#heavy trigger warning for this

[varpusvaras]

The amount of eating disorders among the clones has to be astronomical. Every aspect of their lives are controlled, food included. They need to constantly stay in the best physical shape possible. They are burning so many calories. They are so hungry. The food is always limited.

Maybe the war ends with the defeat of the Sith. They're not soldiers anymore. Their food is not limited.

Suddenly their bodies are changing. Too fast, too fast. They don't look like they used to anymore. It's too much. They feel like a failure.

[wanderingibon]

anya deserved so much better

[kalivasquezart]

a change in you

part 1 // part 2 // [part 3]

[wildflowercryptid]

it's all fun and games until your goofy ass kinnie jokes actually start to bring some interesting similarities to light.

[writer-by-the-sea]

Um, hi! I'm new and I really like your works!

I want to make a request for Haley and Penny (separate) if that's okay with you!

Scenario: how would they react when they find out that their s/o, the farmer, used to be a member of the Mafia? A hitman to be exact, but they've changed and left that life behind.

I don’t think I’ve ever done a full on headcanon before, but I figured why not! 

Instead of doing mini fics for only two characters, I am going to attempt to write these thoughts into a slightly coherent but readable mess. WARNING: These do not all end happily. Some are very heavy angst and they break up with you.

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“There’s… something I need to tell you,” the farmer began, rubbing the back of their neck while they looked away from the person in front of them. Someone that they’ve come to love, to trust enough to finally open up to, and someone who might understand.”Before moving to Stardew… I was... Part of a very bad crowd,” they pause and take a deep breath. “Not just a little group of delinquents that spray paint the side of buildings.

“Something.. Far worse. I know that you might view me differently because of this but– I want you to know who I truly am. I never want to lie to you, and while I wanted to keep this secret buried deep inside; I care about you too much to allow you to continue dating me without knowing… 

“I was a hired killer, an assassin, a hitman.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Alex

“Hey, man, you don’t have to lie to me to look cool,” Alex laughed and gave you a thumbs up. “You’re already really cool in my book.” 

You grimace before saying, “Alex, I’m not lying.” 

“Oh,” he breathes out. A minute passes, the gears turning in his head as he thinks it over. “Ohhh.” 

“Yeah, oh,” you reply. “I understand if you need some space–” 

Alex leaned back into his bed, letting himself land softly on his back. “Gramps has killed a few guys, so I’m not really worried about it.” 

You look down at him and raise a single brow, “Wasn’t that in war though?” 

“It was, but it’s the same thing, isn’t it?” 

“Not.. really.” 

Alex shrugs and sighs, “if you asked him for stories, he would spend the rest of the day telling you every single bloody detail. I’ve heard them all a thousand times.” He sat up, dropping her face to a sneer and pulled his lips back. “During that war,” he began, perfectly mimicking his grandfather. “I killed fitty men! I collected their earlobes and wore them around my neck like a trophy!” 

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into Alex. “Okay, that’s a little fucked up actually.” 

“You haven’t even heard the worst of it,” he answered with a grin. “He likes to tell this story about the time they had to go save some guy–”

“Wait,” you cut him off, gently placing your fingertips against his lips to stop him. “I just.. I want you to know that I love you, and that all of that shit is in the past… but I understand if you want nothing to do with me after this.” 

Alex pushed your hands away with his lips, laughing again as he pulled back. “It’s alright, I get it. Just don’t keep anything else from me, okay?” 

You nodded and pulled him into your arms, giving him a good squeeze. “I promise.” 

Alex slid out of your arms and ran to his bedroom door, swinging it open before playfully glaring at you. “As punishment for not telling me in the first place!” He took a really deep breath filling his lungs before shouting “Grandpa! The farmer wants to hear all your war stories!” 

Alex wasn’t scared of you. Afterall, nothing you’ve done could ever compare to the stories he grew up with. He knew his grandpa regretted the choices he made, but sometimes, you have to do cruel things to survive. 

Elliott

Elliott quickly grabbed his wine, downing the glass in one huge gulp before placing it back onto the table. “What you’re telling me,” he whispered, his gaze focused on the empty wine glass. “You’re being truthful? This isn’t a jest?” 

“No,” you answered, scooting your chair closer to his. “Just.. I know you’re in shock right now, but please just give me a chance to explain–”

“This is wonderful news!” Elliott jumped up from his chair, darting to a notebook that lies open with scribbles across the pages. He sprinted back, throwing himself back into the chair as harshly it nearly toppled over with him in it. “Tell me, what does another man’s eyes look like as you choke the life out of him?” 

“W-what?” you stammered, glancing down at the notebook that was now on the table where Elliott held his quill above it, ready to write. “Are you trying to get a confession from me?” 

“Heavens no!” He replied with a laugh, putting his quill down and turning to grab your hands. “My next novel is a murder mystery! I would love to have your feedback.” 

“You’re kidding,” you replied, your mouth hanging open. 

“Not at all, my love!” Elliott smiled so brightly, you would have thought you just told him his book had a million sales; not that you used to kill people for a living. “It truly is destiny that we were to meet!” 

“Do… Are you okay with my past?” 

“Ah,” Elliott nodded, understanding now why you seemed so hesitant with your words. “We all have our demons, don’t we, darling? If I were ever to judge every person I knew by the skeletons in their closet.. Well, life wouldn’t be very fun, now would it?” 

“I’m…” you tried to focus, confusion swirling in your head making everything foggy and hard to follow. “What?” 

Elliott was already back to his notebook, licking the pad of his thumb while he flipped through the pages. “This part here,” he held the book out to you, the page filled with brainstorms and more messy scribbles. “Could you fact check it for me? I honestly don’t know what a man sounds like when he gets stabbed like this. Also, the shoulder would be a good spot for them to survive from a stab, right?” 

You laughed, shaking your head at this ridiculous man. “Well, actually, there’s a main artery that going along the shoulder–” 

Part of you wasn’t surprised that Elliott was excited to discuss bloody, brutal, cold murder with you. Although, the writer did make a point the next day to scold you for keeping the secret from him. He could have finished his novel even sooner, and… he could have told you how much he loves you and would never give you up. 

In fact, he would help you get away with murder. 

Harvey

“No,” Harvey stood abruptly, his knee hitting his kitchen table and nearly knocking his coffee over, the hot liquid jumping out of the mug and onto the table. “Shoot!” he cried as the coffee landed on some of his folders that were spread out. 

You joined him in grabbing napkins, trying to clean the coffee before it caused too much damage. 

“I can’t believe this,” he whispered as he tossed the dirty napkins aside, uncaring of where they would land. “Not you, not my farmer, no…” 

You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back your emotions. “Harvey–” 

Then he broke before you, a sob ripping through his throat right before he began sobbing. His glasses getting wet and foggy as he let each tear slide down his cheeks. “Not you…” 

“Please, I just–” 

Harvey straightened up, taking a deep breath and forced himself to meet your eyes. “I have dedicated my whole life to helping those who need it. I took an oath to assist any single soul that cries for help. If a patient dies on my table, I have to live with that for the rest of my life. The rest of my life knowing that I couldn’t do enough for them!” 

Your eyes widen, dread filling you as you realize this is the end. “Harvey, please–” 

“Get out,” he growled, his voice deep, dangerous, and oozing with hatred. 

“Let me explain–” 

“For you to come to me, and tell me that you took human lives for your own gain? I don’t need to hear another word,” Harvey took a step towards you, his body tensing, preparing to fight you if he must. “Get the fuck out of my home.”

Everything in you wanted to stay, to fight for what you had… 

You left, crying on your way back to the farm, your heart shattered beyond repair. 

Sam

“For real?” Sam's face scrunched in disbelief. “No, you’ve gotta be joking. Ain’t no way the hot farmer killed some dudes.” 

While your hands may have been tough from constantly working in the dirt, Sam could never imagine in a million years that you would kill a fly on the wall, let alone another human being!

“Is it April Fool’s? It is, isn't it?” he joked and nudged you. “Well, you got me–” 

“Sam,” you breathed out in reply, the truth hanging between you. 

“Holy shit,” Sam stood slowly, taking a step back from you. “You’re serious? You’ve actually killed people?” 

“Yes.” 

“Dude…” he ran a hand through his wild hair, not caring how the gel stuck to his fingers. 

He needed more information, but right now, he needed to make one thing clear. 

“Look,” he started and made his way back to you, dropping himself on his mattress next to you. “Like, I’m not gonna dump you over this; but keeping that from me was seriously not cool.” 

“I know,” you mumbled in reply and offered a weak smile. “I just–” 

Sam raised a hand, cutting you off. “No, we’re gonna talk about this later, after we’ve both had some pizza, and maybe a couple… or an entire case of beer. You’re gonna break all this shit down for me, and then we’re gonna talk about how you’re doing like.. Mentally. After doing all that shit.” 

“Mentally?” you asked with a laugh. “What--” 

“Nope,” Sam stood and grabbed your hand. “Pizza first, you asshole. I can’t believe you killed people, so fucking weird.” 

Sam was in it for the long run, and while he viewed you differently (as like, a cold blooded killer what the fuck,) he wasn’t going to give up on you just because of a dark past. 

Sebastian

“I mean, who hasn’t?” 

Your head whips up to stare back at Sebastian, not sure you just hear those words correctly. “Wait–” 

“You think I haven’t killed a man? Why do you think I hide out in the basement coding shit all day instead of living in the city and making a fortune? Be realistic.” 

“Sebastian, I–” 

“No, it’s cool. I really don’t care,” he said with a shrug and went back to typing on his computer. 

“Well, no, wait; Sebastian that’s a lot to drop on someone–” 

“Hey, I wasn’t a fucking hitman though now was I?” 

“I don’t know, were you?!” 

He shrugs again, reaching for an open pack of cigarettes and lights one up. He takes a deep drag and then blows it out slowly. “I’m gonna go get some leftover pumpkin soup, I made it last night, you want some?” 

You just stare back at him, your jaw hanging open. Now you were the one that needed more information! 

But, you supposed that could wait. Pumpkin soup was on the line, afterall. 

Shane

He takes a sip of his soda, savoring the flavor and bubbles before putting his can back down on the kitchen table. 

“So,” he began, forcing himself to sit up straight and meet your eyes. 

“Are you here to kill me then?” 

“What?” 

“Are you.. here, to kill me?” Shane asked again, slowly. 

“No!” you shouted and waved your hands in front of you like a white flag. “You’ve got the wrong idea!” 

“I’m not telling you how I made the chickens blue, you can beat me to the brink of death and I’ll never spill–” 

“Shane, babe, no– well actually how do you–” you stopped speaking as Shane glared at you and narrowed his eyes. “Nevermind the chickens, I’m not here to kill you.” 

“To kill Marnie then?” He asks. “To end the competition for milk and eggs? You make me sick,” he spit. 

“No, what? I turn all my milk into cheese to make you Pepper Poppers or Pizza–” 

“Then the eggs!” He declares and stands up, pointing a finger down where you sat. 

“Please, just listen to me,” you stood with him, on the verge of tears knowing that this could be the end–

Shane’s frown twitched, so quick you could almost miss it. 

You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again. 

“Oh, I see. You came here to kill Willy, with your gaping fish mouth.” 

Any doubt or worries you had dropped instantly. “You’re totally fucking with me, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, I found your list of names a few months ago. You really shouldn’t leave that stuff lying around you know?” 

“Yoba,” you sighed in relief and dropped back into your chair, the wood lightly squeezing on the tiled floor. “Why didn’t you say anything?” You kept your head down, ashamed to have ever tried to hide this from him. 

Shane chuckled and sat back down, “I figured you’d tell me when the time was right.” 

You risked a glance at Shane, “do you hate me for it.” 

“Hate you? Of all people to hate someone for the mistakes they made in their past, you think I’m going to be one of them? I’m a little offended, farmer.” 

“I’m sorry,” you cracked a smile as he gazed at you, his eyes filled with all of the love and support in the world. 

He was right, Shane would never judge you for your past, just as you never judge him for his. The only thing that matters is the kind of person you are moving forward, and that suits him just fine. 

Abigail

The first thing she asks, with a wicked grin and excited eyes, “So, how many people did you kill?” 

While she knows the value of a human life, she could never allow her thoughts to wander towards ��what if I killed someone?’ She feared she may pursue it herself. 

“What was your weapon of choice?” she would ask next, hardly containing the buzz flowing through her body from the quick high; knowing she was talking to (dating!) a certified badass killer. 

She does view you differently, however. 

Not as an evil person, as you might have expected; but someone strong enough to protect her, someone who told her this knowing that she might turn away from them, someone who loves her enough to put her first. 

The subject is sensitive, and she knows not to tease you too much or ask for too many details; but she does ask for the occasional story – if you’re willing to give it. 

Emily

She gasps, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as she stares back at you in horror. “W-what do you m-mean,” she stumbles over her words, her hands now shaking as she lowers them away from her face, trying to steady them as they rest in her lap. “You.. you actually, ki–” she can’t finish the sentence. 

“I did what I had to, to get by. Please understand that I’m not a bad person-” 

“You killed people,” she dropped her head and watched as tears fell into her lap. “You actually killed people…” 

“Emily–” 

“How can I trust you after this?!” She jumped up, still shaking while she paced around her room. “How can I know that you’re not withholding more?!” 

You stood and put your hands on her shoulders, holding her in place, but she refused to meet your eyes. “I swear to you, I will never hide something from you again… if you just give me a chance to prove myself.” 

Emily dropped her head onto your shoulder, softly sobbing and letting her tears drip onto your shirt. “You’re going to tell me everything.” 

“Okay,” you whispered back, your arms moving down to wrap around her. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” 

There would be a lot of trust issues moving forward, and Emily would keep you on a tight leash for a while; but she knew that not everyone was perfect, and while she might not like your past, she loves who you are now. And she’s not willing to give up yet. 

Haley

She looked up from her phone, her brow dropping down and her eyes narrowing, “Ew.” 

You tried not to snort a laugh at her reply, but failed miserably. “That’s all you have to say? Ew?” 

She rolled her eyes at you, “what else am I supposed to say? Oh no, please don’t kill me, super scary hitman?” 

“Uh,” you looked around you as if you could find the answer hovering in the air. “I’m.. not.. sure, honestly.” 

Another eyeroll. “You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it’s worth. I’m still going to love you no matter what dumb shit you’ve done in your past. I mean, did you know that I dyed my hair black once? Also, ew. Total regret.” 

Bewildered, you plopped down beside her, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t care?” 

“Ugh. Of course I care,” she slapped you on the side and finally put her phone aside. “But you obviously regret it, like I did with the black hair, and while our past mistakes may have been huge; it doesn’t dictate who we are today. So, don’t worry about it.” 

“You realize you’re comparing black hair to the murder of a.. Lot of people?” 

“Babe,” she took a deep breath, staring deep into your eyes, begging you to understand… 

“I used a box dye. Tell me a worse crime than that.” 

You laughed together, her crime never coming close to your misdeeds, and she knew it. But after getting to know you, she knew she could continue to trust you just as she always has. 

Leah

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Leah threw her paintbrush at you, hitting you in the chest and leaving a splotch of yellow paint. “Not again!” 

“Again?!” you shouted back in shock. “What do you mean again!?”

“Tell me,” she hissed. “How many, what organization, and why the hell did you make me fall in love with you?!” 

“Leah,” 

“Do. Not. Leah. Me.” Each word spit in your direction. “Answer me.” 

You sighed, “it was a lot of people.. The organization was international and I never really knew who was in charge..” Closing your eyes, just to get away from her angry glare for a moment, you continued, “I never meant to mislead you. I wanted to tell you the truth to see if I even still stood a chance with you.” 

Leah relaxed, shaking her head before finding a place to sit down. “Thanks, for telling me, I guess.” 

Moving to her side, you kneeled next to her, taking her paint stained hands into your own. “Please, just give me a chance to make this up to you. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

“Yeah, well. You did,” she gently pulled her hands away, turning away from you. “Honestly, I don’t know if I can go through this again.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re never fully out of that life, farmer. That past will come back to haunt you one day, and I don’t think I have the strength to endure it.” 

“No, Leah, it’s over, I swear–” 

“Just leave, okay? I have a lot to think about.” 

Dejected, you do as you're told, stopping to say one last thing before you go. “I hope you’ll give me another chance, Leah. I’ve never felt this way about someone before, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 

She sniffles and wipes a tear away, “we’ll see.” 

Maru

She begins by tilting her head at you, her eyes scanning you up and down before turning back to her studies. “I know that, it’s pretty obvious.”

“Huh?!” you blurt out, shaking your head. “How–” 

Maru sighed and put her work aside, realizing that they needed to have a full chat about this now, despite her samples calling for her. 

“Once, you mentioned the amount of required poison to kill a person without raising suspicion to require an autopsy.” 

“Okay, but–”

“Another time, when my dad asked if you wanted to go camping one weekend and maybe hunting, you asked if a Heckler & Koch P30L would be an appropriate gun to bring.”

“I’ve never been hunting before!” you defended, weakly. 

“Sweetheart, it’s a handgun. You don’t go hunting with a handgun.” 

“Hang on–”

“Furthermore, you have two bullet wounds that I know of. One on your lower left calf and the other on your upper bicep. You also have obvious scars from being stabbed or sliced and it was most certainly not from a childhood cat.” 

You both stared at one another. You felt like an idiot for thinking you could ever hide anything from her. 

“Does it bother you?” 

“A little,” she admitted with a small shrug. “So long as you don’t go back into that kind of work though, I can get over it. Just don’t ever try to lie to me again, I will always know.” 

Penny

Her eyes widen and her heartbeat jumps so quickly she thinks she might faint.

She would have never expected this of you. 

Going into the mines was one thing, but killing people was a whole other level of insanity. 

It takes her a minute to process what you’ve just told her, her hands twisting in her lap, fearing she’s going to say the wrong thing. 

“Were they all bad people?” she finally asks, lifting her eyes up to meet yours. 

You take a moment to respond, a lie resting at the tip of your tongue, but you squash it and say, “No, they weren’t.” 

At this, Penny breaks. 

She drops her head into her hands and cries, pulling her knees up and to her chest while the heels of her feet rest on the edge of the couch. 

She was in love with you. So desperately, eagerly, pathetically in love with you. 

And now, she doesn’t know how to move forward. 

Her whole life, she has dealt with bad people. From the moment she was born she has fought with everything she’s ever had to be one of the good ones. Abiding by the rules, keeping to herself to avoid stepping on any toes, taking care of others when they don’t even appreciate the kindness she shows to them. 

“I don’t-” she gasped between her tears. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

The farmer nodded, taking her hands into their own and squeezing them gently. “I love you, Penny. More than anything.” 

“Why did you have to tell me?” she whispered. “Why..” 

“I couldn’t keep lying to you..” 

Penny stood, ripping her hands away to rope the back of them under her eyes. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk to me ever again.”

Then she ran off, leaving you there as the guilt washed over you. 

[lupinus-bicolor]

check out my meat shrine on neocities!!!!

⚠️⚠️ HEAVY WARNINGS FOR GORE, GUTS, VISCERA, ANATOMICAL MODELS, FLASHING IMAGES, AND REFERENCES TO DEATH⚠️⚠️

a little shrine for my favorite form of memento mori, the uncomfortable truth that we are all meatbags sloshing through life <3

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x reader

You die.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

TW: DEATH, heavy angst, gore, blood, kind of disturbing, a bomb explodes, derealisation/disassociation, graphic, I'll be so honest this fic is kind of fucked up

Lmk if I should add any more specific warnings!

If you're sensitive to violence and dark themes, you probably shouldn't read this.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

This mission had gone terribly awry. 

It was only meant to be a routine checkup. The IPC was planning on allocating resources from this planet, something the locals had not been pleased about. Aventurine understood. He would not be particularly happy to have his planet drained of all that made it worthwhile either. (He had not been happy. But all things considered, he thought he was being generous. Nobody was being directly killed, the IPC merely wanted a cut of the many materials the planet offered. The Avgins on Sigonia had all been very intentionally exterminated. He was not doing that to these people.)

Still, he couldn’t afford to take risks, hence the many IPC assigned bodyguards he had brought along. Deals like this, where the clients were undeniably on the losing end, were bound to go wrong in one way or another. Often violently so. 

He just had not expected the bombs. He had not expected the mass amounts of guns. The people were more capable and vengeful than he had assumed, then. Ultimately, it was his own fault.

Most of his goons were dead. Most of the government officials were dead too. It made sense they’d want to go out in such a loud and proud way. A declaration to their people they wouldn’t lay flat before the otherworldly corporation that had come to essentially take away what made their planet their home. Bold to be ready to kill so many of their own, but he could respect it. 

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be very angry. It was fair, all things considered. He’d had this long coming; being killed by the people whose lives he was ruining. In their positions, he’d love to kill him, too. The only issue was that this hadn’t happened under normal circumstances. 

No, you were with him. You’d been just a bit away from him when they opened fire, when they set off the bomb. 

It was so stupid. It was so, so unbelievably stupid that he’d let you come with. It was your job, yes, but he should have reassigned you to some other mission. Something safer. Something that didn’t involve visiting planets to drain them of all their worth. Something that didn’t bring about rage from the clients. 

He could see you. He’d been saved from the brunt of the impact, and his luck had once again protected him from serious harm. He had only been slightly grazed by a bullet, had only been slightly burned by the heat of the explosion. Nothing serious. Nothing he couldn’t walk off within a week or two. You had not been so lucky. 

Your arm was outstretched over your head, body lying limply on the floor. Missing the other arm. There was only a gaping, red hole where it had once been attached to your body, a little bit of bone sticking out of the gory mess. The blown off hand with your engagement ring lay close enough to him that he could touch it. Maybe intertwine his fingers with it for the last time. The pinky was missing.  

He pushed himself onto his feet on unsteady legs. He could barely feel his own body at all. One glance down at it told him he’d been right in his initial assumption, though. No parts of him were missing. He was intact. 

He stumbled over to where you lay, your expression calm, almost peaceful. No pained pinch between your brows, no worried frown on your lips. Were you unconscious, or were you dead? Though he knew it was unlikely you’d leave this place alive either way, he hoped desperately for the former. 

He fell to his knees next to you. Something was buzzing beneath his skin. Something was buzzing in his vision. Had the world always been so blurry? Had there always been such a loud noise ringing in his ears? His hands trembled as he carefully reached out, a hand tenderly cupping your cheek. Your face was red, slightly burnt in places. Your hair was singed. You felt hot to the touch. 

No, not hot. Warm. Warm as in alive. He couldn’t hear you breathing, but warmth meant life. Warmth meant life. You were alive, surely.

He brushed his thumb under your eye. Tried to find something to say, but he found his mouth refused to open. Carefully, so carefully, he shifted you onto his lap. He stared at the dust from all the debris that had settled onto you. He couldn’t breathe. 

(He thought back to a time when the dust had been sand. He thought back to the red that had painted the ground then as it did now. He thought back to another body he had pulled closer, with hands much smaller and weaker than the ones he had now. He thought back to the taste of salt as tears fell in an endless stream from his eyes to cover his face and hers.)

He moved his free hand to your neck, gently pressing a finger to where he knew he was supposed to find your pulse. It wasn’t there, but only because he wasn’t searching hard enough. He carefully felt around, and though he couldn’t find it, he knew it was still there. He just didn’t dare press down hard enough to find it. The same applied when he felt your wrist. He was just bad at finding things today. 

(He stupidly hadn’t found a good enough reason to put you out of this mission. He stupidly hadn’t found anything that happened before the explosion suspicious enough to leave early. He stupidly hadn’t found his way next to you quickly  enough to save your life.)

When his hand landed on your chest, absent of a heartbeat, tears started falling from his eyes. But why was that? You weren’t dead. In fact, the longer he looked at you, the more sure he became this couldn’t be you. Your skin wasn’t this hot. Your arms were both still attached. You did not have fresh burns covering your face. Most importantly, you were alive. Alive and well and happy and safe from this little mishap. He had misremembered, you had stayed home during this mission. The hand he’d been so sure belonged to you had been someone else’s, he’d merely mistaken the ring for yours. It was such a bland ring, after all. He’d have to buy you a new, much prettier one once he came home to you, and apologise for his oversight in giving you such a boring design. 

He ignored the repeated whispers of ‘not again, not again’ going through his head. Nothing was happening ‘again’. This was not Sigonia. This was not a person he loved, or even knew. He couldn’t understand why his body curled over the stranger’s, sobs wracking his frame as he pulled them close, soft apologies tumbling from his mouth. He nuzzled his face into your- their hair, hand carefully cradling the back of their head as the other supported their back. 

The body smelled like you. The body felt too similar to yours in his arms. The body had your face, even if your features were a little damaged. The longer he stared, the more he could feel his gut sinking. So he shut his eyes and reminded himself that there was no possible way this was you. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t. The universe would not be that cruel to him, would it?

Then again, maybe he had deserved this. If it was real. He was not a good man. He had not come to this planet with good intentions. Losing the thing most precious to him, the only thing precious to him, after taking away so much from so many others was a befitting punishment. 

But you hadn’t deserved this. Wouldn’t have, if it was real. You were so kind and generous and perfect and lovely, so different from him, so different from the position your job wanted you to be. You didn’t deserve to die. 

Die. Dead. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

You were dead. 

(Aventurine had seen so much death in his life. He should have been used to it by now. He was used to it. He had just forgotten how much it hurt when it is someone he loves.)

He held you tighter. If he held you tightly enough, could it piece you back together? If he held you tightly enough, could he replace the parts of you that were missing with his own? The sobs that escaped his lungs were violent, and quickly, some morphing into gagging. He felt sick. He had to turn himself away from you briefly to throw up, not wanting to soil what was left of you further, before he desperately held you again. Would it be the last time he held you?

Maybe if he took you back to the ship quickly enough, something of you could be salvaged. Maybe he couldn’t piece you back together, but he could find someone who would. There had to be something he could do. This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose like this again. 

He could barely stand. His body was already weak and your added dead weight made it even harder to balance. He picked up the parts of you strewn about on the ground he could quickly spot. Your hand, your shoulder, what he thought might be your bicep. He couldn’t find your forearm and he didn’t have time to properly search for it. Maybe someone could put all of you back together? Maybe you’d be whole again. He wanted you to be whole again. 

(He couldn’t save his people. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save his sister.)

(But things had to be different now, surely. He was a different person now. He had power, he had wealth, he had everything. What would it all be good for, if he couldn’t save you?)

Other IPC personnel met him outside the building as he stumbled out, and Aventurine’s mind was so hazy he couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. He was pretty sure his own, now dead, workers had sent a distress signal. People rushed in to find anyone else from the wreckage. After, Aventurine found out he was the sole survivor. (He always was.)

(You had not survived.)

He demanded you be taken into surgery. That the medical staff on board had to get you to breathe again. For some reason, they had been hesitant. He threatened to have them fired or killed if they didn’t get to it. He set you as first priority, putting the best doctors they had on hand to work on you. 

They sewed you back together as best as possible at his insistence. They got your heart pumping blood again, they hooked you up to machines and forced your lungs to breathe. The surgery lasted for four hours.

It did not change the flatline on the screen signalling your brain activity. 

He could find the best doctors in the whole galaxy, but he already knew the line would remain flat. Nothing was bringing that back.

He stared at you for hours after your surgery. Interlaced his fingers with yours, feeling the artificial warmth of your hand. It did not feel like you. The temperature was wrong. The look on your face was wrong. Your body was wrong. Everything about what remained of you was wrong. 

He eventually laid his head on your chest, and then he cried.

He cried until the black spots in his vision grew so numerous he could no longer see, until everything faded and he could no longer hear the beeping and humming of the machines keeping you hollowly alive. 

(Why did he ever let himself love again?)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sorry that was messy I wrote everything today because I am con-crunching tomorrow and won't be available for like at least 3 days after this (usually I write over the span of multiple days so I can re-read for grammatical/spelling errors and so my language will be a little more varied + I get fresh ideas). Sorry this fic was ?? kind of messed up ??? I think ??? I think my perception of what's messed up and not is kind of weird (I grew up on warrior cats HELP.) so to me it didn't feel that fucked up to write about Aventurine literally picking up your body parts after you died but I've realised upon mentally summarising that part of the fic that maybe that was kinda horrific. Just a glimpse into my twisted mind heh 😈.... sorry

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[all-for-the-recs]

Chapters: 31/31 (TECHNICALLY INCOMPLETE i will elaborate)

Words: 119,457

Author's Summary:

The doctor took a pause, which Nathaniel was able to use to ask, “what about my leg?”

The two pigs had the audacity to look surprised. The doctor looked over at them with a hint of confusion. “You didn’t tell him?”

Towns shook his head as Browning said, “you told us not to.”

Dr. Byrd nodded her head in approval and turned back to the bed. “Nathaniel…” she trailed off, reevaluating her words. “Would you mind if I sit?” and only after his own nod did she. “The damage done to your leg… it was unlike what most of the staff at this hospital had ever seen. The surgeons tried to save it, but…” She looked down at where his legs were and Nathaniel did too, only to feel himself pale at what he found.

“The surgery took about three hours,” Dr. Byrd continued. “The only reason why it took so long was because the surgeons really did try to save your leg. They did. Amputations usually take only half that time. Eventually, Dr. McCoy called it. Because of the damage done to your leg, we couldn’t wake you up to ask. It had to go. I’m sorry.”

~ or ~

the one where neil goes to baltimore and comes back missing a leg

another amputee neil fic! raise your hand if you are surprised!

except this one focuses more on the direct aftermath (and a little on the actual process of the whole reason why he needed it amputated, so be warned!) and is just so sweet and so soft even if it also heartbreaking and angsty.

this fic is very heavy and there are a lot of fucked up things in this because it's the foxes, but the author did an incredible job at tagging these triggers at the beginning of each chapter so be vigilant. the author has also done quite a lot of research as well on the topic of amputation and recovery from such an injury. this is such a beautiful fic, guys, i cannot recommend it enough.

that being said - it is incomplete. well. kind. check out their last chapter for more info on it. i don't believe there's any spoilers in the last chap so it's free to check out before reading. ik it can be a bummer to reach the end of a fic that doesn't quite have a finish to it and find out there's no more, so i will let y'all know in the future if that ever happens.

that being said, it is still an incredible fic, and i don't think it being "unfinished" takes away from the enjoyment i got from reading it!

[tacomedli]

Tainted Hero - Chapter 1

Sooooo I'm gonna try to start writing this story again, it was started in 2021, posted to ao3 in 2023, aaaaannnnd I never got past the first chapter. But here's to hoping! Anyway this chapter is already on ao3 obviously but I figured I might as well post it here too as something to get me started again.

Sneak peek:

Warriors barely glanced at them as this was happening, but in the split second that he was distracted he heard another cry--this time coming from none other than Legend. The captain watched in horror as vines of a black something crawled up the vet’s body, coming from--coming from his shadow.

“LEDGE!” Wars ran forward, not really having a plan but knowing he had to reach their veteran. The other heroes were shouting behind him, and he heard the thud of boots running in his direction, but he ignored it.

“I’m fine,” Legend bit out, then grabbed one of his legs and yanked. “I just can’t move.”

Warriors wrapped his arms around Legend’s torso and pulled. No luck.

The black grew steadily, now climbing up his waist. This was not good. 

Full chapter under the cut!

The monsters were infected, of course. It had been a while since Warriors had seen any that hadn’t been. In fact, the last time had probably been back before he’d met the other Link’s. What had caused all this strengthening black blood, anyways? Probably Dark Link, as he’d appeared in battle a few times to watch them from afar.

The heroes had grouped off into pairs, watching each other’s backs, with Wolfie helping out where he could. Twilight was nowhere to be seen, as he’d been off fetching more firewood when the ambush had happened. Hopefully he hadn’t been caught by monsters himself.

Warrior’s train of thought was interrupted by a particularly heavy slash from the lizalfos he was currently fighting against, and he almost staggered under the weight.

Keeping his balance was difficult on the uneven terrain, reminding him that they still had no idea whose time they were in--if anyone’s at all. Wars gave one final stab through the flesh of the lizalfos, piercing it through the heart. With an agonized squeal and a puff of purple smoke, the enemy was gone forever. The hero took a deep breath and turned around, looking for anyone who needed help.

His eyes widened when he saw the Shadow himself, the despicable Dark Link, sitting lazily in the branches of a nearby tree, his expression somewhere between amused and bored. 

“Time!” Warriors shouted, throwing a look over his shoulder at their unofficial leader. “The Shadow is here!”

Eight pairs of ears (though one covered in fur) perked up at that. If only these monsters would give them a break so they could face the real threat!

Time grunted in response, unable to move away from the two stalfos that were currently circling him. Wolfie bounded up to him, snarling and making to bite the ankles of one of them. Time spared the wolf a glance, his grip on the Biggoron Sword tightening. “Wolfie, I got this! Go help Warriors!”

Wolfie gave a sharp bark in return, then turned around to scan the battlefield for royal blue and midnight black. 

It wasn’t hard to spot. War’s blade flashed silver in the sunlight; scarf billowing out behind him. Dark Link’s grin was eerily wide as he slipped down from the tree limb, not bothering to equip any sort of weapon.

Wolfie’s eyes narrowed as he sped toward them. If the Shadow was unconcerned with the danger surrounding him, then he must have something up his sleeve yet. Wolfie wished briefly that he was human right now, so he could shout some sort of warning to be cautious in Warriors’ direction. 

At that moment, Warriors risked a look behind his shoulder. He’d heard Time’s yell, so it didn’t surprise him when he saw Wolfie coming closer. What did surprise him was the blur of red and green that matched an arrow’s speed, and the fierce battle cry as the Tempered Sword was raised high.

Legend.

Dark Link didn’t move until the last possible second, whipping out a blade that was black as coal to counter golden orange as Legend slammed into him. Warriors didn’t even know where the black sword had come from--but knowing Dark Link, it was probably summoned by dark magic or some other evil spell thingie.

Said Dark Link was unharmed from the attack, but even so, the force with which Legend hit the Shadow’s blade sent them both skidding forward a few feet--or backwards, in the Shadow’s case.

The latter still grinned as he pushed against the interlocking blades with a shove, forcing Legend to jump back. By this time Warriors had reclaimed his wits, and after taking a deep breath, charged the Shadow head on.

Dark Link was light on his feet, however, if the next minute proved anything. He barely even used any sort of magic as he alternated between defense and attack with his opponents, Wolfie included.

Neither side was gaining, though the heroes seemed to be the only ones growing tired. They’d been battling a camp of monsters up until now, after all, while Dark Link had only laughed to himself as he watched from the safety of an oak.

Upward swing, jump back. Spin attack, shield. Dodge, jump back. Swing again--

Warriors could feel the beads of sweat rolling down his temple, and was all too aware of a surprisingly painful pebble in the bottom of his right boot. How much longer was it going to take before someone else came to help? He’d like to think the three of them could take the Shadow on themselves, but he’d learned long ago that underestimating the enemy was no small mistake.

Wolfie jumped to bite Dark Link’s arm, but as he’d done countless times before, the Dark side-stepped him while simultaneously clashing swords with Warriors. That eerie grin was finally gone, but there was a glint in his eyes that Wars didn’t like one bit.

Legend threw himself forward yet again, hoping to get in an attack while the Dark was occupied. However, Dark Link vanished into thin air just before Legend could reach him, causing Wars to stumble from the sudden lack of pressure.

“Argh!” Legend whirled around. “Where are you, you--”

Warrior’s eyes widened. “Leg, look out!” he yelled as the Shadow reformed behind the veteran. 

Legend knew exactly what Warriors’ warning meant, and that if Dark Link was truly behind him, there wouldn’t be any time to turn around before he was quite literally stabbed in the back. So instead, he opted for a spin attack.

Which probably would’ve worked--if Dark Link wasn’t insistent on showing off his teleportation magic. Or in this case, his ability to merge with the hero’s shadow. Legend stepped back quickly as soon as he realized what had happened, but of course, his shadow followed.

Wolfie snarled, but heard an indignant yelp as Wind was disarmed by a stalfos a few feet away from them. He sprinted to the boy’s rescue, clamping his teeth down hard on the culprit’s neck as Wind hurried to retrieve his blade.

Warriors barely glanced at them as this was happening, but in the split second that he was distracted he heard another cry--this time coming from none other than Legend. The captain watched in horror as vines of a black something crawled up the vet’s body, coming from-- coming from his shadow.

“LEDGE!” Wars ran forward, not really having a plan but knowing he had to reach their veteran. The other heroes were shouting behind him, and he heard the thud of boots running in his direction, but he ignored it.

“I’m fine,” Legend bit out, then grabbed one of his legs and yanked. “I just can’t move.”

Warriors wrapped his arms around Legend’s torso and pulled. No luck.

The black grew steadily, now climbing up his waist. This was not good. 

Suddenly, Sky was there. “I have an idea,” he said, looking to Wars.

“Well, let’s hear it,” the captain replied, voice clipped. “Doesn’t look like we have much time here.”

Sky nodded, then held up the Master Sword. Sacred light climbed the blade, preparing it for a Skyward Strike.

“Oh, none of that, please,” came the disembodied voice of Dark Link. “If you’re going to be so rude, I think I’d best take my leave.”

Legend inhaled sharply as the black vines grew higher with increased speed, beginning to cover him—

“NO!” Without a second thought, Warriors lunged to grab ahold of his friend, unsure of what this strange magic would do and not really wanting to find out.

His fingers barely grazed Legend’s shoulder when there was a sudden flash of light, and he was no longer in the middle of a battlefield. His stomach grew nauseous and he was light-headed, and before he knew it he was keeling over and everything hurt and something felt wrong and—

Warriors’ eyes peeled open, and he blinked a few times. He immediately noticed two things: one, they were in a very dark and ominous prison cell, and two, Legend, who was slumped on the ground next to him, wasn’t moving.

Great. Just great. This was wonderful.

[jaxyza]

there's something dangerous about the boredom of chuuya nakahara

[artbybai]

Have Mercy On Me // Finally, Peace

Z Broly Angst doodle fan comic whatever

Ramble ( TW // Ideation headcanon )

Had the devastating realization/headcanon that maybe Z Broly saw fighting Goku as his only way out of the hellish suffering he was being put through by his own father all his life. There was no rivalry. Death was his only escape. Broly likely knew that he’d end up killing himself by letting loose all his power at once, or that Goku could at least be the catalyst for it.

Maybe Broly wasn’t even fully trying to destroy the Z Fighters, but just making it a good show for his father to give him the impression of doing his bidding—until Paragus ran. Abandoned him, after everything.

And then Broly didn’t care anymore. His efforts, wasted; every day he has ever been alive. His freedom after crushing Paragus wasn’t worth sticking around for anymore, given that the Z Fighters and everyone else would already consider him a threat in need of being put down for good, anyways. A freak. The devil himself. Nobody would ever even try to save him, like he once did for another, even as a baby.

Broly was screaming for mercy when he called for Kakarot, challenged him to fight, threatened to take away everything Goku loved. Of course the Z Fighters were in mortal danger, BUT, they were still in good enough condition that a senzu bean could heal them. That just… Sticks out to me. Broly easily could have one-shot TPK’d every single one of them once he went LSSJ.

He just wanted to escape.

(Of course I’m reading way too far into it all lol BUT this character speaks to me personally somehow. Broly’s tragedy of a story tears at my heartstrings like no other character before him the more I delve into what his character can be and mean. His story is a powerful warning and a heartfelt comfort, a devastating mirror.)

[amalias-whatsoever]

aftg is the most traumatic book I read since the poppy war (that was three years ago)

[wintersportism]

Stephan Leyhe/Andreas Wellinger - "Quiet of the night." (fic)

well well well. what do we have here.

right after welle won the first four hills comp in oberstdorf this season i wrote like a thousand words, then completely forgot about it. i just discovered it again and in a lovely case of hyperfixation wrote the rest of it in about an hour, so do with that what you will. better late than never, right?

so as for the timeline, this takes place after andi won the first comp of the 23/24 four hills tournament. for the sake of plot they’re not roommates in this (although we all know they always share, but let’s just pretend they all got single rooms for the tour). even though it’s a rather quick and short one at 2.2k, i hope you guys enjoy it. as always, i’d love to know what you think and appreciate any kind of feedback <3

Knock Knock. 

Stephan turns over in his bed towards the door, sheets tangling with his legs. The room is pitch black when he blinks sleepily, eyes protesting the unscheduled awakening. There’s someone knocking at his door, which isn’t an uncommon occurrence in the team hotel during the tour because someone always wants something, except it’s two at night and they only went to bed like two and a half hours ago. Stephan‘s brain is still muddled with sleep after the adrenaline crash that inevitably always follows a competition, especially one as electrifying as yesterday‘s. So, what on earth-

There‘s a third knock and Stephan squints at the door as someone gently pushes it open, causing a sliver of light from the hallway to spill into the darkness of his room. He can barely make out a silhouette when there‘s a whisper- “Stephan? Are you awake?”

Andreas.

Stephan sits up abruptly, every last trace of sleep gone. “Yeah,” he whispers back, which isn’t true at all given that Andi quite literally just woke him up but he’d rather fling himself off a hill than tell the younger that. It’s not like he minds, anyway, he’s got an open ear for all of his teammates, although maybe it’s a bit different where Andi is concerned. Stephan tries not to think about it.

Andi tiptoes into the room and closes the door behind him. Darkness falls back around them and for a long moment neither of them moves. Stephan looks in Andi’s general direction and waits for him to offer some kind of explanation, to start talking the way he always does without paying any mind to time, company or circumstances. After a full minute goes by without a sound Stephan starts to grow increasingly concerned. “Andi?,” he prompts gently, eyes searching the darkness for any kind of movement. 

“Yeah, uh, sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up, it’s late, we’ve got training today and it’s stupid anyways, I’ll just-“ 

“Don’t you dare open that door, Andreas. It’s the middle of the night, what’s wrong?” Stephan hears Andi shift on his feet followed by the faint click of the door handle being released. The silence returns as the questions hangs between them, unanswered. Despite the odd situation, Stephan smiles quietly to himself.

“Stop biting your lip, Andi. It’s gonna be all raw and red on camera tomorrow.”

He hears Andi sputter over where he’s still standing by the goddamn door. “I’m not! It’s pitch-black in here, Stephan, you can’t even see me! How would you know that?”

Because I spend most of my time watching you. Because I could paint your face in a thousand different ways if I had just an ounce of talent. 

“Because you always bite your lips bloody when something’s bothering you. Now come on over here and tell me what’s wrong, please.” Stephan sits up straighter as he hears Andi shuffle through the room, leaning against the headboard. The mattress dips beneath him as Andi sits down on the edge of the bed next to his stretched-out legs, which isn’t as close as Stephan would like him, but it’s better than the other side of the room.

He figures this is the moment they should turn on the lamp on his bedside table since they still can’t fucking see, but something about Andi’s behaviour stops him. This isn’t like the younger at all; to be so caught up in his thoughts and feelings that it drives him out of bed in the middle of the night. Maybe it’s got something to do with how young Andi was when he started into the whole world cup circus, but Stephan has always admired how good his teammate seemed to be at compartmentalizing. One problem after the other, brain turned off periodically to rest, then switched back on to work out the issues at maximum capacity and all of that with endless optimism and a quick smile. 

So yeah, the more Stephan thinks about it, the more alarming he finds this entire situation. The least he can do is offer Andi the courtesy of keeping the lights off.

Not that it helps much. He can feel the tension in Andi’s body, every muscle coiled as if he’s preparing to make another jump from the hill. Stephan bends his knees a little, tucking them closer to his body in a silent offer for Andi to lean against them. He takes a deep breath and tries to prompt the younger into talking with an easy question.

“Did you sleep at all?”

Andi sighs. “Uh, not really. I think. Kinda been dozing on and off since we all went to bed but…time hasn’t really felt real tonight anyways. That’s so weird don’t you think?”

“What is?” Stephan’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough to make out Andi’s face turned in his direction to look at him, eyes way too wide and awake for this time of night.

“This! Me waking you up at this godawful hour just because, what? I won a competition? Been there done that, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. And yet here I am and my body just doesn’t- it doesn’t-“ 

Andi cuts himself off with a frustrated sound, dropping his head into his hands and pulling at his hair. “My brain’s not shutting up, Stephan. It wasn’t like that after Lake Placid last season, right? What’s different now?” He’s desperate for an answer, voice breaking on the last word. 

Stephan’s heart breaks a little, too, because Andi sounds tired. Utterly tired; the kind of exhaustion that creeps up on you after an entire evening of adrenaline and endorphins and riding the high of a victory. He puts a hand on Andi’s shoulder and just leaves it there, applying a bit of pressure to let the younger know he’s here. His heart breaks a bit more when Andi leans into the touch, instinctively chasing the comfort. “What’s different, Stephan?” Andi repeats quietly. “This wasn’t my first win since- since everything, and it’s not like it came out of nowhere. It’s been building up for a while, right? I’ve been doing great so far, I feel good, I-“ He stops for a second before dropping his gaze to the ground. “I think I’m scared.”

There it is. Stephan has started to rub soothing circles into Andi’s shoulder and back while the younger was clearly working something out. If there’s one thing Stephan’s learned in all the years he’s spent with Andi, then it’s that sometimes he just needed to rant. They’re different that way, Stephan supposes. Whereas he himself tends to work things out in the relative peace of his mind, Andi needs to voice his concerns. Contact, feedback, the weight of spoken words in a space to be able to see clearly. And if he needs to do that at two in the morning, then so God help him Stephan will be the one that listens. 

“What are you scared of, love?” Stephan asks softly. Andi scoffs. 

“I don’t know. Messing up? Disappointing everyone? It’s like…it’s like this victory comes with a price tag, you know? With conditions. The last few years nobody expected anything. I was the Olympic champion with the tragic injury, so getting back on track was the only task I had and nobody cared when I messed up. Every good jump was a bonus. But now people keep saying I’m back and then I went ahead and won the first comp of the tournament and now-“ 

“-now everyone expects you to win the rest as well.” 

Andi deflates the second Stephan speaks the words out loud. His head drops forward, messy hair tickling Stephan’s arm. The older carefully moves his hand from Andi’s shoulder to his scalp, gently carding his fingers through the unruly strands. “I don’t know if I can do it,” Andi whispers after a few seconds of silence and lifts his head to look right at Stephan, eyes desperately searching for answers. Stephan holds his gaze.

“Listen, Andi. You don’t owe anyone anything – not the fans, not our coaches, not us. The only thing you owe yourself is to enjoy competitions like yesterday’s since you went so long without them despite always trying your fucking best. What you do is enough, Andreas. Every jump you pour your heart and soul into is enough, no matter where you rank in the end. This victory isn’t worth more than the one in Lake Placid just because it’s got Four Hills written all over it, alright? You could’ve given up long before you ever reached where you’re at today, but you never did. That alone matters more than whatever happens in the next few days. Because I know for a fact that you will fight for every point and if that’s not enough, then that’s not on you. I believe in you and so do the team and the fans and whoever measures your talent and worth by whether you win this damn tournament or not can go fuck right off.”

He inhales sharply after his monologue, which was admittedly longer than he’d planned. Andi stares at him, eyes wide and mouth open. 

“Uh, so” Stephan finishes eloquently. “You know. Don’t worry too much.” He shuts his eyes briefly, cringing at himself internally. Way to ruin this, Stephan. You’re doing fantastic.

He looks back up when Andi snorts and dissolves into quiet laughter. He can feel a smile fighting its way onto his own lips because honestly, no one is immune to the sound of Andi Wellinger’s joy. It’s even sweeter when Stephan’s the reason for it. 

Andi’s voice is breathless when he teases Stephan. “You say all that and end it with ‘don’t worry too much’? Really?”

“Well excuse me,” Stephan retorts, untangling his hand from Andi’s hair to put it on his own chest in mock offense. “I apologise for running out of sensible things to say in the middle of the night. If you’d like to register a complaint, I’m gonna have to ask you to do it at a reasonable hour.”

Andi giggles again, wiping his eyes with his hands. He looks back at Stephan then, tilting his head in such an adorable way that Stephan’s heart skips a beat or three. The silence stretches on for a while, the mood turning serious once more as Stephan practically sees Andi going over his words in his head. 

One of us is gonna have to say something because if it gets any quieter, he’ll hear how loud my heart is beating. 

Yet Stephan doesn’t break the fragile silence. Andi doesn’t, either. Instead, the younger shifts, turning to face Stephan properly with one leg folded under him while the other hangs off the bed, and pulls the older forward into a hug.

Oh.

Stephan wraps his arms around Andi’s waist instinctively because that’s just what his body is wired to do at this point. They’re usually in an outrun when this happens, but right now, as Andi is tightening his arms around Stephan’s shoulders and hiding his face in the older’s neck, Stephan would gladly never see an outrun again if it meant he could stay right here for the rest of his life.

They hug in a way that’s only really acceptable in the tranquility of the night, when the sole witness is the moon and the darkness swallows the thoughts of any consequences a touch like this might have. Time passes and while Stephan doesn’t know if it’s seconds or minutes or hours, he never eases the pressure around Andi’s slim waist. He’s unconsciously started to rub circles into the dip of it with his thumb and he doesn’t stop when he notices. Andi’s breathing is quiet and steady against the side of his neck. Stephan can’t help but smile when the tension finally bleeds out of the younger’s body. 

“Did you mean it?” Andi asks after a while, voice little more than a whisper. “What exactly?” Stephan whispers back just as softly, tucking the other impossibly closer. Andi makes the transition with ease, laying almost entirely on top of Stephan, face still hidden against his shoulder. “Everything. That I owe my victories to no one but myself. That you-,” he clears his throat, a bit awkwardly. “That you believe in me?” 

It comes out like a question and something in Stephan’s chest cracks a little when he hears it. Impulsively, he turns his head to press a soft kiss into Andi’s hair. “Of course I do, love. Never stopped. And I always will, no matter how the tour ends.”

Andi exhales then, a bit shakily but Stephan can feel him settle. He removes one arm from around Stephan to search for Stephan’s hand in the dark and holds on tight when he finds it. Stephan squeezes back, interlacing their fingers. Through it he takes everything Andi gives him; all the doubts and thoughts and uncertainty that overwhelm Andi’s infinite optimism only in the shadows of the night. Stephan knows that when the sun rises in a few hours, it’ll be like the clouds in Andi’s head never existed at all, because that’s just how he works. Stephan wouldn’t want to have it any other way. 

Until that happens, he holds on tight to the boy in his arms. 

Andi doesn’t go back to his own room that night. 

[peculiaritty]

Joker: Foile A Deux Trauma studys / analysis

Hello!! im back to rambling again. A few disclaimers, this will include the first Joker movie and Joker: Foile A Deux spoilers. if you want to go watch these films i suggest you do so. This might be split up into two parts TRIGGER WARNINGS -> Rape -> violence and death -> child abuse -> Mental disorders

I would first like to state, that i want you to view these movies as separate to the DC/marvel universe. The most common critique i find is how "out of character" he is. These two movies have a very realistic take on what a 'joker' may look like in the real world, and in no way from my knowledge does it actually represent the comics. I'm not a huge DC/Marvel fan, but i know the basics. If you do disagree with my opinion, thats fine! Some things i will be covering -> Arthur Flecks background -> Statement on society -> Arthur fleck vs The 'Joker' -> Trauma study -> What does The 'Joker' actually represent?

Part 2: -> Arthur Fleck and Lee Quinzel -> Soundtrack -> Abuse of the mentally ill/Instuitional abuse -> Is Arthur Fleck really the Joker? -> The audiences reaction -> Statement on society 2 -> Sumup -> Arthur Flecks background I first want to say. HOLY. Arthur Fleck has quite the story behind him. The first time we meet him, he is trying his best to work as a Clown. Unfortunately due to a brain injury from being beat as a kid, it gives him his uncontrollable laugh (which i will note, actually only ever comes out when he's in strong emotions. We usually see this trigger when he's nervous.) His support service drops him due to the lack of funding, which already says alot about Gotham. Throughout the film we can see how dreary and grey Arthurs life is. So as a (non comic book reader) we can assume that there is a pretty big poor/rich split. He is constantly bullied, mocked, jeered, and rejected for his laugh, and for himself. He is even MOCKED by his idol on live television. ouch. -> Statement on society

Even on a surface level, you can already tell this is not the most friendly society to be in. And this- believe it or not is the common truth for alot of people. Support services are unfunded, constantly full, and in worse scenarios some people who work their do not even care for the people who need help. In Gotham, and our real world, there is an intolerance for people who do not fit the standard. For someone like Arthur, he is always excluded because of his laugh. Mental illness has a very big, heavy stigma around it. To use a support service to some people is 'leeching' off the government and is a waste of time. Going back to the lack of support service funding, the brutal reality in this movie is that the government does not care for these people. They live constant miserable lives, but as long as the rich get richer, the poor get poorer. This is true to reality.

-> Arthur fleck vs The 'Joker'

There is a clear, and very obvious split between them. In the first movie, we can slowly see this shift to the 'Joker'. It flicks on fast in the first movie, him dancing in the bathroom slowly is almost as if a switch has occured. This is more present in the 2nd movie, Arthur has completely come down from this identity, but as the delusion comes back in, his gestures start to change, he starts to dance more, smoking more. While i cannot describe it in text, there are just certain body movements that i see between them. The joker is confident, and charismatic, everything Arthur Fleck wanted to be. While Arthur fleck is very Awkward and quiet, not as performative or confident. I think Joker is the very person Arthur wanted to be. Aside from the murders. Arthur has always wanted to entertain people, make them happy, be the center of attention. But unfortunately that never come while he was "Arthur". People argue that this Joker is objectively bad, but i quite adore it. When we look at the original joker (or my view on the original joker) we see him as psychopathic and narcissistic. This Joker we have now is a kind of Joker that allows us to see how he got to that point. I think there is a point to say (this will tie into the thing i will discuss soon) that out of most of his crimes, 3 would be considered self defense. The other 3 you might consider passionate murders. this does NOT make him innocent. But i like that there is a particular reason he targeted these people. Its not "just because" There is a reason to Arthur. All of these people have mocked, and looked down upon him. Including his own Mother.

-> Trauma study

His first source of trauma. His own mother. IT is shown and quite literally said he was severely abused. When the police found him he was left tied to a radiator, starved, malnourished, bruised and severely brain damaged which led to his laughing condition. The child protection services gave him right back to his mom. this is also a huge let down of a system, and it happens day to day to alot of unfortunate children.

He traumablocked (This is a protective mechanism the brain uses to protect you from the harsh reality) this pretty hard in his adulthood, and continues to care for his Mother. So of course when he eventually learnt all of this, he flew into a rage and killed her. It is that heartbreaking. Arthur thought his mother loved him, but the truth was she despised him.

It even hurts more considering what his mother has told him, "you were brought to bring joy to this world" in response to him being upset over his laugh. she was ANNOYED at him for taking this seriously. She shit talked him to their own damn neighbor. ouch. ouch. ouch. Constantly excluded, bullied and alone, he keeps more to himself. With all he has been through he would grow to of course have poor psychological health. Its not explicitly stated what he has, just that he was taking medication, and how he has symptoms of "5 minor disorders" (Also, another let down of the system. This comes from the psychiatrist in the court room that only had a 90 minute chat with him. There is clearly alot more wrong with him. Or at the very least, far from being 'minor') I would no go as far as to say he has DID. his mental illness/condition stays vague throughout the film. He is stated to take antipsychotics, a bunch of them, but nothing is ever named. His symptoms are very foggy and all over the place. His hallucinations (fantasys, daydreaming? it can be said to be different things), his negative thoughts, and even later, aggression. The sudden 'split' when he gets triggered. When the 'Joker wakes up' there is nothing i can certaintly pinpoint down. For the Joker himself, you could point out that he still retains the NPD from the original character. Arthur has come to form what we might call an anxious attachment, willing to cling to whatever he comes across, putting his whole heart into it. Even if it means being hurt in the end. His psyche is very disturbed and broken down due to the years of constant abuse and being let down by the system, and by the intolerant society around him. This is not all of his traumas throughout these two movies, but i'll save the rest for my other points. -> What does The 'Joker' actually represent?

Those first 3 deaths are what set society off. Those first 3 deaths, were well- men who were high in society and treated others poorly. Joker became a symbol. 'Joker' to the people is someone who represents the people who suffer at the hands of the rich, 'Joker' is someone who breaks society norms and is willing to speak for himself. 'Joker' is the person who is willing to stand up against the government. These people love and adore 'Joker' because he is different. he is bold. in their eyes he is a vigilante. A hero.

Part 2 coming sooner or later!! Thanks for reading <3

[z-h-i-e]

Just in time for Halloween.

Werewelves: Extended Edition

A Choose Your Own Elfventure story

There's even more twisted shit in this version.

The year is 465 FA, and your realm is in trouble. Your cousins have been guests for longer than you would like, and they are gaining favor in your court. Your adventure begins as you return from a hunt with Celegorm and Curufin, home to Nargothrond, where your valet listens to your concerns…but soon, there will be other perils for you to overcome. The decisions are yours to make, for you are…

​Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond.

The original version had 144 parts that equaled to 1002 possible combinations for a story. This version has more, and has some options I didn't have time to write for the original version. it took about four months to write the original; it took over two years to revamp it so that I didn't break vectors for the paths.

It splits off after the first few choices, and you can pick either the PG-13 version, or the so explicit we didn't have a rating for it version.

Enjoy. And, actually, what I mean is, don't enjoy, because this shit is creepy as fuck.

[dkettchen]

Why you, yes you, should watch Queen of Villains right now:

toxic yuri (covered in blood & stabbing each other w forks)

more hair cuts & dye jobs than episodes

several butch main characters, all of whom are babyfaces not heels

an actual wide variety of bodytypes

80s fashion, alt looks, & mullets

feral women doing sports and violence aka my favourite kind of feminism

the hypest shit you've ever seen

just trust me bro