#to gurney being weird

[chai-en-kaadhale]

if you paid me to hate on the dune movies i would make so much money

[thebibliosphere]

Remembering a 'fun' moment through the haze of drugs yesterday when I asked the nurse for something to brace my knees with because I could feel my hips starting to dislocate when they turned me onto my side.

The nurse, god love her, got down to my eye level on the gurney and very sweetly told me that when joints click, they're not actually dislocating, and it's just ligaments sliding over each other causing gas pockets to crackle and pop. This is true for most people and is actually what makes that satisfying crunch sound when you go see the chiropractor. So I knew right away she was thinking, "A chiropractor has told her this; this will be an Educational Moment."

Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out how to tell her I know this, and that's not what is happening as a teeth guard was being slipped between my teeth when my GI doctor went, "Did you not read the note I put in her file? She has EDS. When she says it's her joints, it's her joints. Listen to the patient!"

He then showed her how to hold my shoulders in place while he was doing the upper endoscopy exam so my shoulder wouldn't randomly slip out and make my chest muscles seize. As I was laying on my side and he was double checking my position he leaned in and let me know with a wink that he'd asked a physical therapist what to do and hopefully I wouldn't be in too much pain with my joints tomorrow. (I am not.)

He also brought an extra nurse in from the allergy department (Sam) to monitor for signs of anaphylaxis because, apparently, it looks different when the patient is sedated. The fact that I "woke up" from my sedation (I don't think I actually fell asleep) and gave him a thumbs up when he announced "excellent prep" to the room at large made some of the nurses flutter because they'd given me enough fentanyl to knock out a horse, but I have a vague memory of the allergy nurse and the GI doctor sharing a look over the top of my head before starting to talk to me in calm measured tones to let me know it was okay that I was awake, but I needed to stop moving. Was I in any pain? Could I squeeze Sam's hand once for no and twice for yes? Okay, good, we're almost done...

It was a weird but validating experience.

[shoomlah]

how do you consistently draw the same character without it looking weird or off every different time?? also how do i coordinate faces, i always make the eyes too far apart or too big or too small or make the mouth too close to the nose or chin edge. If you have any advice I'd really appreciate it since it looks like you have your art shit figured out 🙏

Oh man SO so much of it is just practice, and you're not alone! I honestly think everyone struggles with a sort of "generification" of their characters' features the more they draw them, even seasoned professionals. There's a tendency to just sort of average everything out into an unrecognizable mush over time, and it takes a lot of conscious effort to push back against that.

Here are a couple tips and tricks that I've found to be helpful over the years:

Make turnarounds and model sheets. There's a reason animation/game studios do this, and it is because we are all still bad at drawing a consistent face. Despite being gainfully employed. What are we, graphic novelists?? We wish. Anyway it's a great way to familiarize yourself with your character's face from multiple angles, and it gives you a single source of truth to return to anytime you need a refresher:

Gather real-life reference. Anytime I'm designing a character I'm pulling together a ton of reference of actual people who look, to some degree, like the character in my head. It's always a collection of analogues, never just a single person, but it can be a great cheat sheet for understanding how your character might move, emote, etc:

Make a 3D model. I know it seems daunting, but with the advent of programs like Blender and Nomad Sculpt it's becoming remarkably more accessible. Heck, even James Gurney was sculpting maquettes out of clay for Dinotopia back in the day! It doesn't have to be particularly detailed—just a sort of proportionate lump will do—but it's another great way to have dynamic reference that you can rotate and light accordingly:

Practice, practice, practice. Make expression sheets for your character! Either right there on the spot, just start drawin' expressions, or you can slowly collect drawings of your character that you like, as you draw them, and compile them all in one place for your own reference. Need to draw your character's head from a weird angle? Maybe you've already drawn it before and you can copy your own homework! Doesn't count as stealing when the call's coming from inside the house 😎

I'd love to pretend there's a magical point where you can just immediately rotate your character's head in your brain like some sort of photorealistic apple in a twitter meme, but a lot of the time it's reference, hard work, and whole lotta repetition. 😐👍🏼

[ilguna]

☼ between life and death pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you’re supposed to be dead. you remember taking your last breath in that arena, but now you’re back, as if it never happened. and there's only one person to blame for it.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, death mention, someone gets hurt, there's some illusion (she's not totally sane), idealization of the capitol.

wc; 5k

notes: you might find the pov changes weird but embrace it.

part one.

--

District Thirteen’s hospital is in complete chaos.

Finnick comes to a sudden stop two steps in, eyes widening as he watches the scene in front of him. The shouting of orders from across the room by doctors, nurses running back and forth with armfuls full of equipment to tend to the volunteers. The loud beeping from machines getting to know their patients.

His lips part, face twisting, a question forming on his tongue, but he’s not even sure what he’s thinking to ask. Maybe, where is she? Is she okay? Did they hurt her? Is she still the same? Did his interview work? Did everyone make it out alive? He closes his mouth, swallowing, eyes searching for a reason to move.

Right as he thinks to take a step forward, both he and Katniss are cut off by a gurney being guided by a nurse who’s determined to get to her destination. He gets a quick glimpse of an unconscious woman with her head so sharply shaved, there is no hair on her scalp. From what he could see, on the skin that isn’t covered by the gown, she’s covered in fresh bruises and healing scabs.

It isn’t until she’s halfway down the hall, out of reach, does he realize who it is. It’s Johanna.

Finnick turns, as if he’s going to follow after her, because that’s what a good friend does, when a voice cuts through all the noise, clear as day. His heart jumps to his throat. He could be dead, six feet under, and her voice could bring him back to life.

“Finnick!” She shrieks, he whips around. He can feel the wave of tears coming before they've even reached his eyes. The tight pressure, the hot feeling in his face. The sight of her on the other side of the room sends him over the edge.

Annie’s here, her green eyes full of so much life—something he was afraid would be taken away from her in the Capitol. She hadn’t been back there in years, since she won and they shipped her away, uninterested due to her mental illness.

She comes running at home, only wearing a gown, but she doesn’t care, and neither does he. “Finnick!” She cries again. He’s instantly drawn to her like a magnet, he takes off away from the door to reach her sooner, arms open to embrace. As soon as she’s in arms reach, she jumps into him.

Finnick picks her up without an ounce of hesitation, a hand sliding into her dark, tangled hair. She’s alive, the thought is full of electricity. He leans too far forward, making him lose his balance, causing him to overcompensate. When he straightens, it sends him stumbling, back slamming into the wall. They slide down to the floor, where neither of them move, holding on to each other tight.

He was convinced he’d never see her again.

Katniss watches them jealously from the door she entered through with Finnick, feet firmly planted. It’s not that she’s specifically jealous of either partner, but the fact no one could ever doubt their love. Everyone knows how much they mean to each other. She’s still having to fight to get people to believe that’s how she feels with Peeta.

She presses her lips together, tearing her eyes away from the two on the floor to share a look with Haymitch. She manages to catch a glimpse of Gale through a doorway, he’s stripped down to his waist, skin glistening with sweat. A doctor stands over him with a pair of tweezers, removing something from under his shoulder blade.

“Gale!” Katniss is relieved, and she begins to go to him first, until a nurse pushes her back, and then shuts the door to his room. 

Katniss goes back to standing next to Haymitch, waiting. Her attention is directed to Boggs next, who led the mission. He comes to a stop in front of them, hands on his hips. “We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she’s from Two, we doubt she’s being held anyway.”

“I heard you picked up someone extra?” Haymitch asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

Katniss’s eyebrows twitch. “There were no other tributes in the arena.” She says, and then backtracks a second later. “I guess Annie wasn’t there either…”

“They found a girl in the same hall as the victors. She was right next door to Peeta.” Boggs says, at the mention of Peeta’s name, butterflies swarm Katniss’s chest, reminding her that he’s here.

“Do you think she could be a victor?” Haymitch asks.

“Beetee and Plutarch are trying to figure it out right now.” Boggs shakes his head. “If she is, we don’t know the significance of her being there. She could be anymore.”

“What about Peeta?” Katniss asks. As curious as she is about the mystery girl, there’s only one person in this building she wants to see right now. She’s been waiting to see him for weeks.

“Peeta’s at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes.” Boggs nods to the nearest hall. “The nurse won’t let you in until she’s done with her work, there’s a chair outside of the door.”

“Thanks.” Katniss murmurs, breaking off.

Haymitch does not, staying with Boggs. If Peeta’s going to be unconscious for a little while longer, he might as well help them figure out who this girl is. Boggs motions for Haymitch to follow a few doors down, where Plutarch is standing with a walkie talkie in his hand. It has to be the fastest form of communication here.

Plutarch looks up from the floor when he senses their presence. “Oh, Haymitch.” He’s relieved. “Maybe you have an idea.”

“Where is she?”

“We have her isolated.” Boggs motions to the nearest window covered by blinds. “Until we figure it out.”

“Take a look.” Plutarch encourages.

Haymitch steps forward, prying the window shade open wide enough to give him a look inside. His eyes land on a girl sitting on a bed—most definitely older than Katniss—who looks to be in as good condition as Annie, maybe a little worse. Her head is turned to the side, seemingly taking in the room, observing it. 

“How old is she supposed to be?”

At the sound of Haymitch’s voice, her head turns, eyes finding his through the shades. He’s able to get a good first look at her face before he lets go, disturbed by the intensity of the eye contact, and looks at Plutarch.

Boggs shakes his head. “No idea. We have no information on her.”

“We drew blood from her before she woke up.” Plutarch says, holding up the walkie. “Beetee’s cross-referencing it with residents from Four right now.”

“You think she’s from Four?” Haymitch raises his eyebrows, a little stunned by the assumption. “She doesn’t look like a Four resident.”

“Coin said to start there.” Plutarch shrugs, Haymitch thinks he catches an eye roll, but he’s not certain. “I would’ve gone for one of the outskirts districts, possibly Six or Eight, but she thinks that there might be some significance there.” 

“For who? Finnick? They already took Annie.”

Plutarch raises his hands defensively, telling Haymitch that it’s out of his hands. He only does what Coin wants. 

“Did you try asking Finnick?” Haymitch suggests. 

“No, not yet. We’re letting him reunite with Annie before we drag him into it.” Boggs says. “You don’t recognize her at all?”

“I knew a lot of the victors in recent years, she doesn’t look like any of them.”

The sound of static fills the air before Beetee’s voice comes through, not entirely clear. “I can’t get any information on her. The DNA system in Thirteen is telling me her blood is outdated and doesn’t match any records. It wants a better sample.” There’s a pause. “Are you sure this system is up-to-date?”

Plutarch’s face twists, raising the walkie to his mouth. “Coin said it is. What do you mean her blood is outdated?”

“It doesn’t give me anything else. I’m going to need a bigger sample if you want me to begin to check the other districts she could be a part of.” Beetee answers. “Was she drugged in the Capitol? That might be messing with it.”

Plutarch sighs. “Just the gas to make an easy transfer. Unless the Capitol doctors were doing something to her. Give me some time, I’ll send someone to you.”

“Echo.” Beetee responds, and then the line goes quiet.

Plutarch turns to look at the door belonging to the mystery girl. He rubs his jaw, thinking, before calling on the nearest doctor to join him to draw more blood. The doctor agrees, pulling the gloves off her hands, telling Plutarch there’s already vials in the room she can use in the cabinet.

Plutarch opens the door, motioning for her to go first, before he follows. The door shuts behind them, the doctor prepares to draw more blood, using a key on her lanyard to unlock the cabinet to grab a bigger vial this time. Plutarch sticks by the door, not wanting to get closer.

“I’m just going to draw blood.” The doctor tells the girl, but she pays no mind to her.

Her attention is on Plutarch, eyes boring into his, an intense staring contest. No one in the room speaks, as the tension begins to rise between the three of them. And then she speaks first.

“You’re a traitor to the Capitol.” Her voice is hoarse, scratchy.

Plutarch blinks in surprise, the doctor briefly looking up, before directing her attention back on the blood. He stares at her for a second, before deciding to take the opportunity to question her. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/n) (L/n).” She answers.

His expression doesn’t change, he doesn’t recognize the name. “What district are you from?”

“Two.”

Plutarch’s face twists, not expecting a Career district to be the answer. Her eyes narrow in displeasure. The doctor interrupts them to announce she has what she needs, allowing the two of them to escape the room. Once the door closes, he feels like he can take a breath.

“What would you like me to do with the blood?” The doctor asks.

“Will you please run it down to Beetee Latier in Special Defense?” Plutarch asks, but he’s not looking at her, his eyes are on Boggs.

“Right away.”

There’s an uneasy feeling in his stomach. With the way she called him a Capitol traitor, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation. She knows something. Maybe she’s a loyalist in District Two? But that doesn’t explain what she was doing in the Capitol, then. And in that case, why wouldn’t they just set up Enobaria to be taken to Thirteen? 

Unless Snow knew Thirteen wouldn’t take the chance. 

Plutarch holds the walkie to his mouth. “I have a doctor running the sample down to Special Defense right now. I got some information in the meantime.” 

“I’m ready.” Beetee answers.

“Her name is (Y/n) (L/n). She said that she’s from District Two.”

Beetee doesn’t answer for a second. “A victor or a resident?”

“It could be either. I wasn’t in the room for long.”

“The Capitol system won’t let me check the resident history of District Two without the DNA sample.”

“What about victor history?” Plutarch asks.

There’s a couple moments of silence, where Haymitch shakes his head a little. It’s clear they’re grasping at straws. “There’s been no (Y/n) in the past ten years, that’s when she would’ve won, right?”

“Unless she’s older than she looks.” Boggs tells him. “Capitol modification?”

And right on cue, Beetee comes over the static. “No (Y/n) in Two.”

Plutarch’s face screws, stumped.

“Could she be lying?” Boggs asks.

“She looked angry when I made a face at her.” Plutarch murmurs. “We can’t check the Capitol database without her blood sample, either.”

“Plutarch.” Beetee’s voice comes over.

“One second.” Plutarch answers him.

“No, I can cross-reference her intake picture with the history of tributes in the Hunger Games.”

Immediately, Haymitch is skeptical, and even laughs a little bit. “What would that help with? The only tributes alive are victors or those who escaped the Quarter Quell arena.”

Plutarch, who knows too many Gamemaker projects for his own good, raises the walkie to his lips. “Go ahead.”

The static is gone.

Haymitch shakes his head, uninterested in the outcome of this search. It’s ridiculous. “I’m going to check on Katniss and Peeta.”

“Good luck.” Plutarch tells him.

Haymitch leaves, back down the hall to the front entrance of the hospital, before taking a right where Boggs had directed Katniss. A few moments of silence pass, as Beetee searches for their mystery girl in the hundreds of faces that have been submitted over seventy-five years. 

Beetee is back. “I found (Y/n) (L/n), Plutarch.”

“In the tribute database?”

“Yes.” Beetee pauses. “She was a District Two tribute in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. She made it to the final five.”

“Which Games did you say?”

“Sixty-Fifth.”

—

“Remember.” A muffled voice tells you, possibly coming from the Capitol doctor in front of you. Or maybe not, there is no color to her, there is no accent. She’s dressed in a grey jumpsuit, a lab coat over top of it. She holds a device in her hand, illuminating her face in a questionable angle, causing bright, colorful prisms to cover her face. “Remember who you are.”

When she speaks, the shades of the rainbow break apart, first into shiny bubbles, which reflect the light too harshly. They transform into butterflies the higher they go, before popping, causing a rain of glitter.

She can’t be real.

I know who I am, you think. You’re (Y/n) (L/n). You are—were—a resident of District two. You were a tribute in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. You’re supposed to be dead. Instead you’re here, in this white room. Which is eerily similar to the one you were in a couple hours ago. Except, that one was bare. This one has a cabinet, a bed, a tray of medical utensils…

You told them who you are, already. More importantly, you told Plutarch Heavensbee who you are. As instructed by the colorful doctors, the ones with the sickly shaded skin and the odd shapes on their faces. Those people had to be from the Capitol, right?

This one stares at you for a long moment, only furthering your idea that she isn’t real. She takes your silence, turning to leave the room. You watch as she becomes transparent with each step she takes, becoming completely invisible before her hand touches the doorknob.

You’re finally getting a hang of this.

You slide to get off the bed, wandering over to the metal tray a few feet away. You come into contact with the cool metal of the table, touching over the several options that are available, confirming they’re real. You decide on the knife, the scalpel. Once you have it in your hand, you return to the hospital bed, hiding the scalpel beneath your right thigh. 

Back home, they taught you to always be prepared in unfamiliar situations. Especially when you feel like you’re at a disadvantage. With what has been pumped into your system since you got here, you’re not at your best. You’re not safe.

It was different in the Capitol, they weren’t trying to hurt you there, only inform you. They were trying to help you before you got taken. They were telling you the truth of what happened in the arena. What was really going through Finnick’s head.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion, but it’s important.” Plutarch’s voice is muted through the wall, but not completely silent. You can make out the words. “We have an issue.”

“Does it involve me?” The other voice asks, sending shivers down your spine.

Finnick Odair.

What a bitter name on your mind.

“Well, yes. It involves you, Finnick.” Plutarch pauses. “It’s about your Hunger Games, do you remember anything from it?”

“Practically all of it.” Finnick says, he sounds almost the same from the arena, just more grown up now. “I’d like to see someone who doesn’t. Why?”

“Who was your district partner?”

“Amaryllis.” Finnick says.

The name hits you hard, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid watching the room suddenly spin. Amaryllis, the one who stabbed you. Finnick set you up, he knew she’d be able to overpower you. It was their plan to join at the end, all along. They had to get you out of the way first. 

He knew her younger sister, the thought forces its way through.

“I knew her younger sister.” Finnick says, as if he’s reading directly from your mind.

“Do you remember who killed her in your Games?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. It’s obvious that Plutarch is testing Finnick’s memory, seeing what he knows before he admits who’s in this room. You.

“Yes, it was a girl from District Two.” Finnick says slowly.

“What was her name?”

“She introduced herself as (Y/n).” Finnick says. “Why?”

“How old was she?”

“The same age as I was at the time. Why?” Finnick emphasizes.

“How did she die?”

There’s silence following the question, leading you to believe that it’s out of guilt, as if he’s going to admit it’s his fault. That he took on the One tributes because he knew Amaryllis would be more than happy to kill you. Neither of them planned on you barely making it out of that fight alive.

“Tell me why first.” Finnick then demands.

Plutarch sighs. “We believe we may have rescued her from the Tribute Center. Beetee’s research tells us she’s a tribute from your Games.”

“That can’t be possible, she bled to death.” Finnick shuts him down coldly. “She was stabbed by Amaryllis. She hid the wound from me. She died.”

“We—”

“I watched her die on a screen with the entirety of Panem during the three hour long recap.” Finnick cuts him off. “She died due to blood loss. She was my ally.”

Liar, you were never his ally. Just a stepping stone.

“Will you please calm down?” Plutarch asks. “We just want you to confirm that the girl in this room is her, that’s all.”

You think you can hear an annoyed sigh through the wall, then silence follows. Your eyes search the window, hungry to see if it’s actually him. A second later, the blinds rise up far enough to give you a whole look of his face.

Immediately, his tanned skin pales as if he’s seen a ghost, and you’re sure he has. Those familiar green eyes, his tanned skin. He’s grown into his face, that’s for sure. All those pictures the Capitol had been showing you are true. He looks exactly like he did in that interview, where he lied about Snow.

The blinds drop in the next second.

“How is that possible?” He demands, voice loud. “She died in the arena, I heard the canon. I saw her in the sky. I saw her during the recap. Mags told me she died because of the amount of blood she lost. How is she in there?” 

“We—”

“Is she some clone?” Finnick asks. “A mutt?”

Mutt. 

The room begins to spin violently, causing you to close your eyes again or else you’ll get sick from the intensity. Is that what he thinks of you? Just a mutt? You’re not even human to him anymore?

“The Capitol doesn’t have the technology to clone.” Plutarch clarifies. “Not yet, at least. They’ve been working on it. What they do is take samples of DNA and they splice it together with an existing mutt to give it the same qualities. Like the dogs in Katniss’s games.”

“Then how?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say they took her, revived her in the hovercraft, and kept her in a coma.”

“Why? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Will you—” Plutarch’s voice briefly gets quieter, causing you to strain to hear. “Can you get Beetee? He should know.” His voice comes back into focus. “She might have qualities they can use. If she’s smart, a good fighter, if she’s pretty. They can use her for a number of things. Even reintroduce her as a Capitol citizen.”

“That makes no sense.” Finnick’s voice is quiet. “Why?”

Silence, and then suddenly static. “Beetee, are you still there?”

“Yes, Plutarch. What can I do?”

“I’ve sent a doctor your way to bring you to the hospital, there’s a small lockdown to keep families out. You’ll need him to get inside.”

“Do you need me to bring anything to the hospital?”

“No, but can you do me a favor and bring up the file on (Y/n) in the Capitol database? Usually they have information there on why they have dead tributes.”

“She’s not the first one?” Finnick asks.

“One moment.” Beetee tells him.

“No, she’s not the first.” Plutarch tells him. “But usually they don’t survive for more than a couple of years. She’s been alive in their care for ten.”

“You knew they were doing this.” It’s not a question, it’s an accusation.

“I knew of their projects, I never actually got to see them personally.” Plutarch clarifies. “I had access to a lot of information, I made sure to read through almost all of it when I became the Head Gamemaker so I knew what to expect when the rebellion came into play.”

“Where would they keep her?”

“Probably in the basement, where the victors would be taken care of for the recuperation week. There’s many rooms down there, just hidden behind walls. There could be dozens of tributes.”

Static interrupts their conversation. “There’s no notes, they must’ve deleted them.”

“Does it say anything?”

“It says, ‘saved, 65th’.”

Neither of them speak, taking in this information, or the lack of it. 

An ear-bleeding scream fills the air, silencing the background noise of the hospital as everyone stops to listen. A voice shouts for Plutarch, so you assume he leaves to see what all the commotion is about. You don’t move from where you sit on the bed, but you do keep your eyes on the window. 

No one comes to see you for a long time, whatever happened outside of your room must’ve been a surprise. You don’t mind sitting here, though. The more time passes, the better grip you have on reality. There’s no abstract shapes with bright colors floating around the room, and the voices are becoming quieter as they realize that you’re not listening.

You’re beginning to feel normal, your thoughts becoming clearer.

Once the hospital staff gets their situation under control, you’re back to being their first priority to figure out. Plutarch is nowhere to be seen, or heard. Maybe he’s disinterested in why you’re here, satisfied with the half-answers he got with Beetee. Maybe he’s searching the Capitol database, himself.

Either way, the doctors treat you like it’s an interrogation, and they don’t believe any of the answers you give them as they go on. Their questions are repetitive and irritating, thankfully easy to answer. It’s the basic stuff that the Beetee guy figured out through his research.

Who you are, how old you are, where are you from, if you participated in the Hunger Games, how old you were at the time, who did you kill, who were your allies, did you get injured, did you die, how did you survive, where have you been, how has the Capitol treated you.

It’s harder to answer them as the questions get more specific. You don’t know how you survived, other than what you were told, of course. The Capitol saved you from the arena because they saw how unfair the alliance between Finnick and Amaryllis was. It wasn’t your fault it was planned behind your back. They said you deserved a second chance, because if it weren’t for them, you would’ve been the victor.

And where have you been? The Capitol, obviously, where else? Only, when they ask you where in the Capitol, you direct them to ask Plutarch. After all, he was the Head Gamemaker, he’s the one that was snooping in on Capitol projects. He said so himself that you were probably kept where all the victors wake up.

All you know is that you were gassed unfairly by the hospital’s troops. When you say this, they ignore you, brushing you off. Then they claim that they have someone who wants to see you, and they collectively leave the room at once. 

Your eyes narrow, watching the door.

It opens after a couple of minutes, revealing the boy who set you up. Finnick takes a step in the room, gently pushing the door shut until it clicks. You can feel every muscle in your body begin to stiffen, the scalpel beneath your thigh is burning a hole through your skin, lip starting to curl.

You grit your teeth, refusing to take your eyes off of him, even though you have a feeling you’re being watched through one of the windows. They’re messing with you, gauging your reaction on how to press your buttons. That’s why they sent Finnick in here, because they know what he did to you.

You move your hands to be on either side of your thighs, trying to seem casual. In actuality, this gives you an easier access to the scalpel when you go to stab Finnick. Who’s coming closer by the second, taking one step at a time, but not saying a single word. It makes it impossible to decide what to do next.

No, that’s wrong. You know what to do next. You were given instructions by the doctors in the Capitol. They said they could help you. All you have to do is kill him, or severely injure him for lying about Snow to Panem. If you do this, you can go home. You were told that you can see your family again if you go through with it.

Your heart pounds in your chest, hands gripping the metal bars of the bed frame, trying not to jump the gun. But as soon as he steps into arm’s length, you can’t sit still any longer. You launch off the hospital bed, hand swiping at the scalpel, slicing your hand in the process. A stinging sensation travels down your wrist, temporarily taking control of your mind.

It’s thrown away when you’re able to tackle Finnick to the ground, arm swinging to stab him in the throat. That will teach him not to tell lies. He’s just barely able to catch your wrist, arm trembling under your weight.

The doorknob to the room is being violently shaken, as the bystanders outside try to get the door open. There’s knocking at the window, several people shouting at you to stop what you’re doing. They don’t understand. They’ve all been manipulated by Finnick’s charm, if they knew the truth, they wouldn’t be trying to save him.

“You set me up!” You snarl, pressing down, wanting to finish the job.

Finnick stares back at you with an open mouth, like a fish out of water. The blood from your hand is being pulled by gravity, now. Little droplets on his grey jumpsuit, his tanned skin, his reddening face.

“You knew she was stronger than I was!” You snap. “That’s why you refused to kill her.”

“(Y/n).” He chokes out. “Wait.”

“You left me to die!” You shout, causing him to flinch. “And you almost got what you wanted, if it weren’t for the Capitol intervening. I bet it was a surprise seeing that your plan never worked.”

“You asked me to leave you there!” He argues, the room begins to spin, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want you to leave.”

The hospital room slowly starts to change, and the doubt of how real this situation is beginning to set in. The tile turns to grass, the walls become tall trees, and the ceiling is now a dark sky. It’s the middle of the night.

“That’s not true.” You tell him, “You’re a traitor. You knew I wouldn’t survive on that hill, and you left anyway.”

His jumpsuit is darkening in color, right around his stomach. Your face twists, trying to remember if you stabbed him or not. You couldn’t have, right? You’re still trying to get him in the throat.

“You told me to go.” Finnick insists. “I wanted to stay. I wanted to carry you to our base, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not what the doctors told me.”

“The doctors lied.” Finnick emphasizes. “I can prove it.”

“You’re full of shit.” 

“(Y/n), I promise. Just let me talk to them—”

The sky shatters, causing you to flinch, Finnick shoves you off of him. The white hospital room is coming back, the scalpel slides across the floor, leaving a smear of blood out of your reach. You try to sit up, but you’re slammed down by a hard boot to your chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Get him out of here!” A man barks, referring to Finnick.

“Stop.” Finnick says, waving his hand. “Stop, she’s fine.”

He’s pulled to his feet by his armpits, being directed to the door by Plutarch, who glares in your direction.

“Take her out, we need to get her chained down.” He says.

“No.” Finnick objects. “No, she’s just confused. That’ll only make it worse.”

“She’s not confused.” Plutarch says back.

The man above you raises his gun in the air, the butt aimed at your face. The last thing you’re able to register is Finnick being dragged out of the room, begging them not to, before the gun comes down.

[kk095]

Xmas in the ER

*Hello there everyone, and merry Christmas to those who celebrate! As promised, here's my latest story. I hope you all enjoy the story as much as I do, and feel free to shoot me a message, comment, or leave me asks if you have any questions! I will also be posting another story sometime on New Year's Eve.*

As the old saying goes, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. The holiday is a great opportunity to spend time with loved ones, exchange gifts, and make lifelong memories. But for Dr Lindsay, this year’s Christmas was just another Wednesday where she was tasked with holding down the 7pm to 7am overnight shift in our ER. Naturally, Lindsay was bummed out about the idea of having to work on Christmas, but the emergency department is a 24/7 operation! Little did she know, she’d still have a holiday she’d never forget!

That night, the weather was awful. It was dark, freezing cold, and snowing heavily. Visibility was limited, and the roads were covered in a fresh coat of snow and ice. “Jeez… I bet we’ll have a couple of MVCs tonight.” Lindsay thought to herself shortly after she started driving, trying her best to carefully make her way to work through the frozen, wintery landscape. Fortunately for Lindsay, the roads were mostly empty, most people in the area opting to stay indoors. Even though the roads were empty, the conditions were less than ideal, so she felt the best move was to drive slowly.

Despite Lindsay doing everything in her power to arrive safely at the emergency department, fate had other plans for the cute, sporty tomboy doctor! On the highway about 10 minutes or so from her destination, Lindsay’s car slipped on a patch of ice on the road. The car almost immediately lost control, redirecting the doctor’s vehicle towards a cement barrier in the median of the highway. Lindsay’s heart raced as she white-knuckled the steering wheel, frantically attempting to regain control of the errant vehicle. But it all happened so fast! There was only so much Lindsay could do in those few seconds. Lindsay was unable to stop or change the trajectory of her car and slammed head on into the cement median.

CRUNCH! The windshield shattered, glass fragments flying everywhere inside the vehicle acting almost as little bits of shrapnel. Lindsay raised one arm to attempt to cover her face from the glass shards, but a few nicked her face and neck. The steering column was forced inwards, slamming Lindsay in her chest with tremendous force before being blown back a second or so later when the airbag deployed. “AHHH!” Dr Lindsay yelped, feeling something pop inside her chest. Even with the vehicle stopped after the impact, the momentum generated from the accident caused Lindsay to be thrown around a bit. Just like that, the roles were reversed, and now Lindsay found herself in need of assistance in the ER.

Upon arrival at the emergency department, Lindsay was awake, alert, and doing anything and everything she could to fight through the pain. While being wheeled in through the main entryway of the ER, she was laid out on a backboard atop a gurney with a c-collar around her neck. Lindsay was stripped barefoot, down to just her black sports bra and scrub pants. EKG electrodes and wires were stuck onto her torso, while IV lines were set up in each arm. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her left bicep, and a pulse oximeter was on her left index finger. The ER doc’s body was in relatively good shape, but she had some cuts and scrapes on her face and neck from the glass shards.

While being wheeled in, Dr Lindsay was experiencing a weird déjà vu of sorts. She’s walked through those same entryway doors more times than she could count, but she never saw the emergency department from that angle. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of being brought in as a patient. Her pretty blue eyes scanned her surroundings, attempting to make sense of the nonsense. “33 year old female, blunt chest trauma, single car MVC. BP 60 over palp, heart rate’s 140 and climbing, pulse ox down to 90. Got IVs going on scene and started fluids, but her vitals aren’t looking too good.” Lindsay heard a female medic rattle off while wheeling the stretcher down the hall towards trauma room one. “Ok, thank you. Let’s get her over to trauma one. I’m gonna start her on the MTP and get a chest x ray.” A familiar voice replied to the medic. “who is that?” Lindsay thought to herself. “Dr Sarah maybe? I know she was supposed to work the day shift today.” Lindsay answered, still thinking to herself.

The gurney was still being wheeled towards the trauma bay. Dr Sarah leaned over, coming into Lindsay’s line of sight and lowered a stethoscope onto her chest. Sarah didn’t look down at Lindsay’s face, so she didn’t immediately realize who her next patient was. “Diminished breath sounds on the left side, we might need a chest tube.” Sarah observed, pulling her stethoscope away after a brief listen. Dr Sarah then looked down at the gurney, her eyes locking with Lindsay’s. Sarah’s eyes could be seen widening behind her glasses, absolutely stunned at what she was looking at. Sarah gasped, unable to get a word out. “Sarah….?” Lindsay whimpered, her voice weak and breathy. “OHMYGOD, Linds?! What happened?” Marveled Dr Sarah, still processing the concept of Dr Lindsay- a friend and coworker, being her next patient. Lindsay’s lip quivered, her eyes started to moisten. “my car… it just slipped… I don’t know what happened…” Lindsay explained to Sarah, her voice wobbly, now on the verge of tears. “It’s ok Linds, it’s gonna be ok! We’re gonna take a good look at you!” Consoled Sarah, gently grabbing Lindsay’s right hand, her voice a bit panicked.

Once in the trauma room, the stretcher was lined up parallel to the table, where Nurses Heather and Nancy waited. “LINDSAY?!” Heather exclaimed the instant she recognized who the patient was. “Hunny?! What happened?!” Nurse Nancy chimed in, equally surprised. Lindsay didn’t answer, but the familiar voices certainly comforted her through the terrifying uncertainty she was experiencing. “Let’s get her on the table on my count! One… Two… THREE!” Sarah barked out. The trio of beautiful ladies picked up the backboard and carefully moved their coworker onto the table while the paramedics took their stretcher back and exited the room. “Ah….” Winced Lindsay, feeling some pain inside her chest while being placed down on the table. Dr Lindsay squinted, the bright, fluorescent overhead light practically blinding her. “BPs 60 over palp and dropping. Hang 4 units of O-neg and prep Lindsay for a chest tube.” Ordered Dr Sarah, her voice urgent. “Linds? I have to put in a left chest tube. You know how bad they hurt, but be strong for me, ok? I promise I’ll be fast.” Dr Sarah kept Lindsay in the loop about her treatment. Lindsay hesitated for a moment, trying to mentally prepare for the pain she was about to endure. But the logical, doctor side of her took over, realizing that the brutal, painful procedure had to be done. Dr Lindsay’s eyes looked up at Sarah, and she nodded. “Go ahead.” Permitted Lindsay, giving Sarah the green light to begin chest tube placement.

Lindsay laid on the table in the supine position, her left arm raised above along her head. The normally calm and collected Dr Lindsay had a nervous expression on her face. The doctor turned patient’s lips were pinched tight, her forehead puckered, her icy blue-grey eyes looking in the direction of her left ribcage where the tube was to be inserted. She watched Dr Sarah insert a needle full of lidocaine to numb the skin. Lindsay felt a quick pinch, but nothing too worrisome. Sarah then sterilized the incision area with an alcohol wipe. “Ok Linds… Here we go…” The cute, nerdy redhead doctor told Lindsay, reaching for a 10 blade scalpel that sat on an equipment tray beside the trauma room table. Sarah took the scalpel and made a 1 inch cut at the intersection of the 4th intercostal space and anterior axillary line. Lindsay could feel the cold, sharp blade’s every move as it effortlessly slashed her skin apart. Lindsay saw stars, her eyes rolling back in pain. After the cut was made, Sarah attached a Kelly clamp to the proximal end of the chest tube, then bluntly inserted it into Lindsay’s chest cavity. “YAHHH!!!!” Yelped Lindsay, her eyes shooting wide open. Dr Sarah continued the procedure, guiding the tube further into Lindsay’s chest cavity into the pleural space. “AHHHH!!!” Lindsay let out a blood curdling scream, in absolute agony, her eyes tearing up, both her hands making tight fists, feeling the plastic tube forcing its way deeper inside her chest. There was a hiss of air once the tube reached the correct location from trapped air vacating Lindsay’s chest cavity. Lindsay gasped loudly and dramatically, then attempted to sit up. “whoawhoawhoa!” Nurse Heather stepped in, gently laying Lindsay back down on the table. “Stay still for us Linds. So far so good hunny.” Nancy chimed in, gently stroking Lindsay’s hair. Sarah lowered her stethoscope onto Lindsay’s chest and had a listen. “Tube’s in.” Sarah nodded.

Although Lindsay’s breathing improved following the chest tube placement, her vital signs continued to drop. Dr Sarah started another round of blood products and upped Lindsay’s meds, but that didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Lindsay began to shiver dramatically. Her long legs trembled and shook, and at the far end of the bed, her toes were scrunched up hard, showing off the white and red candy cane themed nail polish on her toes, along with the thin, wavy, prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 12 feet Lindsay was always so self conscious of. “Mmmmm…” Lindsay moaned. Dr Lindsay began taking rapid, shallow breaths, continuing to moan. “Shhh. It’s ok Linds. Hang in there a little longer for me…” Nurse Nancy’s calm, soothing voice told Lindsay. “I…I…” Lindsay babbled. “You what sweetie?” asked Nancy. “I just… I can’t believe I’m gonna die on Christmas…” Replied Lindsay, an impending sense of doom consuming her. The trio of caretakers in the room stood there frozen for a second, taken aback by Lindsay’s response. Nobody could believe that words like that were coming from Lindsay’s mouth. “You’re not dying hunny! We need you here New Year’s Eve! You know how we get slammed every year!” Nancy tried to encourage, her tone of voice upbeat and positive. “New Year’s Eve? Pshhh…” Lindsay scoffed, continuing to shiver. “I’m gonna be toe tagged and under a sheet in a little while…. Forget New year’s…” continued Lindsay. “No hunny, don’t say that! We’re gonna fix you up!” Nancy reassured, her voice getting a bit wobbly, upset by how Lindsay was talking about her own fate.

Before Lindsay could even answer, she started gasping loudly, taking deep, dramatic gasps. The heart monitors began beeping louder and faster, playing an almost ominous tone. “She’s crashing…” Heather announced. “linds? Stay with us hunny!” Nurse Nancy said to Lindsay, holding her right hand for a second. Again, Lindsay didn’t answer. Her frantic hyperventilating continued, her eyes WIDE open. “We need to intubate. 8.0 ET and a laryngoscope!.” Ordered Sarah, her voice roaring through the room. “Lindsay? I’m gonna intubate you, ok?” Sarah told Lindsay, moving to the head of the bed. Dr Lindsay looked up at Dr Sarah, their eyes locking for a moment. Lindsay looked like she was trying to mouth something, but couldn’t get the words out. “What’s up Linds?” asked Sarah. Lindsay didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted away from Sarah’s. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open, but became locked at the ceiling. It was like a switch was flipped. Lindsay’s shivering and gasping came to an abrupt stop. The monitors began to alarm at that point. “V-fib! Starting compressions!!!” Nurse Heather shouted out. Heather immediately began chest compressions, pushing down on Lindsay’s chest hard and fast. Nancy swooped in, snipping off Lindsay’s sports bra, exposing her small breasts and hard nipples. At the head of the bed, Sarah got right to it, beginning rapid sequence intubation. The nerdy redheaded doctor carefully navigated the flexible plastic tube into her friend’s airway. Lindsay’s head bobbed and lolled around from the residual force of Heather’s hearty compressions, creating a moving target for Sarah- nothing that Sarah couldn’t handle! The breathing tube was navigated further into Lindsay’s airway, ending up in the correct depth and location in a matter of seconds. “I’m in!” Sarah confidently announced, taping the tube in place.

Post-intubation, the trauma team decided to shock Lindsay. The defibrillator paddles were charged to 200 joules, gelled, and pressed up against Lindsay’s bare, flat chest. “Alright! Everyone…CLEAR!” Sarah shouted, sending the first shock into the patient once everyone backed away. “MMMPH!” Lindsay moaned, as if she felt the shock. The first defibrillation didn’t do the trick, onto the second one! The defibs were recharged to 250 joules, and shock #2 was promptly delivered. “Mmm….” Moaned Lindsay, again, almost as if she knew what was being done to her. Shocks one and two didn’t do the trick, but third time’s the charm, right? The paddles were charged up to 300, and Lindsay was shocked. Her chest shot up and her back arched. She held that position for a second or two before plopping down onto the orange backboard. “Damn it, no change! Shocking again at 360. Everyone… CLEAR!” Barked Dr Sarah. KA-THUNK! Lindsay’s 6’1 frame was tossed around effortlessly by the stronger shock, but like before, v-fib persisted. With the paddles still pressed up against Lindsay’s bare chest, Sarah shocked Dr Lindsay again at 360 joules. At the far end of the table, Lindsay’s feet kicked up, slamming back down hard half a second later, wrinkling the soles of her big feet once again.

Following the fifth shock, the trauma team switched gears, giving CPR and ambu bagging another try. Heather placed the heel of her gloved hand on the middle of Lindsay’s chest and began pumping away hard and fast. Lindsay’s chest caved in, and her toned belly with abs rippled and jiggled out from the sheer force of the chest compressions. Heather felt Lindsay’s ribs break, but nonetheless, she kept up her life saving efforts. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy attached the ambu bag to the ET tube, puffing the light blue bag every few seconds or so, sending critically needed oxygen directly into the coding doctor’s lungs. Dr Sarah stood off to the side of the table injecting the first doses of epinephrine and atropine into Lindsay’s IV line in hopes of stimulating positive cardiac activity. While waiting for the meds to kick in, Heather kept at it, brutally going to town on her coworker (now patient’s) chest. Heather looked down at Lindsay’s face while continuing CPR. Lindsay’s head bobbed and bounced around in sync with each individual compression. Her eyes were WIDE open, her face locked in a full-blown death stare. The ET tube hung out the side of Lindsay’s mouth, taped in place, hugging her pale lips. Heather couldn’t believe a familiar face was in such dire shape. “The ones with their eyes open never make it…” Heather thought to herself. Back at the head of the table, Nancy continued ambu bagging. “You’ve got a long life ahead of you… We all love you and need you here Linds…” Nancy whispered into Lindsay’s ear, as if she was trying to convince Lindsay to not die.

Over the coming minutes, Lindsay’s chest began to take an absolute beating. A nasty bruise started to form in the center of her chest on top of the breastbone. Mid code, Lindsay’s chest tube began to drain a substantial amount of blood seemingly out of nowhere. “What the hell?...” A surprised Dr Sarah thought out loud. In the blink of an eye, a couple liters of blood drained through the tube. “She’s bleeding somewhere in her chest. Maybe a cardiac chamber or great vessel injury.” Speculated Sarah, trying to explain away what she was seeing. “I’m gonna do an echo. Let’s see what her heart’s doing. Maybe that’ll give me something to work with.” Sarah went on. With CPR ongoing, Sarah squirted a little bit of clear, conductive ultrasound gel onto Lindsay’s bare chest. She turned on the ultrasound monitor screen and lowered the wand onto the portion of Lindsay’s chest where the gel was and began moving it around for a second or two to spread it out a bit. Sarah then moved the ultrasound wand over Lindsay’s heart and eyes the monitor screen. “….oh Lord…what a mess in there…” Uttered Sarah. “Hmm?” Heather overheard. “Massive tamponade.” Sarah shook her head. “Pericardiocentesis?” asked Heather, wondering what the next step was. “I don’t think that’ll do the trick. We need to crack her chest and see what’s really going on in there. I’m gonna set up a thoracotomy tray.” Sarah explained to Nurse Heather. Nurse Heather’s eyes went wide once she heard the word “thoracotomy.” That was a last ditch effort, hail Mary procedure used in the most critical patients. Heather has seen many patients get their chest cracked during her time as a nurse in our ER, but the idea of a friend, coworker, and familiar face being the recipient of such a procedure really bothered Heather at a deeper level.

Betadine was splashed across the left half of Lindsay’s chest. The strong, chemical scent of antiseptic hit everyone’s nostrils in less than a second. Sarah picked up the scalpel, making a crude, but decisive incision. The cut started just to the left of Lindsay’s sternum, extended laterally across her chest, underneath her left nipple, and concluding just shy of her left armpit. Heather halted CPR while Sarah worked to separate the underlying tissue and muscle to make way for the rib spreader. With an adequate space created, the metal rib retractor was placed, and Lindsay’s chest was forcefully pried open. A loud popping and cracking sound echoed around the room while Sarah turned the knobs on the spreader. Upon entry to Lindsay’s chest cavity, there was a massive rush of blood. “Suction! SUCTION!” Shouted Sarah, packing handfuls of surgical sponges into the fresh incision area. Heather lowered a suction tube into Lindsay’s chest cavity and began removing the excess blood to create a good line of sight for Sarah. The suction tube made a wet slurping sound as it removed the blood. Meanwhile, Sarah incised the fibrous lining of the pericardium to relieve the tamponade and placed a vascular clamp on the descending aorta in order to redirect blood flow and quell any arterial bleeding- at least temporarily. Heather continued to apply suction every few seconds or so, the line of sight clogging up with blood like clockwork. “Starting cardiac massage.” Announced Sarah, reaching into Lindsay’s chest, beginning to vigorously massage away at Lindsay’s strong, athletic heart. Sarah’s gloved hands were wrapped firmly around the beautiful tomboy doctor’s heart, squeezing much needed blood to the rest of her body. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Dr Sarah’s internal resus efforts. “Come on… come on Linds…” uttered Sarah under her breath.

Sarah squeezed and squeezed, but her multiple cycles of cardiac massage failed to restart Dr Lindsay’s heart. Next up, the team opted to give the internal paddles a try. The internal paddles were charged to 20 joules and lowered into Lindsay’s chest around her erratically twitching heart. THWACK! Lindsay’s heart tensed up for a second before going right back to v-fib. Sarah sighed. “No change, going again at 30. Everyone… CLEAR!” Sarah shocked again. Lindsay’s torso jolted sharply in response to the shock, but v-fib remained. “Hitting her again at 40!..... CLEAR!” Sarah’s voice surged. “Mmm….” Lindsay moaned in reaction to the shock. “she’s still in v-fib, let’s go again…. CLEAR!” Sarah yelled out passionately. A dull, wet thump was heard, however, Lindsay’s heart still couldn’t be shocked out of v-fib. “AGAIN!... CLEAR!” Yelled Sarah, lowering the blood soaked internal paddles back onto Lindsay’s cracked open chest. “Still nothing. Recharging the internal paddles to 40!” Sarah announced, her tone of voice growing more and panicked. The high pitched, electrical whirring sound of the paddles recharging bounced around the room. “Ok…. CLEAR!” Sarah defibbed Lindsay again. Almost instantly after the shock, the heart monitors flatlined. Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless in plain sight. Dr Sarah removed the large, spoon shaped paddles and gently set them back on the crash cart. Sarah began removing her gloves and eyeing the clock on the wall. “It’s over. Time of death, 19:35.” Sarah called out, abruptly terminating the code.

The trio of caretakers stood there shell shocked for a moment while the high pitched hum of the flatlined monitors droned around the room. Nancy removed the ambu bag, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. Heather switched off the monitors, making the once loud, chaotic room eerily silent. Nobody said a word, but knew exactly what to do next. The IV lines were taken out of each arm. The EKG electrodes were disconnected. The BP cuff was taken off Lindsay’s left bicep. The pulse oximeter was taken off her left index finger. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the thoracotomy site. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open as her body was covered, appearing as if she watched the sheet get pulled over her head. Last but not least, a toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled in front of Lindsay’s hot, wrinkly soles, serving as a harsh reminder that no Christmas miracles would be taking place that night. In this alternate reality, Lindsay was now the latest beauty who found herself toe tagged and under a sheet in our emergency department.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Re-skimmed through a bunch of Dune Messiah last night because why not and now I am having thoughts:

The thing that sticks with me most is the tone. It's melancholy, it's eerie, it's unsettled and weird. Cannot think of a more pitch-perfect director for it than Denis Villeneuve. He's gonna nail it.

There is...not that much...actual story? Denis has referred to it in interviews as "a small book" and I'm like my guy it is 350 pages. But there are actually not that many plot beats. It's just that every. single. scene. is WILDLY overwritten. The real challenge of adapting Dune is not the giant worms or the dense complicated worldbuilding or the fact that actors have to say the name "Duncan Idaho" repeatedly with a straight face. It's that there are pages and pages and PAGES of internal monologue that have to be externalized somehow for film.

After a re-skim my gut instinct for "how much story goes in a feature film" is that if you just wrote out the dialogue and action that happens in every scene in the book in screenplay format you'd end up with...maybe about an hour of material? Which is great, actually, because it means there is room to add stuff. Like a whole new independent plotline for Chani if they decide to do that.

It may seem insane to add things to an adaptation of what's notoriously one of the wordiest series in classic sci-fi but it's worth remembering that they added quite a bit to Dune Part Two. Most of the first hour of the movie--almost everything before the worm ride except for Jessica drinking the Water of Life--is stuff that isn't in the book. And it's the best part of the movie essential to making the movie work as well as it does. Yes, they also cut elements from both parts (the dinner scene, the whole plotline where Gurney thinks Jessica is a Harkonnen spy, Thufir Hawat's fate, Leto II the Elder, murder toddler Alia) but I understand why each of those elements was cut or changed in the service of cinematic storytelling.

There's an interview (can't remember which one) with Jon Spaihts, the other co-writer of the scripts along with Denis, where he talks about how Dune is like a stage play, with so many of what would be the big action set pieces happening off-page. I kept thinking about that comparison while reviewing Dune Messiah because in addition to the scenes that do exist being wordy and internal as fuck, an absolutely insane list of major events/reveals/emotionally significant moments happen off-page. The list of things that we don't actually see in the main action of the story, that we're only told about after they happen, includes:

Chani finding out Irulan has been secretly dosing her with birth control for YEARS

People trying to capture a sandworm and take it off planet

Chani and Paul finding out Chani is pregnant after 12 years of trying to conceive

Paul flying an ornithopter carrying his extremely-about-to-go-into-labor partner while blind

CHANI DYING (first time reading I did NOT know this was coming and damn near threw my Kindle across the room at the way the information was delivered)

Alia executing a bunch of people including a Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother

Paul walking into the desert at the end

You could add all these moments into a scene-for-scene film adaptation of the book and probably still have room to add more material.

The other thing that jumps out is that Paul doesn't really...govern...much. Like there's this whole subgenre of post-Dune/Dune Messiah-era fic that's just some combination of Paul, Chani, Irulan and sometimes Feyd traipsing around the palace having feelings while vague politics happens in the background, but I forgot that Dune Messiah is actually kinda like that??

There is a whole thread of Paul feeling kind of abstractly bad about being Space Hitler but he does not, in fact, actually do anything about it. And like yes both bureaucracies and religious movements can grow to have a life of their own that seems beyond the control of any one person. But also my dude you are the Emperor of the Known Universe. Someone is signing those space checks for the Endless War budget. You are not powerless here.

The one thing that really, clearly drives Paul to actively do things in the plot is not feeling guilty about having unleashed catastrophic religious war on the universe. It is protecting his family. Chani, Alia, his unborn children, and you could probably throw in Duncan by the end. That is what motivates him to act at key moments, and to want to hold on to power. And hey, y'know, if I'd experienced almost everyone I'd ever known getting murdered in a single night, I would probably get a bit intense about that too! It makes sense from a character point of view!

I'm very curious to see how these threads interweave with each other in the film, because the Villeneuve films put a lot of emphasis on Paul's agency and the fact that he may be constrained by shitty circumstances thousands of years in the making, but he still makes choices within that context. I can't see the narrative allowing film!Paul to get away with the same Poor Little Dictator routine as in the book. There are a few ways they could play this but I think the most interesting one is kinda the way they started going at the end of Part Two. Which is that as soon as you start reaching for that kind of power, then power becomes its own end and you will end up doing increasingly horrific things to maintain it. I think it would be quite interesting if the film shows us Paul not just being like "woe is me" but actively choosing to make the world worse because his trauma-driven fear of losing the people he loves makes him cling ever more desperately to power for its own sake.

If they went this route I think it would make Paul's decision at the end hit even harder. FWIW I actually really like Paul walking off into the desert at the end of the book. I think it brings things full circle with his relationship to the Fremen and creates this beautiful arc going back to the duel with Jamis. He first won a place among the Fremen through respecting their customs even though he really did not want to fight and kill someone he had no beef with. And by respecting the Fremen custom of the blind walking off into the desert, he proves himself to be fully Fremen and protects his children not by making them heirs to the throne but by making them Fremen.

And yeah, to a modern audience here on Earth it can look like "Paul conveniently fucks off and doesn't have to raise his newly-motherless children." And we can have a whole discussion about the unexamined ableism of the idea of someone who's gone blind voluntarily choosing death so as to "not be a burden" on their community. But neither of those readings is really the point here. Within the logic of Fremen cultural values, where the survival of the group as a whole is more important than the life of any one individual ("your water belongs to the tribe" etc.) Paul's choice is a willing and intentional self-sacrifice (see also: fedaykin) that wins him huge respect. There's a line in the book about Paul that's like "He would be one of them forever now" and damn if that didn't give me shivers. Like!! The political-symbolic implications!!! Which maybe I'm particularly attuned to because I just wrote a whole fic about what does it mean for an outsider to become Fremen but hmm something something Paul's final* act not being an exercise of Imperial power but an expression of kinship with an oppressed group and that being the thing that's needed to keep his family safe even if he is not physically present with them...IT IS RICH SYMBOLIC TERRITORY.

(*Yes yes I know about events in the next book. Shush.)

This kind of stuff is why I tend to think Chani may start out in a very different place in the story but the end will still be pretty close to what's in the book. It's too thematically powerful and tragic to go any other way.

But also...if they change things around enough that she is still alive at the end of the movie...I won't be sad about it.

[mockerycrow]

I got a funny short fic idea here. Task 141 + König + Los Vaqueros x fem!reader reacting to their bodies being switched with each other.

A bit of a scenario, both of them went on a mission and happens to get ambushed by a gas fume in a room, after some lingering time time trying to get out of there (they did eventually), they passed out and the other members had to drag both of their bodies to base. The next day they woke up in the medic room but found something is wrong with their own bodies. Could be either sfw or nsfw

Body Switch Gas (141 + Los Vaqueros + König x Fem!Reader)

masterlist

A/N: I made this sfw because I wasn’t sure how to how make it nsfw. i also stole the “valeria escaped” warzone storyline. i also don’t like how this ended up, so i might edit it later and tag you in the new version. my apologies!

Honestly, nothing seemed weird with the room at first. A standard side room inside of a warehouse—full on intel on Valeria’s whereabouts. It was clear she was here at one point; pictures of different cartel members, people who had betrayed her, floor plans of several different buildings—several that you’ve already been to, and more that now you can check out. There’s many documents strewn about too, something that can be sifted through by techs later. Your fingers brush over a few papers and move them around, a particular piece of paper catching your eye. You look over at your captain, Price, motioning him over with your head. “I think I got something.” You call out, successfully catching his attention. Price walks over with heavy footsteps and goes to grab the document your fingers linger on, and then suddenly this odorless, foggy gas begins to spill out of the simple vents around the room. You immediately cough as whatever the gas seems to be, burns your lungs. You try to swat the gas away, patting your gear for your gas mask, but it’s nowhere to be found. His coughs echo off of the walls, his hand clutching the table that’s covered in papers. Your vision blurs as you make your way towards the door, but you end up being too weak to open it. You spot outside of the little corner room that the warehouse is filling up with the same gas and the panic strikes you; what if your teammates get hurt?? You fall to the ground and hit your head harshly, knocking you out before you could debate the thought any more.

You groan quietly, not quite registering the vocal tone being low and too rough to be yours—not when you have this intense throbbing bouncing inside of your skull. You hear a heartbeat monitor vaguely coming from your upper right as you twitch awake. Your eyes flutter open for a moment and you stare at the ceiling and freeze because something feels totally and utterly wrong. You sit up quickly and look at your hands and the hands that in place of yours are definitely not yours. The hefty gear resting on body is not yours. Your breath hitches and you mutter, “What the fu-“ and you quickly cut yourself off as a familiar gruff, low, British accent spills from your lips. You clear your throat as you hesitantly lift your fingers to your cheek, brushing your fingers over the skin to find thick hair—a beard of some sort. You rip your hand away in shock but then you can’t stop staring at your hands again. “This has to be a dream.”

You look around and a curtain is closed around your infirmary bed. For some reason, no one took your gear off, so you reach around and begin to remove the heavy vest. You let out a sigh of relief as you let it fall to the side of the gurney with a loud thump. You put your hand on your chest and for the first time ever, you don’t feel boobs. Your eyes widen as you quickly cup your chest, only to feel firm pecs. “What the actual fuck is goin’ on?” You curse, only to jump from the voice that’s coming from your new body. You sound exactly like fucking Price. As soon as you move to take your IV out, someone opens the curtain to your bedding area. You have a deer in headlights look as you make eye contact with one of the base corpsman’s, his smile soft, yet filled with nerves. “You’re awake! That’s good, the others are waiting for you in room 18.” He murmurs, holding a clipboard and a pen. He writes something down as you nod, dread filling you once again. “We’ll get this figured out, alright?”

He walks over and gently removes the IV, putting a cotton ball with a piece of medical tape over the site, pulls off the heart monitor pieces, and then the corpsman walks away. Leaving you alone.

What the fuck did he mean?

You shake your head and you stand up slowly and it feels weird. This isn’t your body and it borderline feels like you have to learn how to walk again. You silently make your way down the hall of the infirmary room, heading towards the hall. Room 18 should just be around the corner. The sliding doors open for you and you step out into the hall; you can hear familiar voices down the hall from that exact room. You make your way there and you open the door, met with everyone around a table—including you. It’s very surreal and scary and you nearly pale.

“Ah, [Name], you’re awake!” Soap exclaims softly, softer than Soap usually would. You blink and you don’t answer at first. Gaz reaches over and nudges Soap, muttering, “She’s confused, give her a second.”

You stand there and you point to yourself, swallowing your spit and saying, “What the fuck and why am I Price?”

Your body snorts quietly, her arms crossed. “And I’m you, [Name].”

You blink. And you blink again.

“Gah, you broke her!” Ghost’s voice is fucking booming—louder than you’ve heard it before and you wince. “Johnny, can you not?” Gaz hisses, looking at Ghost.

Oh, so.. “Wait.. who is who?”

“I’m Ghost.” Gaz answers, his arms remaining crossed. “I’m Soap!” Ghost says, leaning back in his chair. Soap chuckles and scratches the back of his neck. “You can guess who I am then, huh?”

Again, you blink.

What the actual fuck just happened.

“Wait, where’s the others? Alejandro, Rudy? König?” You ask with a worried tone, walking over and sitting down next to,,, yourself. Weird.

You make eye contact with yourself; or, er, Price, as he begins to speak. "They're freakin' out in their own room, trying to figure out a way to fix all of this."

"Who switched with who?" You question. "Konig is Alejandro, Rudy is Konig and Alejandro is Rudy." Ghost pipes up, stretching his back muscles. Oh.

With no knowledge of how long you all will stay like this, you stay sitting down, wondering if this a forever thing. And you wonder how it even fucking happened in the first place.

[abibliophobiaa]

I'm bad at giving prompts because I never know what authors would be inspired by, so I'm going to give you vague ideas and you can pick whatever parts suit your fancy. I know you'll write something cool no matter what :)

Soulmates, but only one party knows they're soulmates

Eddie insecure of his scars

Walking in the woods

"Don't you know I care about you?"

Some innocent cuddling or handholding

did you look for me?

i ended up going with eddie being insecure about his scars and the anniversary of one year post S4. eddie munson x f!reader. warnings: drinking to the point of intoxication; eddie becomes physically ill - throw up mention; wound description, scar mention; smut, but the vague, sort of poetic kind. formatting is also kind of weird because i did not use google docs and…it shows. (3.5k words)

He’d told you he’d be going out with Steve. Wanted to get out and spend time with him on the day Vecna almost took everything from you. He’d left with a kiss brushed against your forehead in the night, his hands lingering over the dip of your hip, cooing softly to ease the tiredness from your form as you shifted and raised yourself up onto your elbows in bed, palms brushing against your eyes to bring some life back into them. 

“Just going out for a little while,” he promised, thumbing at the curve of your jaw. Wiggled your chin until you smiled. “You worked all day. Please get some sleep, okay?”

“I love you,” you’d mumbled, face pushing back into the endless comforters lining your shared bed. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

And you should have known. Should have been more awake to argue with him to stay home. To stay here. Should have anticipated what an absolutely terrible idea that had been. Not when you’d known what he’d experienced. Not when you still remembered that day so vividly. The call from one of the kids—them crying that something had happened, just as the world beneath you had rocked endlessly.

An earthquake, you’d been told. 

Eddie had been hurt. Badly. The kind of hurt that had you fumbling with your keys in the ignition of your car. Cursing and slamming your fist against the steering wheel when you’d lost grip of them and they clattered onto the floor to taunt you. The kind of hurt where you’d gotten a flash of him as he’d been thrown onto a gurney shortly after you’d arrived, someone already there balancing on the edge of the table doing chest compressions until they could get him into a room, because his heart had stopped. 

A whole minute. For a minute, you’d lost him. All of you had.

For a minute, Eddie had left the world, lingering somewhere away from his body. Away from you. Nearly gone. And then…not. He’d come back and had been immediately hooked up to endless machines and taken in for surgery. Surgeries that had seemingly lasted for hours, your feet carrying you back and forth in an endless back and forth line you hardly cared about potentially leaving a burn mark in the carpet. 

After that it had been days of touch and go. Months of healing, tending to his scars, watching him adjust to the way he looked in the aftermath of it all. He pretended to be okay. You knew that. Watched him hide behind smiles, behind a joke, behind doing the things he’d done before. Watched him strum away on his guitar at band practices, stand in front of rooms of people suddenly intrigued by the boy who had been cleared of rumored murder charges, the boy who had defeated death and came back.

A “Freak”—yet this time, one of their own making.

He carried on with the kids as usual, too. Started up Dungeons and Dragons meetings, began growing the group. Invited the girls, invited Robin, Steve and yourself. You always clung to the outskirts, watching him do what he did, watching him try and make sense of the world after the unimaginable. Putting his best foot and face forward, if only to protect those around him from the monsters who roamed his dreams at night, with endless teeth and flapping wings.

So no—no, it comes as no surprise when later at three in the morning you receive a phone call from Robin. The motherly figure of the small trio that had gathered that evening. She’s short and concise in speech, oddly enough for her, in her explanation of what’s gone on. Eddie drank…and quite a bit, from the way she describes it.

Exactly like a year ago, you fumble with your keys in your car, slam your palm against the steering wheel when they drop near your feet, and eventually peel out of the parking lot of your apartment complex.

He’s out on a lounge chair in Steve’s backyard when you find him. When Steve opens the door and apologizes. Says he didn’t realize Eddie must have drank before even arriving, and then offered him more on top of it. Your hand curls around Steve’s shoulder, grimace settling into place as you walk out onto the patio, eyes searching for the familiar form of the man who stole your heart two years ago now. The man who is lost now in his mind, swirling around a drain, staring up at a starry sky.

“Hey, handsome.”

Your chest flutters as he turns his head over the side of the chair, his flushed cheeks tugging upward with the silliest smile that spans his features, body gravitating to yours as it always does, flailing limbs and all. His dimples practically strain from it, though he nearly falls off the chair upon doing so, hand slapping against the ground to keep himself steady.

“Careful there,” you sigh, stepping closer into his proximity, gesturing to the small space on the chair near his hip. At his nod, you settle down, grimacing as he loops his arms around your waist and presses his forehead into your neck. Eddie on a normal day is a big fan of cuddling. Drunk Eddie’s favorite pastime is cuddling. “How about we get out of here? I’ll drive you home and we can get ready for bed?”

“I was just trying to forget.”

It’s like a hammer coming down to pulverize your heart. The quiet tremor of his voice, the sharp inhale of breath, the moisture on your collar bone. But you grant him that safety of your comfort, instead. Curl your hand around his ringed fingers and help him to his feet, quiet and careful as you lead him through Steve’s home, mindful of the sharp corners he bumps and sways into.

Steve’s there at the passenger door to help ease Eddie down inside, a sad frown set in place as he claps his friend on the shoulder and wishes you both a good night. Robin reminds you to call if you need anything else, and blows Eddie a kiss, both waving as you pull away from the Harrington home and head back to the place you share with Eddie, certain you have a long night still ahead.

—

The night is long, as you expect it to be. Getting Eddie into bed is one thing. His hands rest on your shoulders as you help him out of his jeans, his gangly thighs tangling in the material, nearly sending him careening backward into your shared mattress. He strips out of his shirt next, insistent that it’s too hot in the room. And for a spring day, with the windows already gently parted, you’ve needed to put on a hoodie to block out the chill in the air. But you watch him undress all the same, his back falling against the plush pillows beneath, a loud exhale spilling from his lips.

“I’m going to go get you some water and some pain relievers, okay?” Moving to make your way toward the bedroom door, Eddie’s fingers snatch yours before you can go any further. Chocolate brown eyes lift to meet your face, beckoning you back onto the mattress beside him, grunting as he throws himself on top of your chest, arms tangling in the fabric of your hoodie. “Eddie, you really need to drink some water. I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he mumbles.

“Eddie, I’m not—”

“I can see it in your eyes. I know you.”

“I was worried, that’s all. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” And there it is again. That lightning bolt to your chest. That feeling of anguish that rattles you deep within your bones. “I haven’t slept in days. I needed…”

Days. He’s gone days and you’ve been too busy with work to see it. Guilt drops like an anchor in the pit of your stomach, grief joining it there. Pity—for the man pressing close to your body, shame swallowing him whole, suffocating him. Fingers reach out to untangle the strands of dark curls on the back of his head, running through each coil, patting them into place. He sighs and sinks further into the mattress, and eventually stills, the sound of your heartbeat lulling him into sleep.

Hours later, you wake to the sound of retching in the adjoining bathroom. Eddie’s groans of displeasure echo off the tiled walls. Careful to not startle him, your feet drop down to hit the carpet beside your bed and carry you across the short distance between the bedroom and softly parted bathroom door where yellow light spills out into the hallway.

“Eddie?”

You catch him swishing mouthwash around puffy cheeks. He spits into the sink and glances your way. Eyes red-rimmed and tired. The sort of tired not even the best night of sleep could take away. No words are spoken as you step into the bathroom further, as you run your fingers along the side of his chest. Against the curve of his cheek, where new stubble has grown in since he’s last shaved.

“You been up long?” you ask, even though the fear of the answer has you weary. He nods, but at least he seems more aware of his surroundings now. More himself, despite his haggard form. “You should hop in the shower. It’ll make you feel better. While you do that I’ll make you the waffles you like. Strawberries and all.”

It’s a silent parting. You slip away from his side with a squeeze of his hip and a brush of your lips against the corner of his lips, making your way down the short hall to your shared living room and connecting kitchen. It’s small, but it’s yours. Has been for months now. After a serious conversation with Wayne, about how Eddie was struggling even if he hid it well, you’d all come to the agreed upon conclusion that he needed space away from the rest of the chaos of Hawkins. Away from those who still sneer at him in supermarkets, or shout out false accusations in parking lots.

Murderer. Freak. Killer. Psycho. Names thrown around, barbed wire and daggers, aimed at the man who had done nothing wrong.

It doesn’t matter Hopper had his name cleared shortly after the events that occurred that horrible week. Those who hated Eddie Munson hated him long ago. Chrissy and the other’s deaths were just further ammunition to leverage their ill intent.

Your apartment at least grants him the peace of safety and solace of quiet. On the edge of town, away from prying eyes, and close enough to both your jobs. The other renters in the complex leave you both be, despite a few noise complaints you’ve made about the rowdier tenants just above your bedroom, and it works for the time being. Until you can save up for something new; something you can grow in, grow old in.

Humming to yourself, you begin unloading the things you’ll need from the fridge. Pausing only to pet your presently purring orange kitten, dubbed Frodo by your boyfriend, when you notice that the apartment is still quiet.

There’s no water running.

The bathroom door is still open. Just as you left it. Slowly, so slowly, you walk over to the door, breath catching at the sight of Eddie standing in front of the mirror, fingers tracing over scars. Over the patch of skin over his heart, where it’s the worst, over grooves and ridges of what once was smooth flesh. Trails his fingers lower, to the marks along his abdomen, on his arms. The movements still along his cheek, over the divots you’ve kissed numerous times now. Remember the day you saw him when his eyes first opened in the hospital, and he’d asked you how bad it was.

“Still handsome as ever,” you’d promised, and you’d meant it.

Still mean it now as you knock on the doorframe, jolting him from his slow perusal of his frame. “Are you okay? Didn’t hear the water running.”

“‘M fine,” he says, kicking off his sweatpants for emphasis.

Turns then toward the knob in the shower and sets the water to run hot, fingers lingering under the stream to test the temperature. You open your mouth to speak but he slips out of the bathroom and into your bedroom for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you watch him retrieve the tablets you left on the bedside table. He swallows them down with a swish of water from the glass laid out, and then returns to your side, where the water now steams up the bathroom mirror.

“Right…I’ll…uh,” you mumble, slipping out from around him into the hallway.

He slowly closes the door, leaving it only slightly open now, and you walk down the hallway. Frodo’s yellow eyes meet yours, and your resolve hardens, feet propelling you back from whence you came. Inhaling deeply, you shuffle inside, calling out into the open space that you’re coming in.

This part, you don’t think about. You strip off your leggings and hoodie with ease. Toss your underwear in a pile with his. He’s quiet as you enter. Those dark eyes of his roam your form, though their usual appreciative and amorous affection is replaced by a hollowness unfamiliar to Eddie’s usually spirited features.

“You’re far away from me right now,” you say softly.

Eddie lifts his head, tangles of wet curls falling loose around his shoulders, rivulets of water trailing down his cheeks like freshly fallen tears. “A lot on my mind, sweetheart. You know…sometimes I forget they’re there.” He gestures vaguely to his chest, waving a hand in front of himself. “And then I catch myself in a damn mirror, and it’s like I’m there all over again. In that fucking dimension, laying on the damn floor, waiting for it all to just…stop.”

“Eddie…”

“It’s hard to not believe you’re a monster like people think you are, when you look in the mirror and might as well be.”

Your hands cup his cheeks, forehead against his. Bodies slick with water, inches apart. More space than you like between you. “You are not a monster, Eddie Munson. You have never been. It’s not in your nature.”

Arms slowly twine around your form. A face against your shoulder, hair brushing your shoulders, his body flush with yours. That distance, that crevice, sews shut in an instant. Comfort comes in the form of his palm along your lower back, in the form of your lips against his shoulder, palms against the middle of his shoulders, holding him tight as the cries of a broken man fill your bathroom. As rain begins to splatter against the window, crystalline shards like diamonds rolling down the pane, the rumble of thunder drowning the blood racing in your ears.

He draws back with a deep exhale, the remnants of his tears visible in the red rims surrounding his eyes. In the shaky inhale, the hiccup that shudders in his chest. Fingers slide up across his chest, over his shoulders, the side of his neck, his cheek. He cradles your palm there, over the space you brush with your gentle thumb. Kisses the inside of your wrist, whispering how much he loves you.

An idea forms.

The hand resting on your face is lowered in the space between the two of you. Your hand flips his palm upward. The fingers on your opposite hand trail his callus scored palms. Tease at the yellowy skin there, at the marks that reveal countless hours of practices. Of time spent honing his craft, trying to make something of himself, trying to be the best at it.

“I love these hands,” you tell him idly. More to yourself, maybe. But he lifts his head all the same. Looks into your eyes as you meet his, the water warm against your back. “They make beautiful music. Music that I’m sure will change the world some day. They write songs. Beautiful songs that mean something. And they write stories. For those kids who absolutely love and look up to you.”

You trail your fingers up along the inside of his forearm. Over the tattoos there. Along his bicep, where you pause. “These arms are pretty great, too.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles at that, and you nod.

“They fix cars and…we know that’s helped me out of many tricky situations.”

Like last week, when you’d had an issue with your car starting and he’d been able to fix it before you were ever late for your shift.

“But they also give the best hugs,” you sigh, sliding up against his chest, relishing in the feeling of them caging you in close. Tight. “They feel like home. Safe. Like nothing could touch me, as long as I’m right here.”

He squeezes you tightly, and you know it’s his way of reassuring you that as long as he has breath in his lungs, you’ll always have somewhere to run to. The safe space in the cradle of his body, a place that he knows you fit perfectly into.

“Don’t even get me started on your cheeks,” you laugh, tipping your head back to press a loud kiss to both of them.

Eddie’s nose wrinkles. “My cheeks?”

“Don’t make fun. They’re adorable. Bite me,” you grumble, pinching at one of them for emphasis. “Really, the whole face is adorable.”

His forehead rests against yours, eyes dark in the dimly lit room, the room growing darker by the minute from the storm rolling in outside. They shift downward as you rest your palm over his abdomen, gliding upward slowly, along scarred flesh, over the parts of him he hates most, until you stop over his sternum.

Over the rapid thrum of his heart.

“I love this heart the most. Because despite everything, it’s kind and loving and warm. And for a minute that day it had stopped and I thought I’d lost everything.” He kisses your forehead as you heave a sob, as your breath chokes off at the memory of him lying on that hospital bed, eyes closed, swathed in bandages, uncertain if he’d ever wake up again even though the doctors reassured you he would. “But then you came back. You came back to us. To me.”

He sniffles, thumbing at your lower lash line as you continue, “And I know you hate this body some days. But I love it. I love it because it’s beautiful and it holds your soul, and…I-I—”

“I love you.” He cradles the back of your head and kisses you.

Once. Twice. Three times.

For each word. Each a promise. Each a swear.

Never to be parted again.

—

He lays against you in silence. His head on your chest, his thighs a tangle with yours, a hand around your hip to keep you close. Bare chests covered only by thin bedsheets. In white linen draped along thighs. You’re not sure what time it is, but time doesn’t exist here. Not right now. Not with him quietly slumbering at last after five days of running from the demons in his mind.

Safe, at last, in the circle of your arms.

Safe and sound, you tell him quietly, fingers combing through his hair.

Safe and sound with you. Here, in this apartment, in your home, where no one can touch you.

Vecna is gone. The kids are okay. Your friends are fine. The world is whole again. The monsters are gone.

He doesn’t have to run anymore.

There will be days like these. The hard ones. More to come in the years that will surely follow. But now, right now, there’s only peace.

And later—later he wakes and kisses you slowly. Softly.

Languid.

Perfect presses of plush lips against skin. He asks you a question. You nod, and he slides the blanket away from your form, baring you to him. Later there’s heat that builds and grows as he trails along the curve of your neck. Over the swell of your collar bone. The valley between your breasts. He divides his attention between your breasts, teasing nips and taunting brushes of tongue and teeth against sensitive skin. Quiet murmurs of praises from his softly parted lips, and peals of pleasure from yours. Fingers knot in hair as he trails lower, as the heat of his tongue glides through the honey of your center, as fingers pull you closer and closer to a precipice. Pulls you nearer as you plummet, planting a kiss against your forehead.

He’s quiet as he rolls over you. As your hand reaches down between the two of you and guides him to where you crave to feel him. Suddenly it’s the comfort of being so full of him that robs you of air. The familiar roll of his hips against yours, fingers bracing one of your thighs over his hips. The slow drag of him; in and out, in and out torturously so, stars bursting behind your vision with each breathless thrust.

Your fracture around him like dozens of stars visible through your bedroom window.

He holds you until sunrise. His chest rising and falling against yours, both of you content and sated.

Cheeks warm, skin warmer.

Tangled as two people could ever be.

And it’s a new day. One neither of you will take for granted.

——

xoxo love you all.

[theallianceofcelestials]

So @deyisacherry was curious about the Wedding AU I mentioned in my previous post, so here it is. Prepare for crack and a crossover with TSAMS.

So first of all, timelines. Over MASM it's pre-Chica introduction, and over at TSAMS it's pre-Subtle Foreshadowing *suffering screams intensify*

Beware, pure crack:

Sooo MASM Eclipse, the fucking creature, falls through a rift in between dimensions, and crawls out of the ballpit over at TSAMS's Daycare while Sun is the only in there, probably cleaning. So, in typical MASM Eclipse (is there a specific nickname for him? Like with Moonblock and Sunblock?) way the guy is raving about something - probably how much better he is, and what the heck are these shapes (balls) - and Sun, having dealt with crazy before, starts agreeing and praising the guy, so he'll leave and crawl back to where he came from.

But with the flavor of entity MASM Eclipse is, he falls for the guy who so clearly is the only sane person, having noticed immediately how much superior Eclipse is. And literally (I can't emphasize that enough) in a blink of an eye, Sun goes from being in the Daycare to walking down a wedding aisle, with the Creator strapped to a gurney rolling down beside him. He's in a white wedding suit that he doesn't know where it came from, nor how it's fitting him so well.

On one side of him, are all his family members tied to rolling chairs. Earth, Solar, Lunar, Dazzle and Jack sit in the front row with Nexus, Ruin and Dark Sun of all people sitting behind them. Lunar has already tipped his chair over and is gnawing on Nexus's tied leg. He can see Monty, Eclipse V4, Foxy and FC with Puppet behind them, along with their new dimension's Sun/Moon. A row or so behind them, also tied somehow, are Gemini, Nebula and Taurus. And in the very back row, taking up the entire row, is the Wither Dragon. Sun doesn't know how it's there. Tied. With rope.

On his other side are also tied people, a Sun, Moon, Monty, Freddy, Foxy and Roxy. The Sun seems to be switching between trying to squirm out of the ropes, and glowering at the Moon, while the Moon is staring at him, then the Sun, looking dead on the inside a little.

He's so distracted by the mind numbing confusion he doesn't hear what the priest is saying to him, only giving a haphazard "Yeah, sure." when he's asked about something. And then there's a ring on his finger. And he gets a smooch from the Eclipse. That's when he realises he just got married. To an Eclipse. Next to him, in the spot reserved for the best man/maid of honor, Moon looks just as shocked.

After a bit he's mentioning how he thought he'd be the best man on his brother's wedding, but at least he'd know his brother's significant other before the wedding.

During the after ceremony party, Sun begins to slowly untie his family's hands after Ruin mentions he wants cake, and Sun's in too big shock to be like: yeah, I hate this guy kinda. So he unties people's hands at least, ignoring Dark Sun, Nexus, the Creator, the Wither Dragon and the weird other dimensional people. Jack and Dazzle, having never been tied, are picking flowers. (Dazzle was the flower girl)

Sun, kind of afraid, asks Eclipse what they'll do on their wedding night, and Eclipse answers they'll do what everyone does obviously, Sun begins to sweat, plot evil things.

The cake is actually pretty good, which he mentions to his new husband, who boasts that of course, his chef is the best. He then points to said chef, and Sun asks if he's that blue rabbit. To which Eclipse says his chef i no rabbit, only knowing one blue bunny who's his arch nemesis, Bonnie the bunny. Who's a sheriff.

Now I kinda thought it'd be cool if the quick select inventory of MASM people was actually their belt, and visible to people from other dimensions who aren't from Minecraft dimensions, so Sun can see the glaring sheriff hat, which he asks his husband about. He's kinda shocked to find Eclipse(block????????) can't see the glaringly obvious thing there.

So he goes up to the "chef" to ask whether he's a sheriff or nah, and when a gun gets pointed at him, with a whisper of don't blow my cover, he gets kinda angry and just hits off the chef hat to replace with the sheriff one. Eclipse obviously pulls a Doofenshmirtz, and yells at everyone to get down, also pulling out a gun. So a shoot out starts happening, and Sun just backs away.

Moon suggests he grabs the tazergun that's on him, and he does so, warning his apparent husband and shooting the rabbit multiple times, because despite how sudden this is, and with whom it is, this is STILL HIS WEDDING AND HE'S NOT ABOUT TO HAVE IT BE EVEN MORE RUINED

They kinda just leave Bonnie there, and Sun tells his husband they're gonna have rabbit stew. Eclipse happily exclaims: Great! Sun get the stew, he'll get the rabbit. Then he leaves Sun there.

He turns towards the people he assumes are from his new husband's dimension, and asks if this is normal. It's important to note Monty's and Foxy's snouts are taped, and Moonblock is crying on the ground face down. Sunblock tells him yes.

Seeing as he's the only semi sane one, because the Freddy's just kind of smiling into the void, he unties Sunblock too, who follows him into the kitchen.

Upon learning the horrifying situation that's happening in MASM, he takes this kid under his wing, because what the hell, and begins teaching him how to cook. He's kind of having a freak out about how everything Sunblock cuts or peels ends up cube shaped.

Eclipse(block) returns with a "rabbit" that's actually just a person in a bunny suit, so Sun tells him it's not good enough for their 'evil stew', and Eclipse(block) agrees, throwing the person out. Before he can leave, Sun texts him an actual rabbit farm's address, so they don't end up with another human in a rabbit costume situation.

He actually tells Sunblock he's proud of him when he finishes cutting up the potatoes, and the kid begins crying so hard it's concerning. He pats him on the back a little, telling him to watch the stew, while he goes out to talk with Moonblock, to ask why he's crying still.

Freddy tells him Moonblock has been in love with Sunblock this entire time, and is just bad at expressing his affection and thought his bullying was teasing, so Sun makes an offer to coach him about it, because he knows what a Sun likes, (maybe??), so he can help Moonblock better himself so Sunblock will maybe like him. He asks his Moon and EAPS Moon to be positive role models for him.

Then he sets Jack on Bonnie, telling him he said a mean thing about Dazzle. When Solar tries stepping in, he tells him the MASM lore, so Solar decides to look away just this once. They also set Jack on MASM Foxy and Monty.

It is now a good time to mention that during the wedding, because of his loud hackling and insults, Eclipse(block??) created a remote out of a stick, a leaf and the priest's spit of all things, and muted the Creator. Other people - see Nexus - were muted in a different way.

Upon return to the kitchen is is flooded with tears, and the stew is now overly salty. Sun doesn't mention this however, deciding to add pasta instead too. Eclipse(block) return with an actual - live - rabbit, and when Sun mentions skinning it, he just stabs it, earning the loot from it. Sun is horrified to find the organs and bones gone.

He asks his new husband how to unmute people, getting told to just say unmute, and he leaves his husband with their new 'evil apprentice'. He thinks he sees Eclipse read a parenting book.

He approaches Dark Sun, hoping he has answers about what's going on, but he only gets a negative, but they both confirm it's probably a Minecraft dimension, and not a fever dream. Then Sun unmutes Nexus too, not before warning him to behave because the only thing keeping him alive right now is Sun tellin g Taurus to wait until after the wedding to kill him, because it's a happy occasion, and leaves him and Dark Sun against a table with a slice of cake each. They're still tied. (And the Wither Dragon's dead)

Sun also tells Moon about the rabbit thing, because he's horrified, and Moon asks if he could do experiments on Sun's new hubby. Sun declines for now.

They think Bonnie is dead, not being able to survive another dimension's laws and weapons, or is at least on the brink of death. Since he's still twitching.

So far it's only this, but like the future of this holds potential for a lot of crack treated semi-seriously. And also to better Sunblock and Moonblock's relationship, so they don't get to where canon is.

[jimothy-hopkins]

Tom Gurney hcs cause he’s my fav

Tom is autistic.

His special interest are conspiracy theories and unsolved mysteries.

His favorite teacher is Mr. Galloway. He likes that Mr. Galloway doesn’t thinks he’s crazy about his theories and helps Tom flesh them out more.

Tom cannot swim. He is actually afraid of deep bodies of water, especially the ocean.

Tom is also afraid of the dark. He sleeps with a light on. His paranoia gets the better of him and wraps his perception of the shadows.

He also has difficulty sleeping. Tom struggles with insomnia a lot. Nightmares also disturb his sleep.

Time can’t really remember his nightmares. However, he does recall them being loud and graphic.

He doesn’t remember much of his childhood at all. Tom only really recounts living in Cottonmouth Louisiana in his younger years before moving to Bullworth when he was 12.

His best friend is Wade. Tom and Wade are usually seen together. Whenever one is alone the usual question is: “Where’s the rest of ya?”

Tom has a nagging feeling that the family he lives with isn’t his real family.

Tom has an older sister, but she’s in college. Like Tom, she doesn’t remember her childhood.

Tom suspects his own life is a conspiracy within itself. He feels as if he’s been lied to almost all his life. He’s quietly working to uncover what he can.

Tom Gurney is the biological son of Daniel Lamb. The project wiped Tom and his sister’s memories so they could not recall any of their childhood spent with Daniel, or the brutal murder of their mother.

Tom was placed in the custody of the Gurney family in Bullworth, and he was made to believe this was his biological family. His name was also changed to conceal his former identity.

Tom KNOWS that Mr. Galloway knows something that he doesn’t. He’s trying to chip away at the lies and get the drunken truth out of him.

Over the time Tom has been looking into his past, he has become paranoid of the people around him. He does t fully trust anyone. Not even Wade.

Even Tom doesn’t know exactly how he got his permanent black eye. He suspected it has something to do with his forgotten childhood though.

Tom often gets migraines and has bad allergies in the spring. He’s also allergic to dogs.

During the summer Tom works at a roller skating rink.

Tom hates shoes because he simply can’t find shoes that fit him comfortably.

Tom does remember being excluded when he was younger. He was always the last one picked for sports and projects and was always pushed out of the conversation because he was the weird kid.

Tom still carries that baggage around with him and that’s why he is often mean to others and is paranoid about being made fun of.

Over the years Tom has become painfully self aware. It’s why he’s sort of turning the other cheek and realizing that bullying is wrong. However it’s the only way he can get by in Bullworth without having a hard time.

During the winter Tom ice skates. He’s no fight skater or hockey player but he’s not falling on his ass.

Tom is the worst person to be in a snowball fight with. He throws those things like they’re artillery.

He and Wade hang out in the roof of the boys dorm. They just lay and talk until they get tired and pass out.

Tom’s favorite horror movies are Black Christmas and House of 1000 Corpses.

[summerlovingbaby]

secrets

“ Don’t call him, don’t you dare-” she demanded through pained gasps. Her ribs were jutting out of her chest at painful angles, and blood from a nosebleed was pouring into her mouth.

A training incident gone wrong. A machine malfunction that ended with her being smacked through a brick wall and clear into the next room. She thought she was fine, at first she stood, then the pain hit her hard and she lost her footing and collapsed.

Bakugou was closest and caught her before she hit the ground, barking orders at the rest of the group, while they stood and watched like statues. By the looks of it she broke most of her ribs and she needed a hospital imediatly. He took his phone out of his pocket and dailed for an ambulance, and it was only when she woke up and began moaning in pain did the thought occurred to call her brother.

The Todoroki’s were twins, and despite their near identical looks, they didn’t seem all to fond of eachtother, what at first seemed to be like mutual indifference because increasingly obvious that it was less indefrence and more avoidance. Who could blame them, with the childhood they had. One ignored and clawing desperately for attention, one abused by the same man. 

Y/N scraped into UA by the skin of her teeth and fought hard to stay there. Her father actively didn’t want her to go to UA and was looking for any reason to withdraw her, and she was determined not to give him one. She was in the top of their class, trained harder than anyone, but was generally carless and reckless with her life because she didn’t think it was worth much.

Bakugou at least they assumed that they cared for eachother in weird ways.

Bakugou looked over her shoulder at Deku who was fiddling with his hands, “ Call Todoroki,” he demanded.

Her eyes widened at the thought of that, she lifted her shoulders from the ground, but pain shot through her spin and she flung backwards again. 

“ Deku don’t you dare,” she demanded. The last thing she wanted to do was be a bother to her. It seemed he actively disliked her, and she didn’t want to seem like a burden. “ You can’t call him, you better not, or I swear-”  her rant was cut off by a loud groan and a wet cough.

“ Should I call her dad?” someone asked in the crowd.

The thought of her father seemed to make her panic, where she was rather calm before, she frantically tried to get up, but only ended up rolling to her side. Blood spilt from her mouth and onto the wooden floor of the gym. Blue and red lights flashing outside the gym window let them know the ambulance was here. Y/N was then filled with an overwhelming feeling of dread rising from her chest, she could feel blood rising in her throat, and began to choke on it, she opened her mouth to breathe but could only gurgle out blood.

“ Don’t call her dad, call her brother,” Bakugou said, he grabbed her hand, in a poor attempt to calm her. He cool demaner slipped and she pathetically clawed at his arms.

“ Please don’t,” she garggled, “I don’t want to bother him,”

The doors burst open and a group of men in uniform ushered in, with a gurney and she was quickly loaded onto it, and sedated because she refused to stop talking, and the mere mention of her brother she would try to sit up, and the peramedics kept asking about her father which raised her blood pressure to dangerous levels.

Shoto was revising a homework assignment at the counter when Iida burst into the room being trailed by a very concerned Deku, whatever happened must have been important because the pair of them were still in pajamas, neither of them had bothered to change out of their slippers.  Deku spotted him first and nearly knocked him on the floor, trying to get his attention.

“ Midoryia, whats wrong?” he asked, suddenly concerned. Deku looked rather haggard, and Iida hadn’t taken off his nightcap.

“ Something happened to your sister!” Iida said, his phone rang suddenly and he quickly awnseered it and held it up to her, “ Bakugou and Kirishima are taking her to the hospital, it’s bad,” he said quickly. “ Bakugou says its bad, which means we should go to the hospital,” he said.

“ I know a bus route,” Deku said scrolling on his phone.

“ What?” Todoroki was blinking rapidly, if he were being honest he didn’t hear a word they said after sister.

Alarmed by Todoroki’s lack of panic, Deku repeated his words very slowly and made sure Todoroki nodded along. Once Deku finished Todoroki looked between the pair, vaguely confused, his face twitched into something that could have been concern.

“ What happened?” he asked. He closed his computer.

“ Training accident, that robot flung her through a brick wall,” Deku spoke rapidly. He tugged at his wrist trying to urge him off of the barstool, but Todoroki restited.

“ Oh,” he said quietly, like it was the smallest voice in the world, “ Well I hope she’s okay,” he said, he chewed on his bottom lip and stared at his hands. He couldn’t seem to move, and while he wanted nothing more than to stand and take the quickest bus to the hospital, something caused him to pause.

Deku balked at Todoroki, then cocked his head to the side, studying Todorokis very limited expressions, “You don’t want to see her?” he asked. He knew their relationship was limited, but never knew the exact extent of this. He knew Todoroki cared for her, even if it wasn’t in obvious ways. He always looked at her in class, sneakily listening to her conversations to make sure that she was okay.

“I don’t think she wants to see me, I don’t want to cause her any more pain,” he shrugged sadly. “ She doesn’t really like me very much,” he added.

“ Oh, Sho, you’ve got it all wrong, that’s not it at all,” he said softly.

Iida, who was still on the phone, pulled away from it and used his other hand to cover the speaker.

“ They’re getting her scans but she’s gonna need surgery, she broke most of her ribs and punctured a lung, and they think she has abdominal bleed, and they’re testing her to confirm, we should go now,” Iida said firmly.

“ She’s allergic to iodine,” Todoroki said, “ tell them to tell the doctors that she’s allergic to iodine,” he said firmly.

Deku yanked Todoroki from the stool so hard he nearly fell off the chair, he was not gonna let Todoroki fail to support his sister because they were both to stubborn to admit they cared for each other, for whatever reason they seemed determined not to make connections.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Y/N was already in surgey, getting Todoroki through the hospital door was a struggle enough, and they only convinced him by promising that he could leave once she pulled through surgery.

“ She’s not gonna want to see me,” Shoto insisted, pacing along the waiting room wall.

“ Why wouldn’t she, you’re her brother?” Iida asked, “ I know it’s complicated but-”

“ It’s not complicated, she hates me,” he said sadly.

Everyone in that room knew exactly how untrue that sentiment was. 

“ Sho, she loves you, so much, she thinks you hate her,” Deku explained.

It took 5 hours, she broke 5 ribs and punctured a lung. The impact ruptured her spleen, which bruised her appendix. Surgery was extensive and painful, but they wheeled her into the ICU where Bakugou waited for her. Todoroki wanted to stay, she looked so much like their mom after their dad beat her. Bruised, bloody and broken it seemed wrong to leave her.

Besides Deku said he was wrong and he had to find out if it was true. He spent his whole life thinking his sister wanted nothing to do with him, and if she did, if there was a small chance she did then he had to know.

The doctors only allowed one person in at a time, as not to overwhelm her, her heart rate was all over the place, and they thought the commotion would make her to unstable. Bakugou insisted he was the first to see her, and he had his mean face on, and the whole team knew better than to argue with him when he was in a mood like that.

She smiled at the sight of him, he was wearing his glasses and they made him look like a little old man. A grouchy old man. But he was allowed to be a little grouchy, the doctor explained that she had serous injuries and nearly died half a dozen times, he was allowed to be mad, it was only fair.

“ You’re not allowed to yell at me,” she said softly, He looked at her, and she knew that he called him. “You called him,” she said, she tried to sit up, but all the wires crossing her chest made it hazardous. “Why? I told you not to, I told you-”

“ Y/N-”

“ The last thing he needs for me is to bother him, he already hates me enough I don’t need to give him another reason to do that,” she said pathetically. She was trying hard not to cry, but her mouth fell into a frown and she could feel tears welling in her eyes. 

“ He doesn’t-”

“ I don’t want him to think any less of me, he already thinks the worst,” she started, before she erupted into tears. “ Oh my god, I miss my mom,” she said through painful sobs.

“ Y/N I think the world of you,” his voice came from the door. Bakugou quickly excused himself, and Todoroki cautiously walked towards the bed.

It was true, he thought the world of her. He was strong, stronger than he ever was, stronger than he ever would be. Strong enough to get into UA on her own, strong enough to defend their mom, stand up to their dad. And she was smart, and brave, and everything he couldn’t figure out how to be.

“ Don’t lie because you feel bad,” she said quietly.

“ I’m not lying, Y/N I mean it, I never hated you, and why you think that is beyond me,” he said firmly.

“ You’ve avoided me since Toya died, and you seemed so angry all the time, I thought you were mad at me,” she said.

“ You avoided me,” he pointed to his chest, “ everytime I saw you, you would just walk away.”

Her eyes glazed over, “Daddy told me to leave you alone, he told me that you didn’t want to hang out with me,” she pouted at the memory. “ He said that you didn’t like me anymore because I was pathetic, and you wanted to focus on being a hero, and that I would hold you back. It seemed so important to you, and I didn’t want to hold you back.” She was 5, her older brother died and after his funeral, a small affair with no food comfort or warmth, her dad pulled her aside, chastised her for crying in public and told her that her twin hated her, and she would always be a weak small girl.

Shoto breathed heavily, for a second he felt like a little boy all over again, bending at the will of his mean bastard of a father. “ He told me that you never wanted to speak to me again because it was you knew it was my fault that Toya died, and you seemed so sad all the time when I saw you, so I thought it would be better stay away,” he said quietly.

“ Because I missed you, and you hated me,” she said.

“ I never hated you,” he said firmly.

Tears welled in her eyes again, and a broken sob ecapsed from her lips. Her father was a bastard, that much they knew, but he took away something that they would never get back, they took away their twinhood. They spent years avoiding eachother because they were convinced it was for the best.

“ So we can hang out?” she catiouned a ask through tears, “ And be friends again.”

Todoroki nodded quickly, he wanted nothing more than to be her brother again.

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[space-blue]

Stilgar at the Water of Life scene

is a moment in the second Dune film that has been on my mind but I never wrote about.

You remember how Lady Jessica uses the voice to FORCE Chani to take her place in the prophecy and be the one to wake up Paul?

We know from Paul screaming "Silence" at Mohiam and others reacting to it that the use of the voice on others is pretty visible.

So in that scene, Chani is speaking a lot of sense. Jessica 100% "did that" and to her "own son" and by all right she should be the one to fix it.

And Stilgar looks on as Jessica argues, and when it becomes clear that Chani won't budge, she uses the voice on her! Saying DO IT!

And nobody in the room, truly nobody, and especially not Stilgar, seem to care that force is being used to trigger the prophecy. Unlike in the books, the act is non-consensual.

I think that moment is fascinating for Stilgar.

Up until now, he has been softly manufacturing the prophecy, but from his POV it is more that he "sees" more than most, and helps enable what seems to "already be true".

He is capable of helping Paul and giving him the extra edge because anyway the Mahdi should have good and faithful followers, right? So what if Stilgar tunes the thumper to summon a big worm? It's still Paul's success in riding. What if he strong arms Jessica into taking the reverend mother position? The timing of their reverend mother dying and Jessica's arrival is not Stilgar's doing, and it's a sensical choice to have a Bene Gesserit weirding woman in the position, because by fremen rule Jessica can offer nothing else as a waterfat outworlder.

These things can be excused, they can be subtle nudges. His zealous leading of others into seeing Paul as the messiah is also sensical. It's what zealots do. You preach.

What is crazy for me in this scene is that the Bene Gesserit Jessice, right next to Stilgar, will use a power (one not shown to be possessed by any Fremen) in order to overpower Chani and trigger a prophetic event.

Instead of seeing Jessica as an outsider who is manufacturing the prophecy in broad daylight to further her plans for her son, Stilgar sees a fellow believer doing what it takes to trigger a necessary part of the prophecy.

"As written", he says. Qithlas-ha!

And it's clear that what was written is ALL that matters, and not HOW it comes to pass. Consent doesn't matter. Manufacturing the moment doesn't matter. What matters is ticking the list of signs. Everything else is excused in the face of Stilgar being right, being alive in the moment of prophecy, after thousands of years of religious manipulation by the Bene Gesserit.

I really like that the change in Chani triggers this scene. It would be darker and sadder in some ways if she were gang-ho as she is in the books, but the fact her tears aren't willing/are used against her will, really serves to highlight the toxic depth of zealotry everyone has decended to around Paul and Jessica.

(Gurney is chilling in thge back like, whatever shenanigans his Lord is getting up to is cool with him anyway).

Stilgar is truly reduced to an unthinking blind believer. He's not Paul's friend or Paul's tribe leader anymore.

So it makes perfect sense that later on he stands before Paul ready to die himself. Literally WHATEVER it takes so long as it furthers the prophecy.

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE → BUT SHE’S A CHEERLEADER!

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Tagged: @sattlersquarry, @leptitlu, @two-sides-samecoin, @adaydreamaway30

Steve hauled another stack of VHS tapes into his arms as Robin paced back and forth, not helping him reshelve the movies but instead ranting about her latest date with Tamera. 

“All I’m saying is, this one felt different! It was less ‘we’re just hooking up’ and more ‘this could be an actual relationship,” she said. Steve listened intently as he slotted a collection of horror movies back onto the shelf. He didn’t understand why anyone would willingly watch those kinds of movies, but he supposed most people in Hawkins hadn’t lived their own real-life version of a horror movie like he had. Maybe they needed the thrill; Steve did not. 

He turned around to grab more tapes but stopped at the look twisted up on Robin’s face, something mixed between unsure and worried. “Isn’t that a good thing? You guys could date for real instead of whatever weird back and forth thing you’ve got going on.” 

Steve knew it was more complicated for Robin and Tamera, especially in Hawkins but they could at least admit their feelings for each other. Robin clearly liked Tamera and wanted something more real than whatever causal situation they found themselves in. Granted, Robin had never been in a relationship before and she had confided in Steve that the idea of dating someone was nerve wracking to her. But she deserved to be happy, and Tamera clearly made her happy. Steve wished she just went for it, all in. 

“Yeah,” Robin said with a sigh, stopping her pacing and resorting to picking at the nail polish Steve had just painted on her nails two days ago. “But even if we do date for real, it’s not like I can take her to the prom without being a headline in the Hawkins Post. If any asshole caught a whiff of us being together, they’d start a witch hunt or some shit.” There was a shield of humor in her voice, but Steve knew Robin well enough to hear the fear that sat behind it.  It pissed him off. 

He knew that Hawkins was riddled with assholes of every kind, but the thought of someone coming after his best friend just because she wanted to date happily made him furious. Monsters and evil scientists once inhabited Hawkins but people wanted to draw pitchforks at two girls holding hands. 

“That’s not happening on my watch, Buckley,” he said with a cheeky smile, bumping his shoulder against hers as he collected another arm full of tapes. 

Robin cracked a small smile before parting her lips like she was going to say something, but something behind Steve caught her eye. She squinted and stepped around him, rushing toward the front counter. 

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked. 

Robin turned the volume up on the TV, causing a familiar Hawkins newscaster’s voice to fill the quiet Family Video store. 

“No names of possible suspects are being released at this time. Chief Powell is yet to make an official statement, but as said he will address the town later this afternoon once he knows more. All we know at this time is that it seems to be an isolated incident.” The scene on the TV shifted away from the newscaster and onto a gurney being wheeled down a dirt and gravel road swarmed by officers and paramedics. There weren’t many places in Hawkins that were unfamiliar to Steve. It only took a moment to recognize where the scene took place as trailer homes appeared in the background of the gurney being lifted in the back of an ambulance. 

“Someone died?” Robin questioned with furrowed brows. 

“The name of the victim will also not be released at this time, but it has been confirmed to be a Hawkins High student. We…” the reporter’s voice droned on, but it became fuzzy on Steve’s ears. 

A Hawkins High student. The trailer park. Steve knew it wasn’t rational to jump to the worst possible case scenario. There were a handful of students who lived in the trailer park, but he only knew one for certain. Max. Out of everyone in Hawkins, the worst things tended to happen to their little group. And maybe it was simply unreasonable paranoia, but he couldn’t help that his mind fell there first. 

Panic swelled in his chest as he turned to Robin. “Max,” he muttered, ready to run right out the door and make sure the redhead he somewhat begrudgingly saw as a little sister was okay. Robin sensed his worry, her own face suddenly as pale as her white knuckles that gripped the remote. 

Steve reached for his keys he left in a space under the counter, but as he did so, the bell on the door chimed and Robin let out a loud breath as she grasped his shoulder and pointed to the people who had just entered. 

Dustin and Max rushed toward the counter, both looking a little winded but otherwise fine. Steve let out his own sigh of relief, running a hand through his hair. How he didn’t have gray hairs already was a mystery to him. It felt like the universe was determined to see how much it could stress him out. 

“How many phones do you have?” Dustin asked. 

Unbelievable, Steve thought. “Someone was murdered-” he started to say, but Dustin, in his usual Dustin fashion, cut him off and repeated the question louder than he had the first time. Steve answered, “Two.” 

“Technically three, if you count Keith’s,” Robin added. 

Max glanced at Dustin, nodding her head almost frantically as she said, “Three works.” 

Without another word, Dustin threw his backpack at Steve a bit too forcefully. He then jumped up on the counter ungracefully, knocking over everything setup to the floor as he slid to the other side and hopped down. Steve threw the kid’s backpack to the ground with a huff and Robin started picking up the scattered papers, tapes, and other items Dustin had sent toppling. 

Max, like a normal person, walked around the counter to get behind it and rolled her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Steve groaned in a familiar frustration. 

“Setting up a base of operations.” He moved in front of the computer and began clicking around. 

Listen, Steve disliked his job, but he didn’t want to get fired. The pay wasn’t great, but he got to work with Robin. Keith was a grade-A asshole, but he spent most of his time either not in the store or tucked away in the backroom playing video games brought from home. If Steve wanted to save enough money to escape Hawkins, he needed to keep his job, but the kids liked to make that a lot harder than it should have been. 

“Get off,” Steve snapped. “You guys aren’t even allowed to be back here.” He didn’t know why he tried; it wasn’t like they were going to listen to him. 

Dustin replied, “I need it!” 

“For what?” Robin asked, shuffling the fallen papers back into a neat pile. 

“Eddie’s friends’ numbers.” 

If it was possible to roll your eyes so hard they fall out, Steve would have done just that. The mere mention of Eddie pricked his skin, no matter how stupid he knew he was being. “Oh, you mean your new best friend who you think is cooler than me because he plays your nerdy game?” 

Dustin dramatically swung his head to look in Steve’s direction and threw his hands up. “I never said that!” He definitely did, Steve was almost positive. 

“Seriously, guys? Maybe on Monday you can play around here but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day,” Robin said. The Family Video store was set to get busy in an hour or two as the weekend rush filled in, looking for movies to watch for date night, sleepovers, and to cure loneliness. 

Dustin returned his attention to the computer, scrolling through a list of customers that had rented from the store before. “I empathize with you, Robin,” he said. “But this can’t wait.” 

“Oh my god,” Steve muttered. What he needed was Sunshine to come home and make the kids actually listen. They only seemed to care about what she had to say or told them to do, but she was still in Indy, much to his disappointment. And now there was a murderer in Hawkins, which made him feel even better. 

“Calling Eddie’s friends is an emergency?” Robin questioned. 

“Correct.” 

Steve moved beside Robin and helped her reorganize the tapes into their correct piles. He asked her, “Do you want me to strangle him, or do you want to?” 

“We could take turns?” 

With an annoyed huff, Dustin asked Max, “Can you fill them in while I do this?” 

Steve and Robin exchanged a confused look before the latter said, “Fill us in on what?” 

→←

The car ride back to Hawkins was tense and quiet, nothing the radio softly playing as the world whirled by. Sunshine fingers had played with the neckline of her shirt, where her necklace should have been, so much that the stitching started to come loose. 

She, Kali, and Calum had changed clothes at some lonely gas station just outside of Indy. Their bloodstained clothes were tossed in a dumpster and forgotten. 

As they rolled past the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign, a headache bloomed behind Sunshine’s eyes. She winced and grasped her head, pressing her fingers into the skin in an attempt to ease the pain just slightly by applying pressure. 

“Where are we going now?” Kali asked, looking for directions as she eyed the road with a hard-set gaze. Her knuckles were white as she held onto the steering wheel. 

Checking the time on her watch, Sunshine knew where Steve and Robin would be for certain. 

She should have arrived home sooner, but it took them more time to escape Indy than she thought. They had to stop once to change their clothes, a second time to eat something, and a third because no one could keep their eyes open long enough to drive safely. After a quick nap, they hit the road in the morning, but Kali avoided the interstate and opted for backroads just in case someone was on their tail. By that time, Sunshine was more than ready to be home. 

“Steve and Robin will be at work. We’ll stop there first before we try to tack down Nancy,” she answered. “Stay on this road until you hit the next stop sign, then make a right.” 

Kali nodded and continued on through her clear discomfort for being back in Hawkins. 

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Sunshine saw Calum, who hadn’t uttered a word since their confrontation in the alley. He sat with his head turned and eyes fixed out the window, lost somewhere inside his head. There was a lot they needed to figure out, both in the grand scheme of things and between the three of them. Sunshine sure the best place to do that was in Hawkins. 

For the longest time, she had felt the need to carry everything on her own shoulders, but since relearning what a normal life was, she had learned to lean on others inside of drowning. They only solved things together, not alone. They defeated monsters together, not by themselves. As long as everyone worked together, she was sure they could put a final end to the Lab and everything else that had occurred as a result of it. 

Sunshine took a deep breath before she turned around and spoke to Calum. “Are you coming with us?” Her voice was careful but not too kind. 

He didn’t look away from the window as he said, “If we find my dad, can I at least talk to him?” His voice, on the other hand, sounded of a hurt child, abandoned and spirit broken. 

Sunshine glanced at Kali, who sighed in response before saying, “I can’t make any promises.” Calum’s figure slumped. “But I won’t say no.” 

It wasn’t much, but in Sunshine knew anything about Calum, if you gave him an inch, he’d try to take a mile. “Okay,” he said, flatly, in agreement to tag along. 

The car fell back into silence, aside from Sunshine’s directions. The sky was bright blue, the kind of color that brought hope after a long and gray winter. Maybe it was a warm welcome home. Her heart was happy to be back with those who she shared it with, but her head arched uncomfortably. She blamed it on a lack of restful sleep and her bout of angry emotions clouding her being. 

“Um, guys?” Calum piped up, leaning between the two front seats with an odd sense of urgency and he squinted out the windshield. He pointed ahead at a helicopter that appeared overhead, a blemish in the pretty sky. The helicopter hovered for a moment, not too far away, just beyond a cluster of trees. They watched for a moment before it started to descend. “That’s a military copter.” 

“How do you know that?” Kali asked. 

“They’re not exactly subtle.” 

Sunshine furrowed her brows. She had only seen a military helicopter once, after Starcourt. Owens and his “backup” had arrived in helicopters. After relocating the Byers-Hopper clan, Owens fell off the map. If he was back in Hawkins, Sunshine felt like she would know about it. Or she had missed something major in the twenty-four hours she had been gone. And with Hawkins' track recorded, that wasn’t impossible. 

Still, she asked the question all three of them were thinking, “Why would the military be in Hawkins?” 

Calum shook his head. “Because this place fucking sucks.” 

Sunshine all but sprinted through the doors of the Family Video store. The bell dinged, signaling a customer's arrival. The usual monotone drone of Steve or Robin’s greeting before they realized it was her and not a regular customer didn’t sound. Instead, a collection of voices filled her ears, and she was welcomed by the sight of Max, Robin, and Dustin all talking on phones. 

It was Max who noticed her first, as she hung up her phone. “Oh, thank God,” the redhead said. 

Steve’s head popped up from behind one of the shelves he seemed to be restocking, and a grin filled his face before he made his way over to Sunshine. Without a word, she hugged him tightly, relief flooding her veins after her troublesome twenty-four hours. He was warm and smelled like a mix of candy, dust, and cologne. Though it had only been a day, she realized how intertwined he and the rest of the group had come in her day-to-day life. 

A low chuckle sounded from Steve before he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Miss me that much, Sunshine?” 

She really didn’t want to let go of him, and she wanted to pretend that two people weren’t dead and it was more or less partly her fault. The more she had thought about it, they were probably followed, leading whoever was killing the people from Lab right to the two men. They were playing the same game of revenge as Kali, but Sunshine hadn’t agreed to play. She just wanted answers and to understand the memories she had somehow forgotten. Was it another kid from the Lab like Kali? Was it someone who had worked at the Lab themselves? There were so many unanswered questions it made Sunshine dizzy. 

Leaning back just slightly from her boyfriend, he caught sight of the frown on her lips, which gave her away almost instantly. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

A lot of things, she wanted to answer, but she refrained as Robin hung up her phone with a loud ‘clang’ and said, “Calum?” 

The boy stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, leaving a good distance between himself and Kali. “Hey…”��

“Guys! We need to focus!” Dustin shouted. He shot a small smile at Sunshine. “We’re glad you're back, but we’ve got a problem on your hands that we gotta take care of.” 

Sunshine tried to shake off her own issues for a moment, turning her focus on what Dustin had just said. “Problem? What problem?” A pit had been stuck in her stomach since yesterday, but she hoped it would lessen once she arrived home, not get worse. But any issue in Hawkins was almost never small. 

Slinging an arm around Sunshine’s shoulder, pulling her into his side. Between him and Robin, they explained how there had been a murder that morning and Max was almost certain the victim was Chrissy Cunningham, a polite cheerleader who Sunshine had passed by in the halls of Hawkins High. The last person the cheerleader had been seen with, according to Max, was Eddie Munson. Despite that, Dustin was certain Eddie didn’t kill Chrissy. 

“Yeah, there’s no way,” Calum added. “I’ve been in the Hellfire Club with Eddie since freshman year. He’s not a murderer. An asshole sometimes, sure, but not a murderer.” 

Max piped up and said, “But we don’t know that for sure. Which is why we’re trying to find him and figure out exactly what happened last night.” 

Kali, who had been quiet, looked at Sunshine. “So, there’s a murderer on the loose?” 

Of course there was. She begged Kali to come to a place that held the worst years of her life with a promise that it was safer now, only to drag her back into a possibly dangerous situation. She wanted to curse the universe for its awful timing. 

“Not exactly…” Dustin looked hesitant, like he didn’t want to say whatever he was about it. 

“Then what, exactly?” Kali asked. 

He looked between her and Sunshine. “I’m sorry, who is she?” 

“Oh, right,” Sunshine said with a shake of her head. “Everyone meet Kali. Kali, meet everyone.” It was a less than enthusiastic introduction given the circumstances. 

“Kali? Like the Kali who Luke and Leia used to live with?” Max asked, eyes wide. Sunshine nodded in response. 

“Is she up to speed?” asked Dustin. 

It was Sunshine’s turn to be confused. “On what?” 

“We think, maybe, it wasn’t someone who killed Chrissy,” Max started to explain. “We think it might have been…something…” 

Max’s words were heavy, hitting Sunshine with an unknown force she hadn’t been expecting. The headache behind her eyes pulsed, as if it had a heartbeat. Steve’s arm around her shoulder shifted as he said, “Hey.” He brought his hand up to her face, running his thumb under his nose with a face full of pinched concern. When he pulled it away, blood stained the pad of his finger. “Your nose is bleeding?” 

Muttering under her breath, she broke away from Steve and reached for a tissue on the counter. Eyes fell onto her, but none more than Max, who stared at Sunshine with her wide blue eyes almost uncomfortably intense. 

Sunshine tried to shake off any concern. “It was a long night,” she said, blaming her less than ideal trip to Indy as the reason for her nosebleed. They started happening randomly after Starcourt, following the overuse of her abilities. Dr. Owens had blamed it on stress, and Sunshine didn’t have any reason to think otherwise. 

The blood stopped flowing after a moment and she returned her attention to the group. Level headed. She needed to stay level headed. She couldn’t lose it when one of her peers was head and the kids were already ready to get involved. She had promised Kali that Hawkins was different now, and she foolishly tricked herself into believing the same, that maybe that time, the monsters were really gone for good. 

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions yet,” Sunshine said, looking between Max and Dustin. 

The latter countered. “We don’t exactly have a great track record of something weird not being…you know, almost the end of the world. Something could still be happening here.” 

Robin shook her head. “Even with the gate-thingy closed?” 

Dustin shrugged his shoulders. “The rules we play by are D&D rules, right? But we don’t really know the rules the Upside Down plays by.” 

The mere mention of the Upside Down made her sick to her stomach. Her muscles constricted, remembering the pain of what she felt last summer, holding off the Mind Flayer. 

“I still think we could be jumping the gun here,” Steve said. “We don’t know anything yet.” 

“That’s why we need to find Eddie,” said Max. 

“I know where he probably is,” Calum sighed. “Trust me, there’s only one place he could be.” 

Everyone rushed to gather their belongings to set out in their search for Eddie. Sunshine shoved a handful of tissues in her pocket as Kali approached her. 

“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of Sunshine’s mouth. Her shoulders slumped with tiredness and defeat. “I didn’t know this is what we’d come back to. If you want to leave, I get it.” 

Kali still looked indifferent with her arms crossed over her chest and her black makeup smudged under her dark eyes. “I will never understand your and Jane’s loyalty to this place,” she started. “The Lab is responsible for the messes here. The monsters Jane had told me about, the Upside Down. Yet, you’re still here, cleaning up after them. Why waste your time?” 

Sunshine looked past Kali, looking at Dustin and Max who shouldered their backpacks with steeled determination fixed on their young faces that had seen too much. She looked at Steve, who smiled when he realized she caught him looking at her. And she looked at Robin, who mumbled to herself as she quickly worked to close down the store so they all could leave and look for Eddie, risking her employment for the second time in less than a year to help them out. 

“We’re not loyal to Hawkins,” Sunshine said. “It’s about the people. Our friends. Our family. And because…” she trailed off with a sigh, wearing a sad smile. “Because no one else will.” 

The group all headed for the door, ready to go. Kali shifted in her boots, thinking. “Your friends are leaving,” she said. “We should get going.” 

Sunshine blinked, confused. “You’re coming with us?” 

“For now.” 

That was good enough for Sunshine. 

[sparkliest-bard-bracket]

Congratulations to ✨FREDDIE MERCURY✨ for being crowned the ✨SPARKLIEST BARD✨ in all the land!!!!

🎶HE. IS. THE CHAMPION. 🎶

Over the course of this bracket, he has faced off against many worthy bards, including an inter-dimensional storyteller, multiple irl musical artists, an immortal musically talented war criminal, and a muppet, and he proved himself to be the most sparkliest of them all.

Excellent singing, excellent piano playing, excellent songwriting, excellent fashion sense, and overall ~glamour~, Freddie Mercury has it all. Here are some of my favorite of Freddie's bardly moments, and feel free to reblog and add your own to celebrate our Bardly Champion!:

And to honor Freddie Mercury's wonderful legacy, I present my favorite Bohemian Rhapsody video ever -- he didn't even need to be alive to have a concert!:

And while we celebrate and throw a Queen-themed party for our Champion of Bards, do not forget to give a round of applause to all of the incredible bards who participated in this bardly showdown!! You can find all of their names and fandoms, along with the full completed bracket under the cut :D

That's all from me for now, folks!! I may make a poll for 3rd place if people are interested, and if people are very enthusiastic, I might make a round 2: fictional characters only! Lemme know if you'd be interested in either of those things, and thank you oh so much for your support through this whole bracket, and have a wonderful day all you fantastic bards and bard fans!!!

Complete Bracket in image format:

And the names and fandoms of all of our bards from the whole bracket!:

Jareth the Goblin King (Labyrinth)

David Bowie (Real Life)

Thom Merrilin (Wheel of Time)

Gurney Halleck (Dune)

The Bard/Kiwi (Wandersong)

Daeron (The Silmarillion)

Callie Cuttlefish (Splatoon)

Finrod (The Silmarillion)

Apollo/Lester Papadopoulos (The Trials of Apollo)

Apollo (Greek Mythology)

Bill Cypher (Gravity Falls)

Chong (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Max Rebo (Star Wars)

Edgin Darvis (Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves)

Dimentio (Super Paper Mario)

Will Scarlet (Robin Hood)

Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem (The Muppets)

Link (The Legend of Zelda)

Katalina (Tabletop Time)

Starling Birdsong (Realm of the Elderlings)

Orpheus (Greek Mythology)

“Weird Al” Yankovic (Real Life)

Dave BruBot/The Major Player (Toontown: Corporate Clash)

Carrie Wilson (Julie and the Phantoms)

Kvothe (The Kingkiller Chronicle)

Elan (Order of the Stick)

Raz'ul, Son of Daz'ul (BomBARDed)

Edward Chris von Muir (Final Fantasy IV)

Binary Bard (Poptropica)

Christian (Moulin Rouge)

The Bard (Shovel Knight)

Fflewddur Fflam (The Chronicles of Prydain)

Man with the Harmonica (Once Upon a Time in the West)

Kyoami/The Fool (Ran/King Lear)

Diedrich Knickerbocker (Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story)

Hannah Montana (Hannah Montana)

Bard the Bowman (The Hobbit)

Leliana (Dragon Age)

Sprig Plantar (Amphibia)

Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer)

Neil Banging Out the Tunes (Tumblr)

The Muses (Disney Hercules)

Robinton (Pern)

Thistle/Sissel (Delicious in Dungeon)

Loquatius Seelie (Critical Role)

Cicero (Skyrim)

Michael Jackson (Real Life)

Oli/TheOrionSound (Empires SMP)

Megamind (Megamind)

The Onceler (The Lorax)

Mettaton (Undertale)

Gamzee Makara (Homestuck)

William Shakespeare (Real Life)

William Shakespeare (Something Rotten)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Classicaloid)

William Shamspeare (Ace Attorney)

Marceline the Vampire Queen (Adventure Time)

Brook (One Piece)

Gerard Way (Real Life)

Sea Hawk (She-Ra and the Princess of Power)

Snufkin (Moomin)

Frank Sinatra (Real Life)

Lias "Cliff" Bluestone (Discworld)

Rick Astley (Real Life)

Alan-a-Dale (Robin Hood)

Essi Daven (The Witcher)

Lúthien Tinúviel (The Silmarillion)

Stefen (The Heralds of Valdemar)

Roman Sanders (Sanders Sides)

Remus Sanders (Sanders Sides)

Bard (Crypt of the Necrodancer)

Kass (Legend of Zelda/Breath of the Wild)

Steven Universe (Steven Universe)

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies)

Miss Piggy (The Muppets)

Nydas Okiro (Critical Role)

Charlie Pace (Lost)

Dob the Half-Orc Bard (Oxventure)

Kitagra (Kings of the Wyld)

Kaylie Shorthalt (Critical Role)

Father Gabriel (The Mission)

Gabrielle the Battling Bard (Xena: The Warrior Princess)

Haer'Dalis (Baldur's Gate)

Tsukasa Tenma (Project Sekai: Colorful Stage!)

Tom Bombadil (The Lord of the Rings)

Sylvando (Dragon Quest 11)

Steve McKenzie/Jester (Galavant)

Gieve (The Heroic Legend of Arslan)

Jaskier/Dandelion (The Witcher)

Kubo (Kubo and the Two Strings)

Guiliastes/Gui (1/2 Prince)

Rocky (Lackadaisy)

Asmodean (Wheel of Time)

Neil Cicierega/Lemon Demon (Real Life)

Kermit the Bard (Tales of Tinkerdee)

The Pied Piper (The Pied Piper of Hamelin)

Venti (Genshin Impact)

Sir Robin's Minstrels (Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming)

Franz Liszt (Classicaloid)

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Puss in Boots (Shrek)

Freddie Mercury (Real Life)

Hoid/Wit (Cosmere)

Noise (Roleslaying with Roman)

The Amazing Devil (Real Life)

Klavier Gavin (Ace Attorney)

Rickety Stitch (Rickety Stitch and the Gelatinous Goo)

Ron Stampler (Dungeons & Daddies)

Thancred Waters (Final Fantasy XIV)

Raine Whispers (The Owl House)

Jack Black (Real Life)

Scanlan Shorthalt (Critical Role)

Éile (The Witcher: Blood Origin)

Hap Gladheart (Realm of the Elderlings)

Alastair Nobledrifter (Saving Throw - DnD Podcast)

Maglor (The Silmarillion)

Bill & Ted (Bill & Ted)

DJ Cadence (Club Penguin)

Imp Y Celyn (Discworld)

Bard Otter (The Last Dragonlord)

Yara of Nowhere, the Wandering Bard (A Practical Guide to Evil)

Dorian Storm (Critical Role)

Maria von Trapp (The Sound of Music)

Demyx (Kingdom Hearts)

Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan (Tales of Arcadia: Wizards)

Bilbo Baggins (The Hobbit)

BMO (Adventure Time)

[fatuismooches]

I see the angst you're about to drop on the next instalment and I'm about to cope by throwing in a cute scenario ( ＞Д＜；)

So fragile reader's hands tremor, without going into the full details of it - in some cases tremors may worsen either temporarily or permanently

Sometimes, the tremoring only happens on one hand! (But that has very *very* serious implications in reality, so for the sake of keeping things fluffy let's just say that it was just a weird day for fragile reader)

So, reader one day wakes up, and during the check ups they notice that, oh hey! Their left hand isn't tremoring for once, they're getting better! Then they raise their right— it's really wobbly

Segment, thinking that the tremoring is gone for now because of that one steady hand and is now trying to clip a monitor on Reader's right hand to check their blood oxygen (pulse oximeter): "Do keep still, there are a few more tests I must run."

Reader: "I'm not shaking it."

Segment: "..."

Reader: "It's erm... yeah."

Understandably, the Segment checking up on them is low-key freaking out because: why is that happening?? What's causing that?!

Meanwhile, reader who is also freaking out but is batting it away with humour, looking at their severely quacking hand: "Hm... I kinda need that... Ah, well, I guess I have an organic stipple pen now... that *is* what they're called, right?"

Then for the rest of the day (while the segments and prime are trying to find the root cause of that abnormality) reader is coping by joking around with said hand.

Reader: *picks up a test tube with shaking hand, the hand swirls the contents with minimal effort* "Oh! Wait— that sorta works? That's very convenient, actually."

Zandik, stressed: "My dear, get back on the gurney before I place you there myself." (Is worried that they might spontaneously collapse)

Shaky hands were nothing that new to you, having lived with them for a while due to your illness and all the stress that came with it. In the beginning, you tried to ignore them, but after a few accidents, you came to terms with the fact it'd be easier for everyone if you let the segments deal with your tasks. Especially on days when it seemed to be worse than others. But of course, there are times when no one can predict how bad it can get. This being one such moment.. Sometimes it gets to the point where ironically enough the Harbinger outwardly shows more concern for your wellbeing rather than you. (Although he's gotten used to you coping with jokes, he can easily see through that. He doesn't want you to put up a front around him but perhaps this makes you feel better? Unfortunately, the only one who laughs at your jokes is yourself... The others are too busy with their nose in some of your records or a machine.) And although they can't exactly make the tremors go away, the least they can do is make sure you don't need to do anything strenuous. Yes, their almost forceful instructions seem restricting, but they always say it's for the best.

[mockerycrow]

Undercover II (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

Summary: After being waterboarded, your body is too exhausted and injured to handle any more. Soap and you are formally introduced outside of an interrogation setting.

[WARNINGS: medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, angst.]

“Any dog, you put him in the corner, no matter if they’re vicious or not, they’re going to bite back.” -Mike James.

WAKING UP AFTER such harsh injuries is weird. It’s like the world keeps trying to materialize, distant voices that aren’t too definite, textures under my fingers aren’t quite recognizable yet, not being able to tell pain or pleasure from one another.. I wake up first with sensations across my body—pain, numbness, open wounds, closed wounds—cold, hot, burning, piercing. It makes me wish maybe I did die by Makarov’s hand. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to bare the burden of everything I know, everything I did to prove I was.. loyal, to that sick, sonofabitch.

I feel incredibly heavy, sandbags instead of muscles, my throat feels like I swallowed glass—that’s almost worse than the pain I feel in the rest of my body. The next thing I hear is a faint monitor, maybe two different ones? I can’t tell. My mouth is dry so when I swallow, nothing comes down my throat, but the retraction of my muscles in my neck ache nonetheless. I cough quietly and I gain just enough energy to open my eyelids. I find myself in a.. infirmary type room. I go to move my hand over my gut but metal sliding against metal hits my ears. My unfocused gaze hovers over to my hand and I see one of my hands is handcuffed to the railing of the gurney. My heart drops into my gut as I weakly pull on the handcuffs, a quiet sigh leaving my lips.

Fuck.

My free hand rests gently on top of my gut—they had to have cut me open or some shit, because this hurts like fucking hell on Earth. I feel like my goddamn intestines are about to spill out. Or maybe it’s the aftermath of Makarov’s torture hitting me.

I look down at myself and I’m changed into a fresh hospital gown, a surprisingly high quality blanket draped across my body. My free arm has an IV in my arm and in my vein in my hand, connected to a dispenser not too far away. I look up at the hooks decorated with liquid medicine—definitely a pain killer, I don’t know about the other bags, though. Can’t read from here. My hand goes my face and I feel two tubes; an oxygen tube gently hooked into my nose and a.. I think a feeding tube? My fingers go down to my jaw and I find a bandage wrapped around my neck and jaw, my eyebrows furrowing together. Jesus. Maybe he did break my jaw. Why can’t I feel it, then? I lay my head back down onto the paper pillowcase, closing my eyes for a few seconds. So, now I have to make a plan. Did they patch me because I was about to die? They know I have a lot of valuable information, so they need me alive just enough for that stuff. Makarov’s remaining warehouses, his extensive plans, everything. Do I keep my mouth shut? Yes. I have to remain loyal to my true team, not the one who’s planning ripping populations apart, desecrating entire cities—

The nearby door opens and my eyes shoot open as my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. A doctor comes in with a nurse and they pause at the sight of me being awake. I stare back at them for a moment before the doctor smiles softly at me. “You’re finally awake. That’s good, we nearly lost ya.” His accent is a thick southern-american (U.S.) one. I don’t answer—I wish I could thank them, but I have to be Zhenya. The doctor turns to the nurse and murmurs something just out of my hearing range, the nurse nodding in return and leaving the room, leaving me alone with the doctor. He begins to approach me and my heart monitor immediately begins to spike, as if I’m in danger—because I am—I have no idea who this guy is or if he plans on torturing me, too! The doctor stops in his tracks, his voice coming out as comforting and soft, “Woah there, pal. I’m not here to harm ya, just here to check your vitals. Ask you a few questions, too.”

My hands clench into weak fists as I keep my eyes on him—wait, American??—I don’t have much time to think about that as the doctor comes over to my IV machine, glancing at the numbers before looking at me with a soft, sympathetic look. “My name is Doctor Erikson. Are you in any pain?” I hesitate to answer but I give him a subtle nod, my hand resting back over my stomach. Doctor Erikson turns to the IV machine and ups the drip dosage, glancing at me. “Alright, now I have some basic questions for you, okay, hon? You were out longer than expected, so it’s just prodecure.” I answer with another nod, keeping my eyes training on Dr. Erikson. He has dark skin with tightly curled hair, put up into a neat bun. He has square glasses resting on his big, arched nose. Dr. Erikson is clean shaven, a scar resting on his cheek—looks quite old, probably from a shaving accident when he was younger. He has big, welcoming and soft brown eyes that you don’t feel like they stare into your soul. In this line of work, we need more people like him. His eyes may be soft, but you can tell he’s seen some things. I rapidly blink in order to focus; I naturally profile people when I feel.. on edge.

Dr. Erikson presses the end of his pen and the ballpoint end pops out with a click! He looks at me, a soft subtle smile remaining on his face. “What is the year?”

“2023.”

He nods and quickly checks something off—probably a box. “Who is the President of the United States?”

“Joe Biden.”

“What’s your name?”

I stare at him for a second and my heart stops for a moment before I answer with, “Zhenya. Zhenya Antonenko.”

Dr. Erikson and I stare at each other for a moment before he checks off two more boxes. He sets aside the clipboard on a counter nearby in the room. He keeps the pen and walks over, murmuring, “Keep your head still, follow the pen with your eyes only.”

Dr. Erikson begins to move the pen left and right, tracking my eye movement as I keep my eyes trained on the pen. After he doesn’t find any eye coordination discrepancies, he sets the pen down and grabs an otoscope, putting a singular use cone on the end, clicking the ‘on’ button, the end of the cone emitting light. He comes to my left side and gently puts the cone inside of my ear, checking for a few seconds. “You’ll have some visitors in a few moments, they will inform you of your medical injuries and what procedures we took.” He murmurs softer than he was before, considering how close he is my ears. My ear tingles as he removes the otoscope, coming around to the other side of the bed to check my other ear. I don’t respond. Dr. Erikson hums as he throws away the single use cone and murmurs ‘stare straight ahead’, using the little light from the otoscope to test my pupil dilation.

Fuck. I don’t want to see them again. Not now. My hand grabs the blanket, and then there’s a firm and quick knock on the door before the door swings open.

In comes fucking Laswell, Hudson, Mutton-Chops, and Mohawk.

What in God’s name is fucking going on??

Dr. Erikson puts the otoscope away and walks over to them, glancing back at me before talking. “They’re in a delicate state, physically and mentally,” He mutters, probably thinking I can’t hear. He isn’t good at being quiet with military dudes. His own people though, sure. “Be sure to play nice.” Hudson immediately approaches my bedside and I can’t help the hot and stinging tears that threaten to spill from my tear ducts—his soothing voice instantaneously makes my worries die down for a good 10 minutes. “You’re okay now, [Name]. The mission is over. You’re in good hands.”

I choke on a sob; of relief? Of devastation? Of need? Of grief? I don’t know.

I lift my handcuffed hand ever so slightly, my voice wobbly, “Why?”

“It’s a safety precaution,” Laswell says gently, approaching the bedside that Hudson is on. Mutton-Chops and Mohawk stay by the door, quietly eyeing me. I catch Mohawk’s eyes and I can’t read his emotion which makes me feel on edge; I turn back to my familiar faces. “S.. Safety precaution?” I question, glancing between them. They give each other a look—a look of pity—before Hudson speaks up. “You’ve.. been through a lot, [Name]. More than I can imagine. Until we have you go through a psychological evaluation, we’re keeping the cuffs on you.”

Oh. So like a caged animal.

My shoulders sink and I glance at the handcuffs, joy mixing with dread. “I know it’s hard, but we’re having Soap stay with you until we can have that psychologist come for you.” Laswell murmurs, gently grabbing my hand and squeezing it? avoiding the IV and it’s tape. I nod as I glance over at the men. “What kind of name is Soap?” I mutter, earning a snort from Mutton-Chops. Hudson looks at me worriedly, his wrinkles-in-the-corner-of-his-eyes kind of worried. I look back up at Hudson and look between him and Laswell a few times, biting the inside of my cheek. “Everything?” I ask. They don’t even need more than that to know what I’m talking about. “Everything.” He confirms with a nod. I take a deep breath—which I immediately regret because now it feels like my guts are trying to spill out again owowowowow—and I must wince because Laswell grabs a pillow from a nearby table and puts it on my abdomen. “Here, hold the pillow with soft pressure. It helps that weird feeling with your stitches. Learned it from the field.” She comments, her eyes scanning me like a worried mother. I nod as a thank you and use my free arm, applying pressure across my abdomen—gentle, mind you. Oddly enough, it brings me some level of relief. “We’ve provided Soap with a recorder so we can record your statement and stories, so you don’t have to repeat everything over and over.”

I nod silently—my throat feels like shit and I have no energy to speak, so might as well save what I do have for the statements..

Hudson clears his throat and glances at Laswell, then back at me, “Laswell and I have to go for a bit, since the operation has been revealed, we have a lot of shit to do.” He says with an unsatisfied tone; like he wants to stay by my side. My heart warms a bit from that— Hudson has always taken care of his team, made me feel like I belong. I crave for him to stay near me but I bite my lip, —and then quickly releasing it from the hold my teeth had on it because I one-hundred-percent forgot that my lip was injured—and shake my head. “Go,” I start. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere, right?” I attempt to make a joke, and Hudson tries to offer a stale chuckle—one he only does if someone got seriously injured.. It must be bad—and he squeezes my hand gently.

They murmur me their goodbyes, taking their leave, pushing the door open and walking out. Mutton-Chops follows them close behind.

That leaves me alone with Mohawk—“So you must be Soap, then.” I state as the man starts to approach my beside, his boots thumping against the infirmary floor. He offers a boyish grin that fits him quite well and he nods, grabbing a chair and easily pulling it kind of near the bed, but not too close. The distance suggests distrust, caution. Which is understandable because he did take place in my brief torture part two..

Like a wild animal, again.

“The one and only,” He chimes, his fingers fiddling with the recorder. Soap leans back in the chair, his eyes studying me for a second. “Doc said someone should give ya th’rundown of what happened, eh?”

I nod, my fingers absentmindedly playing with the pillowcase of the pillow across my stomach. Soap hums and tilts his head, his expression turning ever so slightly sad. “You had internal bleedin’ n’ broken ribs; one of which nearly pierced ye lung. Your jaw is fractured on yer right side, they had t’put a screw in. Your stabs wounds were pretty ‘typical’ by the doc’s standards, but they did have to open you up and repair th’abdominal wall. He said you’re lucky you didn’t lose any organs.”

Lucky.

Lucky.

Lucky.

That fucking word. “I’m lucky?” I bark out with disbelief. I know I am, but that phrase makes me so angry.

I look back at Soap whose lips are pursed together; he’s sitting up from my slight outburst which makes me look back down at my lap. Soap doesn’t say anything for a moment, the faint beeps of the monitors filling that empty space. When he does speak, he switches on the recorder. “This is Sergeant John MacTavish, Callsign Soap interviewing…” He trails off, holding the recorder out between himself so it can pick up his voice, as well as mine. I take a deep breath and let it go. “[Name] [Last Name].” Soap offers a mood lifting grin as he repeats his name back to me and murmuring the date. His lip curls just enough to show some of his gums by his right canine tooth, ever so slightly. I can’t help but wonder for a moment why he suddenly is so friendly, but I already know the answer to that. When you’re in this line of work, there are friends and there are foes. There are no frenemies in this game. You are either on their side or against it. Something I can relate to.

“What division are in, and your mission?” He has a professional tone for the sake of the recording. I don’t even know this guy it seems so unlike him that it makes me wanna roll my eyes into the back of my head until they get stuck there. “I’m a sergeant of Task Force Eclipse. My Captain is Tyler Hudson, and my teammate, besides my captain is Trinity Wilson, code-name Lake. My other teammate Sasha Miranov, code-name Coal, is KIA. Richard Jensen, code-name Tendril, had committed treason and had joined the very cause I’ve been fighting against. He’s also KIA.” I pause as my heart aches. “My mission began a few years ago, I was a special ops soldier that worked with the CIA, being placed wherever I was needed. Station Chief Kate Laswell called me into a special conference room where I was met with my future colleagues…”

I pause in the doorway as my eyes scan several different unfamiliar faces, sweeping the room on instinct. I spot Laswell, General Shepherd, and an old friend, Tyler Hudson standing in front of the round table where the three strangers are sitting. “Come in,” Laswell beckons, holding a thick, vanilla folder between her fingertips. The confusion is shared between amongst me and three strangers—I shut the door behind me. Laswell leans over the table and presses a button and the glass walls of the conference room become foggy and soundproof. “Sir.” I greet General Shepherd with a kind and professional tone, taking the seat closest to Laswell. He nods towards me, his hands folded neatly in front of him. His brow is pushed forward like something is troubling him; isn’t surprising, considering his position. Laswell holds up the folder as she begins to speak. “You must be wondering why I have called you all here today. You’re here because between Captain Hudson, General Shepherd and I, you four are the best for this job. You have not been given any details up until now because this quite possibly might be the most confidential mission you will ever work on in your time of service.”

Laswell places the folder down and motions to the person furthest from me. “Everyone, this is Richard Jensen. He will be joining us from MI6, along with—the girl who is next to him—Trinity Wilson. Then there is Sasha Miranov and [Name] [Last Name] from our very own CIA.” We look between each other wearily because Laswell still hasn’t said the nature of this mission, and General Shepherd hasn’t said a word at all this entire time. We give each other silent head nods because there will be time to get acquainted later. I put my hand on the table and fingers tap nervously against the glass top. Laswell steps out of the way of the wall with both Captain Hudson and General Shepherd. Hudson hands her a small remote which she murmurs a thank you, turning to said wall. It prompts all of us to look in the same direction and she presses a button and a projector projects a light box with a symbol of a moon and sun in the middle, hints of CIA and MI6 logos as well. She looks back at us, letting out another sigh laced with stress. “Today, you are no longer with your old units. You are now in Task Force Eclipse, lead by Captain Tyler Hudson; curtesy of CIA.” My eyebrows raise for a second because of the anticipation in my bones, in my veins. Working with Hudson?

She presses another button and pops up Richard Jensen’s face and basic information; his name, his age, blood type, occupation, whatever. “Also starting today, you are no longer yourselves,” Laswell presses another button and Jensen’s information fades into Russian, quickly translating back to English. My lips part in surprise as Laswell opens the vanilla folder, going around the table, passing out different documents to everyone. “Starting today, you are living as new people, from either Russia or Ukraine. You lived and grew up in these areas and share the same ideals as our enemy—who you will be working closely with.” No fucking way. There’s absolutely no fucking way—

“We have entrusted you five to work this undercover op, to weasel your way into Makarov’s organization and take information to relay it back to us. Is that clear?” Shepherd’s tone is rough, rude, and authoritative as always. He’s leaning his hand on the table, looking between all of us. I keep glancing between my documents, briefly glancing over the information before looking back up at him. “Sir, no offense, our mission is to.. be terrorists?” Trinity speaks up, her accent cutting through the air like a knife. Her tone shows she’s absolutely baffled, traced with incredulousness. “Yes. You will have to be prepared to commit acts you never would otherwise.” He responds, holding back his snappy response from her own. I look down at my paper and see my new name, my new age—very close to my actual one—my new backstory, fuck, even passports and other official documents are displayed with my new name. “You will have to work close with the group, even find your way under Makarov’s wing. We will set up times and dates for you to relay important information back to your Captain, and to me.” Laswell’s voice is a bit quieter in volume as the heavy mood sets in the room. I tense as I borderline feel everything just.. sink. “You all have worked undercover ops before, and you all have done incredibly well. This is why we trust you with this task.”

It was no secret the CIA and MI6 trusted some of the wrong people, and some of the right people.

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