#wakes up from a coma. what happened

[bioexorcizm]

hi. stolen w jack : )

[ stolen ] a quick, stealthy, and impromptu kiss snatched in secret

"live in five, mister delroy."

he hums, a single nod accentuating the low rumble. he takes another sip from his drink; he convinces himself that the rum doesn't taste so bitter, not when the fizz of cherry cola washes over his tongue just after. he sucks in a quick breath through gritted teeth and steels himself for the camera -- trembling fingers adjust his tie, brush back his hair, and wait in dull certainty as fervent hands that aren't his own do just the same with practiced perfection.

he forces a smile, that same smile that he's run into the ground over the course of some-odd years, the past one in particular having done its due diligence in draining every last bit of trust and joy from the damn thing. but hey, at least he looked nice while doing it.

he shakes his glass, and the ice rattles alone within it. he bites his tongue, numb now from the alcohol, enough for him at least to withstand the last of the crew's prep. dark eyes stare beyond the bodies that fuss over him, through the clutter and bustling and it's almost hard for him to focus until he lasers in on the flash of strange smatterings of color on the far side of the room. it's a jarring pallette, one that weaves through the pre-show traffic directly towards him and as he processes it he feels his nerves warm with a fire different from the heat of the whiskey and furling of smoke in his lungs.

"hey," he smiles again, for real this time and as harley approaches they offer a brief wave towards the other corner of the room, and he figures it's to leo but he hasn't the mind to check.

"just wanted to say hi before the show," they offer lowly, fingers lingering just a little too long against his sleeve as they smooth out a wrinkle clearly missed by the others.

on heavy legs does he follow them mindlessly as they round the corners into the dim hallway away just by a few feet from the noise and the people and it leaves them finally alone.

in just a moment jack knows he'll have to emerge from that sliding door, give his opening monologue and slough through another hour and a half of phoned-in jokes and bits and entertain guests he can't even remember the name of now, and maybe it's not because his mind is swimming in the buzz of alcohol or because he can feel his heart thudding in his chest (harley holds strongly that radio was no different than tv, and that having been a natural should have extinguished any sort of anxieties a long time ago). but perhaps he thinks it's because of the way their hands tug gently at his tie, and loosen his posture, pulling him together in ways he could never do himself.

in this darkened corner of the night owls set, he finds himself taking a deep breath, and grounding himself, closing his eyes and opening them again and looking deep into harley's face, memorizing again their softened expression and reveling in their gentle tenderness and especially in the way their breath fans his lips as he leans down, fingers gripping their arms so tight for the little time they have as he curls his figure into theirs, their lips meeting his only for a moment, pulling away so quick. too quick.

he chases the feeling of their mouth, soft and sweet and sobering. he sighs, nearly whines, and only when they chide him, shush him, and press their hands against his chest does he force himself to accept the space between them.

he returns to himself soon enough, hearing his name called, by leo, by phil, by sandy. last minute -- quite literally -- checks. harley reassures him. their thumb runs across his cheek once more before they're turning and hurrying for the little alcove to the side of the studio set, the better place to watch the show unfold for the night. it's just as they do every week.

their words ring in his ears as the five second countdown begins. he puts on a smile.

"give 'em a night they won't ever forget."

[thosewildcharms]

not to over-indulge in my own tags and this extremely hyperspecific au but walk with me for a minute. it's this scene from the series finale of LOST except make it rick and michonne. and instead of it being them reuniting in the afterlife it's them reuniting after the poof! no apocalypse timeline reset and they're getting flashbacks of the original zombie apocalypse timeline. do you see my vision.

[bolithesenate]

oh gods it is way too early in the morning for me to be awake (on a saturday no less) but i just downloaded another plunny from The Aether TM and it seems Mines relevant enough that yall might enjoy

for Reasons everyone in Dooku's familie dies when he's still a teen (Jenza maybe only in a coma or smt) and he HAS to take over (also for Reasons)

only. he has no clue.

the only thing he DOES know is that a ruler needs lackeys. loyal officers. something like that (sifo had him watch a period drama the week before, it left an impression)

so he recruits the only people he can think of as his definitely-not-jedi-padawan certainly-loyal-to-a-fault goons: Sifo-Dyas, Jocasta Nu, Lorian Nod and Arath Tarrex (well, Arath just kinda inserted himself there but Dooku can see the merits of having someone who's more of an asshole than him close by. Makes him look bettter, and that's what this all is about, no?)

cue a LOT of shenanigans where five jedi-raised teens suddenly take over a planet's government and proceed to do politics with, like, medium success

at most

but a lot of violence (mostly on Arath's part, he kinda just attracts explosions) to make up for it

oh but they found the dragon in the basement, so that's fun (the serennians are horrified)

[meownotgood]

chapter 1 + chapter 2... halfway to 60k

[b4kuch1n]

small update! much less sick now, fully on the mend. the comic's literally 3/4 done but I will not be posting it (along with all the other s&co stuff Ive been doodling) this week, in accordance with the global strike. I'll be finishing up and rounding out the rest of the e-sim donation comms instead, as well as highlighting similar drives and other fundraising efforts. thank you for your time

[hella1975]

assigning a character the highest honour like *adds go home by julien baker to their playlist*

[bumblingbabooshka]

Yeah. Sure. Okay.

[joelletwo]

it is just like stupidly coherent to mash up szs and gintama in ways that fans of neither in [checks the date on the video] god. 2008. would have understood huh. lol.

[red-catmander]

i'm back bebby!! my computer was totally out of commission for a while there, i feel like i've missed so much!! what is this about elf ears? maid costumes? something about two black citadels?!

[ninawolv3rina]

Hey what the fuck how come all my exhausted brain fog is leaving at midnight???

[hawnks]

[bluesunsdusk]

Thread By Thread

An omium lay desolate and isolated, sectioned off by security detail. Helix Security had mad a lot of effort to make sure no one could enter any of the still-standing omniums after the incident that destroyed a portion of the Australian outback. Most people never entered the complex, leaving it susceptible to damage from neglect and pests. Some omniums that had managed to evade detection before the end of the crisis became dusty and overgrown, causing a hazard for the fusion cores a few still had. So, perhaps, this fate where it was guarded was preferable. They always made sure at least the core was stable. They had learned their lesson, after all. They knew it wasn't something to be messed with.

A skittering sound bounced from the walls and through the sharp geometric architecture deep within the omnium, past swathes of security personnel. It stopped and was followed by a series of high-pitched clicks. Another set of clicks and mechanical squeaks came from a small distance away of it. As if in response, a lower series of clicks and thrumming echoed after it. It was soft, like a whisper, compared to the others. As soon as it was done, the other also weakened their tones.

Two small slicers vacated the room with a few quadrupedal units with a single arm attachment in tow.

It went quiet again, only for the silence to be cut through with a buzzing. Light flickered from the entrance. It continued, sometimes interrupted, sometimes accompanied by small clicks or creaks.

Eventually, the tapping of metal on metal announced the return on the small omnic units. Their pitter-patter triggered a brief pause in activity within the room. After a small low machine hum, it continued. The quadrupeds carried thick metal cords and tubes in their clamps. A segmented metal tendril reached out to the units and rapped into the loop of cord one of them held. It let go and allowed the tendril to carry the bundle away.

The tendril traveled all the way to the other end of the room, where Setesh lay half on their back. Their long neck twisted and they poked their head out from under a set of metal tubes, large optics scanning over the wires, examining them. Setesh looked to the small unit that brought it in and spoke to it in the low clicks that went through the halls previously. "Good," they had said, in their own strange machine language. The quadrupedal unit wiggled briefly from side-to-side as a mimicry of an excited pup once addressed.

Setesh returned to their work, moving the coil of wires and their head under the large structure they were working on. Several wires hung over their face, sparking slightly, hanging loosely. Chewed through by rodents, perhaps. Many rat nests had to be eradicated when they arrived, after all. It wasn't like Helix Security cared to look after this marvel of technology. To them, it was merely a machine, a monster, a harbinger of destruction. The omnium had done nothing but protect itself and the omnics were no more than its only form of defense. Human soldiers never bothered to consider why a machine instructed to do something would do anything in its power to continue what it was constructed to do. It was a basic discussion in AI for decades and yet... Now it sat there, dormant, stuck in a virtual environment where it could enact its purpose for quarantine.

Uncoiling the cords, Setesh began to measure how much of these they'd need to replace parts of the thick wires above them. They spoke to a unit again and it trotted off to an end of the room. After some work, the sparks of the wires Set was under ceased. They moved one hand to hold the wires in place and the other to cut it. They took out a section and placed it to the side. Two more arms folded out from the underside of their chest plate. They took a section of the metal cord they'd been brought and held it in the additional hands, allowing them to carefully cut and shape the cord. Strings of superheated hard light flowed out of their palms and moved with the motion of their fingers. It pulled at the metal, bending and twisting it until it was the same length and shape as the piece of wire Setesh had removed.

They took it between their fingers after allowing it to harden and examined it once again before placing it in the space they had made in the wiring. The fingers of one hand folded out and back, making room for the element in their palm to be more visible. They held the wire still and a small buzzing sound came from the bit in their palm as they nearly touched it to the wire and a bright blue light shined from it. They did the same on the other end.

Now it just needed a protective covering...

Setesh glances at the palms of their hands, the hard light generator bits still visible. It shouldn't be too complex of a shape to perform. They looked at the newly placed wire and contemplated for a few moments. Eventually, fine strings of hard light formed from their palms again and they latched the ends of each on what still remained of the original wire covering. One-ove-another, they wove the threads together, in a lattice structure until tightened together like a reinforced sheet of fabric with a transparent blue sheen.

Staring at the results, Setesh couldn't help but be somehow surprised. They had heard of the exploits of the Vishkar's hard light technology, Maximilien had done a wonderful job of selling it to them when he attempted to convince them to join him, but they hadn't yet taken quite this approach to it. This tool was meant for construction and yet they had adapted it to destroy. They only used it in construction for minor matters or temporary repairs. This was more permanent, slightly more grand in scale, more complex. And yet, it was extremely familiar.

It was quick. It was...easy.

It was almost like that which they had already been made to do.

They looked at their hands again. One of the slicers squeezed its way next to Setesh's head and gently poked their plates. It shuffled back out and waited for Setesh to follow. The slid back and sat up, looking down at the little mechanical creature.

It emitted a croak in a rough and unwelcoming tone and hopped, spinning into another direction and walking off.

"Ah...."

Damage detected. What more did this omnium need fixed? Maybe, their creator would appreciate more than mere repairs. Perhaps, it could use a little upgrade. It won't be the shimmering jewel of Oasis, but it would be an improvement, it could be a step towards it.

[kurgy]

lots of interesting things happening/have happened in bnha that I want to see explored and absolutely none of them involve the main characters

[keepingthepeaceinouterspace]

.

[ladamedemartel]

-Because, even when they don't usually celebrate Valentine's day, Tristan is certainly going to use the surrounding date as an excuse to prepare something for Aurora. And obviously Rory gets to receive her present half a week before the rest of the world- Unclouded light descended and illuminated the waters of the unearthly garden. "There are those who feel small in the contemplation of nature. Yet, I often find it lacks one or two tweaks before serving as a gift worthy of you." The water perfectly near the country manor was pure and crystalline. Inviting in all the colorful fusion Tristan devised. There was lavender, of course. Tints of beckoning purple as homage to her favorite. Tulips made promises of eternal love while cherry blossoms spoke of vibrant beauty and complexity. Hydrangeas and sweet peas exuded insinuations of romance. Orchids whispered of Aurora's elegance. Carnations of playfulness. Plumerias celebrated her charm. The surface of the water was filled with different blooms. A bouquet like no other. "A sea of flowers for you, my love. Well...A lake of flowers. Still, if the most enchanting of nymphs decides to swim its surface no treasure of any ocean will compare to the sublime beauty of her realm." There was to the way his eyes focused on her with a love beyond description, an unquestionable certainty to his judgement.

She ought to have known that the bath he'd ordered drawn for her the previous evening was simply a precursor to a larger gift. The same flowers that had decorate her bath were now replicated by the dozen in the garden that greeted her eyes. Beautiful and fragrant blooms that spread as far as she could see, and though each plant appeared in perfect health, there were still plenty of flowers to adorn the water's surface.

It took but a moment for Aurora to relieve herself of her clothing and head quickly to the water. It was warmed than she expected, and she suspected that Tristan had seen to the as one of the first orders of business in bringing the garden to life. Without worry of cold water to stop her, Aurora dove under the water and swam toward the lakes center before surfacing.

"Are you going to join me, Tristan? Or am I meant to put on a show?" She held her arms over her head and twirled in place for a moment before she started to laugh. "I'll need one of those shiny bathing caps that those ladies wear with the water ballet!"

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)