kana laughed, big and booming. “I’m sure you’d kick ass regardless of familiarity with the weapon, and that’s a hill I’d kill anybody on.”

He had such a way with words.

“…thank you, Kana.”

“I also guarantee you’ll be invited to the brawl just because everyone wants to see what he’ll do.”

She frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what he’ll do when you and Idise get in front of him at the same time.”

“Idise?” she said hollowly.

—you spend so much time training with somebody that you form a special—

“Did he not tell you? Q and Idise are pretty close outside’a here.” Kana looked concerned at whatever Osha was doing with her face, but he continued. “I’ve known him longer than anyone else here, but she’s been with him through some hard shit. A few people think Q and Idise were seeing each other on and off for a few years.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Think that they were together.”

She was trying to keep the jealousy snarling in her chest from leaping out her mouth. Osha had the urge to run back upstairs and leave a hundred purple kiss marks marking him as her—

“No. Q’s a lonely guy, and I think he prefers it like that. Him and Idise… I can’t tell for certain because they don’t really hang out, but I’m pretty sure whatever they got going on, it’s strictly on the platonic side. Things have been different recently.” He dared to wink at her, either willfully or unintentionally oblivious to her thunderous mood. “Since you came ‘round, and even before then.”

“Like what?”

“Well. Few months back, this perfect storm starts brewing. Q dropped the fuck off the map the same time the fuckin’ Lance guy was let back in the gym.”

“Let back in?” she squawked. One of the swordfighters staggered back into the cage, rattling the whole circumference with the impact.

Kana nodded. “He said he was robbed of his nomination match and wanted a second chance to prove himself. Everyone here saw straight through that shit. Fucker just wanted to get back at Idise for embarrassing him. We all did our best to ignore him, and nobody said shit to his face, but shit was dicey; a lotta people questioned the PTB for allowing him back on the premises, let alone in the fights.

“But they did allow it. He signs up. His match night comes. He’s not fighting Idise, of course, but he wins. Q shows up in the last round after a month of silence and wins his eighth brawl in a row. Some people say they saw him talking with Idise later on, but he disappeared right after that. Bunch’a people started rumors about it.”

“What’d they say?”

“Well, someone asked Idise where he’d been, and she got all defensive about it, wouldn’t say. My guess is she didn’t know, and had gone to ask because she was worried about him. We all were.”

He’d been pretty wound-tight for a while, and it seemed like he needed that break two-ish months ago. We were all pretty worried when he took it so abruptly.

“Now, shit gets even dicier with the PTB. Not only do they invite Lance to the brawl, they invite Idise. Nobody’s heard from Q. Isn’t answering calls or texts. I don’t even think he replied to the invite email, don’t think he even looked at it. Lance and Idise avoid each other like the plague in the gym. And no, winning did not warm any of us to him.”

Osha jumped a little at the clang from a sword hitting a solid chest plate.

“Night comes. They call everyone in for the brawl, rah rah, Lance gets called—he was Dizzykid when it happened—it goes fucking silent in here. They call Idise in, coulda blown the fuckin roof off. Everybody expected Idise to go round two with this motherfucker, just put him back in his place same as before. I’d say ninety percent of the bets were on that. And do you know what happened when Smiley walked in?”

“What?” Osha said, mouth a bit dry. She wasn’t even pretending to look at the fight anymore.

“He looked at Idise in the cage and turned to Wise, asking, the fuck is she doing in here? Wise just smiled at him, then he pointed at Lance. Smiley asks again, what’s he doing here? And Wise just smiiiiles. Like he knew what was about to go down.”

Historically, those fighters are more likely to snap when provoked.

“—and let me tell you, it was brutal. The match starts, and within two minutes, Smiley is beating Lance’s face down to the first circle of hell. At the first drag-out, his work was done.

“Heard later that Q sent him to the hospital in the same condition Idise did ten years back—practically the same injuries. Did it in less than half the time it took her.”

Story ends with this guy getting sent to the hospital—all fucked up. Busted skull, broken wrists, nearly lost his eye…

“He disappeared again after that fight. I woulda too, if I left a guy looking like that.”

Not just entering the cage. The terrible things I’ve done to leave it.

“Is that why the yellow mask looks all…”

“Disgusting? Yeah. That thing was more red than yellow that night. They wash ‘em, but I doubt that stain will come out anytime soon. I thought they should just get a new one, but my influence ends at the top of the stairs, here.”

“What happened after?”

One of the swordsmen sent the other tumbling to the mat. The crowd roared as the downed fighter rolled left and right to avoid two-handed overhead strikes.

“Well, now that Lance was handled, everyone re-focused on where the hell Q went. Short of sending out Idise to go find him, we all tried to find out. But then… he just shows up one night, pretty girl in tow. Orders her hot soup and a hot toddy.” Kana winked at her just as the bell rang for the end of the match.

They applauded politely and spoke a little more freely now that they were in between matches. “That was the first anyone had seen of him outside the fights. Believe me, you were quite the gossip item. Especially when he started coming back to the gym, training again. Still wasn’t really talking to anybody, though.

“And then you showed up at the fights, and his whole deal changed when he started bringing you around. Follows you around like a puppy. Never seen him like that before.”

Osha could have sworn it was the other way around.

Before she could ask a single thing, a hush fell. The reverent silence that crashed over the crowd was the same as the one she felt a month ago. The masquerade is about to begin.

CHAPTER 15

#common grounds #osha x qimir #oshamir #oshamir fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #unhingery #the acolyte #the acolyte fanfiction

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punsmaster69 · 10 months ago

Text

19/JAN/20XX

playing horror games with undyne and alphys was a mistake. they can't figure out the puzzles, so they're just following the creature around and commenting on the size of its butt.

"it is a. creature."

"With an absolute DUMP TRUCK ASS dude!!"

"Sans, come look at this. It really does."

"one of us has to progress."

"Nonono it'll be fast, come-"

(sounds of undyne's character dying)

——

there was a bad thing in the distance and undyne chased after it. brought it back, got us all killed. the utter lack of self preservation skills may have not ended well for us, but it was funny.

——

continuing the trend of bad survival skills, undyne consistently charges into the dark because she 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 to see the jumpscares and creatures.

in case you were wondering, apparently none of them had the same "dump truck ass" the first one did.

——

[Slightly rushed handwriting.]

writing this through squinted sockets. after a nearly three hour match of cards, my eyes are strained enough to spread the pain around the rest of my head.

one can only die so many times in the same way before throwing in the towel, so we switched to cards.

it started off normal, but too many reverses combined with the loudest conversation i've had in a long time resulted in us not being sure who's turn it was even really supposed to be. had to pick an order at random.

"i've got the front lawn."

"What?"

" 's all green."

"DO NOT change it green, Alphy."

"do it."

"U-Um."

"do itt."

"I've ONLY got PISS cards PLEASE make it YELLOW!!"

"W-Well. Sans has all the green, and you have yellow."

"Which means I have b-basically neither of either color."

"Red."

"Damn it."

"draw your cards, undyne."

"I'm gonna end up with the whole deck at this rate!"

who owned more of the deck swapped around, mostly between me and undyne.

"that's it."

standing up from the floor.

"i win. i'm outta here."

dramatic bow.

"that's all for me, folks."

"Dang."

"good luck, you two."

i may have won, but second place was yet to be decided.

unfortunately, i wasn't sticking around long enough to find out who it'd be.

i'll probably hear about who it was later, probably via my phone blowing up with victorious calls and messages, or complete silence.

#undertale #journal #sans #undyne #alphys #alphyne #they are stupids :)

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crissiebaby · 1 month ago

Text

DiapOut: Chapter 40

DISCLAIMER: This series contains diaper usage, public humiliation, masturbation, WAM, hypermessing, crossdressing, mental regression, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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“CODE RED! I REPEAT, CODE RED!” yelled Jackson, forcing Keelee to rip her headset off to preserve her eardrums. As annoying as her director's frantic behavior was, he was right on the money. Win or lose, 50 points would be an insane deficit for either team to come back from. Whether Mia realized it or not, her big move was utterly game-breaking.

Not even the illustrious CassiRole could maintain a straight face as the microphone she held toward Mia’s mouth nearly slipped out of her hand. “O-Oh! Wow…that’s uh…wow,” she said, looking off-camera toward Keelee, who had nothing for her. “That’s a big risk you’re taking Mia…especially with a razor-thin lead. Are you sure its a risk is worth–”

“Absolutely,” said Mia defiantly, cutting off Cassi before the cunning host could make her second guess herself. She was tired of having the game manipulated in her favor, and the way she saw it, her performance in the upcoming challenge was just about the only thing production had zero control over. If she wins, great! That means she earned her win as well as the cash prize attached to it. If she loses, so be it. It wasn’t her money to begin with.

Suffice it to say, not all of Mia’s teammates saw her decision the same way. “WHY DO YOU HATE MONEY?!?!” screamed Ayaya, needing Lelaya to hold her back as she attempted to bum-rush the stage. She had kept her cool when both Mia and Lelaya had dumbly chosen not to pass their challenges onto the Messers, but this was egregious.

“Why’s Ayayayaya sho mad?” asked Misa, who’d barely been half paying attention up to this point. Her regressed brain had been too preoccupied with mooshing her ultra-thick surroundings of her and Mia’s conjoined diaper.

Reaching behind her to pet Misa’s head, Mia was unshaken from her decision. “So, are you guys just going to cut to us at the starting line or do you want to film us waddling across the studio? My thighs will still be burning with anticipation, after all,” she said with a smirk, glaring at Keelee with joyous malice.

The clipboard in Keelee’s hands strained to keep from snapping down the middle as she gazed upward at Mia and her insolent behavior. This was what she got for working with a bunch of diaper babies. “You heard the Baby New Year. I need lights and cameras on The Change-Off set yesterday, so move your asses,” she said, more than happy to reward Mia’s brattiness by giving her exactly what she was asking for. If this girl wanted to lose that badly, who was she to get in Mia’s way?

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“Alright, DiapOut fans! We’re back at the starting point of Round One, with Mia and her “plus 1” set to take on The Change-Off Gauntlet!” stated Cassi, standing atop the starting platform with Mia and Misa. “Unlike the first round, which saw one person from both teams assigned to each relay segment, Mia will have to race her way through the diaper drop, the pudding slide, and the lotion-covered staircase on her own in under three minutes…well, sort of. Luckily for our Baby New Year, she will have her best friend, Misa, by her side every step of the way.”

Shrinking in place next to Mia, Misa's anxiety was steady on the rise as she looked over the edge of the platform at the oversized diaper filled with chocolate pudding that was waiting for her at the bottom. “Too taww,” she said, clinging to Mia for comfort.

“Shhhh! It’s um…it’s okay. I’m here with you,” said Mia, attempting to pacify Misa’s nervous mental state with simple platitudes and a few awkward headpats; a caregiver she was not. In truth, she hadn’t really considered Misa’s feelings before pushing her into such a harrowing situation. Winning may not have been her priority but neither was tormenting her heavily hypnotized friend.

“Ahem,” grumbled Cassi, clearing her throat to quell Mia and Misa’s idle chit-chat so that she could finish reading the introduction. “Should she reach the top of the staircase in time to press the big red button waiting for her at the finish line, she will score a monstrous 50 points for her team, the Wetters. However, failure to complete your challenge in time will land you with quite a deficit. High risk, high reward!” Elevating the intensity of the moment with her speech, she had her audience eating out of the palm of her hand now more than ever. “Well, Mia, before we start, do you have any regrets about betting so many points?”

Staring into the camera boldly, Mia responded, “None whatsoever. We’re ready to play.” It was a far cry from the shy girl who could barely recite her name earlier that same day.

“Excellent! Then let’s not keep our viewers at home waiting any longer,” said Cassi, who was living for the drama that Mia was creating. Unlike her director and production manager, she couldn't care less if everything went according to plan. Chaos was more entertaining anyway. “On your marks…”

Rotating as much of her body toward Mia, the quickening pace of the show jolted Misa into panic mode. “Ch-Chus pwomise it’ww be okay?” she stuttered, tightening her grip around Mia’s waist.

“Get set…”

Mia may not have been a Big but that wasn’t going to stop her from looking out for her doe-eyed friend to the best of her abilities. “I promise. We’ll be at the bottom before you know it. Just hold onto me,” she said, wrapping both arms around Misa in preparation for the big jump.

“Go!”

“Jump!” shouted Mia, squinting her eyes closed as she attempted to leap from the platform. Sadly, despite the pep talk, Misa was less than forthcoming, resulting in both girls tumbling forward off the platform in the clumsiest fashion imaginable; far from a strong start. Much like before, the descent was over in seconds, engulfing both girls from head to toe in the ridiculously deep pudding pit. Chocolate sludge wormed its way into every nook and cranny of both their shared diaper and individual diapers, causing both girls to rise from and sink below the pudding’s surface several times before finding the edge.

Meanwhile, Cassi watched from atop the raised platform, giving her a birds-eye view of the entire obstacle course as she continued her teasing narration, “Uh oh! I guess Mia and Misa failed to calculate how heavy their CrissBaby Buddies Diaper was going to get! You’d think Mia would’ve had this down-pat after carting around that water-filled diaper for most of Round Three.” Her words stoked the audience’s ongoing laughter as they savored the blushy misery that had befallen the star contestant and her beloved bestie.

A trail of soupy pudding was left in Mia and Misa’s wake as they eventually managed to drag themselves out of the giant, crinkly nappy. Wheezing on the floor with her limbs sprawled out haphazardly, Mia felt like a fish drying out under the intense heat of the sun. Despite this, she was determined to get back up and moving. “C’mon, Misa. We gotta…UGH!” she stained, finding her pamper partner was more preoccupied than expected.

“Hehe, I wansa go again,” Misa said, giggling too hard to acknowledge the time-sensitive situation she was in. Her hips bucked and her lips trembled as she shoved her hand into the first layer of padding and pressed her fist into the base of her obscenely muddy diaper. The feeling was too good not to replicate, pushing her to grind against her fist over and over.

Knowing how mortified Misa would be to discover she started masturbating in a diaper while being filmed by multiple cameras, Mia needed to get the two of them going again pronto. “Um…Oh! Hey Misa, do you wanna play in even more pudding?” she said, using Misa’s salacious desires against her.

Unsurprisingly, Misa immediately nodded her head back and forth. “We gonsa do da jump some more?” she asked earnestly, her fear of heights now a forgotten memory.

“Even better,” replied Mia, pointing toward the large, butt-shaped slide with a stream of pudding running down its center. She didn’t feel great about manipulating Misa like this but desperate times called for desperate measures. Misa could bark at her later when she was spending her cut of the winnings.

Yoinking her arm free from her fudge-filled diaper, Misa’s baby brain instantly recognized the slide from earlier that day. Only now, those memories were tainted with arousal for all things squishy and messy. Scooping up her half of the bloated two-person diaper, she and Mia slowly crawled their way toward the mouth of the slide; their diaper was too heavy for them to even think about standing.

“Alright, let’s be smart about this,” said Mia, letting the oversaturated padding in her hands plop to the ground as she reached the edge of the slide. “If we lie down on the mat side by side, we can–HEY!”

Unfortunately for Mia, Misa had no intention of waiting for her to strategize. “Swide time!” she shouted, flopping over Mia as she tried to force her way down the slide.

Mia gasped as her lower half slipped into the running stream of pudding while pinned beneath Misa's body weight. “M-M-Misa! You gotta geoOohHHH!” she moaned, her tongue slipping from her mouth as the front hem of her diaper was blown open by the slide’s jet stream. Within seconds, her inner layer of padding was practically bursting with chocolate pudding exploding from each leg hole. Weakened by the bizarre form of stimulation, she quickly lost the fight against Misa’s body weight, causing her entire body to become submerged.

“Weee!” cheered Misa, throwing both hands up as she rocketed down the yummy slide while straddling Mia the entire time. Her fun wasn’t built to last, though, as she was promptly launched from her spot atop Mia’s hips at the bottom of the slide.

Wiping the chocolate-covered hair away from her face, Mia was finally given the chance to come up for air. “I don’t think…I can…do it…” she panted heavily, uncertain if she had it in her to complete the last leg of the race as she glanced at the slippery staircase up ahead.

“Oooh…my head…”

However, right as Mia was about to lose all hope, she was greeted by the sound of Misa’s grumpy voice absent any sort of speech impediment. “Wait! Misa, is that you?” she said, her tone flipping on a dime as she rushed to check on her best friend. Sure enough, the glaze that previously coated Misa’s eyes and kept her from focusing on anything had dissipated, leaving her as alert as she was when she first entered the studio. “Oh, thank Goddess! We were worried you’d never wake up.”

Having been thrown to the ground at such a speedy velocity, Misa’s adult brain had snapped back to reality. “W-Wake up…what are you…why am I…” she said wearily, losing track of any question that popped into her head as the shifting of her diaper crushed her beneath a tidal wave of euphoria. Sitting up with as much confusion on her face as there was pudding, she began to think back upon all the humiliating actions her body had made outside of her control; thoughts which served to heighten her sexual fervor.

“60 seconds left, Wetters! You’d better get your cabooses to the finish line fast!” announced Cassi, alerting Mia and Misa to the dwindling time they had.

Brushing off Misa’s amorous bewilderment. Mia had precious little time to explain the task at hand. “Misa, look at me! We can still win this thing but we have to move now!” she said, gesturing to the staircase with renewed vigor now that Misa’s mental faculties had returned. “Are you with me?”

With mere seconds to make her decision, Misa dug her teeth into the side of her cheek to distract her from her new, kinky interests. After going through diaper hell and back today, she wasn’t going to leave this place empty-handed. “Yeah…yeah, I’m with you,” she said, ready to finish this game once and for all.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Wetters: 161.1 (+/-60) points Messers: 156.7 (+/-10) points

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phillippadgettwrites · 1 year ago

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I love jealousy stories! Can you give us some good jealous Scully? Maybe it’s been stewing a long time or maybe Mulder got tired of her turning him down for dates and starts stating someone else. Just make her seethe with jealousy please???

One for The Road

Rated X / 3429 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Scully dials the number for the house phone from memory, then takes a big gulp of her wine. She listens to it ring once, twice, three times, four. She knows the machine will pick up after the fifth ring, and she prepares to hang up before she hears the outgoing message. Either she’ll hear her own voice, which will make her sad because he still hasn’t changed it, or she’ll hear his voice, which will make her sad because he has. She’s halfway through the fifth ring, about to pull the phone away from her ear, when he finally answers.

“Hello?” he says breathlessly, like he was running for the phone.

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out right away. She closes her eyes and forces herself to speak before either he hangs up, or she loses her nerve completely. “Mulder, it’s me.”

There’s a pause that’s a bit too long for her liking. Longer than a “shocked but happy to hear from you” pause. More of a “shocked and wondering why I’m hearing from you” pause.

“Scully,” he finally says, her name leaving his mouth on a blustering breath. “It’s been a while. Are you okay?”

A little pang of something painful and beautiful spikes in her chest. He still cares about her. At least there’s that.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she reassures him. “How are you doing?”

She closes her eyes as she waits for his answer, unsure how explicit it might be. She wants to know, but she also vehemently doesn’t. If only there were some way to have both at once. Shroedinger’s knowledge of your ex’s love life.

“I’m good,” he says, a polite non-answer. The kind you give to the checker at the grocery store or the coworker you don’t really like. The kind you give to your former partner who cut contact with you months ago to preserve her own sanity.

“That’s good,” she says, disgusted by their milquetoast small talk. They used to talk about everything, and now they don’t talk at all. She takes another gulp of her wine.

He waits for her to explain why she called, and she waits for him to ask.

“Did you need something?” he says when the silence becomes unbearable.

I need you to wait patiently for me forever, she thinks. I need you to never, ever love anyone else.

“I found some things of yours,” she says tightly, then clears her throat. “I must have accidentally packed them. I thought maybe you’d like to come by and get them.”

She already hates herself for being so petty. So immature. It’s really not like her, but then again she’s never loved anyone in her life the way she loves him. She’s never lost someone it hurts this much to lose.

Mulder makes a little curious sound, and she feels hopeful that her plan will work.

“What things?” he asks.

“Um, some knick knacks,” she says, glancing at the pile of junk she managed to assemble. “A couple things you used to keep on your desk at the Hoover. Odds and ends. Sentimental things.”

Mulder has become increasingly sentimental with age. Year over year she continued to find little treasures tucked away around the house that looked to her like trash, but that he begged her not to throw out. She wasn’t sure whether to be touched or horrified when she found out he’d stashed the panties she was wearing the first time they had sex in a shoebox next to a set of tickets from a Knicks game he took her to—their first “real” date.

“I hadn’t noticed they were missing, so I guess I don’t really need them,” he says, and she can picture him running his hand over the back of his neck as he’s prone to doing when he’s debating something. “You can keep them or throw them out, whatever you want.”

Her heart sinks. She was fairly certain he’d take the bait. Things he kept on his desk at the Hoover. That should have been irresistible.

“Will you please come get them?” she says in a low, melancholy voice. “I don’t think I can bring myself to throw them out, but having them here is…It’s still difficult, Mulder.”

She’s not really putting on an act as much as she’s dropping it, but the impact is the same. He hears the hurt in her voice, the acknowledgement that she misses him and mourns their ruined relationship, and even if he’s no longer moved by her ten year old panties, he’s moved by her.

He’s quiet for a few beats, and when he says, “Yeah, okay,” she has to suppress a victorious whoop. “Can I come by now? I can be there in half an hour.”

“Okay,” she says quickly, “Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as she hangs up, she drains her glass and pours another, then hurries to her bedroom to get dressed. She needs something sexy, but casual enough that it won’t look like she’s trying too hard. And she needs her water bra.

This is all very much beneath her, she’s marginally aware of that. It’s quite pathetic, actually, and she should probably be ashamed of herself, but she’s not. She just has a very deeply held conviction that Mulder belongs with her, and thus any other woman who weasels her way into his life is encroaching on Scully’s territory. She doesn’t think this consciously—that would be far too catty and anti-feminist. But clearly that’s how she feels, given the way she’s responding to the news that Mulder has a girlfriend.

She hasn’t spoken to him in months, not since the night that she tearfully told him she’s afraid she’ll spend the rest of her life mourning the loss of him if she doesn’t get some space from it. And space he has given her: complete radio silence. She was starting to think she was doing much better, maybe even truly moving on, but then she ran into Debra Kaufman at the Shop N Save and nearly dropped an entire carton of eggs on the floor when Debra asked her if she’d, “Met Fox’s new thing.”

“I’m sorry?” she’d said stupidly, open carton of eggs in hand, waiting to be examined for cracks.

“Oh, I figured you’d have met her since I see you over there all the time. You still drive the gray Explorer?” Debra had asked, one hand on her rounded hip.

Scully felt heat rise to her cheeks at the realization that her Wednesday night drive-bys weren’t as covert as she’d thought they were.

“Yes, but I haven’t had the pleasure,” she said blandly. “How long has he…” she started, then caught herself. Gossiping in the grocery aisle is hardly her style.

Debra layed a sympathetic hand on Scully’s forearm and smiled at her sadly, which made Scully’s eyes immediately well with tears.

“A couple months,” Debra said gently. “She’s a nice gal, but not nearly as pretty as you.”

Scully stands in her walk-in closet, wine in hand, and flips through skirts and dresses, slim-fitting slacks and casual sweaters. She’s not totally sure what her goal is, she just knows that if Mulder is dating, he must be doing much better. And if he’s doing that much better, maybe when he looks at her there will be something behind his eyes again. And maybe if he sees her, and if he feels that thing he forgot how to feel, and if she sees him feeling it, then maybe there’s still hope.

She picks up something she bought on a whim but has never worn: a black velour jumpsuit with a deep neckline and three-quarter sleeves. When she tried it on in the fitting room she felt bold and sexy, but outside of her fantasies she rarely has occasion for either boldness or sexiness these days. When she imagines Mulder seeing her in it she feels excited, and so the choice is made.

She puts on heels and his favorite perfume, and decides that if he comments on her appearance she’ll tell him she’s going out tonight. Maybe she’ll let him think she has a date, depending how things go. She’s examining herself in the full length mirror, admiring the way the jumpsuit hugs her ass, when she hears the doorbell. She pulls the door open prepared to put on an air of sexy aloofness, but the second she lays eyes on him her unaffected facade crumbles.

He looks good. Really good. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a fitted white T-shirt, and his face is clean-shaven. She can already smell his cologne, the one he used to wear before William, and between the reaction from her heart and her cunt she’s disoriented and lovesick.

Realizing that she’s staring, she snaps her eyes up to his face to find him taking similar stock of her body, his eyes lingering on the deep V of her jumpsuit where she’s pushed as much of her cleavage as possible to center stage. She pulls in a deep breath and he clears his throat, averting his eyes to the door jam and then back to her face.

“Hey,” he says with a bob of his head, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets.

“Hi,” she says back, trying to regain composure. “Please, come in.”

He hesitates, giving her a quick head-to-toe glance before he steps through the threshold. Scully walks down the hall toward the living room and he follows behind her, so she makes a point of switching her hips.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she calls over her shoulder, then bends down to pick up a small box full of the items she used to lure him here.

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” he says haltingly. She looks over her shoulder and catches him staring at her ass. “I have somewhere to be.”

She stands up and turns around, propping the box on her hip. She hadn’t planned to ask about her, but it just comes out.

“Plans with your girlfriend?” she says tartly, and she gets some satisfaction from the panicked look on his face. He doesn’t want her to know, which she takes to mean something.

But then the panic fades into irritation. His jaw shifts and eyes harden a little.

“You’re the one who wanted out, Scully,” he says, indignant, “not me.”

It hits her like a slap in the face. She never wanted out. In her experience, it was him who left her, mentally and emotionally if not physically.

“Well,” she says tightly, handing him the box, “it seems like you’re doing much better than you were before.”

“I am,” he says. “But I seem to recall some stipulation about sticking around for better or for worse. I don’t think you’re supposed to pick and choose.”

Her throat is becoming too tight, warning her of impending tears. He’s being uncharacteristically mean, and she doesn’t understand why.

“I tried, Mulder,” she squeaks, then swallows against the lump in her throat. “I held on as long as I could.”

His shoulders drop and his face falls. He shifts the box to his other arm, and she can tell that he’s debating hugging her.

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry.” He looks at his watch and clucks his tongue. “I have to get going. Sorry I can’t stay longer.”

She nods and follows him back to the door, and then out into the driveway. He unlocks his car and then leans across the driver’s seat to set the box on the passenger side, and Scully takes the opportunity to both admire his ass and scan the interior of the car for any feminine looking items. Mulder rights himself and turns around, leaning against the open door frame.

“It was good to see you,” he says earnestly. His eyes flash over her body so quickly she could have blinked and missed it. “You look good,” he adds.

Scully looks down at her own outfit, smoothing her hands over her hips.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You do, too.”

“I’ve been running again,” he says. “I’m training for a half-marathon, actually.”

This makes her smile.

“That’s good, Mulder,” she says. “I’m really glad that you’re doing well.”

He smiles back, nods. There’s a little beat of hesitation before he steps forward and opens his arms, and she falls against his chest with a heavy sigh. Her arms wind around his rib cage and she squeezes him tight. He smells like home, feels like safety. She doesn’t ever want to let go. But she feels him loosen his grip on her, so she does the same, leaning away a little until she can see his face. He looks right into her eyes, really sees her, for the first time in a long time, and she’s missed him so, so terribly much. She remembers his girlfriend, some nameless, faceless woman who wasn’t there for all the hard parts, but is getting the best version of him now, and it makes her angry. It’s not fair. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to get better and come back to her.

Continue Reading on AO3

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic #smut

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