#fuck david felony's vision this is my vision
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I am having so much fun developing the pre-Obi-Wan disaster lineage. When ben sees the way Qui-Gon and Dooku and Komari interact with each other it is going to be brilliant.
#chit chat#galidraan au#hehehehehe#>:)#i see tales of the jedi and i fully reject the qui gon episode#fuck david felony's vision this is my vision#everyone LOVED dooku in aotc they made a fuckin bust of him im gonna make him a GOOD JEDI#and tahl and qui gon and plo were bros and dooku loves and cares for them all#and qui gon and komari are literally siblings and they get along just as well as qui gon and rael#and the only reason obi wan got zero lineage love is because of xanatos and galidraan fracturing the family#and it is going to bite hard when ben realizes what he missed out on#lol
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Whump Rewrites: Part 1
I’ve decided to take some of my favourite whump scenes from my favourite books and rewrite them to make them more, well, whumpy.
Excerpt from Chapter 3 of John Dies at the End by David Wong.
•••
“No, officer, I had work this morning. As you know. I went straight home last night.”
I knew I should be talking about the fake Jamaican. Only my knee-jerk impulse to never volunteer anything to cops was holding me back. That was stupid. Robert Marley should be sitting here, not me. He was the one handing out the black voodoo oil that seemed to have put a crack in the universe. That’s got to be a felony, right?
I thought about that shit, moving out of the syringe like a worm. Then I thought about that substance being inside John, and shivered.
“You feelin’ okay?”
I heard myself say, “Uh-huh.”
As I spoke, a strange, jittery energy rose up inside me, radiating from the chest out.
The syringe.
In my pocket.
Biting my leg.
The spot of blood.
Moving. Inside John. Inside me.
All of a sudden everything was too bright, like somebody turned up the saturation on all the colours in the room. Everything came into focus, a high-def signal. I spotted a moth on the opposite wall and noticed that it had a small tear in one of its wings. I heard a guy talking on his cellphone, and realized he was on the sidewalk outside of the building.
What the fuck?
I looked the detective in the eye and was startled to find I could see his next question coming before he even spoke it, word for word.
Have you heard the name...
“Have you heard the name Nathan Curry? Guy your age, parents own a body shop here in town?”
My heart was hammering. I muttered, “No.”
How about Shelby Winder?
“How about Shelby Winder? Heavy girl, senior at Eastern High? Ring a bell?”
“No. Sorry.”
Clarity lit up my mind like a sunrise. Everything was obvious now, all the walls of the maze turned to glass. I immediately knew two things: this list of people had all been at the party last night, and they were all now dead or heading there.
Now how do I know that? How do I know any of this? Magic?
You know damn well why. That black shit John took made blood contact with you. Now you’re getting high, partner.
The cop read off more names. Jennifer Lopez (not the actress, just a local girl), Arkeym Gibbs, Justin White, Fred something, and a couple others. The last one on the list was Jim Sullivan.
So Amy was right to worry.
I told him I didn’t recognize any of the names except Jennifer’s.
“You’re not outta school three years. You went to high school with most these people, but you only knew the one girl?”
“I kind of kept to myself.”
“And then you got shipped off to the other school –“
“Look, I’m not saying anything else until you tell me whether Jennifer’s alive or not. It isn’t confidential information and I deserve to know.”
Don’t bother. He doesn’t know.
“We don’t know. You see, that’s the problem; at least nine people were at the One Ball at closing time, twelve hours ago. Four of them are missing, one – your friend John – is here. The rest are dead.”
I turned and looked at myself in the one-way mirror. The image was distorted, the second cop – who’d been completely silent the entire time – out of range at the back of the room. What was left was just me and Morgan, the clean-cut protector of the people, standing tall over the slumped, unshaven kid in a battered video store t-shirt that looked suspiciously like it’d been wadded up on a car floorboard for two days. Good guy and bad guy. Trash man and trash.
The detective fired off a few more questions and the white cop across the room stepped forward, putting his hands on his hips, waiting for an answer. Morgan left his gaze on me, calmly waiting for the silence to be filled in. Old interrogation trick.
I turned my eyes away, suddenly sweating heavily. There was that tableau in the mirror again, just me and Morgan. I opened my mouth to explain – again – how my night had gone but the door opened and my words trailed off. Another cop ducked in and whispered something in the detective’s ear, and his eyebrows shot up before the two of them hurriedly left the room.
There was a commotion outside, hurried shouts and feet shuffling on tile. After a few minutes, Morgan stormed back into the room, looking disheveled.
No, no, no, no no no. Don’t say it.
“Your friend is dead.”
I was out of my chair before I knew it, halfway to the door.
“Wha– how?!”
The cop stopped me cold with a stiff arm to the chest. “Calm down. He went into convulsions or something and his pulse stopped but we got ambulances that’re gonna be here in about thirty seconds.”
I knocked his hand away from my chest and the silent cop dropped his arms to approach us, looking a little less shocked than what I would’ve expected. He probably wouldn’t have to fill out the paperwork.
“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Morgan said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna wait here. I’ll be back in five minutes and you’re gonna start telling me the truth. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this and if you obstruct me you will live the rest of your days wishing you had not.”
He stepped back, made sure I wasn’t going to rush the door, then turned out of the room. I stood there, lost, listening to the confusion of shouts and controlled panic outside. There were sirens out front. Ambulance.
My cell chirped and I jumped, heart thrown into a frenzy. I glanced toward the other officer, now standing placidly in the middle of the room, and gestured toward my pocket as if to ask if he minded. He said nothing and I dug my phone out of my pocket to answer it.
“Yeah.”
“Dave? This is John.”
“What? Are you –”
Alive?
“– in an ambulance or something?”
“Yes and no. Are you still at the police station?”
“Yeah. We were both –”
“Have I died yet?”
I couldn’t answer for a long second. What in the hell was going on here?
“Uh... yeah, according to the cops.” I glanced at the one nearby, who showed no interest in my conversation.
“Then there’s no time to explain all this. Get out of there.”
“What? John, no, I’ll be a fugitive,” I hushed my voice, turning away. “They know where I –”
“Dave. Get up, walk to the door, leave the room. Leave the building. See that big white cop standing there with you? Don’t look at him in the mirror.”
“Huh?” I glanced back at said cop. Something seemed off, all of a sudden.
“Just go. Now.”
I tilted my head a few degrees to the right –
don’t look at the mirror don’t look at the mirror
– and to the reflective surface of the mirror directly opposite of the cop.
It was just you and Morgan in there, Dave. Even after the other guy stepped forward.
In the mirror it was just me. Standing there, phone held to my ear. Alone. I spun around, eyes wide.
“I don’t understand.”
“He’s n– he’s not real. Dave.”
“He’s coming towards me!”
“Go! You’re gonna start seeing things like this from time to time. It’s important that you don’t freak out.”
The not-a-guy-I-guess was one step away from me now. His moustache twitched, as if he was starting to grin underneath it.
“So he, uh, can’t hurt me?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he can.”
A hand shot out and clenched around my face and I gasped. The fingers dig into my cheeks, squeezing, rigid as iron bars. I thought my teeth would crack into pieces and my eyes watered as pain began to throb in my jaw. He pushed me back and slammed me against the wall and I clawed at his arm but it was like trying to tear the limbs off a bronze statue. I smacked him across the nose with my phone, then worked my leg up and, with all my strength, shoved a knee into his gut just below the ribs. A jolt of sharp pain shot up my thigh following a small cracking noise, like I’d just tried to knee over a pile of cinder blocks, but I felt him give, jolted back by the force of the blow.
The cop reeled back and fell to a knee on the floor. I should’ve been free of him but the hand was still clamped down on my face –
Ah, look at that. His arm came off.
The man had a six inch bloody hole on one shoulder now and the detached arm, all on its own, whipped around my throat and coiled up like a python. No hint of bone in there now, the arm making two loops around my neck. I thrashed and desperately tried to pry it off, but the thing was all muscle, tense and wiry, slowly squeezing off my windpipe. Spots flashed before my eyes, lack of oxygen shorting out the wiring in my brain. I blinked and then the ground was closer than before. I was on my knees, the pain that was radiating through the injured one beginning to dull. The arm tightened even further and the room was starting to go dark and I was on all fours and I decided that the best idea was to just lay down right there and go to sleep.
Movement flickered in the corner of my eye. The rest of the cop’s body was up and walking calmly towards me. Shit. I clumsily crawled over to the door and felt fingers snatching at my shirt but I flung myself forward, my face smacking off the doorframe. Reaching up, I clawed around for the handle, barely sucking in air, my head feeling like it would burst at any second.
The handle turned and I shoved the door open, spilling out of the room in a mess of heavy limbs, and –
– and it was over. The thick bundle of armsnake had suddenly vanished from my neck and I gasped, wheezed, anything to fill my aching lungs back up. Black patches continued to float across my vision and my head was pounding worse than any hangover but I scrambled to my feet anyway and stumbled right out the front door, my body remembering John’s instructions even if I currently did not. No one tried to stop me. I hit the sidewalk but kept going, away from the building, away from lingering cops, until finally my knee gave out and I decided to plop down in a nook where two buildings conjoined.
My cellphone rang.
Shakily, I raised it, surprised that I still had it clutched in my hand. Cracks filled the entire screen but it still seemed to be working, so I put it to my ear.
What I meant to say was “Hello?” but all that really came out was a pained wheeze.
“Dave? It’s me.” It was John. “Where are you right now?”
“I’m... um...” My voice was scratchy and it hurt to speak. I kept going anyway. “Sitting. ‘Bout a block from the, uh... police station. Where’re you? Heaven?”
“If you figure that out, let me know. Right now, just don’t freak out. Are you freaking out?”
“I dunno,” I said, then coughed.
“Listen. You gotta get over to Robert’s place. There aren’t any cops over there now, but there will be. We have sort of a narrow window here. Go to Shire Village on Lathrop Avenue. It’s a trailer park south of town past that one candy place – you should be able to get there in twenty minutes.”
I ran the directions through my still-muggy brain, narrowing my eyes to tamp down the headache raging in my temples. It was a lot easier to breathe now and I inhaled slowly before exhaling at the same pace.
“Dave?”
“Um, yeah, yeah. Okay.”
“Okay. Hurry up.”
With a beep, the phone went dead.
#whump#prompt#rewrite#jdate#john dies at the end#tbifos#this book is full of spiders#injury#strangulation#choked#whumpee#headache
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