(No hate to the original, this is just more realistic to most writers I know! They’re both good tho. Would appreciate rbs for sample size)

A strange alien doctor stands near the unconscious body of Padme Amidala. “It appears she has lost the will to live.” A older man with a limp hobbles closer with the aid of a cane. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” says Dr. Gregory House.

-Keeps Padme on life support despite DNR, somehow this ends in him getting punched by Obi-Wan

-Immediately starts putting her on every treatment known to man

-Walks over to Wilson’s office, which is the only part of the entire ship that just looks the same as it does in the show

-Homoerotically complains about how stupid Jedi are, then makes a bet with Wilson on whether Obi Wan is gay or the father of Padme’s twins (Wilson wants House to believe people can be faithful)

-Padme almost dies again. Turns out the treatment’s not working

-“if the dark side nearly killed her, maybe it can save her”

-House uses force lightning to restart Padme’s heart

-Gets brought into Cuddy’s office and told off for using an experimental treatment, and the power of the dark side, in her hospital

-House is taken off the case and foreman is put in charge of the case

-Padme is unexpectedly doing better, but Cuddy refuses to tell House or else he’ll be using the dark side to save all his patients

-House watches on as Wilson tries seducing a relieved Obi Wan while he paces in the lobby. Doesn’t seem to work

-House interrogates Obi Wan about his relationship with Padme, insinuates it’s Obi Wans Fault. Gets in a struggle and once theyre seperated it’s revealed he ripped out some beard hair

-Padme is getting released from the hospital but crashes again with obvious signs of infection. Everyone blames the dark side of the force

-is put in intensive care again, everyone thinks she’s going to die, House is brooding.

-House meets Bail Organa and talks to him, Bail mentions how he was so worried about her the last time she was in a hospital, and this seems much more hopeless

-“what time she was in the hospital?”

-House marches in as they’re about to pull the plug, rolling Padme’s unconcious body over to point at dark spot on the back of her neck

-Foreman looks disapointed, “it’s a bruise house, her husband nearly snapped her neck.”

-“Our princess’ boyfriend here failed to mentioned she was scratched by a Nexu on Genosis years ago. Nexu claws are known as a vicious poison.”

-“it would have killed her years ago”

-“unless a small chunk of claw stuck in her back, working into the muscles near the nape of her neck for years. The little prince of Darkness chokes her, pressure and muscles spasming lets it work into a blood vessel. It’s why the force lightning only was a bandaid, it vaporized what was in her bloodstream but broke up the rest of the claw and let it enter in her bloodstream. Start her on dialysis, she’ll be fine by tomorrow afternoon.”

-Next day Padme’s wheeled out of the hospital with her two children, bittersweetness. House watches from balcony before going back to his office

-Wilson enters with his shirt unbuttoned and a few bruises on his neck, declaring, “the Jedi is gay. I win.”

-House holds up a paternity test, “he’s bisexual, it’s a draw”

@exteenpopstar

#love the implication that house is force sensitive and decided to become a dark side user for medical malpractice reasons (via @gravity-loves-me)

I’m HOWLING this is the funniest thing I’ve ever read

Mon: I don’t think we should do this.

Kleya: I told you this twenty minutes ago.

Vel: Shut it, Marki. It’s too late now anyway.

Kleya: …

Mon: …

Vel: You said you wanted a new haircut. I said I had scissors. I never said I had skill.

Kleya: Now that—

Vel: No.

Mon: …

Kleya: It looks kinda dykey.

Vel: Can’t argue with that.

Cinta: “Kinda” is understating things.

Mon: …

Mon: What is ‘dykey’ supposed to mean?

Kleya: You’ll find out soon enough.

Mon: …

Vel: …

Cinta: *snickers*

WIP POLL GAME

Rules: Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It’s fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count). Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received

I was tagged by the lovely @except4bunnies, who also said I had to do it and really left me no choice tbh xD

I’m tagging recklessly and without shame: @kleyamaarki, @crushed-snail, @thislotuseater and @twicesonnet! (Again, if they feel like participating!)

The Assistant - additional ficlet

This was prompted by a comment from @cintasvel, who predicted that Kleya would probably yell at Luthen once he volunteered her to be Mon’s fake affair! She was obviously was absolutely right!

—-

“What in the seven hells were you thinking!?!”

Luthen looked at her and shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea!”

“Me starting an affair with Senator Mothma seemed like a good idea?” She felt her voice rising, taking on a harder edge “Please! How?!“

The alibi (2/2)

Kleya was silent for a moment. Then she led Mon into the dimly lit back room of the gallery and pulled a carefully folded dress from a drawer in the wall.

“Put this on.”

She pointed to a door.

“The fresher isn’t big, but…” She hesitated. “You’ll have it to yourself.”

Then she turned toward the comms.

The fresher could have fit on a ship; the mirror barely showed Mon’s face. She was glad of it. Her makeup was intact, and whether she was pale beneath it was impossible to tell, even for herself. The dress fit as though tailored for her: off-white, elegant, as if she were on her way to a banquet. A necklace lay with it, deceptively similar to a piece Mon often wore.

She returned to Kleya.

“This was… made for me?”

Kleya looked up from the radio.

“We like to be prepared.“

In the end, Mon no longer knew how she had arrived at the gallery door. How many streets she had walked, how many levels she had climbed. She could count herself lucky that, after all those years in the capital, she managed to find her way to her destination on Coruscant, though the landmarks that guided her were ones she usually glimpsed only from the window of her hoverlimo. The hoverlimo that, at this very moment, the ISB... Mon struck her forehead with her fist to banish the thought. No time. Absolutely no time.

“Why are you here, Kleya?”

Mon’s eyes flit to the transparisteel windowpanes of her office. Coruscants night is as hectic as its day. Thousands of speeders flying overhead paint streaks of light into the night sky. She wonders how Luthen’s assistant slipped past senate security.

“Questions have been raised about your loyalties, Senator.” Kleya informs, walking the length of the office, before turning back to face her.

“What?” Mon stands in a rush, her chair pivoting dangerously, but she pays it no mind. She walks out from behind her desk to stand before it, highly aware of brown eyes tracking her every movement. To diffuse the tension she leans back against the edge of the desk, fingers knitting together, “What kind of questions?”

“That’s not important now.” Kleya says softly, and there’s a hint of sadness in her tone that scares her. Mon swallows against the lump forming in her throat, wringing her hands.

“I’d strongly disagree.” She laughs, a nervous thrilling sound. Her palms feel clammy. “You won’t hear what I have to say about this?”

Kleya strolls back towards her, languid measured steps. Mon’s heart starts racing.

“I fear it’s already too late for that.”

Dread settles in the pit of her stomach and Mon can’t help but think about all the things she will never get to do now.

Kleya stops right in front of her. “I think—” she’s cut off when Mon leans forward and presses her mouth softly against dark painted lips. Kleya freezes and for a fleeting moment Mon considers pulling back, but if this is the last kiss she is going to have in this lifetime, she is going to make it count.

After a moment of stillness, Kleya kisses her back, melts under the gentle caress of Mon’s lips. There are no words, nothing but panting and sighs, and Mon doesn’t allow herself to think about any of this, of anything but this moment right here and the sound Kleya makes when she deepens the kiss and licks into her mouth.

“Why did you do that?“ Kleya asks, still a little breathless when they ultimately break apart.

“I’ve never kissed anyone but Perrin, but I always wondered.”

“Mhm.” Kleya considers this. “And? How was it?”

There’s something freeing about knowing that she’s not leaving her office alive tonight. She should be scared really, but she doesn’t think Kleya will make her suffer. But Mon also knows Kleya is not backing out now, whatever she says or does. It’s inevitable from here on out. That knowledge makes her bolder and more honest than she otherwise could afford.

“Way better than I’d have ever imagined.” She wants to reach out, but holds herself back. “Now I wish I had done it sooner.”

Kleya smiles at that, it’s small and private, but there.

Not to be deterred now that there is only so little time left, Mon says, “I’d like to do it again before you kill me.”

Kleya blinks at her. Mon waits; won’t just kiss her again like the first time. Wants Kleya to want it too.

“Kill you?” Kleya repeats after a while. “Senator, I am here for your datapad and files.”

“Files?” Mon breathes, tone high and thready. She’s feeling a little faint all of a sudden. This can’t be right..

“I won’t leave without them, even if you kiss me again,” Kleya says sternly, but her mouth twitches up at the corners.

Mon feels herself flushing, warmth spreading up the expanse of her throat to settle as a burn high on her cheekbones.

“I apologize for that.” Her throat feels parched. Reaching behind her, she grabs her datapad without looking and hands it over to Kleya. “Here. The computer terminal on the desk is all yours.” She’s still too frazzled to argue.

It takes Kleya all but a minute or two working on the desk terminal before she steps back in front of Mon.

“If your transmission files are clean, I’ll have this back with you by tomorrow.” She indicates Mon’s datapad and a data crystal, before letting both items slide in a bag hidden beneath the folds of her coat. “And then I’ll probably let you kiss me again.”

Mon’s traitorous gaze falls to Kleya’s mouth before tracking back up. Her fingers curl around the edge of her desk. She reaches for that boldness again, still simmering beneath her chest somewhere beyond her mortification, “I’m looking forward to both then.”

I still don't know my purpose on this planet but I do love reading fanfiction.

“villain attempts to go back in time to kill superman as a small child, gets shot in the face by ma kent, who buries him behind the barn with the others” would probably have niche appeal as a comic but i don’t care, i want it

The first time a man from the future showed up at Martha Kent’s house, Clark Kent was two years old.

According to his birth certificate, anyway. She just kind of accepted that the details were a little fudged. Relativity, and all.

Maybe the stranger would have succeeded in whatever it was he wanted to do, except that he really did just show up. Appeared, like a ghost made flesh, right in the backyard. Clark, thank goodness, was out in the fields with Jonathan. He couldn’t bear to be alone, that boy, and they could never bear to leave him.

Which left Martha free to shoot the ghostly intruder in the face.

Martha had not always considered herself a shoot first, ask questions later sort of a person. But that was before she found a baby in a spaceship where her corn was supposed to be.

They’d switch off, Jonathan and her, who got Clark and who got the shotgun. Martha got the shotgun more often than not. Guns made her husband uncomfortable. She was hardly a fan, but she’d always been a terrible pacifist. Too determined to defend herself.

The sight of all that blood and brain and bone was still nauseating. She compartmentalized, told herself it was no different from slaughtering a cow; didn’t think about riot gear or tear gas or the friends she’d lost or all the things she’d moved away from when her heart couldn’t take it any longer. This was different. This was her son.

She prodded the corpse with her foot. It remained a corpse. A real nasty looking corpse, all big and burly and holding a gun much too large. She didn’t like making assumptions based on appearances, but she didn’t imagine he’d been coming for anything nice. She bent down to search his pockets, found a metal wallet and flipped it open.

Born 2018.

Well, hell. Wasn’t that just a kick in the pants?

Probably she ought to have been a bit more unsettled than she was. But she’d been waiting two years for someone to show up on her doorstep, men in black or UFOs or something. Hell, she’d half expected her sweet little boy to hatch into something worse.

Just because she brought home space babies didn’t mean she was a damn fool.

Jonathan had rejoined her in long strides, was holding Clark in such a way that he couldn’t see the corpse on the ground. “Well, shit,” he said.

“Eyup,” Martha agreed.

“Don’t look government.”

“Nope.”

“We burying him?”

“I’ll bury him,” Martha said, standing up. “You get Clark inside and read him a book or something. I don’t want him seeing any of this, getting him messed up in the head.”

“You sure? Looks heavy.”

“That’s why we have a wheelbarrow. I’ll stick him out behind the barn, might as well keep all our secrets in one place.”

Martha had a long time to think as she dug a time traveler’s grave. There were a lot of reasons someone might travel back in time trying to kill her kid. The first was her instinct as a mother, which was: he was a fucking asshole. Who killed a kid? Fucking assholes, that was who.

Now, it was also possible that her sweet little boy grew up to be some kind of space Hitler. She didn’t think she’d raise that kind of a kid, but she didn’t suppose there was any parent who set out to raise a Hitler.

Still didn’t sit right with her. She didn’t much like the idea of killing baby Hitler, either.

Keep reading

TFW you and @themardia create the perfect Pitt AU in an afternoon because there needs to be more age of sail/regency-era pining in this fandom.

The London Listeners

...The scandal of the season, of course, was the abrupt and entirely unexpected alliance of Miss Parker Ellis and Lord John Shen, Baron of Duncan. In truth it might not have been considered such a shocking affair, had not Lord John freely admitted that his proposal had been inspired not by sentimental matters of the heart or practical matters of the purse, but by simple regard and affection for his friend. "We already attend all the same parties and balls," he was heard to say at one such recent gathering, "and we found it such a nuisance to find ways to gossip about them afterward — chaperones can be so tiresome. So I thought, why not simply marry her? We can gossip to our hearts' content over supper, luncheon, and breakfast now."

Lady Parker seems to be of similar mind. "I have known John all my life; he helped me pull out my first milk-tooth when we were children, by tying a string to a door handle and swinging the door shut," she recently disclosed at Lady Dana's annual ball. "Of course, we neither of us had thought to ensure which way the door swung, and I ended up with a black eye that was quite awkward to explain to our nannies, but his heart was in the right place. As it always has been. In a London full of respected males but devoid entirely of respectable men, I could hardly do better than marry one whom I know for a fact I can wrestle to the ground."

Such cheerful disregard for the solemnity of the matrimonial state has, of course, provoked outrage amongst certain corners of the ton. After all, the new Lady Shen had very little in the way of a dowry, being the former ward of the late Lord Montgomery Adamson. To call the upbringing afforded her at Pittsbourne “unconventional” is to strain the very limits of that word — for it is well known that for every triumph such as Mr. Langdon and that worthy’s marriage to the Marchioness Abigail Hillsdale some years ago, there is an equally unfortunate case such as the Hon. Michael Rabinovitch, who now holds Pittsbourne in his own right despite the courts declining to award him Lord Montgomery’s titles alongside his lands. The newly-named Lady of Duncan might well consider herself fortunate in both a brilliant match and a narrow escape.

Lady Dana Evans has made no secret of her delight in the match. “While I understand that it is quite in fashion nowadays for a husband to despise his bride, and a wife her groom,” she was overheard to muse last week, “I cannot help but approve of Lord John’s old-fashioned attitude — that one ought to marry one’s best friend, if the law permits it.” When someone commented on the rumors that she herself arranged the match, she made no direct reply, but instead mused aloud that with the war coming to its end and all of Her Majesty’s naval officers returning to our shores, there was opportunity for her to make a truly scandalous match next season. “I suppose I’ll have to be quite creative indeed,” she said, before retiring to the parlor and thus out of range of this individual’s ear.

Regardless of Lady Evans’s pursuits, it is true that this season will find many more eligible bachelors and ladies in town for the Season. We shall see if that lady does indeed outdo herself.

Still Listening, Mrs. Nettles and Miss Thorne

fic scrap, byerly vorrutyer & gregor vorbarra, 1100 words, alternate universe – canon divergence

An ACC missing scene set in a universe where a chance encounter between Gregor and By shortly after TWA results in Gregor acquiring a friend actually his own age! The main unfinished fic takes place mostly in the months after TWA (ft. Aral and Simon having dual heart attacks over Serg’s son hanging around with a Vorrutyer, naturally) but a while back I felt like jotting down this little standalone scene that follows immediately after Dono’s meeting with Gregor in ACC, so since it doesn't go with anything I'm putting it here.

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Miles Vorkosigan, Duv Galeni Additional Tags: Newspapers, References to Shakespeare, Ficlet Summary:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a great city in possession of large numbers of the idle rich much be in want of The Theater.

AO3 Wrapped Check

it's basically-- in @nikoniclove and @storiesofsvu we trust !!

In case some of the “fics” were comics with zero words, the code repair is this:

word = s.find('dd', attrs={'class':"words"}).text

# Check if word is empty before converting to int

if word:

word = int(word.replace(',',""))

else:

# Handle the case where word count is missing (e.g., set to 0)

word = 0

Omg HOW MANY WORDS?!? I didn’t finish The Iron Giant, but still…

Thank you, fanfic authors! @xiaq @mhalachai @avesnongrata @slashmarks @singlecrow @beatrice-otter @astolat @lannamichaels @mundungus42 and so many others!