#except for the hurt before
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the funniest possible thing that could happen is if mercedes keeps hiring childhood best friends for their team and everybody's holding their breath waiting for them to tear each other apart like brocedes except it doesn't happen bc everyone else is normal about each other and brocedes is just that fucked up that they would've torn each other apart even if they were on different teams
#i like to think that in this hc both nico and lewis were waiting for the new team to tear each other apart just so they could feel like what#happened to them was an inevitability. except the new team doesn't tear each other apart and now they have to deal with the fact it was#their faults. not competing for the championship or the stress of being on the same team but just them. ripping each other apart for even#the slightest advantage. just them digging their fingers into the rotting carcass of their childhood friendship to hit each other where it#hurts. just them cannibalizing their childhood dream for even the most miniscule chance of beating each other. and what do you do then?#when the reason your friendship fell apart is bc you two couldn't put each other before the trophy? and what do you do when you know that#you wouldn't be you if you chose each other? what then? maybe it was inevitable. maybe it was fate.#auugh i love the inevitability of tragedies!!! this all came bc ppl kept saying that albon in merc would be brocedes 2.0 and like no!!! no#will ever be brocedes 2!!! nobody has the drama or the ethos/pathos/logos to be brocedes 2.0!! you dont have the frosties or the dreams or#greece!!! you dont have greece!!! and more importantly!!! nico and lewis were /weird/ about each other!!! no 1 else on this grid is weird#about each other the way nico and lewis were/are!!! nobody else is obsessed with each other the way they were!!!#anyway breakdown over#nico rosberg#lewis hamilton#brocedes#f1
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this is my naruto oc age 12 and age like 15 lmao she goes through it
#naruto oc#sora#eddy's art#digital art#dont rly wanna tag this too much lmao jst wanted to share it...#i love heeer basically its naruto universe bc i love it but like no naruto characters except like important figures ig#and a war starts jst before she graduates and gets to be put in a team#THIS SPECIFIC concept is . def stolen from still waters by vulpeca_et_anser on ao3 !#amazing sakura centered fic#anyway. going to war at 12 and shes like aw yeah ! i can prove myself ! except that war isnt pretty#jst a big ol hurt no comfort for a while#and then its all about healing once she's like 16 and back and cant do anything else than fight and is put in a shinobi team#i have her two other teammates but not their leader yet...#anyway. green haired girliepop#her name is sora ! her two teammates are masao and kosuke !
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#ive mentioned before but its so hilarious to me. youre so 15 it hurts.#literally in the same dialogue tree as ''we fought until the first blood was drawn''. youre so 15 its unreal.#everything is about death and violence when youre 15. except when its about your old friends in which case its about something else.#playing in the adult's court of violence and blood and yet you can't bring yourself to stop calling him your friend.#you can't grieve a friendship when it's not gone and buried. it's more like it's lost at sea...#neigh (blabbers)#the kids' writing in p2 is so funny. being 15 pov.
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as a kid, especially neurodivergent kids, did you ever feel a part of your body hurting and think "that's not right. is something wrong? I should tell my parent"
and so you tell them, for example, "my arm hurts when I move it like this". and to you, you're providing necessary detail for your trusted adult to figure out what's wrong, but instead they just said
"don't move it like that then."
and it's like....OK but the action that is causing pain is just what is alerting me to the pain, and as a child im worried the pain could mean an underlying problem? and you didn't know how to express that? for the arm example, if my arm didn't hurt when I wasn't moving it in a certain way, it would be a lie to just say "my arm hurts" because my arm isn't hurting at all times, but it's not normal for my arm to be hurting when I move it in that particular way, so I go to my adult for reassurance or comfort that I didn't injure myself horribly?
idk I'm just curious if anyone else had this experience as a child and it felt dismissive
#i remember being very anxious about my body and very sensitive to pain and anything that might be hurting#and i didnt know how to express that worry except being very matter of fact: this hurts when i do this#but the action does not cause the pain it just wasnt there before
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wooooo warlock Wally and his delightful totally normal patron
#in my mind home can change his form drastically#like they only have hands or a humanoid form if they so please#theyre simple a writhing pit of darkness with red eyes/teeth#i imagine that when they first met home had zero affection for wally#it was purely an 'im using you. youre nothing but a puppet to me'#but then yk time passes shit happens#and before you know it home is all 'if anything happened to wally id kill everyone in this room and then myself'#scribble salad#wh fantasy au#and yes i Will restate their dynamic over and over and over again bc i love it and i love repetition#to home wally is.... a companion. a pet. a puppet. a home. a friend. a lover (kinda its complicated). a host. a plaything. an accomplice <3#and then wally looks up at this horrific Demon and goes 'my home <3 @:)'#he doesnt get why everyone is afraid of home... hes just a lil guy c'mahn....#(except hes not little at all and the home shown here has scaled itself down to hang more easily with wally)#wally likes to paint for home! his paintings are the only physical objects home keeps in their house form!#theyre like 'yeah you can drive nails into my body so i can keep pieces of you with me. thats cool no no it doesnt hurt at all i promise'
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need sam winchester biblically and its such a crime i can't be binging spn rn, but that does mean i will be thinking about him all the time without spending said time watching him which means i will have thoughts about him which means i will have time to write for him which means that folks should send me sam requests i promise i'm nice and a decent writer heheheh
#def check out my rules before sending something in but quick rundown i do romantic or platonic#and pretty much any genre except full on smut (suggestive is cool if ur 18+)#so definitely send me requests or just sam thoughts!!#think i'm gonna write bf headcanons for him first#i need him so bad!!!#sam winchester#supernatural sam winchester#spn sam#supernatural requests#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester requests#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x sibling!reader#sam winchester hurt/comfort#sam winchester x sister!reader#sam winchester x gn!reader#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester angst
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i feel about dorlene how some people feel about wolfstar. like i literally cannot ship dorlene with other people they are the couple of all time
#ceri talks ₊˚ෆ#dorlene#dorcas meadowes#marlene mckinnon#hp marauders#marauders era#harry potter series#marauders#mwpp era#hp#i mean i also struggle to see wolfstar w other people but i see how some ships could work .. like it's not for me but i see it !!#w dorlene i literally cant#fuckbuddy lilylene is the only exception and that's like a short fling BEFORE dorlene happens#ik marylene is v popular and i do see it but like. dorlene. idk like i understand marlene but i can't see marlene dating mary ???#marylene reminds me of romione but if hermione was less confident#so it would be toxic#DISCLAIMER I LOVE ROMIONE#js saying if hermione had rly bad self esteem ron could've been even more hurtful and they would probs not be friends let alone dating#but that's js how i see mary so idk
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Was it love at first sight for Mikey and the tots? Did it take Mikey some time to warm up to them? Super cute AU!!
It was kind of hectic when Mikey saw the tots for the first time ever, while also being emotionally stunted, so the warming up is kind of a slow but surely process!
#GOING TO WRITE A BIT IN HERE SO SIT DOWN#SO#in the comics its not really said exactly how long after mikeys death casey marie produced the babies SO its my city now#in the au casey marie was actually planning on creating the tots from way before meeting mikey#so after mikey gets nearly killed by hiroto she just thinks that the babies are their safest bet on a fighting chance and basically#speed runs the creation of the tots ALL WHILE mikey is still healing and bed ridden#so when mikey does find out about the babies and why they were created (by casey happily telling him); hes actually still hurt and not yet#fully recovered from his nearly fatal wounds#again casey marie basically speed run the tots but she still had everything planned (im aware of the fact that ronin mikey heals very fast)#so then proceeds the mikey talk with april and the whole lair getting set on fire bit and consequently mikey running away with the babies#so the first time mikey ever saw the babies he had not much time to process his feelings#and general ideas except for Need to Get Away With Them#peepaw and babies au#doodles#tmnt#tmnt the last ronin#the las ronin lost years#tmnt odyn#tmnt yi#tmnt uno#tmnt moja#tmnt mikey#tmnt michelangelo#ask#my art
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whenever conversational discourse stirs up on the topic of dick and his co-dependency with bruce (i.e., for all their fights and disagreements, they'll both come running when the other calls, forever) i think it can simply be broken down to how a family *should operate. they have each other's back, and also hold each other's lives in the cradle of their palms. the most horrible thing in the world could be said to each other over and over again, but at the end of the day, their lives are at stake, and it's simply much too valuable to ever hold a grudge over. of course they come running when called. an abused dog still knows the command "sit"
#*not all families operate like that but i make the argument the bats do#idk i think it applies to everyone not just dick and bruce#everyone shows the same pattern of coming when called despite whatever history has happened before#yeah theyre going to fight and even fight each other but its kind of like that line that goes#'no one is allowed to hurt them except me' with the addition of 'we hold each other's leashes'#there is a dependency there that will never go away and the dependency was borne of a need#and that need is survival#dick grayson#bruce wayne
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im being so so brave but also i am gripping you by the shoulders and leaning in and letting you know i am so tired of being brave
#my job has invented new and even more agonizing ways to make itself stressful to endure#and that isn't even counting the fact that i've now seriously fucked up my wrist transporting 30lb boxes up and down stairs#or the fact that i occasionally get piercing shoulder pains if i'm not super careful about how i use the hand truck#or the fact that whenever i come home on mondays my entire lower body is so sore that i can't move beyond a weak shuffle#it's the fact that my boss has no sense of organization#so my supervisor and i are basically salvaging or starting from scratch every week#it's the fact that some of our clients are asking for things we're not even contracted to provide#like access to our company materials or additional resources outside of our scheduled bookings#and that there's this constant looming threat of 'ohhh don't be bad at your job!! or else we'll lose our contract with these people!!'#but 'bad at your job' in this case means 'not bending over backwards to accommodate the least accommodating circumstances possible'#like 'hey you need to lead this training exercise meant for 20 people except actually you only have 4 people'#'and actually none of them are familiar with the prerequisites for this training or have any experience with the skills'#'and also none of them want to be there and half of them just Don't Do These Things as a rule'#'and if you try to make them do anything they don't want to do (even if it's literally the point of the training) they Will leave'#'and then we will no longer have enough clients to pay you'#like. what am i doing. this company was not designed to work with this format. we're not an arts and crafts group or a club meeting#hi so i wrote this post before starting weekend work prep#it has been 3 hours now#im still not done#i haven't eaten and my wrist hurts so bad#i need to.................. take a break................................
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okay this letter hurt like hell but you know what i'm really glad i finally know why kit was so angry at ty, because it never made sense to me before. the narrative that kit's angry because ty changed himself, took away part of himself by going through with the necromancy is a loooot better imho than kit being mad either about the necromancy or that ty didn't reciprocate his confession (when ty was clearly in absolutely no position mentally or physically to respond to that). kit being mad because of what it stood for, what it meant – the confirmation that nothing he could've done would ever have changed ty's mind, nothing would've been enough to save ty from himself/what he believed he had to do, kit himself couldn't be enough to help him, nor could anything. ty was always going to do it. hurts like HELL but i really love this slight change in perspective, makes me understand kit's point of view a lot better because prior to this his being angry to ty didn't really add up to me
#kit x ty#kit herondale#ty blackthorn#i really didn't like the narrative of him being mad at ty before bec it didn't seem fair when ty was clearly completely#focused on livvy and when it wasn't about kit at all#but this kinda makes more sense? like kit's not mad at ty for not reciprocating or even really for the necromancy#but for what it meant: that nothing would've ever been enough to change his mind – that ty truly did not see another way – that#no other way was worth considering except to bring livvy back no matter the cost#that's a lot more fair and makes SO much more sense to me#but also yeah fucking SUCKS because kit clearly has no idea that he meant anything to ty and to be fair#we also haven't been in ty's head but. i digress.#YEAH THIS HURTS .#kitty#cassandra clare#twp
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Fandom will be like “Arthur wouldn’t have been so bigoted if it wasn’t for [that EVIL Merlin trying to fulfill the prophecies through Arthur to create a long-lasting future for his kin. oh and Uther] the actions of everyone else around him” bro it doesn’t sound like much accountability is being held for one’s own actions :/ bro
#this may scare you but arthur was a bigot before merlin showed up in camelot#before merlin asked him to show kara mercy. and arthur tried to humiliate her instead of just letting go of his pride#you think that merlin prioritizes arthur over magic because you ship them. when the prophecy literally hinges on arthur#he’s not trading freedom over for arthur. he’s trading a short term solution over for the promised long-term one. the golden age. hello#arthur meanwhile believes exactly what he wants to believe. and he is benefitted personally by the ban on magic. it sways his guilt#and his cognitive dissonance. so he stays#you know he was never given an argument for or against magic in 5x05? but he WAS given one DIRECTLY BY MERLIN in 5x09#Merlin who BELIEVES that Arthur will free them. because he has seen prophecies come true before. and he’s seen Arthur’s potential.#you will blame anyone but the person who actually does it#‘arthur can’t NOT be a bigot! he’s been hurt by magic!’ okay well then uther can’t not be a bigot. we woobifying him too?#no? then don’t apply that logic for arthur either#it’s simple as this: you have to apply the same logic and morality across the board. you can’t make exceptions or have double standards.#fandom critical#arthur critical
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I know it’s normal to his character but there is something so sick and twisted about how in CC we see Leo using white lies to joke. It’s a one-off joke but these lines:
OH THEY DROVE ME INSANE. Leo is so good at acting and manipulating and gaslighting, and he uses his skill with it so gently with Donnie most of the time, especially because Donnie is worse than picking up on subtexts/takes people more at their word than most. Like—Leo is so careful about not leaving Donnie out of the joke, and in turn Donnie trusts Leo to make it so he can always tell when something is a lie. It’s like Leo has a blade and is gently tapping Donnie with the flat end to make him laugh, and Donnie doesn’t even twitch because Leo’s never so much as nicked him.
And then Leo tells him he’s crazy. He’s hysterical. He’s being weird. You’re making things up and losing your tools. Yeah you really were in the wrong “but thanks ilysm.” You were only in the closet for a few hours. God you’re terrible at taking a joke. Leo stabs him over and over again and Donnie doesn’t even realize it because Leo’s never so much as nicked him so Donnie doesn’t realize he was being cut into until it was killing him. Just. Oohhh Donnie trusted him entirely with his little heart and Leo squeezed until it stopped moving.
YES THIS!!!!!!! and then in ME leo chooses to lie to him again, even though it's something he's so guilty about doing because he was the main one responsible for the gaslighting (he was the ringleader of it all, something about how he already fell into a leadership position before it was even put on his shoulders being so apparent here, especially as someone who motivated/hyped the others up,,,,,) because he thinks he's out of options, that its the only thing he can do to make things a little better. he's perpetuating the cycle he's trying to break out of as a self-fulfilling prophecy; does the intent even really matter when its so clear the effect is going to be the same? was there any right answer?
even though its definitely a cognitive distortion created from the tragedy of what happened, maybe leo did have somewhat of a point when he said donnie trusted him too much. he laid out the means to his own undoing on a silver platter and refused to take it away even as he bled out on the floor; for such a complicated person, donnie makes his love so simple and unconditional, and that's fine, of course, as long as nobody goes out of their way to hurt him--- that's how the family's always functioned, hasn't it? as terrible as raph was under the effects of the curse, he was correct when he said that things only work in their family when everyone plays their part. its interesting how easy it is to push over one domino and let the rest fall, how fragile peace can be with just one slip-up, one mistake... it almost reminds me of something else that happened =)
#ask#canary continuity#what i meant when i said the curse did have a point to it#an attempt to teach a “lesson”#anyways GOOD SHIT GOOD SHIT youre very correct abt all of this#honestly in CL leo was probably my favorite to write because he kind of slayed with how horrible he was.... slithery little bastard#he has a lot of good traits to twist into a villain i love him for that#leo knows how to think twenty steps ahead and thats why he fires all of the first shots. its why he gets away with open cruelty so early on#the others bide their time but leo takes advantage of donnies complete faith in him because he knows HOW to#mikey only really gets nasty when leo is there to cover for him for example#with like one exception with that scene in the kitchen#and raph never actually indicates he enjoys hurting donnie at all. he always seems weary and annoyed#its very telling#raph hits so much harder but leo was the one to give him the opening in the first place#because he ground him down first#just like in the final fight#(also for the record that particular one off joke was intentiona for the reasons you statedl!!!)#(thank you sm for looking into my work nobody has EVER done that before)
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hi. here's a little over 5k words for the modern human au! entirely unedited, as usual! you'd think this is a full oneshot... ha... no... i actually have some warnings for this one - hospitals, panic attacks, major character injury / discussion of death / clinical description of injury.
in short, my writing comfort zone <3
~
The dial tone plays, and Barnaby looks down at his phone. Call ended stares back at him under Wally’s cheerful profile picture.
“He hung up on me,” Barnaby states. His lips twist and he tosses the phone onto the couch with a snarl of, “That little bastard.”
“Hey now,” Howdy says sharply, frowning at him. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”
“Like he doesn’t deserve it! All I do is be supportive, understanding, and worry about his damn well being. And then he goes and acts like my very much well-founded concern is an attack!”
Howdy’s frown softens as he watches Barnaby pace, gesturing wildly.
“I love that RV. Maybe not as much as Wally, obviously, but it pains me that it needs to go. And it does need to go! Thing’s becoming a damn deathtrap.” Barnaby pushes his hair back and huffs. He glances at Howdy. “Right? I’m making the right call, here?”
“Of course you are,” Howdy says. “But-”
Barnaby cuts him off. “I tried to be nice about it. I tried to warm him up to the idea of retiring Home, yaknow? And what does he do instead of handling it - he revs up the tin can and runs. Home shouldn’t be started, let alone driven. It’s dangerous.”
It’s extremely dangerous. Wally is skilled at driving it, but no amount of skill will save him if it breaks in the middle of the freeway. What if the engine catches fire? What if a tire pops, or comes loose? Home is old, and wasn’t made to crumple in a crash. Barnaby doesn’t even know if the airbag still works. It’s not safe.
The thought of Wally bringing Home hurtling down the freeway at ten at night in a - quite honestly - not great mental state turns Barnaby’s stomach.
“I just wanted him to come back so we could talk about it,” Barnaby says. “I let him keep worming his way out of a serious conversation and now - now he’s -”
“Running away,” Howdy finishes. The point of his pen taps a rhythm against his notepad.
Barnaby jabs a finger at him. “Exactly. One tough, necessary decision and he turns tail. This isn’t gonna go away if he skips town! Not to mention how he isn’t giving a thought to how this might affect the rest of us.”
“Especially you.”
Barnaby throws his hands up with an indignant look. “Now not only do I have to hunt him down-”
“That would be a we scenario, Barn.”
“But we,” Barnaby concedes, “gotta try to knock some sense into that thick skull ‘a his, and drag him back home - kicking and screaming if we hafta.”
Howdy’s pen taps faster. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”
“What if he-” Barnaby stops short and stares at him, wide eyed.
That’s not.
That wouldn’t happen, right? Wally would come back in the end. He wouldn’t decide to up and leave entirely, would he? He is in Home… all the essentials he needs are in that RV. Barnaby sits down heavily on Howdy’s threadbare couch. “What if he doesn’t want to come back.”
Wally would have to come back to clear out his studio - he’d never abandon his art. Then they’d have to go through everything inside the house and see what he wants to take, since not all of it is Barnaby’s. A lot of it is shared, so they might have to bargain on who gets what.
Then they’d all have to watch Wally get into his motorhome and drive away. Possibly for good.
Barnaby would be alone in that big house with Welcome, knowing that his closest companion is out of his life. Living somewhere else. It's sickening.
“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Barn,” Howdy says, watching him with furrowed brows and a deep frown - if Barnaby were feeling like himself, he’d crack a joke about him emulating Frank. “I can confidently say that Wally loves you more than that old RV.”
Barnaby snorts. “You sure about that?”
“Unflinchingly. Believe you me, he’s going to wallow for a day or so, and then Home will come rumbling back down your driveway like it never left.”
“I wish I could have your faith,” Barnaby mumbles. He exhales and picks up his phone. No missed calls, no messages. “Maybe if I call him and ask him to just come back, no strings attached, he will.”
“That’s the spirit! Save the talk for another day - tell you what, I’ll help you corrall him so he can’t escape the conversation. I’ll tie him to a chair and bar the door if needed!”
“Good luck with that. Kid’s slippery.” Still, Barnaby hits call again. It rings only a couple of times before a robotic automated message states the caller as unavailable. Barnaby doesn’t enjoy being upset with Wally. However, it feels like his blood is simmering, and the wall is starting to look like great target practice for his phone. He grits his teeth. “He turned off his phone.”
From the corner of his eye he sees Howdy’s eyebrows shoot up as the man turns back to his paperwork. He exhales a controlled breath and writes something down. “I have to say, I’ve never known him to be such a-”
“Pain in the neck?” Barnaby offers.
Howdy clicks his tongue. “You said it, not me.”
“Yeah, well, he’s full of surprises.” Barnaby lets out a frustrated huff. He’s half tempted to run Wally down right now, but he wouldn’t even know where to start. There’s only one freeway out of town, but it goes both ways, and it branches. Wally would have hit one of those branches by now, and who knows which he took. North, south, east, west. Deeper into the woods, or towards the city? To the coast? Somewhere else entirely?
He has to face the facts - there’s nothing to do. He just has to wait until Wally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes how stupid and insensitive he’s being. Those are two words Barnaby would never normally use to describe Wally, but after tonight? They seem fitting.
Barnaby can’t even muster up guilt for thinking such harsh things. He tried to be nice. He was patient. He’s always kept a lid on it whenever Wally frustrated him, which doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And what does he get for caring? For being tactful and careful about a shitty situation?
Avoidance, a shove, and a cut call. Wally left Barnaby’s been left to stew in his own anger and worry. Right now, he’s inclined to lock up that worry in a tiny box in the back of his mind.
Barnaby pushes himself up with a grumbled, “I’m makin’ some coffee, want some?”
“If you’re offering then I will not decline.”
Barnaby pretends not to feel Howdy’s eyes following him to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It’s hell to maneuver around in, and the frustration of bumping into something every five seconds only makes Barnaby’s mood worse. By the time the coffee is brewing, he’s ready to punch the cabinets. He won’t, but he wants to. He’d regret it immediately, but he stares at the chipped paint and fantasizes.
The coffee machine breaks after brewing a whopping single mug. Barnaby stares at it for a long moment, and tallies up the consequences of taking a hammer to it. In the end, he just clenches his fists for a long moment and counts to ten. He takes the mug and sets it in front of Howdy, then goes to the window to brood. Thankfully Howdy is too reabsorbed in his work to notice beyond a mumbled thanks.
For the next hour, Barnaby’s thoughts are entirely composed of Wally. Different scenarios of what might happen next, how Barnaby might handle those situations without shaking Wally for doing something so needlessly reckless, and cruel daydreams of setting Home on fire. Barnaby wants to feel bad about that. He doesn’t. That damn RV has caused two different rifts between Barnaby and Wally - and Barnaby was the one to fix both of them, because both times Wally just left.
He gets it. He really does - for a time Home was all that Wally had. It’s been with him since Wally was thirteen, and if the thought of retiring it to a dump makes Barnaby sad, he can only imagine how much it distresses Wally. Well, he can do more than make an educated guess. Wally practically told him tonight, if not with words than with actions.
Still. They’re adults - Wally is older than him, if only by a handful of months. When does Barnaby ever ask something of him? When does Barnaby ever push? Why can’t Wally see that Home is becoming a liability, and why won’t he listen? Barnaby can’t make it make sense.
Wally has always been more inclined to avoid conflict, but this is too far. Barnaby swears, when he tracks Wally down he’s going wring that scrawny little-
His phone is ringing.
Barnaby lunges for it, relief dousing his anger. He picks it up, ready to give Wally a piece of his mind and then beg him to come back-
“It’s an unknown number,” he says, shoulders slumping. Of course it’s an unknown number. Wally wouldn’t change on a dime and decide to be considerate for once. He exchanges an exasperated look with Howdy and declines. He goes to set the phone down - the number calls back.
“That’s one determined scammer,” Howdy says. He leans back in his chair and holds out a hand. “I’ll deal with ‘em.”
Barnaby is all too happy to hand it over. Let the poor sap on the other end of the line deal with a master swindler.
“Howdy-hi, how can I help?” Howdy starts with a mischievous grin thrown Barnaby’s way? He leans back in the chair and hums. “Who, may I query, is asking?”
All at once, the ease drains out of Howdy and he stops fidgeting. He sits up, already looking at Barnaby with a paled expression that has something cold slithering down Barnaby’s spine. Something is wrong.
“He’s right here.” Howdy holds out the phone. His throat works uselessly for a moment before he plainly states the obvious, “It’s for you.”
Barnaby takes it, his mouth abruptly dry. Howdy is already up and moving - grabbing his coat, his keys. “Hello?”
“Is this Barnaby Beagle?” a professional feminine voice asks, tinny through the phone.
“B. Beagle, yeah.”
The woman introduces herself as the nearest city’s hospital, and Barnaby’s heart drops through the floor. She asks him to confirm that he’s Wally Darling’s emergency contact. He confirms, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Howdy takes his arm and gestures to his shoes by the door, spurring Barnaby into motion.
“Is he okay?” Barnaby manages to say. He puts the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and almost curses aloud as he switches it.
“Mr. Darling was involved in an automobile accident,” is all the hospital employee says. “He was brought in a few minutes ago.”
Barnaby steadies himself against the doorjamb, choking on a whispered, “Oh, god.”
Keys jingle as Howdy opens the door and pulls Barnaby through, then locks the door behind them.
“But is he okay?” Barnaby asks again as they hurry down the short hallway to the stairs.
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at present.”
It’s bad. It has to be bad if they won’t say anything over the phone. He must be silent for too long, because Howdy takes the phone, tells her they’ll be there soon, and hangs up. He tucks the phone into Barnaby’s pocket before opening the door to the store’s back lot.
The frigid air slaps the shock out of Barnaby, and sensation comes flooding back in. He grabs the keys out of Howdy’s hand and strides to the car with long, powerful strides that would leave anyone shorter than Howdy in the dust.
“Are you sure-”
“I’m driving,” Barnaby growls, cutting Howdy off.
Howdy makes a disapproving noise, but relents. They get in and Barnaby adjusts his seat with harsh movements, jabs the key into the ignition because Howdy’s car is a dated hunk of junk, and peels out of the parking space before Howdy even has his seatbelt all the way on.
Howdy clings to the ceiling handle as the car tears down the mostly empty street, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. Barnaby doesn’t know exactly where the hospital is, but he knows how to get to the city. They can figure it out from there. Several people honk as Barnaby brings them flying onto the freeway.
“Holy Marilyn marmalade!” Howdy screeches as they narrowly avoid side-swiping a minivan.
Barnaby ignores him and cuts off a pickup to get into the right lane for the interchange. Howdy whispers a string of something high pitched and strained and clings to the handle with both hands.
It takes him a moment to parse out the constant ramble as, “-pull over pull over pull over pull over-” Two honks and a squeal of tires as Barnaby almost causes an accident, and Howdy yells in a louder and deeper tone than Barnaby has ever heard from him, “PULL OVER!”
Barnaby clenches his jaw and cuts across the carpool lane’s double whites. It only takes a moment to reach the shoulder. Howdy leaps out of the passenger seat as soon as the car stops, marches to Barnaby’s side, and wrenches the door open.
“Out,” he snaps, breathing hard. “Barnaby, I swear to all things priceless, get out. “
Barnaby meets his steely gaze for all of a second before unbuckling and getting out. Cars whip by. Howdy huffs at him and slips into the driver’s seat, muttering about recklessness and disasters and if you would wait to try and kill us until we’re right outside the hospital, if only to save us the ambulance fee-
When Barnaby gets into the passenger seat, Howdy waits for him to buckle in with fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. He merges onto the freeway smoothly and carefully. They go slower than the speed Barnaby had them flying down the asphalt at, and it makes something deeply impatient itch in him, but it’s safer.
“I know you’re upset,” Howdy says, eyes still fixed on the road, “and I know that you’re scared. But what in hell’s bells was that, Barn?”
Barnaby side eyes him and grimaces, folding his arms. “I don’t know. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”
“You put yourself in danger too, you know.” Howdy sighs and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re of no use to Wally if we get ourselves in a crash. What would he say?”
“Whatever he’d say would be hypocritical,” Barnaby says before he can think better of it.
Howdy glances sharply at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“He..” Barnaby’s voice fails on him, and he swallows hard. “He was in an accident.”
Howdy is silent for a full few seconds before he exhales a thin, pained sound. “Oh, Walls…”
He must not know what else to say, which is good and well, because Barnaby doesn’t either. A long few minutes pass of silence. Headlights of passing cars on the other side of the freeway flash over them before plunging back into darkness. The dials on the dash glow. The check engine light is on. They’ll need to get gas in order to make it home.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Howdy says. He’s tapping the steering wheel again. “It’s likely just a few scrapes and bruises, at worst a broken bone. Nothing Wally can’t handle, and certainly nothing to be concerned over.”
Barnaby can’t bring himself to agree. Maybe… maybe if Wally was driving slowly… but that wouldn’t matter if someone crashed into him with enough force. Home is a large, sturdy vehicle, but it isn’t invulnerable. Wally certainly isn’t.
Without the distraction of driving, all Barnaby can think about is the what ifs. Yeah, what if he’s only a little bit hurt, but what if it’s worse? All of the worst images Barnaby can think of roll through his mind like a messed up movie reel.
Wally dead on the scene, caught in a hunk of twisted metal.
Wally, choking on his own blood in an ambulance, dying en route to the hospital.
Wally flatlining on a metal table.
Wally’s small body covered with a sheet-
“Almost there,” Howdy says, slowing at a stoplight. It bathes them both in red. Barnaby didn’t notice when they got off the freeway.
Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the cold window. After a moment, a slender hand rests on his thigh and squeezes. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Barnaby breathes a little easier.
Despite the drive down the freeway feeling like it took hours, the drive through city streets to the hospital passes in a blink. Before Barnaby knows it the car is spiraling up to an upper floor of the parking garage. The floor is mostly empty - Howdy pulls into a spot right by glass double doors.
Barnaby gets out a split seconds before Howdy, staring at the pristine white walls just inside the doors. In a moment he’ll find out if it’s not that bad, or if he’s about to have the worst night of his life. He’s been to a hospital twice. The last time was for Howdy, but he went with the knowledge that it was only a precaution. The other time was for Mama’s health scare.
That had been terrifying. The waiting, the wondering, the too-bright hallways and the staff’s rigid smiles. It ended well, but it had still been horrible, and hospitals took center stage in some of his recurring nightmares. Barnaby never wanted to see another loved one in a hospital bed again.
Looks like he doesn’t have a choice.
Howdy comes around from the driver’s side and lays a hand on Barnaby’s shoulder. “If you need a moment to-”
“Nah,” Barnaby says, his voice rough. He nods and adjusts his sleeves. “Better rip the bandaid off.”
They go into the sterile maze. The bright overhead lights dazzle Barnaby’s eyes after being in the dim parking garage, and he grimaces at the strong odor of antiseptic and floor polish. Howdy makes a beeline for the nearest receptionist and talks to her in rushed, low tones.
Barnaby shuffles after him, rubbing his shaking hands together and eyeing every person in scrubs that walks past. Something beeps somewhere. He thinks he hears someone crying. This is a place without color, art, or happiness.
“This way,” Howdy says, walking past him and tilting his head at the elevator. Barnaby follows, feeling like a lost puppy dropped at the side of the road.
A nurse gets into the elevator with them and politely smiles before staring at the floor counter and pretending they don’t exist. It’s fine with Barnaby. If he has to make small talk right now, he might actually snap. The man’s pink scrubs are almost an eyesore in the harsh lighting.
The elevator dings, and they all get out on the same floor. Howdy reads door plaques and wall signs like a hawk, his head turning on a swivel as he reads everything at lightning speed. Barnaby nearly has to jog to keep up with his hurried pace.
Howdy changes direction without warning and heads straight for a door at the end of a short offshoot hallway. Barnaby reads the sign next to the door.
[can’t remember if it’s icu or the other thing, research later]
It’s bad.
The waiting room is small - longer than it is wide, and there’s a woman sleeping in a chair in the corner. It looks nicer than the emergency room, or where Barnaby waited to see his mama. The benches have colorful cushions, and the walls are a pastel green instead of white. There’s an abstract geometric painting on the wall next to the woman.
Barnaby slowly takes a seat on stiff cushions, watching Howdy talk to the receptionist from afar. He nods and pats the counter before joining Barnaby. He sits close enough that their legs press together.
“Someone will get us up to speed as soon as there’s news,” Howdy says. “I tried to pry some more out of him, but he wouldn’t give up another word.”
Barnaby nods, staring down at his hands. His nail polish is already chipping, despite Julie painting them only last weekend. Barnaby picks at the bright red on his pinkie until Howdy pulls his hand away and enfolds it in both of his own.
When Howdy takes a deep breath, Barnaby finds himself mimicking him. Their gazes meet - Howdy’s is unflinching, and steady. He smiles and runs his thumb over Barnaby’s knuckles, soothing the nervous trembling, and Barnaby is struck by how darn grateful he is to have Howdy with him.
If he had to do all of this alone… Barnaby doesn’t think he could. Either he’d have gotten himself into a crash to join Wally, or he would still be sitting in his car, staring at the hospital doors. He doesn’t have the courage. But Howdy does, and Barnaby loves him for it.
For once, Howdy lets the time pass in silence, though after a long stretch of indeterminable time he gets up to pace. The bench cushions are high quality, but they start to feel uncomfortable. Barnaby doesn’t dare go for a walk. At least they’re not the usual waiting room chairs - he’d rather stand than try to fit into those plastic, narrow things.
At some point the woman in the corner wakes up. She startles seeing two strangers in the room with her, but quickly ignores them. Barely a few minutes pass before she leaves, mumbling something about coffee. She doesn’t come back. Barnaby spends a while wondering why - did she go home, or wait somewhere else, or did she receive news in the halls?
Howdy sits down again and starts typing furiously on his phone. When Barnaby gives him a curious nudge, he quietly explains that he’s texting the group chat. Barnaby feels a twinge of guilt at that. He completely forgot to let everyone know that there’s a… situation. Who knows if any of them will see it until morning.
Message sent, Howdy gets up to pace some more. His rhythmic gait gives Barnaby something to focus on, seeing as the clock on the wall is silent, and the receptionist seems to be sleeping. Barnaby could probably pass time on his own phone, but every second spent distracted is a second he might miss someone coming to tell them…
What? Tell them what, exactly? That Wally is okay? That he can receive visitors?
That he didn’t make it?
The door opens, startling Barnaby to his feet. Howdy scurries over from the far side of the room and rests a steadying hand on Barnaby’s lower back. A woman clad in blue scrubs enters, reading something on a clipboard. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks beyond exhausted. Barnaby can sympathize.
“Mr. Beagle?” the doctor asks, looking between them. When Barnaby nods, she smiles thinly, gaze flicking briefly to Howdy. “Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Before I disclose any sensitive information, I’d like to confirm what your relation to the patient is.”
The question gives Barnaby pause. He’s always had a difficult time putting his and Wally’s relationship into simple terms, because it’s anything but. Wally is his best friend, his dearest companion, the man he lives with and can’t imagine being without.
“He’s my partner,” Barnaby settles on, because it’s a good umbrella term. Partner can mean a lot of things, and people don’t usually pry for specifics. “We’re as good as family.”
Dr. Allen writes something down on her clipboard. “No worries, I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not - you’re his emergency contact for a reason, after all. It’s just basic information that I’d like to have on hand.”
“Course - so how is he?” Barnaby cuts straight to the chase. He’s not in the mood for niceties.
“Well, Mr. Darling is certainly giving us a run for our money,” Allen sighs. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s gotten through the worst of it.”
“He’ll make it?”
Allen offers another tight lipped smile. “We’re doing our best.”
Barnaby has seen enough hospital dramas to know that we’re doing our best means no promises, prepare for the worst. Howdy must feel the tension gripping him like a vice, because his hand slips from Barnaby’s back to his hand.
“What are his injuries, if I may?” Howdy asks.
“I’m not sure-”
“Please. We’d rather know than wonder.”
Allen looks between them and sighs again. She flips a page on her clipboard. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of time between the crash and when emergency services were called. Between blood loss and the near-freezing temperatures, Mr. Darling developed mild hypothermia.”
Wally was dying, cold and alone in the wreckage of his home for who knows how long before anyone came to help. Barnaby sways in place, and Howdy helps him sit down on a bench instead of the floor. Allen looks apprehensive.
“Keep going,” Barnaby rasps. He needs to know.
Allen doesn’t look happy about it, but she continues. “Mr. Darling also suffered several low-grade lacerations from shrapnel, some fractured ribs, a compound fracture in his left tibia, and currently unidentified damage to his right hand and lower arm.”
Barnaby swallows a mournful sound. That’s fine, it’s fine. Broken bones heal - Wally will be painting again in no time.
“He also developed an intracranial hematoma. It’s been treated, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until Mr. Darling wakes up.”
“What is that?” Howdy asks before Barnaby can figure out how to speak again. “Intracranial hematoma - tell me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a head injury.”
“It is - in layman’s terms, it’s a brain bleed. Head trauma can cause bleeding inside the skull, which puts pressure on the brain. We caught it as quickly as feasibly possible, which should raise his chance of a full recovery.” Allen flips the clipped page back into place. “There may still be lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet. I’ll be forward with you - this is one of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.”
Allen goes on to offer platitudes that Wally is a fighter, and easily answers the flood of questions Howdy has about the mentioned injuries. It all sounds distant. Underwater. The room is too small and the air is stale - are the vents working? Is there a window they can open?
In a blink - and yet the conversation lasts ages - Allen promises to come back with more information as soon as she has it. She smiles one last time and leaves.
“Barn?” Howdy sounds muffled. “Barn, are you alright?”
What kind of question is that? Of course Barnaby isn’t alright - his best friend is dying, likely on this very floor. There’s a chance he’s already dead. Barnaby might have already lost him, he just doesn’t know it yet.
Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.
One of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time.
Mild hypothermia - brain bleed - lacerations - fractures.
Lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet.
We’re doing our best.
“He hung up on me, the little bastard-”
Barnaby is up and out the door before he registers moving. He staggers down the hallways in a blur, everything swirling together into a mess of sight and sound as his lungs struggle to get a full breath. He bypasses the elevator and takes the stairs down to the level they parked on.
The cold air does nothing to help him breathe. Barnaby chokes on it as he leans against the rough wall grasping at his chest. Howdy is there immediately - he must have been on Barnaby’s heels the whole time.
“Talk to me, Barn,” Howdy pleads, a hand on the back of his neck and the other over the one Barnaby has on his chest. “What is it - you’re not having a heart attack, are you? Tell me you aren’t, I can’t handle that right now.”
Barnaby doesn’t know. Maybe? He feels like he is. He can’t breathe. He tries to say so, but the ragged gasps his breathing has devolved into doesn’t allow it. Howdy must know something he doesn’t, because he doesn’t run to get a doctor.
“How can I help?” he asks instead.
“Don’t - don’t - know,” Barnaby wheezes.
“Okay, alright, don’t worry, Barn, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try, ah - what were the steps? I didn’t exactly write them down, though in hindsight I should’ve - that’s not the point! It was… what a time to take after Eddie’s memory-”
It shouldn’t be helping, but Howdy’s constant stream of words grabs Barnaby’s attention. He manages to inhale nearly a full breath before it stutters back out and he’s struggling again.
“Breathing!” Howdy says. “Yes, that was it - Barnaby, I need you to focus on me. Copy my breathing.”
He sucks in a slow, dramatic breath through his nose and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Barnaby catches on and tries to mimic him, but-
“Can’t, I ca-an’t,” Barnaby says. His chest hurts.
Howdy presses their foreheads together. “Yes, you can. Come now, Barn, in… out. Simplest thing in the world.”
It doesn’t feel simple, but Barnaby tries. It feels like forever before he manages a full inhale. He butchers the exhale, but Howdy praises the minor win before launching right back into measured breathing.
Barnaby finally manages a slow inhale and exhale, and suddenly it feels like the pressure filling his chest has vanished. He slumps against the wall, worn out. He puts his hand over Howdy’s mouth in the middle of another dramatic demonstration.
“You’re alright now?” Howdy says, peeling his hand off. Barnaby nods, and Howdy leans next to him with a whoosh. “Thank the stock market - I was starting to get light headed.”
It takes another few minutes for them to catch their breath. Barnaby straightens enough to rest his head on Howdy’s shoulder, breathing in his cheap cologne and homemade laundry detergent. Howdy cups the back of his neck and massages the tense muscle there.
“This will all turn out okay,” Howdy promises. “Wally is stubborn - I think we both know that well enough. By this time tomorrow we’ll be moving forward.”
Barnaby wants to be that optimistic, but this is real life. For all they know, moving forward means making funeral arrangements. His breathing stutters and he forces it to even out before he can start hyperventilating again.
A car pulls into a parking space with a gravelly sound. Barnaby pays it no mind until Howdy makes a surprised noise - Barnaby looks up, and his stomach churns.
Frank, Eddie, and Julie are all getting out of Frank’s car. They’re all in various states of dishevelment. Frank’s hair is a mess, and he has what looks like Eddie’s company jacket thrown on over his pajamas. Eddie is in little more than a shirt that says male? lol, more like mail! and boxers - he’s even wearing slippers instead of shoes, and his hair flops over his forehead in soft tufts. Julie’s hair is still in curlers, and though she’s wearing shoes, she’s in a too-long shirt over sweats that don’t belong to her. They’re paint-stained.
They rush across the parking lot, all worried faces and tired eyes. They’re already asking what happened, is Wally okay, Sally is getting Poppy, they should be here soon, has there been any news-
Barnaby lunges at the nearest trash can and vomits.
#IM SORRY FOR ANY HOSPITAL/PROCEDURAL INACCURACIES IM NOT TRYING TO BE ACCURATE AT THE MOMENT#except for the injuries. those are realistic and i did my due diligence. read a lot of first hand accounts! medical pages!#ohhhh this was so cozy to write#i mean. not as familiar as actual on-screen injuries but yk#its been too fluffy in here.#this is a mild example of my usual tastes and habits when it comes to fic & fiction#WHUMP CENTRAL BABEYYYYYY#i like it messy and painful!!! Lets Fuckin Go!!!!#this is a prime example of me not being able to shut the fuck up when writing#my scenes & convos just go on and on and on and on....#but yes! enjoy! the Crash arc is very thoroughly planned out in my head and lately its one of my favorite things to imagine before bed <3#bedtime stories can be fictional characters going through horrible injuries & emotionally hurting each other#snippets from the bog#i will repeat what i have said multiple times before#i take the comic relief character. i hurt the comic relief character#i could have posted the little carnival half-scene. i could have#but ive been feeling stressed and caged and i need to let out some steam#and this is how i do that. controlled fictional violence <3
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Luz borrowing Hunter's scroll to call Amity after she sleep spells him because even though Hunter's breathing and she can feel him breathing, "Sleep followed by petrification" was Belos' "Humane" way of putting down Hunter and she's A Little Bit Crazy and Traumatized so she's like "I need someone here who can Fight Me to the death if it seems like I'm going snap and try to petrify him. Amity can you come to my room and spend the night please I need you to protect Hunter from me :(((("
i've had a couple friends with OCD talk about how strongly they see themselves in AU luz & nowhere has the evidence Ever been stronger than in this ask.
luz. baby.
you have OCD.
#amity is like 'he sleeps with you basically every night and you've never petrified him before....?'#and luz is like yeah but i'm thinking about how i could do it. which is functionally the same mentally for me as doing it except 150 times#in a row. with all the associated mental anguish.#amity: ....okay. i'll be there in a few minutes. don't... do anything drastic. okay??#luz: i can wait. i won't hurt him. i promise#amity: i meant to yourself. but okay!#luz being like amity i'm so sorry to ask it of you i know you're not in my guard and don't want to be around me but#nobody else knows i'm evil :((( and amity like where do i even begin. okay. sure. i'll protect hunter.#toh#replies#princess luz au#and who is that other witch#horrible mindscape trauma pals#shitty idiot repression gang#luz noceda#amity blight#hunter toh#ocd
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Eddie buys a spray bottle specifically to shoot the kids with when they’re being mean to Steve
#steddie#eddie munson#the kids don’t mean to be assholes they really don’t#but teenagers say dumb shit and there’s only so many times Eddie can deal with the split second 🥺 face before he fakes a laugh#he can’t believe he’s become one of the two Steve Harrington guard dogs#except Robin has no qualms about drop kicking a child#she’s the only one allowed to make fun of Steve bc they’re mutual assholes in a way that doesn’t hurt feelings#pyreposting
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