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manicpixiefelix · 5 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 2.

Summary: Felix and Y/N's first year of university means being more open with how close they are, while perhaps growing a little more distant than Felix would like. Also the Catton family have bestowed Y/N their own title, which Felix hates, and Y/N and Farleigh have a moment of connection over Christmas.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader with Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh in this chapter. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: Smut (reader bottoming but their gender is not made explicit), Degrading language (reader is referred to as as dog & pet)

A/N: 3071 words. i definitely meant to get to the start of their second year/first run in with Oli..... but this chapter got long enough, so instead we'll meet Oliver at the start of the next chapter and instead we get Felix and Reader at university, best friends who hook up shenanigans, Venetia being a pot-stirrer because she likes to rile up her brother, and Farleigh and Y/N bonding and boning. i feel like the pacing is a bit strange so id love some feedback <3 ALSO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UK COLLEGE CALANDERS IM SO SORRY LOL

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy @callsignwidow @moviequotes23 @325575 @bonnieblue0606 @osoqueen125 @hot-dino-nuggies @darkness-falls-xo

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To absolutely no-ones surprise, least of all yours, Felix takes to the social aspects of college like a duck to water. Neither of you missed a single day or night of activities during first year orientation, and you both left the various pubs and bars with a different hook up each night.

Felix sees a poster for a band in town, and crows with laughter as he talks about how his mother would hate if he ever got a piercing, but you know the look in his eye too well, and tell him there's a piercing place a block away.

"God I miss Farleigh," you sigh with a smile, watching him size himself up in the mirror of the tattoo parlour where the piercer had drawn approximate dots to mark his soon-to-be eyebrow piercing.

"Oh he'd love this, wouldn't he?" Felix agrees, grinning from ear to ear, catching your gaze in the reflection. Despite the piercer's reassurance that it doesn't actually hurt that bad, Felix plays up the bit of being concerned, insisting that you hold his hand.

It's easier in this environment to be affectionate. Perhaps its the way that all nights liked to blur together, lips and teeth and tongues and hands, and you find yourself invited to parties and into bedrooms and Felix is in the crowd, pupils wide and drugs in his blood and knowing you can take care of yourself.

Fruit flies mistaking his light in the night for the rot they're used to.

That being said, while of course Felix is gorgeous and the life of the party, your own magnetic aura and love features draw in your own crowd of admirers; you proximity to Felix was merely a perk.

You yourself find yourself blooming at college; with a far stronger sense of identity than you'd had for most of your teenage years, you shed many of your adolescent insecurities and begin to embrace yourself and the people around you as more than just Felix's friends.

"I miss you," he teases, eyes shiny and pupils huge, looking at you with that look that made everyone else weak in the knees. The two of you are crammed too close in a booth at a club, everyone else having left to dance or find something interesting to snort in the bathrooms.

"I'm always around, Fi," you murmur, just as high, lips twisted into a bleary smile, your finger beneath his chin to lift his face to you.

"They love you here," he grinned, lips inches from yours, skin glowing with sweat from the adrenaline and high of the night, "knew they would," it's not especially jealous, more proud, and you sigh against his lips with the kind of warm contentment his praise always brings you.

"Don't care if they love me," you say, very tellingly, voice low and flirty. Anyone could see the two of you, but the unspoken rules of high school had fallen away; the rules of college seemed to prioritise a lack of judgement, especially with the people you surrounded yourself with. Felix giggles, flushing red, leaning into your touch, leaning even heavier against you in the little, otherwise empty booth.

"You miss me, Fi?" You prompt, letting his face go as you wrap an arm around him, drawing you in close to him. Despite his height, he folds himself up to lean into you. Felix giggles again, mostly to himself, clearly shitfaced, without answering, he angles his face up to press a kiss to your neck, "we see each other every day, we still fuck around, we -"

"Do you think I could live without you?" He asks suddenly, and surprisingly frankly. His chin is on your shoulder, eyes wide and demanding an answer. It's not a joke, nor some strange attempt at flirting, and your throat turns dry as the lights spin around you both.

"You're drunk," you tell him gently, "and high."

"Why would I ask that?" He frowns, suddenly, sitting up, as if he's talking more to himself than you, "that's a fucked question actually, sorry Y/N, I shouldn't have -"

"I think it's more about how you feel about it." You tell him gently, "we should get water. You sit here, I'll get it."

You're unsteady on your feet when you head to the bar, collecting two cups of water, almost overflowing, from the end, trying not to think about it all. It didn't matter either way, how he thought or felt about it. It was a foolish, drunken question, it doesn't matter. Right?

Except he's bopping back and forth in his seat, tapping the rhythm with surprising success on the table top, eyes shining in the light where all he seems to look at is you. Felix grin wide and bright, thanks already in his smile before the words reach his lips as you sit back down next to him.

You could live without him, but you know you'd never want to, so long as he'd want you around.

"Think I'd rather die than live without you," he says with little prompting, holding the cup with both hands as he downs half in a single gulp. What?

"What?"

He turns those perfect, brown eyes upon you like you don't already live your life in his shape, like he hadn't validated every choice you'd made since you'd met him. He smiles.

"You're my best mate, you're always good to me and help me with shit and never get mad at all the dumb ideas I have and you've made sure I haven't gotten kicked out of any schools, even if I probably deserved it," he rambles and takes another drink, this time choosing to look out at the nauseating crowd of haze and lights and bodies, "I love you, I don't think I could live without you."

"Is that why you miss me?" Your voice is barely audible above the music, but Felix still hears it. Putting his mostly empty cup on the table, he shoves his shoulder against yours, refusing to let up until his full weight is against you, the two of you toppling down in the booth, him draped over you wearing the absolute goofiest grin. It's a good reminder that you're both incredibly drunk.

"Just miss you."

You stumble out of the bar together, and back to the dorms. Felix is insistent that you stay with him.

"No funny business," he mumbles against your ear, breath hot and smirk in his voice, "promise."

"You couldn't get it up if you tried," you snorted, "whiskey dick." Though he tries to protest, you gently elbow him in the ribs and he sulkily admits that you're probably right. Still, in the warmth of his room and the two of you stripped to your underwear, it's kind of irresistible to not make out like teenagers for a good while. You get you both glasses of water to put on the nightstand, and Felix tells you he loves you while on the brink of sleep.

"Love you too, Fi."

"Couldn't live without you, meant it," he hiccups, cracking an eye to smirk up at you from where he's splayed out on the bed, "probably."

"Don't think I could live without you either," you shuffle yourself into the bed beside him, letting him roll over to wrap an arm around you, "even if you are a fucking wanker sometimes," you grin, and hear him laugh into his pillow.

Felix has more game than anyone you've ever met without even trying, stealing and breaking hearts from all areas of the university. You watch it happen with amusement as you find your own slew of pretty guys and girls to keep you company when you feel like it. Still, for all the charisma and charm Felix had been blessed with, his touch-starved nature becomes both a blessing and a curse when he finds himself drunk and tactile and desperate for touch.

A desperate, affection Felix loses all of those carefully-curated social barriers that the two of you had put between yourselves as teenagers in public. Girls are more open and supportive around here; perhaps you should be offended, that many, once they learn he's prone to clinging to you, to kissing you, they end up rationalising it. It doesn't count.

Or perhaps they think they can shift the affection to themselves. Felix always learns to be more affectionate to them, but will find himself with you more often than he's not.

And those girls don't even know about the sex.

"I think about you," he huffs between short, jagged breaths, with you bent over the end of his bed, "is that weird?"

His latest breakup isn't even twelve hours old yet, but when you'd showed up at his room with a six-pack of beers and the offer to let him vent, he'd taken it without hesitation. While they hadn't been going out for long, she'd been pretty, but an apparently lousy fuck. When you'd jokingly offered to remind him what a decent lay was like, Felix had genuinely jumped at the chance.

"A bit - ah," you mused for a moment, hips rocking back to meet his in a pleasant rhythm. He takes a pause to tap one of your ankles with his foot, and you adjust your stance to be a bit wider, "what context? Just in general - fuck, Fi, there," and you find yourself lost for words as he presses his hand against the small of your back. His pace remains steady as he fucks you, and you obliging lean further down; he knows you well, know how to fuck you just the way you both enjoy.

Then you're in his bed, straddling him, riding him with his hands on your hips, your thighs, bouncing as his nails dig pleasantly into your skin.

"Think about me?" You finally continue, breathless, and something about the way he holds you steady, lets you pause as he laughs, flushed cheeks growing even more read, makes you grin too, "you mean like this, don't you?" And you rolled your hips, eliciting a groan from him that was like music to your ears.

"Shut up," he'd laughed, giving you a squeeze, unable to meet your gaze.

"Did you ever call out my name?" You lean down, across him, and for a moment his hands slide up your body to wrap around your neck, bringing you in for a gentle kiss.

"Thankfully not."

"Still, those poor girls," you teased.

"Poor me," Felix argued, "having to try and power through terrible sex while thinking about someone who's not even there, just because I know you're better at it," and he played at pouting for a moment, looking for sympathy.

"You really didn't have to tell me all this," you laughed, sitting back up and setting a gentle pace, smiling down at him, "you're such a perv." When his fingertips trail down your body, a shiver runs down your spine. There's this look in his eyes for just a moment, something knowing, something teasing, something you'd seen on occasion that made you feel so wanted and seen and -

He likes you knowing.

"You gonna give me something to think about?" That tone of voice, the teasing, the faintest hint of authority, like he's pretending like he doesn't know all the ways you'd debauch yourself if only he asked.

Venetia gets you a collar for Christmas, and Farleigh's already been kicked out of several universities by the time your first Winter break had arrived.

"Oh Pet, that's so cute," Elspeth coos at the designer, velvet collar that Venetia had smugly handed over while Felix had scowled, "is that Cartier?" Much to Felix's dismay, Elspeth and Sir James have apparently taken to calling you Pet as a pet name. He blames his sister entirely.

"Pet's easier, sweetheart," Elspeth had tried to argue when you'd sat down at your first breakfast of the Winter break at Saltburn, and she'd asked Duncan 'don't forget about our dear pet'. Naturally Felix had frowned the entire time while arguing with his parents, who insisted it's easier to use Pet than a whole new set of names and pronouns.

"It's been years mum, how have you not adjusted?" He demands, while you have shrunken in your chair and tried to divine life's secrets from your breakfast.

"What do you think, Pet?" Venetia said with a venomous kind of sweetness. Looking up at her, she's wearing this smug kind of smile, directed not at you but at Felix next to you. When you look to him, you see Farleigh across the table trying to hide his amusement in several pieces of toast eaten with no break in between.

"I think," you paused, looking past an annoyed Felix to his mother at the head of the table, "that if you want to call me Pet, you can, I think it's sweet, but please don't expect Felix to refer to me as such," you said with a surprising amount of firmness. Then after a beat of surprise from the rest of the table, you took a deep breath, "and for events and guests, I really wouldn't appreciate being introduced as such."

"Of course," Elspeth quickly amends, adding, "Y/N," for good measure.

"It's a pet name, Pet," Sir James gives an awkward little smile, nodding in agreement. Farleigh met your gaze for a moment, and you could see only the bread was keeping his laughter from spilling out. Beside you, Felix relaxes, and finally you look at him. Dark, serious eyes, with something grateful shining faintly in the morning sun.

Of course you let him throw Venetia's collar gift in the fire in front of her, despite her protests.

You get used to the sweet way the Cattons refer to you as Pet; as much as Felix despised it's connotations when it came from his sister, there was something comforting, something almost secure about the way the whole family had picked it up so easily.

"Was wondering where I'd find you," Farleigh's voice is warm while you're raiding the expansive kitchen for some kind of easy midnight snack. You could have asked one of the many staff members who reside on the property, but you hadn't wanted to bother them over probably some crisps.

"Farleigh!" You light up upon hearing his voice, turning, refrigerator door still open in your hand. He approaches, and you close the refrigerator, hugging him tightly, "oh this is great, it's been so long since it's been just us!"

"Darling pet," he says with a surprising amount of gentleness.

"You should come to Oxford, Fi and I miss you terribly," you tell him, leaning into his touch with a sincere smile as he holds your face gently, while you still hold him is a loose embrace.

"I've already been accepted into another college; you'll be fine without me," and he grins, kissing you on the nose, pressing a kiss to each cheek, "pet." He adds, almost to himself, and your face falls as you think about what he'd said.

"Everything's better with you," you insist, "and you'd love it; we could party like we did that Summer in France, but every weekend -!" Farleigh cuts you off with his lips against yours; you can taste the sweet smile he's wearing before he deepens the kiss.

Later, in Farleigh's bed, bathed in moonlight and the afterglow, you light up a cigarette and open his window.

"Fucking freezing," Farleigh mutters.

"Sorry," but you don't close the window. Silence stretches out between you both. You hope Farleigh enjoyed himself, hope he's happy -

"You don't need them," he says quietly, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, you breathe out a lungful of smoke and turn to him with a frown, "this family; we all know where you're from. You don't need them." There's something strange about his tone, clearing his throat when he finally looks at you, "but you still want them to love you."

"They're good to me," you finally say, dropping your gaze as you reach back to offer the cigarette, "to us," you tell him, and he hums with the smoke in his lungs. Then, taking back the cigarette, you inhale the sour-sweet smoke and tap off the ash off the window sill.

"I'm not their fucking dog, Farleigh," you mumble, surprising frustration escaping you, anger you hadn't even realised you were holding on to.

"I know, pet," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, "you'll let them think they have you kept, but you're not their dog, I know."

"I like you, Farleigh," you say with a faint smile, leaning back to see the way he's grinning too, "and I love you a bit as well I think."

"I know, I love you too, Y/N."

"We miss you a lot." There's something about the quiet that follows your words that you know all too well; Farleigh's about to tease you for something. Probably Felix related.

As if on cue;

"Does he know you like being his dog?" Grin widening, Farleigh gives you a slight shove, though the truth of his words has you hiding your own embarrassed smile.

"He thinks it's an insult to me, which is sweet of him," you chuckled, and Farleigh eases the cigarette from your fingers, "but it's like he has no idea the effect he's had on me for over a decade now. Yeah, I'm my own person, I have hobbies and friends outside of him, but -"

"You're a service bottom and desperately in love," Farleigh cuts in with a surprisingly sage tone, nodding like he hadn't absolutely called you out. Shocked with his vulgar kind of accuracy, you practically shove him out of the bed, laughing that he needs to fuck off, and the discussion is left at that.

The next morning, sitting down to breakfast, Duncan quietly informs Sir James that there had been a disturbance during the night. Immediately you throw Farleigh under the bus and declare that it's his fault.

"Hey!" He shouts back, grinning, "it takes two to fuck in the kitchen!" Which has all four of you, Venetia, Felix, Farleigh, and yourself, cracking up with laughter as Elspeth and Sir James were exasperated by your collective antics.

There is so much affection in Felix's eyes in this moment, this simple, strange moment of admitted sexual deviance. Except it's never felt like that to either of you. It's one of the ways you've both shown love, and he loves that you love those closest to him.

And you love to make him happy.

Farleigh was right, not that you'd ever tell him.

#felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start imagine #farleigh imagine #farleigh start x you #farleigh x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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rqnvindr · 8 months

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fountain of tears

pairing: neuvilette x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff/comfort

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: neuvilette finds you standing by the fountain, alone the rain after an argument. his hidden turmoil can only be solved by hearing your voice again, tender, and unfiltered.

warnings: archon quest spoilers, arguments

a/n: I HAVEN'T POSTED ANY WRITING IN AGES BUT I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR MY OTTER HUBBY! enjoy!!

"this is pointless. i'm out."

your words wound neuvilette, the pain shooting deep into his bones. they ring over and over again in his conscious, louder than any vibration that had ever emanated from his cane to resume order during a trial. he sits in his office trying to work, but his thoughts don't subside, not one bit.

he ponders, staring at the stacks of papers in front of him, documents regarding cases that needed to be reviewed in due time. but not today. the amount of time he had in between today's working hours and the next trial reassured him that he could hyper-fixate on the last thing you said to him before storming out the door.

it's strange that he isn't worried for your safety as much as he is over the feelings rooted in your actions. the chief justice knows that humans are more fragile than those who have lived for eons. those who have experienced centuries of change were capable of adapting to different and unexpected circumstances through changing forms, and bestowing ancient powers of the past that contained the wisdoms and strength needed to guide them. he should be more concerned for where you could've possibly have gone within the last day. but he knows that you are also acquainted with a certain traveler that had recently arrived in fontaine and caused an uproar with the hydro archon in court already, everyone was. there's no way they could've left now, taking you with them on their travels. they still had unanswered questions left for lady furina. it is still a possibility though that you're at least staying with them, since you two were in good graces.

you weren't from fontaine though, and the image of you packing your bags and going home by yourself made him shiver. you did say you were heading "out" after all. he had to consider all of the possibilities.

neuvilette was new to human relationships. how long did it take for humans to draw the line? it varies for everyone, since they are given the freedom to dictate their personal connections to others to a certain degree. but how much was too much for you? when it came to you, he not only wanted to understand humans more, but also just you. he wanted to delve into all of your laughter, all of your worries, all of the sighs that escaped your pretty lips. to grasp it and memorize it all, was his greatest desire.

without you, he would basically lose his purpose for inserting himself into the realm of mortality. you already got him this far, and on top of that, he concluded that you were causing him to feel foreign emotions from removing yourself from his sight. even if it hurt, this was a test included in his journey that he had to endure.

but neuvilette does not want to face the predicament without a resolution. instead of wallowing, he decides to leave his office. he was already working overtime anyway, hoping to just drown in reading the same pages over and over again to keep himself grounded. was he always this sensitive? in his mind, he imagined the beings of the past looking down on him.

it's pouring rain when neuvilette steps outside. ah right. he doesn't need another reminder that his sorrows inconvenience the ordinary citizens of fontaine, who are just trying to make it to work on time, rush their loved ones to the doctor, and just go about their lives without the weather impeding on them. people barely carry umbrellas though, they're all accustomed to this and it's too unpredictable (at least for them it is).

he decides to start backwards, far away from the court of fontaine. he heads to the opera house first, and he finds you on the first try. how could he ever mistake you for someone else? you're the only person he has eyes for. especially when you're standing by the fountain of lucine, and carrying a distinct umbrella in a small crowd of people, most of whom appear to be flocked around the opera house's entrance, probably catching magic shows and other performances.

neuvilette is uneasy when he notices how close you're standing to the fountain. you're inevitably drawn to the grand structure that welcomes audiences from within the borders of the land and beyond to the renowned location. the spectacle that delivers the arts and the law all the same. but beneath its beauty lies danger that erases those who get too close. many fontainians had lost their lives from seeking the wonders of what lay beneath the waters that decorate and surround the hydro region itself. by wanting to delve deeper into it, they subsequently drowned, their lifeforce dissipating into the shackles of the streams. both the knowns and the unknowns of the primordial sea were sufficient reasons to express caution towards the lands waters, even if one was not a native who was subject to becoming one with their origins.

if you were to become the next victim, the rain would proceed to crash down and become one with the fountain in a continuous flow of precipitation. and then fontaine would be known as "the land of storms" rather than "the land of justice".

as he approaches the fountain, neuvilette's desire to pull you away and drag you back to him with no hesitation stirs. yet, it immediately dissipates when you turn your head, and give him what he guesses is a contemplative look. the white-haired man chooses his words carefully. giving you a lecture about the rumored dangers of the fountain's ability to dissolve human beings would only alarm you. he should use the rain as an excuse to find somewhere safer, if you still weren't ready to return to your shared residence.

"it-"

"i know. you're going to ask why i'm standing out here as if it isn't pouring rain." neuvilette barely gets a syllable out before you take the words right out of his mouth. you guys always had a habit of finishing each other's sentences, and even in a moment as anxiety-inducing as trying to make amends when you were mad at him, his heart melts. goodness, why did you have to be so lovely?

"if i were to let the rain impede everything, i guess i'd be a shut-in." you shrug. "it's been raining non-stop for the past couple of days. and no one seems to question it, so i just go along with it as if it's completely normal for it to be bright and sunny one day, and then cloudy and rainy the next day."

when you finish your thoughts, neuvilette still waits for you to continue. he was somewhat relieved that you were able to talk to him normally, but knew that there had to be more you had to say. were you going to officially end things between you two? say that you needed more time to think about the state of your relationship? he wasn't going to talk you out of anything, or start a debate. he respected your decision no matter what, even if it were to sting, he had to hear it. and the conversation had to go somewhere if he also wanted to deliver his side as well.

"i have heard some of the locals say though, that whenever it rains in fontaine, it is because the hydro dragon is crying." you say, as you gaze up at the sky. "i don't know if you have ever heard of it, but if such a tale were to be true, then i wonder what he could be going through for it to be pouring rain every other day."

neuvilette hopes he hid how quickly he blinked. normally he was good at hiding his reactions to hearing this "legend". although he never wanted to hide anything from you, the truth behind the mysterious precipitation was something he hadn't had the best opportunity to tell you about.

"yes, this is an old legend indeed. i often hear parents and caretakers telling this to children, whenever it's too wet to play outside." this was as much as the chief justice could water it down. he really did not want to lie before approaching a sensitive topic.

"as much as i would love to continue hearing the knowledge you have extracted from your time here, i have come here with another objective." neuvilette says. "i wanted to apologize for upsetting you. i have also been worried about you for the past few days. you do not have to disclose your whereabouts from the period in which we were apart, but i am happy that you're safe."

"it's alright, really." you reply calmly. "i was also in the wrong for storming out like that and not communicating with you. i was pretty upset, yeah, but i should've just told you that. i'm sorry for being immature and leaving you in the dark."

neuvilette notices tears streaming down your eyes. as your head tilts downward, they drop to the ground and blend in with the rain droplets. instead of offering you his handkerchief, he gently caresses both sides of your face with his gloved hands. you lean into his touch more, until you're wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace, letting your umbrella drop to the ground. he reciprocates, stiffly at first, but then holds you with no intentions of letting you go.

you're no longer choking back sobs, and then the sky clears up as the rain comes to a stop. you pull away from the hug to observe the sky, staying connected with your hands intertwined this time.

"wow...the hydro dragon must have been distraught watching us as if we were his new favorite play or something." you laugh.

neuvilette chuckles, knowing that you would of course find the occurrence to be a mere coincidence. "it seems that he must be quite fond of you, my dear."

"well, i'm already taken so i guess he will have to stick to me being his favorite character." you shrug obliviously with a smile.

as your lover, neuvilette has adjusted to being more vulnerable with you. you had seen the good and the bad sides of him, the latter especially during the latest argument that the two of you had now cleared up. and even then, you still let him back in. he doesn't have to worry about baring his entire soul to you now, and will slowly navigate you through his past and identity as the hydro dragon, who entered human society as the iudex. the vulnerable figure whose emotions affect the weather, and struggles to connect with others. you're the one worthy of knowing the truth though, and he makes a promise to himself to never hide anything from you from here on out.

#genshin impact #genshin spoilers #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fluff #neuvilette #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette fluff #neuvilette imagines #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette fics #neuvilette angst

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julianalvarez9 · 11 months

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three of us / john stones

summary: keeping secrets from john is never easy, but telling the news is much sweeter after the treble. wc: 900 words mentions of: the ucl final, kinda planned pregnancy, established couple.

today was the day: the champions league final.

john had been waiting for it ever since that dreadful match against chelsea in 2021, when the other english team got crowned. they had to swallow the bitter taste of the loss, while seeing their rivals bask in the rays of victory and history, in equal parts.

this time around, though, it was different.

not only the vibes were different -the entire club had this strange aura only winning teams had, which was backed by their evergrowing cabinet they were filling with trophies almost every week now-, but the players, too. they trusted each other, knew each other by heart, almost having the capacity of anticipating what the other would do, and thus, being able to cover for them in case things got out of hand unexpectedly.

but you didn't really see john in a different light until recently, when you found out you were expecting your first child.

after finding out you were pregnant two weeks ago, you figured it would be better to keep it quiet. at least, after the finals: john was too focused on it, anyways, and you didn't want to bring him any more pressure he didn't need. but also, you wanted to tell him in some meaningful way, and you were too busy right now to figure out how to do it.

luckily, your symptoms weren't strong; you didn't have any food aversion or morning sickness that could alert your partner. but today, after the 95 minutes ended and the whistle was blown, signaling the end of the match, your eyes started to pour.

truth be told, your eyes had started to get a bit glassy when you saw kevin fall to the floor in the first half. you knew the functioning of the team by having seen them almost every weekend when you were cheering for your boyfriend, so you knew something was wrong when the belgian didn't quite have the ball on his feet as much as usual. obviously, it could have been due to inter's plan in defense, but you just knew something was off.

when the whistle was heard across the stadium, all emotions got loose. it truly felt like the stars all aligned, and it couldn't have gone another way. the family box for the man city players started getting empty soon enough, and you knew everyone was running towards the pitch, to give the champions of europe their deserved congratulations.

it wasn't long until you found your boyfriend, the biggest smile on his face that only seemed to grow ten times bigger when he saw you getting closer. his long legs helped him reach you even before you could take two steps to get to him. "you did it!” you squealed, engulfing him in your arms. he had to hunch a bit to get himself to your size, and do what he meant to do all along: grab your head in between his hands to plant the biggest kiss to your lips. “you don't know how proud of you i am!" you get to say, before he’s bringing you back in for another bone-crushing hug.

"you're part of this, you know?" he says, his big, blue eyes boring into yours. his forehead is resting against yours softly, and it feels like it’s only you two inside the stadium where the match had taken place. "should i start calling you champion of europe now?" you joke, and john laughs at your quip, head tilted back and all.

"i think it'd be fine if you continue calling me love, sweetheart".

that’s when it occurs to you. you won’t get a better moment than this to announce the sweet news. you two wanted this for so long, it doesn't make sense to wait for another occasion, planning a big announcement when it feels like the correct timing is right now.

"what if i have another nickname for you in a couple months?".

john tilts his head in confusion, backing off a bit to see your face and reactions more clearly. "in a couple of months? why not now?" he asks, and you grin at his dumbfounded face. "they're a bit small now,” you begin, and he opens his eyes wide. “they won't use it for a couple of months…".

"they?" he smiles, while bringing you closer to him, hiding your stomach by his larger frame. he was gripping at your waist before, ever since he caught hold of your figure, but now he's drawing little circles with his thumbs. you don't really know if the loving gesture is due to the implication, or he's just mindlessly doing it. still, it warms your heart, just like the way he's looking into your eyes with his bright, hopeful blue ones.

you nod, and his smile can't get any bigger than it is. "you've just made me the happiest man in the world, you know?" john grins, as he fixes a string of hair behind your ear, that had previously fallen over your eyes. his big hand rests there, on your cheek, softly caressing it and enjoying the soft moment shared between you two.

"thought you already were, with getting the treble and all" you joke, reminding the greatness of what they had just achieved. "good that we won it, then,” john says, heavy barnsley accent clear in his voice. “three trophies for the three of us".

#john stones imagine #john stones x you #john stones x reader #football imagines #football imagine #football x you #football x reader #football fanfic

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finch-velutina · 4 months

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Gomu Gomu No Mi Analysis/Headcanons: The Neurodivergency of Devil Fruits:

(tl;dr: Luffy is an absolute weirdo and I love him SO much)

Luffy is neurodivergent, this much is obvious. However, Luffy is also someone who has eaten a fruit at a very young age, which also affects the way he sees the world and interacts with it. I personally believe that Luffy is neurodivergent not just in mind but in body, and I absolutely love to think about how the Gomu Gomu no Mi affects Luffy both physically and mentally.

[Spoiler warning for up to Dressrosa because gear 4 is discussed ]

Luffy and Blunt Damage: He's Just Built Different

One of the most obvious examples of how Luffy's fruit affects how he views the world is how he treats other people in regards to blunt damage. Blunt damage is a Thing That Happens to Other People to him, and as such he has trouble remembering it exists. When he Gomu Gomu no Rockets his nakama into things he apologizes after it happens, like he didn't think it would hurt them.

Because blunt damage is a type of fall damage, Luffy also doesn't understand how far a normal human can fall. My absolute favorite canon example of this is from the Arlong fight, where Luffy "swaps places" with Zoro by hurling him ten feet in the air while severely wounded.

Instincts (the stretchy kind)

Related to this, I don't think Luffy can get vertigo because he has no instinctual reaction to heights whatsoever. We saw him fall off a cliff in Syrup Village without even waking up. His first name may be Monkey but there is nothing monkeylike about not waking up from Oops Fell From Thing. His instincts literally work in a very different way, which is so interesting to me.

Another example of how Luffy's instincts work in strange and delightful ways is from this tiny 2 second bit in the Davy Back Fight arc. Any normal human would have ducked when seeing something fast coming towards their head. Not Luffy though. He physically pulls his head out of the way. There's nothing natural about that reflex and it just shows how much Luffy's fruit is intrinsic to his being!

[ID: Screenshot of Luffy in the Davy Back/Long Ring Long Island arc avoiding a spiked ball by holding his head an arms' length away from his shoulders ]

Being rubber, which is an insulator, has affected his temperature perception. In alabasta he mostly complains about being thirsty, not hot, and always has delayed reactions to things he touches being hot or the climate being cold, like on Drum Island. (This is one of my favorite examples of how luffy's neurodivergency interacts with his Fruit because his poor interoception is both a mental and a physical thing).

Gears

Now it's time for even more analysis of how the Gomu Gomu no Mi works! Time for the Gears. A Gear is not, like, a state of mind in the same way Luffy being a Rubber Human is, but it's part of luffy's loveable weirdness, so I'm including my theories/headcanons on them too.

Gear Second: I think this makes it hard for him to walk, because he is moving very fast, which makes his bones looser and more rubbery.

Gear Third: The main operating principle of this is Luffy inflating his bones. What happens to the non-inflated parts of his arm like the muscles? Obviously they have to stretch and are put under a lot of strain, which is something I think is part of him becoming tiny after. This would also explain how getting stronger during the timeskip caused the shrinking to stop happening - his muscles are stronger and more resistant.

Gear Fourth! This is the first gear to affect Luffy's entire body. It's explicitly stated that Luffy gets so bouncy in this form he can't stand still or walk very well, which delights me. In gear 4, Luffy inflates his muscles, and the bones are now the part stretching. They're more resistant to stretching than inflating, which makes moving hard, doubly so because his muscles are huge and less precise. (Sidenote - this is different from a standard Pistol bone stretch because those recoil right back into place without being held stretched for long periods of time). This is why he can do that accordion fold in with the muscles that brings that concussive force like in Kong Gun - his bones naturally want to scrunch the muscles back to release the pressure on the bone.

How are his lungs affected by this form? His lungs are extremely important to his forms because gear second, the basis of them, pumps blood very fast and needs more airflow. The lungs are surrounded by both muscle (inflating) and bone (stretching) so the tension between those two seems like it would put a weird strain on the lungs. I think some sort of lung inflation like in Gomu Gomu no Fuusen is necessary, if only so that Luffy can get enough air.

#monkey d. luffy #one piece #luffy #one piece headcanons #monkey d luffy

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imprettytired · 9 months

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

----

Chapter 6

Cw: drugs, hallucinations, injury, blood, arguing, references to self harm.

----

An alarm remind Mammon to get out of bed a few hours later. He didn't sleep. Actually he's forgotten what he's been doing, though he vaguely remembers spending money on something.

He didn't want to get up. He had to get up. His pills were wearing off.

He went straight to the bathroom and grabbed the bag of pills. They looked different. They now had a light blue tint, but to Mammon they were the only things that would get him through the day, so they didn't look too different to him.

He popped two in his mouth and began to get ready for school, waiting for the pills to kick in.

He stared into the mirror.

He looks great! Or at least he thought he looked great. Maybe the lack of sleep made him appear sick to others, but he couldn't tell.

"Everyone finds you repulsive."

Strangely Mammon has begun to get used to the voice, although he does still wish that it was just a thought or, at the very least, said something nice.

Before Mammon put the pills back into it's place he had a realization. The bathroom wasn't the best place for his pills. He looked around the room for a bit before deciding that under the couch was the best option.

"I'll find a better place later." He thought, slipping the bag under the cushions.

He decided to only take a shower, and hoped that he could get home soon.

----

In the middle of a shower the pills finally kicked in. He hated the feeling he got. He was happy but these pills didn't give him the same burst of energy he was used to. They made him exhausted to the point where he could barely open his eyes.

The next thing he knew he was laying in his shower as someone was banging on his bedroom door.

As he got up and saw as blood trickled from his face. He touched his nose. It didn't hurt but he knew he did something to it as he saw the blood on his fingers.

He still heard the banging as he turned off the shower and started drying off.

"Come on Mammon you're gonna be late."

"How is that possible?" He thought. "I had at least an hour. They shouldn't have even had breakfast yet."

Mammon put on his clothes and went to the door, quickly putting his hand over his nose

"Everyone already left but Lucifer wanted to make sure you were up." Beelzebub said then took a good look at Mammon.

"Mammon are you sure you're feeling better? You still look really sick."

He was so tired.

"I'm fine."

Mammon's nose bled hard, so hard that wiping it only seemed to make it worse and draw attention to it.

"What happened?" Beelzebub said, panicked.

"I slipped in the shower but I'll be fine."

Mammon watched as Beelzebub quickly grabbed something from out of his pocket before handing it to him.

It was a small bandage.

Mammon knew enough to know that bandage was going to do nothing for him, he would be quiet literally putting a bandage on a broken bone.

He looked up at Beelzebub. Getting ready to tell him just that. Then he saw the small smile plastered on his face, almost like he knew it was useless in this situation, but he still wanted to help.

Mammon put the useless bandage on his nose and grabbed a handkerchief for the blood.

----

Mammon dragged himself into school and watched as everyone began leaving for their classes. Scanning the walls he could tell that more flyers had appeared. He didn't even need to read them to know what they're about.

"I just have to get through this." He thought. But he was so tired that he considers finding a secluded place to sleep.

Mammon entered the student council room. Nothing has changed over the few weeks he's been gone, but something felt different. He hadn't noticed how truly empty the room was. He never cared too much before then but the lack of people only elevated his worry.

He looked up at Diavolo. He seemed to be in deep thought, scribbling something on a piece of paper. Mammon wanted to get this meeting out of the way. He was exhausted.

"Ya' want somethin'?"

Diavolo looked at him.

"Oh Mammon! Ar- What happened to your nose?"

"I fell."

"Are you feeling better?"

Mammon nodded.

Diavolo gave Mammon a small smile then calmly walked over to him.

"How are you Mammon?"

"I'm fine, just really tired."

He stopped smiling.

"Mammon about the other day. Did you only said those things because you were tired."

"What did I say?"

"Well" Diavolo began.

----

"It's just. I um-" Mammon then stopped suddenly almost as if something caught you off guard.

"Why can't you just stop" Mammon said, his voice cracking a little as he tried to stop himself from crying.

"I want to hurt myself so badly and it's all your fault." Mammon's eyes rapidly looked around the school desperately trying to find who he was talking to.

But it there was no one except Diavolo and the few students still lingering in the hallway

"I'm going to kill you."

"Why would you want to do that?"

Mammon only glanced at Diavolo before going back to looking around.

"I don't know."

"Try to calm down, okay?"

Diavolo took a step, reaching his arm out in an attempt to consol him.

"STOP" Mammon yelled backing away.

"Do you want me to back up?"

"Not you."

"Then who?"

Mammon went back to looking around and stayed that way until he eventually snapped out of it.

----

Mammon was horrified, embarrassed, he couldn't believe that he was stupid enough to say that out loud and to Diavolo off all people.

At least it wasn't Lucifer.

"I'm so sorry I don't know why I said that."

"But you meant it didn't you?"

He couldn't lie. He hated that he couldn't just lie his way out.

He just looked down at Diavolo's shoes.

"Look Mammon I can't force you to talk about anything but you can always talk to me."

He said the only thing he thought was true.

"I don't know why I said that. I don't know what's wrong with me. To be honest something hasn't been right for awhile now."

He felt great finally getting that out.

"I've noticed. Even if you haven't shown up often. You look worse everytime I see you."

Mammon looked up at Diavolo, and then remembered.

"Is there anything you can do about this?" Mammon said, gesturing to his hand and nose.

"How'd you break your hand?"

"I fell."

Mammon could tell that he didn't believe it, but Mammon continued.

"It's been like this for a few days now."

"And it hasn't healed?"

Mammon held out his bandaged hand. Lucky for him, he didn't need to remove the bandage to see that it was broken.

Diavolo seemed to be deep in thought as a concerned look was plastered on his face.

"Yeah follow me."

Diavolo turned around but Mammon didn't feel like following. He was far too tired so he closed his eyes hoping that he'll give himself a few seconds to relax.

There was a thud as though something had hit the floor.

----

Mammon woke up confused. He looked around at could make out three people from the corner of his eye. He waited for the ringing in his ears to dissipate.

"Did he pass out before he fell or after?"

"I have no clue. I was turned around, but he said he fell and broke his nose and hand earlier."

"Is he on any drugs?"

"No"

"Has he been drinking?"

"His speech was a little slurred but I thought it was because of his nose. He doesn't seem drunk."

"He was really upset earlier so I don't know if that stressed him out or not. He was also sick."

"Do you know what upset him?"

"He's just been really depressed lately."

Mammon started to laugh. He knew that they were looking at him, so he sat up his vision going black for a split second.

"Why are y'all so worried I was just trying to sleep."

"Mammon no one save for Belphegor falls asleep standing."

"Well I'm tired."

"Mammon, he's a doctor and he's going to help you." Diavolo said.

The man that had been talking to them went up to Mammon.

"I need to check your nose."

"No it's fine."

"Mammon let him help you." Diavolo said

"I don't want help anymore." He snapped.

"Do you know if he normally acts like this?"

"No, he's usually more annoying." Lucifer said.

"STOP IT." Mammon yelled, pushing the doctor off of him. It took him a second for him to realize what he's done.

"I'm sorry I-I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, will you let me help you now?"

"No."

The man sighed, turning to look at Diavolo and Lucifer.

"Is there any way he could relax enough to let me check him?"

"No. Let me go home." Mammon answered.

"Mammon you're not leaving until you do what he says."

----

"Okay so this hand has been bothering you?" The man says, pointing at Mammon's broken hand.

"Yeah."

"Okay" the man starts to remove Mammon's bandages

"Do you have to remove the bandages?" Mammon said, trying his hardest not to panic

"Well yes your wounds need to be healed too."

"Wounds?"

"Yeah you're brother said the you had cut your hand on some glass when you fell."

Mammon quickly pulled his hand back.

"I just want you to work on my hand and nothing else. You're not taking off the bandages."

"But Mammon I have to."

"I don't want you too."

Mammon was lucky in that the man could since his panic. He turned to look at Diavolo and Lucifer.

"Do you guys ming leaving the room for a bit?"

Although confused, they did agree and left the room.

the doctor looked at Mammon

"Mammon just remember that no matter what I'm not required to tell anyone you're business."

Mammon sighed pulling his arm back out

The man took off the bandages. Showing the scars covering his arm and hand.

After a few minutes of some sort of magic, he wrapped Mammon's arm and hand in new bandages and put casts on his hand and nose.

"You're injuries should heal by tomorrow, though it may scar."

"It's fine thanks."

----

After finally convincing him that he fell because he was tired, Mammon follow the doctor out of the room. Whatever magic the doctor used was helping, he was glad that they were able to force him to get them.

What he wasn't glad about was that Diavolo and Lucifer seem to be discussing him.

"So he can't come back for a bit until he's does this.," Diavolo said, pointing to the paper in his hand. Lucifer seemed to have a copy of the papers.

Rage boiled inside of him. He couldn't believe that Diavolo would tell Lucifer.

Never. He would never tell anyone again. It wasn't worth the help.

"So you have to se-"

Before Diavolo could continue Mammon snatched the paper from his hands and ripped it into pieces.

"Fuck you."

"What's wrong?" Diavolo asked.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I want you to get help."

"You don't give a fuck about how I feel you piece of shit."

Mammon stormed off not listening to the calls for him to return.

----

Mammon was sent home which he had no issue with. To his dismay Lucifer followed him home.

But the outburst from earlier seemed to be the last thing on Lucifer's mind.

"Mammon how has your debt doubled in such a short amount of time?"

Mammon has been spending a lot more lately, he assumes at casinos but he honestly can't remember.

"Because I wanted it to."

Lucifer started to talk but Mammon simply laid on the couch and went to sleep. He was too tired to force himself through another scolding, he didn't even have the energy to go to his room.

----

Mammon awoke to a bit later, groggy, he pulled the blanket off him then paused.

"When did I grab a blanket?" he thought.

Mammon then remembered the events from earlier. He doesn't know what happened after he left. What if the doctor told them?

"What if he looked through my room?"

Panicked, Mammon ran to his room heading straight to the bathroom. He couldn't find his pills. He tossed things around, desperately looking for them.

"No no no he couldn't have taken them."

Then it finally clicked.

The couch.

Throwing the cushions off he found the pills where he had left him.

Mammon fell to the floor in relief.

"He didn't look." Mammon said with a smile

He was so relieved that he didn't bother to see that the kitchen knife was now gone.

----

It's took Mammon a few hours to want to leave his room again. By then it was almost time for dinner.

While Mammon was trying to make his way back to the living room, he heard his brothers talking.

Mammon wanted to hear what they were saying. So he leaned against the wall, out of sight.

"Mammon won't be coming back to school for a while." Lucifer said.

Fuck. Well Mammon wasn't surprised that Lucifer would bring that up.

"Did he get suspended?" Satan asked.

"He's on a leave of absence."

"So he got suspended?"

"No. Lord Diavolo just needs him to do something before he gets back."

"Like stay home? Like a suspension." Satan said. Obviously trying to irritate Lucifer.

"No he needs him to see a therapist."

"Oh is it because he started screaming at Diavolo today." Leviathan said.

"What?" Belphegor said. Trying his hardest to hold in laughter.

"Yeah he was like 'you don't give a fuck about how I feel.'" Leviathan said, mocking

He heard as some of his brothers busted out laughing.

"It's our responsibility to take care of his student council work while he's gone." Lucifer paused "But we really won't be doing much."

His brothers then changed the subject to something about a party Diavolo's hosting that Mammon could vaguely remember. But it didn't matter.

Mammon banged his head against the wall. The soft thuds it made was the only thing keeping him grounded enough to not jump off the roof.

He had lost his appetite and went back to his room. Just then he received a message.

----

I'm alive! Just lost all of my writing, and it was a bit annoying having to rewrite all of the newer chapters + all of the other stories I'm planning. Also life hasn't been the best for me.

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welcometoteyvat · 3 months

Text

@apologems asked for wanderer & furina (among others) for the random characters prompt. I was gonna post all the pairs in your ask together but I love instant validation so they're getting split up lol. here, have too many words. feedback deeply appreciated!! <3

———

Furina opens her eyes to blank, vast emptiness. The cream tiled floor of the Palais Mermonia stretches on and on beneath her, the white-veined marble mirror smooth. It reflects the dismal cloudiness outside—if there even is an “outside” in this strange space. She wonders idly whether she could ask Neuvillette to cheer up a bit, to make the dreary grayness go away, or whether he would even listen to her requests like he used to. Rain seems likely.

She supposes she should walk around and find a way out of this place, even though it doesn’t seem very urgent. Nobody needs her to take care of anything now—they won’t be waiting for her return. Her footsteps echo against the marble—one, two, three—one, two, three. Is it possible to dance a waltz with just herself and the empty silence? Oh, but there’s someone a ways away, over there. Maybe they could dance with her, and it won’t be as lonely.

The figure in the distance is dressed all in blue, wearing a wide brimmed hat with strips of fabric dangling from the edge. They turn when she comes close, and their eyes meet; it’s a young man, with red eyeshadow, a bored glare, and puffy cheeks on a pretty face. It’s rather striking how he looks so sharp yet soft, swooping curves and hard angles, all at once.

“So, whose funeral is this?”

“What? Where?” A funeral? But she didn’t see a coffin…

“The dead body’s right there. Are you walking around with your eyes closed?” He sneers, and gestures carelessly to the bare floor in front of her.

“There’s… nothing there.” That catches the hat-guy off-kilter. He narrows his eyes, and his gaze is like a quick knife.

“Don’t play dumb, idiot. It’s quite obviously you, isn’t it? Look at that white vest and suit.”

“I—what?” There’s really nothing there. She’s definitely alive, too—no dead double in sight. But—what is he saying about a white vest? Unless… this is one of those fantasy children’s novels where everything is just a rabbit-hole dream? Just in case, Furina blinks a couple times. She opens her eyes, and—huh?!

“Same stupid rooster-frill tailcoat, small blue top hat, frivolous accessories, mascara eyelashes; the only thing different is the long jellyfish h—”

“Wait! I can see someone, but it’s not me. It’s a child, wearing all white with a purple veil.”

And she expects him to scoff again, because maybe she really is seeing things, maybe her acting has gone a little too far, but instead, Hat-guy blanches. He throws her another sharp, piercing glance, seems to find nothing—and then—and then, a terribly familiar smile creeps onto his face. The sight of it makes her bones ache and her eyes fill with inexplicable tears.

“Well, if that’s what you see, I suppose this is a funeral for both of us. Hah, how curious.” His voice has turned into sandpaper and tea's bitter dregs, scratchy with loathing and cynicism and absurdity. Now he's turning towards her, and in his fierce gaze she sees... her old self, lying there on the cold not-Palais floor. Her eyes stare unseeingly at nothing, and that horrible, wretched smile is frozen on her lips. Furina flinches. She wants to throw up, to pluck out her eyes, to claw at her face until it bleeds. She looks away instead. She knows that Hat-guy is watching her and is grateful he doesn't comment, and when she finally meets his eyes again, she is grateful too that his face is carefully blank. He simply offers Furina his hand and says, “Shall I do the honors?”

She nods, and takes his hand.

A fire blazes up immediately, engulfing the dead child and his purple veil. Furina watches as its clothes disappear in licks of flame, as its doll joints are exposed, then stripped away, until nothing remains besides a pile of ash, and a small, blackened kernel that might have once been a heart. She wonders what Hat-guy saw—a little Oceanid, evaporating into nothingness at the final curtain call? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. It’s past now, regardless.

Furina doesn’t know when it starts to rain. The last embers have long since blackened when she realizes that the downpour is soaking her clothes, running down her cheeks. Water drips from the edge of Hat-guy’s hat, dampening his knee-high socks. Yet he makes no move to leave, so neither does she.

They continue to stand there, long after their clothes are soaked all the way through. Two false gods, drenched, alone.

———

a/n: idk whether I handled their emotional states correctly please give feedback if ooc. this entire thing is just "it's about THE NARRATIVE PARALLELS" and i dont even know whether it's the interp I wanted. extra ending thoughts include this wouldn't happen in canon bc i think wanderer is already at a place where he's partly fixed. maybe emotional closure. idk idk. people who think more about furina and scara should give me your theses on them. and of course, if you're wondering What Even Happened In This Fic, don't worry, so am I. didn't stick the ending but that's ok

also on ao3 ig

#TIL it's palais mermonia not palais memoria #i am illiterate #apologems #anyways thanks for the ask! im probably giving u a rain check for thma + kuki and shen.he + bz #just because i dont have many thoughts rn JSKDFJKDSHGKDSLJ i can more clearly see how sh and bz would interact #but am still thinking about specifics. like i see the vision etc its just not condensed in my mind's eye #not much for thma and kuki though the thought soup is still stewing #the others will hopefully come slowly but steadily :-)#wanderer #furina #scaramouche #playing gods #new r/ship tag :)#teyvat thoughts #genshin impact #genshin wanderer #asks #extra secret authors notes here:#i was gonna make this a lot more surreal bc i really enjoyed one fic i wrote that was surrealismmaxxing and chock full of descs #but it just didn't turn out that way #this was also gonna be short but i decided to add descriptions to it and it got longer. then it got longer and longer. idk #also ignore teyvat lore idk this isn't happening in canon or in modern au it's just there. surrealism etc make up whatever logic you want #genshin fic

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antisociallilbrat · 1 year

Text

Poly Losers Publicity

This is an idea, a back bone of a fic that I'm never going to write so I'm putting it here. If you want to write it, go ahead. I just need to get these brain worms out of my head. This is from my Poly Losers Au.

So like Richie, Bev, and Bill are all relatively famous? Richie is a famous comedian (who I headcannon him being on SNL at one point in his career) and then you have Bev who is a famous fashion designer? Like her work rivals Gucci and other major fashion brands. Then you have Bill who is like the horror novelist, who always has his books being adapted into movies.

So anyways the public is nosy and wants to know who's banging who. Richie, Bill, and Bev, along with the other Losers have decided to keep their relationship a secret. Yeah being gay/bi is okay but they don't want to have to explain why they're in a relationship of seven people. Bev, Richie, and Bill handle this in many different ways. Bev just deflects any relationship questions in interviews and Richie jokes that he's a whore and no one will date him. (Stan and Eddie give him so much shit over that bit) and Bill,,,poor bb flounders.

Bill likes to dedicate his books to his lovers. Each book he writes has a dedication that says something like: "To my lover who watches the birds", or "To my lover that is sun on earth", and naturally people ask who this lover is in interviews. And Bill just doesn't know how to lie so the general public just thinks that Bill's lover is a multifaceted person who loves to grow plants, bird watches, work on cars, and also writes poetry.

This all works for a while until Bill is caught in public holding hands with Ben. Magazines blow up like :"Is this the lover of many talents?? World Renowned architect Ben Hanscom??" so now they just let the public think Bill is dating just Ben. Also Bill and Richie got an argument over it that went like:

Richie: "This is so not fair, why do you get Ben?"

Bill: "It's not like I was trying to get caught!"

Richie: "Well if you get Ben then I get Mike!"

Bill: "Fine."

Richie: "Fine!"

Bill: "Fine!"

On Richie's next stand up he tells everyone he's dating this cute librarian named Mike and like with Bill, the press eats that up.

But fans are crazy right? Like they had a working theory that Richie was actually dating this high end accountant (Stanley) bc Richie had been spotted with him a couple times at fancy parties. (Stanley is a slut for fancy parties and Richie only goes to the ones he's invited to bc he knows Stan will enjoy it) But some other fans had a theory that Richie was dating high end fashion designer Beverly Marsh. Because Richie only ever wears her clothes on stage or in interviews. Plus they've been spotted being flirty before at award shows. So fans are a little confused when Richie announces he's dating a humble librarian.

But remember fans are crazy so it doesn't take long for them to figure out that Bill Denbrough also only ever wears suits out of the Beverly Marsh brand. Which is strange bc Bill and Richie have very much a bickering banter in the spotlight. So they're all left wondering, what does this all mean?

Because yes Bev avoids relationship questions but she always has the same guy with her as her 'date' at events. A man not much taller than her and he's been seen reassuring her at her runway shows. Calming down her anxiety. (Eddie is 100% Bev's unofficial manager and I like to think that Bev's fashion is her and Eddie's thing. He's the one who goes to all her shows.)

So at this point fans are going crazy. They have Bill who is dating the famous architect but has written too many dedications for it just be about Ben. Also some fans 'ship' Bill and Richie bc of how they play fight through the press.

Then there's Richie who is dating the "Librarian" Mike Hanlon, but also Richie has been spotted with at like Galas with one of the best accountants in the business, Stanley Uris and he constantly flirts with Bev in the public eye.

But Richie and Bill both exclusively wear Beverly Marsh. And Bev who avoids relationship questions but is seen with the same man at shows, who the fans had pieced together is Eddie Kaspbrack. Someone who owns a predominant limousine company in New York.

And this all falls apart after one particular award show, Bill's book turned Movie won an oscar, and the Losers were out celebrating at what they thought was a private party....only to wake up the next morning and see all hell break loose. There are photos of Richie making out with Bill and Ben. There's a couple photos of Bev scandalously dancing with Richie's librarian boyfriend, Mike. Then to top it off Eddie and Stan are spotted sneaking away from said party. Two people with romantic links to Bev and Richie.

The internet blows up.

Richie tweets out the next day: "So I see you've guys have met my lovers. Yes, plural. Told you I was a whore."

I honestly feel like this has been down before, and if it has please let me know. I just can't get this particular version out of my head.

#bill denbrough #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #stanley uris #stenbrough #bichie #reddie #stozier #benverly #it 2017 #it 2019 #poly losers club #poly losers headcanons #polylosers

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leiascully · 7 months

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X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 15: Hollow

This year, I'm using the October 2022 prompts from @artpromptcal.

TW: canon typical discussion of death/post-mortem

For an office job, it's surprising how much time they spend in the woods. She supposes that they mostly leave the bodies in dumpsters and abandoned buildings to municipal authorities, which is part of it. The mysterious corpses are all in the woods, decomposing under leaf litter and tangled in roots. She's learned to prefer the open air. It makes the flies more bearable. Predation is a fact of death - she knows that - but crows and foxes seem a more dignified option than rats.

There are less sinister reasons to venture into the forest, too: reports of strange creatures and lights that can't be explained. That's what they're chasing today.

"The Ozark Howler," Mulder explains again as they hike. "A wolf-sized creature with the muzzle of a dog and the shape of a cat, Scully. You might think that would be strange enough, but you'd be wrong."

Scully steps over a fallen branch. "Of course I would."

He grins. "In addition to those anomalies, it has red eyes and horns."

"Astonishing," she says, crunching through the leaves. There's a nip in the air that chills the tip of her nose. It's apple weather. Firepit weather. The mountains around them are red and orange and yellow, stippled with dark green pines. Sunlight sifts through the leaves when the wind sighs.

Scully doesn't believe any legendary creature would appear in the daylight - too easy to document, for starters - but a day like this is impossible to argue with. They deserve an easy case once in a while. Besides, something is killing chickens. She suspects a mountain lion or coyotes, but the reports are incongruous. There are bears in these woods too, somewhere. Any of those things would have the power to turn chickens into the smears of blood and feathers in the photographs in Mulder's files.

Mulder isn't finished. "The first reported sighting was in the 1800s by none other than Daniel Boone."

"I've heard of him."

"Reports differ on whether he was able to shoot one, but multiple sources have described seeing Howlers over the years, even up to present day."

"Mmhmm." Scully sips from her water bottle. "How did we get called in for chicken murder? That isn't a federal crime, or we'd be arresting Colonel Sanders."

"Someone from the local field office tipped me off to this one," Mulder said. "Chicken's big here. Anyway, this thing could be crossing state lines. The Ozarks Highlands span a four-state area."

"I see."

The trail in front of them crests the hill and descends into a hollow lined with a bonfire array of maples. At the bottom, a sturdy wooden bridge spans a chuckling creek whose progress down the slope is punctuated by tiny waterfalls. The trail is cut into stone steps just a bit too high for Scully's stride. Mulder wordlessly puts out a hand to steady her as she climbs down. His grip is warm and strong. She savors the moment.

They stop on the bridge. Scully pulls two apples out of her bag. Locally grown, the sign said. She and Mulder lean on the railing and eat the crisp fruit. It takes her a moment to realize that the woods are loud around them in a way that's so different from the city: birds and water and rustling leaves instead of traffic and people. Peace steals over her. There are bones in these woods, to be sure. These mountains are old, worn down nearly to hills. There are always bones in a place like this. But they're hunting a beast instead of a human murderer. It's old-fashioned, almost sweet. If these woods are haunted, it's by ghosts that belong here.

Scully unearths a bag of trail mix. She suspects that Mulder's hunger is greater than apple-sized. Mulder leans his shoulder gently against hers. She doesn't shift away. There's no one to see them here. They can exist in their most natural state: so close that the clouds of their breath mingle and their fingers brush as they reach for GORP.

"Imagine the Howler in a place like this," he says, and she can almost see it: a wild thing, crouching to lap from the stream, watchful red eyes and graceful horns and a tail that lashes.

#x-files octoberficfest #octoberficfest #my fic sort of #leiascully fic

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dulltoned · 6 months

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Living with his brothers is strange after all these years. They hadn't seen each other since they were kids and now suddenly they were all under the same roof again. Bruce didn't mind the quiet. Over these past few decades he'd gotten used to the loud hustle and bustle of work and the chaos of a home full of kids. It's been nice getting to wind down and it felt good knowing that Brandy was fully behind him in his decision to stick around for a bit longer. He had to admit that he missed his kids and he longed for his loving wife every day but there's a different kind of happiness nestled deep in his very bones when he watches his little brothers laugh around the dining table.

Getting along with John Dory has been a bit more of a challenge but not impossible. Even now they clashed like they did when they were kids, old resentments sparked back to life and their vastly different priorities making it difficult to find common ground sometimes. Still, even then, it was really nice to see him again too.

They're gathered now in Branch's small kitchen, awkwardly trying to stay out of their youngest brother's way while he goes about making lunch while all being equally unwilling to leave. Branch grumbles as he easily twists and steps around them but makes no move to tell them to get out. It makes Bruce smile and Branch very blatantly ignores him. Branch sighs for the umpteenth time as he grabs a pan from a low cabinet and spins around Clay to get to the stove. It was nothing fancy, just a few sandwiches to keep them running until dinner, and Bruce was proud to see that it wasn't the sweets he's sure Queen Poppy would've offered.

Branch grabs the butter dish from his counter and drops a dollop into the heating pan before bending over to open another cabinet. He curses under his breath and swiftly curses again. "Damn it," Branch huffs, eyes flitting around the small space one more time before he lets the doors fall shut with a heavy thud.

"What's up?" Clay prods, curiously looking between Branch and the disappointing cabinet like he could piece together the issue off that alone.

"I thought I'd restocked," Branch sighs, running a stressed hand over his hair absentmindedly. He crosses his arms and frowns, tapping his foot while he thinks in a way that Bruce finds adorable but would never dare say out loud. Or rather, not until it was the right moment. "Hey, Bruce, you know where the carrots are?"

Bruce startles when he's singled out but nods quickly, offering a thumbs up and a lazy smile, "Yep! Want me to go grab some for you?" He guesses, already peeling himself away from the table to head off towards the towering shelves lined up on the lower floor.

Branch sags a bit with gratitude and returns the smile hesitantly, "That'd be great, thank you." It's interesting, Bruce thinks, the war that appears to constantly be waging inside of his grown baby brother. He's far from the little bundle of nervous, excited energy he'd been back when he was a baby but there still seems to be some kind of uncertainty that never leaves him. Branch always looks like he's caught between throwing himself back into the family and keeping them all at a safe distance. Admittedly, ashamedly, Bruce thinks that had he reunited with his brothers only a few years ago he'd have been bitter about it. One of his kids, Brandon, was an anxious kid. Even though his siblings had always been welcoming and encouraging he was still hesitant to ask for what he needed or say no when his siblings pushed a boundary he hadn't communicated yet. Brandon had taught Bruce a lot about how fundamentally different people could be and that some were introverted and wary even around people they loved. He can't begin to imagine what was going on in Branch's head after all these years, experiencing who knows what on top of Grandma's death and the apparent Rock Apocalypse. Bruce was more than happy to offer up a little patience in return. The last thing he wanted now after everything was to push Branch away.

"You got it, little bro!" Bruce beams, stretching an arm around Clay to ruffle Branch's hair just to see his brother's face scrunch up in annoyance as he bats his hand away. He doesn't stick around to face Branch's wrath, whether that be in the form of a disgruntled glare or a few sharp words, and instead spins on his heel and makes for the hall.

"Don't eat all the rations!" John Dory calls teasingly just as Bruce slides into the hallway and slips out of sight. Bruce freezes. He knows it's a joke. None of his brothers had been anything but kind after seeing that he'd lost his iconic figure and John sounded nothing but fond. On top of that, Bruce has never been happier since he's given up on those strict diets and workout routines! Still, despite that, there's a spike of anxiety that shoots through his chest hearing those words. John Dory has said similar things to him plenty of times when they were younger, pushing Bruce to keep up the grueling work lest he disappoint the fans. Disappointing the fans always meant disappointing his brother and when he was a boy that had been crushing. Anything to keep that perfect image. It had tainted Bruce's love for fitness and twisted it into something that could break him. If he didn't do enough sit-ups would the band lose its fame? If he ate too much would they lose popularity? Would his family resent him?

It's been a long, long time since Bruce had felt any sort of discomfort about his body. Nearly fifteen years now since he'd shed those insecurities and found love and acceptance in Brandy who'd helped him more than he could ever hope to express to her. He loves who he is now and the man he's become. Yet somehow he still feels that telltale hurt stir up inside of him. He feels more resentment towards those feelings themselves than he does John Dory. He wishes it didn't bother him at all.

He has half a mind to storm back in there and tell John Dory off but he reminds himself that starting a fight while he's angry would never go well, especially when it came to his older brother. A skill that parenting has given him is an almost unnatural level of patience and calm combined with a self-awareness that lets him know that he should cool down before he does something he'd regret. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, letting the tension bleed from his body as he raises his head up high. He takes a few more steps down the hall towards the elevator but he's once again stopped in his place. This time by Branch.

"What the hell was that?" Branch hisses, seething with a simmering fire that Bruce was starting to associate him with.

"What was what?" John Dory asks, sounding genuinely confused and instinctively on the defensive.

"That was kind of uncool, man," Clay pipes up. He's wary. Rightfully so, Bruce thinks. Both Branch and John Dory were forces to be reckoned with and stepping between the two was dangerous. Bruce thinks Branch has snapped at all of them at least once since they've moved in and it wasn't at all what he had ever imagined his sweet little brother would grow up to be. He figures that was what happened when you had to raise yourself though. It only serves to highlight his regrets when he thinks about it.

"What?" John scoffs, his defensive tone overtaking his initial confusion. Bruce can sense a fight brewing but he still can't seem to unglue himself from that spot. He wants to know where this will go.

"You already gave him one eating disorder, you want to give him another one?" Branch snarls. He sounds more like he's facing a threat than talking to his brother and the tone itself is enough to send chills down Bruce's spine. It takes a few seconds for the words themselves to register but when they do Bruce's whole body tenses right back up. What?

"..what?" John Dory echoes Bruce's thoughts. He's starting to sound like a broken record but his voice is something weak and shocked now. The mask John had been raising was knocked aside with ease. Had he really not known? Had little Branch, maybe only four at the time, really seen something that John Dory hadn't? Had their eldest brother really been so blind?

"What? You think nagging someone every damn day about their body wouldn't make them hyperaware of it? I was the one who would sit in the dining room waiting for Bruce to finish eating, you know. Sometimes it took hours." Branch snaps, entirely unimpressed by John Dory's sudden meekness. Bruce remembers those days too. There had been times, way back when he was a teenager, when he'd been stuck at the dinner table pushing his food around trying to convince himself to clear the plate. Grandma had always had a rule about not leaving their seats until they'd finished their dinner and for a few years Bruce had greatly struggled to do so. He hadn't known that little Branch had lingered so often because he was waiting on Bruce. He had been so focused on trying to get the courage to just put the food into his mouth that he'd thought maybe Branch had just wanted to stick around. Kids could be weird. He thought it was just one of Branch's little quirks that he'd be able to tease him about when they were older. You were always just sitting around in the kitchen, he would say, you were so weird. He'd never known it had been for him. "Maybe, instead of being an ass, you could just-- oh, shit--" The smell of something burning reached Bruce's nose and he took that as his sign to make a break for it. He finally makes it to the elevator in time to hear the loud clangs of the pan being thrown into the sink.

He doesn't know what he'd expected. His brows furrow and his hand feels heavy where it pushes down the lever. He doesn't know why he just assumed that his other brothers would've brushed off John Dory's comment or even laughed along with him. He thinks, maybe, that he had some residual insecurity lingering in his head somewhere that he never had a reason to address before. The idea doesn't weigh on him. Instead he feels lighter than he had when he'd left. They stood up for him. Branch had gotten angry on his behalf and told John Dory off without hesitation and Clay had backed him up without much thought. He could even perfectly picture the disapproving expression that might have crossed Floyd's features.

The elevator rumbles to a stop on the lowest floor and he swiftly steps off and makes a beeline for the shelves holding most of Branch's food storage. He didn't want to take too much longer if he could avoid it, he doesn't know what he'd say if anyone asked him why he took so long. He knows they probably knew he stayed back, especially since the elevator itself wasn't exactly silent, but he wanted to have plausible deniability at least.

It doesn't take him too long to find the crates of carrots tucked away and he quickly hefts one into his arms before someone clears their throat. He admittedly startles at the sudden sound, nearly dropping the crate before he barely manages to regain his grip. He whips around to see Branch leaning up against the wall, arms crossed, and watching him carefully. Branch must've taken the stairs down but damn was he fast. Bruce didn't think he had lingered too long but maybe he'd been a bit more lost in his head than he thought.

"What's up?" Bruce asks after a few beats of silence when Branch makes it clear that he isn't going to start. "Was I taking too long for you?" He jokes, wiggling the crate still held in his arms to prove he'd completed his task.

Branch's eyes narrow just so and he hums noncommittally. He clearly finds whatever it is he's looking for because he pushes off the wall and strides up to Bruce, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, and says "You don't need to change yourself for us." Warmth thrums through Bruce's veins, amazed by Branch's kindness despite his prickly exterior. Branch seems to hesitate for a brief moment, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of thing, before he visibly steels himself. "We love you." He assures. A dopey smile spreads across Bruce's face.

Branch is scurrying off before Bruce can really get a word in but that doesn't stop him from brightly calling after him, "I love you too!" and he takes a sick pleasure in seeing the tips of Branch's ears turn a dark blue before he disappears around a corner.

Bruce still carries the carrots up to the empty kitchen and places them into the cabinet that Branch had been looking for them in earlier. He sees the pan still in the sink, a few drips of butter turned black pooled at the lip, and grimaces. They end up going out for lunch suspiciously devoid of Branch. John Dory pays for their meals.

#| Game Plans |#{ isolationist }#{ the heartthrob }#{ the leader }#{ the fun boy }#trolls band together #trolls fanfic #trolls branch #dreamworks trolls #trolls spruce #trolls bruce #trolls john dory #trolls clay #hurt/comfort #angst #eating disorder #// eating disorder

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zoroara · 8 months

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Okay, something very important you are about to learn about me: I am obsessive about many things. One of these happens to be swords and sword fighting, among a few other weapon types but mostly those two. (Also hilariously sharks also are one of these things. Some how neither of these were influenced by khr being a VERY long standing thing.) This post is going to be aggressively long.

And I'll save you guys with a read more. But, in essence what I'm going to be doing here if I'm going to be plainly looking at the three swordsmen, Yamamoto, Squalo and Genkishi's swords, weaknesses and strengths as well as things like battle techniques and generally what you would actually want to do in a fight with those swords. For simplicities sake I'm not going to be factoring in things like Squalo's gunpowder bombs, or flames(which affects a lot of genkishi's fighting sorry dude) and generally things like that. Note there is going to barely be a structure and I'll be writing whatever tangent I happen to think of so like. Good luck. But maybe this'll be interesting for writing.

Now with that clarification out of the way let's dig into the meat here.

Okay obviously we're starting with Yamamoto himself.

So, Katana or well standard Katana as there are several classes of Katana. Are about 24 - 31 inches long(or approx 60 - 78 cm long) his blade is a bit longer than this at which point it becomes something known as the "O Katana" set instead of the standard, they're typically used two handed which Yamamoto does use it as a good potion of the time. They're fairly straight blades, and an important factor to note, folding a sword increases it's sharpness, but can make it more brittle and generally depending on the way it's been folded can affect the whole blade to not be capable of blocking hits well, Katana generally are best used when you have clear ways of attacking, though they can be used to block obviously, you'll want to more change the trajectory of the other blade using the curve of yours more than full stop block something you can do more with European blades.

Things I want to point out in the battle this is used before we move on to the irregular swords.

Yamamoto, while I understand doesn't know much about swords, here's the thing. Though it is a common trope, it you were to hit someone with the back of a blade in a position that does not in fact flex, which i want to note European swords do on the flat of the blade, which will come up later on squalo's section. Hitting someone with the flat, and the back will do fundamentally different things. Yamamoto basically turned his sword into a blunt weapon, if that HAD hit squalo, while it wouldn't have killed him, it WOULD likely break bone and cause internal bleeding the same way taking any pure blunt metal object being swung by a baseball player WOULD DO. WHICH BEING HONEST MIGHT JUST KILL THE MAN ANYWAY.(if Squalo of course, could die. God finds him too funny to let him die)

What gets me here in particular is Squalo's reaction to this. The thing is, this is absolutely not an invalid way of holding a sword. In fact, usually in armor that restricts movements you may adapt techniques that are slightly altered, a lot of ways to hold other weapons can be transferred to a sword, and have been. This way would give the same momentum and range of movement as a swing from a baseball bat, and in fact the only thing strange about this is actually the foot stance, for Squalo to gawk at this, he is either in-experienced with more armoured opponents, or has not encountered that large of a variety of sword technique as others claim he has

(it should be noted he never makes the claims himself except with Shigure Soen Ryu everything we learn about him is from other people. Squalo actually doesn't gloat about his accomplishments and in the manga the only time he calls out what attack he's using is in rainbow arc when he's using his special box weapon move with his exec squad. most of what he says is degrading the opponent or taunts. Patting himself on the back is more of a Levi move-).

Also fun fact about Shigure Soen Ryu, the 6th form is never seen in the series. All we know is that it's a defensive technique. Also how lucky is it they were fighting in a water based arena, half these moves would not go well otherwise-

Now! Moving on, as I cannot possibly tell you shit about swords made of pure flame. I'll be talking about the blades they're originally based on.

So these "swords" are actually known as Tantō they're basically small daggers about 6 - 12 inches (approx 15 to 30cm) in that were often carried with a longer sword like the Tachi and the katana as a support to the free hand, generally with the idea that if you have a hand that's empty you're either protecting it or using something. you typically never want your whole body face your opponent. something too many of these idiots do. For obvious reasons you want to minimize the space your opponent has to hit. That's why when you see a lot of sword fighting, even with big heavy blades, most of the time the stand their sides more predominantly facing their opponent than straight on.

Anyway, moving on the the Necklace of Rain version X! It's honestly a shame we barely get to see any actual moves outside of the flame stuff.

Here's something interesting! When dual wielding blades, it's best to actually have two different sized ones, this way you'll be making certain strikes faster and slower, among other things will make it easier to avoid hitting your blades together. You typically do not want to bring your swords in a place where they would meet in a strike, like X motions commonly made in this series, unless they're different sizes or you have enough control to slightly delay one blade more than the other. Otherwise they will clash and depending where the strike would have started, completely prevent the attack!

Other fun fact, this was a common technique with Samurai(one of the reasons it was common however was due to a Japanese law I'm not getting into here. It was not just because of the benefits to it.) Daishō, is typically depicted with a Wakizashi or a Tantō, however the technique itself is with any long blade and a short blade. Given that Yamamoto was already given four Tantō, I'm almost certain despite the length this was intended to be a Wakizashi.

Now, I could absolutely not tell you why one of them has those gaps though. Well other than the obvious "it looks cool" They could potentially be used as gaps like in other blades to catch weapons and disarm opponents, though, these gaps are very big and would more than likely sacrifice the structural integrity of the sword more than they would be useful. If they are smaller they may see more use in that way.

Other interesting fact, there ARE Serrated Katana blades, but. Well they're against the Geneva convention, but also they don't exist in history and is more of a modern thing that was made for """"fun"""". The reason they don't exist in history is because Serrated blades would get caught in the flesh and would be very hard to get out of an opponent... which is also why they're against the Geneva convention.

Now, We'll move onto Squalo, who because unlike this Section of swords, which the Katana, O Katana, Wakizashi look very similar just in different sizes and the Tantō were pretty much as shown(though you'll find prettier pictures of them), I'm going to have to bring up images of what I'm talking about because no one is going to know what the FUCK I'm Saying.

First off, drives me nuts by the way. As you'll soon find out, neither of Squalo's swords is a Spatha. I do not know WHY this is on the wiki, I do not know it's source, I do not know where this information is from nor who identified his sword as such. If it was a decision by Amano themself to call it a Spatha, it is incorrect. As you've seen above, swords just being different sizes alone despite the rest being almost the exact same makes them different swords, with different names. Additionally when you take this over to European blades, there's also a ton of different guards, hilts, shape, whether the blade is flat or not etc to take into account when identifying a blade.

So automatically, whatever sword Squalo has attached to his arm is not a fucking Spatha if it's referring to this.

Now we'll compare the blade's shape, which as you can see, Spatha actually prefer a round to their edge.

A fairly close shape to this can be argued that maybe it's a 16 or a 13 blade and he just removed it's hilt,pommel and guard. HOWEVER, we know this blade almost reaches Squalo's ankle when he's standing full height. It's REALLY long, as you can see, the 16 and 13 are more on the shorter end of these blades. and they certainly aren't thin enough. The shorter end of these blades before it goes into GladII range is about as long as his calf. These blades are also evidently thicker than what Squalo has generally.

Also Spatha have grooves like this in the sword which isn't depicted in the overall shape, they have these though can be found with only one they're typically more ornamental or smooth if they have these sorts, they're very flat blades so it's not for the shape. Squalo's blade tends to be more than a flat sheet while it's swung sideways.

This thing is custom made to hell and back and cannot exactly be considered exactly one type of sword other than "Vaguely European". However, if I were to tell you what sword he may have taken for a base I would hand you the Italian Arming sword

Very long, clear sharp end, has the correct thickness to the blade among other things. He still would have definitely lengthened it to something that generally you would two hand. Which says something about the body strength Squalo has in his arm. Because let me tell you, it does not matter if you can lift 10 pounds easily. If that is distributed over a long length it gets harder and harder to wield and control. Usual physics stuff you know? If you're writing Squalo remember this dude is fucking shredded to carry a sword that's technically a type of long sword with only one fucking arm and swinging it around as if it's not even there. Now that's a man you don't want to arm wrestle. (well for other reasons than just that but really. Generally you do not want this man within arms reach. He will kill you.)

Now for his other sword that is FOR SURE not a Spatha.(I'm sorry this drove me fucking nuts for the longest time, you have to deal with this too if you want sword facts.) We only see like three panels and OH MY GOD CAN I NOT USE THE FIRST FOR SWORD IDENTIFICATION.

NO SWORD IS FUCKING BUILT LIKE THIS. YOU DO NOT BUILD A SWORD LIKE THIS. ALL THE WEIGHT OF IT IS AT THE END AND THIS IS GOING TO KILL YOUR ARM MORE THAN YOUR OPPONENT. SUPERBI FUCKING SQUALO DO YOU WANT CARPAL TUNNEL? THIS IS HOW YOU GET FUCKING CARPAL TUNNEL(maybe that's why he was fine with cutting off his left arm, but then again then he goes and uses the same blade with his right arm, so if so he learned nothing)

Aside from the VERY obvious blade issue, Spatha do not have hilts pommels or even guards like this, all of them are very kind of, no guard, and shorter hilts, rounded pommels. You absolutely could not get a less Spatha like sword.

Next, the ones where I could maybe get a proper identification off of it.

Since Amano kind of fucks up his sword in long shots this gives a clearer look at what this is. In the 2nd image it's as thin as a rapier. But I can tell from the length of the hilt this sword in combination to it's blade length is made to be able to switch between two and one hand, one for power the other for reach depending on how you hold it.

This type of sword uh, funny enough is known as a Bastard Sword. This is a category of sword and not a specific type of sword mind you. As is Long sword and other such things. However the categorizing is kind of messy because of different languages using the same word both using the term in the same way and also not. However know now a-days that's how we refer to them, as you can see though

The only difference is in size and shape is it's kind of prettier.

But generally both swords follow more arming sword/bastard sword shape and size

Now lemme explain to you why Squalo kneecapped himself by changing swords.

Already I told you the versatility of how these swords will allow you more power and range. But did you know, many of these swords at the time, would purposefully have a dull area you can grab with your hands for even MORE versatility? Essentially if you got stuck in let's say a cramped hallway, you're fighting near allies, or even your opponent is too close to you or even they're wearing armour, you'd be able to wield it like a dagger and give yourself more focused attacks and precision, that you could do better with less risk(this was great at getting into armour gaps). which is something he cannot do now stuck to only wide swings and stabs.

You think that's a pretty bad deficit already? How about the fact he can't change hands, meaning he can't feint opponents with fake swings as easily, that if his opponent is on the wrong side of him he needs to adjust his entire body instead of just switching hands? Normally that isn't a special problem, but Squalo is logically an ambidextrous sword user from the work he put in before getting his prosthetic! So it's a special waste of an advantage. This needing to adjust his whole body leaves him usually facing his opponent full on by accident too.

Not only that either! You know how I said there's a ton of ways to use a sword and even holding it "Strangely" is a valid way to use them? A technique used against armoured opponents is to use these not sharp areas on the sword and basically use the flexible sword as a flail hitting a knight on top of the head with the pommel. I have seen it used and it DENTS armour. and the person inside usually gets stunned hard enough that within a few seconds they'll need to sit down. Imagine what it would do to an unprotected human skull. So saying that a sword was useless against an armoured opponent is very incorrect. Thankfully for Squalo, he doesn't have to fight those.

But regardless on that part, the inability to have the versatility of all of the above makes it seriously impressive that he's even kept his title so long. Man should have lost it ages ago. But then again, in X-Fiamma it was made clear that the Executives weren't allowed to do anything important at least mission wise until Xanxus got back so maybe he also wasn't allowed to got slaughter other swordsman. Maybe the 101 he killed in future arc was to get the blood lust of 8 years out and that's why he's a little more focused.

I do want to point out something here

This? This is Squalo fucking showing off. and you may not know JUST how much he's showing off here. You see, when you're sword fighting, dodging is the LAST option you want to do. This is because of the fact your brain has an order of operations. Because you know it may send signals quickly but it still has travel time. The LAST thing that will get a message is your feet.

So it is safer and better to block, parry, counter. Dodging also can not only get you injured, it allows your opponent to chase. Because you've moved, you can be pushed backwards further and be controlled that way. Squalo doing this is a taunt in of itself because he should KNOW these things more than anyone else here.

Since Squalo's blade stays the exact same. I'll now just move onto Genkishi's four swords.

So immediately you'll notice, it's our old friend the bastard sword! Meaning while Genkishi doesn't use these techniques I mentioned above he'll be able to if you ever happen to write him.

However! It does appear his Sword is a little thicker than Squalo's in some panels, and with how he moves them it is VERY stiff, so he wouldn't be able to use them as a flail but as a club instead. Still though, pretty damn effective against an armoured opponent.

Also this is very silly. For reasons that should be obvious, this wouldn't do shit. Unfortunately despite his very interesting techniques, my notes on his fighting style end here too many illusions <:). I'd love to expand more.

Also if you have any questions!! I'd love to answer them, absolutely obsessed with this kind of this so not only thanks for sticking with me here, but asking any question will probably get you a very long explanation.

Also the reason I didn't go into sword techniques much, just know we actually have no idea the maximum number of certain techniques for the blade there are, just there's "best ways of practice" and certain moves you'll occasionally see, but most of it is working on the fly. Just for the Katana alone there would be an estimate of 1000+. Insane that Squalo thinks he's seen them all.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #khr analysis #superbi squalo #yamamoto takeshi #Genkishi #swords...#long as FUCK post

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astromechs · 4 months

Note

rebelcaptain and 22 or 25 for smut prompts if you’re still doing them? 👀

and here we are for prompt 25! this one didn't quite stay under the 500 word count but shh. from this list; still accepting! (and this whole collection now also exists on ao3)

Truth be told, neither she nor Cassian are ones for surprises. Not much point in trying for them, really, when what's kept them both alive up to this point is knowing any given environment they step in enough to be on alert for anything strange or different, when, because of that, the unexpected has them wired to act; no one on base will soon forget the time that Bodhi had tried to sneak up on her and had nearly gotten himself punched in the nose for his trouble, or the time that Cassian had just barely managed to avoid shooting Solo, among other things.

But maybe, Jyn thinks, just maybe, she'd like to try to get something past him once, if only to see what surprise might actually look like on him. (Would it make him look younger, like he sometimes does when he's asleep? Would it lift the weight he's always carrying around off of him, if only for a moment?) And, well, not just that; there is some potential satisfaction in it for her, too.

So, when things finish a few hours ahead of schedule, she decides not to send anything on their encrypted comm channel to let him know. He's likely to check with command about an ETA, sure, but if they're not running behind, there might not be a reason to — and that's as good of a chance as any.

As it turns out, the hangar's pretty sparse when they land, and, most importantly, there's no sign of Cassian pacing back and forth, like he usually does when he's waiting for her after they've been apart, which means she still has her chance — and she's not going to waste it. She tosses a quick wave over her shoulder in Bodhi's direction and disembarks with a purpose, passing command without so much as even a blink and heading straight for the living quarters.

If everything's ahead of schedule, then the mind-numbingly boring debrief can wait until when it was originally supposed to happen. All still by the fucking book, right?

Draven can go fuck himself if he doesn't like it.

That's what she decides to stick to as she punches in the code to the door of the quarters that she and Cassian share.

There's no greeting for her here, either, when she steps inside and lets the door shut behind her; there's only the sound of water running from the shower in the fresher. Jyn doesn't hesitate before shucking her jacket, pulling her shirt over her head, stepping out of her pants and underwear, and tossing it all into a haphazard pile on the floor; after two long fucking weeks that the aches down to her bones are feeling every bit of, there are exactly two things she wants, and they're both, right now, conveniently in the same place.

Three things, she reminds herself as she finds space for herself in the shower and the steam clears enough for Cassian's eyes, wide and round, to take in the sight of her. She'd been right to want to witness this; alongside the surprise, there's an awed sort of wonder on his face that erases years in an instant, that locks onto her as the sole focus of his world in a way that makes her chest seize with something she can't quite name.

And every part of him is standing at attention; every part of him.

Her eyes drift down to his hardened cock and back up again, a smirk curling on her mouth. She steps closer, not stopping until their bodies are flush, and she stands on her toes, pressing her lips to his, swallowing the sound he makes when she wraps her fingers around the base.

It's a lot more breathless than she'd like when she pulls back just far enough to ask: "Need a hand?"

#rebelcaptain #* fic #* snippet #asks #anonymous

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wee-chlo · 2 years

Text

Not a Theory but an Idea I Had

Spoilers for God of War Ragnarok in the details but generally:

Calliope becomes Hel.

Here's the thought, which may or may not be canon-compliant but given the nature of the reboot, anything can happen.

Greece isn't destroyed, per se, but a sort of metaphysically anarchic wasteland, which is why Kratos' powers from there don't work anymore. The very nature of godhood fundamentally shifted because of what he did: the release of hope, the death of the Pantheon, the continued existence of Athena... life, death, time, space... all very wishy-washy.

Atreus, in his search for the other giants, stumbles on the bridge Týr used to travel between Realms, and between him and Calliope's accidental collaboration, the bridge between Midgard and Greece is briefly reopened. Calliope breaks through but between the instability of the bridge and Athena being hot on her trail, the door shuts before she can fully escape. She's dying, aging, and Atreus acts without thinking. He grabs her hand and gives her half of his own godhood, his own energy.

When they come to, Atreus is exhausted. Calliope is... different. One half of her, the half Atreus grabbed the hand of and held onto and pushed magic through, is alive, young, vibrant and strong; nut brown skin and dark hair that reaches out like an inky black cloud. The other is a husk. Desiccated, with jerky-like flesh peeling away from yellowed bone. One eye is a rich brown flecked with gold. The other is cloudy white, sunken into a deep socket.

The brief reignition of the Bridge disconnects the temple they're in from the World Tree, so they have to take the long way home. On the way, they talk. Calliope tells Atreus about Greece. Atreus gains a new understanding of his father's hesitancy to kill a god, to fight a war. He didn't think there was more to understand, but he continues to be surprised.

"It's different here," she says quietly at the fire. "The gods don't matter as much. In Greece, every dead god was another way for the world to suffer."

Atreus wonders if Sindri would have killed Odin if the result would have been what happened to Greece after their father killed Zeus.

By the time they reach Sindri's Treehouse, word of Loki and the strange half-dead thing that travels with him has already made it there. Kratos expects... something. Not this.

Atreus has never seen his father quite this stunned. Like something has been peeled away and only raw truth is exposed. A hand grips the edge of the table like without it, he'd collapse. Atreus sees his father become a haunted man confronted by a ghost.

"It is a trick," he rasps. "An illusion."

"The bridge to Greece opened," Atreus supplies softly, then corrects himself at Calliope's brief, unimpressed glance in his direction. "We... I... We opened it. It wasn't open for long, but-"

"You look well, Father," Calliope says, a note of something Atreus recognizes in her voice: that flint-hard skeleton of a harsher world, a crueler upbringing. "For a dead man." Something halfway between a laugh and a sob rips from his father, and Atreus is at a loss.

Something breaks, and Kratos is across the room, his daughter in his arms, and Atreus hears the whispered pleas for forgiveness. Calliope's arms come up, and while their father is too broad for her arms to wrap around completely, he hears her whisper back.

I forgive you.

Atreus has never had a sister before. It's not bad really. He thinks he'd have liked having her around a lot when he was little. She and Kratos have the same sense of humor, one that Atreus took a long time to understand when it came from their father but is a lot funnier from Calliope. And she tells stories too, like Mimir. But only stories from Greece. They're interesting though, if often a bit weird, kind of grisly. Sometimes he feels kind of bad for laughing, like when she tells the story of Thermopylae and how when the Persians boasted that their arrows would blot out the sun, the Spartan retort was "then we'll fight in the shade!"

The stories about the gods of Greece aren't as funny. Sometimes she tells them in a funny way, but most of the time it's very matter of fact. Sometimes it feels like Kratos listens because he feels like he has to, as penance. Atreus listens because something rings as important.

"Father was a god there too, right?" He asks carefully one day. Kratos stills and Calliope nods.

"Oh yes. The god of war, after killing Ares." She tilts her head, and it seems like the dead eye is the one looking at him, peering close and seeing through. "There's only the one story about him though."

She doesn't tell it to him for awhile. She doesn't tell it to him until they're making their way through Helheim, escorting her to the Eagle of Hel to offer to take the great bird's position as Hel.

Kratos doesn't stop her. Doesn't interrupt. Atreus can't tell if he wants her to tell it or not, if it's a relief or not. Mimir doesn't interject to correct something or question a detail.

And at some point, when Zeus dies and Greece descends into chaos and the body of Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, disappears from the bloodsoaked cliff that Athena left him to die on... the story becomes Calliope's.

How as Hades became a tumult of the damned, as Tartarus heaved and the River Styx swelled past it's banks, she scratched and clawed her way back to the land of the living. How she and other survivors, other mortals, caught sparks of hope as they fell from the shattered husk of Olympus like snow and fought against Athena, driven mad by Ambition and Hate. How in a world where godhood meant nothing, she became one, the blood of old Sparta and old Olympus burning hot and bright inside her. How she led the Greeks in one great, desperate push against Athena, how she sacrificed herself to drag Athena into the primordial depths to free the land... and then a bridge opened. One of rainbow and ice, and a hand reached out and took hers. Athena tried to follow but the gate closed, the bridge shattered, and a brother she didn't know she had welcomed her into a new world.

The Eagle of Hel peers down at them, rumbles a reply.

"She says it was a fine tale," Mimir translates respectfully. "And she smells the truth of it on you."

Calliope becomes the new Hel, the Eagle taking her under her wing.

Over the years, the stories shift and change, as they do. The nature of Hel, who she is, how long she's been there, the land she watches over. But Hel and Loki are always kin.

#god of war ragnarok #gow atreus #gow 2018 #gow kratos #gow calliope

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tarnishedinquirer · 2 months

Text

Misc: The Coast and Cave

((Sorry, no pictures, my recording messed up))

Boc said he was going to a cave on the coast to recover his sewing supplies, but that was a while ago. Granted, we didn't exactly agree on a meeting place, but I was starting to grow worried.

After my brief crisis of reality, I found a road down to the shore. A troll seemed to be patrolling, and he could keep doing that as far as I'm concerned. No business of mine.

On the shore proper, I saw a flash of light moving across the ground in a fixed pattern. I tried to swing my sword at it, but it took a little while to get the timing right. The light only showed me where it'd just been, not where it was now.

It was one of those scarabs I've seen around. I've gotten some flask refills and ashes of war off of them, but never really paid much attention. Can't think of a reason why a stamping sweep technique would cause the scarab to become invisible, so I'm not gonna worry too much about what this one means either.

Someone built a campfire on the northern end of the shore. One of those mounted mercenaries, just staring out to sea. When I got closer, I saw a dead long-neck. Scratch that, looks like the long-neck built the fire and the mercenary just stole his lunch. I returned the favor and moved on, with a bit more food in my pack.

Fought a giant land octopus, which is something that exists here. Met one of Kalé's kin, hiding out under a ruin arch. But then I reached the end of the shoreline, at a giant waterfall. More like a deadfall, given how many broken boats and barrels rested down here.

Then there were the skeletons.

My first fight with the undead since getting here. I quickly learned that they would get back up if I didn't make well and sure they were dead. Smacking them while they were on the ground seemed to work, but it's easy to get distracted and forget to finish the job. I wish I could have gotten a good look at them, as they seem to be wearing some unique armor, but as soon as they're truly killed, they crumble into dust.

That wasn't my only problem. There were Piles of rotten blood and bones that were nearly immune to my sword and my spells. Thinking quickly, I thrust my torch into them and that did the trick. Are these undead that didn't fully form? Maybe too rotten and jumbled up to make a real body.

Having reached the end of the road, I doubled back to find Boc's cave. Wasn't too hard to find because this time I was ambushed by a mob of his demi-human kin. I can see why he didn't fit in. Most of them aren't nearly as urbane as the elegant Boc. Savagery is no match for skill though, and I'm very skilled.

They sure did a number on Boc. Poor guy was barely clinging to life, and all over some needle and thread? He tried to warn me about going deeper, but I couldn't let this one slide.

After clearing the first room of the brutes, I felt a presence, like there was someone else standing here, but somewhere to the side, in a direction I couldn't point to. I called out, and he answered.

Didn't have much time to compare notes, since the boss room was right in front of us, but I got the feeling we were here for different reasons. He kept looking towards the end of the cave, like there was something there only he could see.

The Demi-human camp was ruled by two chieftains, so we each took one and my wolves dealt with the stragglers. At least, that was the plan. I take back what I said about savagery being no match for skill. These were tough customers who kept me on my toes. I barely had time for spells. (Note: Memorize the pebble spell) Istvan fought with one of those strange pole-swords I've seen the mercenaries use, but through it he channeled some strange purple magic that sucked enemies in. After nearly getting gutted by the chief, I let him handle both of them and instead just pelted them from a distance.

Once the chiefs were dead, he didn't stick around to chat either. I wonder what he was looking for? Regardless, I got what I needed. Once I showed Boc his sewing needle, he lit up and I could almost see the life returning to him. Just to be safe, I honed my sewing skills on some of his wounds. He took it like a champ and let me keep the kit. All he wanted was that needle.

Questions:

What was Istvan searching for?

Where did the skeletons at the bottom of the waterfall come from?

#elden ring lore #elden ring #in character #in character blog #in character post #elden ring rp #elden ring oc #elden ring tarnished #let's play

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